#am i just easy to please or r they just coming out swinging this season | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherriesink · 3 years ago

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Takeuchi - Murmurs

Murmurs are snippets of character reflection earned by increasing Explore Points during Exploration. They usually include 6-7 monologues about other characters and 3-4 monologues about things important to the specific character.

These lines are taken straight from the English translation of the game, so fair warning of bad grammar.

About Yatsufusa “According to my statistics, older vampires tend to rank above C-Class... Presumably, D-Class and under end up dying.

But it’s a shame with Yatsufusa. Because he is a C-Class that has all the potentials to fight in a battle. Yet, he cannot demonstrate that in a different way than Kurusu can’t.

It seems he occasionally uses the umbrella I gave him... He’ll end up hurting himself if he carelessly swings a sword since he has never trained for it. And he will break it if he uses it with all his strength. I can’t let a civilian hold a sword anyway. So, an umbrella was the best solution.

...Oh! I have an exciting idea that improves his umbrella. Haha, this will help him even if he’s not a good fighter...”

About Kurusu “Kurusu is very intriguing. He is the strongest vampire in Japan! How is he different from other vampires?! Unfortunately, current science does not allow me to analyze blood at a micro-level... In that case, I must invent a machine that can. I’d love to improve Kurusu’s abilities from an A-Class to S-Class and above through my inventions.

If Colonel Maeda who is a human can defeat unranked vampires, then that means dynamic visions can be improved through training. This then leads me to the question- do I use a drug or machinery to improve his speed and muscle strength...

But Kurusu must improve his speed of judgement more than anything. That, I cannot help him no matter how great I am. It probably comes from his kindness. But, oh well. I’ll let Colonel Maeda deal with that.”

About Maeda “Colonel Maeda is certainly an intelligent person. A true rationalist and finds the best course of action in an instant- because how else can someone decide to amputate their right arm after being bitten by a vampire before the poison enters their system? The surgery went well because he was in luck with a series of events. His wound was a clean-cut, he was able to stop the bleeding, and the fact that Code Zero has plenty of blood supplies for us vampires...

I’d say he was still lucky to survive despite having an aftereffect due to hemorrhage of the heart. I must say he is an astounding human being since his combat skills are still the same where he is capable of beating vampires to death with his prosthetic arm.

Ah- that reminds me that he asked me to fix his arm. What next functions should I add next?”

About Yamagami “Yamagami is the best to experiment on. I wonder what will happen... if I can make him strong enough so he can fight with my inventions? Alas, the greatest assassin will be born! We vampires cannot detect ones that rank below us- they appear like an ordinary person to us.

Yamagami on the other hand is capable of detecting every vampire out there since he is unranked. Which makes him the best candidate to become an assassin sneaking up on vampires from behind! I must conduct every experiment on Yamagami then! It will become a revolution for us vampires if the experiment succeeds.

However, there is just one problem... Yamagami’s personality is not ideal to become an assassin...”

About Suwa “We did not have any vampires that specialized in combat at the time when Code Zero was established. That is why we induced Suwa into our team. I knew the moment I heard the rumor about a vampires that hunts other vampires that he will join our unit.

One of the reasons was that I heard he was alive even before the Edo period... He must be clever if he managed to survive hundreds of years since it is not easy for vampires to survive such a long period.

Secondly, we carry the same goal if he enjoys hunting vampires, whatever his reasons may be. Back then, vampires in the Imperial Capital shivered when hearing “Vampire Hunter.” It’s very promising if that “Vampire Hunter” joins Code Zero.

His body was of a child’s, so his arms were too short for Japanese swords. That is why I made him two daggers.”

About Defrott “I wonder if Defrott will allow me to study his blood... We don’t have any blood samples of S-Class vampires nor any data yet. But he’s not the type that goes with “Please” and “Thank you.” After all, I do not want to die either.

...All I want is to conduct my research peacefully. No need to panic or rush. It’ll become available someday. I can get close to the birth of vampires- if I can learn about S-Class vampires. When, why, and how did we derive...? The only thing we know is that the oldest vampires on the recond spoke ancient Greek... Were they the first? Or did vampires exist long before that, but the records got lost...

It is a mystery how humanity began, but it is even a bigger mystery how vampires started. Was it a strain that occurred during the evolution process. Or mutation... Some call it evil or the devil’s doing. However, I do not believe in unscientific things.”

About Tenman-ya “Come to think of it, our relationship with Tenman-ya has been going on for quite a long time. Considering Colonel Maeda’s personality, there is no way he will miss a vampire’s nest like them...

But perhaps they’re untouched because of the amount of information they’ve accumulated about vampires since the Edo period and the fact that they’ve been confining vampires that are in the Imperial Capital.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a give-and-take relationship since they refer me to wholesales to sell my drugs I invented. The vampires referred through Tenman-ya are all clean and diligent. Some practice Western medicine like me so it helps.

It appears vampires fight all year round when just looking at Code Zero, but the one that avoid battle are the ones that live long. Tenman-ya supports those vampires.”

About the Experiments “There are three ways to kill a vampire. One, have them fight a vampire that outdo them. Very primitive method. Two, make them powerless through science. What we are currently doing. Three, obtain strength that overthrows higher rank vampires through science. This- is our homework.

Creating heavy firearms is easy, but we are dealing with swift subjects... Even unranked vampires may be described as “...at lightning speed” to an ordinary person.

Thus, I am working on a drug that improves our physical ability... I mixed some into Yamagami’s food the other day, and the results were quite surprising. It was as if he got drunk. I thought I developed a drug that makes the world seem slow, but Yamagami said “The world is spinning! You blockhead!”

My work is trial and error. Well, I do have plenty of time.”

About the Past “I never would’ve imagined that I would end up being a serviceman when I was just an ordinary human being working at a pharmaceutical company. It all happened when the military authorities asked me to research a certain blood sample. I accidentally exposed it to sunlight without knowing that it was vampire blood. The flask exploded from the boiling blood...

Luckily, I did not die from the poison and gained a brain that never degenerates. It was pure coincidence, but I was lucky indeed. I can come close to the secrets of this world with an eternally young brain.

I don’t mind not being able to walk under the sun. I was in the lab day and night in the first place. Not feeling time or seasonal changes aren’t important to me. I don’t care much about food either.

Research is my life! I am the happiest vampire on Earth!”

About the Side Job “Code Zero hardly has any budget for R&D... But we aren’t a special unit that simply gathers vampires for combat. Weak, domestic ones can benefit from my drugs and put up a decent fight with the ones ranking above them. I believe- that is the purpose of our unit.

Colonel Maeda couldn’t care less about the name of the unit. So I named it “Zero”- implying “Starting everything from zero.”

Either way, you need money to experiment. That is why I sell my inventions beneficial to humans to department stores and medical institutions made in the process of my vampire studies. The profit I make all goes to my research. Every purchase helps us foster future vampires.”

#mars red #takeuchi

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dulcetminds · 5 years ago

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some (concept) playlists

find my spotify here ✨ & my fandom character/ship playlists

this page is updated monthly!!!!

💫 monthly, yearly & get to know me playlists:

monthly mixtape: updated daily and refreshed every month with no correlation to anything what so ever.

twentytwenty: a song for each day of the year

the soundtrack to my life

my favourites

pass the aux cord, fool: car vibes

🍾🌉 playlists based off cliché concepts:

coming of age indie romcom soundtrack: cigeratte burns on film, a first kiss that tastes like beer and chapstick, and laughter falling on train tracks

not another coming of age soundtrack: red party cups and the never-ending feeling of nostalgia

Mother Nature reclaims: a soft apocalypse mix

tragedy in the dark: set in the 90's, you're driving at night on the highway, passing under street signs and street lights that illuminate your lovers tired face as they trace circles on your thigh

rise up!: (a futuristic teenage rebellion playlist) you live in a world full of holograms and plastic food, the government is corrupt and somewhere out there is a bunch of rebels that are fighting back

an angels kiss in spring: it’s the roaring 40′s and you hit the town in bold red lipstick, curled hair, flared dresses & traditional swing

a wispy field of sunshine: there's something alluring about falling in love under the sun, sipping on raspberry lemonade & kissing someone who tastes like chapstick

the air is fresh out here: i am lost beneath the earth; dirt and moss fill my lungs and i cough up ivy and rose petals as the trees whisper my name so soft, it gets caught in the wing of a butterfly floating by

3am dancing with my lover: fairylights are hung low around the kitchen, my lover has tired eyes full of wonder and we trip over our own two feet, laughter pumping our hearts alive

the last dancers at midnight: my prom could have been better so we're gonna visualise it like a teen romance movie; tired feet, starry eyes & a tender kiss under the disco ball in your high-schools' hall

even my phone misses your call: 'hey, this is [redacted] please leave your message after the beep!'

you’re so nice to come home to: finally moving into a small apartment with your lover; succulents adorn the windowsills and you both have a love for vintage polaroids and dream catchers — a dreamers dream

I've been in love with you forever: best friends that live next door to each other & know one another like the back of their hand, connected windows, rooftop talks, sleepovers, & everything that comes along with we're best friends & i don't want that to change but i am definitely in love with you

found you in this life: my mother once told me that some of the people we meet in this life, we knew in a past life and it’s up to us to decide where it goes from here

raspberry stains: spring flings includes squashing raspberries between finger & thumb, and dancing under the sun

rollerskating disco rink fever: we're twelve years young & there's a disco ball highlighting our hair as we dance the night away & i'm pretty sure we've happened to scuff the linoleum floor

endless summer afternoon: hopping from shadow to shadow, blisters on our feet; summer, summer, summer!

summer ate me alive: and I want nothing more than to sleep through the next three seasons

ragtag band of misfits from the year ‘87: group of four trying to solve the murder mystery of their late best friend / everyone’s hiding something / he might be in love with the boy he’s known since childhood

[our hands are brushing against each other as we walk]: i want to slow dance with you in the middle of the street

hey, new kid!: its highschool and life is full of rumours and giggling girls & boys with sharp teeth and then english class rolls around ━━ and did the principal just introduce a new student?

🧚🏻‍♀️ specific concept playlists (mostly based on moments and emotions that I've experienced & can’t get over):

head’s a buzz!: stoned out of my mind, I'm pretty sure I met the girl of my dreams last night

I should be sleeping: but i am walking aimlessly under street lights trying to forget your face, your taste, your voice; with vodka stained cheeks and chipped nail polish

pity party for two: the sudden realisation that the future is scary and we're two lost souls stuck in love with people who helped us grow

we’re under the same stars: It’s talking under the stars till the sun breaks through the trees with him, who makes your stomach ache full of laughter and although the wind is cold against your skin and the sleeping bag is thin, he burns just as brightly as the stars in the night sky, and you want to exist between 3 and 4am forever.

I fell in love for one night: he kissed my shoulder & held me tight

moments left unsaid: I love every part of you when it’s loud, when it’s silent, when you don’t know it at all (basically falling in love with your friends in the moment over the smallest of things like the way they dip their head back to laugh or hide their smile behind their hand or when they slow down waiting for you to catch up or pull you aside to ask if you’re doing okay, etc)

angel in disguise: can angels fall in love?

skate park shenanigans: I spent a the hours 8-11pm at a skatepark with my friends and we don’t even skate but this is the specific energy those hours gave off

you’re dreaming beside me: & I’m dreaming of you

how to be soft, sad & content at 4pm

I wish we could live forever: knowing someone you love is gonna die is the one of the hardest things you’re ever gonna witness

remember when we were in love?: 2015: yellow. open roads. a boy. a girl. my house. high school musical. clouds. stars. a pillow. sunflowers. beauty and the beast. skype calls. a bear. / 2017: a girl. blue, blue, blue. / 2019: a girl. a boy. picnics. skateboards. burgers. your house. an empty promise.

the pretty reckless: my friends fall in love too easily

the ceiling is staring back at me: it’s 1am and I'm thinking about everything and anything

me against the world, vol. 1

me & my apathetic brain: basically Russian roulette with I’ll die anyway by girl in red & just a girl by no doubt

🏳️‍🌈🌈 lgbt+ playlists:

this is for the gays!: for pride month 2019, gay bops to rock your socks to

all I see is her: girls r great!

we should fall in love or something: just kidding... haha... unless?

I don’t wanna b ur friend, I wanna kiss ur neck: yeah, it’s based off I wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red & also my ex but we’re gonna take the former

please look at me the same!: my bisexual teen angst

🦋🏹 ‘old groovy, 70′s, 80′s, 90′s etc music’ playlists:

butterfly dust: old time music that goes together

groovy, groovy: 70′s, 80′s, 90′s

lovestrucklovestruck: nothing goes wrong when you live in your head

she’s gold dipped & cherry wine kisses

funky glow

🥁🍒 genre specific playlists:

metamorphic: rock n roll

devils advocate: it’s like white noise before you enter hell (mostly ghostemane)

you’re not indie till: you skate, own a pair of hot converses, have good fashion taste, drink ice coffee and and and

monsters live amongst us: hiding in plain sight, the people we call our friends / a horror pop playlist

hazy affection: anxiety reducing songs and study beats

softly, sweetly: relax your eyes & dream of simpler times

bubblegum pop: the radio is overrated but here we are

glazed eyes, cherry skies

darkness looms overhead

magic under fingernails / under veins

state of mind: kinda like rap but not, definitely an easy listen to while stoned

moon rockets: fly me to outer space where we’ll become another star in the night sky.

dream & folk pop

my dreams reach the stars: my mind is far away from here / starry-eyed and captivated

local neighbourhood party: songs I'd bang my head to at a party

heavenly hymns

fluorescent heartbeats

take me away, into the night

if you see me listening to this, look away: literally Disney musicals mainly Disney’s descendants & zombies

autumnal breeze: a mix of bedroom pop & 80′s tunes

blueberry feelings: is this soundlcoud or tiktok?

untamed glory: the songs dont vibe together as well as they should but i guess thats ironic given the name of this mixtape

all strung up: my favourite female pop songs & then there's sunflower, vol. 6 by harry styles

candyfloss kisses: baby pop

and that’s on tiktok luv: literally what it says

candle lit afternoons: candles + rain = a gentle quiet in it’s purest form

tenderness: soft, quiet, yielding; murmurs at dusk & the playing of hair

my bed is the warmest place: for rainy days & the chill in your nose

🚀🍁🍓 playlists to listen to when your doing this specific thing:

classic picnic bitch: (cute songs that give me picnic vibes) and we bond over a pack of UNO cards and strawberry-filled desserts

beach bums, baby!: a beach-y playlist

hotboxing ur friends car: get high w/ me!

🥺💫🌞🌻🤩🐝 playlists to grow & fall in love with yourself to:

falling in love w/ myself !!!!!: I'm still learning how I work

then I defy you, stars!

seventeen: I made this when I was seventeen and getting over my first heartbreak and realising that I should never wait for people who can only give half back

no negative vibes here!

💌💖 my romance / love centred playlists:

dancing in my room to the sound of you, you, you (middle school crush vibes)

love cluster: and i guess there are lot of love songs out there but there are also a lot of songs that aren't about love that got me feeling like i'm in love so which is it

lovelorn: (a unrequited love playlist) and we yearn for the hearts we cannot hold; lovelorn, lovelorn, lovelorn

our love has gone cold: I love & I loved

whimsical lovers falling out of love

baby boy blues: fell in love for a day with a boy whose smile is contagious and ever-lasting

you gave me panic attacks & I called it love: unsure if you’re in an unhealthy relationship? leave them.

regret in the simplest of forms: I could have loved you / I think a small part of me did

my favourite ‘what if’: soulmates who weren’t meant to be

seeking love among cruel hearts: perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. but then perhaps this is what lovers are.

it’s a long way down from your window: everyone’s favourite secret relationship trope

heartbreak hotel

i’m yearning for his heart while he gives me his body: I love you, don’t you love me too?

make out w/ me?: songs I'd kill to make out with someone too

miss you forever: sad pop love letter

I liked you better in my dreams: the idea of them has taken root in your mind and it’s much different to how they really are

little bit in love with u: alterous attraction? we KNOW her

drowsy cacophony of love

tracing you back to the roots of my house: I'm sifting through the memories of us, where did we go wrong?

love; a choice or a feeling?: and it is both I suppose, it is a feeling, it’s happiness and soft giggles, faint blush. and then it is a choice, a choice to stay with them or leave. it is a choice to not only love them, but yourself too.

tenderly, tragically: this used to be a collab playlist with someone who loved me fully and unconditionally, things have changed since, but this is whats left; it's our story compiled into a playlist

second chance at love: you make me hard, but she makes me weak

lonely in love: (it was supposed to be just casual sex but fuck, I think I'm in love with you)

silent lovers: skinny love (n.) a type of love where two people are in love with each other but are too shy to admit it

my first love: they say your first love never dies, and love, they’re right

my lover is a liar: victim to broken promises and false truths by a boy who died when he gave me his heart

love locket type of love: I loved you in secret !!

the charms of love: don’t fall in love with the moment & think your in love with the girl! (yes, she’s american by the 1975 lyrics)

almost lovers

💸💄💅🏻⛓ playlists that give off bad bitch energy:

rich girl$: my cash flow will never ever end

kiss the boys n make em die!: femme fatale, girl revolution, girl power

GIRLS. FOOD. GEAR: loosely inspired by people by the 1975

girl, interrupted

you’re like a rhinestone pick-up line: picture this — a girl with a hard attitude that you can’t just seem to get off your mind

back on my bullshit: just got my heartbroken; revamped!

👻👽 my halloween inspired playlists:

hallohalloween: basic halloween playlist

the fae know my name: humans beware the manic pixies & lip curling fae for although they don't lie they are cunning creatures with kind eyes!

frothy vampire chick meets soft green witch: red fanged lover & a green house full of potions, spells & succulents

sirens lament: sharp teeth hidden under a pretty face

murder at the casino: (in breaking news: monster hunters just cant seem to catch a break!)

the howling

witchy renaissance

fuckin vampires, man!

🥀 if I were series (playlists that only feature one artist based off something specific):

if I were to dance in a faerie ring to hozier songs: maybe I want to fall in love with a faerie and be under Hozier’s rule

if I were to live my teenage years to Lorde songs

if I were to get high by the beach to skeggs songs: BIG greening out energy

if I were to fall in love to tom rosenthal songs: tom rosenthal songs that make me feel like I'm in love!!

if I were to reminisce about heartbreak to LANY songs:

Hogwarts Houses:

🌻 Hufflepuff

🥊 Gryffindor

🐍 Slytherin

📘 Ravenclaw

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growingstrongorsomething · 6 years ago

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4. I have a robot inside me.

Original prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bo0yiq/wp_youre_a_little_slower_than_others_but_its/ If you like my story, please support me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/storyforger

“The whole time you have been whispering. You are scaring people off.”

“What, I did?” Walid looks at his boss. Her face is filled with wrinkles, some from old age, some from worry.

“Yes, you are also looking at Waruna. She is crying in the freezer because she thought you are still angry at her.”

Walid slaps his face a little, trying to mold it to a more presentable look. His face now has a bit of a smile, and his eyes doesn’t gaze as sharp as before.

“She already paid for the damages. After all, I wasn’t angry at all. I just...”

Now Walid’s boss is the one massaging her face, mostly around her forehead. “Whatever it is, hold it in for now okay? We are all on the rush season. I will close this bakery for a week after Festival. Deal with your problems, get a psychiatrist, or meditate or something. Okay?”

“Yes, Mdm Kamisah.”

She holds Walid’s face and smiles broadly. “Work hard. The Festival is just three days away. I promise, we will get a big fat bonus, hm?”

“Yes. Well, I need to carry the pastries.”

“Good! That’s the spirit.”

Mdm Kamisah enters the office. Walid turns to the tray of tepung puluts. The smell of glutinous rice and pandanus flour mix in the sweetmeats are alot for him to handle. Walid thinks he is going to eat it all.

If you eat it all, you will have stomach problems again!

Walid sighs. “I am carrying food,” talking to himself again.

Oh you will, see the puddle you will flip!

[I won’t wait what oh god!]

Walid slips and almost fall flat on the tray. The floor where cakes are baked is made rough to prevent slipping, but the floor to the presentation aisles are made from smooth tiles. At least the cakes are safe.

Hamid takes the tray from Walid and places it on the counter. He then lifts Walid up, whose legs spread too far for his level of joint mobility.

“God you’re heavy!”

“Oww, oww, oww, my thighs.”

Hamid steadies Walid, who is groaning slightly from the gymnastics. “Well, I’m sending the tray.”

“No, wait.” Hamid gets a dry towel and wipes the floor from the accident to the aisle until it’s dry. “Ok, go.”

“Thanks!”

Their work that day is rather hard, and all workers are tired. Walid isn’t as tired, but his limping isn’t making things more comfortable either. At least the cleanup is made easy by the dishwashers and bots.

“That’s a wrap for the day. See you tomorrow!”

“See you!”

Walid hails a Grab and lets himself be carried to his flat. The city lights are pretty at night, especially when we are sleepy. The Grab driver thanks Walid too soon. Walid grumbles his thanks and clumsily walks up the stairs.

[Oh yeah, elevator] Walid goes to the elevator only to see that it is under maintenance. “Augh! Today?” He really wants to kick the door, but the last time someone did, that is how the elevator stopped working. Dejected, Walid winds wearily to his bed and falls asleep without even changing clothes.

Yo, how’s life?

[Life-threatening, thanks to you.]

You slipped, and I’m to blame? LOL GG.

[You’re my subconscious. How do you even know what is LOL GG?]

I am not blind when you control this body. I see what you see, I learn what you learn, I am aware of what you are aware. Well, and other things.

[What do you mean?]

We. Need. Diagrams.

Walid’s dream now forms a room. It is cozy, with two blue long sofas facing each other and a lamppost standing guard next to it. The table in between the sofas has a jug of lychee drink. Walid knows it by the smell. He pours a cup and pours the liquid into his mouth. The sweetness slams his tongue, and it flows into his body, making him... happy. He sits on the sofa, drinking more lychee juice.

You like what you’re seeing?

[Yeah, pretty much.]

Now! I will introduce myself. The subconscious slithers from behind the sofa and towards Walid. It is like the root of a ginger tree, only that it has a single straight shaft and many root fibers jutting through it. One of the larger root fibers extend a hand, as if in greeting. Walid shakes it. It does not show its face.

Subconscious, glad to meet you.

[Walid, pleasure’s all mine?]

The ‘ginger root’ slithers to the other sofa, its body reclining regally upon the sofa. Tired, Walid lies down to imitate the ‘ginger root’.

I think you have a lot of questions.

[Are you a ghost? Will you kill me? Is this poison?]

No. I need you alive. I can’t really tell you what I am yet, it will only create more questions. But I am ready to show you.

Walid thinks of the ginger root unzipping its costume and a pretty woman’s leg jut out of it.

No, unfortunately, I am not that sexy. But let me show you.

[How are you going to do that?]

I am going to take over your body. Just for a day. You will have my word, you can get full control of it once I have done my business.

Walid chugs down the lychee. The entirety of his life’s lessons flash before his eyes. All his life, his parents never told him what to do when your subconscious wants to take control of your body. Don’t open the door if the parents don’t expect guests, don’t touch other people’s breasts (and dicks once he came out), don’t steal, don’t show your private parts on the internet, and most importantly, if the offer is too good to be true, turn it down and run like hell.

I am twenty and honest to God, I need an adult.

[As frightening as it is, I am an adult. I assure you, your good health and functioning body is in my best interest.]

Come to think of it, the stress of his life isn’t going away anytime soon either. He still have to work hard tomorrow at the bakery. And he had to take Chinese exam next week, just so employers will consider him a worthy job candidate. Walid pours another cup. He raises it. To the last possible day of me being the conscious mind.

[To a more fruitful Walid.]

They both chug down the lychee. Walid sees the ‘ginger root’ face for a split second before the dream ends.

The next morning, Walid finds his body to be moving to the fridge. It dips some wholemeal bread into the black coffee and sends the bread into its mouth. Walid tried to move his body but it can’t.

Ginger root, are you controlling me?

[Yes, I do. You want answers. I am in the process of showing you. But first, your body needs some fuel and coolant!]

Fuel? Coolant? I am not a robot!

[Oh you’ll understand. By the way, you have a sick leave today. Convenient!]

Convenient for what? Hey, why are we walking?

[To the Doctor!]

The body washes itself. It washes its muscular body with water, then lathers soap on it. The body cleans everywhere, including the nether regions. Walid feels a slight pain as that area is stil a bit overstretched from yesterday. Walid can feel how clean his body is. And how it hurts to almost slip again from water puddles.

The body then pats itself dry with a towel. Walid tries wipe his face a bit more but the body doesn;t listen.

Ginger root, wipe my face!

[Alright, fine!]

Walid feels the intrinsic itch to his soul scratched for now. The body wears a tight T shirt and a sports trousers. Walid always feel comfortable wearing the trousers, but the tight T shirt is chafing his nipples.

Can we get a looser shirt?

[No, I always want to show off this awesome body.]

Walid would like to huff, but it only manifests as the word ‘huff’. He spies to the side of his eyes. There are numbers and letters, some jumbled.

Are those coordinates, distance in kilometers, and name of The Doctor?

[Yes! Now be quite and observe!]

The body hails a Grab and calmly enters the car. The body chats with the driver a bit. Walid thinks the mouth is moving but the language isn’t what he is used to.

“Ni de shangban meiyou mang ma?”

“Aiya, zui mang! Quanbu ren bu yao mai che, he quanbu de shangdian hen yuan la!”

And they both laughed. This son of a bitchy ginger root, he actually knows Mandarin!

The chat ends as the car arrived before the clinic. The sign says ‘The Doctor’s Swig’. This isn’t a clinic, this is a bloody pub.

Wait! I am a Muslim, I can’t drink alcohol.

[Oh come on, we’re meeting a doctor, not drinking!]

This is a pub!

[Oh god, just watch!]

The ginger root moves the body. Well, the insides is a pub. People are eating sunflower seeds and pistachios while watching the news. And drinking beer. There is a blackboard with a chalk drawn picture of a jar and ‘Lihing Limited Edition’ hanging above the bartender’s head.

“Bear with me bro, I need a help.”

The bartender winks. “What help?”

“Health Care.”

“One sec.” The bartender gives a call. “Number?”

Ginger root gives a small paper. The bartender whispers to the phone, and burns the small paper. The bartender then whispers to Ginger Root. “The Doctor is available now. Please come in.”

The Ginger Root smiles and nods. The back of the pub has three doors. Two unisex toilets and one closet. Ginger Root presses the code and the closet door opens. He enters the room, which is littered with brooms, mops, and scoops for the dust. Ginger Root places his hand on a brick, and pushes. A door swings open, away from the body. The body bravely marches through the darkness.

The dark path isn’t very dark to Walid, but he’s still afraid. He instinctively makes command to jerk his foot, but the body remains stoic, moving forward without flinching. They make their way down some stairs and more dark alleys, some branching.

Ginger Root, where are you taking me?

[Oh I’m Ginger Root now? Well, like I always said, just watch. We have a checkup AND a job.]

Walid is too afraid to complain further.

The darkness ends at the end of the tunnel, where the body pulls the door open. Inside is a room. Bodies of men and women are hung, suspended from the ceiling with ropes and hooks.

AAAAAAAHHHHH!

[Stop shouting, I almost jumped!]

A young man, barely 20, rushes forward and shakes the body’s hand with much enthusiasm. “I am always honoured to service you sir.”

“Hello to you too. Please check this body first.”

“Yes, this way.” The room of bodies gave way to a few beds. Ginger Root lies the body on an empty bed, the eyes pointing upward.

“Sir, we are about to begin checkup. Please leave the body.”

And Walid lose consciousness.

SYNCHRONISING NERVOUS SYSTEM... 100%

SYSTEM ERROR? ... RESOLVING... 100%

MUSCLE MOVEMENT? 100%

AUDITORY SYSTEM? 100%

VISUAL SYSTEM? 100%

TOUCH INPUT? 100%

STARTING AUXILIARY FUNCTION...

AUXILIARY FUNCTION ON. ERROR?

...

NONE. SYSTEM STARTING.

Walid finds himself still unable to control his body. The body is strapping some belts and pouches.

Wait, what time is it?

[10 am. We have a mission. Rescuing hostages.]

Wait, I am not a soldier!

[I am. Sit tight, you’re my mecha. Switching off auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

Wait, don’t shut me... And Walid can only see and think, not form words. The eyes emits a small screen of the ginger root. His face like an odd, jagged, jack-o-lantern, but Walid doesn’t feel a thing from it.

[I need you to listen closely. I am on a high risk mission to rescue fellow, well, ‘ginger roots’. They are stuck in some continents away. You must trust me that I will bring us alive okay.]

Walid would like to say yes, if only from desperation.

[We may get injured. Yes, even me in this cockpit. You will have extra functions in the fight, but mostly for your brainpower. Just remember, even if you lost all four limbs, you can be repaired.]

[Switching on auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

I thought I was human! Well... if I survive whatever comes, I need a lot of questions answered.

[OK, fair enough. I need to concentrate, so... Switching off auditory output, Auxilia HI]

Ginger Root meets with a few other people. Men and women, they are well-equipped with weapons and body armour.

“Listen up, our hostage situation has turned sour. The kidnappers decided not to further negotiations, and will kill all hostages this midnight. We have to save them. We do not have to kill all of the kidnappers, but we will kill anyone standing in our way. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” Their voiced are lowered, but their voice are filled with fire.

“Good. We Drive Humanity Forward...”

“... So Our Survival’s Assured!”

The team raced to a truck and is driven to an abandoned building. There they dismounted and fan out to secure the perimeter. “The police has been notified of our mission and they will not stand in our way. If you see any uninfected policeman, rescue them. Reports shown that some are held hostage after a failed assault.”

“Our target is 200 meters southwest. We will have to secure a rooftop entry, Damit. Then, Hamidah, Rizal, Shafwan, you three enter first and get a foot hold. We will enter as soon as it’s clear.”

The team races to the top of the abandoned building. To the southwest, they could see three men chatting and drinking coffee on a rooftop balcony. Damit scopes with the sniper rifle. “Three men, mostly bored.”

“Are they armed?”

“No, I don’t think so, Ikhlas.”

Walid knows the name doesn’t refer to him, but Ginger Root. Ikhlas eh?

Ikhlas looks intently with a binocular. “They are, I could see their rifles resting on the wall, behind the sitting man drinking.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Shoot the sitting man first. Then the two.”

Damit pushes the sniper stock close to his shoulder, aims at the sitting man’s neck. He holds his breath, and shoots.

The sitting man falls on the rifles and the two other fumbles to grab their guns. Damit shoots their heads clean off with one shot.

“Double headshot at 200 meters. Easy gg lol.”

Damit sighs. “That isn’t how humans speak.”

Ikhlas writes down the kills. “I know. Still funny though. Shafwan, the rappel.”

Shafwan shoots the rappel rope with his crossbow. The bolt buries deep into the wall. Shafwan slides down first, with some equipment. The others slide down one by one, Ikhlas being the last. They switched equipment amongst each other, as they had carried others’ equipments too.

Walid sees the map screen appear before his eyes. Ikhlas gives the signal to huddle.

“Everyone have maps and possible enemies?”

Everyone nodded.

“We stick together. Rizal at front, Shafwan and Hamidah center, me and Damit behind. Get to the target, fight our way out to the ground floor. Then we evacuate.”

Ikhlas points at the door. Rizal rammed the door with the butt of his gun and the rest streamed in. They move quickly downstairs, but stop before the first door facing the stairs. Two gunmen gets out from the door, laughing along the way. Rizal throws a smoke grenade.

Instead of shouting ‘Boogies’ or something, the two writhed in agony. Their bodies twist and turn, coughing out blood and mucus. Soon, some organisms escape their mouth. It tries to wipe itself clean from the smoke, but it drops as it shouts a small screech of pain.

The two gunmen lays unconscious. Ikhlas’ team moves forward. A few minutes later, they are stopped by three kidnappers running to them. The team manages to take cover behind the walls as the kidnappers shoot to kill. They only stop to reload.

Shafwan takes the opportunity to shoot them in the head, but they do not drop. Instead, they keep firing. Shafwan remains unfazed as a bullet rips through his right upper arm. Some wires frayed out, but his movement isn’t hindered as he reload. Hamidah is about to throw another smoke grenade, but Ikhlas stopped her. Ikhlas waits until they reload again, and turns to shoot.

He aimed at the stomach of the kidnappers. They drop dead as soon as the bullet hits them. Damit moves forward and pumps another bullet in the temple to each of them. Rizal takes the forward position and the team keeps moving forward.

Rizal raises his fist, a signal to move forward. They stopped before the turn of a hallway. Rizal watches the other side with a mirror. “Four men. Standing guard.”

Ikhlas nods to Hamidah. She hands over a defragmentation grenade to Rizal. Rizal removes the pin and moves forward to throw it. The four guards points the gun at Rizal.

They centered their fire Rizal’s head, but Rizal ducks while throwing. Instead, his right arm is severely riddled with holes as the grenade flies. The four is about to jump, but the grenade explodes. The four disintegrated into the smoke. Ikhlas’ team fires forward, as Rizal slings his rifle. He looks at the uselessly hanging right hand. He rips it off. The fingers wiggle uncontrollably as the hand is separated from the body. Rizal holds his rifle on the left hand and joins Ikhlas.

Ikhlas leads the team forward. There seems to be no more kidnappers left. It’s... too quiet. Walid begins to feel uneasy. He wants to ask Ikhlas what is going on, but he can’t say anything. They entered an open courtyard, with doors flanking it.

The silence is finally interrupted a few minutes later. Two kidnappers storm out of a door, but Ikhlas manages to shoot them both before they could open fire. Ikhlas is about to walk forward to the target area, but he is suddenly thrown away by an explosion. Ikhlas almost lands at the other side of the courtyard wall.

A large man, about 9 feet tall appears before the team. Rizal fires his rifle at the man’s face. Its face is chipped away as the bullets ricochet off from the metallic skeleton. The rest pumps their gun dry to the robot. But all their bullets do not even dent it.

Hamidah jumps to give the man a flying kick. Her shin hits his neck. The man calmly grabs her leg and throws her straight through a wall. Shafwan jumps to the man’s shoulders, stand on it, and pumps a new magazine worth of bullets between the chest and the shoulder blade. The man grabs Shafwan and slams him a few times. Sounds of twisting metal can be heard from Shafwan’s body as he tries to stab and sever the wires in the robot’s hands. The robot throws Shafwan and he is impaled on a pole by the left chest. Shafwan tries to remove himself.

The robot is shaking, it finds itself hard to straighten its body. The robot walks to Shafwan, but he isn’t as fast as he was a few minutes ago.

Rizal and Hamidah pumps more bullets into the robot. But this time, they try to aim at the joints. Hamidah fires all her bullets into the left knee, circling to the front and back. The robot swings his fists to Hamidah but Hamidah can easily evade the robot. Rizal aimed at robot’s right shoulder. The robot turns his attention to Rizal and is preparing to launch himself to him.

The robot sprints towards Rizal. Rizal turns to run away, and the robot is running at full force.

Suddenly, the robot’s trajectory is thwarted by a shot to his head. Damit fires more sniper rounds at the robot. The robot turns and runs towards Damit. He holds his ground, but the robot still charges forward.

Ikhlas bodily throws himself at the robot, pushing the robot away. The robot is flat on its back, and Ikhlas desperately tries to reach his shotgun. The robot grabs him by the leg, and pulls Ikhlas towards him.

Walid feels all the past actions of his flood back to him. His killings of animals, his bullying of other kids, his angry rants against his parents’ He wants to say sorry for all he has done, and he can’t even say in it his inner voice!

Ikhlas the Ginger Root is sweating in its cockpit. He can feel all the anguish that Walid has. Added to his own, he is almost mad from all this. None of his training ever prepared him for this, and none of his experiences ever will. What can he do?

The robot tries to stand, but the connections in its body is too damaged to command his legs for the proper procedure. Instead, the legs dig into the soil erratically. The robot grabs Ikhlas by the neck and raises him up.

“Damit, its elbow!”

Damit aims at the elbow. The robot’s right hand plops uselessly as the bullet hits the joint but Ikhlas still can’t remove himself. He drags the robot’s right hand with him as the robot tightens its grip. But the grip gets looser and looser with each wire ripped from the robot’s hand. Ikhlas’ team gives the robot a wide berth.

The robot tries to stand up with its remaining appendages. But it only ends up wriggling and writhing.

Ikhlas looks for something in his back pouch. “Hamidah, you have anymore grenades?”

“I only have two, and it’s all used up.”

Shafwan has extracted himself from the pole. He hands to Ikhlas one smoke grenade.

Ikhlas throws the grenade to the robot, and it gives out a lot of smoke. When the smoke clears, the robot is still writhing.

“We have to deactivate it, it’s not an exosuit.”

Damit pumps a few sniper rounds to the robot’s left shoulder joint. Shafwan ties his bayonet to a stick and cuts all the wires from a few feet away, far from the robot’s grip. The robot’s hand almost come dangerously close to snatching the stick, but Shafwan deftly retracts it. Soon, the robot is uselessly moving its appendages. Rizal steps forward and jams his left hand to the robot’s neck. He pulls the here and there a bit, and soon the robot stops writhing. Its eyes loses its blue colour, fading to transparent black.

The hostages are brought outside by Shafwan, while Damit checks the perimeter. “It seems like all the kidnappers are dead or have fled. The hostages are just behind me.”

One of the hostages rushes forward to hold Ikhlas’ hands. Ikhlas raises his hands to meet it, but the right hand doesn’t budge.

The hostage looks at Ikhlas’ right hand. Shee shakes her head, but then shakes Ikhlas’ left hand vigourously. “All you have risked your lives to save us. I assure you, the High Root will reward your team well.”

“Thank you, madam, but we aren’t necessarily in the clear yet. We should get out of here quickly.”

They allow the hostages to leave from the front door. The police receives them and hands them to the healthcare unit stationed behind the blockade. Ikhlas’ team goes to the back gate. Along the way, they passed through one of the guard’s body. One being of goo is breathing weakly as the body writhes weakly.

“This... isn’t... over... We... will... be... victors...”

“It never is.” Ikhlas shoots the goo with his pistol.

The team gets into the extraction truck. Rizal holds his severed hand, while Damit ogles Shafwan’s large hole in the chest. Shafwan slaps Damit’s hands as he try to touch his dangling wires.

[Switching on auditory output, Auxilia HI.]

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

Aaa... Aaa... Aaa...

Walid could hear a small screeching on the screen. Is that the ginger root shouting too or the echo in the suit?

[Well, any questions?]

Lots. Wh... Well, what the fuck? I’m a robot? Was my memory real? Did I signed a waiver? Why does all this have anything to do with me?

[Your body is a robot. Your mind is from a human brain, taken from your body. You signed a waiver, but it’s because you are losing all use of legs and hands. It had nothing to do with you, you are just my mecha. Your service to us is how you pay back for the surgery. You also get some money on the side, but from bonuses or bounties.]

Bonuses? Bounties? So I am what, an army equipment? Whose army?

[Yeah. You’re a medium grade military equipment. We are the military arm of Court of Mother Zingiber, Grand Commandery of Lady Goddess Halya of Earth. We have branches in other planets. But in recent centuries, battles are mostly forged here.]

[That goo organism you see is one of our enemies. Just call them Oozes of Doom. As if we want to call them by their regal name, hah!]

So, what happens to me?

[You will be repaired of course. I always intended for you to know about this sooner or later. Having a human on our side helps us to blend in. We can mimic human behaviour, but we aren’t always successful.]

This is too much for me to take in now. You’re in charge I guess, Ikhlas. But can I ask one thing?

[What is it?]

I want to be conscious to see the repairs. I need to see for myself what I am.

[Okay.]

Ikhlas takes the body down to The Doctor. Walid sees the ginger root climb out of his abdomen. The Doctor sets up the machinery as they chat. The language isn’t like any on Earth, so Walid stopped bothering to listen.

The Doctor then starts checking Walid’s right hand. He massages the hand to find where to slice, and starts slicing. Soon Wires are pulled out, reattached, and returned into the body. The Doctor continues with repairing the rest of the bullet injuries. Finally, the damaged body tissue are removed and pastes of new body cells are placed on spots.

The operation as a whole is quite soothing. Walid doesn’t feel any pain, and The Doctor’s movements are as smooth as silk. Soon, Walid’s body is as good as new. Walid extends his right palm to Ikhlas and Ikhlas creeps on to the palm of his hand.

“So that’s how I got my muscular body.”

“These days. Even before the surgery, you’re rather muscular.”

Why I didn’t remembered that? But Walid remembers another thing.

“Why I didn’t feel pain during the firefight just now, but I felt pain from my fall yesterday?’

“Pain reception can be switched on and off. Usually when we take over the body from you, we shut off the pain reception so you won’t go mad from it.”

“Can you make it stay off?”

“No, we want to blend in, and includes you having to feel pain in normal life situations. Can I get into your body now?”

Walid shrugged. “Sure.”

The ginger root presses some buttons on a small key that he holds. Walid’s stomach split into two, and door hinges opento both sides. A small podium with a seat extends out. Walid places his palm before the podium and Ikhlas takes his seat. He presses a button, and the podium pulls back in and Walid’s stomach closes shut.

Walid can move his body again. “Hey, Ikhlas, you there?”

Yeah. Enjoy your bodily autonomy for now. We may be called for next mission later.

Walid sighs. Now he has two jobs, one a part-time back breaking work, and the other a part-time body-breaking work. At least this one has good healthcare benefits.

The team is escorted by The Doctor to a door. “Well, this is goodbye for now. I am always honoured to service you. Your pay will be sent to your accounts by this week. And here are the MCs you require should your bosses question you.”

Walid takes a piece of paper from The Doctor. An MC from... Yang Yang and Co. Clinic?

Walid fishes out his handphone from the pocket. Funny how it survived the carnage. Walid hails a Grab and lets the car carry him to his flat.

#robots #alien exosuit #cyborg #male asfr #asfr #scifi

4 notes · View notes

inkyardpress · 7 years ago

Text

THE GATEKEEPERS EXCERPT

Mallory

7:55 AM

where r u?

8:11 AM

r u coming??

8:17 AM

seriously wtf, when will u be here?

Liam

10:34 AM

Srry

MALLORYGOODMAN

Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three.

Harder.

Faster.

You can do it, I tell myself. You have to do it.

Seventy-four, seventy-five.

Stop being the kind of lard-ass who let her boyfriend pressure her into scarfing down onion rings.

“They’re so good,” he’d insisted. “Extra salty, really crispy. They’re the perfect balance of light batter and onion, like tempura. The chef brought his A-game to the deep fryer. You’ll be sorry if you don’t at least try one.”

Whenever our squad wants to meet for dinner, I suggest a place with a salad bar. I always eat the same thing—a blend of arugula and romaine, shredded carrots, red cabbage, diced peppers, and celery sticks, tossed in lemon juice, with a side of fat-free ranch dressing. If I’ve been good, I grab a grapefruit or an apple for dessert at home.

Obviously, I wasn’t good last night.

Liam wouldn’t let it go, though. He leaned across the table, doing that baby-feeding, airplane-in-the-hangar move with the onion ring, complete with sound effects. Everyone in the whole restaurant started looking at us. Sure, they’re always looking at us, because Liam’s kind of our school’s Golden Boy, but last night they were seriously staring. The easiest thing was to open up and just eat the stupid, greasy thing. So I chewed and smiled when all I wanted to do was to spit it into my napkin—but I’d never hear the end of it if I did that.

I swear Jasper Gates was ready to search inside my mouth afterward to make sure I’d actually swallowed, like on those cheesy survival game shows where the host verifies contestants downed the whole worm. Jasper was the one who demanded I eat another, because the first one was “too small.” Sitting there, all kicked back and smarmy in his obnoxious plaid shorts and Ray-Bans, I wanted to smack him. Who wears sunglasses inside at night? We’re in Illinois, not LA. And my diet is Jasper’s business how exactly? Do I get on him for the stupid loafers he insists on wearing without socks, even when it’s snowing?

Can you believe he actually wonders why I call him the JasHole?

Ugh, I hate Liam’s friends.

Seventy-six, seventy-seven.

I dig in my heels and try to spring up even more quickly as I run the stadium steps for the third time. My pulse quickens inside my chest.

Okay.

That’s more like it.

My brother Theo and his best friend, Braden, turned me on to running the stairs, something their football coach makes them do first thing in the morning during the season. That way they can spend the afternoon drilling on the field or weight training for their two-a-days. Kids at other schools can’t believe how much our teams practice. They always say this after we’ve beaten them, so you tell me who’s got it right.

One twenty-one. One twenty-two.

Well, most of us believe in all the practice.

Ahem, Liam.

First, he makes me ingest a fatty carb bomb and then he doesn’t even show to run the stairs with me this morning? He claimed he hurt his knee playing ultimate Frisbee after soccer practice yesterday. Last night, the JasHole was all, “You should give it a rest, brah. Don’t want to be a gimp when the season starts. Take it easy.”

Well, guess what, Liam?

Winners walk it off.

Winners play through the pain, brah.

Winners make time to run the stairs, each day, every day, even those days when they know they’ll be up until 2:00 a.m. writing their final AP Italian theme on Il pendolo di Foucault.

I keep going.

I mean, my calves feel like they’re on fire right now, like they’re being poked with burning hot knives, but the discomfort’s just spurring me on.

Go. Run faster.

I make it to the top and sprint back down the steps double-time. I don’t count the stairs on the way down; that’s considered rest.

Rest is for the weak.

Three hundred. Three hundred and one. Three hundred and two.

Move it, Calorie Mallory. Get your fat ass up those steps. Knees up. Knees up to the chest. More. Do more.

I ask myself, Do you think the New Trier Trevians ate onion rings last night? Hell, no. Did the Lake Forest Scouts wolf down fro-yo last week? Doubtful.

Hustle. Now.

I glance at my iWatch. All right, I’m in the zone. I’m at 95 percent of my target heart rate. I’m a finely tuned machine, burning off serious blubber. Keep it up.

Five hundred forty-nine. Five hundred fifty. Five fifty-one.

I’m sweating now, but that’s good because sweat is fat crying for mercy.

I mean, why would Liam slam on the brakes now? Why would he look for an excuse to slack? Our senior year starts Monday.

This is the time to go balls-out.

We haven’t reached the summit. There’s no time to coast. We’re coming up on the hardest part of our twelve-year academic climb—applying to college.

Now is when we show the world what we’re made of.

Now is when we prove we have the right stuff for Princeton’s early decision.

Now is when we lay the groundwork for our senior year.

Liam and I spent the past couple of months honing our skills at our camps, getting in our volunteer hours, and doing our extra coursework so that we’ll to be ready to kill our exams and nab our respective state championships when classes start. Winning those matching Homecoming King and Queen crowns come October wouldn’t hurt, either, because that would show that we’re social as well as athletic and academic.

We’re the full package. We’re hashtag BarbieandKen.

Which is why we have to push ourselves harder right now.

I don’t want to give up. Quitting? Not an option. I remember what happened over the summer with Paulie and Macey, and I feel like I’ve swallowed glass, like I’m all slashed up inside. They had everything...until they decided they didn’t, so they gave up. Stopped fighting. Braden speculates that maybe they both burned so brightly, flaming out was inevitable.

I refuse to accept that.

So I need to be strong. I need to be hard. That’s why I’m not even allowing myself a drink of water until I hit my first one thousand steps.

I give myself a gut-check. Are you tired, Mallory? Do you want to surrender? Yeah? That’s because you’re not reaching your full potential. You’re at a B-minus of effort right now, and that’s an unweighted grade, non-honors track. Your performance doesn’t even merit a state school, let alone Ivy League early decision. What are you going to do, end up somewhere mortifying like the University of Iowa, with all the slackers? NO. You’ve sacrificed for this. You’ve earned this. Claim what’s yours.

I step it up.

I push and pump my arms.

Explode. Off. Each. Step.

I won’t give up.

I can’t flame out.

I harness the energy inside of me.

I go harder and higher.

Senior year starts in three days.

And I will be ready.

Stephen

12:30 PM

can we walk by again @ 1:00 PM?

Kent

12:31 PM

Stalker 😊

STEPHENCHO

“So this is your homerun swing?”

I don’t reply.

Kent persists. “Walking back and forth in front of the new girl’s house in the broiling sun ’til she notices you?”

The beads of sweat dotting his upper lip give him the illusion of having a mustache.

Yeah, he wishes.

“Trust in the process,” I assure him. As we approach her house, I slow my pace so drastically, it’s like we’re suddenly a couple of senior citizens mincing along behind our walkers.

“I trusted in the process an hour ago, back before my Chucks were melting into the asphalt.” He points at his black Converse. “Now I just want to strip down to my underwear and lie on an air conditioning vent. I wanna mainline a pony keg of Gatorade.”

I attempt to explain my rationale again. “She’s gonna notice us out here. She’s gonna notice us and then she’s gonna invite us in, at which point we’re gonna be charming and shit and it’ll all happen from there,” I say. “My plan is foolproof.”

Kent tugs at his vintage Run-D.M.C. Adidas T-shirt, which is now drenched in perspiration and clinging to his narrow frame like a second skin.

“Please. Your ‘plan’ is the opposite of foolproof.” Kent makes air quotes with his fingertips when he says the word plan. “This is the worst ‘plan’ in the history of ‘plans.’ If this ‘plan’ were in World War II, this would be your Stalingrad. PS, you’re the Germans losing 330,000 men in this scenario, not the Soviet resistance. Pretty sure MENSA’s revoking your membership over said ‘plan.’”

Kent’s probably right, but I refuse to admit it. See, I’m so desperate to meet this girl that I don’t even care. While it sounds premature, I have a good feeling about her and I can already tell she’s different in all the right ways. (I’m not psychic. My mom had the 411 long before the first moving truck arrived. She’s not only on the Homeowners’ Association but she’s also the Realtor who listed the house.)

I’ve been thinking about this girl ever since I heard she existed. Scoop is, the family’s here from London and the mom’s writing some book about the suburbs. Maybe one of those coffee-table books, wide and thick, with as many pictures as words? North Shore makes total sense because nowhere is more suburban than here.

I’m serious—we should be listed in Wikipedia under “suburbs” because this town elevates the suburbs game to a whole new level. Peace and quiet? Check. Amazing school system? Check. Lots of natural beauty and green space? Check. Nonexistent crime stats? Check.

Beyond that, North Shore sets rules on how things should look. Image is everything up here. For example, like every other suburban town, we have a McDonald’s. However, there are no golden arches out front of ours, ’cause someone decided that would be tacky. Instead, there’s a small, tasteful wooden sign posted amid a bunch of wild roses. Also, the restaurant’s housed in a big green Shaker-style barn, with columns and white-paned windows.

It’s weird.

The town’s as strict with home standards as it is with businesses. Like, no one’s allowed to chop down trees on their own property without a permit, so every home is surrounded by lots of old-growth oaks. Most of the houses, especially those close to the lake like ours, sit on two or three acres. (Ask me how much this sucked when we used to trick or treat. We wanted candy, not cardio.)

Basically, North Shore’s nothing but big ol’ houses on huge green lawns, yogurt shops, and fancy, useless designer boutiques. I hate having go all the way up to Gurnee or Libertyville to buy comic books, yet there’s three places downtown to pick up a two-hundred-dollar sweater for your purse dog. I’d be all, Who wants that stuff?

Except I know at least ten people who would.

Anyway, the new family bought the Barat house, which is why I feel conflicted about being excited that they’re here. I hadn’t talked to Paulie much since junior high, or hung out with him since grade school, but it’s still really sad. My mom, who’s usually totally in the know, isn’t 100 percent sure where the Barats went. Their attorneys handled the sale because the family hauled ass out of North Shore ASAFP.

I can’t blame them.

The new girl’s dad is this world-famous, super-eccentric British artist with a man-bun. I looked up a lot of his stuff online. He’s always doing these avant-garde art installations, often so bizarre they end up on the news. I read a listicle on BuzzFeed about him. The piece that stuck out most was his exhibit in Burundi, a country where something like 75 percent of all the residents are undernourished. The guy built a replica of McDonald’s golden arches out of bags of liposuctioned fat as a statement about global inequality.

What did that even smell like once the sun hit it?

(FYI, his piece was not shaped like a Shaker-style barn.)

My point is, no one’s like that here in North Shore; no one has that kind of social conscience.

No one’s super-eccentric.

No dads have man-buns, that’s for damn sure.

The girl’s name is Simone and she’s my age and on her Instagram, she’s smokin’ hot, but not in a fake, plastic-y way like everyone else in this town. Maybe that’s because her mom was a famous model. Simone’s got this long, coffee-colored wavy hair that’s shaved on one side and she kind of dresses like a vocalist from a ’70s rock group. The times I’ve spied her from the street, she’s been wearing lots of scarves and bangles and other cool stuff that definitely does not come from J. Crew.

Simone has a casual elegance, like a Disney princess who doesn’t know what she is because an evil queen gave her amnesia and forced her to live in the forest. She strikes me as worldly and wise and chill, deep and interesting in a way that all the brittle future sorority girls in my school are not. She definitely doesn’t seem like the type of girl who’d eviscerate you for the cardinal sin of asking her to a middle school mixer, leaving you shamefaced and speechless in the middle of the cafeteria, too terrified to ever try again.

Kent says no one could have possibly have drawn these opinions, nobody could have come up with all these positive character traits by simply walking past her house.

I maintain that he couldn’t because he has no imagination; he’s too linear in his thinking. That’s also why I always beat him at chess.

I wouldn’t expect him to understand my fascination with Simone. He’s been obsessed with this generic blonde goddess named Mallory since grade school. I bet Mallory wouldn’t even bother to spit on him if he were on fire, but I keep that to myself. Kent soldiers on in his relentless pursuit, hope springing eternal. He kind of reminds me of a dog chasing a car when it comes to Mallory—he’s never going to catch the vehicle and he’d have no clue what to do with it if he did, but damned if he ever stops running behind it.

While he might whine about stalking Simone, he’s helping me anyway.

“There’s no fluid left in me—I sweated it all out. I’m literally leeching salt at this point,” Kent complains. He swipes his forehead and rubs his fingers against his palm. I hear the grit when he scrapes his hand against itself but pretend I don’t.

He says, “Seriously, bro, there’s a crust on my brow. Come on, Stephen... It’s over. Give it up. Let’s head to the beach. I wanna go walk directly into the lake, like, shoes and all, I don’t even care.”

I need to admit defeat.

And yet...

“One more pass?” I want this to sound like a command, a marching order, but my words come out more plaintive than planned.

He narrows his eyes and stares me down for a solid thirty seconds. “You suck.”

I guess plaintive worked.

We turn at the corner for our final walk-by when we see her garage door opening in the distance. Like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, Simone comes into focus from the darkness of the garage, her form slowly revealed as the door inches upward, only instead of being surrounded by angels while naked astride a clamshell (my preference), she’s standing in front of a mountain of cardboard, buttressed by recycling bins.

She is the embodiment of divine love, august gold, wreathed and beautiful, clad in the heavenly raiment of a baggy, tie-dyed overall dress.

Oh, yes. She will be mine.

“You said that out loud, dude,” Kent tells me. “You may want to work on keeping your internal monologue, you know, internal.”

Simone spots us and waves.

“Check it out, she’s waving!” Kent says, shielding his eyes with his hand as he squints down the long, curved, sun-drenched driveway. Every house in our ’hood is set back from the curb no less than one-tenth of a mile. (Again, this blew at Halloween. Batman shouldn’t have to wear gym shoes.)

Kent continues, “No, that’s not a wave. She’s gesturing for us to come up to her garage. Yes! Score! You know, I doubted you, Cho. I did. Thought we were wasting our time, but you proved me wrong. Get up there and claim your woman. ’Bout time something good happened around here.” He gives me a small push in her direction.

“Walk faster,” I hiss, my heart beginning to race like a hamster on a wheel. “Actually, run.”

Kent comes to a dead stop. “Aw, hell no. Not this again. I am not walking faster and I’m sure as shit not running. I did not just sweat out half my body weight going back and forth for you to wuss out when you finally get your chance to talk to her. You wanted her to see you? Mission accomplished. Get your ass up there and have a conversation. ’Cause I’m done here. We have less than a week left before school starts and the last thing I wanna do is stand in the blazing hot street for one more second. Now, I’m going for a swim and you’re gonna go work your magic. Text you later.”

He walks toward the wooded path that leads to the residents-only beach on Lake Michigan a couple of blocks away while I stand frozen by her mailbox.

I want to talk to her. I do.

I want to work my magic.

I want to so badly...but I just can’t.

Maybe Kent’s not the dog who’s caught the car. Maybe it’s me.

I open my mouth to try to explain but the words won’t come out.

Kent’s a whole house away when he glances over his shoulder. He sees that I haven’t moved. He looks at a bemused Simone—she’s still midwave—and then at me. With a small shake of his head, he jogs back over. He’s out of breath by the time he reaches me.

Grudgingly, Kent says, “I could probably be your wingman for a few more minutes.” Relief washes over me and I’m able to move again. We start walking up the drive together.

He asks, “How is it that you’re both the smartest and the dumbest guy in our school?”

I shrug.

If I knew, then I’d tell him.

KENTMATHERS

“You are coming across as a fucking lunatic right now, you hear me?”

Stephen won’t look at me.

I tell him, “You don’t seem like someone walking up to introduce himself to a girl he’s been crushing on, oh, no. You look like someone who wants to make an ottoman out of her skin. Take a deep breath and chill.”

I’m trying to not sound as frustrated as I feel...and totally failing.

I don’t know how Stephen always ropes me into his schemes, but here we are. A-fucking-gain. All I want to do is go to the beach and catch some sun so that I don’t look like I spent the summer walking to and from the dorms at Physics Camp (which I did). I mean, I can live with being short and I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m still carded for PG-13 movies, but I draw the line at a farmer’s tan. One good afternoon on the sand; that’s all I need.

Yet am I chillin’ on the shores of Lake Michigan gettin’ my bronze on?

No.

Instead, I’m on another one of Mr. Cho’s Wild Rides and I’m over it.

Stephen’s always all about this false bravado, Mr. I Have a Plan and Mr. I Will Make It So. He’s such a nerd that he actually draws what he envisions. I mean, he storyboards out the whole damn thing. Because he’s so good at picturing himself Making It So with the Plan He Has, we reach the point where everything clicks and he actually could achieve his goal but then he chickens out and blows everything.

He had one job today, which was to go up and say hey to the new girl, and he can’t even do that on his own.

I want to help him, I do, but being his keeper is getting old. We’ve been locked in this wingman dance since we met in preschool. This is his pattern. Today reminds me of when we used to go to the waterpark in the Wisconsin Dells as kids. The whole school year, he’d boast about jumping off the high dive and all the flips and somersaults he’d do, comparing himself to Sammy Lee, the first Asian American to win Olympic gold in platform diving. How he’d be a better diver than anyone else at the pool because he understood aerodynamics and would use that to his benefit. I have no doubt that’s true. Stephen’s getting early acceptance to MIT, count on that. Dude’s got a brain the size of Montana.

But then he’d climb up, tiptoe to the edge of the board, look at the water and freak the fuck out.

Everyone would have to scramble off the ladder so that he could climb down. He’d talk a huge game but couldn’t follow through, could never commit. He didn’t dive off the big board, not once. He had zero confidence in his execution, regardless of having it perfect on paper.

His problem is, he builds all this stuff up in his head. Thinking about whatever he wants to do ends up being so much scarier than the act itself that it cripples him. The only reason he ever made it down the giant slide at the park is that I went in tandem with him.

I can only say, “Just do it” so many times.

I mean, I’m not a goddamned Nike T-shirt.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s great at what he knows. He’s the strongest competitor on our Physics Olympics team. But the second there’s not a set answer to a question or he encounters an untrodden path, he falls apart.

The bitch of it is, I bet he has a chance with this girl. At a cursory glance—and given the full, rich backstory Stephen’s already assigned Simone, provided it’s true—she could be a match. I mean, I spend all day, every day with him, so I know he’s interesting. He has to be, for me to put up with all his bullshit. He can fascinate me and I’m not easily entertained. When he feels comfortable, he’ll talk at length about any subject, and he’s not like those boring-ass meatheads at school who are All Sports, 24/7.

At the very least, Stephen could be the first guy to ask her out here in North Shore. They don’t have to fall in love; maybe they could be great buds. Maybe no end zone, just friend zone? At least he’d have tried to score, you know? But if I weren’t here walking him down the long-ass driveway, telling him to not look like a goddamned serial killer, even that would have no chance of happening.

I don’t want to be all, He holds me back! because that’s a shitty thing to say about my best friend.

Although sometimes I think about where I’d be if we hadn’t met, if my parents had bought that smaller house in Kenilworth and not the one a few miles up the road in North Shore. Then he’d be my archrival at the Physics Olympics and not my closest companion.

Would that be so bad, I wonder?

Would we push each other toward greatness, his Tesla to my Edison?

Guess we’ll never know.

The closer we come to the garage, the more Stephen slows, and I feel like I’m dragging a reluctant mule to market.

Ridiculous.

On second thought, I wonder if Stephen’s just freaked out about this being the Barats’ old house. Didn’t happen here, but there’s still kind of a bad vibe, you know? We hung out with Paulie all the time when we were little. But Stephen and I stopped running around with Paulie around the time that friendships solidify more because of shared interests and less due to geographical proximity.

Neither of us ever fought with Paulie, never had a falling-out or anything. We just went in different directions. It happens, you know? God, though, I felt so bad for everyone in his family, especially his little sister, Anna. How do you even deal when you’re twelve?

Stephen took it extrahard. He was fixated on the whole thing, to the point that I was secretly kinda glad about going to a different camp than him over the summer.

I thought he was moving on, but what if he’s not? Maybe that’s why he’s suddenly panicky about his plan working. Maybe he’s freaked out about seeing the inside of Paulie’s house again.

When we’re about ten feet away from Simone, I get my first good look at her. Beyond her mountain of dark hair, I notice her eyes, which are a warm amber color. Through Stephen’s extensive social media stalking, he found out that her grandfather’s from India. But for being part Indian, her skin’s surprisingly pale and she’s covered in freckles. She’s cute in a messy, hipster way, except she doesn’t give off a pretentious vibe. She strikes me as the kind of girl who’d forget she’d stuck a paintbrush behind her ear

While she may not be my type, I see what intrigues Stephen. She’s about the first girl up here who doesn’t come across as a miniature version of all our mothers, with sculpted triceps, blown-straight hair, and a splashy floral tank dress.

(Is it weird/kind of oedipal that I find that combination oddly erotic? Wait, don’t answer that.)

“Cheers!” she says. I don’t hear much of a British accent. Huh. Thought she was from England? “We have a right mess going here. Look at this rubbish—we’re practically drowning in it! Can you please tell me when and how they collect the wheelie bins?”

I can’t help it, I start laughing at her turn of phrase while Stephen shoots me a murderous look, I mean, really full of poison. I get a hold of myself, explaining, “Sorry. That sounded exactly like something Mary Poppins would say. By the way, hi, I’m Kent Mathers.”

She holds out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Mary P.”

Stephen bleats, “I thought you were Simone!”

I want to face-palm out of secondhand embarrassment but I quickly interject with a subject change to afford him some dignity. “So, the garbage cans and recycling bins are picked up on our street on Tuesdays and Fridays. Just leave them by your garage and a guy from Streets and Sanitation will pull up to the side of your house in a little golf cart.”

“That’s brilliant!” she exclaims.

“Nothing but the best for North Shore,” I say.

“A bit fancy here, isn’t it?” she replies, which is an understatement in the same way that saying that the ocean’s fairly sizable or a Maserati’s kind of a zippy ride. The average home around here has six bedrooms and just as many baths. And everyone renovates their kitchen every five years. God forbid we keep our almond milk in a fridge from 2010.

Simone tells us, “My friend Cordelia says my strategy for America should be finding the biggest bitch in school and immediately taking her down. Is she right?”

“Hmm,” I reply, pretending to muse. “That’s less ‘high school’ and more ‘prison.’ You should probably Netflix Glee and also Orange Is the New Black.”

“I shall make a mental note. I already feel you’re both full of helpful advice, you possibly more than him,” she says with a grin in Stephen’s direction, “so I insist you come inside for something cold to drink before you melt on the spot.”

Even though she’s teasing, I can see Stephen blanch and yet again I feel like I’ve gotta rescue him.

“Okay, very important to discuss before we come in and definitely will determine if we’re gonna be friends,” I say, referencing the one subject that will absolutely, positively draw Stephen out of his shell and into the conversation. “Are you Biggie or are you Tupac?”

She tilts her head to the side. “As in...Smalls and Shakur?”

“Uh-huh. As in the most violent and hotly contested rap rivalry from the mid ’90s.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks thoughtful. “When my parents were our age, they said they could immediately identify kindred spirits by scanning their vinyl/cassette/CD collections, but now that music’s digital, it’s impossible to walk into someone’s home and assess their tastes. Kind of a shame, really.”

“You’re dodging the question,” I say.

“Not a dodge, just providing context. Honestly, my musical proclivities are profoundly eclectic. I listen to everything from opera to Swedish death metal depending on my mood.”

I raise an eyebrow. “There you go, dodging again. This gonna be a thing with you?”

She makes an X mark over her heart. “No, promise, won’t be a thing.”

“Then what’s your answer? Or did you need to step into your car first to collect your thoughts?” She seems confused as I peer around the four-car garage. I clarify, “You do drive a Dodge, right?”

Simone holds up her hands in the universal stop symbol and I notice she’s wearing dozens of funky bracelets. Do they get in the way in the bathroom?

(Is that a strange thing to wonder?)

“Okay, okay. Point taken. Hmm... Who do I prefer? Well, both artists had such an influence on modern hip-hop that to choose one over the other would be like deciding between peanut butter and chocolate. Both are perfect, for different reasons.”

My suddenly mute friend Stephen avoids eye contact and traces circles on the floor with the tip of his sneaker. Some days it’s like I want to take video of him so he can see how he comes across. Bro, give me something to work with here.

(I should storyboard that shit out for him.)

I persist, “Oh, you must be into baseball because clearly you root for the Dodgers. Listen, anyone who’s familiar with the genre has an opinion. Can you like them both? Absolutely. But you have to prefer one over the other. So who’s it gonna be—Biggie or Tupac?”

“I feel like there’s a lot of hidden weight in this question,” she says, tucking a wild strand of dark hair back into her scruffy topknot.

“There is,” I reply. In my peripheral vision, I see Stephen sizing up all the cardboard. Ten bucks says he’s mentally drawing himself inside a fort made of boxes.

Simone tucks her thumbs into her dress pockets and leans back on her heels. “You understand my reticence, what with being new and all.”

“I do.”

“I clearly run the risk of alienating one of you, potentially both.”

I nod. “Distinct possibility.”

“One that I fear.”

“Right now, your choice is the Schrödinger’s cat of opinions. At this moment, you say you prefer both Biggie and Tupac but that can’t be. It’s simply not the natural state. You have to be one or the other. We need to open this box and find out for sure.”

I like her.

I don’t like her like her but she seems fun, seems like she’d be a fine addition to our crew. Let’s be honest, it’s a fairly exclusive crew, as Stephen and I aren’t exactly the most popular kids in school. We’re not hated, we’re just not even...considered, you know? Adding an interesting person to our social circle could only make our senior year better. We used to be friends with everyone growing up, but people started to splinter four or five years ago, forming their own cliques, and now Stephen and I are way too insular. We’re a party of two, which is kind of depressing.

Maybe if we tried a little harder, we’d be invited to stuff. We’d be welcomed back into the fold, reintroduced into NSHS’s social scene. (People are always crying about all the drinking and the drug use among high school students up here, but I’ll be damned if I’ve ever even seen any.)

However, Simone’s not going to want to be around me and my fascinating friend Stephen if he can’t find a way to open his goddamned mouth and interact.

“Then, my answer is... Me Against the World,” she says, naming off a Tupac album.

Stephen breaks into a massive smile and fist bumps Simone, the thrill of this unexpected victory infusing him with a turbocharge of confidence. “I’m Stephen, Stephen Cho. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I exhale.

He may just be okay after all.

WANT MORE? ADD IT TO YOUR GOODREADS AND ORDER IT TODAY!

#The Gatekeepers #Jen Lancaster #ya books #ya reads #bookworm

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ethicallysourcedhumanmeat · 7 years ago

Text

Practically Impractical: 30

[ < ][First][ > ]

Just a reminder my asks are open for Seven and Saeran’s Birthday this weekend.

[AO3][Masterpost]

She was so bored. It had been a week in the new house, a week home from the hospital, stuck in the brace, with explicit instructions to do nothing that could not be completed left handed until further notice and what seemed like an army of friends ready to enforce those instructions.

Not to mention she was largely alone. Zen had been keeping his head down while his blacklist sorted itself out, spending a lot of time at Surana’s dance studio, or at the hospital with the children the two of them had been working with. Yoosung was now chest deep in clinicals, with the house so far out he couldn’t even swing by for a minute on his way home. Saeyoung and Saeren insisted she couldn’t see the bunker until it was finished and Jaehee and Jumin simply worked normal jobs.

Cookies and Punch still had her on disability so she didn’t even have media licences to sort out for her old crew, and tournament season was over so no reason to even get dressed and leave the house, aside from going for a walk, but you could only do that so many times in a day.

She met with her physiotherapist every second day. Jumin had hired someone to come to the house but at this point she would have rather had to go somewhere. This morning she’d finally been approved to leave the brace off during the day time on a trial basis. It had only taken her 2 hours to do all the little things the boys had missed cleaning up.

She’s so bored she calls Surana and begs her to come by.

“Please, I have this studio and the boys will kill me if I practice alone.”

“Somehow you think this makes you special, deserving of in private home lessons?” Surana’s voice is dry, but Callie is sure she’s intrigued, probably has been since Martin called her.

“No,” Callie admits, “but wouldn’t you like to tell me all the ways I’ve disappointed you in the comfort of my house, while you fold me into uncomfortable positions and drink my expensive wine?”

There is a long suffering sigh on the other end of the line. “My morning classes end in an hour Amy. You will have lunch prepared for me, and then I will consider causing you pain. “

“I’ll thank you either way,” Callie says.

When the dancer gets there a light lunch is on the table with a bottle of Jumin’s wine. Surana is suitably wooed. Callie leaves Surana with her second glass of wine and cleans up their lunch dishes. Surana follows her to the studio and watches as Callie unlatches the shelves on either side of the room, turns them on their wheels and hooks them back into place. Each unit holding her neatly displayed instrument cases turning to reveal a mirrored back.

Surana makes a small impressed sound and Callie tends to the music while the petite woman begins to strip off layers until she looks almost exactly the way Callie remembers her.

It’s more than an hour later and Callie is dripping with sweat, the music had increased in severity and merged with the forceful way Surana instructs. There’s a barrage of insults and disappointed noises and Callie doesn’t hear the door to the house.

“You never fail to disappoint me,” Surana says grabbing her by the calf.

She grabs onto the bar with her good hand as she feels her balance falter and lets her heel fall back to the floor. “Shit.” She grunts.

“If Delonge thinks that you and that wet noodle you’ve sent me will do anything together he is as foolish as he ever was.”

“Still trying to compete with me?” Callie laughs.

“You were never competition,” Surana snorts.

“Didn’t stop you.”

They both laugh and then simultaneously jump when a man clears his throat in the living room. Callie spins around but Surana simply makes aggressive eye contact through the mirror.

“Has this been approved as part of your recovery?”

“Hello Mr. Han. Welcome to my home, can I offer you a drink,” Callie smiles and grabs the loose shirt she’d stripped off 3 drills in.

Jumin’s father stands in the middle of her living room and folds his arms. Surana continues to stare.

“I guess,” she continues smiling, “you don’t get updates anymore now that my doctor works for Jumin, but yes, as long as I am conscious of my shoulder and don’t attempt anything too complicated alone I am allowed to dance.” She fumbles with her phone and fires off a text to Jumin while she turns down the music.

“I see,” he frowns at her. “And this woman here is qualified to instruct you?”

Callie puts a hand on Surana’s shoulder when she spins around to face the Chief. “Mr. Han I’m sure you’ve heard of Surana Iwakura? We trained together as children, she’s danced in the Uk, and Russia, she owns three studios, one in the UK, one here and another overseas.”

His eyes narrow but he nods.

“And Surana I’m sure you know of Mr. Han, my friend Jumin’s father, the Chairman at C&R, my boss basically.”

Surana snorts. “I suppose we can end this farce here, perhaps once you start visiting me in my studio this room will not seem like such a waste.” She begins pulling her shed layers back on to leave while watching Callie carefully.

Surana had never been her friend but she could see that she was uncomfortable leaving her alone with a clearly uninvited man in her home.

“Mr. Han,” Callie continues to smile, “would you like to join us for supper tonight, Jumin is picking Max up from school today, she’s been begging to see you again, and I did promise to cook for you.” She says to put the other woman at ease.

Surana shrugs and makes for the door.

Callie turns off the light in the studio and pulls the sliding door shut. She never stops smiling at Jumin’s father, who simply stands in the living room watching her.

“Mr. Han, don’t get me wrong I appreciate everything you’ve done for my recovery, and I was expecting this visit, but could you please relax and let me get you something, before I listen to your lecture?”

His face relaxes. “I offered that hospital a lot of money.”

“And I told them they’d still get it,” she says, arms folded.

“Confidently I assume,” he frowns.

“I am home,” she laughs. “Mr. Han, we both know your altruism was not for my benefit. I know Jumin was a mess but I have a kid too and as much as Jumin probably benefited from having me in the hospital where he could keep an eye on me Max needed me more.” She stops smiling, he soft tone goes hard. “Not to mention that I assumed Jumin was the one responsible for keeping me there and was, understandably I think, frustrated with him for that.

“All of this being completely moot as I’ve done the short program for this recovery more than once and am an adult, capable of being in charge of my own recovery, capable of making my own choices. I’m not beholden to your or Jumin.”

He follows her to the kitchen while she calmly lectures him, his frown replaced with his usual bemused expression. She hands him 3 fingers of scotch.

“Could you explain to me, Ms. Miller, how capable you are in that respect? Considering what you’ve been doing this afternoon?”

“I didn’t take my second dose of painkillers, or muscle relaxers,” she says calmly. “Specifically so that I would be acutely aware of any negative impact on my shoulder. In the hospital I was forced to take what they give me when they give it to me, I am always medicated for my exercises and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve got a few issues with pride?”

He chuckles.

“I push myself too hard in the hospital because I can’t feel the impact of my own stubbornness, so being home is good for me. However I have a feeling you showing up when you assumed I would be alone was not just an attempt to lecture me on how seriously I’m taking my recovery.”

Callie continues on with her work in the kitchen, she’s pulling out vegetables, cutting boards, knives, frying pans, and spices.

“You’re an observant woman Ms. Miller.”

“I can read people,” she laughs. “You’re particularly easy.”

He frowns.

“Oh not in the board room,” she laughs. “But you are an open book when faced with most women.”

He shrugs. “I’ve suspected for a while.”

“About Jumin and I?”

He nods.

“And you’ve asked Jumin.”

“You know what my son is like,” he shakes his head.

“He’s very private,” she nods not looking up from her cutting board. “And I’m afraid I respect his feelings on that so I am not sure if I can help you out here.”

“Your situation is not unique,” he says.

“Mr. Han,” she looks up at him from across the counter, and points the knife at him like and extension of her finger, “I’m afraid you’re not even a little aware of our situation and I am not going to clarify or justify it to you. That is between Jumin and you.”

“Could you at least tell me if this situation will affect my business?”

She snorts and has to cover her mouth. When she’s finished laughing she smiles widely at him. “I can say with the utmost sincerity that it will not. Mr. Han we have a bit of a gathering on Friday evenings, like I said you’re welcome to stay, maybe that would ease your mind?”

Now that the music is off she can hear a car pulling up outside and she can tell by the way he adjusts his shoulders he has heard it too.

“Calliope could you tell me one thing, without breaking my son’s confidence in you?”

“I can try?”

“Is he happy, with whatever arrangement you’ve made?”

“Mr. Han, you could stay, even just a little while if you have dinner plans, and see for yourself.”

The door swings open and Max bursts into the room, followed by Jumin who is laden with her jacket, hat, backpack, and a huge stuffed wolf. She throws herself at her mother and then grabs the wolf and runs off. Jumin is hanging Max’s things in the entry way.

“So what did my father want?” He asks, unable to see his around the corner. “He didn’t stay long did he?”

“Well,” she starts, frowning at Mr. Han.

“Did Saeyoung get a new car?” Jumin asks, coming into the kitchen. His entire demeanor changes when he sees his father. “Oh.”

“I was just inviting your father to stay for dinner,” she says.

He glances around the room. “Oh, I’m not sure he’d be interested.”

“It’s alright Jumin,” his father laughs. “I have plans of my own.”

Jumin’s eyes narrow on the empty wine bottle in the sink. “Calliope, you’re not supposed to be drinking on the muscle relaxers you’re taking.”

“Good thing I didn’t take them this afternoon,” she smirks and the bacon she’s been cutting sizzles as it hits the hot pan.

He frowns at his father. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” Callie answers. “Did Jaehee mention if we’d see her tonight?”

“Ms. Kang does not usually share her plans with me,” he frowns.

“Mom,” Max yells from the stairs, “when is Uncle Zen going to be here?”

“I don’t know,” Callie calls back walking past Jumin and his father, “you’re not asking because you named that wolf Zen are you?”

“His name is Ryu II,” she shrieks and cackles. Callie can hear her heavy footfalls running up the stairs.

Jumin is stirring the bacon in the pan when she comes back to the kitchen and his father appears to be leaving.

“It was very nice to see you Mr. Han.”

“You as well Ms, Miller,” he nods.

“We do this every Friday, you’re always welcome.” Her smile never falters.

“I will consider what you told me.”

Callie shrugs, and goes back to cooking. Jumin has hung his jacket over pantry doorknob and rolled his sleeves up. He watches her carefully while she finishes cutting the vegetables she’d pulled out. She sets them aside and opens another bottle of wine. She pours them both a glass and he frowns at her.

“What did you tell my father?” He still hasn’t relaxed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she laughs and takes entirely too big of a drink from her glass.

Jumin frowns. “I did ask.”

“The chief didn’t just drop by to lecture me about leaving the hospital, I mean he did that, and we had a talk about how I am also a parent and an adult.”

“Did that go well for you?”

“We’ve established your father loves me, so of course.”

Jumin laughs.

Callie crosses the space between them and brushes his hair out of his face. “Your Dad wanted me to tell him what we are.”

He frowns. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him that he should ask you, that it’s not my place to speak on your behalf, and that I was sure that if he was asking me that question he probably already knew the answer.”

“Was he satisfied with that answer?”

“He’s a Han so of course not,” she laughs and kisses him on the nose. “Of course he assumes the worst about Saeyoung and worries about your reputation. I told him if he had concerns he should talk to you, or he could stay for dinner and see how little he has to worry about our arrangement with his own eyes.”

His frown deepens.

“I’m not going to lie to your Dad, especially when he’s just worried about you. I respect that you don’t think it’s his business and I understand that you’re Dad would probably accept his assumptions easier than the truth. You don’t have to tell him and I didn’t clarify. But I’m not going to straight up lie, he just wants to see you happy, you know?”

“I can respect that,” Jumin says hugging her.

#mystic messenger #jumin han #Callie miller #original characters #mystic messenger jumin #Mystic messenger poly relationship #practically impractical

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