#And of course jenny is right there with him too with some steel types and Hmmm

[varietales]

Pokemon AUs 🥺

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

with all appliances and means to boot: ncis/tiva fic

for this challenge, @loudlooks​ requested Tiva + "I didn't know you could do that." thank you for the inspiration!! *hugs*

set summer between S3-4 w/ team dynamics & tiva (a LOT of tiva—they took over the fic, basically, and I’m not sorry about it) 

also, this turned out like eight times longer than I expected & was the most fun and freeing thing I’ve worked on in years, so

enjoy:) 

FFN

“I didn’t know you could do that!” 

McGee’s voice filtered over news-chattering televisions, incessantly ringing phones, and chicken-clacking keyboards to reach Tony at his desk. 

“There was no reason to mention it earlier. It is not exactly a useful skill, my friend.” Ziva’s full-throated chuckles were wind chimes amidst the office drudgery.

Tony shook off the eruption of gooseflesh on his arms. It was way too early for that. And McGee was babbling again.

“I’ve just never met someone in real life who could do it.”

“Really?!”

A boom of shared laughter enveloped them.

Glancing at the digital read-out on his monitor, Tony silently cheered. 9:07. Totally busted. Then he pretended to be busy with paperwork, so his attention was occupied ahead of time. 

The agents’ conversation lowered until it faded completely, coinciding with their entrance into the squadroom.

Tony had that effect on them now. The tables, as the saying went, had turned. They were the class troublemakers to his super-strict teacher. They, the unruly cadets, and he, the veteran drill sergeant. They were Agents; he was Boss. 

“Agent McGee. Officer David. You’re late.” 

McGee froze while swinging around his desk. Ziva froze after dropping her gear. Tony continued to stare yet not see the file in front of him, but he didn’t need visual confirmation to know the teammates were exchanging glances, coordinating their plan of counterattack. 

“Well, technically we were in the building on time.” The opening lob courtesy of McGee. 

“Technically, that’s not good enough, McTardy.”

“It was when you were wearing our shoes.” 

Tony fought an eye roll. “You can’t throw me off the scent with a well-timed idiom blunder, Officer David.” 

“Can’t I, Tony?” Ziva’s voice was louder, closer to him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he spied her leaning on the divider between their workspaces. So close now, he caught a whiff of her lavender mint shampoo as she flicked at a cascade of curls that had fallen over her shoulder. If this was their strategy, well, it wasn’t the worst angle. 

But Tony DiNozzo was better. 

“No, you can’t,” he reiterated, finally gracing each of them in turn with his steady gaze. Calm, yet intense. Everything rumbling beneath the surface. “And it’s Agent DiNozzo. Or Boss.” 

Ziva stared back, golden-brown eyes matching his intensity, but not the calm. She rattled off a string of heated Hebrew, ending with a sharp snap of her teeth before spinning around on her heel and dropping heavily into her desk chair.  

Crazy chick.

“So, anyway. Just to be clear: If you’re here after me, you’re late. Period.” Tony slapped a case folder closed, causing his desk to tremble; he could emphasize his words, too. “For today, you can make amends by telling me whatever it is McGee didn’t know Ziva could do. I’m thinking it involves lots of stretching, but if there’s a video game reference, leave it out. Go!” 

And like that, authority forfeited for curiosity. 

McGee did roll his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like waste of time under his breath. Ziva scoffed, typing noisily at her computer and decidedly not looking in Tony’s direction. 

“That’s an order.” Even he didn’t buy the command. 

9:10. The day was shot. 

. . . 

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks as leader of MCRT were going, he’d say, “Good, considering the circumstances,” with a flash of white teeth. He didn’t like to lose face, sure, but he was pretty confident it was the truth, too.

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge of a team that for years affectionately regarded you as The Class Clown, the circumstances weren’t on your side and ‘good’ was the most you could hope for.

. . . 

“What did you do?” 

Passing through the automatic doors, Tony came up short—as much due to the always assaulting antiseptic stench as the accusation. “Why do you assume I did something wrong? Can’t I come see my favorite Autopsy Gremlin with no ulterior motive?” 

“Sure you can,” Palmer called from the freezer section, where he was sliding a corpse home. “But I already talked to Abby, who talked to McGee.” 

Fantastic.

“So before, with the ‘what did you do?’...that was kind of redundant, huh?”

“Guess so.” A dorky chortle escaped the assistant. “I mean, seriously, they were only late by a couple minutes, Tony. Sorry, Agent DiNozzo.” Another hiccup of laughter. 

Great. Just great. 

“Gee, I was hoping I could escape some of the ridicule down here....” Tony pressed his palms against the cold steel of an autopsy table, shoulders hunched, depositing weight into the defeated stance. All his course-correcting tactics, including buying his team lunch, had done little to reverse the morning’s death blow. McGee and Ziva were ignoring him aside for a lone campfire, and then their interactions were clipped—aggressively so where the ex-assassin was concerned. Now the damage was spreading to the sub-basement, it seemed. 

“Look on the bright side, you’re the team leader. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?” Palmer mirrored Tony on the other end of the table, adjusting his glasses before adding, “This is a bump in the road, but no one ever achieved greatness without first overcoming resistance.” 

“That’s wise, Palmer. For a man who talks to the dead. You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“What McGee didn’t know Ziva could do?” 

Tony blinked. Maybe they’d been underestimating the Autopsy Gremlin all along. “Yeah. Know anything about it?” 

“It’s not a big deal. We were at the bar last night and first the waitress got Abby’s drink order mixed up, but it was super busy, so I suggested that—”

“Sometime today, Palmer.” 

“Well, it turns out Ziva can knot a cherry stem with her tongue, and then...” 

Oh, it was more wondrous than he’d guessed (and that list was long).

Palmer’s rambling dissolved to the background of Tony’s thoughts. He couldn’t get to the audacity of everyone going out for drinks without him because the dexterity of Ziva’s tongue was front and center. As he was recently familiarized with that very tongue and the talented mouth it resided in, it was all too easy to lose himself in a sexy daydream of the alleged feat.

Until he remembered how pissed she was at him. Bubble, burst. 

. . .

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks sleeping with Ziva, his former partner and current subordinate, were going, he’d say, “What? I’m not—we’re not—how dare—what?!” 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, some of his rules haunted you. 

. . . 

“Rough day?”

Tony looked up right away. It was best not to play games with the director, who emerged stealthily in the dim, empty squadroom. He’d dismissed McGee and Ziva at regular quitting time, unable to make eye contact with either of them—for different reasons—but stayed behind to catch up on last week’s case reports. Him, voluntarily completing paperwork. 

Rough was an understatement.  

“I see my shortcomings are making the rounds.” 

Jenny’s smile was beautifitic, the one she wore during news interviews. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t seeking it out. I was speaking to Ducky on a separate matter, and he happened to mention talking with Mr. Palmer, who—”

“Got the scoop from Abby because McGee blabbed to her,” Tony finished, barely restrained. “Yeah, I’m well acquainted with the watercooler daisy chain.” 

It didn’t slip his notice that Ziva was the missing link. The text he’d started writing to her the second she disappeared through the elevator doors was unfinished and unsent on his phone. 

“Did you also hear they went for drinks after work without inviting me?” It came out as a whine.

Jenny didn’t mask her amusement. “Did you always invite Gibbs for drinks? No, because he was your boss and you were probably venting about him.”

Touché.

“I’m trying, ma’am.” This he intoned with every fiber of professionalism and sincerity he could summon in the moment. The problem was that this wasn’t his first mistake since taking over—wouldn’t be the last—but he was trying. He wanted that noted. Also, there was an insane learning curve, and yes, big shoes to fill. Could he be blamed for that?

The redhead stepped forward, switching her smile for an expression of...not quite pity. Understanding? “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Robin Hood: Men in Tights?” 

“Shakespeare.” Jenny chuckled, her fair eyes sparkling in the light of his desk lamp. Tony could see why Gibbs was once head-over-heels for her, back when they were partners. He knew something of those complicated emotions, of which the text draft on his phone contained damning evidence. 

“It’s the nature of being in charge,” she continued. “You’re going to have crappy days and plenty of nights when you can’t sleep. My advice, from experience? When you screw up, apologize and do better next time.”  

“Isn’t that a sign of weakness?” It was a reflex, after so many years. 

Jenny caught his eye and held it. “No. It’s a sign of respect.” 

. . .

He was sober when he showed up on her doorstep. Stopping off for some liquid courage briefly flitted through his brain, but flitted out just as quickly. McGee, he could buy a NutterButter, eat some humble pie himself. All would be cool again. Ziva was a different story. 

Namely, a story with a lot of sex in it, and it’d barely been a month yet. That he spent a large portion of the day envisioning her tongue doing erotic dances with a red cherry stem wasn’t helping. It also further convinced him of a brutal truth: Things were changing. Things had already changed. 

Ziva, outlined by the glow from inside the apartment, crossed her arms over a baggy workout t-shirt. Curls piled in a messy bun. It was Tuesday, kickboxing night. “If you are here for a booty call, you will be sorely disappointed.” Each word was wrapped in her delicious Israeli accent, momentarily distracting him from their sum meaning.

He’d expected as much.

“See, when you want to get them right…” Tony’s attempted humor and roguish smile failed to earn him leniency. 

“Goodnight, Boss.”

The door hurtled toward him, closing on his chance to repent—and more than that, his chance with her. His left hand flew up, catching the wood with a few inches to spare. 

“Hey, whoa. Wait. I’m here to apologize, all right?” Breath whooshed in and out of him; sweat beaded instantly on his forehead.  

Okay, so it wasn’t just about the sex. He was enamored with her, and it hadn’t been a full month yet.

Ziva yanked the door back, though the arrangement of her features maintained dubious feelings. She raised her eyebrows in a way that said, Yes, and?

“I was an idiot, Ziva.”

A corner of her delicate mouth pulsed. “Good start.”

The heaviness in his chest released. He dared another smile, softer-gentler this time, and the door stayed open. “I was too hard on you and McGee.”

“You will apologize to him as well, yes?”

“Yes. McSweetTooth will wet himself with glee, I’m sure of it.” Tony shuffled his feet, bringing him onto her brown doormat, never dropping her gaze. “But seriously, Ziva, I know I messed up, especially, you know...I mean, you should be able to call the guy you’re sleeping with by his first name, even if he’s your boss. That is,” he sheepishly tagged on, “if I’m still the guy you’re sleeping with, after today.”

For a bloated handful of seconds, Ziva froze, as she had that morning in the squadroom. Eyes like lasers, drilling through him. It lasted long enough for doubts to creep in. Then—

“Are you?”

So simple, but coupled with her head tilted to expose honeyed neck, her popped knee, and the slight part of her plumped lips, the challenge was clearly set for him. 

This would be fun. 

Tony launched over the doorway, literally sweeping Ziva off her feet as he plowed into the apartment. An honest-to-goodness squeal filled his ears, then that wind-chime laugh took over and his knees wobbled in their sockets—nevermind her 100-something pounds hanging on his torso. 

It was the first time he’d carried her this way—any way—but her arms and legs wrapped around his body with an ease he would have analyzed if not for the supple give of her breasts against his chest, or her frizzy hair tickling his chin. Her mouth alternated between whispering the dirtiest promises in his ear and nibbling on his neck. Thoughts would have to wait. 

How they shut the front door, how they maneuvered the hallway to her bedroom, how they undressed and (eventually) found the bed was a haze of details that didn’t matter. The shudder that coursed through her at his every touch, mattered. The inverted bridge her back made when his lips and tongue met her center, mattered. His name on a gasp, woven into a sigh, lifted to a shout...

In this area, Tony DiNozzo excelled. He was damn well going to prove it. 

. . . 

It took two rounds to sate her. The first go was part of the apology; the second was because he had a young, hot lover who could run eight miles at the crack of dawn, kickbox for an hour after work, and still have energetic sex with him—twice. Who wouldn’t take advantage of that? 

“Guess I got that booty call after all.” He love-tapped her ass, which was bare to the air. He braced for retaliation. 

None came.

Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, Ziva glanced over, fixing him in her line of sight. A smirk hiked up the side of her mouth not buried in the pillow. “As did I, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Never going to live that down, am I?”

“Give it a few months.” Her smirk widened as her eyelids drooped, each blink taking longer and longer to pull back up. 

. . .

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose. 

. . . 

He began talking while they ate cereal in the kitchen at quarter to eleven. He was talking as she cleaned and put away their dishes and led him to the front room, his body going where she steered and nudged. What he voiced was nothing new to either of them. All the same issues that overwhelmed him on a cool May night, that propelled him to Ziva’s door in what would become a habit. He was drowning; she was refuge. 

For that, and so many other reasons, he trusted her without question. 

Ziva allowed him to talk now because that was how he worked out problems. They both knew that, too. 

“I think it comes down to the fact that...I don’t know how to be a team leader that isn’t Gibbs.” The admission floated and settled on the sofa cushion between them. It wasn’t often they said his name anymore. The memory was sore to the touch. 

“We have been over this, yes?” Ziva tossed a leg across his lap, the other tucked beneath her. He immediately claimed the tanned skin of her thigh, rolling it under his hands. “This is a chance to be your type of leader, make your own rules.” 

“Every time I do that, it blows up in my face.”

“Not every time,” she corrected, her eyes darting to his lips and lingering. 

His heart rate ticked up. Very true. They might not have happened if Gibbs hadn’t left. But… “We’re one thing, Ziva. The team is another.”   

She turned his chin with her hand, locking his gaze with her steady and fervent stare. An imposing combination. “Tony, you either keep trying or you quit, just like Gibbs. What will it be?” 

It was Tony’s turn to sneak a not-so-subtle glance at her lips. When she put it like that, the answer was undebatable. What he’d told Jenny wasn’t a lie. And giving up wasn’t an option. 

Didn’t mean he’d hand her the win that easily. 

“How about we make a deal?” While his eyebrows waggled, his hands roamed farther than her thigh. “I persevere with the team leader thing. In exchange, you show off your fancy cherry stem tying prowess for me.” 

Her mouth gaped, eyes narrowing. “Who told you?”

“Palmer. The guy’s actually not a bad sounding board.” He’d have to remember that for future thorny cases. 

Ziva deflected, “I do not have any cherries in the fridge.”

Tony returned, “That wouldn’t stop a true parlor trick magician like yourself.”

Her face reformed in an expression that always intrigued him. A cat devising the perfect trap for her prey. It didn’t surprise him when she stretched her leg out, straddling his lap properly. He circled her low back, drawing her hips over him and generating a spark of friction. There was extra verve in her fingers burrowing the short hairs at his nape, tipping his head upwards. 

“You must really want me to—”

Ziva covered his lips with hers, swallowing his words as they melted to moans. Instead of continuing hot and heavy, everything slowed. Each kiss long and needy, a continuous caress. Her heady spice invaded his senses. The tip of her tongue slipped by his teeth, running the roof of his mouth before pushing in further.

Tony’s spine straightened at the sensation of tongue against tongue, the rough texture, the strokes and flicks. He gripped whatever part of her was in his reach, would likely leave marks. She didn’t flinch. She was all around him, practically tying him in a knot. 

It was exactly how he imagined it, but also superior.

He was smiling when they broke apart, breath imperative for them both. “Your ingenuity is an inspiration, Ms. David.” 

Ziva winked, leaning forward to kiss him again, a casual closed-lipped peck in the wake of such an intimate encounter. And he knew, no matter what came of leading the team, he wanted this—them—to survive. 

“Now you must honor your part of the deal, Tony.” 

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, flipping her onto the cushion and following her down for round three.

. . .

The next day, Tony waited at his car in the parking lot for his team to arrive. He walked into the building with them, and didn’t check the clock in the mornings ever again. 

He apologized to McGee, which just freaked out the newly-appointed Senior Field Agent. As Tony predicted, the Nutter Butter made all the difference. 

By the end of the week, he brought Special Agent Lee onto the team because there was symmetry in four and they needed a probie to act as a buffer. Plus, she was good at meeting case report deadlines and Tony wasn’t.

He doubled-up on campfires and went to Jenny for advice more often. Palmer, too. 

The team went out for drinks, occasionally inviting him to join. Occasionally not. 

A month later, he and Ziva started keeping their love in each other’s hearts along with spare clothes in one another’s dressers. Soon, there would be no sense hiding them anymore. 

And when someone asked Tony how leading his own team was going, he said, “Our results speak for themselves,” and meant it. 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge, you wore the crown and made it your own. 

fin

[analvelocity]

Rubbernecks

This is a submission I wrote for @thewebcomicsreview‘s “Write a Story You Worthless Piece of Shit”, a writing prompt meme with prompts silly enough that I wanted to try my hand at one of them. I realized I haven’t written any prose recently and I felt the itch, so thanks Daniel for giving me an excuse to go mad in front of a Word Doc for way too many hours.

This one, uh, got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope people have at least half as much fun reading it. The prompt I chose was as follows: A middle-aged southern redneck truck driver finds the legendary Kitsune-Neko Katana, the only weapon that can save the world from an invading alien race.

You can find all 4,600+ words of Rubbernecks below the cut.

ANALVELOCITY DOT TUMBLR PRESENTS: RUBBERNECKS

Bobby cracked open the window and felt the now-cooling Mohave air ripple through his cap. As the sun hid once more behind the end of the road, he took off his aviators and hooked them over the top button of his shirt. It was going to be one of the long ones, he could feel it. Just him and the white lines 20 feet ahead of him as he directed 40 tons of cargo through the dusty blackness. This was home to him, and if he was one of those strange monk fellers, he’d much rather be meditatin’ here than on a mountaintop. It was for this reason he chose to leave his radio off, letting the breeze whip his ears at 65 miles an hour as he breathed a sigh of contentment.

This was the life. No Garth Brooks or radio chatter to disturb his personal zen. Always the feelin’ of progress, feelin’ like no matter where you’re gon’ end up, you’ll be right where yer’ meant ta be. When all was said an’ done, there was nothin’ more peaceful than- BOOM. A ripple shook his steel cocoon as he felt an electric shock run from his toes to the last remnants of his hairline. Stunned for a moment, he glanced to his right as he saw blames bellowing out of a line of Joshua Trees running about half a mile of the highway. He could feel ol’ Bessie begin to wobble and shake, and Bobby knew that was a sure sign that he should pull up. As Bobby stepped out of the truck, he felt a blast of hot air lash at his face. He reached into one of the back pockets of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled box of cigarettes. He felt around his pockets. Nothing. He looked up at the door, then again at the bent cigarette in his mouth. With a sigh, he walked up to one of the nearby burning plants and lit it. As he took a couple of puffs and surveyed the landscape, he saw it. At the end of the trail of flame, a series of blinking lights. Now Bobby here was no Boy Scout, but he knew Morse Code when he saw it. “Prob’ly one of them there Wright Brothers types gettin’ ambitious.” He chuckled to himself as he began to walk toward the lights. Far as Bobby was concerned, the ground was good enough for him. His eyes began to readjust to the darkness as he approached the source of the fire. His eyes widened. That was no airplane. The flaming ball of chrome sticking out of the cracked earth before him looked like it had no doors or windows, but as he stepped around it he noticed a single hole burned through what he presumed was the side of it. He inspected the hole, and realized that whatever shot this thing, used some serious hardware. The kind of hardware Jimmy One-Eye would probably give his left nut just ter’ get a look at. Bobby had dealt with more busted radiators in his time than he could count, so he knew this thing was goin’ to be too hot to touch. Still, he left his gloves and kit in the truck, and he needed to get this cargo to LA before morning so he wasn’t interested in staying any longer than he needed to. Bobby’s task was simple - see if there were any survivors, and leave the rest to whatever guvamint acronym dealt with flaming sky eggs. No time to get this engine back runnin’, assumin’ this thing even had an engine.

Wrapping his baseball cap around his right hand, he tested the egg by poking it. Cold to the touch. Cautiously, he put the hat back on his head and placed his bare hand on the surface of the object. A series of beeps. Some more flashing lights. A ripple in the surface, and then beginning to shudder and groan. Bobby stepped back.

The shuddering began to grow and grow in intensity, shivering and rippling as it morphed into alien shapes. Bobby stepped back once more.

Then it stopped. Then it made a tiny, almost imperceptible dinging sound. Then it spat out a girl. At this point Bobby didn’t know how to react. But if he didn’t the egg sure didn’t either as it flung the girl several feet in the air, landing her face-first with a thud at his feet. Bobby leaned over and checked her pulse. He couldn’t feel anything. He rolled her on to her back. She looked Asian, that much he was sure, and covered in deep lacerations and burns from head to toe.

She seemed young, definitely too young to be out of high school. She wore a short blue skirt, the kind of short that would make the most progressive mother clutch her pearls. A white shirt that seemed way too small, exposing her belly button. An odd-looking boy scout necktie that seemed to glow in the dark. She looked like one of those girl hero types that he caught lil’ Jenny watchin’ back at home from time to time. And in her hand, the most absurd looking blade he’d ever seen in his life.

It was long thin blade, with what looked like nine fox tails working as a guard at the hilt. Several inscriptions of cats, were engraved on the blade, each one glowing a searingly bright pink.

“Well that there’s a bit fruity, ain’t it.” He reached down to check her pulse. Nothing. Bobby furrowed his brow. He took his hat back off and wiped the sweat off his forehead. With a sigh, he reached for the sword clasped in her hand and picked it up. What happened after was immediate. The girl’s clothes shifted into some kind of modest private school uniform. But more frighteningly, Bobby felt a surge of energy flow through the sword. Bobby’s world shook, and then everything went black.

********

“Wake up, Chosen-Senpai.”

Bobby shuddered awake to see a blurry figure standing over him. As his eyes adjusted to the bright lights around him, he sat up and felt the shallow pools of water rippling between his fingers. “I ain’t in the Mojave anymore.” As he looked around him, he could see the girl more vividly now. The same girl he pulled from the wreckage, but strangely uninjured.

“Very astute of you, Senpai.” Bobby eyed her with a mix of scorn and confusion. He looked at her, she looked at him. After what felt like half a minute of waiting for the other to say something, Bobby decided to break the ice. “Where ar-“ “The sword holds the past lives of all who have wielded it before. This is the realm where the Chosen meet, to share their combined knowledge and experience with the Hero who wields it.” Bobby’s eyebrow slowly raised. “Who ar-“ “My name is Sakura. Heiress to the GenkiNeko toy chain, forty-seventh wielder of the Neko-Kitsune sword, slayer of the Kawaiiju. I will be your spirit guide on your journey as you continue my work, as the previous owners of the sword have done before me.” Bobby stood up. “Now wait here missy, I ain’t about t-“ “You are the forty-eighth wielder of the Neko-Kitsune sword. It is your destiny.” “I’m a trucker. The only destiny I got is-” “Listen, old man, I like this even less than you do. But the Kawaiiju aren’t going to stop with me. Whether you like it or not, you will need to face them.” Bobby laughed. “Let’s see how these illegal immig’rints handle the 12-gauge I got in the back. I don’t need no’ gay knife fer’ tha-“ “Your shotgun will have no impact on the Kawaiiju, Senpai. Only the sword can pierce their flesh” “Well ain’t that convenient.” Bobby was stunned for a second. He actually finished a sentence with this crazy woman. “What-“ “You must take the sword and follow your path. The sword is just a blade in your hands now, but the Power of Friendship will ignite the Neko-Kitsune Sword’s true power.” “No.” “What?” “I’m not goin’ ter do it. I don’t even know what you want me ter do-“ “You have no choice. It is your destiny.” Bobby scoffed. “Lady, this here?” he gestured to the void surrounding them. “This is America. And it’s my gosh-durned right to do whatever I want. That’s the American wa-” Sakura rolled her shoulders backward and groaned into the sky. “Burgerland, of course. Why did I have to crash here?” Bobby chuckled, looked at the sword still clasped in his hand, then smiled. “Listen, Say-koo-ruh. What if I take this thing to the nearest truck-stop and give it to the first teenager that rolls by?” She paused, pinching her chin between her thumb and forefinger. “That, uh, might work? But there’s a pro-”

“Good, it’s settled then. Now I don’t want ter hear any more of this talk about Nee-Koes and Keet-Soons and Cow-Why-Juice, you hear me?” She shrugged, an almost resigned smirk on her face. “Fine. But when what happens happens, make sure you keep the blade nearby. The last think we need is humanity’s last hope in the hands of an alien invader.”

Bobby shrugged dismissively, and for a while the two stood there for a moment in awkward silence.

“So what the heck is a Sen-Pi-“

********

Bobby shuddered awake, sweating. He checked his watch. Damn, he’d been snoozing out here for 15 minutes. If his boss called in while he was out here, that was probably comin’ out of his paycheck.

“Strange dream.”

He looked around. The sword was still in his hand, but the body was gone. Bobby decided it was probably best not to question it, as he shrugged and made his way back to the truck. On the way, he considered throwing the sword away, but something prevented him.

“Could probably get gas money selling this to a scrapyard.” Bobby chuckled. In fact, now that he thought about it, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

By the time Bobby was settling back into the driver’s seat, he’d already decided on the place – a scrapper mentioned by Billy-Bob in the Trucker’s Network just off the beaten track. And better yet – still on the way to LA.

The past hour, he thought, must have been a hallucination. There were certainly enough engine fumes to rationalize that as such, but a Japanese schoolgirl? That one was certainly new. A pang hit him as he warmed up the engine – was this guilt? Bobby quickly brushed the feeling aside as he pressed his foot against that familiar accelerator.

********

thru-thrum.

A few hours had passed, and a strange feeling washed over Bobby as the white lines on the empty road began to blur together. Hair standing at the back of his neck. A chill of… anticipation? He pushed it aside as he reached to the passenger seat for another cig- hang on, was the sword glowing?

thru-thrum. One eye on the road, he looked across the car and sure enough, leaning against the glovebox was that girly blade. The inscriptions were now pulsing, but the blade itself was now glowing with a pink hue that was growing steadily brighter. This time, Bobby knew he wasn’t hallucinating. thru-thrum. thru-thrum. “The Kitsune-Neko senses her prey. The hunt begins.”

That familiar voice.

THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

“But who is the hunter, and who the hunted?”

“Oh fuck me! Now I’m hearin’ the dead!” THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

Bobby wiped the sweat off his brow. His head was pounding. His hands were shaking. And then, in the corner of his eye, he glanced something in his rear-view mirror. Something advancing. His eyes widened as terror ripped the breath from his throat.

THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

Something giant was slithering along the road at an incredible speed, steadily, advancing on ol’ Bessie. Like a Beanie Baby fucked a Kraken. And it looked livid. Bobby didn’t think. He punched the gas and picked up the microphone on the CB Radio. Shaking, he clicked the button and spoke. “10-33, 10-33. This is Freebird, callin’ from the Interstate 40 en route to Shakytown.” He paused for a moment. “10-33 please respond.” Static. Second after uncomfortable second rolled by. And then, a familar;

“5 by 5, this is the Ludlow Watering Hole. What’s your situation? Over.” He breathed a sigh of relief. But that relief was fleeting as the spectre loomed over his rear-view. But now he knew Maeve was in town. This varmint was gon’ find out the meaning of Southern Hospitality. “I’m about 20 minutes east of your position. I got the hammer down and a bogey on my tail. I need all the drivers you have. And guns. As many as you got. Over.”

A moment.

“Copy that. I’ll contact the boys. You know, I wouldn’t do this for just anyone.” Another sigh of relief. “Oh, and Freebird? Welcome back. Over.” Bobby hung up the mic and glanced at his rear-view. Yep, definitely close now. Whatever he was going to do, he would have to do it fast. And hopefully Maeve wasn’t dragging her feet. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM. THRU-THRUM.

The sound was very loud now, the sword to his right now shimmering with light, shivering like it was itchin’ for a fix of the good stuff. And that’s when he saw the sign - Fender Joe’s House of Scrap. A lightbulb moment – if he was gon’ take this thing on, with or without the Trucker Network, one of them was gon’ die in that metal graveyard. He twisted the steering wheel to the left, and felt Bessie tilt with him. But Bobby knew Bessie like she was his second wife. And with a flourish, the truck righted itself as he flew through the exit. The pursuer was not as elegant, slamming itself into the wall of a nearby overpass, splattering glowing technicolor blood. But the blood stopped in midair, and rushed back to its host as the tentacled monstrosity regained its composure and resumed its pursuit. As it did, the radio once more crackled into life. “10-8, 10-8. Freebird, we have some boys heading to your position. What is your situation with the bogey? Over.” Bobby had never been so overjoyed to hear anyone speak over that radio. He picked the mic back up. “10-4. I’m about to dig in at Fender Joe’s. Get here as quick as possible. 4-10? Over.” A moment.

“Negatory, you’re a Mud Duck. Please repeat, over.”

“I said, I’m at Fender J-“ The truck slammed through the gates of the scrapyard as he hit the brakes. Carefully adjusting the steering wheel, he shifted the handbrake and the truck whipped around, skidding through the clay for tens of feet before glancing the piles of old whitegoods littering the compound. No time to think. Bobby reached behind his seat and pulled out his 12-Gauge and a few boxes of ammo. “This is going to be Freebird’s last stand.” He thought as he stepped out of the truck and turned to face the entrance. His rearview told him that objects may be larger than they appear. That was a gosh-durned understatement. The Kawaiiju before him stood at least 20 feet tall, with a mass of tentacles ripping through the fence as it advanced on him. As the creature drew closer, he could faintly hear the sound of… was that meowing? “Okay, I know you’re new to this country so lemme teach you somethin’ about the Second Amendment!” he shouted at the creature, as he unloaded two shotgun shells directly into its My Little Pony-lookin’ face. It doubled back and made a high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek, and then rearranged its face back into its original shape. Bobby laughed. Clearly this thing didn’t get the memo, he thought to himself as he popped some new shells into his gun. He was preparing his next one-liner when an errant tentacle whipped him, sending the man careering into a pile of old toasters.

********

“Ergh… Just give me a sec” he said to the figure looming over him. It took a moment for his clearly concussed brain to register that a familiar Japanese girl was standing over him. He fumbled around helplessly on his bed of toasters for a moment until he looked across the compound, realizing that his shotgun was currently sinking into the creature’s bags of flesh.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed. Hearing him, the creature whipped around and began rushing toward him.

“Reach out your arm.”

“What?”

“Just do it. And say, ‘Neko Neko Nii!’” “WHAT?”

The creature was once again looming over him now.

“Just do it!”

Bobby blushed and gritted his teeth. “Argh! Neko Neko Nii!”

The Kawaiiju raised a clawed tentacle in the air, and slammed it down above him. SHWING!

Bobby opened his eyes. Somehow, he was still alive. With a pink sword in his hand, held above his head. The creature’s tentacle sliced clean off, wriggling limply on the toaster bed at his side. Sakura laughed. “I can’t believe you actually said that.” Bobby didn’t have time to think. Primal survival instinct kicked in as he shot up, grabbing the hilt of the blade with both hands as he slashed at tentacle after tentacle that whipped at him. And one by one, they all fell. The Kawaiiju roared mightily once more as it threw its full weight at Bobby, who ducked to the side and with one swift uppercut, slashed right through the creature’s torso. Neon blood spewed everywhere, coating Bobby as he wiped the goo from his eyes. The Kawaiiju was hurting now, that’s for sure. “Yeah! How’d you like that?” The creature stood still for a second, then the blood once more began to return to its body, peeling itself from the toasters, the sword, and Bobby himself. Sakura, still standing with her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her blazer, looked on at this with mild bemusement. The tentacles wriggled back into life as they crawled like worms back to their host, reattaching themselves to the sockets as Bobby looked on in horror. He clutched the sword and held it before him. “All right girl, you said this sword could kill these things. Why isn’t this working?” “I told you before, didn’t I?” “Tell me wha-“ he failed to ask as one tentacle, now balled into a fist, slammed him in the face, knocking him to the ground. He could only look on disorientedly as the blade skittered off and disappeared into a pile of refrigerators. He reached out. “Neko Neko Nii!” Nothing. “Neko Neko Nii!” he shouted. The Kawaiiju almost seemed to cackle as it readied itself for the killing blow. “Well Bobby, I guess you were going to die someday.” he said to himself as he relaxed his body and closed his eyes, allowing himself to embrace the void. Six tentacles raised into the air as the creature gurgled with something adjacent to laughter.

It was at that moment that a truck burst through the entrance of the scrapyard, careering through the mud to collide face-first with the creature. Once more it shrieked as it exploded into that glowing rainbow bodily fluid that Bobby was becoming uncomfortably accustomed to.

Dazed, Bobby looked to his side, and shouted out a hoo-rah as five trucks circled around the interior of the compound, before trying to get up once more. Several familiar faces emerged from the doors, each one more heavily-armed than the last. And last, stepping out of the truck that saved him, was a heavy-set woman holding an LMG like one would hold a briefcase. “Just in the nick of time, hey Freebird!” Bobby smiled, pumping his fist into the air as he righted himself. “Maeve! And not a moment too soon! Good to see you babe.” “Now Bobby, you wanna try saying that again?” she said, tapping the LMG with her other hand like a used car dealer would slap a car. “Point taken. Eyes up, everybody, because this ain’t over.” Maeve frowned. “You sure about that? This situation is lookin’ pretty handled over-“ It was at that moment that the truck flipped into the air, spinning into the other trucks as the Kawaiiju revealed itself once more, enraged. Maeve stepped back, shocked for a moment at what she was seeing, and readied her machine gun. “All right boys, let’s show this rubberneck what happens when you mess with the Trucker Network!” The team nodded in acknowledgement as they all began to unload their firearms into the tentacled horror. Pistols, assault rifles, SMGs, shotguns... oh shit, is that a rocket launcher? Maeve and Bobby both ducked out of the way as the first rocket connected with flesh. First an explosion of blood and fire, then the creature reforming just in time for another rocket to scatter alien meat once more. “It’s not working!” said Maeve. “Do what you gotta do – we’ll cover you!” Bobby’s eyes darted around the landscape, riddled with flashes and metal and enough colour to make Lisa Frank start bleeding out the eyes. “Thanks for comin’, Maeve. Glad to know you have my back after all these years.” “Naw, are you gettin’ sentimental, boy?” Maeve looked back and grinned toothily. “We’ll always have your back. We’re the Trucker Network! And more important, we’re friends.” An epiphany struck Bobby like a bolt of lightning.

“The Power of Friendship will ignite the Neko-Kitsune Sword’s true power.”

Without a second thought, Bobby held his arms before him as he lunged toward the beast. It was like time had slowed down, as he moved faster, superhumanly so, toward the creature, ducking and weaving between tentacles. As he approached the creature’s torso, his arms clasped together in a thrusting motion.

In a flash of bright pink light, the sword once again appeared in his hand, and drove straight through the heart just recently exposed by an errant stick of dynamite. The creature shrieked one more bloodcurdling shriek, and then collapsed inward on itself like a black hole. The Kawaiiju was dead, and this time it wasn’t coming back. Everyone looked on, dumbfounded. And then the cheering began. Bobby and Maeve moved into the circle of trucks, Maeve setting down her LMG as a few of the other truckies pulled out some beers from the trucks. Cracking open some cold ones, they all began to chatter among one another. Maeve approached Bobby once more. “Well Freebird, I can’t say this was the evening I was expecting to have, but I think we’re all going to remember it.” She eyed him up and down. “For more reasons than one.” Bobby looked at her quizzically, then glanced at the apparition of Sakura. She was doubled-over in laughter. “Okay what are you laughin’ about?” It was at that moment that he noticed that everyone was looking at him with a bemused look on their faces. Bobby looked down. “…oh.”

********

“…happy birthday dear Jenny, happy birthday to you!”

Bobby looked on at his daughter with pride, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Thank y’all for coming!” she said, buzzing with excitement as she blew out the 18 candles dotting her carrot cake. She looked over at Bobby, beaming. Bobby knew he wasn’t around all that much for her – he was wed to the road and it never let him stay in one place for long. A glance over at her mother’s piercing glare indicated that she concurred.

As the party began to wrap up and the family began to tidy the barn, Bobby approached his daughter.

“Hey Dad!”

“Hi, Jenny.” He furrowed his brow. Was this really the right time? Is this really the right choice? “Come with me, I want to give you your birthday present, but it’s out the front”

“Sure thing!” Jenny gleefully responded.

Bobby was getting cold feet. Her mother would certainly kill him when she found out. Probably for the best that he get out of the state as soon as possible.

He turned around to her as they stepped through the front gate. “So this isn’t just a gift from me, it’s a gift from the whole Trucker Network. So make sure to say thank you to Maeve next time she’s in town.”

“Will do!” Jenny was clearly overflowing with excitement, with her hands balled into fists.

Bobby opened the door of his truck, sighed for a moment, and then pulled out an intricately-wrapped box, short in height and depth but a few feet long. He looked up – Sakura’s ghost was sitting there, sporting an almost Cheshire-Cat grin.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? You know how dangerous it is out there. You know you’ll be exposing her to a world she’ll never come back from.”

Bobby frowned determinedly. “Yes, but will she want to?”

He handed the box to Jenny. Like a ravenous beast, she ripped the box open with her teeth, the ribbons and paper falling in tatters on the dirt road beneath them. Bobby winced – he’d spent all night on that.

She looked inside the box. “Whoa! Thanks Dad!” A moment of silence. “…uh, what is it?”

“This,” said Bobby, smiling as he drew the long metal object from the box. “is a tyre iron. You’re going to need it for the other half of your present.”

He gestured over toward the other side of the street. Jenny gasped. There it was, a brand-new semi-trailer. Not one of the most heavy-duty bits of hardware around, but if his Jenny was going to learn to drive, she was going to drive the best.

“Is it- is it-“ she was practically vibrating.

“Yeah, kiddo.” he smiled. “She’s all yours. Keys are in the ignition.”

“Um, I don’t want to ruin your moment, but…”

He looked out toward the gate of the house. His ex was advancing on him and he didn’t need any supernatural sword powers to know that his time was up.

“Well, it was fun while it lasted.”

********

Jenny ran to the truck and sat in the front seat. She’d never felt so alive; her Dad may be gone a lot but there was always something so magical, so fantastical about the stories he’d tell her about his time on the road. Sitting in this truck, she felt closer to him than ever before. She sighed contentedly, then looked over at her dad. And then a pang of sadness, as she heard the truck rev up and pull out, disappearing into the street once more, her mother screaming and shouting at him the whole way down the block. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Just like that, he was gone again. *chhhk* Jenny looked up. The truck radio was coming to life. “This is Freebird to Sailormoon, Sailormoon please respond, over.” Jenny wiped the tears from her eyes as she hurriedly picked up the microphone. “10-4, 10-4, This is Sailormoon, hearing you loud and clear, over.” “Freebird to Sailormoon, I’m proud of you. Sorry I had to hightail. You know your mother. Over.” She giggled. “Sailormoon to Freebird, it’s okay. Bring me back something nice. Over.” A moment. “10-4 to that.” “Motherbear to Freebird and Sailormoon, this is adorable but you are hogging a vital channel. Cut the shit, over.”

Jenny dropped the mic, embarrassed.

“Sorry Maeve” said her dad. “I’m back on the road again, what have you got for me?”

“Some rubbernecks causing havoc in a town just south of your position. Follow the highway and you can’t miss it.”

“Freebird to Motherbear, roger that.”

Jenny grinned before picking up the mic again. “Give’ em hell, Dad.”

[gh0sti3-writes]

MORE THAN JUST A JOB-CHAPTER 1

Word count: 3k+

Pairing: CEO!Baekhyun x Reader

Summary: Baekhyun is known as one of the sweetest, most caring CEO’s out there. Everyone in his company adores him and is completely loyal. But, a dark secret lurks under every bright smile.

Warnings: Profanity...That’s it.

Note: Not proofread. Inspired by that one twitter post.

DISCLAIMER: THIS WORK IS COMPLETELY FICTIOUS. BAEKHYUN IS A RESPECTIVE MEMBER OF EXO. ANY REFERENCE OR SIMILARITY TO REAL LIFE IS NOT INTENTIONAL. BE RESPECTFUL OF THE GROUP AND OF THE PEOPLE IN THE GROUP. THIS IS MY INTERPRETATION OF THEIR PERSONALITY IN THIS FICTIONAL SCENARIO.

“I told you already, I refuse to apply for a job that doesn’t even interest me!” I protested, as Jennie simply laughed and punched my shoulder gently.

“It’s fun in the company! You’re so qualified.”

“I’m not working under a man who forces his employees to call him Byunnie.” I joked, as she rolled her eyes.

“Look, we’re not forced to. He’s been looking for a secretary...For what? How long?” Jennie tapped her chin, and I shrugged.

“Seven months.” She smirked.

“I knew you would know it!” Jennie exclaimed proudly, as I facepalmed. “Look, you don’t have to work with us if you don’t want to. Buut, you’re so qualified. I know office jobs don’t interest you but he funds so many different projects that it’ll be fine! And if you work in marketing, you can work with me!” She tried to convince me, pushing further. I took a wistful bite of my sandwich, before shaking my head slowly.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Haha! See, you’re convinced.”

“No. I’m thinking.”

“I convinced you to think Y/N, I convinced you to think. That’s all that matters.” She said wisely, staring at the city bustling before us.

“Sure…” I smiled softly. Jennie was one of the most loyal workers under Mr. Byunnie I know. Ugh. Just saying that name makes a scowl appeared on my face. Byunnie was one of the richest CEOs in South Korea. CEO of a popular company that focuses on creative arts and new innovative projects. His company never interested me, but after he opened his secretary position right after I got fired from my old graphic designer job, it definitely became more appealing.

Jennie told me he was getting more and more desperate each day, but I think she just wants me to work there. She was always a little too clingy for my taste, but she still is one of my greatest friends.

But, her loyalty surprises me. How in the world could someone love their boss that much? Like, even my old boss was a close family friend. But some days I would have such a burning, burning anger flaming in my heart. Jennie isn’t stupid either.

I suppose me applying for the job was mostly out of fascination. Everyone loved Byunnie.

And, as the story goes, I walked into the office building holding files closely to my chest. Jennie finally pushed me to go see if he was still looking for a secretary, and I was running out of money to pay for rent and necessities.

I rubbed my arm uncomfortably, nervous as what’s to come. What if I just walked into a brainwashing facility?

A cold sweat ran over me, my brain jumping to the worst situations. Most of them were impossible, most of them were logical considering the amount of money he has. I finally pushed my last step to the front desk, as a woman with swirling brown eyes and black ringlets of hair smiled warmly at me. It made me feel, comforted? Comforted isn’t the right word...Just welcomed. Safe.

“Welcome to the B&Y Building! How may I help you today?” She questioned with an airy voice, her brown eyes scanning me intently. I stuttered, before clearing my throat and tightening the grip on my black blazer.

“I’m here looking for the position as an inter-I mean secretary. Uhm, if the position is open, I would like to apply, obviously.” I chuckled sheepishly. “If that’s alright.” My nerves bounced up and down, as I tried to hide my flushing cheeks due to my embarrassing request. The front desk lady laughed softly, before typing at her computer.

“Well, we have been terribly desperate for a new secretary. The interview is open as of now actually, or whenever you’re ready. If you don’t feel prepared, feel free to schedule an appointment anytime this week.” She explained, typing away. Her black fingernails gleamed in the sunlight that shone through the glass walls. I looked around, and then down at my watch. I nodded.

“I wouldn’t mind d-doing an interview now.” I responded, somewhat confidently. She grinned.

“Great! tenth floor, first room on the right.” She pointed to the elevator, and I nodded, jitterish for what was to come. I was immediately regretting my choices. Usually I would have more prep time, but my interest in this company was overwhelming. I steeled myself as I swung the glass door open. I entered into a glass room, minimalistic with not much. A black cup full of ballpoint pens, with ‘B&Y,’ carefully engraved. A desktop idle on the polished oak desk. The smell of leather and vanilla wafted through the air, as two black office chairs sat on either side.

I nervously slid into the black office chair, tinkering with the fabric of my bottoms, my mind traced over the objects hanging around the room. Abstract art pieces on the white walls, a glass wall that showed the city below. I heard the door open, and a man in a crisp suit with scraggly brown hair walked in. His eyes were sunken, as if he had gotten no rest. He was awfully skinny, but seemed too preoccupied in his paperwork to notice me. I cleared my throat, as he sat in his chair and he looked up at me.

“Oh! Hey there!” He greeted in his baritone voice that seemed to ring around me. He shuffled in his seat and nodded at me, before spreading out his mass papers. “My name is Kim.” He stretched out his hand, and I shook it hesitantly.

“Hi Kim.” I smiled at him.

“Please excuse, this.” He referenced to his face. “I’ve been awfully sick for a while now.”

“Ah! No worries, I didn’t even notice.” I lied.

But then again, who would? I notice everything there is to notice. From the cloud formations to each and every person on the train. The horns, the bird formations, even the smudged paint hidden discreetly with a plant in Jennie’s house. At the right angle, it’s definitely noticeable. I rubbed my hands together under the table, as he coughed slightly.

“Well, I assume you are here for an interview for the position of Byunnie’s secretary?” He flipped through some papers.

“Uhm...Yes. Yes I am.” I answered.

“Great! Any questions before we start?”

“Do...Do we have to call him Byunnie?”

“Well, it’s not required but he prefers it that way.” He chuckled. “It’s a bit of a silly name, I know.” I shook my head.

“No, no.”

“Don’t lie to me.” It was a little more aggressive, but it could’ve been my anxiety that was disorienting me. I nodded and smiled awkwardly. “Alright, since you didn’t schedule an appointment I’m afraid I’ll have to fill out your file right here and now. First, can I have your name?”

“Y/N L/N.” He typed away busily, bobbing his head a bit.

“Great. Can I ask for your age and birth date?”

“Y/A, Y/B/D.” He smiled.

“My sister was born that day too!” I laughed, warming up and getting more comfortable. The vanilla sweetness in the air and the spring sun seemed to wrap me in bundles of safety and comfort. “Anyways anyways, can I ask for your education? Your major in college and what college exactly?”

“Uhm...Well I was an art major. I focused mainly on digital and graphic design or illustration. I recently worked in an indie graphic design company. I went to college in Japan. University of Tokyo.” He nodded, typing it all down.

“Right right. Any ideas with business?”

“I minored in business. It was my first interest but the art program opens lots of opportunities”

“I heard they aren’t big on that type of art, how exactly did you-?”

“I bought online courses while taking the normal ones.” I explained, interrupting him. He smiled. The interview went on, slowly drifting onto what I can contribute towards the company. What makes me a good secretary, what can I handle and tolerate, what can I do. Just the basics with some more in depth questions that focused a lot on my creative aspects. I understood why he was beginning to ask more complex questions, this is a very wealthy company with lots of information.

If they hired the wrong person or let a bad employee slip into the midsts, then...Well it can go downhill. So, I didn’t mind it and answered as honestly, confidently, and charmingly as I could. Finally, about an hour or two later, I was free to leave.

“Thank you for meeting with me. This was great Ms. L/N, I’ll get to you in a week or so.” Kim grinned boyishly at me, as I nodded, shaking his hand.

“Yes. Thank you.” I left the building, getting ready for lunch with Jennie. She texted me during the meeting, wanting to hear all the details on the interview. I was gonna pop by my apartment. Change into clothes, enjoy myself to avoid staining one of my only good blazers.

I got into my apartment, texting Jennie I’ll be there in thirty.

That’s great! Can Byunnie come?

I almost spat out whatever fluids I had in my mouth, it was most likely saliva but the bitter taste of coffee was reminiscent so...Who knows?

Who in the world brings their boss to lunch? Isn’t he running a multi-billion company?

My hands were furiously typing as I was changing into high waisted jeans and a white, blousey crop top. I started to brush my hair down into whatever style I preferred, and slipping on black sneakers. I began to apply some accessories, as my phone dinged once again.

Well! He would love meeting the new secretary.

It’s not confirmed.

So! Pleeaaaase.

She sent me a crying emoji, and then a selfie with her and her boss. I sighed grumpily, blowing a strand of hair out of my face and grabbing my bag.

Fine, on my way.

I grabbed a few gulps of water before deciding to walk to our usual lunch place. The walk was scenic. Bright blue sky, birds flying around and about. The air was dust free for once, meaning the smell of flowers was flowing around with the slight breeze that danced around my body. The green trees rustled, as the heat was buzzing in my ears. I finally arrived at the spot, a nice tea house with lots of treats that they offered. It was aesthetically pleasing, a lot of girls and boys on Instagram could be spotted snapping photos.

I entered and found Jennie waving towards me, Byunnie sitting next to her. She smiled brightly, as I took a seat in front of her, next to Byunnie. Or...Diagonal. Or somewhat close but we were still at a comfortable angle to avoid tension. We were sitting in the nicer areas, gilded accents to accompany the white walls. Aerial plants potted in geometrical glass pots to accent the theme. Dried blue orchids as our centerpiece, with cushions to accompany us.

“Y/N! This is Byunnie, Byunnie, meet Y/N!” I met eyes with him, trying to understand him. But really all I could see was warmth. Bright, brown, swirling warmth. I tried to pry, understand him. But no, it was just...Inky. It was overwhelming, and I felt myself back down. His skin was completely free of blemish or scar, his silvery white hair swirled perfectly and trimmed to precisely frame his face without flaw. He was glowing, radiantly. Like...His skin was absolutely perfect.

His innocent look, chocolate eyes, and perfect hair caught me off guard. This was...Not what I was expecting. I finally realized he was greeting me, and my attention snapped back to him. He beamed at me, out-stretching his hand. I hesitantly took it, warmth spreading over my arm.

“Hi Y/N!” His voice was soft, angelic almost. He was the exact epitome of lovable. I felt my cheeks flush.

“I-Hi, hi...B-Byunnie?” I tested the name gingerly, trying to gauge if he would react. His grin seemed to grow wider.

“I see Jennie told you about my nickname.” He chuckled, nodding. “Yes, feel free to call me Byunnie. We might end up partners after all.” Jennie laughed.

“Might? No way. Y/N is not just a might. She’s for sure what this company is looking for!” She reclined into her chair.

“Jennie, please. Don’t be so kind. I’d rather earn the job then let other people gas me up.” I shuffled. I was trying to straighten myself but his angelic aura seemed to completely intimidate me and welcome me at the same time. He must be a great CEO. Being able to make my legs shake but a smile appear must be confusing for competitors of the company. However, I still felt queasy.

“I’m just being honest!” She wagged a finger in my face.

“Jennie, don’t worthy. Neither should you Y/N. I assure you, my mind isn’t so easily swayed.” He leaned forward, I leaned backwards. “Thank you for meeting with me and Jennie, I know it seems rush but I’m thankful that you accepted her invitation and everything.” He strummed his fingers against the white table. “It’s good to know who I may be working with.”

“See! This is gonna be great Y/N.” Jennie giggled. “Anyways, you guys ready to order?” She questioned. I nodded.

“Actually, I haven’t been to this place before. Y/N, any recommendations?” He questioned. I stared at him quizzically, startled. I realized he was actually regarding my existence, and I realized I should probably respond before he catches me continuing to stare.

“Oh! I...Don’t come here that often. If I do have to recommend anything…” I pointed at the tea section in his menu, reaching over. “Boba, taro. Ask for sixty percent ice and seventy percent sugar, that specific order gets you complimentary taro mochi. Then, for food order the turkey sandwich or a crepe cake, both are really good with taro. Just don’t get durian cake, it isn’t too good.” I instructed, pointing at the different selections.

“I know the secret menu.” Jennie winked at Byunnie and I.

“Jennie, of course you know the secret menu. You literally always get lunch here.” I deadpanned, moving away when I noticed the close proximity. He had the same vanilla scent as the interview room did, just sweeter and mixed with cologne. He also was wearing his usual crisp suit that I saw in the photos. He was usually styled less innocently, but paparazzi coverage isn’t always accurate. His black suit had no wrinkles, white buttons perfectly aligned. Taking in his character, it was almost admirable how absolutely stunning he was as a whole. I took back my hand and cleared my throat. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Nah, taro boba and crepe cake it is!” I smiled proudly, knowing I influenced the choices of a multi-billionaire CEO. It kinda made my heart swell. After ordering, our food swiftly came. I always loved the reliable service that the tea shop offered. It was good for in and out orders, when I was rushing.

We ate our food with slight conversation. The interactions were clearly awkward, but I began to warm up and grow fond of Byunnie. Even over the course of one meal, he was easy to interact with and was kind. I understood why all of his employers enjoyed working with him, he was smart. Resourceful. Respectful. Funny, he could easily pass as your roommate in college who always did the dishes for you.

“So, Y/N. Do you have a partner?” He inquired, as I tapped my chin.

“Mm, no. The closest thing is Jennie and even then we still have our emotional distances.” I joked.

“The only distance is the one you made when you said you don’t like ice cream on pizza.” She retorted, as I scoffed.

“Dairy on pizza is disgusting and gross.”

“Cheese. Y/N. Cheese.” He cleared his throat, giggling a little at our sad excuse of a debate.

“So, no partners? I really assumed so. You seem so put together and you’re very pretty.” I laughed slightly at his compliment.

“Put together? You're the CEO of B&Y and you’re telling me I’m put together?” He nodded, as if it was a basic statement.

“Well, it’s really not too much of a compliment. I’m not god or anything, I just admire how...Easily you hold yourself together.” He grinned at me, his smile wide and sweet. Welcoming. Charming. Not just the smile of a CEO. The smile of a friend. I blushed.

“Why thank you Prince Charming. You’re too kind.” He nodded.

“Look at you Y/N! Getting that CEO ass!” I nearly spit out my drink, expecting Byunnie to yell at her or reprimand her for disrespecting him. But he simply high fived her and laughed boyishly.

“Jennie!” I hissed loudly.

“It was just a joke.” She teased.

“In the company, I consider all the employees family. So of course, comments that usually would throw most bosses off end up being completely normal.” I nodded, not accustomed to now loose and free he was. How in the world is he so successful if he is so easy? He just seemed like the type of person who would let you make your own work hours and pay you all the same.

“You seem...Odd.”

“In a good or bad way?” He joked, as I grinned.

“Good.”

Jennie called for the waitress who was serving us, as all of us whipped out our wallets.

“I’ll pay!” Jennie declared, proudly. I shook my head and slammed my wallet down.

“No! I WILL!”

“No! I SHALL PAY!” Byunnie shoved the money into the waitress’s hands, eyes gleaming. “Keep the change.” I burst out laughing, trying not to seem to informal but jesus. He was so extra, it was so damn amusing. He was so friendly, welcoming. Just everything you wanted in someone close to you. Honestly, because of this lunch I was beginning to want the position of secretary more and more. My eyes twinkled as I watched his mannerisms, his patient nodding, sparkling eyes, bright smile...Everything about him just screamed sunshine flying out of his ass.

He didn’t make people respect him, he made it seem like he deserved it. Who wouldn’t want to give him the world?

“It’s getting late, I should go home. Thank you for inviting me out.” I said respectfully, bowing my head as they nodded.

“No problem, feel free to come with us whenever. We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Byunnie laughed, as I nodded.

“Of course.”

I left, with a smile that I unconsciously placed on my face. I felt fuzzy, safe, comfortable. I felt like I could let everything go to him, send him memes at 3 AM, even rant about my hatred of ketchup. But...He would be my possible future boss. The thought of that made me tense, I really just had a date with my future boss.

Ugh, he’s not even my boss! And even then, I don’t know for sure, and...My mind blurred uncomfortably, as I suddenly began to feel sick. It wasn’t...Food poisoning, it felt more like, I was mortified. Something horrible just happened and I wanted to sit down. But I stumbled home, eyes blank as I could only push forward to my apartment. Why did I feel so...Weird? The fuzziness was replaced with static that swirled around my stomach and head, loudly ringing in my ears.

I shoved the keys into my door, swinging it open and quickly locking it shut. I slowly stumbled into my bed, and felt my body sink in. I didn’t even have time to think about today, as I passed out immediately.

----------

When I woke up, I felt better. Completely refreshed and invigorated, like someone just pounded a bunch of vitamin c into my face and threw me into a warm bath. Like the gods above shoved immortality down my throat. I quickly washed my face of residue products from yesterday, and changed into more comfortable clothes. High waisted shorts and a tie-dye shirt. I put my hair back, and went to my computer to see if I got any emails.

I scrolled through some spam lazily, deleting and cleaning out emails from my babe, a Nigerian Prince offering one million. I chuckled at the cheap scams, before eyeing a new email from B&Y. My cursor hovered over the email, as I felt my throat grow dry. I trembled slightly, as I scanned through the big fancy words and colorful designs.

Finally, I saw the words.

“We are proud to tell you that you have been chosen as Byunnie’s secretary. Please come in at 6 AM tomorrow to get details and get you adjusted.” I squealed to myself, giggling like a child as I sent a text to Jennie.

JenJen! Guess who’s gonna be the new secretary?

BIIITCH.

I’m serious omg.

Congrats!!! Omg I’m crying in the library. Good job!!!

Still working on your masters?

Duhhhh, gotta figure my life out one day haha.

Lolololol

I put down my phone, clutching it tightly. For some reason I wanted to thank Byunnie so bad, tell him grateful I am. But, that wasn’t what people do. I needed to get a grip. This is a job, this is just a job. This is just a job that gives me the position of secretary under the CEO of B&Y.

Fuck.

If only I knew, if only I fucking knew.

This would be more than just a job.

[cyanoticfireflies]

Pokémon Sword Avatar Challenge Playthrough Part 7

Yes indeed, it is the continuing adventures of our Pokémon Sword: Avatar Challenge, Water Tribe run.  This is keeping me very entertained as I wait for several new games I’m looking forward to - and putting off playing a few that I already have.  Sometimes the anticipation is better than the game ends up being.

If you missed Part 1, it’s available HERE. If you missed Part 2, it’s available HERE. If you missed Part 3, it’s available HERE. If you missed Part 4, it’s available HERE. If you missed Part 5, it’s available HERE. If you missed Part 6, it’s available HERE.

Ready to go get our next badge then head into the mythical fairytale woods?

We completed our battle with Hop, so it’s time to get to the gym.  But first we slip into the house on the left and grab the TM06 for “Fly.”  It’s been such a change to not have to deal with HMs, and I have to say it’s nice that Game Freak finally listened to us about getting rid of them.  SO much more flexibility!  We add Fly to Makuda the Flapple then head upstairs.

As I’ve mentioned, since this is Pokémon Sword and not Shield, our next gym leader in Stow-on-Side is going to be Bea.  We get out free fancy Pokéball, put on our uniform, then head into the gym challenge right away.  This gym challenge is so fun just because it’s a giant bouncy spinny cup ride.  I am a little curious that they used the same one for the Ghost-type gym, though.

The trainers are super easy to get through with Rorou the Orbeetle and Makuda taking them down like nothing.  Though I’d be hurling through all the battles from being so dizzy!  It would be kind of cool if you start all the battles with Confusion.  Oh well.

We start off Makuda against Bea’s Hitmontop and one-shot it with Fly, which means we’re off to a super start here.  I like having our Flying-type moves on a non-Flying-type Pokémon – I just have to be mindful of Ice Punch.  I leave Makuda in for Pangoro since the Dark moves could put a hurt on Rorou.  It’s actually another one-shot!  Fly is just too good, especially on a physical attacker like Flapple.  So far even our lowered Speed trade-off isn’t hurting us too bad, but since Sirfetch’d tanks the Fly, Makuda goes down to Counter.

We have Rorou with plenty of Psychics in the tank, though, ready to step up to the plate.  We go into the final match-up with both of us ‘Maxing.  Rorou is faster than Machamp so we hit Max Mindstorm to get Machamp to half health.  We go to under half from a Dark-type hit, but one more Max Mindstorm off of Psychic ends the battle and nets us our new badge, the Fighting uniform, and TM42 “Revenge.”

Sonia’s Yamper catches us right outside the door and we get pulled upstairs to check out the mural on the wall.  (I love the person who’s like “Yeah, I actually don’t like it that much.”)  Of course, we get there and Bede being Bede has to be messing stuff up for everyone.  He’s got the Pokémon equivalent of construction equipment taking out a wall. Where is Officer Jenny???  Guess it’s up to us.  Once again, Bede is no challenge at all.  Seriously, Hop… what did you do to lose against him?  Bede acting so tough, checking the time during our battle.  Puh-lease.

Turns out you can’t just go destroying stuff in your boss’s name and keep your job.  Oleana shows up to give Bede the flat look of disapproval and officially put a reprimand in his personnel file.  Even Rose is “truly disappointed.”  But seriously, Bede went to trainer school?  Did they not help them level up at all?

The mural collapses (I agree, it was ugly) and gives us our glimpse of Zamazenta since we saw Zacian in the woods. Once again the plot thickens.  Two princes, a sword- and a shield-Pokémon. Hmm.

Next we head into what is probably my favorite areas of Gallar visually: Glimwood Tangle and Ballonlea. I love the bright flourescents!  I love the little Impidimps watching from behind the mushrooms.  We go ahead and stick around here to do some leveling up to get the team to level 42. I’m in no rush to leave when everything is so pretty.

We explore around Ballonlea a bit, getting TM77 “Hex” and the Eviolite.  It’s actually going to be pretty useful on Kovali, who doesn’t evolve again until level 47.  We also find TM21 “Rest” just laying in the dirt.  We found “Snore” in Glimwood, so that could be a good combo.

Glimwood Tangle is a short route, so let’s go ahead and head into the gym.  We’re greeted by Marnie and Morpeko then get the Love Ball from the Pokéball-headed man.  I also treat us to a few new uniforms (Electric and Poison) since we’re swimming in Pokédollars right now.

Then we head into the gym – or should I say “onto the stage.”  Because this gym is a theatre where we perform battles while also answering quiz questions.  It actually looks kind of grubby back stage, which makes it even funnier to me.  I love that Opal is more worried about finding her successor.  I don’t even have a Fairy-type on the team!  (I’ll need to keep Makuda tucked away for this fight.)

The first question is a softball considering that both answers are correct.  We get confused by fight through it and don’t hit ourselves even once to take down trainer AnnettE.  Yes, the “E” is capitalized on purpose.  Knowing that it’s an “E” helps us get the second question right and win the second fight with only minor damage off of Aromatisse.

This is where the questions start getting silly, though.  It’s no longer about type match-ups or attention to detail.  It’s about Opal’s favorite color and preferred breakfast food and I just can’t with this old lady.  Be serious, Opal – we’re playing a video game!

The only part of this battle I’m a little nervous for is the Mawile, but now that we have “Dig” on Amal the Drednaw the only challenge is not getting hit hard enough by a Steel-type move to take us down from the Rock typing.  Shouldn’t be any big threat.  We get through the team, tell Opal she’s 16, then throw Haku into the ring against Alcremie.  How icky does “Max Ooze” sound?  I love it. G-Max Finale does almost nothing to us and we win with no trouble whatsoever.

Yep, two gym badges in one update!

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 22 ~Trifle Before Dinner~

The phone in the restaurant rang as Claire was about to brief the service staff. She nodded to the head waiter to answer it and looked at the time. Lunch service was about to commence, and she needed to explain the new  eight-course degustation menu  for that evening before she headed for Lallybroch later.

Jenny had invited her to come for dinner, and it would be the first time in weeks she would see Jamie. At that moment, her mind was too fuzzy to care if this was meant to be some sort of intervention on Jenny's part. Either way, it was high time that she showed her face in Lallybroch and she was looking forward to some home-cooking. She missed Jamie a lot, especially at night when sleep eluded her. Even if she hadn't self-imposed keeping her distance from him, mounting work and constant exhaustion would have deterred her from visiting anyway.

"It's for you," the waiter informed her.

She prayed it was anyone other than Murtagh as she took the call. "Yes?"

"Claire!" It was Geillis calling from the reception. "Miss Geneva Dunsany is here about the assistant position." Geillis' formal use of Geneva's name must mean she was nearby. "She says that yer da sent her to see ye. Shall I send her to yer office or are ye still in the restaurant?" 

Geillis' voice held a hint of sympathy, as it's known within inner circles Claire had been under a lot of stress. Of all people to apply for the assistant position, it had to be her former high school bully, Geneva. Claire resisted to let out a frustrated moan, conscious of the staffs' eyes on her. She wanted one perfect day. Just one, where there were no problems, no issues, no one from her past showing up, no lit embers to extinguish, and everyone was content and happy. "Can you please accompany her to my office? I'm still doing a briefing, and it shouldn't take long. And please send one of the bar waiters to ask her what she would like to drink."

"I'm on it," Geillis said before the line went dead.

Claire quickly went through the menu details as well as wine, aperitif and digestif recommendations with the service staff, part of her not entirely focusing on the task at hand.  Does Geneva realise that the position she's applying for would require them to work closely together?  Even if resentment threatened to overflow toward her tormentor from what seemed like a lifetime away, she knew she needed to handle the situation with a level head and be as professional as possible.

After the briefing, she made her way to the reception before heading to her office to interview Geneva. As usual, her friend, Louise, was covering the front area while Geillis was in the back office. After a quick greeting to Louise, she headed for the back room and found Geillis perched on her chair, barely visible behind piles of paper works, boxes and folders. Her bright red hair was the only beacon to help Claire find her in the chaos that made up Geillis' desk.

Claire dropped into the opposite chair. "Geneva doesn't realise she would be working with me, does she?"

Geillis' head popped up, and a look of disgust marred her face. "I don't think so. She came in all high and mighty announcing she has an appointment with Brian about a job and that Jamie wanted her to take it. She talked like she bagged the position already."

Claire's eyes widened. "Really? Well, we will see about that." Leaning back on the chair, she crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm responsible for hiring service and kitchen staff, and that applies to my future assistant. And I don't believe for one second that Jamie would say to Geneva to take the job."

"Aye, I ken. I wanted to wipe that smug look on her face. She was probably envisioning herself as the future Mrs Fraser the way she strutted in here all haughty. But dinna fash. I didn't say anything, other than that ye will soon see her."

"Good, good." She bit her lip, thinking of what else to say. "I best get going then. We don't want to keep the princess waiting."

"Oh, and Claire ..." Geillis stood up with her and walked around the desk. "Willie asked me out to dinner this coming weekend. A kind of a date. I've meant to ask ... ye have nothing to do with it, have ye?"

Pleasantly surprised, she smiled. "Oh, that's nice, and no, I didn't have anything to do with it." Hesitating a bit, Claire continued. "Although I must admit, I did speak to him a couple of months back. You know, after you told me about your one night stand with him."

Geillis' breath hitched as she slapped her forehead and groaned. "No, ye didn't. Oh, God, Claire! What on earth did ye tell him?"

She sighed. "I know you told me not to interfere, but all I said to Willie was that I didn't want to see you hurt." Taking her friend's hand, she smiled. "And that's the truth, Geillis. I know it's not in Willie's character to hurt anyone, but I wanted to give him something to think about because I knew you liked him a lot."

"Good Lord! He must think I'm a kiss-and-tell type of lass. The last thing I need in my life is a pity-date!"

"It's not a pity-date!" she countered earnestly. "Trust me. Willie is asking you out because he likes you and not because of something I said. Ok? He has a mind of his own."

Still looking dubious, Geillis conceded with a long, drawn-out breath. "Weel, I'll find out this weekend, I guess. And just to let you know ...I will be able to tell if it's a pity date or not. And if it's a pity date, I'm flying out of Scotland in the next available plane," Geillis warned, a hint of a smile lighting her face before regarding her with a thoughtful expression. "And Claire?"

"Hmmm?"

"Just remember, no one is going to judge ye if ye turn down Geneva's application. She was horrible to ye in the past, and she is still an awful person now. Ye ken, ye don't always have to do the right thing ... but whichever way ye choose to handle her application, decide for yer peace of mind, aye? Mind ye, ye've been through some serious shit, and ye don't need some petty person causing trouble in yer workplace."

Claire gave her friend a quick hug. "Thank you. You're such a great friend. I'm so happy you're here - I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I know." Her cheeks dimpled as she reached out and plucked a manila folder from the teetering stack. "Here's Geneva's resume and references. She said she brought it just for formality and refused to hand it to me. But I have my methods of persuasion, ye ken?"

Claire rolled her eyes as she took the folder, quickly flipping through it. "Right, I best go. I have heaps of things to do before I go to Lallybroch."

"Oooh, is our wee fox cub out of the doghouse?" Geillis asked, winking at Claire as she went back to her messy desk.

"Ha, ha! Very funny. He was never in the doghouse in the first place. He was right, though - we needed some time apart to heal. But all this healing is quite exhausting if I'm honest," she mused as she turned to go. "Anyway, I'll see you later."

Mentally debating if she should bring an overnight bag to Lallybroch, Claire quickly made her way to her office. Dinners at the manor house always meant there will be wine and whisky to accompany the meals. Brian was a stickler to no driving whenever alcohol was involved, and so she decided, there and then, she would stay at Lallybroch for the night. It was the most practical thing to do. And of course, spending time with Jamie would be a bonus. 

As Claire opened the door to her office, Geneva turned around from her chair and automatically, her excitement at the thought of seeing Jamie dissipated. Geneva's aura practically vibrated with hateful energy making her shudder. Clad in a simple black pantsuit, Geneva emanated elegance and arrogance. With a simple nod of acknowledgement, Geneva remained seated, looking as cool as a cucumber as she waited for Claire to take her seat. They stared at one another for a while in silence, both preparing for the conversation.

"So, have you taken a peek at my resumes? It was meant for Brian to take a look at," Geneva finally asked, her voice clipped and sharp.

"I did look at them briefly. And Brian doesn't need to." Claire opened the folder and took her time pouring over the papers, refusing to be rattled. "I see you don't have any experience working in a hotel. Although it's not a necessity for the position, working in the hospitality industry is quite demanding. And it could mean long hours and sometimes, working during weekends."

A nasty smile twisted her lips. "I'm aware of that. So when does Brian want me to start? I have an appointment at the hair dresser's, and I don't want to be late because of some idle chit-chat."

Enough was enough!  Claire slammed the manila folder on her table. "I don't have time for idle chit-chat either, and obviously, this interview is going nowhere. You are rude and disrespectful, and there is no way in hell, I will have someone working with me, under stressful conditions with such vile attitude as yours. Now, please, get out of my sight," she said in a steady low voice, trying to contain a temper threatening to erupt.

Claire steeled herself for Geneva's comeback. Instead, the girl opposite her stared with a look of surprise. "B-but Jamie and Brian ...they said ..."

"It's not up to them. I'm the one hiring. Now get your pompous arse out of my office. Now!"

Straightening her shoulders, Geneva stood up. "Very well," she said. "This is not the last time you'll be hearing from me. You don't own this hotel, and it's not up to you."

The door Claire thought was shut, suddenly swung open. "Aye, it's up to her, lass." Brian casually walked in and leaned down to kiss Claire on the forehead. Turning to face Geneva, he sauntered back to the door and motioned for her to leave. "I wish ye better luck with yer next interview, Geneva. Please leave now, I wish to speak to my daughter."

Without a word and her face turning a dark shade of red, Geneva hurriedly left the room. Claire suddenly felt sorry for her and couldn't fathom why the girl hated her so much. She almost wanted to run after Geneva and ask what she had against her.

"Ye alright, leannan? " Brian's soft voice broke into her trance.

Claire simply nodded, relieved that Brian heard the whole conversation. She didn't think she had the energy to explain what happened. "I'm alright, da, thanks," Claire replied with a weak smile. Not wanting to dwell on what just happened, she quickly changed the subject. "I'll be joining you for dinner tonight. Do you want me to bring anything on the way?"

"No, just bring yersel' and yer appetite." Grabbing Geneva's resumes on her table, Brian quickly looked at it before chucking it in the bin. "That's the end of that. And by the way, ye're having a day off tomorrow, and Ellen and I will not be joining ye tonight. We're having dinner with some friends visiting from England."

"Oh! But I can't have a day off tomorrow. There's ..."

Brian gave her a mock stern look. "No  buts  Claire. We have it covered. Ye enjoy dinner tonight and if need be, stay in Lallybroch for the night."

Claire closed her eyes briefly, and she knew only too well that it was useless to argue with Brian. "If you say so, da." Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him on the cheek and smiled. "Jamie certainly got his stubbornness from you."

Laughing, Brian hugged her. "Aye, lass, it takes one to know one."

..........

"Jenny, can I help ye with anything?" Jamie hobbled into the kitchen with the help of a crutch. "I'm not useless in the kitchen, ye ken."

Jenny turned around, frowning at him for not using the wheelchair. "Just sit and talk to me, will ye. The poached salmon is done and is keeping warm in the oven nicely. I just need to grill some asparagus and sautee the potatoes before serving." She gestured to his ten days worth of facial hair which had turned into a heavy stubble. "Aren't ye going to shave that before Claire comes?"

He ran a hand over his chin and shrugged. "I don't know ...ye think Claire will like it?"

"Ye look like that big ginger guy, Tormund from Game of Thrones. Ye ken, one of the Wildlings."

He grinned. "I do? He's not that bad. I kind of like his character."

She kept staring. "You've been bunked up here, most of the time alone like some crazy hermit and ye have that wild beard look going on there. But I must say, ye look good, and it's really great to see ye smile for once, Jamie."

"I guess I'm making progress, but I'm only just starting to notice now. I can't wait to start running soon."

Jenny gave a suffering sigh. "Jamie! Focus on walking first. Baby steps - wee baby steps at a time. And don't overdo it or ye'll injure yersel' bad, and then ye're back to where ye started." She studied his face, her perceptive blue eyes assessing his condition in a true sisterly fashion. "How are yer back and thighs?"

His right thigh throbbed, so he shifted his weight to take some of the pressure of. "There are good days and bad days, but I'm feeling much better today. So, what can I do?" he asked, trying to redirect Jenny's attention elsewhere.

If Jamie was honest with himself, his injury had dragged some hard truths to the surface about his relationship with Claire. After some serious and eye-opening conversation with his sister the night before, he knew he was ready to face them all. This time, he hoped to face them together with Claire. No more hiding, no more secrets and hopefully, they can leave the past behind for good and look forward to the future. That's if she'll have him back!

Looking at her culinary handiwork, Jenny placed her hands on her hips. "We're all set, Jamie. There's nothing left to do except wait for Claire and Ian. The wine is chilling in the bucket, and the table is ready. I'll start cooking the asparagus and potatoes once drinks are served."

The sound of crunching gravel and engine alerted them to an arrival. On cue, Jenny looked out the window. "It's Claire," she announced.

Jamie didn't need telling. Turning around supported by his crutch, he made his way to the hallway, trying his best to hide his limp. His hip bones creaked as he moved, reminding him he had been stood in one position for too long. As Jamie walked into the front room, he glanced at the organised chaos, the earthy colours and textures of antiques and the worn, faded Persian rug revealed in perfect glory. A proper lived-in home. This was what he wanted for him and Claire - their own lived-in home.

Shivers of memory coursed through him, bringing him back to his childhood years. It was spent in this exact place, perched on the stairs, pondering his life. This was where his dreams and plans were laid out, where hurts and heartbreaks were healed. He could see himself and Claire making the Highlands their home and wondered if it would be enough for her. But he wondered too if she was too young to envision such things far into the future. For a few precious moments, the tattered hole in his soul took a breath and sighed. He slowly moved forward, ready to greet whatever came ahead.

..........

Claire inserted her keys into the lock and pushed the heavy door while juggling a couple of bottles of white wine, flowers for Jenny and her overnight bag. Her heart lightened, and her stomach growled as she smelled the fresh, herby scent of cooking. Using her back to force the door to open wider, she felt a hand grabbed her overnight bag, and she looked up, startled.

"Jamie!" she breathed.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!  

Her words seemed to drift away as she stared at Jamie in total fascination, her brain short-circuiting at the sight of him. His normally trimmed and brushed back coppery coloured hair, curled wildly over his forehead, and a striking beard which she had never seen on him before, hugged his jaw. The whole look was bordering on wild as she took in the plain black t-shirt that stretched over his muscular, broad shoulders and the visible bronzed skin on his arms. Sky blue eyes piercing with intensity froze her in place and gave her a funny lurch in the tummy. It felt like she was meeting him for the first time.

"Sassenach?" Looking confused, Jamie consciously ran a hand through his several days worth of scruff. "Is it that bad? I can go and shave if ye wish," he said softly.

She shook off her thoughts and reconnected with the land of the living. "No. Sorry. You look ...you look different. It suits you. Really." Her fingers itched to touch his tousled hair, the strands glowing almost gold underneath the ceiling light. "And ...and you're on your feet. That's great!"

Grinning, he swayed slightly. "Aye, that I am." Claire remained frozen on the spot, and after what seemed like an eternity, staring and soaking each other's presence, he shifted closer until just a foot of space lay between them. Leaning down, hesitatingly at first, he kissed her briefly on the lips. As he pulled back, his eyes searched her face for any signs of objections, and when he found none, his bottom lip lifted in a half-smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Oh, God!  Her heart thundered. It was merely a featherlike brushing of lips, but his beard tickled and scraped the sensitive skin around her chin. His mouth, soft, firm and full, was almost humble in its hesitation to prolong the kiss. Blushing profusely, she lifted up the two bottles of wine she was holding. "I brought two bottles of Sauvignon Blanc. I thought these would go well with salmon," she stammered, feeling like a bumbling teenager.

"Ye ken how to pair wine with food. Aye, it's certainly a classic," Jamie chuckled, stepping away to let her in. "Come on, Sassenach, it's cold, and dinner is almost ready. We don't want to keep Jenny waiting." 

A giggle escaped her lips as she walked into the warmth of the hallway. "No, we certainly do not. But I think it's Ian who's late this time. I haven't seen his car outside."

"He should be here at any moment soon," he said, in a gravelly voice as he planted her bag on the floor.

Placing the flowers and wines on the console table, Claire was very aware of his stinging blue gaze raking over her. She needed a moment to compose herself before her mind clicked into overdrive, as he was standing too close. The primal scent of man and shower gel rose to her nostrils, teasing a small moan from her chest. "You go ahead. I'll just take off my coat. I shan't be long."

He nodded with a smile, making her heart do somersaults. "I'll get ye a drink then," he said as he started to move away. 

Claire noticed his movements were graceful despite his injury, as her eyes automatically landed on his rear, framed magnificently in his jeans.  Get a grip Beauchamp! You're salivating like a mare in heat!  Annoyed with herself for thinking indecent thoughts, she quickly took off her coat and made her way to the kitchen with the wines and flowers.

As she walked in she was greeted by a flushed-face Jenny removing her apron in a flurry. "Oh God, Claire! Sorry, it's just going to be ye and Jamie," she prattled, looking over her shoulder at her brother who seemed to be annoyed. "Listen, I forgot tonight is Ian's pal's birthday and we were invited. I'm supposed to pick him up at work in 30 minutes. Everything is done already, and all it needs is dishing up. Ok?" Not waiting for her to respond, Jenny gave Claire a quick peck on the cheek and dashed out of the kitchen. "Love ye both, and we'll not be coming home tonight. We'll be staying at Ian's apartment. Don't wait up." Jenny shouted as she ran up the stairs.

Claire stared at Jamie in astonishment, wondering what the hell just happened. "This is a setup, isn't it?"

"I'm so sorry, Sassenach. I had no idea we'd be alone. I promise ye, I had nothing to do with it," he explained, shuffling on his feet. "Ye were probably looking forward to a family dinner..."

Claire's face softened as she walked over to Jamie. "I was looking forward to homemade food, and by the looks of it, we have that." Standing in front of him, she placed a hand on his cheek. "And I was also looking forward to catching up with you." The insides of her hand tingled as she touched his face, and she quickly let them fall to her side.

"Weel, I'm glad ye came, Sassenach. I wasn't so sure ye would with all the work in the hotel," he said softly, taking her hand and kissing her palm. The sexual chemistry took hold and twisted sharply between them, the look of longing in his eyes demanding her to surrender. 

Her eyes half-closed, she took a deep breath, needing to calm the crazy rioting emotions flooding through her in waves. She knew she had missed Jamie, but she didn't realise that seeing him today after a long time apart, would turn her into a shuddering mess. Before she could process more of her thoughts, she took a step back. "I'll serve the food, and you open the wine?" 

"Of course." Even with the space between them, his leashed sexual energy lashed out at her in droves, trying to pull her back in. "We might as well. I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse," he said good-humouredly, lightening the mood.

"So am I." Grateful for the change of subject, Claire laughed as she headed towards the hob to serve the delights Jenny had prepared for them. Looking now at the portions, it was quite obvious she made dinner, only for two. What an interfering little witch! she thought. Smiling, she began plating their dishes as she mentally thanked Jenny for her intervention, feeling happy for the first time in weeks. 

[xinternationalculture]

Contemporary Architectonics; or, Bespoke Frankenstein

1.

Three stories—two literary, one folkloric.

First story: A novelist, known only as The Writer, leaves behind his life’s work, “The Book of the Grotesque,” which is unpublished, but read and admired by at least one person.

Second story: A teenager, named Quentin Compson, is admitted to Harvard. The summer before he moves east, his father takes him to visit Miss Rosa Coldfield, an antebellum luminary who insists on telling Quentin about their town’s history.

Third story: A freed slave, working one of the few jobs available to him, becomes famous for the speed in which he hammers holes into rock. Upon noticing a steam-powered drill at the railroad company he’s employed by, he challenges the man tasked with selling them to a contest, and wins.

Example one is the framing device of Winesburg, Ohio. Early modernism, proto-metafiction—whatever one wants to call it, the beauty of the narrative lies in proxy. The Writer is unable to leave his small town, so he creates a character, George Willard, to project his anxieties and ambitions onto. The tenacity of Willard’s inquiries into the lives of his friends and neighbors, and his success in leaving Winesburg, serve to illuminate The Writer’s passivity, and his failure to do so in life. Imaginary achievement distracts from tangible failure.

Example two is the beginning of Absalom, Absalom! Miss Coldfield claims their exchange is for Quentin’s benefit; the southern way of life has been wiped out, thanks to northerners who nonetheless fetishize its history. Maybe he could write a story or an article about it for the magazines and make some money. But Quentin isn’t stupid. Jefferson is still there; it’s Miss Coldfield who fears erasure as a southern Lady. It falls on Quentin’s generation to carry her burden. Yet he’s also carrying his family’s; they’ve sold a large portion of their plantation to pay for his tuition. And his sister’s; she tried to hide an unplanned pregnancy by marrying the town banker—veering so far away from southern ladyhood that she’s run out of Jefferson entirely. A year after he arrives in Massachusetts, Quentin drowns himself in the Charles River.

Example three is the John Henry myth. Like most things concerning the black experience, romanticism belies reality. The holes Henry and his coworkers drilled were for explosives—to blow holes into mountains for railroads. Conditions for steel-driving men were horrible; workers hammered away in decreasing visibility as developing tunnels filled with dust and noxious fumes. Those who didn’t make it were piled into makeshift graves: where John Henry would’ve ended up after dying from exhaustion, in spite of his dignity and strength. Charming, in its luddism.

One person burdened with regret, another with history, another with their place in a society frequently finding ways to render their existence obsolete.

But the point is, none of them are living.

2.

“The novel’s not dead. It’s not even seriously injured.” So said Don DeLillo, roughly ten years before James Wood took to the pages of the New Republic to use Zadie Smith’s White Teeth as a springboard to pillory narrative principles that DeLillo helped canonize. Every generation of writers has to contend with the musings of that era’s critics, and it appears that the mechanisms of modern writing are still trying to address the overabundance of vitality Wood pointed out in “Human, All Too Inhuman.”

Writing stems from the oral telling, but, paradoxically, there are several mediums that perform the function of storytelling more efficiently than speech. One side of contemporary fiction has concrete knowledge usurping emotional intelligence, the result being an overabundance of facts that propel action as if it were a push alert. The backlashes towards this—the formalist revival in poetry, Wood’s “autonomous novel”—seem equally narrow, for changes in consciousness should inherently affect the types of work writers produce.

Recently, an article in the TLS questioned Wood’s range in an era where politics has become more aggressive on street level. All the midcentury geniuses—Trilling, Sontag, Baldwin, McCarthy—were never afraid of parsing out the politics of a novel—or taking a stab at politics outright. Wood couldn’t even implicate himself as a white New Yorker critic, as a Harvard professor on holiday in Italy, in the plot of a Jenny Erpenbeck novel on refugees. What is his utility?

From a practitioner’s standpoint, it’s a fair question, but unduly harsh. James Wood has written cogently on the 2008 financial crisis in relation to the work of Adam Haslett and Jonathan Dee, as well as the effect colonialism has had on ascendent people of color in the context of V. S. Naipaul. And wasn’t it Trilling who compared James to Dreiser, finding the latter utterly inferior—only admired by liberal critics because his subject matter was more useful from a socialist perspective? Utility is not the same as value.

Wood isn’t wrong, just right in the wrong way. His largest sin isn’t gentility; it’s his refusal to let the dead be dead. In harping on realism as our center of gravity, he presupposes that the forms inhabiting realism’s counter-traditions draw strength from it—that our current reality is vital enough for literature to serve as its distillation.

To DeLillo, only the novel is alive, not the society it represents. But of course this is abstract. The novel is an inanimate object; it has no life to speak of. What he meant was that novels should be spacious enough to encompass whatever changes happen within culture, but as a vessel rather than a purifier.

This gets closer to writing’s conservatism, its tutelage by models. All of the novels DeLillo cites as exemplary have been connected to the works of others. JR, by William Gaddis, was rightly linked by the editors of n+1 to Henry Green, while Harold Bloom saw shades of Faulkner in Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian. And it was none other than James Wood who looked at Gravity’s Rainbow, and Pynchon’s work in general, only to throw up his hands, nonetheless acknowledging he was America’s most symbolic writer since Melville.

Writers, subsisting off other writers. Writing, as vessels for other writing. This is the stuff of time capsules. Or coffins.

3.

This past January was the 200th anniversary of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Though gesturing towards Prometheus in its full title, and rhetorically to Paradise Lost, no one would call it a parody. On the contrary, whatever references it draws are cloaked in its story.

Victor Frankenstein begins work on his Creature because of grief; his mother has died of scarlet fever. Eventually, he gets the idea to reanimate dead tissue, and plunders morgues and graveyards for human remains. Miraculously, he succeeds, only to discover what he created isn’t the idyllic image in his head, but a hideous monster. Horrified, Victor leaves, meets up with a friend, goes back to his apartment, only to discover that the Creature has escaped.

It proceeds to wreak havoc on Victor’s life; towards the end of the novel, dying from hypothermia in the North Pole for some reason, he tells the expeditioner who finds him to “seek happiness in tranquility and avoid ambition.” One can’t help but think that ambition is the least of Victor’s problems. For starters, he only feels responsible for his Creature when it insists that he create a companion—someone to spend his life with who understands his personal experience. The fear of a race of hodge-podge bodies overthrowing humanity causes Victor to renege on his promise to do so. Then his solution to the problem is to kill the Creature, which never would’ve been alive in the first place if it weren’t for him.

Victor Frankenstein’s failure is one of stewardship. He failed to give his Creature a fighting chance.

One of the defter choices Shelley makes is Victor refusing to reveal his technique in bringing the dead to life. From a practical standpoint, one cannot elaborate on something that’s impossible; but it also serves as a commentary on Victor’s ego. He makes his creature, then abandons it. His caution is an imposition—of his morality onto our own. The assumption is that every other person who encounters such an ugliness would repeat the same action, but who is he to decide? No matter. We’ll work with what we have.

Victor describes his Creature as having “yellow skin scarcely cover[ing] the work of muscles and arteries beneath…[with] shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.” In other words, its seams are showing.

Victor Frankenstein was of means. Suppose he’d gotten his wits, and cut the creature’s “lustrous black, and flowing” hair to something more respectable—business length. What if afterwards, he decided to take the Creature to a bespoke tailor in Bavaria? The head cutter would’ve fainted, but composed himself after Victor made him an offer, and a good one—large enough to match the eight-foot-tall figure he’d have to contend with. Then, after all of that, suppose Victor releases his creature into the wild. Still ignorant of how it’d be perceived, it’d nonetheless have a normal-enough appearance to blend in, at least until people got up close. Unassuming and subversive, the horror of experiencing the derivative is replaced by the allure of a familiar quality found in a stranger that you can’t quite place, only to have one’s breath taken away at the shock of a revelation.

4.

“In January 1878, a professor of botany named S.A. Rachinsky wrote to [Leo] Tolstoy about what he felt to be ‘a basic deficiency in the construction’ of Anna Karenina, namely that ‘the book lacks architectonics.’” Tolstoy disagreed. “On the contrary,” he replied, “I take pride in the architectonics. The vaults are thrown up in such a way that one cannot notice where the link is.”

A responsible creator, Tolstoy is instructive in his insistence on hiding his structures. But he’s a supreme inventor. The rest of us—working with both the relative pedagogies of MFA writing programs and an increased relativity in what constitutes literature—can learn a lot from Victor Frankenstein’s failures—and Mary Shelley’s identification of them through the camouflaging of her influences.

Discussions these days center around the canon being compromised, and the increasing need to decolonialize it. If we’ve indeed reached the end of the line, and a reshuffling is in order, very well. Let’s take a moment to mourn the dead. But avoiding scavenging their various corpses and attempting to reanimate them seems too much to leave on the table. If one keeps their formulas to themselves, all the better. There are plenty of labs to work in, plenty of codes to crack.

A contemporary architectonics must deal with a history we find abhorrent—a graveyard riddled with dead things—and face our disgust as we rummage for parts suitable enough to suture into large creations. But the next step—Tolstoy and Shelley’s point, and our responsibility as writers and makers—is not to let our Creatures run around naked. Artifice asks not that one aim towards aristocracy; only that your influences be clothed.

Heroism in the novel seemed toxic and unsightly, until Helen Dewitt breathed life into the character of an 11-year-old genius. And the slave narrative, sallow with cliche and stereotype, until Paul Beatty introduced us to a middle-class black man scheming to bring attention to his decertified town by resegregating it. And allegory, dusty and emaciated, until Carmen Maria Machado reappropriated it to apply to the spectral, slow-burn subjugation of women and girls. These are just three examples; doubtlessly, one could think of more. But the point is less about abundance than the activity—about reconciliation as an aesthetic project.

Despite the amount of opinions present, none of this is meant to be prescriptive. Merely, to explore more autonomous forms of creation—less-fraught inquiries of “What have I done?”

___________________

J. Howard Rosier lives in Chicago, where he edits the journal Critics’ Union. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The New Criterion, Kenyon Review, Bookforum, The Believer, and elsewhere. Rosier is the recipient of the James Nelson Raymond Fellowship from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and an Alan Cheuse Emerging Critics Fellowship from the National Book Critics Circle.

[gothchic6]

Silver’s Skater Girl Chapter 10: Tragic Backstories and JP’s Plan

Disclaimer: gothchic6 doesn't own Pokémon.

*Calypso's POV*

It's about 12:35, and there's been no sign or indication that JC has gotten rid of JP yet. I am extremely bored, while Silver over here has gotten the Zubat part of his totem done, and he's starting to carve what looks like a Gastly. Hey, if there's one good thing that I can say about him, it's that he has awesome artistic ability.

I decide to follow suit, and I go to cut off a tree branch, when suddenly, my Pokégear rings. Seeing that it's JC who's calling, I immediately get excited, and I answer the phone.

"JC", I ask, my voice higher in tone due to my delight.

"Yeah, it's me. You guys can come in now; the coast is clear. But could both of you come to my quarters? I need to talk to both of you", JC requests, though her voice sounds a bit different than normal.

"Cool. We're on our way in."

I hang up the phone, and poke Silver in the shoulder, causing him to mess up the tooth of his Gastly. He turns to me, his already cold steel eyes becoming even colder as he grits his teeth in anger. "And what the hell was that for", he growls.

I shrug casually and respond, "JC just called to let us know that we can come back in. But she told me that she needed to talk to us in her quarters."

His steel eyes slowly soften, but a glimmer of a glare still glowers heatedly within them. Once again, he swiftly jumps, and lands soundlessly on the ground. That pompous bastard.

I also jump off, but I don't land as neatly as Silver did, of course. My klutziness is a curse that I wish would just go away, but no, I'm the kid who always trips or knocks over stuff, no matter where I am. Thank Arceus for those insoles, or I would be a complete klutz.

Silver goes in through the window, and I follow suit. We walk through the room, passing the ever-sizzling plastic of the singed security cameras. I'm surprised that the plastic hasn't completely melted and oozed onto the floor yet. I feel somewhat guilty for destroying Pokémon Center properly, so to avoid future mess, I open my bag, and shuffle through it. Finding the metal pan I was looking for, I lay it directly underneath where the melted plastic might begin ooze. That way, JC doesn't have an even bigger mess to clean up.

I follow Silver into the lobby, where he is gazing around. I tap him on the shoulder again, and say,

"The Nurse's quarters are over here, dumbass."

Silver scowls, but follows me into JC's quarters. There, JC is sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap, almost timidly. Her rose eyes are focused on the ground. I find this very strange.

"So, what's up, JC", I ask hesitantly.

She looks up, but refuses to meet my eyes. "I just wanted to talk about the wanted poster thing…"

I raise an eyebrow, and respond, "Are you sure that JP is completely gone?"

She is about to answer, when suddenly, the door to the closet opens, and a disheveled JP comes hurling out of the closet, gun in hand. She quickly propels herself in front of the only exit (JC's quarters don't have windows), and yells loudly,

"Not so fast, dirt bags! I've got you surrounded!"

*JC's POV*

Okay, so this is not exactly what it looks like. No, I am not trying to get Calypso and Silver arrested. There is a purpose to this. But I wish JP didn't have to be so dramatic about everything.

Calypso and Silver instantly tense up at JP's appearance, and I look down at the floor again when I feel the burn of Silver's death glare on me. Then, as quickly as it was focused on me, it shifts onto Calypso, who doesn't appear to be affected by it.

"You see", Silver snarls to Calypso, "I never should have trusted any of you." He looks directly at me as he says the next part, "Now I know why snitch rhymes with bitch."

I lower my head again in shame, but this time, a different kind of expression is directed at me. I look up, and my rose eyes meet with Calypso's amethyst ones. They seem to be saying, 'Why would you do this to me? I thought we were friends!'

Calypso and Silver then turn around to face JP, who is still in her gun-shooting position in front of the door. She's still maintaining her composure, but I can tell that she's dying to let go of it.

Calypso and Silver glower at JP, which makes her start to lose composure. Suddenly, she bursts.

"Hahahahaha", she laughs as she puts her gun back in her hip-holster. "I cannot believe that you two fell for that", she continues laughing, and soon, her pale face is flushed, and tears are running down her face.

"What the hell is going on", Silver demands angrily.

"Haha, you guys thought that I was going to arrest you… haha", JP finishes, chuckling at the end. Then, she closes the door to my quarters, walks over to my bed, and slouches down on it.

Calypso looks completely confused, while Silver is just glaring at everyone, not sparing anybody of his death glare.

"JC, seriously, what the fuck is going on", Calypso asks tiredly.

I am about to speak, when JP cuts me off. "Look, I'm not going to arrest you guys. I talked to JC about you guys. There has to be some reason that you two did what you did, and besides, I'm under a gag-rule, so I can't tell anyone anything I learned about you guys, or the fact that JC has been helping you this whole time."

Calypso is now immensely confused, and she looks so exasperated by this whole thing, that she too goes over to the bed, and falls onto it.

"Could you two please explain to me what the fuck is going on", Calypso inquires.

"Yeah", I respond, and then I look to Silver, who is still standing and glaring, "You might want to sit down, this might take awhile…"

*Calypso's POV*

"So I thought that you and JP hated each other", I start as Silver finally sits his ass down on the bed, though purposely as far away from the rest of us as he can possibly reach without falling off.

"Well, we never really hated each other, it was just a case of intense dislike", JC says slowly.

JP gazes over at JC with a raised eyebrow. "What she's trying to say is that she used to be an Officer, but she left the Force to become a Nurse. She is awesome at whatever she does, and when I first became a trainee four years ago, she had just graduated the Police Academy. She was my role model, and during my trainee years, I wanted to be exactly like she was. She was disciplined, she was alert, and she was exactly the type of Officer a department dreams of housing. My sister, Jenny Charlotte, was in her year, and she was by no means ambitious or academically inclined. So I cast my sister away, and I started to idolize Jenny Cameron, here. But, three years ago, when she decided that she wanted to be a Nurse instead of an Officer, it broke my heart because I wanted to learn under her, and I wanted to work with her to become exactly like her. I became angry at the world, but my determination didn't waver, and I passed my Police Exam five months ago. When I heard that JC was the one who ran this center, I was so angry that I decided that I would waste my time down here on Route 32 just to torment her. I did it everyday, until now. That's why she hated me so much. But now I realize my mistakes, and I am so sorry about them. Thankfully, she has decided to forgive me, despite all of the horrible things I've done."

"Wow", I exclaim after she finishes, "I didn't know you two had such a long history."

JC and JP look at each other, and reply in synchronization, "We didn't know, either!"

I look over to Silver, who seems beyond irritated at this point.

"What does any of this have to do with the situation at hand?" He grumbles rudely.

JP puts her hands on her hips again, and gives Silver the stink-eye.

"Hey, buddy! I'm not the enemy, here! Actually, you should be grateful for me not immediately arresting your ass! If JC here weren't so nice, then I'd be putting your ass in the slammer as of now!"

Silver crosses his arms, and responds harshly, "Then why aren't you?"

"Yeah", I interrupt, "Why haven't you arrested us? We've seen the wanted posters. We both know you have enough evidence to do it."

JP sighs, and looks at the ground for a few seconds. Then, she speaks.

"I guess that the whole drama with JC changed me a bit, and gave me a different view on people who are portrayed as criminals. I mean, my Officer badge says that I'm a law-abiding citizen of the Johto region. It gives me the authority to make arrests, and other cool police privileges. But with that authority comes responsibility. And I hate to admit it, but I've abused my powers as an Officer. I've harassed JC ever since I graduated the Academy. And I'm lucky she hasn't called my higher-up to report me for it. When you're on the criminal spectrum of things, you find yourself more sympathetic towards others on that same spectrum. I guess that's what's happened to me."

I furrow my eyebrows, a bit confused.

"Well, if you're not going to arrest us, then what do you want?" I ask JP.

"What I want… is answers", she gestures to both Silver and I, "from both of you. I've given you both the benefit of the doubt, and if you two want me on your side, then I'm gonna need some explanations. I know the police are trying to charge both of you with theft. What I want to know is why. Oh, and, you", she points at me, "I'm gonna need some info on your family situation. Your wanted poster says that you're a runaway minor, and I'd like you to elaborate on that. That's all I want. But if you guys give me bullshit lies, then I'm gonna arrest you both, got it?"

I take this in before glancing at Silver to gauge his reaction. Amethyst and steel meet for a few seconds before I receive a subtle nod. I turn my gaze back to JP.

"That's reasonable", I reply, "for both of us. But, we do have some conditions before we talk."

JP rolls her eyes, and says playfully, "All right, what do you want?"

I snicker. "All we want is just the guarantee that you aren't recording us, and that you won't arrest us until you've heard everything we've had to say. Deal?"

JP smiles. "Deal."

Silver and I shake JP's hand to make the deal official. Then, I ask, "So, shoot. What do you want to know?"

"Well, I know your name is Calypso. Calypso Aspen Primrose, to be more specific. But your wanted poster says that your name is Gold, when I've been told differently", she says as she gestures to Silver, "What's your real name?"

"It's Silver." He says hesitantly.

JP nods. "Okay, but what's your full name?"

Silver grits his teeth. "I don't have one. My mother died when I was a toddler, and my father abandoned me when I was nine. I've been on my own for nine years. My mom named me Silver because of my silver eyes. That's the only thing I know about my ancestry."

JP's eyes widen. I guess she wasn't expecting such a tragic backstory. Although, to be honest, it doesn't surprise me. I think Silver's backstory fits him well. Though, I almost think that there's something more that Silver isn't telling us. But, hey, if there is, I'm not gonna point it out. That's his business, and JP doesn't seem to notice.

"All right. Wow. I'm sorry about your mother", JP says, shock obvious in her tone. She then turns to me. "So what's your tragic family backstory?"

I laugh mirthlessly, thinking of Gran, and her crazy ways. "Well, it's quite a long story."

"We have time", JP responds, "So go ahead."

I sigh, an irritated smile on my face, if that makes any sense.

"Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning. You know how my wanted poster says that my hometown is Cianwood City?"

All three of them nod, having seen my wanted poster.

"While the wanted posters say that, Cianwood isn't where I was actually born. I was born in Ecruteak City. As for my parents… I actually remember a lot about them. I know that my mom was at one time, a Kimono Girl. I also know that my dad worked as a fisherman, and that he was from Cianwood. I don't know how they met, but I do know that they got married a year before I was born, and my dad moved from Cianwood to Ecruteak to live with my mom, probably because of her affiliation with the Kimono Girls. They had me while they were living there. For a while, life for them, and eventually, me, went well. But, of course, life doesn't always go according to plan."

At this point of my story, both JC and JP are on the edge of their seats, the suspense almost too much for them. Silver isn't as affected as they are, but I can tell that my story has ensnared his interest.

I continue. "One day, my parents decided to go on a leisurely stroll through Route 42. Both of my parents were accomplished Pokémon trainers—my mom rather more than my dad—and they both had their Pokémon with them at the time. The Pokémon on that Route apparently aren't that high-leveled or dangerous. But this one Pokémon spotted my parents walking through the route. I know this Pokémon wasn't a native of this route, because it was way too high-leveled. I'm guessing that it was a Pokémon that some trainer had released. It attacked my parents before they even had any time to call out any of their Pokémon. They ended up drowning that day, and the police report called it accidental drowning. "

"Wait, then how do you know that it was a Pokémon that killed your parents?" JC asked.

"Well, when I was 13, I read this book on Pokémon, and I came upon an interesting species. It was the Pokémon, Hypno. I read about how Hypno are able to hypnotize people, and lead them away. I know my parents well enough that there was no way that both of them could accidentally drown, as they were both strong swimmers. They taught me how to swim. And neither of them would ever commit suicide, as they both loved life. I know that a Hypno hypnotized them, and caused them to drown. I could tell by the look of horror on their faces when their bodies were found. I was only four when they died."

Both JC and JP's mouths are agape. Silver doesn't openly react, but instead, his steely eyes widen subtly.

"Oh my Arceus, Calypso, I am so sorry you had to go through that! What happened after your parents died?" JP questions reluctantly.

"It's all right, I've gotten used to it. On the night that they died, Tina, my mom's best friend, and practically her sister, was babysitting me. When my parents didn't come home when they said they would, she became worried, especially because my mom was known to be perfectly punctual. She called the police, and my parents were reported as missing. It took the police around 8 hours, but they eventually found their bodies in the lake. Their funeral was a week after their bodies were found.

Of course, I became an orphan after their deaths, and someone had to be appointed as my new guardian. In my parents' will, it said explicitly that if anything ever happened to my parents, that Tina should become my guardian. And I had no problem with that, because I loved Tina just as much as I loved my parents. When my parents were alive, she practically lived with us, and she was a part of the family. She was best guardian a new orphan could possibly hope for. She was my guardian until she came along, and ruined everything…" I trailed off, the hatred in my tone obvious to everyone listening.

"Who is she", both JC and JP ask.

I sigh. "I typically don't talk about her if I don't have to, but I want you to know the hell she's put me through over the years. I need to talk about her. She's my dad's mother. My paternal grandmother. I call her Gran."

"Is she the one who listed you as a runaway minor?" JP asks.

I grit my teeth, and respond, "Yes. My grandmother is a very cautious, uptight, ignorant old hag of a woman with an irremovable stick up her ass. She always has been, even before my parents' death, and probably always will be. After my parents' death, she became even more so.

Of course, I told you that Tina became my guardian after their deaths because of their will. But just as Tina and I had just started to adjust to life without my parents, Gran travelled all the way from Cianwood City to claim me. She claimed that she was my 'rightful' guardian.

But Tina was no pushover. She flat out refused to give Gran custody of me, pointing out my parents' will. So Gran did what any respectable old hag would do."

"And what was that", JC asks, an amused expression on her face.

"She took Tina to court. Somehow, Gran has connections with people in the Johto judiciary. So she got the most conservative, old-fashioned bigoted geezer judge that she could to take the case."

"But even with the judge, how did your Gran get the case into the court in the first place? If it was your parents' wishes, then that should be the final decision." JP asks.

"Well, Gran appealed it on the grounds that she was blood-related to me, while Tina wasn't."

JC, JP, and even Silver look baffled at this particular fact. Silver speaks up, "I'm considered to be a hardened criminal in my own right, and even I know that that is some corrupted shit."

JC and JP glance at Silver with raised eyebrows. After a few seconds of this, Silver gives them both a death glare, and says sharply, "What? You know we were all thinking it."

I continue on. "Well, of course the judge was bound to be on my Gran's side. He already knew Gran before he took the case, but also, the minute he met Tina, he was prejudiced against her."

"Why was he prejudiced?" JC inquires.

"Well, while Tina was a very good guardian, her outward appearance suggested otherwise. She was really petite, around 4'11", but very heavily muscled. She was also very heavily tattooed and scarred because before she became friends with my mom, she was in a biker gang. She had short jet-black hair that she always wore in a small ponytail, and she always wore things like belted corsets, leather pants, and combat boots.

Because of that, the judge always ignored any good points that were made of Tina, and always highlighted her biker gang past, suggesting that it made her mentally unstable, and possibly violent. Also, he ignored all of Gran's obvious flaws, including the fact that she assaulted Tina when Tina wouldn't hand me over. After only two days of court, the judge granted custody to Gran, even though he saw me start to cry when I heard the verdict. I don't know how the man lives with himself after seeing me kicking and screaming bloody murder when the police officers dragged me away from Tina."

"As I said before, complete corrupted bullshit. Most of the Johto judiciary is." Silver says after a few moments of silence.

"What happened after the court decision?" JP asks.

"Gran dragged me kicking and screaming bloody murder back to Cianwood to live with her. She kept me locked up in the house most of the time, home-schooled me, and never let me outside unless I went shopping with her.

By the time I was ten, I had noticed that all of the other kids in Cianwood were always playing outside. Before then, I had always been too scared to ask Gran to go outside, because Gran has quite a temper. But I finally got the courage to ask her, and of course, she originally refused, because she was afraid that I would get hurt or sick.

But I was—and still am—a very clever and resourceful kid. I told her that the man at the famous Cianwood Pharmacy told me that kids who never go outside typically become sick more often than kids that do. I think the only reason she believed me was because I said it was the Pharmacy Guy who told me, and he has several medical degrees. So she let me play outside—but only under careful supervision. Still, I was grateful for those moments.

This may sound off topic, but my dad was into skateboarding. After he and Mom died, Gran inherited everything he owned, including his skateboard collection. One day, when I was bored, I decided to explore the house. I happened to come upon Dad's skateboard collection in the basement. I showed them to Gran, and asked her if I could try riding one. She responded in her regular way, saying no, and telling me that 'oh no, I could get hurt!' I begged her to let me ride one, but she still refused.

As a kid who always followed the rules, I found her decision completely unreasonable. So, that night, I tried to sneak outside to ride the skateboard. But, even as a kid, I was cursed with klutziness. I accidently knocked over a stack of books with the skateboard, and it woke her up.

To say she was pissed would be an understatement. She was so angry that she snapped the skateboard in half with her bare hands right there, in the middle of the night. She also forbade me from going outside for a week.

That night changed my life. Her unreasonable behavior pissed me off so much that I vowed that night that one day, I would escape from that prison, and until I did, I would make her life a living hell. I hated her, and my life. Actually, I didn't know what hate was until that night."

At this point, no one dares to speak, the hatred in my tone almost having a paralyzing effect on everyone. Well, almost everyone.

"She's not lying. Well, at least about hating her Gran. You know, I never thought I'd find a person who hates someone as much as I hate my father. But here you are." Silver breaks the silence as he speaks to me, the hate in his tone matching mine in intensity.

I nod silently and continue on.

"I stayed true to my vow. I tried multiple times to escape, but my curse of klutziness never allowed me to execute it properly. Also, every time Gran caught me sneaking out, she would snap a skateboard. So, for the sake of the skateboards, I stopped trying to escape. But, I did make her life hell."

Silver raises an eyebrow. "Define hell."

"Well, I started out by making random little possessions of hers go missing.

The first thing to go was a gold ring of hers. It wasn't a particularly important ring, mainly because I wanted to test her reactions before I did anything really bold. So, one night, I managed to sneak into her room undetected, and steal the ring. The next day, when she took me shopping with her, I told her that I needed to use the bathroom. She let me go, but she made sure I wasn't going anywhere by waiting outside the bathroom for me. I was eleven at the time, so I had just started wearing training bras. I had the ring hidden in my bra."

JC and JP chuckle. "Way to demonstrate the proper use of the bra." JP says, while laughing.

I grin at her. "Thanks! Well, anyway, while I was in the bathroom stall, I put the ring in that little metal box that women put used tampons in. I can tell you now that the employee who was in charge of cleaning out those boxes wasn't there after that day, for obvious reasons.

It took a few days for Gran to notice that the ring was missing. She asked me if I knew where it was. I told her no, so she guessed that she just misplaced it somewhere. She never did find that ring."

JC laughs, and says, "That sounds exactly like something you would do. Is that where you learned all your hilarious pranks?"

I smile. "Of course! If people are being assholes, then I'm going to mercilessly prank their asses. Anyway, back to the story.

After the ring, I decided to be a bit bolder. I stole an old lady perfume of Gran's. It was a really bad perfume, and she used it all the time, so she'd always smell like an old hag. It was really daring of me, especially because it was a perfume that her mother gave to her. I was eleven when I did this, too.

Instead of doing it during the night, I decided to do it during the day for an added thrill. On that day, Gran was busy making a very temperamental soufflé dinner. There was a very lengthy and detailed list of steps that she had to follow if she wanted it to come out right. And that day, she had to make sure it was right, because for once, she had invited her harpy friends over. So, that's when I struck.

I snuck into her room again, and stole the perfume while she was occupied with the soufflé. I unscrewed the bottle, and as an added 'Fuck you', I dumped the remaining perfume onto her old dinosaur computer. I then put the empty bottle back into her room, hoping that she would think that she used all of it. She did, and was quite puzzled the next day when the computer crashed."

JC and JP start laughing hysterically, and I even see Silver snickering a bit. When they stop, JP asks me,

"Since you're here with us now, you somehow escaped. How did you do it?"

"Well, in order to escape, I had to win Gran's trust first, because I couldn't sneak out of the house. So, starting when I was 15, I began to behave properly. I never played tricks, I didn't try to escape, and for a year, I acted like a model child. On my sixteenth birthday, Gran began to trust me enough that she started letting me go outside without supervision, and she let me 'play' with the other kids."

"Why did you say play in that tone?" JP asks curiously.

"Because I really wasn't playing. I was actually picking fights with them, and sometimes, beating them up."

Silver finally bursts into laughter, surprising all of us. JC and JP are looking at me in disapproval. I shrug my shoulders at them, and respond,

"Hey, those little fuckers deserved it. They are spoiled rotten brats who were always bragging about what their rich relatives from other regions would buy them. And they were always calling me names! Oh, look, it's the witch! Watch out for the loony insane asylum patient! They picked on me just because Gran is zubat-shit insane! Just because she's crazy doesn't mean I am too! They're nothing but judgmental bastards!"

JP seems shocked by my harshness, but neither JC nor Silver bat an eyelash. JP looks at both of them, and asks,

"Does she normally talk like that?"

JC nods, while Silver jumps at the opportunity to insult me. "Yeah, she's just a bitch like that."

I flip him the bird, which makes JC laugh, and shocks JP a little more. "Don't you have a story to be telling?" She questions playfully.

"Oh yeah. So, one day, Gran let me outside unsupervised. So I walked down to the Cianwood Pharmacy to buy some medicine for her, because she had a sinus infection. While I was there, I struck up a conversation with the Pharmacy Guy. I told him all about my situation at home, and how zubat-shit insane Gran is. I also told him about my escape plans. To my surprise, he believed me! He told me that he always thought that Gran was crazy, and that he would help me escape.

So, we conspired together to get me the hell out of there. When I told him that I always wanted to be a Pokémon Trainer like my parents, he taught me the basics of being a Pokémon Trainer, even though I didn't have any Pokémon. I started making weekly visits to talk to him. Our conversations are what kept me sane for a while.

Then, about a week before I escaped, I made my weekly visit to Pharmacy Guy. But it was that particular visit that changed my life for the better.

Pharmacy Guy told me that he had a friend that was traded a Pokémon that ended up hating him. The guy that traded it to him refused to trade back, so he was stuck with the Pokémon. Pharmacy Guy told him about my situation, however, and how badly I wanted a Pokémon. So, he gave the Pokémon to Pharmacy Guy, to give to me.

I know JC and Silver have seen her, but as for you", I say to JP, "That Pokémon is a Murkrow. I named her Spirit, because it was my spirit that kept me sane for all of those years.

Thankfully, she came in a Poké Ball, so I was able to hide her from Gran. When I went outside, I would let her out to stretch her wings and play.

However, because she is a forest-dwelling Pokémon, she hated the beach environment, but she tolerated it for me. Actually, Pharmacy Guy told me that Spirit had hated every single person that ever owned her, even for the smallest amount of time. He also told me that before him, that she had had a total of 10 owners or trainers. For some strange reason, she likes me. I guess 12 is a lucky number. She is the best starter Pokémon I could of ever hoped for.

On the day of the escape, Gran had to travel to Goldenrod City for jury duty. By that time, she trusted me enough to leave me home alone. That was her mistake, and my miracle.

The day before, I told Pharmacy Guy that Gran had to go to Goldenrod; he told me that it was the perfect opportunity to escape. He told me to meet him the next day by the shore near the Pharmacy, along with everything I wanted to take with me. So, the next morning, Gran left for Goldenrod at 8am.

About an hour after she left, I gathered up all of my stuff, including my dad's best skateboard. I also collected several basic necessity items, like soap, paper towels, etc. Then, I broke into her safe, and stole 10,000 of her life savings. I also took an old blanket of my mom's, several items for pranks, most of her more valuable jewelry, and the old Army knife that had belonged to my grandfather before he died."

"Well, there's the theft charge." JP mutters.

I laugh. "Theft? I looked up the value of all the items I stole, and according to the Johto Crime Association website, I could be charged with Grand Larceny! Besides, I did more than just steal stuff…"

JP glances back at me, an alarmed expression on her face. "Calypso, what did you do?!"

Silver, whose expression is amused, tells JP, "Well, she mentioned to me once that she could be charged with several counts of Destruction of Property…"

JP whips her head back around to look at me. "Calypso! This is serious! WHAT DID YOU DO AFTER YOU RAIDED HER HOUSE?"

I raise my eyebrows, and shrug. "Well, he's not wrong. I basically trashed the place in a blind rage. In my defense, I think I was legally insane at the time it happened. But among other destructive things, I distinctly remember using my grandfather's golf clubs to shatter the TV screen, and all the mirrors, dumping all of Gran's old lady perfumes onto the gas burners on the kitchen stove, pocketing the bottles with precious metal and gems on them, throwing the worthless ones at the wall, shattering them, writing offensive words on the walls in permanent marker, drawing moustaches and devil horns on every picture of her in the house with permanent marker, cutting holes in all of her clothes… and probably a lot of other stuff that I can't remember… I was so enraged. After I was done, I went to the shore like Pharmacy Guy wanted me to. To my surprise, he had a friend of his get a ferry for me to take to New Bark Town. He told me to go to Elm's lab to get a Trainer's license, and a Pokémon. So, that's what I did. That was two days ago."

All of them are looking at me as if I am insane now, well, except for Silver. Silver is the only one who seems to have any sympathy for me at the moment. Must be a criminal thing.

"My Arceus, Calypso, no wonder the police are looking for you! Grand Larceny and Destruction of Property! You could be facing up to 20 years in prison!" JC exclaims, shock evident in her tone.

I give them all a stony expression. "Look, I know this may sound sociopathic, but I'm not sorry for anything that happened that day. I don't feel sorry for what I did to her and that house. They mean nothing to me. All that hag will ever mean to me is a horrible bitch that ripped me away from the perfect life I could've had with my favorite person in the world. She locked me up in that prison of a house for the majority of my life, and never allowed me to express who I am. I hope that every time she looks at the pictures on her walls, or thinks of the objects that I destroyed, she remembers that it's all her fault. She is the one who imprisoned me. If she didn't want me to fuck up her life, then she shouldn't have left me alone in that house."

Silver is the only one who doesn't look like he is ready to shit bricks. JC and JP seem to think I should be in an asylum.

Silver notices the astonished expressions on JC and JP's faces, and to my surprise, he speaks up in my defense.

"Don't look at her like that. I don't know about you two, but I've been in blind rages many times, and half of the time, you don't know what's happening until everything is over and done. Actually, JP, from what you told me, when you found out that JC left the Police Force to become a Nurse, you had a blind rage that caused you to go onto harass JC ever since you graduated. I don't think you have room to talk. While I may think Calypso is a giant pain in the arse, I think there's a reason she did the things she did. And I don't blame her for doing any of those things. What her grandmother did to her is completely inhumane and unacceptable, even for someone as hardened as me. So, instead of arresting her for wanting her human right of freedom, be useful and arrest the people who really need to be in prison."

Both JC and JP's jaws drop to the ground at the sound of Silver defending me. Actually, my jaw dropped a little bit, too.

JP regains control over her jaw, and replies back to Silver, sharply, "People like you?"

Silver shrugs, and says, "If you want to try and arrest me, go ahead. But I'm not responsible for any injuries I cause in the process."

JP grits her teeth. "You do realize that I'm trying to help you and Calypso avoid getting arrested, right? You have some nerve talking to me like that when I could be the difference between you staying free, or going to prison."

Silver looks her straight in the eye, and responds, "Look, I am perfectly able to avoid the police on my own. Calypso and JC just thought that you, having done criminal acts yourself, would be sympathetic to our plights, and would want to help us out of the good of your heart. I guess they were wrong."

JP instantly flushes red. She looks down at the ground before slowly turning her head back up, but avoiding eye contact with any of us.

"I'll help you", she murmurs quietly, "because I realize what blind rage can do. With my low rank, I don't know if I can make the charges go away by myself, but I can try talking to my superior officer about you guys. I'll tell her about Calypso's family history, and that might gain you sympathy. But I'll need some explanation for the Pokémon theft."

"Well, I took Dusk because—" I start to explain before JP swiftly cuts me off.

"Oh no, not you", she exclaims, "I already know the entire situation with you, Dusk, and Monica. I'm the one she filed the theft report with. I fully believe that Monica was abusing Dusk, even if it probably wasn't physical abuse. Verbal abuse is still abuse, and we can have Dusk testify if it goes into court. No, I was talking about you." She ends, turning towards Silver.

Silver shrugs casually again, as if the theft charges mean nothing to him.

JP sweat drops a little. I can tell she's getting a little irritated by Silver's lack of concern. When she speaks, her voice is slightly shaky from anger.

"For the last time, I am trying to help you. I don't know if you understand my predicament, but there is a possibility that I could get fired for this. I am over stretching my authority in order to try and save your ass. So if you don't give me some sort of logical reasoning as to why you stole Professor Elm's Totodile, then I can't do anything for you."

Silver looks ready to blow up on her, but he grits his teeth to cool off. After finally being able to speak without yelling, Silver replies, in a steady tone,

"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do for me. However, I, as an individual, do not need your help, nor do I want it. Put all of your energy into saving Calypso's ass, because she probably needs it more than I do. I have my own ways of avoiding arrest, and I can say confidently that they are effective, because I've had to use them for nine years in order to survive. Thank you for offering."

JP is still stunned by his lack of wanting help, but she just shrugs.

"Okay", JP says nonchalantly, "I won't arrest you this time, and I'll leave this Pokémon Center without telling anyone what transpired here. But if I happen to spot you while I'm with any other officers, I have no choice but to try and arrest you."

"That's fine." Silver replies.

And with that, JP gazes at all of us, and I realize that this is a totally different person than the Officer Jenny that we heard of not even four hours ago. JP seems more mature, like you would expect an Officer Jenny to be. I smile at her beautiful transformation.

"I'm going to Violet City to talk to my superior officer. Calypso, stay out of trouble, and keep away from the police until I tell you that you're in the clear. Here's my personal Poké Gear number. I'll call you", JP says as we register our numbers. She then turns to Silver.

"And as for you, the same thing I told Calypso. I don't know if I'll be able to ignore you if you come within my eyesight again."

Silver almost lets a smile fly, but he quickly suppresses it. "Duly noted."

"Good."

Silver, JC, and I then proceed to escort JP to the lobby, where she waves before walking outside, hopping on her bike, and zooming off.

[ecotone99]

[SP[ The Hangar

Ever since I was little, I remember being fascinated by airplanes. Or, not just airplanes; all things that fly had me riveted practically since I breached the womb. I would always go with my brother down the local airfield and just watch airplanes take off and land. We would sit on the porch of the convenient store just off the grass, he would buy a moon pie for me and a pack of Chesterfields for him, and we would listen to the gentle, lazy whirring sound of planes going buy. I was 17 when he died--I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you about myself and my origins in a clearer manner.

I’m from the small town of Collins, Wyoming. In 1940 (when I was 15, also the first time I checked) the population was 1,227; everyone in Collins new each other. There was an old man I used to walk past on my way home from school- Mr. McCullough-who remembered clearly the days blue smoke filled the skies as brothers killed each other. He would sit in his chair and smoke his pipe. Every now and again he would invite me into his house (mind you, he was a close friend of my family (and everyone in the town for that matter). I wouldn’t do this with just anyone) and pour me a cup of coffee. I hadn’t started drinking coffee yet, so this was my special moment.

There was June Clark, who could be routinely found in her garden assuming whether permitted. She grew plants that I now know to be marijuana. There wasn’t really any serious policing in Collins; we took care of our own.

Dwight Clark, her husband, owned the bookshop, which also served as a library. He was long since retired, and spent most of his days reading or playing cards. He taught me how to play Texas Holdem, and some days on the weekends, he would run an “underground game” that everyone knew about. They would drink gin and smoke cigars, winning and losing a full season’s worth of tanned deer skins. They never bet money.

My father died when I was 12. He shot himself. My mother went four years later of liver complications from alcoholism. My brother, who was six years older than me, started looking after our little bit of land on the outsides of the town center, near the airport. He started getting into airplanes, and from there it turned into a passion for both of us.

Jim Clark (same last name but no relation to Dwight and his wife) was the one who taught my brother to fly. They would go up in his old Curtis Jenny and practice flying. At the end of the day, I would enviously watch my brother push the Jenny into the dilapidated hangar at the Western corner of the field. It was a lovely scene, the sun setting behind the wire-winged airplane. My brother would always find me afterwards; he would light a cigarette and we would walk home together.

Then 1941 came. I was becoming more independent, I was finally getting on with some of the other boys my age. I had a girlfriend, Trudy, whom I would take to the airport to watch my brother fly. She feigned interest, I now know. I loved having her around. I remember being happy for the first time since my father died.

My brother told me one cold January morning that he had joined the Army Air Service. He was going to the Pacific. “Don’t worry, Tom.” he said. “I’ll be in the P-40, that’s the best airplane we have. I’ll be an ace before April.” I hugged him.

I got the news on April 16th, 1942. He had been shot down near Port Moresby, presumed dead. I went to see Mr. McCullough. I figured he could help me. He asked me what happened, and I just started crying. I can’t remember anything else from that day, but he told me his good friend Jack Daniel had played a few cards in my favor.

I woke up late in the night in my own bed room in my house, which I suppose I was the sole occupant of at that point. It was cloudy, no stars. The trees had that surreal shadow-less look to them. In memory the woods around my house give me chills, but I was calm. I remember walking down the stairs without lighting the oil lamp, something I never did. I’m chronically afraid of the dark.

I walked straight through the trees, never questioning my footing. When I came to the Eastern side of the airfield, the stars and the moon appeared above me. I could see the convenient store where my brother and I sat, the hangar. I walked to the convenient store, Andy’s, it was called, and sat down on the steps. No tears came to me then, but I could feel the warm breeze of those summer nights over me again, hear the whir of the airplanes.

I looked at the hangar. I realized I’d never been inside of it. I decided I needed to see that old Curtis Jenny right away. I got up and started walking. The man in the moon scowled upon me that night, I remember. The cold, gray scale face of the moon seemed terse that night. I found the door, and let myself in.

Immediately in front of me was a biplane, but not the Jenny. It had a different shape, a larger engine. Guns. Guns! I thought. This is a fighter plane! But how had it gotten there? I walked towards it. I gently ran my hands along the propeller.

“Watch it.” said a voice. I turned around quickly to the sight of a glowing ember in the corner of the hangar.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was yours.” I said.

“I should have told you sooner, but I never was a good father.” My dad walked out into my view. The light in the hangar was moonlight, filtering in from the high South-facing windows.

“Dad? But, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, mortality has a tendency to get in the way of things.”

“Dad!” I ran towards him.

“Son, I don’t have much time, and neither does he.”

“Who’s he?”

“Me.” I turned around to see my brother, but he had a mustache and looked...exhausted.

“Charlie, how--”

“All will be explained, don’t worry.” he said. I looked behind him where the biplane had been, but it wasn’t a biplane. A riveted steel monoplane stood there instead, carrying the American insignia. It was a P-40; it was my brother’s plane. It clicked. The first airplane had belonged to my father. I turned and looked at him again; he was wearing World War One officer’s uniforms. The first fighter was what I now know to be a Spad.

“I know what you’re thinking, and yes that’s my plane. I was a pilot, once. I flew in the Great War, with the hopes that no one would need to follow me in the years to come. It seems I’ve failed at that too.”

“Why are you here? You’re both dead.” I said.

“Well, we’ve been discussing that,” my brother said, lighting his cigarette.

“and we wanted to give you a piece of wisdom.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Well, you’ve lost so much. But you mustn’t despair! We’re not completely gone.” My father said.

“What do you mean?” My brother took up the response:

“Was I once alive?”

“Of course you...were.” I said to him.

“What made him alive?” my father asked.

“Was it my flesh? My bone? My blood? Of course not. It was my soul. And, quite frankly, those don’t vanish the same way as these mere corporeal globs. Everywhere we walk, everything we touch, takes a bit of our soul with it. But our souls are not like pies, being divided up and diminished, but as a candle flame, which may light all that is around in while never depleting. Take our airplanes, for example. Dad’s Spad rests in the hands of a collector in Britain, but does it belong to this collector? Surely not. Dad’s soul persists within that airplane. This is why you came here tonight.”

“You see, Charlie, your brother, whom you loved very much, is gone forever. But, remnants of him may be found in our house, or the Curtis Jenny.” I looked behind him to see the Jenny where it had been left.

“When relatives die, we seek heirloom: This is why. Those we’ve lost persist in the objects they leave behind. I am not dead because my body is gone, I am dead because I am forgotten by all.” My father stared into my eyes, he looked tired.

“So, what about people who have no objects left? What about old Mrs. McCullough, who died in crossfire at Gettysburg? None of her belongings can be found anywhere.”

“That’s the other type of afterlife,” my brother said. “We don’t die until all those whose hearts we have touched die as well. But here’s the catch: When someone who’s heart we have touched touches that of someone else’s, we are passed on too. You see, we are all saved by each other. If someone dies before they can touch someone else, in a metaphysical sense I mean, they are truly dead. And this is the tragedy of war.”

“You see son, we are all connected by the same people.” I looked at the ground.

“No one is born one way or another, we are all a mix and match of everyone we’ve ever met, and everyone they’ve ever met, and so on as far back as humans go. I’m sorry Tom, but we must leave.”

I woke up with sunlight streaming into the hangar. I sat up. My head was throbbing. I looked around. The Jenny was parked nearby. I went to it, and I ran my hand along its propeller. Every hangar is haunted, Tom. My brother’s voice sounded in my thoughts. How so, you ask?

Planes travel; it’s what they do. Every time they stop, more and more unique people pour their souls into them. They are the culmination of humanity. Hangars are haunted to an unfounded degree, as they’ve been touched by all those airplanes, who were touched by all those people.

I don’t know where the moral is, or even why, seventy-seven years later, I’m writing this. Perhaps it’s that I’ve been trying to convince myself that this whole thing was a dream for my entire life, and just now have given up. I went to the United Kingdom recently, my daughter married a British man, and it was my grand-daughter’s birthday. We went to see some old airplanes, and one stuck out to me: A Spad. I took some photographs, did some research, and by the tail number it was my dad’s plane. I suppose it’s up to you: Where do we go when it’s finished?

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[classycherryblossomgardener-blog]

16 Completely Unacceptable Halloween Wardrobe For Kids.

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