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Waterproof or Water-Resistant Rain Jackets: Which is the Best Bet for Your Business?

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Waterproof or Water-Resistant Rain Jackets: Which is the Best Bet for Your Business?

Before investing in rain jackets from a reliable jacket manufacturer, know whether you should get them waterproof or water-resistant. Start reading the blog!

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[starlightrows]

Something Sweet

Chapter 1 - Spring Festival Funnel Cakes

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Series Masterlist

Pairing: Modern!Paz Vizsla x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: None!

Summary: Spring has sprung and business is booming and the community is celebrating with a weekend long festival... that you get to spend attending a vendors booth next to the handsome baker from down the street

The depths of winter in a place where it snows is not the ideal time to be moving your whole life and business. But you didn’t have much of a choice, you had already gotten the business license taken care of, the storefront purchased, and suppliers lined up. And with the lease on your apartment being up, it’s now or never. So with a small moving truck full of your belongings all packed up, you set off towards the city to finally chase your dream of opening a flower shop.

Your new apartment is nice, a bit smaller than your previous one but that comes with living alone in the city on a tight budget. But still it’s a one bedroom and it’s enough for just you. The storefront is beautiful. It’s located downtown in what you had assumed was a historic district of the city, but somehow is not classified as such. The buildings are lovely red brick exterior with large open windows for passers by to peek in, with quaint awnings over every door. Your store is located on the corner, with plenty of space to set up floral displays and hang potted plants in the windows. Come spring time this is going to be amazing, and beautiful and everything you dreamed of. You just hoped that others would think so too and come shop there.

By the time mid February rolls around there is still snow in the mountains, and the occasional rain and snow storm that blows through the area but it’s not as bad as when you first moved. Your apartment is coming along nicely, and your store is looking pretty good as well. You’re hoping to open by March 1st, but that’s still two and half weeks away. You’ve got plenty of time to finish painting, assembling shelves, figuring out how to want to arrange your displays, and set up the black board you’re planning to use to decorate the wall behind the checkout counter. You thought it might be fun to use chalk paint to decorate it for the various seasons, write specials, and do holiday countdowns.

You’re a little frustrated with yourself that you weren’t able to get everything in order to be open this weekend. Valentine’s Day is the prime time of the year for a flower and botanical shop. But spring is coming and that means birthdays, weddings, prom season, graduations, date nights, Mother’s Day and spring decorating! But for today it’s just you, a pair of worn overalls and a sweater, and a little can of paint for detailing the floor boards inside the shop. No flowers or valentines dates for you this year. You did see that there was a nice looking bakery a little ways down the street, maybe you could pick up a little treat for after dinner or some nice bread for making fancy toast.

Just the thought of it makes your mouth water, and your tummy rumble. Maybe you could make it an afternoon snack instead. You cap the lid to the paint bucket, and wash off your hands in the sink in the back. It’s not actively snowing but it is freezing outside, so you pull your jacket on over your sweater and lock the shop up behind you. You steal a quick glance at it, admiring how well it’s coming along, before you tuck your hands into your pockets and make your way down the street to the bakery.

It’s getting on in the afternoon, and the bakery isn’t very busy at the moment. But you’ve seen the lines in the morning when the bread is fresh out of the ovens, hopefully there will be something left for you.

You pull the door to the bakery open and step inside, glancing up at the sound of the tinkling bell that alerts the man behind the counter to your presence. He’s probably the tallest, broadest, burliest man you’ve ever seen; and then he smiles at you. It’s a smile that takes up his whole face, and lights up his eyes.

“Hey, welcome in” his voice is deep and sweet. You can literally feel your heart skip a beat and you almost forget why you came in here.

“Hi, I was hoping you might have some pastries or baguettes” you say, approaching the counter. He seems to blank out for a second, because he doesn’t answer you immediately.

“Uh- no sorry no pastries. But I do have a couple of French baguettes left,” he says. You’re a little disappointed about the pastries, perhaps you needed to come in earlier in the day. He pulls a baguette from the bread counter and offers it to you in a long parchment bag.

While he rings up your bread, you take the time to look around at his displays and other breads. “What’s your specialty?” You find yourself asking, thoroughly impressed with the wide variety he has to offer.

“I’m really proud of my ciabatta rolls,” he says earnestly “but I’ve been working on a new roasted tomato and herb crusted bread that excited about,”

You smile at his enthusiasm, it’s great to see people who are passionate about their craft. “I’ll have to come back and try it when you’ve got it figured out,”

You thank the kind man, and step back out into the cold to make your way back to your shop. Instantly you regret not asking for his name, but then again he just works down the street you’ll find out eventually.

———

February passed by in an overcast and sometimes snowy daze. You are able to meet your deadline and open your new store on March 1st. It’s finally a little sunnier on your opening weekend and just that simple fact has people outside and milling about. People are anxious to usher in spring, and there is no better way to brighten up the tail end of winter than by having fresh flowers, lush green house plants and aesthetically pleasing succulents around to decorate your space. Your entire store front is practically picked bare by the end of your first day! Good thing you get fresh deliveries every day, and have a fully stocked back room to replace all your wares for tomorrow.

Business slows down just a touch, but you’ve still got steady foot traffic for most of the day all through the spring. The weather is warming up, and the days are getting longer. Prom season is coming up and you’ve already pre cutting ribbon and bulk ordering corsage boxes. Graduations will be coming up soon too, you make sure to mark on your calendar when the local schools ceremonies are so you can have bouquets and lei ready in time.

One warm afternoon in April it’s a little slow and you’ve already swept the store, washed the windows inside and out, and potted 15 new plants in the back; so you take a well deserved break by standing behind the counter and reading a book. The bell on the door chimes and you look up to see a woman wearing jeans and a polo shirt with the city logo embroidered on the chest.

“Hi my name is Jennifer I’m with the city’s Parks and Recreation department,” she introduces herself and offers her hand to shake. You smile and accept her hand, giving your name as well.

“I’m stopping by all the local businesses to give you this” she hands you a flyer “the city’s annual spring festival is coming up at the end of May. Traditionally we bring in food trucks and invite arts and crafts vendors from the area to come sell their pieces and get some exposure, in the last couple years we’ve been expanding it to other local businesses too. There’s more information on the website to sign up to get you a booth if you’re interested. I think having a plants and flowers booth would be perfect for the spring festival”

She stays to chat about the festival for a couple minutes describing how fun it is to see all the local artists showing their craft, children getting their faces painted, live music, picnicking, and coming together as a community to celebrate the change in seasons.

“This city really comes alive at community events,” she tells you “Free concerts in the park in the summer, cultural learning events, fun runs, around the holidays we have a big Christmas tree lighting ceremony and winter carnival, don’t even get me started on how much this city goes all out for Halloween!”

Jennifir leaves after another couple minutes of excited chatter about the various events put on by the city, and continues on down the street to invite your business neighbors to attend the festival as vendors too. The whole interaction leaves you thrilled at the opportunity to advertise your business, make some more money for the shop, and be part of the community! Your long forgotten book is tucked away in favor of pulling out your laptop to register yourself with the city planning committee to participate in the festival.

The next few weeks you work extra hard to get through prom season, and put in more hours than usual to get everything prepared for graduations as well. The days tick by in May. Mother’s Day is an amazing weekend, you put up a temporary photo shoot wall for mom’s, daughters, grandmothers, or really anyone to come in and take a picture with a flower wall backdrop. Another amazing success full of happy smiling people!

Finally the weekend of the festival arrives, people from the city have been cleaning up the park and working their tails off to get everything perfect for the event. A massive stage is erected in the park, the usual parking lots are lined with enclosed pop up tents for the vendors selling hot foods, extra trash cans are placed everywhere, and early Saturday morning the local businesses are arriving with their SUV’s and vans full of goods to set up their tables.

You are among that crowd. Busily working to get your table set up under a pop up tent for shade, your flowers and potted plants ready for display, making sure you have enough cash for making change in transactions, and cardboard boxes to help people carry their new plant babies home with them.

All around you other local businesses are setting up their booths too. You recognize a few of them that you’ve visited already, but you’re looking forward to seeing more of them. Beside you, you absolutely recognize the tall, broad, and exceptionally handsome man that owns the bakery down the street from you. Spending the whole weekend stuck next to eye candy, and artisan bread… even if you didn’t sell a single flower this weekend at least you’d have a good view.

The morning is warming up, people will be arriving soon, your coffee long since gone. You steal a glance over at the man carefully arranging his bread displays. He glances over at you too, and grins at catching you staring.

“Morning,” he says cheekily

“Good morning,” you reply, going a bit warm in the cheeks.

“Flower booth for a spring festival? I think you’re in the running for making the most profit this weekend,” he jokes looking at your pretty flower displays and cute potted plants. You laughed a little and eyed his selection of breads hungrily

“I dunno, people don’t want to carry around a heavy plant all day. But they do want to snack on some delicious bread,”

He laughs, and extends a hand to introduce himself. “I’m Paz by the way,”

You shake his large hand and tell him your name as well. It’s a firm handshake, worn hands and strong forearms presumably from kneading bread dough. The thought makes your tummy flutter, and your heartbeat quicken.

And so it begins. The two of you pull up chairs at the edges of your pop up tents, and spend the whole day laughing, talking, interacting with customers and making sales. At the end of the first day, he sends you home with a loaf of bread with Asiago cheese baked into the top, and you gift him a pretty green succulent and promise him they are almost impossible to screw up taking care of.

The second day of the festival is much the same, except this time he brings you a breakfast sandwich he prepared ahead of time.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I need a taste tester. I’ve been thinking about expanding my menu to add breakfast sandwiches,” he tells you with a shy smile. You gladly accept the sandwich and have to control yourself not to make embarrassing noises when you taste it.

“You made this from scratch?” You ask, taking another bite

“Well I made the bun,” he says, unwrapping his own homemade breakfast sandwich

“If you start selling this, I promise you’ll put places like Starbucks out of business,” you tell him “honestly, I’m gonna have to start coming down there every morning before I open,”

In his head, Paz thinks that would be an absolute dream to have you come see him everyday. But that’s not the kind of thing you tell someone you met 24 hours ago, so he settles for something else instead

“How far is your shop? Maybe you can have your breakfast delivered,”

“You didn’t know?” You ask “I just opened my shop on the far corner of the street your bakery is on. I actually came in to try your bread a couple months ago,”

Paz is a little embarrassed, he knew a business moved in down there but had no idea it was your flower shop. “No way! I remember you coming in to the bakery, but I had no idea you worked down the street,”

“To be fair the store wasn’t open yet, and I somehow managed to forget to introduce myself,” you tell him.

Just like the day before, the two of you spend the day laughing and chatting in between greeting customers and promoting your respective businesses.

In the early afternoon a man with shaggy dark hair, sun glasses, tattoos and a very cute little boy wearing a green bucket hat came over and started making conversation with Paz. He glanced over at you.

“Have you met Din yet?” Paz asks you “He owns the tattoo parlor across from the bakery,”

You smile and shake his hand, you see his little boy eyeing your selection of plants. “Do you want to pick one out buddy?” You ask the little boy, he nods enthusiastically and chooses a little pot with the beginnings of a strawberry plant in it.

“Shorty and I were just gonna go grab some funnel cake before we head home for nap, I just stopped by to see if you wanted some,” Din says

“Yeah, that would be great!” Paz says.

Din turns to you, and extends the same offer. You politely decline, claiming there’s no way you’d ever finish one on your own.

“You can split one with me,” Paz beams. Din nods and leads his son off into the crowd to acquire the sweet treats.

“I can’t believe you haven’t met everyone yet,” Paz says “We all get together on Tuesday nights after hours for beers,”

“Who is we exactly?” You ask, sitting back down in the folding chair the festival committee had generously provided.

“Most of the shop owners on our street, and a couple of others from around the corner. They actually convinced me to move out here and start my business a couple years ago,”

“I had no idea there was such a community amongst the business owners around here,” you admit.

“You’ve gotta come meet everyone next week,” he insists “You’ll fit right in!”

Your heart warms at the sentiment. One of your big fears moving to the city was not knowing anyone and struggling to find a new group of friends. This could be promising!

Din and his son make their way back and come sit behind the tables with you and Paz. You and Paz do split the funnel cake, and have a grand time chatting with Din and his little boy.

“You’re telling me you’ve been in business for three months and haven’t been dragged into the group? You’ve gotta start coming to Tuesday night drinks,” Din laughs

“So I’ve been told. I think you boys have convinced me, I’ll be there on Tuesday,” you laugh. Paz and Din give a little cheer.

“Everyone will be so excited to meet you! But until then I think the little stinker needs to get home for a nap,” Din says scoops up his sleepy son who’s been dozing in his dad’s lap for the last 15 minutes “I’ll see you Tuesday,”

Din gives a one handed wave and disappears back into the crowd.

The remainder of the afternoon is a bit slower, the last remaining festival

“I’ll come down and pick you up so you don’t have to show up on your own,” Paz offers “Besides I need to check out your shop!”

“Awe! Thank you, that would be great!” You reply, a subtle warmth blooming in your cheeks at the thought of him coming to visit your shop.

Your heart does somersaults in your chest. He’s so sweet and kind. And he’s inviting you to be part of his friend group. That has to be a good sign, right?

Taglist: @maybege @gallowsjoker @simping-for-clones @mxndoscyarika @hayley-the-comet

AN: This whole story, but this chapter specifically is very special to me. The city this story takes place in is based off of the two cities I have lived in, in my life. I grew up going to festival that takes place in late spring, that’s really important to the town I was born and grew up in... and the new city that I moved to as an adult is known for its public markets on Saturday’s where local vendors sell their flowers and their baked goods. I am just days away from moving back to my home city (temporarily) and due to covid I didn’t have the opportunity to attend the public market the last two years in a row. I don’t know if I’ll get to participate in the spring festival in my hometown this year.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

For Better Or Worse | 001

CHECK OUT THE FULL STORY HERE

THE THICK boroughs of black smoke clung to the ceiling, it’s white color overwhelmed with the darkness that soon engulfed most of the room. The paneling that was so expertly handcrafted and forged was now charred with orange flames, the heat licking at the edge of every aspect this place had to offer.

The coughing seemed almost instant, rough and warm against the back of my throat as sweat began to bead against my skin. It soaked through the shirt I was wearing, wicking into the fabric and staining it like the soot that was already so strong. It was biting, it was incessant.

“Addy!” I tried to manage, taking in a gulp of smoke in the process, water pressing into my eyes as I blinked as much as I could. I had read about this, seen the instructional videos. You were supposed to stay low to the ground- keeping your elbow over your mouth to filter out some of the toxic air. The same was to be said about sneezing during flu season. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Speaking didn’t really help in my case, my knees sore as I hit the carpeted ground. The very living room that was covered in children’s toys from the latest Pixar film now smelled of burnt plastic and a campfire gone wrong. Everything used to be so pristine, so clean and sorted. Now it all crumpled under the mercy of flames.

The sweeping edge of a fluorescent light cutting across embers caught my attention. It highlighted the smoke, making it look less menacing and more like a high school girl lighting up below a cracked window. It was sinister though. Painful.

“Fire Department, call out!” A husky voice pressed against my ears. “Call Out!”

“Help,” I spoke quietly at first, the pain ripping through my throat, a wolf had its saliva coated jowls at my jugular. “Help! Over here!”

The air pooled in my lungs, it’s cooling effect clawing at my throat as the sweat that had soaked so easily through my clothes caught the downside of the breeze. It seemed to dry almost instantly, making me feel stiff. Making the deep fog that coated the high seas look thin and withered.

“Bec’s you okay?” The boy to my right spoke. I hadn’t noticed the hand that was resting lazily on my jacketed shoulder. He had his back pressed against the warning bar, his free hand strung over a bent knee. He wasn’t dressed for the weather, a tight black t-shirt hugging his frame. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“Was I?” I knew the answer already. The nightmares had a cruel effect. It was like my brain couldn’t quite forget the worst moment of my life. I usually didn’t make it to the rescue before the flames ate away at the structure of the house. The family house that I spent the first 18 years of my life in.

A brown paper bag rested between the two of us, my back close to the deck of the Poseidon. It was such a brave and daring name for something that was fished out of the bottom of the ocean. The gaping hole in the side had been patched up, but the same wasn’t to be said for the top tier of the little fishing boat. The mayor had given us an ulterior motive. We could keep running our little towing company out of the abandoned shelling factory on the water in exchange for restoring a national treasure that would put us on the map.  

There was a thick haze that shrouded the bulk of the boat. It’s rough cover breaking away enough for me to see in front of my face- but that was about it. I would usually expect a lot of calls cutting through the air. Jesse clenched his jaw and startled to unwrap the bag. It would loud compared to the silence of the sea, though Jesse didn’t seem to care. He had a goofy stare on his face, knowing enough not to question me after I woke up with such a start.  

“So did you guys get a chance to bond last night?” Jesse said plainly, trying to change the subject. It moved my heart into my throat as I lifted my head quickly, afraid to break my neck. The obvious shift in conversation enough to help me forget the memories that plagued my every waking moment.

“Game night?” I asked, knitting my eyebrows together. “It was fine. Aubrey went beast mode and destroyed the monopoly board?”

“You provoked her, I’m sure.”

“She looked like the hulk.” I adjusted my position on the deck, folding my legs underneath me. “I swallowed that little metal top hat.”

Jesse laughed loudly, it was a hearty one that echoed. I could recognize it from across the room. The two of us splitting sandwiches since kindergarten. We had always gotten each other, no problem too big for us to handle together. Aubrey had entered Jesse’s life almost a year ago. The two of us having a strained, but strong relationship. Jesse was convinced that we needed to work past non-existent tension.

“I just want you two to get along before the wedding.” He admitted, peeling plastic wrap away from the peanut butter and jelly he had half-heartedly made this morning. He tore through the wonder bread, it’s white exterior cracking under his touch as he passed off half to me.

“We do get along,” I stated, sinking my teeth into the sandwich “I promise you, there is nothing to worry about. The two of us are fine. Great actually.”

From the beginning, I had a feeling that Aubrey wasn’t too fond of me, but it had never really taken a backseat until Jesse got down on one knee and produced a ring that was twice as much as our current salary. From then on, Aubrey didn’t really have a feeling that Jesse and I had some behind the scenes relationship going on. He was 100% committed to his girl- and for the longest time, I was committed to my family.

Now I was committed to the sea- as terrible as it sounds. It was the furthest away from any type of flames that I could get. The island, it didn’t’ have much of a beach, nothing but a few jaded rocks and a sweeping lighthouse- but it was home for me now. I often fell asleep at the offices, taking little solace in getting any rest when I was buried deep in the wood structure we called home now.

My father had left this business behind, Jesse’s own family more than reluctant to sign the contracts and move to some vacation spot with more sun and less unpredictable lightning storms. I found comfort in those too- the rain a form of water dulling one of electricity.

“I just don’t want any trouble.” He sounded out carefully, mouth full of bread. He was trying to make it sound as little as possible. “I know how you get.”

“Oh yeah?” I lifted an eyebrow dutifully “And how is that Mr. Swanson? Defensive?”

“Along those lines, yes,” He threw his arms up in exasperation. “Remember our high school graduation? You thought Mr. Weil was discriminating against your size and you kicked him in the kneecap.”

A certain heat rose to my cheeks. There was more to the story than that, he was constantly condescending, making awful comments about the girls in our class. No one would do anything because it never escalated, and the school district was small enough to have only one History teacher. They couldn’t afford to lose the old geezer. “I had nothing to lose.”

“Yeah, well I do,” Jesse chuckled, shaking his head. “I want both of my favorite girls to be okay with each other, okay? No thrown cake or bashed in body parts.”

“You have my word,” I reiterated, wiping my palm on the grease-stained jeans that I had been wearing out for the past couple of months. I tried washing them- but they would get dirtied again the next day at work. By the time the sun set, they were tattered just like my sense of accomplishment and nerves.

I held my hand out to him, the boy eyeing it like I had thrown a kitten off the starboard. “What, do you want me to spit in it, or something?”

“No, God no” He laughed loudly, placing his palm on mine as she squeezed my hand. It was a warm and kind embrace. I didn’t need this reassurance, I already knew I wouldn’t mess this up. Not for him. The only person who had ever stuck with me through it all. He loved Aubrey, and in time, I would grow to find a way to.  

The deep golden light slowly flickered off with a distant buzzing, keys heavy handed in my grasp as I finally got a chance to shut the large metal door to the shop. It creaked and groaned, just like it did every night. I tried my hardest to keep it quiet- knowing that those daring enough to live in the bottom of their boats wouldn’t take too kindly to the noise.

The spaced out overhead lights were enough to illuminate the finally fogless night- a cool breeze from the crashing waves burning my throat as I threw my bag over my shoulder. The paperwork weighted it down, but it was someone more calming than staying here in an empty warehouse resting on the water.

Part of me craved a good bottle of ale, the other knowing that I had to get across town in the next fifteen minutes to pick Addison up from her sitter. Stacie was calm headed and often would bend the rules of her at home daycare just to work with me. I owed her a lot more than I could afford to give her.

My footfalls echoed against the uneven deck, splintered wood reminding me of how clean it used to be when I was younger. The storms had weathered it down, damaging the structure but not the point where the many fishermen and vendors didn’t use it religiously.

There were a few restaurants, ones that got more local traffic than anything. The inhabitants were a mix of jet-ski rentals and old fishermen who would lounge in front of their vessels. No matter how much that was out at sea, they still missed it- craved it to the point of enjoying a few beers just camped out under the twinkle lights they had strung.

“Heading out for the night, Beca?” The gruff voice of John filled my ears. Up until a few years ago, he was a prominent man- owning more land for his own good. He was never knocked down from his pedestal, instead, he traded it all into retirement with a white and blue cooler and lawn chairs. He was always out here, admiring the stars when the night sky allowed it.  

“Yes sir,” I responded with a smile, holding up my hand in refusal when he lifted an amber colored bottle to me. On any given day I would say yes, but I didn’t have much of it in me tonight. I had pushed my time in the shop. “No thanks, I still have to pick Addy up-“

I was cut off by an ungodly scraping sound, one that was unnatural as it cut through the night air. I squinted, turning slightly towards the end of the dock. There was an inky figure slowly pulling a bag behind her. Her frame was tall, lanky at most. I couldn’t see much- the ferry that brought her in still shining its bright lights. I had never known for the ship to drop off people this late- but no one was ever intentionally trying to make it to Haven.

“Hmm,” I mumbled absently, curious as I tilted my head to try and get a better look.

The mysterious stranger suddenly lost her balance, her noisy heels getting caught in a groove of wood. A long crack made its way through the air as those very shoes snapped under the weight. I drew in a sharp breath, raising my fingers to my lips as I stifled a sound.  

“Good Lord,” John spoke softly “That girl just ate shit.”

I gave him an odd and jarring look before gathering my nerves and trotting the good distance between me and the woman. She was leaning back on her bare feet, staring down at the broken shoes as a deep crimson moved past her lacerated palms. She was wearing a tight-fitting skirt, a similar navy blazer over a half-untucked white shirt. The girl’s hair was in a messy bun- deep red locks falling into hard cobalt eyes. They reminded me of the ocean. They were angry though, like the clouds that formed right above it.  

“Are you alright?” I asked, trying to stifle a chuckle as I outstretched my hand.

“Do I look like I’m alright?” She snapped, blowing the air out of her gaze. She sniffed, trying to shake the stinging from her hands. Her voice was silky and damaged at the same time. It was alluring, in a way. She looked way too professional- even in her tattered state.

“Well no, Ma’am.” I sounded out easily “That’s why I’m offering to help you up if you’d let me.”

She let out a groan and swatted my hand away, using her suitcase to help her up instead. She let out a small huff as she attempted to straighten out her clothes. She turned a blind eye and started walking towards the end of the dock. I scratched the back of my neck apprehensively, shrugging my shoulders as I started to walk after her.

We walked in silence for a few seconds before she let out another huff that pushed through the cold air. She stopped quickly, her shoulder finding a way to my chest as I inhaled quickly, bouncing back. “Are you following me?” She griped as she whipped around.

I took a step back, holding my hands up in defense. “Uh, no. The dock only goes one way and I don’t plan on taking a long walk off a short pier.”

She lowered her shoulders a bit, not as defensive. In a way, she was scrutinizing me, trying to find something out that I’m sure I couldn’t place my finger on. I looked like a mess- my white t-shirt coated in dirt and oil. A dark red flannel was hanging lazily from my sides. One sleeve was falling down as I pushed it up towards my elbow slightly.

“Oh,” She spoke a bit softly, letting out a shaky breath before walking back towards the entrance. A large iron sign that read Willow Point its letters having been crafted from the very boat that Jesse and I were fixing up. “Do you know Aubrey Posen?”

The question took me off guard. I wasn’t even sure if this girl would allow me to follow her around like a lost puppy- even though I knew exactly where I was going. She was intimidating, enough to make goosebumps raise on my skin as I scratched lightly at my collar.

“I do, actually.” I sounded out. “She runs something borrowed right in the center of town.”

The girl let out a light grumble as the two of us walked onto the gravel, she had her broken shoes in her hands, grimacing as the pebbles dug into her feet. I didn’t say anything though, not about that. “You’re not going to take a cab, are you?”

“I was planning on it.” She turned to face me again, the color of the moon shading her face in an almost angelic way. “Why?”

“Well, the girl who runs the only cab in town is hammered at this point in the night, so… if you would let me, I can drive you.”

“You’re a stranger.”

“You’re not walking.” I stood my ground. “It’s about five miles to get back into town, and it’s about to start raining… again.”

She glanced towards the only truck in the parking lot. It was mine- the paint a rusty red- but it had a working engine and an air conditioner. The thought of riding around town during the summer with leather seats adhered to my back made me cringe.

“What kind of a town is this?” She sighed, pressing her fingers to her hairline.

“It’s Haven,” I laughed slightly “Entirely shitty, but the people aren’t so bad.”  

[royallypsychotic]

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[festfashions]

Lightning in a Bottle, where do I even begin? Once again I’ve been enchanted by my favorite festival. Once again I've left thinking that this time it was even better than the last. Once again I've left inspired, recharged and more comfortable with who I am.

It's always hard to put into words exactly what this festival is about and what it means to me. When I come back after the weekend everyone likes to ask, and I find it hard to use just a few words to explain the feelings it gives me and the world it creates. So this piece might be a little rambly and long, but I want to paint a picture for you of the full experience.

LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE - THIRD TIME'S THE CHARM

On Friday, we arrived Lightning in a Bottle (LIB) bright and early. This was the first time we'd decided to do car camping. We were there by 10 am and I found the car camping area to be pretty packed already. It seemed that Thursday was the busy night for the LIB team, with the bulk of campers arriving then. Luckily we had a friend who came in Thursday night and saved a nice space next to his tent for us.

Let me tell you, car camping is a total game changer. I will never not car camp again at LIB. Moving our stuff from the car to camping was 100x easier. It also really helped that it was overcast Friday morning when we arrived. By the time we set up our tent, the sun was clearing out the clouds and warming up the day.

We got a new tent this year too. It was a Coleman 10 Person Instant Tent. We got it at Costco for about $200 and I have zero regrets. Previously we used a six person tent -- which holds six people if you're laying side-by-side next each other in sleeping bags with literally nothing else in your tent. With the 10 person tent, and four of us in it, we were able to fit two queen air mattresses, stand up to get dressed and have a lot of room for all of our other stuff inside the tent this year. We didn't even need to set up a canopy to keep us shaded because it came with a really great one that attached to it.

Setting up the tent and seeing the lake was totally amazing. For those of you who don't know, this was the first year that LIB has been at the San Antonio Recreation area with a lake. It's incredible to see that we had so much rain this year in CA.

After setting up our camping area, we grabbed some beers and went for a walk to check out the lake. It didn't take us long to realize how the lake was affecting the San Antonio recreation area. Over the course of the weekend we saw two snakes, some half-dollar-sized spiders, and lots of little flies/mosquitoes. Surprisingly, none of these bugs bit us and I don't have any marks which was a really nice surprise. The snakes were also harmless, mostly just scary. This was solved though by a guy next to our campsite who we ended up dubbing "Jake the Snake". This crazy guy collected the snakes for us and moved them away from our campsites. (Thank you, Jake the Snake).

It also turned out that the festival had to be reorganized a little bit, because of something else the lake brought with it. Where the Woogie stage used to be, a bald eagle had made a nest and laid some eggs in the tree. Talk about amazing. Some people even got to see it. We tried to look for it once but we couldn't find her or the nest.

We had one friend arrive at our campsite after us because she had to take a separate car. To offset the carbon emissions, LIB charges single car drivers $30 to park at the festival. Once she arrived, we changed into our first looks and headed into the festival for the first time.

Friday we themed "holographic space lamb". My group and I really like coordinating themed outfits. I wore my Glamorous UK blush pink mesh maxi dress, holographic J Valentine bottoms, lightning bolt pasties, and some new platform pink boots I had purchased from Hot Topic. It didn't take me long to need to put some insoles into those shoes. They were cheaply made but became much more comfortable once I had the shoe pads in. They were a ton of fun to frolic in around the festival. I always recommend bringing a pair of insoles to any festival. They can be a totally game changer.

The weather Friday was perfect with the morning haze, then even still once it cleared up. During the day it never got too hot and then at night I layered my look with some leggings and this really cool faux fur jacket I got off Poshmark for $20.

Once changed we headed into the festival to explore. The Thunder and Lightning stages were the same beautiful set up they've always been. A new Pagoda Bar, Woogie stage and other some other new structures were set up with beautiful bright colors reflecting on the lake.

Because of the way the festival was reorganized, it did feel a little squished in some areas. I felt like there was a stage near the Gong Sanctuary and The Cauldron tents that was a little too close. The music overpowered speakers there and the meditation space. I also felt like there were a lot more vendors than previously, which was fine, but it just took a little learning curve to learn the new festival grounds.

We checked out a class in the Learning Kitchen, "Digestive Psychology" on Friday. It was about how we often just try to treat an problem vs finding the underlying issue. For example: perhaps we have back pain and we're dealing with a lot of stress; we should learn to deal with the stress primarily vs medicating the back pain, because the stress could be causing the pain.

Friday night was a lot of fun bouncing around to check out how art pieces transformed into glowing night structures, dancing to music at multiple stages, and eventually closing the night with Rufus Du Sol. We're not really the group of people who stay up past 2am haha, we were beat and called it a night after 2am. There's of course music all through the night for those who want to stay up.

Saturday I wore matching tie-dye overalls with my boyfriend, which we dyed together the weekend before. This look was totally his idea and they turned out amazing. Everyone loved them, I swear I got more compliments on my outfit that day vs any other day. We purchased the white overalls from Forever 21 and got a tie-dye kit from Michael's with a coupon. I actually ended up having to dye the overalls twice because the first time we didn't properly fill in all the white space. That worked out fine and they turned really great. I loved having all the pockets and it wasn't too warm to wear during the day because we didn't wear any shirts underneath. and at night, I just added my coat again and I was perfectly content.

Saturday we ventured out and checked a few different classes. First was "Sex, Love & Awakening: 4 Keys to Ecstatic Partnership" at Haven. Let's be real, we wanted to check out at least one class that had sex in the title. I really ended up liking this class and the speaker. She was super well spoken and had a lot of interesting points. She talked about the fours stages of a relationship that she's studied as a psychologist, and my friends and I had some great discussions after about our own relationships.

Then we went to "Tarot Readings with the Tarot Woman" at Craft-Folk Arts. Each reading was $20. After, we went and checked out a favorite from last year, Benjamin Pixie and salmon skin tanning. This year the class was hands on and we saw a little of the process he uses. Mr. Pixie has some great stories and a love for sharing them that makes his smile quite infectious.

We checked out another Learning Kitchen class Saturday called "Flavor Tripping: A Trip Down Sensory Lane" which was really cool as well. This one was presented by New Belgium Brewery, and they had some beer samples for us while they talked about the process and different tastes of each. They also told us about this thing called a Miracle Berry and let us experiment with it. It's a plant native to West Africa that contains glycoprotein, something that causes sour foods to taste sweet temporarily. We all got to have one of these little pill versions of the fruit, then they passed out lemons and limes to taste. It was totally crazy because you really did have a tastebud change!

Saturday we also checked out the 2nd Annual Soapbox Derby which was so awesome, and spent most of Saturday night at the Grand Artique which is set up like an old Western town, and played some arcade games. I won a rabbits foot on my first try.

While it may sound like we had very organized days, it was was really made up of a lot of hopping around. We'd taken a look at the schedule before and picked a few things that sounded interesting, but for the most part we would check out a class here, listen to some music there, grab a snack or sit by the lake. There's really no set schedule you have to abide to at LIB and that's one of the things that makes it so much fun. We weren't living by the clock and rushing to keep to a schedule. Most people also have no service at the festival, and you either decide it's too frustrating to try to keep to posting things, or you just don't care anymore and you put your phone away to just experience everything.

Sunday was the hottest day. We woke up feeling hot for the first time, and decided it was time for us to venture down to the lake for a swim. The water was so refreshing and felt so nice. The shore was rocky but once in the water you could swim or float without touching it. Everyone was in the water Sunday AM it felt like. Pockets all over the grounds were filled with colorful floats. One of my favorite things about LIB is how we all accept the fact that just because we're adults doesn't mean we can't enjoy life and have fun. We still like to play in the water, climb on playgrounds and be silly. I love that we're given this freedom there. I love that no one judges anyone there. The festival had artists build a few climbing structures on land, then a few floating art pieces as well for us to all play on to further facilitate our play.

I think what always keeps me coming back to LIB is this overarching theme of freedom. I get to wear all my "crazy" outfits with lots of colors, dye my hair pink and do my makeup with tons of glitter. I get to play dress up and people don't stare at me like I'm a weirdo, but appreciate the creativity in it. I get to walk around with a backpack filled with cold beers and drink responsibly instead of trying to drink a ton before getting into an event so I don't have to pay ridiculous amounts to drink once inside. I never feel harassed by security or pestered by rules. It's an adult playground; we're given the freedom to explore, take charge of our own bodies, take charge of our own time, and express ourselves in our own creative ways. It's one of the most freeing experiences of my life each time I go.

Sunday we went back to Craft-Folk Arts to listen to "Storytelling - Animal Awareness with Rainbow Dreamer". It felt like story time in school again- Rainbow Dreamer was a flawless storyteller, with a mesmerizing cadence. From there we went to one of the last Sound Healing sessions at the Gong Sanctuary. Here you lay down with your eyes closed and they play all these sounds around you like rain sticks and gongs for about 20 minutes as a mediation session.

We then hiked up to Mediation Point to take in the view, and ended the day like every other day, watching the sunset from a cliff with other festival-goers. This is always such a magical close to the day, and it was even more beautiful this year with the lake reflecting the light. After howling and clapping at the sunset, we changed for our last night at the festival. Sunday night was the coldest and the most windy, but we had a great time again closing with Bassnectar.

Sunday I wore a hot pink metallic one piece swimsuit I had been pining over since I first saw it online. I waited for a good sale and purchased it, the brand is Motel. I wore it with some fun alien hoop earrings my boyfriend got me for Christmas, and at night with some glitter tights. During the day I had a faux fur purple vest with it from Poshmark, then at night again my faux fur jacket to stay warm.

There's so many things to explore at LIB, but my friends and I felt like we didn't miss a thing this year. We experienced it all as it was meant to be, by fulling allowing ourselves to journey through the festival. We went to some great classes and lectures and then took those further into wonderful discussions together as the sun set each night. We grew together over this weekend, and I know we won't forget the memories we made anytime soon. I love this feeling I leave LIB with, and I hope it stays with me for a long time until it's time to be refreshed again next year.

[propermeals]

first in, first out

Plenty of prose has been written about the perplexing nature of dried beans. 

The fact that they are greedy with your time, needing to be picked through, soaked overnight, and cooked–rather vigilantly–for several hours. That they are the panacea of home cooking, presumably cheaper, healthier, and less wasteful when reconstituted yourself. And the fact that they pay you back in dividends with their broth & starchy protein. That they are not a simple boiled food to flirt with on a whim, like, say, farro, isn’t uttered as often. They are an economical cook’s rite of passage, requiring both time and patience. Once mastered, they deliver on their promise of an everlasting meal, but until then there is a long journey of ruptured and toothsome beans ahead.

My friend Celia and I have been loosely organizing dinners with each other around the notion of waste, more specifically, pantry neglect. We both live alone, so our dinners are an invitation to share a meal without the need to impress or curate. And they’ve become a simple way to hash out our groceries together: any and all contributions are welcome. Celia writes a blog called Litterless, a thought-provoking, humble how-to guide for living less expediently in modern America. I’ve always felt a certain degree of existential angst at the grocery store, knowing that for every perfect apple or lemon, or coiffed head of lettuce, there are dozens less attractive that become refuse. Not to mention the packaging waste we contribute to when we shop the inner aisles. As it turns out, I’m a consumer in other spaces, too, and so I began to strive for less waste in general. Celia has been a big support in the transitional process. 

She is leaving Chicago, which makes our tradition more symbolic than actual, but the move sparked a conversation around food clutter. Use what you have before buying more. It seemed like a simple enough theme. First in, first out, as they say in the restaurant world. For foods without a shelf life, this takes a bit of practice and discipline; my dilettantish attempts at homesteading have bordered on doomsday prepper. Shopping and cooking in this way means confronting the dregs of not just your cupboards, but your identity as a consumer. Beans are easily hoarded, so we agreed we would start there.  

They would need to be soaked and cooked ahead of time, the beans. A surprising amount of plotting & planning is necessary for such a simple meal. Celia arrived at my house with her metal bento box full of an anonymous variety from Rancho Gordo, a souvenir from a trip she took to California where the selection of bulked goods was particularly irresistible. Boiled on the stovetop (on a ninety-five degree day, mind you) they were spilling out of their jackets slightly, but we were not aiming for perfection here: just restraint.

I had plans for them, two to be exact: the first, cooked languidly with potato and tomato and eaten with a spoon; the second, romped around in a pan with dandelion greens, chard, and garlic. Celia made the call and it was an adaptation of Patience Gray’s bean stew that we ended up making. My contribution to the meal was a pomodoro sauce from last night’s dinner to substitute for canned tomatoes. Three oversized, rather garish-looking ones, busting at their seams, had been in my freezer since September, salvaged from a grocery store where I worked that put up expiring food for staff to take. Sometimes it’s a perk to be on the other side of food waste.

We let the stew simmer, then ladled it into bowls, and finished with olive oil. It’s a bit thrilling to breathe new life back into food; to make a moment out of it. I can think of a few others that would benefit from such resuscitation: the blue corn grits I pulverized into a fine powder months ago, thinking that if I willed it into quick-cooking form it’d be easier to use; several quarts of dried black beans, who’ve been sitting patiently in their jar for quite some time now. And I still have seven different varieties of dried chilis brought back from a trip to Mexico in 2015, each one shuffled between containers whenever I decide to reorganize my things. I had asked the vendor at the market to write out the names of each, so a little piece of torn paper with scribbly Spanish still sits with them.

It was raining outside, so we squeezed ourselves onto the only covered portion of my rickety porch, if you can call it that, to eat. I sat next to my mint plant, picking at the leaves during pauses in conversation, already planning a tisane for afterwards. We agreed the tomatoes had eclipsed the beans, as big fat heirlooms disciplined into silky sauce will do. I don’t advise my irresponsible methods for wrangling said tomatoes: taking my chefs knife and bashing one until it splits into two flat surfaces before chopping, but do what you must. 

Our conversation ebbed and flowed between things we eat and things we own (and things in between), food and the ecology of consumerism being inextricably linked. There was bread, too: my favorite oat porridge sourdough loaf, with its burnished crust perfectly delineated from its custardy interior. It was purchased, impulsively, that afternoon. Old habits die hard. And there were salad greens from Earnest Earth, dressed simply. But the beans were tender and creamy, and gave body, smokiness, and–dare I say–elegance to the stew, with their little black eyes. They were worth the trouble.

[neuro-slicers]

AS ABOVE,SO BELOW

A Short Story By Daniel Elms

She walked the point of incidence between two parallel worlds. Adrift in an infinite wash of electric blue, only the smell of ammonia and petrichor suggested her footing was earthly. The rain-washed street reflected illuminated, composite signage that had no perceptible end — fractal, electronic life. As her portrait receded into the urban cosmos, an iridescent, freestanding door in the centre of the street framed her silhouette and split the parallel worlds in two, parting the waves of the faceless shadows that marred her path. She approached the door, with no outward act of devotion to witness, and the door, heeding her wordless prayer, opened.

Jun Almeida awoke from a premonition upon the backseat of her patrol car. She wretched and vomited, directing the bulk of the brown matter, with honed accuracy, to an awaiting sickness bag; she held her head in her hands.

“Fuck.” her voice was thick with mucus and matter, “Fucking ramen.”

She used a napkin to wipe away an acidic spatter that had caught her trousers and discarded it among the empty take-out packaging that lay strewn across the car’s workstation. The sight of the leftover food caused an influx of nausea — the deep, dull nausea that came from using neurostimulants. She unclasped a latch upon a half-moon pendant that hung around her neck and revealed a recessed compartment. Its felt lining was stained with chalk-like dust; a chrome divider partitioned its near-depleted contents by colour: pink and blue pills. Jun took a blue pill, a chromatography baffle — “Chroma”, and swallowed it with the dregs from a water bottle. The pill’s sugary film dissolved and scolded Jun’s vomit-burnt throat. She paused for a moment, allowing the Chroma to work its way through her system — a near-instant process due to the pill’s latent nanotechnology. Jun had become attuned to the bodily sensations that occurred when the Chroma had begun to obfuscate the chemical content of her body and so put her palm to an embossed square of strengthened, black glass, which was recessed within the car’s interior. After a brief whirring of internal mechanisms, the cabin filled with the piercing, blue-light of monitors and projection overlays, their outdated appearance a hallmark of the 22nd Municipality’s police force.

A request from Dispatch flashed on the left-most screen with a synchronised and incessant tone. Before Jun was able to dismiss the request, the car’s Navigator accepted the callout and accelerated, with an almost-inaudible charge, towards the incident.

“Navigator, what the fuck?”

The Navigator responded with a single pitch that denoted a failure to comprehend the question. Jun checked the monitors for an explanation and then recalled that her Blackbox was still connected to the terminal: “For fuck’s sake!”

Jun tore the Blackbox from the terminal and stopped herself from throwing it across the cabin. To cancel the request from Dispatch would be to open an investigation by the Gazettes into Jun’s conduct that evening and there would be enough trace of neurostimulants in the patrol car to warrant avoiding that outcome, even a minor investigation would be enough to undo the work of the Chroma. She sat back and wiped the fatigue from her eyes as the car sped towards the incident: officer in need of assistance.

The reflection of her car’s oscillating blue and red lights greeted Jun as she alighted at the Northern end of Corbyn Street — thoroughfare of the Gonzo pleasure district. 

She covered herself from the rain with her jacket’s hood and proceeded towards the officer that had requested backup, making a turn at the end of the road on to a narrow alley that was hemmed in between two Skytowers; the towers stretched towards the heavens and beyond the line of sight, an optical illusion created, in part, by the incomprehensible mass of projections that overlaid one another and vied for attention. Disparate vendors, which sold erotica enhancers on the shelves and black-market goods behind the counters, lined the alleyway, all of which were controlled by a few Slavic syndicates that had partitioned the area into three respective territories, the boundaries of which were maintained by a fraught ceasefire. In part, the alliance was bound to an unspoken deal between the police and the syndicates in which an absence of police raids and prosecution was exchanged for an area of containment and an end to the violence between gangs. Jun made her way through the network of connecting streets and walkways, deeper into the web of the black market. She heard raised voices ahead of her.

Constable Longhu, one of Jun’s subordinates from a neighboring district, had his sidearm pointed at a woman who knelt upon the ground with her hands behind her head. Unusually, he held the weapon with a single hand and his right arm hung lifelessly by his side. Surrounding Longhu, with a collection of pistols and gauss rifles trained on him, were three syndicate members. Their voices were raised — a combination of Bulgarian and broken English — as was Longhu’s, who’s lack of linguistic skill only heightened the tension. 

Momentarily, Jun’s awareness of the situation faded as she looked upon the woman kneeling on the ground. She wore flowing, iridescent robes that were stained with the dirt and rain and reflected the gaudy, red facades of the surrounding brothels and clubs; her image clouded Jun’s instincts with an overwhelming sensation of déjà vu — the stimulant-induced dream had been broken. The woman’s face differed from that which Jun had dreamt, but her aura was the same: she made the air crackle with latent, otherworldly energy. The woman watched Jun with an impassive expression. Jun lingered for a moment before she broke eye contact and approached the standoff, slowly, with her hands raised, “Constable Longhu.”

The syndicate members shifted uneasily on the spot; Longhu didn’t turn from the woman on the ground. One of the gang members made a clicking sound with his tongue and the other members, keeping their weapons trained on Longhu, calmed. 

Jun was known to some in the area ever since she had traded police favors with some of the local Slavs in exchange for black-market goods — usually Chroma. 

Jun stopped her approach, but kept her hands raised. “Almeida?” Longhu asked, over his shoulder. “Who else?” “How…I didn’t call for backup.” “Well, you’ve got it anyway.” “The bitch broke my arm.” “I can see that. But you know what the deal is around here.” “Are you fucking serious?” “Yes, I am fucking serious. As are the three ‘gentlemen’ surrounding you.” “You can’t expect-“ “I expect you, Constable, to follow a direct order and holster your fucking weapon.”

Longhu paused. In his peripheral vision he saw one of the syndicate members adjust his rifle grip. Jun has also observed the adjustment, “Slowly, Longhu.”

The constable holstered his weapon and the syndicate members lowered theirs accordingly. The gang member who’d recognized Jun glared as he holstered his pistol and spat on the ground, “Fucking hooks.” Jun let the insult slide and watched the man return to the entrance of a nearby brothel before she turned her attention to Longhu. “This is the top of the fucking list, Constable. Pride of place amongst Longhu’s ever-expanding menagerie of living fuck ups.” “I-“ “I don’t give a shit. You do not fuck with the terms of the Treaty. Even rimming the Gazettes won’t get you out of that clusterfuck.”

Longhu let a flash of aggression pass over him. It didn’t go unnoticed by Jun, who exhaled audibly and allowed the tension to diffuse through her. 

Longhu calmed and reflected on the turn of events, “What are you doing here, Almeida?” “Inspector.” “Okay: Inspector. Why are you here? I didn’t request backup.” “Someone did. Lucky for your pasty ass.”

Unobserved by Jun, Longhu activated the HUD of his retinal implants and scrolled through the intranet log from Dispatch to see who requested the backup. There was no record of the request.

The Navigator had already been traveling for five minutes when the patrol car’s monitors indicated that no search results had been returned. Jun swiveled her chair away from the terminal and observed the woman through the reinforced screen that divided the cabin and the lockup. Jun took a moment to steel herself and dampen the conflict that was growing inside her. The woman opened her eyes at the sound of the one-way glass flickering into a transparent state and the two sat facing each other.

Jun, who considered herself to be a natural physiognomist, observed the woman closely, searching for any outward indication of her intent; anything that might confirm Jun’s growing suspicion that this woman was more than what she seemed; that some other force was at play and that she had stumbled into its thermal. Evidently, even Xanctuary’s conditioning wasn’t beyond Jun’s read, as she interpreted the subtlest of changes pass over the woman’s countenance.

“Something funny?”

“There are more bountiful paths to Walk that do not stray from Her light, Jun Almeida.”

The woman motioned through the glass to the rear of the cabin: the unkempt space, the fast food, the sealed sickness bag; the Blackbox. Discretely, Jun felt around her belt and rested her hand upon her badge, tracing the embossed print of her name.

“There are better ways to avoid being seen.” Jun replied. “It was self defense.” the woman’s words carried no fear or anger; it was as if she were reciting a text learnt by rote.

“That’s going to be your word against his. He’s an officer of the law, whose arm you broke, and you’re no one.” Jun pulled a small monitor towards her and turned the empty screen towards the woman, “You’ve got no retinals, no facial scans, no pheromone match; nothing.”

The woman remained impassive.

“Do you know what happens to people without ID that get time? They go missing. Moved from one correctional facility to another. A court date that is pushed back every time it comes close because some clerk thinks you’re a fuck up on the system. Maybe an officer slipped the clerk some credits just to fuck with you. And with every new facility a new proliferation of dicks — literally and figuratively — who have spent their time just waiting for one of you pious, religious types to show up. Not being able to sit down and chew your own food is going to be the least of your fucking problems.”

“The church does not condone unsupervised relations.” Jun wiped at her nostrils to cover a smirk that threatened to break her character. “Look, if you don’t want to do time, you’re going to have to start talking to me and you’re going to have to start by telling me who the fuck you are.”

“You may stop now, Jun Almeida. I know the true purpose of your questions.” “You know fuck all. You broke-” “Cease.” the woman’s interjection plunged the cabin into darkness and the engine’s motors came to a halt; only the passive sound of the car’s momentum could be heard against the road. The punctuation lasted but a moment. The engine restarted, the car accelerated and the cabin was filled once again with the glow from its terminal.

“There is a path before us that must be walked together. But those who would undermine Her word are advancing and would see to it that the lamp that guides our feet is extinguished. I see the conflict inside you, Jun Almeida: duty and motherhood.”

Motherhood. The old fear advanced through Jun. Not fear of the words spoken, or the passing darkness — the trick of a concealed interferer —but fear of hope and the remembrance of pain inflicted by it. Throughout all her years of searching, this was the closest that Jun had come to any member of the church. She knew that it could be Xanctuary’s profiling: the Blackbox, the neurostimulants — their implication; the Barnum phrases that triggered responses in those who longed for something beyond; something more. But, despite Jun’s reasoning, it was her want to believe that blew upon the dying ember of her hope. If this woman was from the innermost circles of the church, if she was a True Believer, she could indeed find the answers to Jun’s questions; she could be Jun’s salvation.

“I want to see it.” “I do not practice my faith for it to be observed by others.” “I want to see the fucking scar.” “You refer to the Mark of Ascension. But ask yourself what you have already observed. You saw my likeness and felt my presence as you walked deep within Her, did you not? Did we not meet because She sent for you?” “Constable Longhu-” “Constable Longhu said so himself: he did not request your assistance. Though one must be truthful: his presence was unforeseen, but one consequence of a growing darkness that threatens all of us. Observe your own actions and ask what else must be seen before you will believe. For belief is why I am in your custody and not that of the constable; why you have obscured this vehicle’s location from the observations of your superiors; why we travel to the most remote facility within your jurisdiction. You wish to extend the time we share together so that you may confirm your belief. But no confirmation is necessary.”

Jun walked a fine line between two contrasting states of being, but the Navigator, which chirped to indicate the car’s final approach, curtailed her introspection. It was enough to break the intoxication.

Jun pulled herself away from the edge, “What is your name?” “You may call me Sister Bai.” “Well, Bai,” Jun began, “seeing as you’ve demonstrated a willingness to cooperate and share a lot of what you think you know about me, allow me to share something with you. Here on the outside, away from the church, parents put their children to bed at night and tell them to be good. They say: ‘if you’re not, the True Believer will come’ — come in the night and take them away. They say that there is no distance too far and no secret too secure for the True Believer. That it walks among us and — at the same time — walks There, among your thoughts. And, if you’re not good, ‘if you don’t fall asleep’, it will hold you up to the sky and prophesize the darkest parts of your soul to the whole world. And, you know what? It’s a fucking fairy tale.”

The “Fuckhole”, the smallest of 140 police stations in the 22nd municipality, was a brutalist structure at the end of short, car-lined street — an adjunct to the Southern-most end of Gonzo’s main thoroughfare. Alleyways spidered away from it and led to the emergency exits and loading bays of the surrounding apartment blocks and rundown businesses, all which were built into the lowest tiers of four Skytowers. Closer inspection revealed that the road did not terminate at the police station, but instead sloped downwards towards a subterranean car park beneath the building, the entrance to which was guarded by an automated gate of six-inch, reinforced plasteel. The pedestrian walkway encircled the gate at its upper terminal, forming a canopy for the underground car park and the ground level of the station’s outer foyer, which was flanked by an expansive staircase; the building’s Eastern face gave way to an unkempt, ornamental plaza that had served repeatedly as a staging area for the police during times of civic unrest. The car left the thoroughfare and headed towards the station.

“Navigator, put in a request for access to the 22.” The Navigator responded with a negative chime. Looking at the monitors, Jun saw that there was no recognition of the police station’s systems whatsoever. She underplayed the discrepancy in front of Bai.

“Fine. Just park the fuck up.” The Navigator’s declaratory pitch resounded. “Navigator. Park the car.”

The Navigator mounted the car upon the walkway; Jun alighted and helped Bai out from inside the car’s lockup. Before she closed the car door, Jun grew irritated at her own absentmindedness among the familiar surroundings of the 22nd, as she observed three tall figures, equal in stature, that stood in a line in front of the station’s entrance. They stared, unrelentingly, at Bai.

Floor-length, brown garments, which could not be made out as either tactical overcoats or orthodox robes, obscured their limbs and created the illusion that they were afloat. Most striking of all were their faces, which radiated an iridescent, silver light, as though their features were superimposed; their facial structures shimmered, responding to imperceptible changes in the air around them; from moment to moment, they changed irrevocably.

“Prophets.” said Bai. Her focus was as intense as those observing her.

Slowly, each of the prophets reached beneath the left breast of their robe. There was an inhuman level of synchronization between their movements as each produced a small, chrome cylinder and held it aloft. A heavy silence fell between the two parties. This brief moment appeared to both Jun and Bai as a momentary lapse of time. Through divination, borne out of their respective wisdom's, they each threw themselves to the ground behind the patrol car. 

The illusory lull in the universal decay of carbon — nothing more than a heady influx of adrenaline — was punctured by a violent crack of pure energy that ruptured the air above them — a composite sound of three offensive strikes made in perfect unison. 

The street lights behind Jun and Bai burnt out with a surge of electricity and plunged the surrounding area into darkness; the interior of Jun’s car was awash with erroneous script and dialogue boxes, which cast an ambient light and projected Jun and Bai’s shadows upon the wall behind them.

Jun unholstered her sidearm to return fire. The pilot light of her pistol was glowing red, preventing the trigger from unlocking. She re-holstered it and reached behind her for the hand-grip of a non-regulation pistol that she carried discreetly.

“No.” Bai grabbed Jun’s hand, preventing withdrawal of the weapon, “There is another Way.”

She removed her hand from Jun’s and closed her eyes. Jun watched as Bai’s face assumed the contorted appearance of someone jacked-in to the net. Within seconds, Bai had traversed from one world to another and assumed command of the station’s defenses. At her command, the riot shield walls, which surrounded the station’s perimeter and formed an intricate defensive structure within the neighboring plaza, shot forth from their subterranean housing, beckoned forth by a warning siren and oscillating lights; a Gauss cannon on a spherical turret, mounted above the station’s entrance, rolled out of its protective enclosure and sent repeated, controlled bursts of depleted uranium — with millimeter precision — into the ground before the prophets. She was at once both Here and There.

She was a True Believer.

The prophets erupted from their stoic formation with a speed and grace that belied their intent to make ground upon Bai. Their movement was obscured by feigns that were designed to deceive the eye and were meticulously calculated, based upon a cascade of information they absorbed from the digital infrastructures around them. 

The prophets attempted to usurp Bai’s power by corrupting the hardware that she controlled. The servos of the shield walls wailed, as their internal mechanics struggled beneath the opposing forces of Bai’s will and the surges of energy from the prophets’ staffs. 

Fire from the turret forced the prophets to adjust their course towards Bai, cutting off their route with streams of bullets that were sent into the ground before them and the cover around them. Any ground lost by one prophet would be made up by another; the fight was a perpetual cycle of balance, unbalance and re-balance that seemed to have no conclusion until a single gunshot rang out amidst the cacophony.

The shot tore through the flesh of Bai’s upper-left abdomen, breaking the lower rib, which prevented the bullet from piercing her stomach. Bai’s connection to the NeuroNet was terminated instantly and the pain pulled her senses sharply back into reality; her robes flooded with crimson and she instinctively, almost absent-mindedly, applied pressure to the wound — it had been foreseen. 

A hail of mechanical fire added itself to the din as an armed response unit approached rapidly from the far end of the street, moving between cover as they advanced upon the prophets’ position. Their gunfire was countered with the sound of energy tearing through the air. Amidst the chaos, Jun identified two Gazettes at the rear of the unit and recognized one as her direct superior, Commissioner Shui. To the left of him, in a defensive position behind a car, was Constable Longhu with his non-issue pistol still trained on Bai.

A crack of energy echoed down the length of the street. The force of the shot spun the tactical officer who was on point; his muscles convulsed rapidly, forcing his trigger finger to contract and send a burst of rifle fire into his tactical squad. The effected officer’s implants began to fight against the organic matter in which they were embedded, burning his insides and rendering him prostrate on the ground and writhing in a spasm. 

A second, synchronized barrage of fire came from the prophets, which struck the cars that the tactical officers were using as cover. One of the car’s Navigators was thrust into life by the electrical surge and accelerated into the other parked vehicle, forcing Longhu and the Gazettes to fall back under its uncompromising forward motion.

The gunfire of the armed response unit became staggered and unfocused: they struggled to comprehend the movement of the prophets, who were only visible when they moved between cover and whip-cracked their staffs. Their robes were now many hundreds of shades of aggressive scarlet and glistened with reflected light, their faces, too, had changed and looked now to be more geometric and shield-like than before.

Jun threaded her arm around Bai and pulled her up from the ground, being careful to keep their heads below cover, “Keep the pressure on it.”

As Bai’s adrenaline waned, the searing pain began to take hold of her. It brought something from deep within her to the surface, which rendered her almost human. 

Jun walked Bai towards the armed response unit. “No.” Bai said, realising the direction of their travel, “that is not our path.” “We’ve got to go! Right fucking now!” “She lives.”

It was the sincerity within Bai’s eyes that communicated the meaning of her words and Jun’s world fell away; her mind and body felt both revitalized and removed entirely from their surroundings. “This is the answer you seek. But that is not our path,” Bai motioned towards the armed response unit, “She has illuminated the Way and we must walk it together.”

Bai directed Jun to the depths of a nearby alleyway that was equidistant between their position and the other officers. 

At the end of the alley, a single light punctured the shadows: a white door stood illuminated — an ephemeral and ethereal gateway. It was as Jun had seen it in her drug-induced catatonia — a premonition. Jun looked at Bai, searching the diminishing light of her face for some affirmation of what she was about to do. The latent potential of her pending action felt to Jun, even amidst the chaos, like a point of no return. Bai’s weakening voice broke Jun’s mesmeric gaze into the abyss.

“What lies beyond. It is beyond Her sight.”

Whatever was beyond the door and whatever wrath would follow them through it, Jun had started to believe; there would be answers; there would be hope — 

“She lives”.

[thomsonsharon347]

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