#But there was a moment where a seagull slammed into a window and died

[any59]

listen within thirty seconds of the train leaving the station, we derailed it and then continued to drive it down the side of a ravine and into a ditch while you tried to throw buckets of water into the coal engine to put out the fire and at the very least slow the train down. You can be mad. We were genuinely so unproductive

Today's Cthulhu Awakens session:

Everyone needs a vacation.

They are heading to Georgia (the US state). It is peach season.

They check in at a hotel. Some time passes, and they meet Alice, who works for a family that lives on nearby Cumberland Island.

The estate is called Dungeness. I can't decide how to say it and end up saying it like "Dungeon-ess"

They hop on a ferry and are introduced to Patch, who makes small talk, telling them that the fishing used to be great but has declined in recent years.

They head through marshland and fog and dock at the estate. It is an old house but has clearly been maintained.

They meet Margaret Gasper, their hostess, and the staff at the manor: Michael, Alice, and Edmund.

They head inside, they look at a picture of Margaret's great x 4 grandfather, who fought for the Union (they gather this is kind of a "fuck you" to certain folks around here) and are offered refreshments. Mairéad has multiple drinks and fails her constitution roll. She is now fatigued (penalty to all checks). The book specifies a consequence that I don't like, so instead I rule that she suffers a -2 penalty.

I give Mairéad a choice 1) explore with the others and make a check every two hours to reduce her condition or 2) sleep it off for four hours (note: it is 10:30 AM, dinner is at 6:30)

She chooses to sleep (for the moment)

Dahlia explores the kitchen. She successfully intimidates one of the cooks there to let her snoop.

Sarah decides to explore the library.

Correction: Sarah decides to have sex with her wife in the library.

I get so annoyed my players worry that I am actually mad at them. I am not. I am disappointed.

I tell Sarah's player she may not have any chicken tendies or choccy milk and that she is a bad girl. Kinksters know this is the worst thing I could have possibly said. Disclaimer: I am not serious. Once again, I was not mad, just, shenanigans.

Sarah decides to do some actual research and rolls badly.

I consult secret DM things and Sarah notices Margaret in the library. Margaret leaves and Sarah notices a hidden nook. There are books on a theory that many humans today are descended from "monsters", she makes an alienation test and passes.

They encounter Winston the Maine Coon. He is a white cat. They pet him. "You pet the kitty--not like that." They also find a strange bust ("not like that").

She heads back out into the library proper and I allow for another perception test. She finds handwritten books about a certain Marsh family and determines that whoever wrote these is related to them. There is enough evidence here to get the FBI involved in an investigation of Dungeness.

(Side note: previously I remarked that Margaret has a Boston accent)

Someone's coming! Sarah is unsuccessful at concealing the books. Brooke (her wife) carefully ushers her out of the room. The staff member watches her the whole time.

Meanwhile, Mairéad investigates the trophy room. There is a gun cabinet.

Mairéad wants a gun.

She decides to throw something at the gun and picks up a (fake) skull. Failure. The skull bounces off the glass.

One of the staff rushes in and demands to know what's going on. Sarah runs in. Mairéad's player (unsure if serious) debates using a grenade to solve this problem. Sarah is attempting to diffuse the situation and usher Mairéad out (persuasion check: fail, opposed strength check: Sarah wins)

They are both kicked out of the house. Mairéad tries to go back inside through a window and is immediately caught again. Sarah waits for Brooke. Brooke does not appear.

Meanwhile, Dahlia decides to head upstairs. I inform her player that this will involve a challenge test (a series of checks with consequences for failure).

We call it for the night. I need to consult the book anyways as I can't remember doing a challenge test with this system.

Once again, I must stress that I was not mad at my players, just a little frustrated with their shenanigans. It's okay, they're on vacation.

[thewidowsghost]

Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(Y/n) stands in the kitchen of her mother and step-father's apartment, making the bean dip Smelly Gabe liked so much.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the counter but then she lets out a yelp as something hits her in between her shoulder blades.

"Hurry it up, girl!" Smelly Gabe snarls.

"Yes sir," (Y/n) murmurs.

A few minutes later, Gabe stalks into the kitchen, takes the dip without so much of a thank you.

(Y/n) fixes her gaze on the shoe on the ground before she moves to her room. She climbs into her bed, getting under her covers. (Y/n) turns, facing the wall.

She closes her eyes, falling to an uneasy sleep.

(Y/n) watches, disconnected from the others in the dream, as one of her brother's teachers turns into something that reminded her of a demon, or something similar that she'd read books about. The woman had bat wings, claws, and a mouth of yellow fangs.

Then (Y/n) looks around, her eyes widening in shock as she sees her brother holding a bronze sword.

Percy swings the sword, the demon exploding into yellow powder, vaporizing on the spot.

A hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder has (Y/n) jolting awake. "Honey? Are you okay?" Sally Jackson asks.

Catching the wide-eyed look of horror on (Y/n)'s face, Sally wraps her daughter in a hug.

(Y/n)'s breathing steadies, and she breathes in her mother's familiar scent - chocolate, licorice, and all the other things she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central Station.

"Did you get all your work done?" Sally asks softly, her thumb brushing over a slightly visible bruise that had appeared at the base of the back of her neck.

(Y/n) hums in reply.

. . .

The next day, (Y/n) is once again lying in her bed, not wanting to have to deal with Gabe throwing more shoes or glass bottles at / near her.

. . .

Percy walks into the apartment, dragging his suitcase behind him, hoping his mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe is in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blares ESPN; chips and beer cans are strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he says around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Where's my mom? (Y/n)?"

"Mom's working," Gabe says. "The girl's in her room. You got any cash?"

"That's it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

Gabe had put on weight since the last time Percy had seen him. Gabe looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He has about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp.

"I don't have any cash," Percy replies.

Gabe raises a greasy eyebrow. Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which is surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.

"You took a taxi from the bus station," he says. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. Somebody expects to live under this roof, he ought to carry his own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looks at Percy with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe," he says. The guy just got here."

"Am I right?" Gabe repeats.

Eddie scowls into his bowl of pretzels. The two other guys pass gas in harmony.

"Fine," Percy says. He digs a wad of dollars out of his pocket and throws the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"Your report card came, brain boy!" He shouts back at Percy. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

Percy slams the door to his room, which isn't really his room. During school months, it is Gabe's 'study.' He doesn't study anything in there except old car magazines, but he loves shoving his stuff in Percy's closet, leaving his muddy boots on the windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne, cigars, and stale beer.

Percy drops his suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home he thinks.

Gabe's smell is almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.

Percy sits, lost in his thoughts.

Then he hears his mom's voice, "Percy?" She opens the bedroom door, and his fears melt. "Oh, Percy," she hugs him tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas."

Sally had brought Percy a bag of 'free samples' the way she always did whenever he'd come home.

The two sit together on the bed. While Percy attacks the blueberry sour strings, she runs her hands through his hair, demanding to know everything that he hadn't put in his letters. She doesn't mention his getting expelled. She doesn't seem to care about that.

Percy tells his mother that she is smothering him, but secretly, Percy is really, really glad to see her.

From the other room, Gabe yells, "Hey, Sally - how about some bean dip, huh?"

Percy grits his teeth. My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should be married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

(Y/n) pads into Percy's room, and the dark haired boy brightens at the sight of his younger twin.

"I've got the dip, Mom," (Y/n) says softly. Sally gazes at her daughter for a moment, her gaze sad.

"Wait, (Y/n)," Sally says, and (Y/n) turns back to face her mother. "I've got a surprise for the two of you," she says. "We're going to the beach."

Percy's eyes widen. "Montauk?"

"Three nights - same cabin," Sally replies.

"When?" (Y/n) asks, looking excited.

She smiles, "As soon as I get changed."

(Y/n) can't believe it. Mom, Percy, and I hadn't been to Montauk in the last two summers because Gabe had said that there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appears in the doorway behind (Y/n) and growls, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

Percy wants to punch him, but he meets his mother's eyes, and understands that she is offering him a deal: Be nice to Gabe for a little while; just until she's ready to leave for Montauk.

"I've got it, Gabe," (Y/n) says.

"Sorry, honey," Sally says, looking at her husband. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes get small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," Percy mutters. "He won't let us go."

"Of course he will," Sally says evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money."

(Y/n) turns to face Gabe, smiling as kindly as she could. "What if I make a seven-layer dip that'll last the whole weekend?" she asks. "Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softens a bit, then turns back to face Sally. "So, this money for your trip . . . it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

"Yes, honey," Sally replies.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratches his double chin. "Maybe if the girl hurries up with the seven-layer dip . . . and if the boy apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, Percy thinks. And make you sing soprano for a week.

"I'm sorry," Percy mutters. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important power game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrow. His tiny brain is probably trying to detect the sarcasm in my statement, Percy thinks.

"Yeah, whatever," Gabe decides; he goes back to his game.

"Thank you, Percy," Sally says. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about...whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, (Y/n) can see anxiety in her mother's eyes, but then her smile returns, and (Y/n) figures that she must've been mistaken.

. . .

An hour later, the three are ready to leave.

Gabe takes a break from his poker game long enough to watch (Y/n) and Percy lug the bags to his car. He keeps griping and groaning about losing her and (Y/n)'s cooking - and more important, his '78 Camaro - for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," Gabe warns Percy as he loads the last bag into the car. "Not one little scratch."

Like I'd be the one driving. I'm fourteen, Percy thinks.

Watching Gabe lumbers back towards the apartment building, Percy gets so mad that he does something he can't explain. As Gabe reaches the door, Percy makes the hand gesture he'd seen Grover made on the bus, a soft of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over his heart, then a shoving movement towards Gabe. The screen door slams so hard it whacks him the the butt and sends him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon.

. . .

(Y/n)'s POV

Our rental cabin is on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It is a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There's always sand in the sheets, spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea is too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

Mom, Percy, and I had been going ever since Percy and I'd been a baby. Mom had been coming even longer. She'd never exactly said, but I know why the beach was special to her.

It's the place where she'd met my Dad.

As we get closer to Montauk, Mom seems to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turn the color of the sea.

We get there around sunset, open all the cabin's windows, and go through the usual cleaning routine.

Mom, Percy, and I walk on the beach, feed blue corn-chips to the seagulls, and munch on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples Mom had brought home from work.

I guess maybe I should explain all the blue food.

Gabe had once told Mom that there was no such thing. They had had this fight, which had seemed like a really small think at the time, but ever since, Mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes, mixed blueberry smoothies, bought blue-corn tortilla chips, and brought home blue candy from the shop. This - along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano - is proof that she isn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, just like Percy.

When it gets dark, we make a fire. We roast hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom tells Percy and me stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents had died in the plane crash. She tells us about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, it seems that Percy gets the nerve to ask about what is always on our minds whenever we come to Montauk - our father. Mom's eyes go all misty. I figure she would tell us the same things she always did, but neither Percy or I ever got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," Mom replies. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle too, like you, (Y/n)." Mom says and I soften. "You have his black hair, Percy, and you both share his green eyes.

Mom fishes a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. "I wish he could see you two. He would be so proud."

I wonder how she could say that when I'm the girl who cowers from her stepfather. The girl who hides in her room to get away from said stepfather.

"How old were we?" Percy asks, pulling me from my thoughts. "I mean . . . when he left?"

Mom watches the flames. "He was only with me for one summer, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But . . . he knew us as babies."

"No, honey," Mom replies. "He knew I was expecting twins, but he never met you. He had to leave before you were born."

I try to square that with the fact that I seem to remember . . . something about my father. A warm glow, maybe a smile.

Percy and I had always assumed that our father had known us as babies. Mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt that it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen us . . .

I feel angry at my father. Maybe it is stupid, but I resent him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry Mom.

"Are you going to send me away again?" Percy asks. "To another boarding school?"

Mom pulls a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey," her voice is heavy. "I think . . . I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want me around?" Percy says and I flinch, avoiding both his and Mom's gazes.

I glance up to see that Mom's eyes had welled up with tears. "Oh, Percy, no. I - I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away."

"But you never send her away," Percy says and I look up, eyes wide with surprise.

Mom looks at Percy, eyes wide with shock.

Finally she says, "I have to keep both of you away from each other as much as possible. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"I tried to keep you as close to me as I could," Mom says. "They told me it was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy, (Y/n) - the place your father wanted to send you two. And I just . . . I just can't stand to do it."

"Our father wanted us to go to a special school?" I ask.

"Not a school," Mom replies. "A summer camp."

My head spins. Why would my dad - who hadn't even stayed around to see me and Percy be born - talk to Mom about a summer camp?

"I'm sorry, (Y/n)," Mom says, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I - I couldn't send you two to that place. It might mean saying goodbye to you for good."

"For good?" Percy asks. "But if it's only a summer camp . . ."

Mom turns towards the fire, and I know from her expression, that if we asked any more questions, she would start to cry.

Word Count: 2413 words

[split-n-splice]

HEY, MICKEY, YOU'RE SO FINE, YOU'RE SO FINE YOU— I mean. Uh. Enjoy the chapter. >_>

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

34. Aura of Others – 7

Shego counted herself lucky to have slipped past Drakken’s snoring mother that morning, even if she wasn’t convinced the woman wasn’t faking it.

On the ride into town, her driver gushed his relief that the impromptu reunion had gone better than he could have hoped, even if it wasn’t over yet. Her crossed arms, frown out the window, and small grunts of acknowledgment must have given him a clue to shut up about his mom. She didn’t mean to be envious of his mother’s acceptance, but it was hard not to be. 

He mumbled a vague apology of, “I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll be quiet now,” which only made her wonder inwardly what he was apologizing for – for talking her ear off or for her own mother abandoning her for becoming a freak?

Either way, she was even unhappier to notice lights were still out in her neighborhood. She scarcely recalled overhearing about the weather knocking out the power last night. Drakken smiled feebly as he pulled to the curb, sparing another sheepish apology, but Shilo rolled her eyes and hopped out of the van before he could propose anything else she’d have to decline. Before she slammed her door shut, he assured her that he’d phone her when the coast was clear, quipping that it was her turn to avoid his family. His humor didn’t lighten her mood.

As expected, her dingy studio apartment was freezing, only now there was no electricity to heat it with. She sighed wretchedly, and as she reached for a candle on her dresser, she came to the aggravating realization she had no glow at her disposal to light it with. She skewed her face and focused and concentrated – but no amount of willpower could produce even the tiniest flicker of green plasma from her fingertip. She didn’t even own a lighter or matches. She’d never needed them before. Suddenly she wished she had a cigarette, but not badly enough to bum a smoke from her slimy downstairs neighbor.

Groaning hugely, Shilo kicked off her muddy shoes and threw herself down into her cold bed to bundle up in a cocoon of blankets and force herself back to sleep in hopes of sleeping off the effects of the pill.

Taking it at all had been a huge mistake. She scolded herself that she’d never take it again. She swore she’d flush them all down the toilet to make sure of it.

It slipped her mind when she woke up.

She came around to the sound of a laugh track, as the television in the apartment below her was blasting some sitcom. Across the room, her alarm clock blinked, begging to be set. And worst of all, her stomach pleaded with her, scolding her from the inside out for not taking Drakken’s offer earlier to stop at Cow-n-Chow for flapjacks.

Shilo groaned and curled up tighter for a minute before extending an arm out over the edge of the bed and willing plasma into her palm. To her relief, it bubbled to life on command. She sighed anyway, deciding that was her sign to get out of bed and light some scented candles to stave off the musty odors of mildew.

The sky outside was bleak. She made note to pick up an analog clock from Smarty Mart because either rainclouds were promising another downpour or daylight was waning by the time she’d washed and dried her hair. She hoped she hadn’t squandered her day too badly.

In any case, she inspected her closet, considering what she might wear for an evening excursion around town for a little window-shopping and possibly shoplifting. She was just weighing her options of raiding the Quarter Quarts or pulling the stolen grey sweatpants back on when the trill of the telephone made her jump.

Her hands sparked. As of yet, few phone calls had been good. Either it was Buckley’s girls calling to hound her, or the punk guest she’d evicted, or her brothers – or whoever it was, she wasn’t eager to find out. She would have been happy to unplug the phone, but she wrung her fingers to get her nerves under control before snatching it off the hook on the last ring.

She waited a moment but was met with silence and static in return. Finally she offered a cautious, “Hello?”

She recognized Drakken’s huge relieved sigh on the other end. He must have been waiting to be sure it was her who picked up. An odd giggle followed, and she waited patiently for him to reel in his gleeful laughter. “She’s gone!” he all but shouted. “And I’m good! I’m in the clear – this time – she’s not making me go to the – oh, Shego, you have no idea,” he sputtered. An incoherent noise in rejoice was interrupted by another boyish laugh.

Humming in acknowledgment, Shilo leaned over as far as the cord would allow to take a peek into her fridge. It had stayed cold during the outage, but it wasn’t well-stocked. Eggs, cheese, a carton of milk, yogurt – nothing particularly promising for anything more than breakfast, though the bag of cheese was tempting to nibble on.

“So, your night’s free?” she asked hopefully just as soon as she could get a word in. Something to do – anything at all – would be a relief from listening to the insistent drip…drip…drip of a leaky roof and pipes.

Drakken had been spouting off about cousin this, cousin that, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be attending a family gathering with his career path and looking the way he did – but now he stopped short. “F-free? My night. Uhm. I. Uh. I can clear my schedule. S-sure,” he stuttered. There was a small whimper as if he were biting his tongue. “But you aren’t going to get any booze out of me, you know. That was it – that was the last time. You really freaked me out yesterday.”

Alcohol in the equation surely didn’t help, but it wasn’t solely to blame for her state last night. He couldn’t know that though. Nonetheless, Shilo smirked to herself and leaned back on the counter. The thought of bumming off him hadn’t crossed her mind, and she probably wouldn’t have asked her senior cohort for any anyway, but she might not have turned down an offer either. Last night – as far as she could remember anyway – had been cutting it far too close. Leaving intoxication out of the picture was probably for the best, even if it had been a blast and led to shoving a car off a cliff and feeling pretty nice with his arm around her—

She bit her lip and wound a finger around the cord. “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “So, California. You game?” She could use a change of scenery and a nice little road trip to get out of the oasis town.

Drakken was perky as he broke it to her. “There’s no rush. New intel came in this morning. It was only a practice run. It turns out his seismic generator is still on the fritz since you brought the roof down on it.”

Her shoulders slumped and a sigh slipped out. “Oh. Bummer.”

“Bummer?” echoed Drakken. “This is a good thing, Shego. It means—”

“No, I know. It’s just…” She quirked her mouth and idly twirled the cord around another finger. Calling off the road trip didn’t bother her – until now anyway. Suddenly, with another drizzle beginning to patter on the roof as she looked about her little shoebox of an apartment, going to the coast had some appeal. She didn’t realize how homesick she was for the sound of seagulls and crashing waves until now. “I was looking forward to going to the beach, I guess.”

Before Drakken could reply, the ding-dong of the doorbell interrupted. Shilo muttered for him to hold that thought and set the phone aside, quietly approaching the door as she racked her brains for who her visitor might be. Mrs. Landlady, most likely, but that angel boy Thomas Thompson probably knew where she lived now thanks to Hugo, and so did Buckley’s girls. She wasn’t eager to see any of them outside – and as she peeked through the peephole, she wasn’t disappointed.

No one in sight, she frowned at the door and began to back away. No sooner did she take a step back did the bell ring again, and this time she cracked the door open as far as the chain would allow. No one was ducked out of sight of the peephole, and in fact she found no one standing outside on the landing at all.

Her brow scrunched as the doorbell rang yet again when she returned to the phone. ��Hey, handyman.” Ding-dong. “I think my doorbell’s on the fritz. Maybe you can take a look at it.” Ding-dong. “Should be easier to fix than a seismic whatever.”

Drakken grunted unhappily, but grumbled a curt, “Alright. See you in—” Ding dong. “Oh, that is annoying.”

“Tell me about it,” Shilo muttered as she hung up and cast a glare toward the door.

The bell rang once more, and Shilo stood in her kitchen for several long moments, waiting and watching the door as if any movement at all would set it off. It was silly, she decided, shaking her head as she crossed the room to comb her hair before her vanity mirror. The buggy doorbell had to be due to the damn leaky roof or the rats in the walls screwing with the wiring.

No sooner did she decide the doorbell must have finally died did it ring again.

Gritting her teeth, she leapt up from her spot at the dining table. Barely soothing her aggravation before sparks could fly from her fists, she reminded herself it was probably just Drakken. He was due to show up any time now.

To her relief – somewhat – Drakken was on the other side after all when she flung the door open. He was just raising his knuckles to knock, his brow scrunched together.

“Did you ring the doorbell?” she blurted, hardly relaxing at the sight of him.

“No,” he said, perturbed. It wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear.

“Are you sure?”

“Shego,” he sighed. A roll of his eyes and he rang the doorbell for himself. “I don’t see what the problem is,” he said dismissively, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Maybe the button was stuck.”

She’d like to think so. She leaned out, catching him by the arm as she stole a glance about, and pulled him in. “Did you bring any tools, just in case?”

“I have a Phillips,” he said helpfully, producing a small screwdriver from his back pocket, probably taken straight from the van glove box. He glanced back toward the open door and nodded toward the buggy doorbell. “You could put a pin in it and come check out the new foosball table in the rec room,” he suggested, smiling with the barest hint of hope.

“Wow, that does sound tempting,” she mocked. Her brow furrowed curiously as she caught a whiff of something sweet on him, and she scoffed. “Your mama’s been baking for you, hasn’t she?” Maple was a lot nicer than oil and elbow grease, except it reminded her that she was famished.

“For the whole crew, actually,” confirmed Drakken with a sheepish chuckle. “You should’ve been there.”

Shilo crossed her arms and glanced back toward the doorbell that clearly wasn’t getting fixed anytime soon. “Funny,” she shot back, kicking the door shut. “You didn’t want her knowing about me earlier.” Not that she particularly wanted his mother knowing about her, or to have to pretend she was merely some sort of nurse or assistant or receptionist – or worse, a cleaning lady. She sure as hell wasn’t one of the Dr. Drakken’s patients.

His smile fell and he scowled. “Oh, be reasonable. I had enough to explain and I barely got off the hook as it is. Right now, she bought the cockamamie story that I’m a psychiatrist and the henchmen are my patients, and that’s good enough.”

“So, the whole lair and Hench-brand jumpsuits thing didn’t seem unusual at all, huh? It’s not exactly the typical madhouse you’re running there, Doc,” she teased.

Drakken relaxed and flashed her a smile. “She just thinks I’m eccentric,” he said with a flippant gesture to himself. His smile wavered and he cleared his throat then, nodding to the door Shilo was about to chain shut out of habit. “The doorbell doesn’t seem to be acting up anymore. You didn’t by chance have any plans or a reason for calling me out here this early, did you? Because I am a busy man, you know.”

“We could still go to California,” she suggested off the top of her head. “Just for the hell of it. Hit a few places along the way.” The thought of warm sand and making use of hotel perks like a hot tub was as appealing as a change of scenery.

He grunted. “We’d be pushing it too close. And I’m not giving up another of my family recipes to buy you another day off from Buckley’s. Not so soon anyway.”

“Stingy,” she scoffed. The interrupting ding-dong of the doorbell earned a groan of frustration from her. She gestured to the door and all but whined, “Drakken.”

The man snorted and crossed his arms, nose up almost snootily. “I’m not your handyman.”

“You were when I moved here,” retorted Shilo.

After a long stubborn pause, he blew a raspberry and grumbled, “Alright, alright,” with his hands up in forfeit, screwdriver in one. “I’ll see what I can do—oh snap.” Just as she’d turned to retreat to the kitchen table to watch him troubleshoot, the door slammed shut and Drakken was scurrying around as if to hide behind her. “You have a visitor,” he hissed, spinning her back toward the door.

Her heart sank and she lowered her voice, uttering the obvious question, “Who?” If it was her brothers again, she was screwed – but if it was them, Hugo would have knocked the door down by now. Thomas Thompson, or Buckley, or any of Buckley’s girls crossed her mind, but any of them would have been preferable to who she opened up to find standing outside.

She stared down at a petite blonde decked out in too much pink – and before she could give it more than a second to process, Shilo drew back a fist to deck the girl, missing by a hair’s breadth as the visitor bent backward against the railing with a startled gasp.

Shilo lunged without so much as a hello.

The impulse to pummel the girl until her knuckles bled burned her from the inside out, and her hands tingled as alien fire begged to burst from the surface. Digging her nails into the girl’s shoulders wasn’t enough, and a handful of hair yanking Shilo’s head sharply to the side wasn’t enough to dislodge her either.

She tried to take another swing at the startled blonde’s pretty face, but a heel in her gut and a shove, and the world was sent topsy-turvy and spiraling. They were falling – that was alright – Shego had taken worse falls than a tumble down a staircase. A caterwaul of a battle cry tore from her as she bore down on the throat of the former friend.

Before she could feed the girl an overdue knuckle sandwich, her wrist was caught in a firm grip and all at once the animosity and fire was inexplicably smothered. She stared, stunned and pliable, as she was pried away from the blonde choking for breath on the filthy cement beneath her.

“Long time, no see, Shi,” came a deep honeyed voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

It was much more agreeable anyway than the crass, “Still a bitch, I see,” from Priscilla as she picked herself up.

Gawping back at the strapping young man behind her, Shilo jerked her wrist free and stepped back. Looking at Priscilla only rekindled a just rage, but Mickey was golden. He’d done her no wrong. Not really, anyway. Seeing the two together was nothing unusual. But seeing either of them here, thousands of miles from Go City – now that was unusual.

“How did – why would you – what are you doing here?” Shilo snapped, trying to draw upon the anger from moments ago.

Priscilla brushed herself off, or tried to anyway. Her backside was damp and dirty now, white jeans certainly stained. Good. “A little bird told me,” she said smugly.

Mickey elbowed her. “She’s been babysitting your little brothers,” he explained awkwardly.

The news was shocking and a little bit crushing, even if unbelievable. In recent years, the old friend had wanted nothing to do with the Gough family – nothing to do with her – after being just short of family one day and a stranger the next. If deserting was the worst of Priscilla’s transgressions, Shilo might not be curling her fists right now. She suddenly wished now that she’d spent more time with her family during their visit. Maybe then she would have had some sort of heads up to expect the backstabber. They hadn’t even mentioned her.

“And I had to see for myself when your dweeby brother spilled everything,” added Prissy. “Well, almost everything. Didn’t mention you ran away to join a different circus. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

The former best friend still knew just how to get under her skin in the worst of ways. Practically bristling, Shilo repeated through grit teeth, “What are you doing here?”

“Dropping in to say hi, duh,” said Priscilla as if it were obvious. She wiggled her fingers then in a mock wave, as if Shilo hadn’t just been laying into her and about to knock her teeth out. “So. Hi. You gonna invite us in or what? C’mon, we’ve got some catching up to do, girlfriend.”

“When hell freezes over,” she retorted, and whipped around to retreat up the staircase. She paused, her boiling blood running cold for a split second as she spied Drakken watching from the top with his brow raised. “What, no popcorn this time?” she barked as she stormed up.

“You know them?” he wondered, as if it weren’t obvious enough.

As she reached him, Shilo shot a glare over her shoulder at Priscilla Kimbley still standing at the bottom with Mickey Goldsmith, the young man trying his best to whisper and gesture Prissy away toward the old jeep parked at the end of the block. “I thought I did,” she hissed, and grabbed Drakken by an arm to tow him back inside and away from the rat.

[bubblemoon66]

Normal Again: Chapter 9

Fandom: Skulduggery Pleasant Rating: T for Violence/Gore (specifically fantastical violence, body horror and medical procedures)  Wordcount: 2407 Chapter Summary: Valkyrie tries to work out what's going on. Notes:   You can find the previous chapters here on tumblr or read the full story at AO3, ff.net or Wattpad. 

Valkyrie got dressed slowly, listening out for the sound of her mum's car pulling out of the driveway. When the coast was clear she opened the window, and swung her legs over the sill. The ground beneath her churned. She felt lightheaded. Jumping from a second story window felt like a bad idea, but she could hear her dad talking nonsense with Alice downstairs, and she figured it would raise some awkward questions if they saw her leave the house twice. So, she pushed the vertigo aside, and let herself drop.

The fall should have gone smoothly. She was well practiced at it; but her reaction time was slower than usual. She displaced the air too late and landed roughly in the grass. The air was knocked out of her lungs. A fresh jolt of pain raced up her neck. She collapsed onto the ground, trying to catch her breath.

This is ridiculous, she thought. She'd been doing this for years. It was basic stuff. She should have been able to cushion her fall with her eyes closed and her feet bound.

Valkyrie could have laid there the rest of the afternoon. Only the thought of a nosy neighbour catching sight of her sprawled out on the lawn spurred her into action. Slowly and shakily, she stood up and made her way to the pier at the end of the road.

"The sedative I gave her is starting to wear off. She should be waking up any minute now," said Synecdoche. "She might be a little groggy at first, but keep talking to her. It'll help her feel safe and grounded."

The bed beneath Valkyrie creaked under the weight of a second person sitting on it. The bed was small, the mattress firm and familiar. There was a stack of pillows propping her upright, but they were too stiff, like wood. They made her neck ache. Someone took her hand. It felt firm and familiar.

With great difficulty she opened her eyes. White filled her vision. She blinked slowly a couple of times, trying to clear her vision. Black and then White. Black. White. White clouds. White walls. She felt so heavy.

"Hey, Steph. It's your dad. Can you hear me, sweetheart?" Desmond asked her in a gentle voice.

She turned her head towards the sound. Even that slight movement made her vision blur and darken around the edges. She could see her dad but struggled to pick out his features. It was like looking at an out-of-focus photograph.

A chair scraped loudly against the floor, and then a hazy image of her mother came into view. She brushed a stray strand of hair from Valkyrie's face.

"Mum? Dad...?"

Just saying those two words was agonising. They clawed at her throat. Coming out brittle and barely audible.

"We're right here, honey." Melissa said.

"This should help," said the man Valkyrie couldn't identify.

He passed something to Melissa, just out of Valkyrie's muddy field of vision. She pressed it to Valkyrie's lips. A plastic cup, filled with water. It trickled down her throat. Cool and soothing.

Melissa put the cup down. Valkyrie's vision began to sharpen. She could see that her parents were smiling but it looked strained.

"Where am I? What's going on?" Valkyrie asked. Her voice was weak and hoarse, but the pain was manageable now.

Desmond and Melissa looked at each other and then towards the room's other occupants.

The man who had given Melissa's the cup of water stepped forward. Small, old and perpetually grumpy-looking. She recognised him at once. Kenspeckle. Here. Alive. Standing behind her parents in this strange white room.

"You're dead," she blurted out.

The smiles faded from her parents' lips. Kenspeckle nodded his head in acknowledgement. If he was surprised by the news of his demise, he didn't show it.

"Good afternoon, Stephanie. My name is Professor Grouse. I'm a clinical psychologist. We've met before, although I'm not sure if you remember me."

He gestated towards Synecdoche, "You've also met my colleague Doctor Synecdoche before. She's a psychiatrist. We both work at North Youghal Estate, a residential treatment centre for young people with serious mental illnesses. That's where we are right now. You've been a patient with us for about six years. Do you understand what I'm saying, Stephanie?"

Individually, Valkyrie understood the words. But strung together in that order, they didn't make any sense. This whole thing didn't make any sense. One moment she had been at the pier in Haggard and the next she was here; with her parents, and Reverie Synecdoche, and Kenspeckle.

Gods, Kenspeckle. She remembered his mutilated body all too vividly. Sliced to pieces with his own scalpel.

A new lump was beginning to form in Valkyrie's throat. She swallowed it, trying to ignore the stinging in her eyes.

"I was there when you died. I saw what happened... I... I  saw the body."

Both her parents looked even more uncomfortable now. Kenspeckle didn't. He looked her in the eye. He had kind eyes. Alert eyes. Nothing like the unseeing glassy gaze of a dead man.

"Stephanie, I can assure you I am very much alive."

She shook her head. "You can't be. Unless..."

It clicked. The idea falling into place like the pieces of a puzzle.

"Nadir. He did something to me. He must have shunted me into this dimension."

The words tumbled from Valkyrie's mouth before she could stop them; but once they were said a great sense of relief filled her, lifting her heart. Sure, being sent to another dimension was dangerous and there was a chance she might be stuck here permanently, but at least everything made sense now. At least now she had a chance to do something about it.

She couldn't help but let out a little laugh of relief. The laugh turned into a rasp and then a cough.

Melissa tried to press the plastic cup of water to Valkyrie's lips once more. She pushed it away, and swung her legs out of bed. Everything wobbled.

"Stephanie, lie down, please. You're not ready to be back on your feet yet." said Synedoche. 

"I'm sorry, I can't. There's been a mistake. I don't belong here. I need to get back to my dimension."

She gritted her teeth and stood up. Her legs trembled beneath her weight. Sweat dampened her forehead. She was much too weak. This wasn't right. She was going to pass out.

From below her came the sound of the crashing waves, from above, the cry of a seagull. Someone was calling her name.

"Valkyrie? Valkyrie, can you hear me?" Skulduggery asked. He sounded worried.

Gloved fingertips pressed against her wrist. Wooden floorboards pressed into the back of her head.

Wake up, Darquesse commanded.

She groaned and opened her eyes.

"Valkyrie?"

She made a noise which sounded something like "Uhhhmmppphh."

"That is not a word," Skulduggery said, "But it is rather alarming. Can you sit up?"

Very slowly, she propped herself up onto her elbows. The effort left her breathless. She felt like someone had shaken a snow globe with her in it. The world shifted and swirled for a moment, before starting to settle.

"I'm going to carry you to the Bentley," Skulduggery said.

She didn't protest.

One arm moved to support her legs and the other her back. For a second, she floated. And for a second, she was back in bed. And then cool leather pressed against the back of her head. Someone gave her hand another comforting squeeze.

She did her best to focus. Skulduggery's skull appeared in front of her, then his clothes, followed by the rest of the world.

"Nadir did this," she said.

"Nadir? Valkyrie, I don't see how Nadir could have done this."

"He shunted me to another dimension."

"I think the fever's playing tricks on you."

He's right, Darquesse pointed out. Nadir has nothing to do with this.

"You're supposed to be on my side," Valkyrie told her.

Skulduggery gave her one of his inquisitive head tilts. "Are you talking to your subconscious or me?"

"My subconscious. She's trying to confuse me. But I was there, in another dimension. I must have shunted back just as you got here."

You're  wrong.

Skulduggery shook his head. "I've been with you for at least ten minutes now. I would have seen if you'd shunted anywhere."

"I'm not lying. I was in another dimension."

She wasn't sure which of them she was arguing with. Nadir or some other shunter sending her to another dimension was the only explanation that made sense, so she clung to it.

"Alright," Skulduggery conceded. "I'll keep an eye on you and if you do shunt, I'll make sure I go with you. But right now, my priority is getting you to the Sanctuary."

The passenger door slammed shut. A second later Skuludggery appeared in the driver's seat. The Bentley purred to life under his direction. Haggard slide from view, replaced by a picturesque scene of rolling hills and open country roads.

Skulduggery was saying something to her again.

"Steph? Stephanie? Are you alright?" Desmond asked.

He was still holding her hand, doing his best to steady her. She turned her head. Melissa was on her other side ready to catch her should she fall. The professor and the doctor were watching her carefully. She couldn't see Skulduggery. He hadn't followed her when she'd shunted.

"Lie back down, Steph, please. Before you hurt yourself." Melissa said.

"I... need to... go home," Valkyrie said.

"I know you want to go home," Desmond said. "I want you to come home too. But you're too unwell. You need to stay here while you recover."

Her legs buckled. She fell back, bouncing back onto the bed. Her pelvis hit the bed, then her elbows. Shock jolted up her spinal column. This wasn't right. This wasn't her. She wasn't weak. She was strong. She was Valkyrie Cain, for god's sake. Determined, she pushed herself back up into a sitting position.

"Stephanie, try and relax. You're safe here," Kenspeckle said.

Stephanie. He and Synecdoche kept calling her that. Was that the only name she went by in this dimension or was it a ruse for her parent's sake? She wondered where her double was. This world's version of Valkyrie Cain or Stephanie Edgley or whatever name she went by, had a lot of questions to answer to.

"Look... I'm not who you think I am." Valkyrie said.

"Stephanie, please..." Melissa began, and then stopped as tears began to blossom in the corner of her eyes.

The sight made Valkyrie's heart ache. This isn't my mother, she told herself. This is someone else's mother. Not mine. My mother is fine. That didn't make it any easier to watch as Melissa dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her shirt sleeve.

"I'm sorry. I know it's hard to believe, but I'm not your real daughter. I just look like her."

"That's the sickness playing tricks on you, Steph. It makes you believe that," Desmond said, his voice gentle. "But you are our daughter. My daughter."

Valkyrie shook her head. She realised she wasn't going to be able to convince them. It shouldn't have surprised her really, if another Valkyrie from another dimension had met her parents and tried to convince them that she was from an alternate reality... well, she imagined they'd handle it just as well as these two had. It was probably best she left, before this reality's version of her showed up, she didn't think they'd be able to handle the truth.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, and tried to stand up once more. The seat belt stopped her.

Skulduggery was saying something to her again.

"You didn't come with," she said, cutting him off mid-sentence.

He glanced at her, taking his eyes of the road for just a second. "Valkyrie. You didn't go anywhere."

"I did. I shunted, just a minute ago. You weren't watching."

You didn't shunt.  You blacked out.

"Will you, please, shut up for once!" she told Darquesse.

Skulduggery spared her a second glance. She could tell from the tightness of his grip on the steering wheel, that he was worried.

"Where is it you think you shunted to? Describe it for me."

"I don't know. It was this weird place, some kind of hospital for mentally ill people. My parents, and Kenspeckle, and Doctor Synecdoche were there. They said I was...sick. There were others there too Clarabelle, and Tanith, and Melancholia... And I....I..."

She let her voice tail off. It sounded ridiculous when she put it in to words. There were too many holes in her story. She'd shunted before and it had been nothing like this. For a start, when you shunted you disappeared from reality, her parents would have seen her. Skulduggery would have seen her. No, this was more like, well, a fevered dream.

"I imagined it, didn't I?" She said, flatly.

Ding.  Ding. Ding  . We have a winner  . Took you long enough.

Now, Valkyrie felt embarrassed that she could have believed this had been anything other than a result of her fevered brain. It felt more and more obvious the more she thought about it. Fat lot of good her deductive reasoning had done her.

"Sometimes fevers can do funny things to brains." Skulduggery said, kindly.

She bit her lip. "It's just that... it felt so real. As real as this."

"I'm sure it did."

"More real, in a way."

Skulduggery gave her another little glace. "We'll be in Roarhaven in ten minutes. Then we can see if the medical bay has anything that can help you."

  She did her best to quell the shadow of a doubt that was starting to creep up on her.  

"That was quick," she said.

"I may have run a few dozen red lights on the way."  

[ecotone99]

[RF] Drunkards.

The engine kicks into gear and we slowly ease our way out of the harbour, a small flock of seagulls follow our trail of bait, and the dirty smoke from the stack rises into the clean air. With the afternoon sun setting off the stern and slight roll up and down, I join the boys out the back for a smoke, and cold can of bourbon. The old girl groans as the propeller catches after cavitation and edges us closer to the grounds. I walk into the wheelhouse to check our course and plan the next move. ‘Where are we heading, skip,’ said Wayne as he entered? ‘Just out front, castle to the aldermans, good fishing through there.’ I say while swigging my drink.

The afternoon comes on and the wind dies and the ocean turns to butter. We sit in the dirty old cabin drinking can after can. Venturing outside becomes harder, but the processed liquor has to flow. I grab the rail and ease my johnson over the side to relieve the strain. God damn it's nice out here, I think to myself. I gaze out to the horizon trying to spot the wind change only to discover a lonely albatross soaring beneath the clouds and diving effortlessly towards the dark green ocean, his wings spread so, and looking like a 747 jumbo jet. The albatross reminded me of a time of solitude, just me and the ocean roaming from place to place and catching what I could. I peek through the window and Sean is staring into space with a disgruntled look. Empty cans of Woodstock surround his badly tattooed arms and poorly rolled cigarettes fill the ashtray.

The wind is now blowing from the east and hitting the boat beam on making a very uncomfortable roll and boys are out the back setting the hooks for the upcoming haul. A wave comes out of nowhere and crashes across the boat, sending vibrations through and up from below. I grab the wheel and hold the vessel on course. The boat pitches down into a deep trough and another wave hits us and throws me off the helm, giving the boat a chance to right itself. I rise to my feet only to find Wayne lying on the cold hard deck and Sean nowhere to be seen. I stagger through the mess, stumbling towards Wayne, finding his head is bleeding profusely from a gash across the hairline. The blood-soaked water drains through the scuppers and the boat settles. ‘Wayne are you ok,’ I say while shaking him. Realising he's unconscious, I grab his mouth and close the nose. My breath enters and I punch the chest. Harder, faster. ‘Come on, you old bastard, don't die on me now,’ I say. A few seconds pass that feel like minutes and Wayne, bursts into life coughing a spluttering. ‘Go get the first aid kit’ I yell at Sean who appears out from behind the drum. I rip open the pouch, finding nothing more than a rusty lighter and some plasters. ‘Fuck’, I scream I place Wayne's head on an old fishing towel covered in grease and rust. Running ahead I grab the wheel and hurl the boat due north and slam the throttle down heading for home. ‘Mayday mayday mayday. This is the Hika 3 we need, medical help and evac.’ I howl through the radio. Finding an old rag, I wrap it around his head to stop the thick red blood. Sean cracks another drink and sits down with a sigh. ‘What the fuck are you doing, there's no time for a drink,’ I said ‘Fuck off Wok you should have been watching where you are going, you can't see shit in your old age,’ he screams. ‘Where, where am.. I?,’ Wayne mumbles. ‘You have had an accident Wayne, just sit back,’ He lays back down to find a comfortable position and slowly loses consciousness.

The swell is now building from the east, running up behind and surfing our way to safety. Sean is on the bow, hiding from the horizontal rain, drinking can after can and smoking. I watch him from the helm and I get an urge to join and drink this day away. The adrenaline is now fading and the slow rock of the boat brings my foggy eyes and slight drunkenness to the surface. ‘Fuck it,’ I say, grabbing another tin and knocking for Sean’s attention to come inside. He looks at me and nods. ‘I need to look after Wayne, can you check the engine room?', I said in a stern voice. Sean stares at me with a blank look and slips down below. I roll a smoke and put my foot up against the dash, bracing myself from the heavy roll. The heat from the afternoon sun is beaming through the window and rumble from the strained engine is making me tired. I switch the billy on. ‘How does she look down there? Anything in the bilge’, I say to Sean as he climbs back into the wheelhouse. ‘All good, everything looks fine,’ he said A faint whistle builds in the distance. ‘Go on, make us a cup of joe would ya, strong and sweet.’ Sean rolls his eyes, while crushing his empty can and says nothing.

A strange vibration comes, the feeling of something not right. I look at the gauge and the revs are slowing and temperature is rising. Quickly, I shoot down below. There's smoke and soot everywhere. The bilge is full, and The engine has seized. ‘You fucking idiot, Sean,’ ‘What happened’, said Sean in a shaky voice. ‘You fucked us, and knocked off the belt, you drunk bastard,’ A big wave crashes over the boat and throws us to the ground. For a moment I feel the ocean's true power, and the thought of sinking becomes a reality. With every trough, the boat sinks under the horizon, throwing us from gunwale to gunwale. Hanging on to whatever we can, I desperately reach for the radio and make another call. ‘All vessels, this is the Hika 3, we are dead in the water and have a badly injured man needing help ASAP, our position is 35 S, 175 E.’ I hang up the radio and slip myself into the corner. Looking up through the window, I spot the lonely albatross still following and watching over us.

At last the radar shows a small green dot up ahead and Sean helps me drag Wayne to the bow. big rolling waves. Up, down and smash, hurling water over the bow. A long rope connects us to the chopper and they send down a bed for Sean to grab. His drunken stumble misses the opportunity, flinging the steel bed, smashing against the side and ripping the rail out of its sockets.. With one more try, he secures it and they send down a paramedic. With Wayne strapped, the winch pulls him up towards the clouds. Relief swamped the boat and Sean ventures inside, soaking wet. He reaches for the last beer, I snatch it off him and toss it overboard, ‘We are not out of this yet, Sean. For now, this will be a dry boat. No more liquor.’

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