#He wanted to hold Gladstone's Staff - to use it - and he got to

[chronomally]

[professional-benaddict]

Starker Britain, 1938 AU

Tony, 18+ Peter, interwar period, Britain, chronic illness, doctors and exams, May and Richard Parker alive but absent, soft pxrn, 2.7k

For the mood boards here

Tag list: @carey-roza @annoyingcatto @strawberryparkers @starker-3000 @starkerprince @urfavisastarker @misssecretstudenttree @80zmdewrit3rbabe

It took two nurses and a very determined doctor to get Peter to breathe, and scream, when he was first born on a very hot and dry August day in 1920. Ever since that day, breathing has been a struggle for the boy and the blue tint in his skin when he was just a babe still lingers on his fingernails, around his eyes and on his lips till this day. Some would have thought that having a sickly son would make Richard and Mary Parker want to spend time with their only child, but in reality it had the opposite effect and made the pair hide away from the son, using work as an excuse. Some would say that it was no excuse at all, however, as Britain needed everyone to do their part to rebuild their homeland after the Great War. And, with another war building up in the Eastern horizon, international relations are not the only ones turning tense, but also family relations and the Parker family is no exception. Richard is called back to do his duty for his country as a Major, while Mary has to start training hundreds of new nurses to treat the wounded soldiers that are coming, which is her duty as head nurse at the hospital in town.

Peter’s parents are so rarely around the Parker estate, so Peter is left alone in the huge house with the maids, his books and Gladstone, a rough looking, but kind hearted English bulldog. Peter finds enormous comfort in his pet, as well as some irony in them both struggling to breathe. Besides petting Gladstone and reading books, Peter looks forward to his weekly visit from the family doctor, Tony Stark. The doctor is American, and even after all these years, Peter is still incredibly intrigued by the way the doctor talks and moves. The boy finds the older man very exotic and endlessly fascinating and always has a list of at least a dozen questions that he has prepared to ask the doctor when he arrives at 1pm on Thursday. The list includes mostly questions about how life is in America, but sometimes also about technology and medicine. 

“Thank you, Hogan.” Tony smiles, stepping out of the car with his medical bag in one hand. The driver gives a wordless nod and exists the car as well to go and have his usual smoke as he waits for the doctor to return on one of the benches in the large garden surrounding the Parker estate. 

Before heading in to see his patient, Tony usually always makes a quick stop by the stables, offering the happily nickering horses sugar cubes from the palm of his hand. The doctor has always been fond of horses. It reminds him of home back in America. But, to his disappointment and confusion, Tony finds none of the Parker’s three horses to be in the stables, which is odd to say the least. Waving a greeting to one of the gardeners, Tony heads down the gravel road to the back of the building instead of taking the steps leading up to the front door. 

“Afternoon, Doc.” The gardener smiles widely, showing the gap between his front teeth as he pushes his hat further back on his head to meet the doctor’s eyes. “Back so soon?” 

“It’s Thursday.” Tony points out with a chuckle. He always comes on Thursdays.

“Oh, right, right, silly ol’ me. This summer heat has been getting to my head, I fear.” The gardener huffs, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. 

“You be careful, Barry, the heat is not to be messed with.” The doctor says, his voice a bit sharp with concern for the hardworking older man. Just like the doctor, the gardener has been serving the Parker’s for decades now. The gardener tips his hat with a grin and says his thanks before excusing himself to continue tending to the flower beds. But, the doctor does not let him go just yet. 

“I couldn’t help but notice that the horses are all gone. Have they gotten sick?” 

“Oh, the army came and took them, Doc.” The gardener says. Tony nods thoughtfully and thanks Barry before heading off, adjusting his hold on his bag and continuing ahead till he reaches the backdoor of the kitchen. 

The kitchen is surprisingly quiet, so Tony guesses that the maids and kitchen staff have just finished with lunch and are taking a break. Setting his bag down on the counter, the doctor peels off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt before washing his hands thoroughly. By the time he is done, one of the maids enters the kitchen and startles with a little yelp. 

“Oh, it’s you Doctor Stark! I didn’t hear you come in.” The maid squeaks out and resumes what she came to do by setting a tray down on the counter. 

“Afternoon, Emily. Was that Peter’s lunch you just brought back?” The doctor asks, eyeing the considerable amount of food that is still left on the plate. At least the glass is empty. 

“Yes, Doctor Stark, he hasn’t been eating much, sadly. Major Parker had to cancel his trip home last weekend.” The maid, Emily, replies dutifully. 

“May I see?” Tony asks, extending his hand. Emily nods promptly and goes to one of the cabinets. From behind a large jar of flour, she pulls out a little notebook and hands it to the doctor. Tony accepts it with a ‘thank you’ and flips through the pages, humming thoughtfully as he looks at the newest food logs since his visit the week before. The boy has been eating less and less. “Thank you, Emily. I assume he is in his room?” The doctor says, handing the notebook back to the maid who puts it back in its hiding place. 

“Yes, Doctor. Shall I make some tea for you?” 

“That would be lovely. And some biscuits as well, if you could?” Tony smiles, placing his jacket over his forearm and takes his bag in the other hand before heading upstairs. He greets the maids as he passes them and then pauses by a door, knocking three times and chuckles at the familiar growls coming from behind the door before entering. 

Like always, it is Gladstone who greets him, or rather comes to inspect to decide whether to let him enter his master’s bedroom. The bulldog has never bitten anyone, although he is fully capable of doing so and gets that point across with his growls and rough huffs as he blocks the way into the room. 

“Hey, boy, will you let me in?” Tony chuckles and crouches down to let the dog smell his hand. After a sniff and another growl, the bulldog waddles back to his owner, using the seat at the bottom of the bed to climb back up to join his master on the queen sized bed. The doctor knows that he has been granted access and closes the door behind him. 

With the thin and light silk curtains drawn, the large bedroom bathes in the gentle and pale yellow light that the midday sun casts. Everything looks peaceful and quiet and the curtains dance lightly in the gentle breeze coming through the open balcony door. The doctor is pleased to know that the boy is at least following some of his advice. Having all the windows and doors shut would just make his breathing worse. 

Turning his attention to the bed, Tony finds Peter on his back, sleeping peacefully. Or as peacefully as he can with his slightly laboured breathing. The boy’s chest rises and falls a little too fast for the doctor’s liking, but at least it is even. He must have fallen asleep just a moment ago since the maid was just here. Tony hates the fact that he will have to wake the boy, but it is a necessary evil. 

“Peter…” Tony starts gently, sitting next to his patient on the bed and taking his delicate hand into his own, feeling his pulse under his fingertips. “Peter.” 

The boy stirs slowly, blinking his eyes a few times, but does not open them yet. He huffs a little, his lips curling into a soft smile at the familiar and comforting sound of his doctor, whom he has known his entire life. The doctor was actually the one who held him even before his mother did when he was first born. 

“Hi…” Peter murmurs, not opening his eyes yet, but tilts his head towards Tony. The doctor feels how the boy’s hand tightens its grip in his, like an infant does on reflex. 

“Hi.” Tony replies softly. “Won’t you open your pretty eyes for me?” 

Finally the boy obliges and cracks his eyes open so that honey brown eyes meet darker brown ones. Peter feels his heart flutter just a bit at the warm smile that Tony returns him. He traces the smile lines in the older man’s face with his eyes for a split second. One can easily tell that Doctor Stark is a kind doctor based on those smile lines. 

“Have you had trouble sleeping too?” Tony asks, getting to business. Peter frowns at him and coughs a little before placing his hand on Gladstone’s square-shaped head. The dog hums in content and settles his head down on his master’s hip to be pet. 

“Too? Have the maids told on me?” The boy asks with a quiet chuckle. Tony notices the sad undertone in the sound in an instant. He does not even need to ask to know that the boy is quite disappointed with his father for canceling his weekend trip home, again. At least his mother does not make any promises, so she does not end up breaking them either. 

“Yes, Emily tells me that you haven’t been eating properly. Must I stress to you once more how important it is that you at least maintain your current weight?” 

“Don’t waste your breath.” Peter shoots back, a playful grin on his face as he looks at the doctor pull out the stethoscope from his bag. It is still the same bag that Tony had with him when he got the message that Mary Parker had started labour and delivered Peter into the world. That was now nearly 20 years ago. But, the stethoscope is a new one. Tony rolls his eyes at the cheeky response. Snarkiness is a good thing. It means that the patients still have some fight in them. 

“Speaking of, how has you breathing been?” Tony asks, putting the earpieces in place after unbuttoning the soft and white cotton tunic that the boy is wearing. Peter of course lays back and lets the doctor do as he pleases, keeping his gaze fixed on Tony’s eyes as he places the diaphragm on his vulnerable and ghostly pale chest. 

“Not any better, nor any worse.” Peter says, coughing weakly and clearing his throat. 

“The same?” Tony rephrases, placing the chest-piece just under Peter’s left nipple. 

“The same.” Peter repeats, still keeping his eyes fixed on the doctor. 

The rest of the check up goes by like always with Tony checking the boy’s temperature, blood pressure, eyes and throat all the while Peter tells the doctor about the books he has finished since the last visit. The finished books include two different ones on botany and three of Doyle’s detective novels. Sometime during Peter’s summary of the second botany book, Gladstone had hopped down from the bed and trotted to the balcony to growl at the gardener down below. 

“‘The Hound of Baskerville’ again?” The doctor asks, putting away his medical instruments now that he has finished the exam. Only one thing remains now. 

“Yes, again! It is the best one I have ever read.” Peter replies, and it is hard for Tony to argue with that. The boy’s knowledge about literature is far greater than his own and after many heated, yet friendly discussions, he was wise enough to stop questioning the boy about literature when he was ten. “Is not Doyle famous in America?” 

“I am not sure. It has been decades since I have been home.” Tony muses, taking out the neat case with the glass syringe from his bag. Without needing to prompt him to, Peter turns over on his side, pushing the expensive cotton sheets and his underwear down to expose his plump ass. The boy’s voice is slightly muffled when he speaks. 

“Because you’ve been here.” 

“Because I have been here.” Tony replies softly, readying the syringe and shushes the boy gently when he sticks the thick, metal needle into the plumpest part of the boy’s ass. Whimpering quietly, Peter tries his hardest to not kick and squirm, although he would very much want to. The injections really are dreadful, but he would have a hundred of them to get to converse with the doctor. 

Finally, the doctor pulls the needle out, but the pain is still there, throbbing and demanding Peter’s attention. Tony knows this and sets the syringe aside before rubbing a comforting hand on his patient���s bony hip. Having a tendency to get lightheaded after the injections, Peter needs a few moments to collect himself and Tony provides comfort and sympathy through gentle touches. He brushes back the boy’s curls from his forehead and lets his hand slip down from his hip and to his lower stomach, resting there just above his public bone. It is a wordless question and Peter replies with a shake of his head. 

“Not today, thank you, Doctor Stark.”

“You’re upset about your father.” Tony points out, pulling his hand back to rest on Peter’s hip again. The boy nods, staring right in front of him and watching as the curtains dance in the breeze coming through the open windows again. It smells dry and hot. 

“I’m upset at my father.” Peter corrects, taking a deep breath before continuing. He shifts his hips slightly, allowing the doctor to pull his underwear back up. “They even took Lady.” 

“Hmm, yes, Barry told me. I’m very sorry about that, Peter. I know how much you loved Lady.” 

“Father would have known. Right? He would have known that they were taking everyones’ horses and he could have warned us. But, he chose not to.” 

“It could have been out of his hands, Peter.” Tony points out, but Peter does not respond. The doctor frowns softly, knowing he made a mistake by defending the Major. “Perhaps they will return her. They might have collected too many horses.” 

“Perhaps.” Peter says blandly, not believing the dumb lie at all. He is not a child anymore. Tony of course notices that he has only made the situation worse and backs off a little, letting his hand go from the boy’s hip. But, suddenly Peter grabs his hand and pulls it around his torso and to his mouth, resting the doctor’s fingertips on his lips. 

Tony huffs out a fond little laugh and scoots closer to the boy, so that his thigh is pressed against the boy’s back where he is still laying on his side, facing away from the doctor. The boy’s breaths tickles his skin. He can faintly feel the soft flesh of the boy’s lips, then the soft vibrations when he speaks. 

“Don’t go…” 

“I’m still staying for tea. Emily will bring it up soon.” 

“No, I mean- don’t go.” 

“Where would I go?” 

“To the war.” 

Tony cannot help but scoff out a chuckle at the ridiculousness of the idea. Twisting his hand, the doctor gently presses his thumb to Peter’s bottom lip. 

“Someone has to stay behind to take care of the ones at home too.” 

Tony can feel Peter’s lips curl upwards in a smile at that, however it does not last long before he relaxes the muscles and purses his lips in a kiss to his thumb. Major Parker may have taken Lady, but he had made sure that Tony was not called in to the medical corps. However, the doctor decides against telling Peter that. 

“Because charity starts at home? Like my mother always says.” Peter says, his voice slightly bitter at that, but his lips are soft. 

“Because you are the future.” Tony corrects and moves his hand to cup Peter’s cheek, tilting his head towards him to finally kiss him on the mouth. Gladstone growls and barks widely at the gardener, but the pair in the bed do not pay the pet any mind. 

[donaldduckau]

Island of God's. Luck tied (ver fusion)

Donstone didn't know why actually he knew why he agreed to the triplets and webby wish of him going on a adventure to some dangerous place with them as he looked at them talking to each other .

the reason why was them using puppy eyes on him and boy can't he not resist the puppy eyes with tiny tears or anything the triplets did made him unable to resist treating them and donstone knew they had him in their hands with webby already gaining a spot too in his heart too. Donstone like everyone else jumped at the sound of lighting got himself ready incase of a emergency and he slipped hitting the back of the airplane as he got himself back up but then everything lost gravity and he knew this was going to hurt as the airplane crashed down.

He checked himself for any injuries but he was fine for just been in a crashing airplane so he walked towards the others as he heard his uncle say "ithaquack" with himself shouting "what" and he didn't want to stay as part of him wanted to say "no no no no " but the Gladstone part wanted to see these gods and donstone remember the fuel scrooge caused years ago so he agreed with his uncle "no we need to leave " but launchpad denied that so he was stuck but he at least for himself was going to experience ithaquack.

Donstone noticed the triplets and webby run into two groups "wait it's better if we stick together and explore " but they didn't hear him so he went to direction if huey whom was looking at pillar and he picked him up in one arm whilst he walked towards louie whom was laying on the ground and he stood above him with a frowning huey.

Louie looked at him as he asked "your blocking my light" and he picked him up as he spoke "now we going back to the airplane with you staying there as I found webby and dewey then we explore okay " louie asked "what's so dangerous that we can't go alone" then he got bear hugged from behind as the huey and louie were tossed forward.

Huey and louie were curious of who this man bulky, blonde haired bird was as he just hugged their uncle to the ground which was surprising to them as him tossing their uncle Into the air as he spoke "what glorious day for the return of friend Donald the sailor of the seven seas and his fusion " as he placed donstone face between his pecs with his feet touching the floor.

Donstone greeted him as he smelled the scent of storkules from the embrassing way his faced was placed so removing himself as he looked up to storkcules sightly " hello storkules nice to meet you I'm Donstone wait did you say fusion how did you know that" storkules just laughed " my freind donstone haven't I told you I'm a god of strength and fusion it's self is part of my gifts so if you wanted to fuse you can happily ask to" as he smiled godly.

Donstone really need to keep distance to this godly man as everything was checking list of a perfect man for donstone so acting calm " no thanks storkcules but meet louie and huey my nephews" storkules looked at him to Huey and louie before picking them up as he proclaimed them "hero's in the makings" as he squished their faces to his smiling. Huey asked " your uncle must of tod you I'm storkules colossus of corinth and hero of heliopolis and best friend to Donstone duck " as he does fistbump and receives one from donstone whom trying his best to look okay.

Huey and louie were amazed by the god as huey asked in amazement "your best friend is storkules " donstone couldn't say he was his best friend but he was a friend yes from what he remembered from Donald so " he's a friend yes" as he looked at storkules whom had a big smile on his face as he picked him up "donstone call me his friend o what a glorious day" scrooge peeked his head out of the airplane as he whispered " we need to get out of here for you know who " with confused louie asking "for who to not know we are here" but that got answered as a floating cloud with a man on top appeared "how dare you defy the will of zeus" but he got rambling huey asking him questions.

Donstone looked as huey asked zeus questions about him but donstone could see where storkcules got his genes from but then zeus brought up that "it was amazing until your uncle scrooge came and brought his riff raff" as he points to scrooge with himself and scrooge looking In the other knowing things were going to be difficult.

Zeus brought them to a ring as they sat down listening to zeus story. " ithaquack was the holiday for gods and hero's and I was the god of hosting and everyone love me then scrooge showed up" zeus started pointing to vases that housed images of what scrooge done and to donstone his uncle over did it " killing the unlikable gorgon, found the lost treasure of Troy and he was really good at building sandcastles ba"

louie saying "that sounds quite fun" getting reply from storkcules as he showed a vase of Donald and storkules which donstone liked maybe he could get one.

" it was " zeus disagreed "it wasn't as scrooge acted so cool " scrooge just rolled his eyes as he spoke "leave it to a god to whine about the god old days" scrooge stood up as he asked "where everyone " zeus annoyed replied "they left when you did as they didn't want to party with lame god that couldn't beat a lowly mortal" which scrooge showed them a vase of zeus sending lighting down "maybe there was year round lighting storm as he looked away.

Donstone got both points to scrooge and zeus but this wasn't his problem to solve and knowing his uncle it probably become worse. Storkules picked him up as he spoke "now you returned, Storkules, Donald and fiery sister" Storkules hesitates as he asks "where's della"

Donstone doesn't speak as he looks to Huey and Louie whom looking at vases and turning his head to the ground as Storkcules understood what it meant and trying to cheer him up Storkules proclaims " then we shall on on a arousing adventure to remember our fallen friend" donstone speaks "I don't really do adventures anymore"

"What adventure is the very blood in your veins well we must host a feast to celebrate your return" with Huey and Louie Cheering as zeus and scrooge say "what " storkules looking towards his father " father a god of hosting wouldn't cast out a crew of werry travelers" as he strokes donstone back causing a blush to form.

Zeus falling Into his sons hands mumbles " well no I guest not " as he turns his head away whilst still looking at his son. Storkules laughs "it be a back of all like the ages Beach party" with himself, huey and louie cheering.

The beach party was okay as donstone would say it and that was being nice but it ended as his uncle got zeus temper as he spoke "how dare you mortal is dim no good which I'd insulting ithaquack" with scrooge replies " maybe they left because of you"

Storkules trying to avoid a conflict suggest beach gangs but his father changes it " a contest if your family versus mine in series of heroic trials ya all shall know we are the superior party hounds " as he turns his head seeing the ducks try to leave. Huey protests as he speaks "epic trials,zeus" then louie " delicious grapes " with his hands in the air. Turning his body zeus faces them using his staff he makes a barrier forcing the family to the area "your not going anywhere " with the ducklings cheering and the adults groaning.

Donstone changes outfit like his family into tonics which donstone quite likes maybe he keep it but he goes to where the others are whilst not having heard what the just said he instead can't help but stare at storkcules lifting weights whilst noticing the conversation between the father and son.

They do the trials with huey taking the first with using the tonic he wore to win. The next trial was won by donstone as he tossed the disk the furthest but good gods was storkcules strong the disk caught fire and each trial was more of the winning but the statue trial with storkcules making a buff Donald which donstone found embrassing. Then last trial.

Zeus speaks "the ultimate challenge, steal the golden fleece from this child" scrooge disappointed asks "this your ultimate challenge" with louie looking to his brother saying "there's no way we beat storkules this one" with everyone looking at storkules. Storkules couldn't steal from a child he was a hero and stealing was wrong " steal from a child but if I do such a thing could I truly be called a hero donstone I'm in need of your wise council" but donstone was there as he walked away.

Donstone couldn't stay near him he was making donstone heart get all fast and his body just want to jump on him.

storkules at every moment but he turned as he heard storkules ask " boon companion Donstone where are you going" donstone spoke as he tried to say his words right " your nice guy" storkules replies " the most nice guy" adorable but storkules continues "for I am storkules the hero of " donstone interpret him " nono I'm don't do adventures really anymore I'm more of parent now and going on adventures means someone going to get hurt" storkcules says back " getting hurt is part of the adventure and eat would della say as age hear you now" "she can't " before looking away with the words "someone always gets hurt"

Donstone walked to where the airplane was as he stood a barrier away from the airplane and he tries to grab it but he gets shocked as he yelps in pain but hears his nephews scream for help as he speaks "boys " as he runs toward their direction. Storkules apologises as he can't control his body as he about to punch the ducklings and scrooge but stopped when he hears donstone in a heroic voice behind him " no one gets hurt today"

The two birds fight with Storkules flinging his fists towards Donstone whom avoids the hits whilst moving around Storkules with Storkules punching himself but Storkules gets hold of Donstone by the arms as he proclaims in sorrow "I regret this most bitterly" but scrooge jumps on Storkules shoulders and places his cane into Storkules month as he speaks "like old times lad" donstone replies "yeah" whilst they distract Storkules it's louie that convinces the gorgon to stop.

Storkules free from the gorgon voice looks down to donstone as he hugs and rolls him as he proclaims "donstone you have saved me " zeus in annoyed speaks "what are you doing, don't hug the enemy" with scrooge saying "their best friends" and donstone replies "friends"

Scrooge and zeus have a trial themselves with scrooge losing on purpose as to make zeus finally get over it. Storkules walks up to donstone "you make think you gave up adventuring but it hasn't given up on you and your a hero never the less" donstone smiles "thanks Storkules my friend" but before he they could hug the sky turns grey and zeus screams in anger with himself and everyone which reminds him to ask where webby sad dewey went but he saves that for later as they run to the ship which they found is been broken apart.

[adamarinayu]

Gold Feathers Pt. 6

FIRST | PREVIOUS

Shadows

Donald felt ridiculous for ever trying to hide it from Uno- his work became so much easier when he didn’t try to hide it, and now he didn’t have to scramble to hide his magic artifacts when the android called him.

It actually made him reconsider hiding it from Scrooge and the kids. If Uno, logical Uno, could accept his magic, then surely so could Scrooge, who was friends with literal gods?

He almost said it.

“Scrooge?” he had called in the hallway, getting the old duck’s attention.

“Yes, Donald?”

He opened his mouth.

I’m a sorcerer, he tried to say. The words wouldn’t come out.

Instead he said, “I’m gonna be spending the day with Uno.”

Dammit, Donald!

Scrooge raised a brow. “Alright. And ye’re telling me... why? Ye’re almost thirty-six now, it’s not like ye need permission.”

“Because the kids don’t have school today,” he said, remembering Dewey and Louie cheering about it being a teacher work day. “So thought you’d like to know I won’t be home, so if there’s any problems-”

“Aye, I get it,” Scrooge nodded, waving Donald’s explanation away. “I’ll be sure tae keep an eye on them.”

“Thanks, Uncle Scrooge.”

He just couldn’t say it.

“Donald- your hands...”

Donald flinched, turning around to find Gladstone standing in his kitchen. Gladstone’s eyes were wide, looking at Donald’s hands holding the plate he was washing.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Donald demanded, quickly putting the plate back into the sink and grabbing a towel, drying his hands off.

“What happened to your hands?” Gladstone asked, grabbing Donald’s wrist before he could grab his gloves. “Is this why you started wearing those things? You’re hiding this- whatever it is from us?”

Donald looked at Gladstone, who looked a little freaked out. Gladstone had always been nervous about Donald’s magic, but he’d become used to it after so many years.

He could feel Gladstone’s own energy- stronger now that they were older, but still uncontrollable, still free- try to mix with his own, but his own magic denied it as it always had. They had never been able to mix or even touch. Gladstone’s would reach out but his own would refuse.

This time, however, there was a frantic quality to it, the energy trying to force its way to Donald through the waves. Gladstone was freaking out.

Donald sighed. There was no use in lying to Gladstone. “Magic sometimes leaves physical signs,” he explained, carefully prying Gladstone’s grip from his wrist. “My feathers are changing colour the more I use magic. It started slow, but lately it’s been changing faster.”

“When did it start changing?” Gladstone asked, clearly concerned. At least, Donald mused, he didn’t tell Donald to stop.

But of course he wouldn’t- he saw what happened when he tried the first time.

“I noticed it when I was seventeen, a while after I got my staff,” Donald answered, rubbing his eyes. “It was just a tinge back then, on my fingers and palm. It probably started years before, I just didn’t notice.”

“So in just fifteen years, it went from a tinge to your entire hand?”

Donald shrugged. “I’m more advanced now,” he pointed out, turning back to continue washing dishes. “I use more magic now, proper spells and stuff. It’ll probably be up to my elbows by the time I’m forty-five.”

“You’ll be a completely golden duck by the time you’re sixty at that rate!” Gladstone sounded almost alarmed. “No offense, Donald, but gold is not your colour.”

“Trust me, I know,” Donald deadpanned. “And being a sorcerer means I’ll live a lot longer than most people,” he added, “so probably most my life will be spent as a gold duck. But when it comes to that, I’ll have figured out how to hide it.”

He’d come to terms with all of this years ago.

Gladstone rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Let me guess, you’re going to continue to further your studies.”

“Of course!” Donald almost laughed, glancing over his shoulder at Gladstone. “Magic’s a part of me, it’s who I am!”

Gladstone had nothing to say to that. Instead he just nodded in understanding. “Of course. So, when do you plan on telling the rest of our family about who you really are?”

It felt like a slap in the face.

Donald stared at his reflection in the now-clean plate. Gladstone was watching him, waiting for an answer they both knew would never come.

“I’m gonna tell them.”

Uno and Gladstone both looked up from their staring contest. “Tell who what?” Gladstone asked, confused, while Uno just raised a brow.

Donald dropped down into the dining room chair beside Uno, leaning his arms on the table. Scrooge and the kids were off on an adventure with Launchpad and Mrs. Beakley was at the store. Gladstone had been hanging around a lot more- and, somewhat irritatingly, Donald found himself falling back into their almost-brotherly dynamic- and Donald invited Uno over.

He needed advice, and Gladstone and Uno were the only people nearby he could think to ask.

Uno and Gladstone had never met before, but Uno knew Gladstone from Donald’s recounted stories. Uno was not being very friendly, either, but then again neither was Gladstone.

He ignored it for now.

“I’m gonna tell Scrooge and the kids about me being a sorcerer,” Donald clarified, and Gladstone’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I just don’t know how.”

“You could just say ‘hey, I’m a sorcerer’,” Gladstone said, leaning on the table.

“It was hard enough when I said that to Uno, and he doesn’t have a grudge against magicians,” Donald replied.

“Wait, you told him?”

“Donald told me six and a half months ago.”

Had it really been that long? It didn’t feel like it.

“Oh.”

“In his usual dramatic way.”

“Of course! How else would he do it?”

Okay. It looked like those two would get along better than Donald expected.

“Guys,” he cut in. “I could really use some advice? I mean, Uno’s the only one I’ve ever actively told and looking back at that conversation is... well, I’d rather not repeat that.”

“Just show them then,” Gladstone suggested. “Like you showed me.”

“Or,” Uno spoke up, “you could calmly sit them down and explain the situation. Your cousin here could help you, since he’s been in on the secret from the start.”

Of course, Uno was ever the logical one.

In the end, Donald decided to mix the ideas- sit them down, talk to them and show them. Explain to the boys how he knew what he did about their abilities. Clear the air, wipe away thirty years of hiding.

And he came so very close. He dragged Uno into it, his presence calming Donald, and the duck managed to sit his uncle, nephews and Webby down.

He was mere words from telling them the truth when it happened.

There was a rumbling. Instinctively Donald grabbed the closest thing to him- Uno’s arm- while Gladstone latched onto Donald’s arm, and the children grabbed onto each other.

“Earthquake?” Scrooge asked, but Donald knew it wasn’t.

He felt it- the overwhelming, suffocating darkness, and he could see Gladstone and the triplets felt it too.

“What is that?!” Huey whispered, a hand covering his beak.

“Donald- that’s-” Gladstone started, his grip tightening.

“I know,” Donald breathed, standing up abruptly despite the house shaking. Shadows grew darker, climbing up the walls and blocking the light from the windows.

“What’s happening?!” Webby squealed, but Scrooge noticed as Donald, Gladstone and the triplets all seemed to turn as one towards the back of the room.

Violet light shot out of the ground, and Donald watched, his heart beating painfully, as it took shape. He recognized Della’s silhouette, and then she was there.

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Mom?!” the triplets chorused and immediately started running to her, followed by everyone else- the house was shaking so hard, plaster dust was starting to fall.

However, Donald reeled back as the spear��s energy slammed into him, and his boys and Gladstone did the same, each one stumbling back and away from it.

Scrooge dropped down beside Della, unaffected by the spear, and Webby noticed the Ducks and Gladstone hanging back, seemingly frozen.

Uno stayed by Donald, unable to feel what the biological did but knowing by his expression that it wasn’t good.

“Uncle Donald?” Louie’s voice was shaky. “What... what is that?”

“The Spear of Selene,” Donald answered simply, watching as Della’s eyes slowly opened.

“Where am I,” she muttered before taking in the scene. Then her eyes widened. “Oh no!” She shot up. “Magica’s free!”

And then she fell down again, but Scrooge caught her. “Della, lass!” Scrooge had tears in his eyes, and Donald did too- no use in lying. His sister was back.

But so was the spear, and so was Magica.

There was a flurry of activity- Donald was tasked with taking Della to a guest room while Scrooge himself dealt with the spear. Donald did as he was asked, carrying Della to one of the rooms on the first floor- he’d take her to her old bedroom, but the door to the hallway was sealed and he didn’t want to walk through his old room again.

The children followed him and so did Gladstone.

Everything was wrong.

Magica escaped the world of shadows thanks to an outside force- her magic, strong enough to manifest even as a shadow, had found someone to do it.

Someone with magic and close ties to herself- her own flesh and blood.

Donald knew without a doubt that it was Lena, the only other person in Duckburg with any significant amount of magic. It had been weaker than Magica’s, young and untrained yet just as wild. But how, he wondered, had she gotten an artifact strong enough to pull from the world of shadows?

“It’s so dark,” Gladstone whispered, staring at the windows.

Unfortunately, whatever was used to tear open the plane between worlds didn’t discriminate. It didn’t pull just Magica- it pulled Della, it pulled the spear, and it pulled the shadows themselves.

“Shadows,” Donald explained quietly. “From the world Della banished Magica to.”

“The world between the worlds?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s going on?” Dewey demanded. “What is the Spear of Selene?”

“It’s an artifact,” Gladstone explained while Donald looked down at Della. She was breathing, sleeping after almost twelve years stuck as a shadow. She was here. “When it’s used, it, uh, banishes its target and its user. Your mom used it to banish Magica de Spell.”

Donald was going to make sure she stayed that way.

He protested. He protested them going after Magica- she’s too dangerous, he insisted, you can’t win, but Scrooge had won before so surely he could do it again.

The last time you didn’t win.

They went anyway. As soon as Della was standing, she refused to back down. They refused to tell her where they hid the spear, but finally cracked and let her go with them to face Magica.

Donald protested, but if there was one thing he had in common with his family... they were stubborn.

“Stay here and keep an eye on the spear,” Della had said, her hands on his arms for the first time in over a decade. He hugged her.

“Please be safe,” he practically begged, and then she was gone, along with Scrooge and the kids. He didn’t approve of it, but he had to trust them.

It just made his part easier.

Finding where Scrooge hid the spear wasn’t hard- it was like lightning, and he was a rod. It was on the top floor, behind a lock. It wasn’t hard for Donald to get in, and then there it was in all its horrific glory.

It was still so beautiful, yet so frightening. But it was the only way Donald knew to end this without losing anyone else.

“I knew it.”

Donald jumped in surprise, looking over at Uno. He blinked.

“How long were you there?”

“Basically ever since your uncle put the spear in here,” Uno answered, stepping away from the wall next to the door. “He didn’t notice me slip in, he was too distracted.”

“Ah...” Uno was waiting for him, Donald realized.

Uno stepped over to him. “Don’t,” he warned.

“Why not?” Donald asked, creeping back towards where the spear laid on a table.

“Because I don’t want to fight you.”

Was Uno threatening him? Donald studied Uno for any sign of a bluff. He didn’t see one.

Uno was staring at him, waiting for Donald’s choice.

Della and the kids are out there, he told himself quietly. I have to do this- Della did it, and it worked. It would have kept working if it wasn’t for...

He shouldn’t think that. He was sure it was Lena, but Lena was just a child- and, maybe, he was wrong and she had nothing to do with it.

But that wasn’t the point, he told himself. Della was back. He could use the spear, just like she did, and since he had magic he could use it more effectively- he could trap Magica in that other world. 

For good.

He turned to grab the spear, but within moments found himself on the ground, Uno pinning him down.

“What are you doing?!” he demanded, struggling slightly before managing to grab Uno’s arms, flipping them so Uno was pinned instead.

“Not letting you use that spear!” Uno kicked him off, and Donald barely managed to catch himself, flipping away before Uno could tackle him again. 

Getting kicked by an android- not fun, Donald decided.

“This is very unlike you, Uno!” Donald said, crouched and ready- he didn’t want to fight Uno, but this was bigger than him. Uno was in his way.

Uno watched him, now between Donald and the spear. “You’ve never put me in this situation before,” Uno told him simply. The two stared each other down as the shadows shifted around them.

It was dark in the room, the only light the eerie violet being cast by the spear’s crystal head. Donald knew Uno could see better than he himself could- darkness never bothered Uno before.

Donald charged, ducking left at the last moment, but found Uno’s arm against his chest anyway- damn reaction time!- knocking him back again.

“Dammit, Uno, look around!” he hissed, rubbing his chest and glaring at his friend. “This is important!”

“Do something else!” Uno countered, gritting his teeth. Donald shook his head, trying to dart around Uno. The android simply grabbed his arms, scowling. “You said you’re a sorcerer, and Magica de Spell is just a witch- do something else!”

“I can’t!” Donald struggled against his friend, but Uno was an android- he was stronger than Donald could ever hope to be. “She’s a master, and these things are her element!”

Uno refused to let go. “That never stopped you before.”

“Before, I had the upper hand with magic,” Donald reminded Uno. “This time she does. All we have is the spear!”

Donald felt himself pushed to the ground, Uno having him pinned by the wrists. He was completely unable to even grab Uno to push him, and the android had his legs trapped too.

If it had been anyone else, Donald wouldn’t have hesitated to use his magic.

But this was Uno. Uno was an android. He didn’t know how his magic would react with that- he never dared try it before, and he certainly wasn’t about to risk Uno’s life testing it out.

Even if Uno was between him and his objective.

“You’re being short sighted,” Uno actually growled, staring down at Donald. “You have me! You have your kids! Your sister, your cousins, your uncle! You have so many people, and if you’d just for a moment trust us to help you, maybe you’d figure out there is another way!”

“You don’t get it!” Donald finally gave up his struggle. “She’s a master witch and I’m a... a jack of all trades sorcerer. She’s stronger with her element than I am in any.”

Uno’s eyes narrowed at him. “No. You’re versatile- she might be a master of one element, but you know so many others. You could play on her weaknesses, but instead you jump immediately to the same conclusion your sister did eleven years ago? Banish her back to the world she already escaped from once? You can’t do the same thing and expect a different result, Donald!”

“But I can keep her there! Della’s not a sorcerer, but I am!”

“And that’s exactly why I won’t let you do it!”

“It’s our best chance-”

“I won’t lose you again.”

Silence followed Uno’s statement, and Donald just looked at him.

Uno was distraught and it showed. Upset and hurt- everything Donald never wanted to cause his friend.

“What do you mean?” Donald asked. “You didn’t lose me. I lost you.”

Uno closed his eyes and bowed his head slightly. “Everything’s about perspective, Donald,” he said. “I was deactivated, and I thought that was it. But then I was reactivated seven years ago, far away from Earth and in this body. You weren’t there, and- you were...” He sighed, his grip loosening on Donald’s wrists. “I don’t know. It was illogical- I wanted you there with me, but... and I had no way of knowing if you were okay. Sure, you weren’t dead, but you may as well have been.

“But then we found the Evronians, and discovered they were planning on coming here! And Master Ducklair decided, we should return to warn you... and stay, because there was nothing left for him on Corona.” Uno looked at him again, and Donald was surprised to find that there were actual tears in his friend’s eyes.

Androids weren’t supposed to be able to cry.

“And maybe it’s illogical, but I was happy to come back! Especially when he asked me to stay here in Duckburg and continue helping you again- and we got here, and you were here, and you were safe. It made me really happy. And I don’t want you to go away again- especially like this.” He lifted a hand, gesturing emphatically to the spear. “Nothing’s going to change, Donald. The only thing that would change is you’d be gone, fighting Magica forever in some world none of us can reach, leaving the rest of us behind to be miserable and full of regret!”

Just like after Della disappeared, he thought, suddenly understanding. He’d never seen his friend so emotional- Uno looked like he was seconds from a complete breakdown.

It hurt to see him like that.

Without thinking, Donald freed his other hand and pulled Uno down into a hug. Uno held onto him, as if afraid to let him go.

“Why won’t you let us help you?” Uno asked, but Donald didn’t answer.

They stayed that way for a few moments, but the sound of someone clearing their throat got both their attention. Gladstone was standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them. Donald wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there.

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” Gladstone said as Donald let go of Uno, allowing the android to climb back to his feet. “I heard the yelling and was, uh... alarmed.”

Concerned.

Uno offered Donald a hand and helped him back up.

“What are you doing in here?” Gladstone asked nervously, his eyes flicking to the spear. Donald glanced at Uno and sighed.

“Nothing,” he decided, reaching his hand out. His staff began to materialize, and beside him Uno made a small sound of surprise. “But it’s time to go.

“I haven’t gotten to thank Magica for returning my sister yet.”

[kats-randomology]

Out of Luck

Gladstone gave a huff as he pushed the entertainment display table towards the wall. He wasn't the strongest of ducks, but it was amazing what one could accomplish when they were desperate.

It took several minutes, but he finally managed to get it against the opposing wall, and he took a moment to lean against the heavy wood and catch his breath. Looking up, he spotted his goal, the air vent grate; if he could just get inside it, he could crawl his way to freedom.

At least, that was the plan, anyway. There were a couple things that could potentially get in the way of it.

He glanced down at his ankle. No sign of that glowing chain that had appeared the first time he tried to leave. That time, Liu Hai had been present, and saw him trying to get out the doors. He wasn't entirely sure how that magic mumbo jumbo worked, but this plan made sense to him at least.

If he fled without the toad noticing, that crazy demon wouldn't be able to activate it this time. But first things first, getting into the vents. He turned to look around the suite, searching for anything that could aid his climb. He set to work, grabbing chairs, picture frames, the large mask against the wall, and stacking them up on the desk. It came up a little short, but he could reach it if he stretched far enough. He checked the clock on his nightstand, and quickly began climbing. 

Now was about the time Liu Hai would appear on the floor, checking on the guests, handing out gifts, persuading them to stay a little longer with whatever thing he could construct to pique their interest.

Harvesting their luck like a farmer tending to his fields.

Gladstone's lack of attendance would be noticed without a doubt, and it didn't take Liu Hai long to traverse the casino. He needed to get moving, now.

He reached the top of the precarious tower, and with some straining, he was able to reach the grate. It came free with ease, and he pulled himself into the vent. He was met with a long dark tunnel, stretching on further than he could see. He was prepared though, and pulled out a small, frog shaped flashlight he'd gotten from a gift basket left at his door by the staff, and armed with this, he began his trek.

As he made his way through the tunnels, his thoughts went to the last few weeks.

It had seemed like a nice casino at first, the best one he'd ever seen even. The buffet was mouthwatering, the games were exciting, and of course, he won every single time. Casinos were always easy money, though they were often a short-lived business; most times, he was chased out by the end of the day. Not this time though, if anything, the owner was happy to have him. Even seemed glad that he was winning at every game.

He supposed he should've known something was wrong, taking that into account. But he'd been too caught up in his winning streak to care about Liu Hai's constant attention.

He hadn't been planning to spend the night, but a sudden onset of exhaustion had hit him (he’d written it off as jet lag), and Liu Hai was very persuasive. He'd been talked into booking a room for a few days, and hadn't left since. He'd been too caught up in his streak of fortune and the wondrous attractions of the hotel to question anything, like the strange fatigue that would hit him every night, or not being able to find the lobby when he was trying to ask about a check out date; he'd been quickly taken off course from that by the addition of an indoor garden area. It was full of all sorts of strange and exotic plants, and it was just too exciting to turn down a personal tour.

Gladstone paused for a moment as he came to a fork in the tunnels; after a moment, he chose left, and kept crawling. He could faintly hear the music that blared in the casino. He wondered if Liu Hai had noticed his absence yet; or if he realized Gladstone wasn't even in his room.

No, Gladstone had a feeling he'd know when Liu Hai realized what happened. Probably a lot of shouting; he almost wished he'd be able to see the toad's face when he realized he'd lost his favorite snack.

A smirk briefly formed at the thought, but disappeared as he came to a steep drop off tunnel. There was no going back now, he didn't have the time, he'd just have to take the plunge and trust his luck. He took a steady breath, before pushing off the edge.

His drop was brief, and he hit the bottom with heavy thud. He took a moment to catch his breath, but noticed there was a faint light in the vent that wasn't coming from his flashlight. Looking ahead, there was a sharp turn to the right, and light was coming from it.

Outside light; this was it, this was his big break!

"Yes, yesyesyesyes, Gladdy, you are home free!"

He quickly started towards it, new energy coursing through him at the idea of getting out.

So close, almost there--

He was jerked to a halt, and there was a sound of metal on metal behind him.

Heart plummeting, Gladstone hesitantly looked back; he was met with that glowing green chain, as solid as if it had been there all along.

And maybe it had, just out of sight.

"No, no, no..."

He gave it a few experimental tugs, but it refused to let him move any further.

No, that wasn't...this couldn't be it. Not when he was so close, so close--

He yanked on the chain furiously, desperate to get out, despite knowing it was impossible now. He could hear the chain banging against the tunnels further back, and he was certain the toad-like statue it was attached to was most likely back in his suite.

He wasn't getting out, not today, maybe not ever. He was stuck here, until Toad decided to let him go.

And that was never gonna happen.

He finally threw the chain down, and slumped against the wall of the vent in defeat.

He didn't know what to do now; this entire plan was based on a whim, assuming the chain wouldn't stop him without Liu Hai seeing him.

What was he going to do now?

'I could live here in the vents, I guess; it's quiet, secluded, no luck-leeching toads standing over me. I could make it.'

He gave a soft chuckle at the thought, noting the sting in his eyes from oncoming tears. No, Liu Hai would find him before too long, will the building away like he’d done before when Gladstone had first tried to leave.

He could return to his room, use the chain to climb his way back up; he could return to the casino floor, act like he'd been sleeping or watching TV, Liu Hai might buy that. He wouldn't care, as long as he got his daily meal.

Whatever Gladstone's plan might've been though, would remain unknown.

The chain was given a soft tug, but not from Gladstone's end; he stared for a moment, realization dawning in his eyes, before he was jerked from the wall with a yelp. He dropped the flashlight, and found himself being dragged through the now dark ventilation tunnels at mind-boggling speed. He reached blindly for anything to hold onto, and managed to grab what he assumed was a corner. He held on as tight as he could, but the force pulling him was stronger, and he soon lost his grip.

A few seconds later, he was flying out of the entrance grate in his suite, and crashing onto the floor.

He gave a moan as he pushed himself onto his elbows, one hand held to his head.

"Rough ride, Mr. Gander?"

The voice made him jerk his head up, and he winced upon seeing a very angry Lui Hai standing beside the luminescent statue, chain in hand. Gladstone hastily sat up, beak opening and closing several times as he searched for anything he could say that might explain this away, before offering a nervous shrug and grin.

"Yeah, I got nothing."

Liu Hai's eyes remained narrowed, seething with rage. He finally spoke, and his voice, while seemingly calm, held a malicious edge to it that gave it a resonating effect.

"I have been very patient and very generous with you, Mr. Gander. But at this point, I'm starting to think I'm wasting my time..."

"Gener-- are you insane?!"

Gladstone shot to his feet, a desperate anger fueling his movements. He jabbed a finger at the toad furiously, and Liu Hai seemed stunned at his audacity.

"You've kept me locked in this nightmare of a hotel, feeding on me like a freaking leech! What part of that is generosity?!"

Liu Hai loosed a growl, before snatching the offending arm in a tight grip. Gladstone jumped at the sudden movement, and strained against the iron hold as the toad snarled in his face.

"Now you listen to me, Gladstone; you've experienced nothing but the best hospitality I'm capable of giving. You're staying in the largest suite in the building, you're free to go wherever in here you wish, you have access to the finest food in the world, and most importantly...I allow you a reprieve at the end of the day."

With each statement, Gladstone could feel that uncomfortable tingle on his spine that came when Liu Hai was devouring his luck growing stronger. He fought the oncoming exhaustion that came with it, attempting to pry his arm free, but Toad held tight.

"Let go! What're you...!"

"But I can take all that away, leave you on a simple platform, and keep you playing until you drop. No bed, no food, nothing that will keep you from serving me!”

There was something different about this time; a strange pressure that hadn't been there before. Like a cold, slimy thing was slowly crawling up his spine, so cold it was painful. It was making it difficult to breath, causing him to wheeze as he continued his struggle to get free.

"Stop...let me...go...s-stop..."

Liu Hai sneered, and pulled him closer.

"In the time you've been here, I've never drained you past your limits. It's not a fun process, for you that is; but, it tends to take a few days to fully recover. It’s time and potential luck wasted, so I'd rather it not come to that, and I assume you don't want that either."

Gladstone's struggling had stopped due to the numbness that had taken hold, and the only thing keeping him standing at this point was Liu Hai’s grip on his arm. The only response he could give was a soft mumble, unable to meet the other's gaze until a hand forced him to.

"So tell me, Mr. Gander, are you going to make me do that? Or, would you like your stay here to remain pleasant?"

His terrified eyes met Liu Hai's smug golden ones, sputtering for a moment; finally, he managed to give a choked reply.

"Y-yes, please..."

"Excellent choice."

Liu Hai finally released his arm, allowing Gladstone to fall to the floor with a grunt.

"Now then, I'm sure you're exhausted from your exciting vent crawling and this conversation, so I insist you retire for the evening."

Gladstone, struggling to sit up, weakly met his gaze. Liu Hai wore a calm smirk, and turned towards the bedroom doors.

"But I urge you to join us in the morning for our daily raffle, who knows who might win..."

The sentence was punctuated with a chuckle, followed by the closing of the doors. Maybe it was his imagination, but Gladstone thought he heard the click of a lock.

It wouldn’t have mattered, anyway.

It took some time before he could bring himself to move. The numbness had subsided not too long after Liu Hai had released him, but the fatigue remained, leaving him feeling hollow. He pushed himself to his feet, and stumbled towards his bed, vaguely noting that the furniture he'd moved earlier had been returned to their places. Glancing at it, he also noticed the grate to the vents had been noticeably moved higher, far out of reach of anything else he could build.

He sighed as he reached the bed, taking one last look around the room, before falling into its welcoming embrace of cotton sheets. For a little while, at least, he could ignore his predicament, escape into slumber. But he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever, eventually he’d have to return to the game floor, to the illusionary crowds and deafening music, to the never ending winning streak he couldn’t escape.

To Liu Hai.

Sleep took him fast.

Something that’s been intriguing me was the curiosity of what happened before Donald and co showed up. 

I am friggin’ half asleep, but I wanted to post this before tomorrow cuz I’m gonna be busy. I’ll make a post explaining a little more what my head canons are about Lui Hai and his abilities, but for now, enjoy.

[hunchbearing]

The Sonic Guys’ Story

“I’m heading to Sonic with TJ, baby. See you later.” 

Peter had said those words to his wife at least twice a day for the last sixteen years. He was forty now, almost old enough for his age to justify the dark circles under his black eyes. Janice had loved him once. They used to sneak up to the roof of Peter’s old apartment building in the moonglow of the steamy summer nights of L.A. They talked about their darkest secrets, their greatest hopes. They made love like animals on those sandpapery shingles so many times, the roof had an oval-shaped section worn bare by their writhings. Janice’s incredible yoga-sculpted ass could have been used to hammer the nails back in, if she’d been so inclined.

But that was long ago, and these days her rear end reminded Peter of a stocking full of cream cheese. A mud baby that never grew grass, save for the few scattered stray hairs. Peter always told her where he was going. He made it a point to announce it to her zombie-like face every single time. He didn’t know why he bothered. A diseased part of his mind hoped that maybe, just once, she would doubt what he said. After all, who goes to Sonic every single day? She might suspect an affair with some eighteen-year-old cheerleader who thinks cum tastes like Cinnabon icing. Yeah, that would stick it to the saggy old hag. But alas, she would always wave it off with a generic mumble. “OK, babe. Have fun.” She wouldn’t even extend him the courtesy to look up from the Lots-o-Slots game on her phone. She thought her husband was just going to Sonic. And she was absolutely right. Their last sexual encounter was a drunken blowjob on Valentine’s Day. Peter’s aunt had died that morning. Janice cooked spaghetti for dinner. After they ate, she took off his pants and told him to sit in the table. When he felt the crumbs of his children’s morning Pop Tarts on his bare cheeks, he had to hold back tears. And like an angel of mercy, his own mind came to his rescue. Erotic images flickered across his psyche. Two dollar happy hour.tomorrow. Vanilla blueberry slushie. Fifty cent corn dogs all day long on Saturday. Just fifty cents! Such sweet savings. Such value. It was his first erection in five months. It was his first orgasm in a year. Janice knew Peter was having an affair. An affair with a woman named Sonic. Her sister Audrey would always make jokes when Peter was gone. “Peter is off with his boyfriend TJ again? They’re going on another one of their Sonic dates?” Janice would always offer a weak smile. If only. If only he were fucking a man. But to do that, you have to be alive. Peter was a corpse. An M&M with no chocolate inside. As for his balding blonde friend TJ, she had her suspicions that he was mentally challenged. The three of them went to a movie together once. While Peter was out in the bathroom, Janice took TJ’s hand, gently ran it up her thigh, and pressed it hard into her matted pubic hair. He giggled like a schoolboy. “That’s squishy!” Peter could have that dunce. Those two spent most of the 21st Century at that Sonic place, eating that repulsive cheap garbage. So many nights, Peter came home with that smell on his clothes. He was like a human onion ring. When the odor started to linger in the sheets, she made him sleep in the living room. Whatever his fascination was with that grease hole, she wanted no part of it. She just wanted someone, anyone, to give her a moment of attention. As for TJ, he was perhaps the only human being who enjoyed Sonic more than Peter. In TJ’s youth, Sonic was his refuge from the constant beatings delivered by his shrill mother. “Why can’t you do math!?” She home schooled him, unwilling to put him in special needs classes. “No son of mine is going to Tard School,” she’d often proclaim. “Why can’t you spell your own name? Your own name! You stupid bastard! You worthless stupid bastard!” After hearing the words “stupid bastard”, TJ knew The Belt was coming. Theodore Joseph Jr., in a desperate attempt to please his mother, started going by TJ around age 11. After all, he could spell TJ. Mother was enraged. The beatings only got worse until finally she punctured his right lung. He was placed into foster care. His new mother, Ms. Gladstone, was a 400 pound chainsmoker from Louisiana. She had no children of her own, and treated TJ with a kindness he hadn’t known before. Her restaurant of choice was Sonic. She ate all her meals there and would take TJ to every single one of them. She’d request her chili on the side, so she could slurp it like morning coffee. At home, they would talk and play games, and she would always give him a quarter when he scraped her feet with her pedicure kit.

But of course, paradise didn’t last.

Mrs. Gladstone choked to death on her favorite sandwich: a bacon cheese toaster topped with tots and coney chunks. It happened right in front of TJ, and after he laughed at the way her face changed color, he realized the gravity of the situation and attempted to resuscitate her with a few punches to her flabby stomach. The courts decided that TJ’s mother, who was now fresh out of rehab, was ready for a second chance at raising him. She regained custody, and resumed the savage beatings. But TJ’s heart was warmed by fond memories of Sonic. His church. His promised land. His universe. He wore Sonic like armor, and it dulled the sting of the large rodeo championship belt buckle. When TJ was 25, his mother died of lung cancer. On the day she began her permanent hospital stay, he was sternly informed that he could not sleep in her bed with her. He was enraged, as was Mother. The altercation that followed was thereafter known as “The Mommy Incident” by the staff. The veteran doctors still occasionally retell the tale in the breakroom to put a scare into the new interns. They were legally obligated to let TJ stay in the hospital, so he was banished to the waiting room. During the many days TJ spent there, he made friends with Peter. Peter’s grandfather had colon cancer. When Peter and TJ would sit in the huge, quiet waiting room, TJ would crack wise about his favorite cartoons on Nickelodeon. Peter’s sides would split in laughter. He was charmed by TJ’s juvenile sense of humor. It wasn’t until weeks later that Peter realized TJ was just flat-out juvenile. Peter stood by TJ’s side at his mother’s funeral. They were the only two people in attendance. The funeral director’s two sons had to fill in as pallbearers. “Pretty heavy for a little bitch,” one of them griped. After it was over, Peter turned to TJ and shrugged, “Wanna get something to eat?” TJ paused. For the past 15 years of his life, he hadn’t tasted anything but ketchup toast and boiled cabbage. TJ wrestled with the concept in his mind. Get? Eat? Peter helpfully chimed in. “There’s this one drive-in place I saw on the way down here. Ever been to Sonic?” TJ’s hapless moronic mouth split into a gaping grin. “Let’s go!” And go they did. TJ was in heaven. As they pulled into the space, he was thrilled by the bright colors on the walls and the sleek chrome trim on the signs. It was like arriving in a city of the future. The carhops rolled around on skates with platters of food. They were like angels on wheels. Looking at the menu, he hardly recognized it from his childhood. There were so many more choices now. Thousands of them, in fact. Milkshakes. Malts. Slushes. Cream slushes. Coneys. Cheese fries. Cheese tots. Chili tots. Hamburgers. Toasters. Chicken strips. French toast sticks. Mozzarella sticks. Breakfast burritos. Onion rings. Not to mention the thousands of possible combinations of flavors you could put in your drinks. Chocolate. Vanilla. Cherry. Blue Raspberry. Lemon. Lime. Orange. As if by magic, he never wet the bed again after that day, and only seldom shit his pants. Right there, TJ decided to go to Sonic every single day of his life until he had tried the entire menu. When Peter pointed out to him that it was impossible, that he could live several lifetimes and never try them all, TJ just smiled and affectionately stroked his Wacky Pack toy. In a few short years, he would have a massive collection stashed in his house. Whenever he needed shelf space for a new toy, he threw some of his mother’s old clown figurines onto the front lawn. With the Wacky Pack kids in his house, Mother’s voice could never get back into his brain. Peter also had an immediate attraction to the place. You drive up and pick your spot. You look at the menu. There’s no pressure to decide, because you press the button when you are ready to order exactly what you want, down to the last detail. He was aroused by the level of control he had. Perhaps it was because he felt he had no control at home. At Sonic, he was God and he ruled with an iron fist. It was even better with TJ. Peter was fascinated with TJ. The big idiot could grate on his nerves a little, but he would be damned if he didn’t find his ignorant innocence charming. He had such a zest for life. At least the parts of life that involved Sonic. It wasn’t long before their weekly trips there became daily. They talked about the food, the drinks, the service. TJ would often make a comment on the meal that bordered on insane, and Peter would try to correct him, then ultimately throw his hands up in defeat. “Popcorn chicken? How do they make the popcorn into chicken?” “What do you mean? It’s not popcorn. It’s chicken.” “Right, but how did they turn this popcorn into chicken?” “They didn’t. It’s just chunks of chicken that you can eat like popcorn. Popcorn chicken.” “Oh, so they just feed a lot of corn to a chicken and then cook the chicken.” Was this what it felt like to love a son? The years flew by. TJ remained a child, and Peter ignored his own children. The strange couple learned everything about Sonic. They became the Encyclopedia Sonnica. If you told them what you were going to eat, they knew exactly what kind of drink you should have with it.

“Bacon cheese toaster? Get a blue coconut slush. Squirt of chocolate, squirt of lemon. Oh, hold the bacon? In that case, orange cream slush, squirt of strawberry, and get some real limes in there, and a cherry. Yeah, they’ll do it. They have to do it for you if you ask.” They knew the names of all the kids in the Wacky Pack; first, last, and even middle names. They had written letters to Sonic’s CEO asking for their backstories, and when their letter was returned, they were disappointed with the flimsy answer.

“The Wacky Pack all live in ‘Wacky Land’? What the hell? That’s not even canon!”

They took it upon themselves to create a detailed universe for the characters - one that actually made sense. Their submission to Sonic Headquarters never received a reply. TJ often dreamed he was in the Wacky Pack, running and playing in a world of jungle gyms and smiling tater tots. They would make their pilgrimage to Oklahoma City and visit Sonic headquarters a few times a year. If a new product was coming out, they knew about it before anyone else. If Sonic announced a new dipping sauce on social media, TJ and Peter had posted about it 5 hours earlier on their own Sonic fan-website, along with a 1000-word critique. TJ baffled Peter in this department. Despite the fact he was illiterate, he could dictate a fast food product review that hit the ear like a Shakespearean sonnet. His words on the honey mustard dip actually made Peter weep. For once, TJ was exceptional at something. His mother’s cigarette burns were fading, both from his skin and from his memory.   As for the carhops who delivered the food to them, their opinions were divided. Several of them affectionately called Peter and T.J. the Dailies, because they always showed up at least once a day. They called them by name, and Peter and T.J. knew their names too. That was the carhops who liked them. The others referred to them as “The Menu Fags”. Peter was “Coney Cunt”, and T.J. was “Tater Tard”. Trixie was their favorite carhop. 20 years old, chubby, a front tooth missing. Hearing their Sonic trivia was always the high point of her day. And Peter would stay up all night researching mind blowing fun facts, just so he could recite them to her the next time she served them. She was impressed with him, for God’s sakes. No way would he let her down. On the rare occasion he made love to his wife, he imagined her with a visor and rollerskates. One night as he crudely thrusted into her, he blurted, “Did you know Sonic was originally called Top Hat? They had to change the name because it was already taken - Unnng!” Janice was taken aback. “What are you talking about?” But by that point, Peter had already climaxed. Even his loads were starting to smell like fry oil. “God, I’d like her to sit on my face,” Peter pined as he spotted Trixie delivering to another spot one afternoon. “But how would you breathe?” T.J. laughed. “God, never mind. I need new friends.” A few minutes later, Trixie showed up with their food. “Hey, guys! I saw you got grape, coconut, and whipped cream in your lemonade. What’s the occasion?” Peter smiled bashfully. “No occasion. It’s just that I got extra onions and ketchup on my coney this time, so I figured it would hit the palate just right if I complemented it with something exotic.” “Interesting! Broadening your horizons, huh? You’re the expert I guess. So what have you got for me today?” Peter coyly raised one eyebrow. “Well, just out of curiosity, do you know what Sonic used to be called?” Trixie’s face brightened. “No way. It used to have a different name?” “Peter wants you to sit on his face!” Peter stared ahead blankly. TJ looked at him with an openmouthed smile. Trixie was frozen. “That’s 24.57,” she finally spoke. Peter didn’t turn his head. “Here’s a fifty. Keep the change.” “Hah! He wants your big fat butt on his face.” They didn’t see Trixie again after that. They tried several locations over the next few weeks, thinking maybe she transferred, but she was nowhere in sight. Peter’s libido officially collapsed. Once their favorite server was gone, they took more and more long-distance trips. They called it “Sonic Surveying”. They took notes. Which place has the freshest fries? The cleanest parking lot? Even better, which locations had menu items that nobody else had? 

During one trip, TJ stuck his head out the window and struck a mailbox. Even though his scalp bled like a fountain, he held a towel to the wound and insisted they press on. His health could wait; he had to know if the El Caldera branch really did leave their corn dogs on one side for too long. Eventually, Sonic took up so much of Peter’s time that he had to quit his job at the water department. He signed up as a customer service rep for the sole reason that he could do it at home. As he sat at the computer, his eyes frequently flitted to his framed photograph he took of his neighborhood Sonic. Trixie was holding a Route 44 Dr. Pepper with blueberry flavoring, waving to the camera. Peter would occasionally run his finger over her breasts. As for TJ, he hadn’t had a real job his entire life. His mother was a wealthy heiress, and when she died he became a wealthy heir. But he had no desires beyond Sonic. The family accountant took care of the bills, and when TJ was home he watched his beloved cartoons with the Wacky Pack arranged all around him, all facing the TV. When women saw him in public in his Gucci sunglasses, they would often saunter over and flirt with him. But his childish attitude drove them away like the stench of a dead dog. Many of the would-be gold diggers assumed Peter was some kind of caretaker to the boy. After all, how could a man look so sullen, so empty, unless he was changing adult diapers 7 days a week? Peter was somewhat aware of their reputation among the Sonic workers. Through the windows, he’d occasionally see the fry cooks snicker and point at him. When he walked inside once to complain about his mozzarella sticks, he overheard one of them call him a “gaylord”. Since then, he often made it a point to mention his wife and kids while he bantered with TJ. “My kids would love these dino-shaped cookies.” “I should get another of these Valentine slushies for my wife.” “Wow. With these half-price root beers, I can get enough for my whole family. And fuck the ol’ wife later, if you know what I’m saying.” TJ never knew “what he was saying”. It wasn’t directed at him, anyway. It was just in case the Sonic twerps were listening. There was never a “moment of epiphany” when it came to Sonic. There wasn’t one specific day when Peter realized the restaurant had consumed his entire identity. It came little by little. The only thing was, he didn’t care. Where else would he be if it weren’t for Sonic? 

Would he be back in his miserable cubicle reading meters 40 hours a week? Wow, sounds great. 

Would he be playing with his kids? Fuck that shit. Those girls never loved him. Even when they were toddlers, they cried when he held them. They rejected his presence like an amputee can reject an arm transplant. He wasn’t their hero. He wasn’t even an authority figure. He was just a stranger in their house who paid the bills and kept their cell phones in working order. 

His wife Janice? She’d never admit it, but she was just as hollow as he was. The fun, smart, challenging, sexy girl he fell in love with in college was as dead as Princess Diana. Buried in the casket of a fat old bitter woman, but dead all the same. Who had the right to say he was wasting his time, anyway? What do other people do? Watch sports? See movies? Play games? Listen to music? Everyone on the planet was killing their time as far as Peter was concerned. Sonic was just his own version of wasting time. Entertaining himself with cheap food as the world spun around. As the faint lines on his face became deep wrinkles. As his hairline faded back like a tide. As his pooch became a pot belly and his teeth rotted. As the french fries under his seats got as hard as wood. As his daughters grew older. As they had their own children. As the world’s countries collapsed into themselves. As the continents collided back into one. As the earth’s water baked into the sky from the heat of the sun. As the galaxy swallowed itself. We’re just killing time, at the speed of sound.

[myselfinserts]

​❝ you are lucky to have a family, that’s all i’ve ever wanted. ❞

“Damn, stupid, fuckingneck trap.”

“Relax, Regi, it look fine onyou.”

Regi let out a sigh, finishingadjusting his tie as the elevator ascended to the top floor. It was ReginaldGladstone’s first day in court as a defense attorney. His uncle was only actingas aid this time. It was a murder case. Definitely not what anyone else wouldhave taken as a first. But the accused was an old friend of the family, theirneighbor and local mailman Mr. Clifton. The old man didn’t have a violent bonein his body. Regi couldn’t leave this case to anyone else. Still, thatdidn’t stop him from being terrified. First case nerves, he supposed. 

In hindsight, perhaps he shouldhave taken Elbert’s advice on leaving this case to someone else. 

Ohwell, hethought. Too late now. I just have to fight hard.

Elbert let out a huff as theirelevator finally arrived and rolled out. “Honestly Regi. No need to getall flustered.”

“I’m not flustered, I’mnauseous.” Regi sighed, gripping the handle of his suitcase tightly as hefollowed after his uncle. “I just hope I’ll manage to surpass expectationsand save Mr. Clifton. He doesn’t deserve to be put behind bars. He’s such a sweetold man.”

“It is strange someone decidedfor him to be the fall guy.”

“I don’t think it was just that,”Regi said. “There feels like there’s a piece missing. Like, isn’t it kind of weird there wasn’t any mail in the house? Even the most immaculate home owners leave junk mail out. And Mr. Clifton said he’s been having to deliver strange packages to for sale houses lately...”

“Now you’re thinking like a defense attorney.” Elbert reached up and pat him on the back. “Keep that in your back pocket. It might come in handy.”

The two came to a stop justoutside the defendant’s lobby. Out of all the people he expected, he didn’texpect Madame Rosine to be waiting for them. He especially didn’t expect her ina soft pink suit jacket with a black skirt and a cravat. Last time they’d runinto each other was at a charity event, where she wore a black velvet dressthat accentuated her red eyes and soft white hair. No matter what she wore, sheterrified him. 

Elbert, on the other hand,seemed almost mesmerized. Almost. Hard to staymesmerized when your longtime rival shows up unannounced.

Rosine gave the two a politenod, raising an eyebrow. "So, today's your first trial and you bring anold man and a green suit. Not exactly what I call a well prepared look,Gladstone."

Regi felt his face heat fromembarrassment. "I…it's the only suit I have, Madame. Plus, forest greenlooks good on me."

"Ésme, stop it," Elbertgrumbled. "Kid's already nervous enough as it is. Doesn't need the ChiefProsecutor criticizing his wardrobe before his first case. That's what thatAllard kid is for."

"Hey! Don't talk aboutÉtienne like-"

Rosine scoffed, looking themboth over. "You sure you're in a position to talk, Manabu? Last I checkedpolka dot ties and graphic shirts aren't allowed in courtroom 1202."

Elbert pouted. His eye began totwitch at the sound of his given name. "This is a protest for the lack ofaccessible ramps in this fucking building! As you can clearly see-"

"The shirt says 'where's myfucking ramp'. Yes, I understand." Her stern gaze turned soft. "Didyou file a complaint with the city council?"

"Of course!"

"I'll take care of it then.I know who to kick to get shit done. Expect the ramps by the end of themonth."

"Oh." Elbert's faceturned a deep shade of violet. All anger, vanished. "Well, uh. Thanks, Iguess."

"Not a problem,"Rosine assured. "Anything for an old friend."

Regi looked between thembriefly. He wasn't sure why, but by the looks on their faces and the way Elbertwas blushing, he was sure he was seeing something he wasn't meant to be seeing.Something tender. Something secret.

Definitely somethingI'll have to ask Marianne about later.

He quietly tried to tiptoeaway, before getting tapped on the shoulder by Rosine's teacher's pointer. Hefroze, slowly turning to look at her. "Y-yes, ma'am?"

"I just stopped byto wish you luck," Rosine assured. "No need to be so nervous aroundme. Just focus on taking this case through to the end." She smiled."You can handle this, Mr. Gladstone."

Regi relaxed, resistingthe urge to hug her. "Thank you, Madame. I'll do my best." He paused."Uh…if it's not too off limits, you wouldn't happen to know who I'm goingup against?"

"Just Evelake.You've met before, right?"

"Yeah, we used tobe classmates. Been a while." He tried his best to hide hisdisappointment. Milon Evelake was a fine prosecutor, he wouldn't deny. But hewasn't the person Regi had been envisioning as his first opponent. He expected someonemore…

Oh, who am I kidding? hethought. I was hoping for them. Not him. Dammit.

"Knock themdead," Rosine said, turning to leave.

Elbert lookeddisappointed. "You're not gonna stay and watch?"

"I have to sit inon another prosecutor for their evaluation coming up. Were I not needed there,I'd be happy to watch your protégé in action. Good day, gentlemen."

Regi watched her go for but a moment before holding the door open for Elbert. “Do you think the person she’s observing is-”

“Focus on your client,” Elbert chided. “Don’t make me have to take over for you mid-trial because you’re pining.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.”

“EXCUSE ME?! ELBERT SILVERSON DON’T DO PINING!”

Regi let out a groan. Between the case, Evelake, and Rosine, he was not ready at all. 

I need a miracle.

Yep. I need a miracle. 

Regi was panicking, going over the evidence again. The testimony given by Rally d’Villaine was almost airtight. No contradictions. It wasn’t hard. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Mr. Clifton’s daily routine. It wasn’t that hard to recall. But unlike Evelake, who seemed more or less content with the evidence, Regi knew it would be easy to lie about this. 

“I saw Mr. Clifton walk up to Vicky and Tim’s house around 11:45 in the morning on Thursday while working on my car. They let him inside after he knocked, like usual. Vicky always makes him a cup of coffee while on his routes. He exited the house about ten minutes later, blood on his clothes and a pained expression on his face. I panicked and called the police before locking myself in the garage so he wouldn’t kill me too. The police showed up not long after that.”

Evelake snickered. “As you can see, your Honor, Mr. d’Villaine’s testimony lines up with the autopsy report. The defendant was scene going into the house around the same time as the time of death. He was covered in both victims’ blood, and his fingerprints were on the murder weapon. I’d say that’s sufficient enough. He even has a key to the house!”

There has to be a contradiction here. Something is really really off about this. What could it...wait...he said it was Thursday...That’s it!

Regi slammed his hands on the bench. His blood boiled and his voice was tight as he managed to shout at the top of his lungs.

“OBJECTION!!!”

Everyone stared at him. The audience was whispering rapidly. Rally seemed near terrified. The judge was in shock. Elbert was smirking knowingly. Evelake, however, almost seemed smitten. He tried to ignore that. 

“You claimed that my client was at the Rosenbelle house on the day of the murder for coffee,” Regi stated. “While that’s a very common occurrence even I can attest to, Mr. Clifton and the Rosenbelles don’t do coffee on Thursdays.” He walked up to the evidence table, holding up a bag of receipts. “These are the receipts Mr. Clifton keeps from every trip he takes to the Rose Dust Cafe, which his wife owns and runs. On Thursdays, however, she volunteers at the local senior center during the lunch rush-”

“Objection,” Milon cooed. “Why is any of this relevant?”

“I’m getting to that, your Honor.”

The judge nodded. “Very well. Continue, but get to the point.”

“Yes, your Honor.” Regi opened the bag, laying the receipts out in order of date. “Mr. Clifton drops off his wife at the senior center before returning to the cafe and ordering the Hero’s Heart Lunch Special, Tim’s favorite. And he brings it over by noon so Tim can have it with his medication!” He holds up the receipt for the day of the murder. “As you can see, his signature is clearly legible on the receipt, which is marked for 11:48 am. Considering it’s almost a twenty minute walk from the cafe, there’s no way that he could have been there when Mr. d’Villaine claims he was!”

Rally’s hands started to shake. “B-but he, uh, took his car! Yeah! That’s it!”

“Mr. and Mrs. Clifton don’t have a car. Mr. Clifton walks all over town and avoids being behind the wheel for his health. Poor eye-sight plus high cholesterol and diabetes? He wasn’t going to chance it. Even has a doctor’s note for work allowing him to continue his job with the postal service on foot.” Regi grinned, feeling a rush. “Pretty easy to do, given how small Elspie Village is. If you want, we can call his doctor and the employees of both the cafe and the post office on shift that day. As well as the staff at the senior center. Pretty sure a whole lot of people would be willing to testify, given that Mr. Clifton is the town’s only reliable mailman.”

“Th-that doesn’t mean shit!” Rally shouted. “What about his fingerprints?! Huh?! They’re all over the murder weapon!!!”

“He’s got you there, Regi-poo,” Milon teased. “What do you say to that?”

Regi shrugged. “Of course his prints would be on the wrench. It’s from his tool kit. That he lends out frequently to his neighbors and uses to help them with repairs on his off days. It’d be stranger if his prints weren’t on it.” He held up the wrench, pointing to a mark on the handle. “His initials are right there on the handle. Narrowing down who else used the prints would take us through the whole neighborhood.” He leveled his eyes on the witness. “Though according to Mr. Clifton, Vicky said she lent the tools to one of the other neighbors for a car project. And there’s only three people on that particular street who own cars.” He aimed a finger at the witness, eyes ablaze with a strong determination. “And YOU claimed you were working on your car that day!”

“W-wait-” Rally started. 

“You live right across the street-”

“Wait a minute-”

“You know Mr. Clifton’s routine-”

“I said wait-”

“You’re one of the only people who own a car on that street-”

“Shut up-”

“It would have been easy for you to get into the house and kill Vicky and Tim Rosenbelle!”

The witness let out a long, choking squawk of a groan, pulling at his hair and shaking his entire upper body side to side. The court was starting to errupt from shock. The judge smacked down the gavel to try and bring back order. Regi felt confident he was on the right path. 

Evelake, however, couldn’t stop laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Regi asked. 

“Nothing really,” Milon shrugged. “Just that I don’t see why little ol’ Rally here would wanna kill Vicky and Tim. Everyone loved those old coots, right? Why would Rally kill them?”

“....Yeah,” Rally said slowly, regaining composure. “Why would I wanna kill them?”

Dammit, Regi thought. I thought I almost had him. But the motive. They want a motive. Why would he wanna- Wait, that’s it! I got it!

“It’s because of the mail!” Regi declared. “Mr. Clifton mentioned that he’d been delivering strange packages to that street to various houses marked as ‘for sale’ as of late. However, as stated before his eyesight is failing. While he is the best mailman in the village, even he wouldn’t be immune to sometimes accidentally delivering the wrong package to the wrong house. Whatever has been coming in the mail might have been valuable enough to kill for. At least, to the killer, anyway. And the entire Rosenbelle house was cleared of every piece of mail, right down to the junk mail and magazines.” He tried to hold back from marching up and punching the man. “If I had to guess, based on your little hobby and the fact you work at a dealership, I’d say you’re smuggling illegal or stolen car parts, but guessing isn’t what need to be doing. I’d like to request Rally d’Villaine’s mail be brought in as evidence-”

“There’s no need for that....” Rally sank to the floor, shaking as he gripped the podium. “No need at all.”

The judge raised a brow. “Meaning?”

“...It’s over...I confess...I did it.” He sighed, tears filling his eyes. “Vicky and Tim opened one of the packages when they heard something break. I’d come over to collect them without being noticed but they saw me and asked what it was ‘since I’m so tech savvy’ and asked if it could be fixed. I panicked. I had the tool belt on. By the time I came to my senses...” He looked over at the defendant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Clifton. I never meant to frame you.”

“I forgive you, dear boy.” Mr. Clifton gave him a sad smile. While the apology sounded sincere, and probably was, Regi knew that Mr. Clifton would never fully accept it. His best friends were gone. That was a pain he’d carry for the rest of his days. But he had too big a heart to let the man go to prison without hearing those words. 

The bailifs took Rally d’Villaine out of the courtroom in cuffs. The room had gone quiet. Regi returned to the bench to hear the verdict. 

Mr. Clifton was declared ‘Not Guilty’.

Regi stayed in the defense lobby for nearly an hour after the trial, sipping on the cheap coffee served there. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t believe he won his first case, but it was bittersweet. He’d known the Rosenbelles. He’d known their friendship with the Cliftons was one of the most important parts of the village. Everyone would be mourning for a long time. The community would probably never emotionally recover from his. They still hadn’t from the even over a decade ago.

“Come on,” Elbert said softly. “We better get going before we hit traffic. I’m sure Tanith wants to update us on her training.”

“...Okay.” Reluctantly, Regi got up from the couch and followed his uncle to the elevator.

Elbert reached out and took his hand. “Hey. You did good, youngblood. I’m proud of you.”

Regi nodded. “It hurt.”

“It does sometimes.”

“Does it get better?”

“No...but it gets easier.”

“Better than nothing, I guess....”

They got into the elevator, descending in silence. Soon he’d have to take another case. He’d proved himself today. There’d be expectations now. He’d meet them as best he can. 

I just wish I’d not gone against Evelake. I’d rather it’d have been-

The elevator made it to the ground floor. The doors opened.And Regi couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped him. 

Milon was standing in the lobby, talking to someone in a white mask covered in flowering red vines. They were holding a poncho in on arm, a suitcase in hand, and a stack of papers in the other arm. They wore a lovely white shirt with a wine waistcoat and black trousers. Regi knew that puff of blue hair anywhere. 

“Luci! Hey, Luci!”

The masked person looked over at the sound of their name, quickly turning back to bid goodbye to Milon before hurrying out the building. Regi felt his heart sink.

“What was that about?” Evelake asked. “Normally Adaire sticks around to check out the newbies.”

“No idea,” Regi sighed. “I wish they’d talk to me...”

“Probably intimidated by your psychic-lawyer family.” Milon shook his head. “You are lucky to have a family. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I’m sure they want it too. Under that weird mask, that is.” He gave Regi a wink before heading to the door. “If you’re interested, you know where to find me.”

Regi watched him go, sighing in defeat. “This is gonna be a long career...”

[robinhoodrevisited]

Rash Decisions (pt.2)

Nettlestone. Barn. Interior. (Much brings over a water bucket and places it next to another near Robin, who is leaning on a post, thumb at this mouth again, thinking. The drums are beating slowly and steadily outside. Little John takes some thin poles off a rack and brings them over to Will. Robin turns, watching Little John as he passes him, and leans on the post with his arms folded. Djaq and Will are sitting side by side making arrows from the wood Little John has found. Djaq is wrapping twine around a feather at its tail; Will is sharpening a tip with his hand axe and has two feathers clamped in his teeth, sticking out of his mouth. Much watches them work for a moment, then glances at the door. He takes a deep breath, making a decision.) Much: “Right. (Takes off his coat.) John, Will, Djaq, everyone. (They all look up him, uninterested.) Get ready to run.” (Will gradually stops sharpening the arrow. Much drops his coat behind him and unbuckles his sword belt.) Djaq: “Much, what are you doing?” Much: “I’m the one who got us into this situation. I’ll be the one who’ll get us out of it. I’m gonna take a chance. I’ll go out the front… (points to the door with his sword still in its sheath)… I’ll pretend to negotiate. (Robin glances down, trying not to smile.) I’ll distract them. You make good your escape. (Drops his sword and reaches for his tag. Little John looks up at Much.) If I die… (pulls the tag off over his head and hands it to Robin)… remember me fondly.” Robin: (Takes the tag. Quietly:) “Much…” Little John: “Stop!” (Much goes to the door and Little John runs after him.) Robin: “… what are you doing?” (Much lifts the bar off the door.) Much: (Tossing it to Little John:) “Hup!” (Little John instinctively catches the bar. Much opens the door and steps out, arms outstretched.) Exterior. Much: “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed! I’m here to surrender… and negotiate!” (Three arrows hit the door around his head. Much scrambles and falls back inside as the mercenaries all laugh heartily.) Interior. (Little John pulls the door closed and bars it. Robin, still leaning on the post and not looking at Much, calmly holds Much’s tag out in front of him. Much jumps to his feet and walks past Robin, nodding and grabbing the tag as he passes without a glance.) Much: “Thank you. (Much continues past Djaq and Will, now standing. Will still has the feathers comically poking out of his mouth. Muttering:) Horrible people. Revolting.” (Turns around and adjusts his tag round his neck. Djaq and Will exchange glances. Much lets out his breath with a quick “whoo.” Little John sighs quickly. Robin looks from Little John to Much. Djaq and Will sit down and resume their work.)  

Bonchurch. Morning (Isabella has arrived back at Bonchurch to check on Clarke only to discover that the Princess has disappeared.) Isabella: "What do you mean she's gone?" Gladstone: "Just that, Milady. She was here when I checked in on her last night and the kitchen staff never saw her leave." Isabella: (Frustratedly:) "Of all the... My brother is leaving for the coast! She would have been able to stay at the Manor undisturbed for months!" Gladstone: "Yes, Milady." Isabella: (Sighs, relaxes slightly:) "Sorry, Gladstone, I know this wasn't your fault. But where the hell could she have gone to?" Nottingham Toll House. (Clarke, now tied and gagged is being lead down a dirt road by her kidnapper, Roan. They approach a toll house which is guarded by three soldiers. Quickly grabbing Clarke and pulling her off the road, they lay in the bushes.) Roan: (Softly:) "Quiet. (Pulling her up to a sitting position, his knife at her throat. Glancing at the guards:) Now I’m supposed to hand you over to Prince John’s guards over there. But I’ve had a better offer. (Looking at Clarke:) Come on, we'll backtrack and go around." Clarke: (Takes a deep breath and screams through her gag:) "AHHHH!" (The guards all look towards the noise and draw their swords, headed in straight for them.) Roan: (Coldly:) "Their deaths are on you. (Roan pulls a hemp back over Clarke's head and pulls her to her feet. Leading Clarke by her restraints, he puts his free hand in the air to show the guards he means them no harm.) Easy, I don't want any trouble." Guard 1: (To his fellow guards:) "He's one of those savages. (The others come in closer, weapons drawn. To Roan, pointing his sword towards Clarke:) Is that her?" (Guard 1 slowly approaches, his sword pointed at Roan who does not make a move. The guard reaches for and removes Clarke's hood.) Roan: "I told you, I don't want trouble." Guard 1: (To his men:) "Yeah, thats her, that's the Princess. (To Roan:) We'll take her from here." Roan: "I can't let you do that." (Roan drops Clarke's restraints and she sprints away in the opposite direction.) Guard 1: "Eh? What do you think you're doing?!" Guard 2: "I'll get her, you kill him." (The guard chases after Clarke as the other two attack Roan. The fight is over in seconds as Roan slays each guard in turn. In the distance, just as Guard 2 is about to catch up to Clarke, Roan draws his bow and lets an arrow fly. The arrow hits its target, piercing the guard in the back through the heart. The guards momentum carries him forward enough to knock Clarke to the ground. As Roan approaches, Clarke notices a dagger laying on the ground and discreetly palms it.) Roan: "It didn't have to be this way." (Roan rolls the dead guard off Clarke and as he reaches for her, Clarke stabs Roan in the stomach. Her second strike is blocked and Roan brings his own knife to her throat.) Clarke: "If you were going to kill me you'd've done it already." Roan: (Glaring at her, icily:) "There's still time." (Roan pulls Clarke along behind him once again through the toll house.)

Nottingham Castle. Courtyard. (Allan heads with his bag past the cloister to a stockpile of barrels and baskets under the north corridor. He’s been busy with his tasks and is also not aware of Prince John’s announcement. A tarpaulin has been set up over it, between the cloister and the tree. Marian catches him up from the stables.) Marian: “Allan… (Allan turns around to face her.) I can’t find Robin.” Allan: “I wouldn’t worry about it. This trip’s just me, Giz and the Sheriff. Serious. No soldiers, no mercenaries. I don’t think it’s the King, Marian.” (Allan turns back to the barrels stored under the tarpaulin. Marian follows.) Marian: “Yes, well, I do. I’m going to stop it.” Allan: “How?” Marian: “I don’t know. I’ll kill the Sheriff if I have to.” Allan: “What? (Looks to see if she was overhead, then steps to her.) Hey… have you forgotten what happens if the Sheriff dies?” Marian: “No. Prince John’s armies will raze Nottingham to the ground.” Allan: “Yeah, so leave it!” (Turns and heads for the storeroom under the north corridor.) Marian: “Yes, but if the King is in the south, then that’s where Prince John’s men will be. (Follows Allan.) Nottingham will be safe.” Allan: (Chuckles.) “That’s a lot of assumptions there.” (Stuffs a loaf of bread into his bag, then looks for more.) Marian: “Well Prince John is here and his soldiers aren’t so what does that tell you? And if I prevent the Sheriff from killing the King, then that’s the King back on the throne. (Allan stuffs another loaf into his bag.) That’s the end of Prince John, the end of the Black Knights and the end of their threats.” Allan: (Steps to Marian.) “So you want to save England single handedly?” Marian: (Panicked, loudly:) “No, but I can’t find Robin! (Allan looks around for any soldiers.) Look, Gisborne and the Sheriff are ready to leave now. There’s no time for this! Would you please help me?!” Allan: “Sorry, you’re out of your depth.” (Turns back into the store room.) Marian: "No, I’m sorry. (Allan turns back around to face her and Marian punches his jaw. Allan falls backward, dazed, then unconscious.) You underestimate me.” (Marian takes Allan’s sword belt, goes to the door and checks to see if the way is clear.) East exterior corridor. (Soldiers walk into the castle. Gisborne comes up the steps, looking for Allan.) Gisborne: (Looks down the corridor.) “Allan!” (Gisborne walks briskly down the corridor past Marian, who is pressed into a shadowy corner. Marian watches him go, then draws the sword, heading for the main doors.)

War room. (The Sheriff has a silver goblet in his left hand and a polished matching pitcher in his right. He is pacing by the round map, practicing a speech.) Sheriff: “My lords! Wonderful news… My lords! (Swings the pitcher up and sets it on the map. Whispers:) Glorious news! (Drains the goblet and sets it down, then goes over to the fireplace and turns around.) We… (arms outstretched)… the Black Knights, stand on the verge of greatness. (Crosses his fists over his chest and chuckles. The door opens a bit and Marian pokes her head through. The Sheriff walks back to the map table.) We did not wait… for Mohammed to come to the mountain, no. (Marian, hand on the hilt, enters behind the Sheriff and raises the sword.) We took the mountain… to Mohammed! We did not wait… for the King to land… (Marian raises the sword behind her to stab the Sheriff, but he sees movement in the polished silver pitcher and the sword coming at him and he ducks, turning around and grabbing her arm. He deftly spins her around and pins her onto the map table, holding the sword across her throat.) Mistake, missy. Big mistake.” (Marian glares at him defiantly even in her compromised state.)

Nettlestone. Barn. Interior. (Robin cautiously peeks out between the doors.) Exterior. (Horses gallop by Ellingham as he takes a drink of water from a flask. Another group talk amongst themselves. Ellingham sees Robin peeking and hands his Bask to another.) Interior. (Robin realises Ellingham has noticed him and chuckles slightly in anticipation.) Exterior. Ellingham: “Oh, we’ve got time, Hood! All the time in the world!” Interior. Robin: “Us too! Would you like some more roast hog while you’re waiting?!” Djaq: “I don’t understand. What kind of soldiers are these? They’re not doing anything!” (Much crosses by Djaq, swinging his sword.) Robin: (Taking a few steps forward:) “They’re mercenaries. They fight for money. (Spins the knife in his hand.) Not passion.” (Replaces his knife.) Much: “I thought they were Lexa’s men?” Robin: “They are. But the only way the Sheriff is able to command them is with money.” Little John: "That is why they do not want to fight and die.” Will: ��So, what, you think they’re just gonna wait?” Robin: “Yep! Looks like it. And we can’t escape from here. They’re just gonna wait until we come out.” (Looks at the gang.) Much: (Puts his sword behind his shoulder.) “And then kill us. Not even a conversation.” Robin: (Somberly:) “Lads… I’ve got a proposal. If they don’t come to us, we go to them.” Little John: “When?” Robin: “First light.” Will: “There’s too many.” Djaq: “We’ll die.” Much: “It’s suicide!” Little John: “A good day to die.” (Robin looks pointedly at Little John, then turns away as Much protests.) Much: “Will you just shut up? (to Robin:) Why does he always say that? (to Little John:) Don’t even know what it means!” Robin: “We’ll almost certainly die. (Much looks at Robin in astonishment.) But at least we’ll die fighting.” Will: (Stands up.) “Yeah. I’m in.” Djaq: “Me too.” Little John: “Yes.” (They all look at Much.) Much: “And me.” Robin: “Good. (Plods slightly.) Good.” (Everyone looks at Robin.) Djaq: (Brightly:) “Then tonight is a Kalila and Dimna night.” Will: “What?” Djaq: (Smiling slyly:) “You don’t have Kalila and Dimna?” Much: (Unamused:) “Surprisingly not.” Djaq: (Sits. A bit excitedly:) “Kalila and Dimna night you remember for your whole life. (Robin eyes the others, looking for their reactions as Djaq explains.) You must speak only the truth. You must ask all your questions, share all your dreams, confess all your secrets.” Much: “It’s just talking.” Djaq: “Yes. But it’s real talking. And if you’re too boring, someone shouts "Kalila” and you lose your turn. (Robin turns his head, not looking very happy about this idea. to Much:) You start.“ Much: (Protesting:) "Oh, no!” Djaq: “You can just talk. You like talking.” Much: “Well, I know I do, but… well, not like this.” Djaq: “Fine. Then I’ll start.”

Nottingham Castle. War room. (Gisborne storms in and stops in surprise upon seeing Marian sitting in a chair with her hands tied behind it. The Sheriff is sitting in a chair near the door, behind Gisborne.) Sheriff: “You missed all the fun, Gisborne. (Allan enters behind Gisborne and the sentries close the door.) Your leper friend tried to kill me.” (Gisborne glares at Marian, who looks down, ashamed of betraying his trust.) Gisborne: (Points to Allan.) “Did you know about this?” Allan: “I didn’t know anything.” Sheriff: (Stands.) “Why would he know anything about this?” Gisborne: (Looking at Marian:) “She knocked him out and took his sword.” Sheriff: (In disbelief:) “What?” Allan: “Well, I wasn’t expecting it, was I? Or it wouldn’t have happened. (Marian looks up at him, eyes wide.) Yeah, she’s good, b’ I’m better, though.” (Marian cringes. The Sheriff slowly turns his head to Allan, then steps towards him. Allan knows now he misspoke. He shifts his feet as the Sheriff circles to his side. Allan swallows hard.) Sheriff: “ ‘She’s good but I’m better.’ That means you knew… (looks at Marian…) she was capable of this.

(Marian looks fearfully at the Sheriff, who steps over to Gisborne, looking at his calm face.) You knew, too, didn’t you?” Gisborne: “My lord, please, I can explain.” Sheriff: “Well, you better had explain. Because she (walks to the fireplace.) just made an attempt on my life!” Gisborne: (Faces the Sheriff, then looks down, shaking his head.) “I recently discovered that Marian… was the Nightwatchman.” Sheriff: (Looks at Gisborne in utter and speechless disbelief. Quietly:) “What? (Marian looks at Gisborne, then cringes again as the Sheriff shouts.) And you didn’t tell me?!” Gisborne: “I believed Marian’s days as the Nightwatchman were over! I believed I had dealt with it!” Sheriff: (Stepping to the table:) “By tricking me?! By faking her escape?! (Turns to Gisborne.) Who was it who ran away?" (Gisborne turns away. The Sheriff looks at Allan.) Allan: “Look, I was just following orders, all right?” Gisborne: “Yeah, I gave the order.” Sheriff: “Why?” (Goes behind Marian.) Gisborne: “Because I thought Marian’s charitable instincts were misguided! I did not think they merited hanging.” Sheriff: “Oh, how very noble of you, dear boy. Although I can’t help thinking that maybe you wanted a little something in return. Huh? A display of gratitude? (Gisborne turns his head away in exasperation. to Marian:) Oh, the Nightwatchman. (Solidly taps her shoulder repeatedly.) I’m impressed.” Marian: “Get off me.” Sheriff: “So now you have a choice Gisborne - kill her now or she comes with us?” Gisborne: “To kill the King?” Sheriff: “Oh, yes. (Draws his dagger and offers it to Gisborne.) Choose. (Gisborne looks apprehensively at the Sheriff then lowers his head.) Guards! (The doors open and the sentries enter.) Pack a trunk for Lady Marian! (The guards nods and close the doors.) She’s coming with us. Oh, oh, look. Look, the look. Hm? So eloquent. 'Oh, Guy, what’s going to happen?’ (Marian lowers her head and stares at the Sheriff.) Well, we just don’t know, do we, missy?”

[ds4design]

Lando Calrissian Ponders a Very Important Baby Gift in This Excerpt From Star Wars Aftermath: Empire's End

One of the most significant events between Return of the Jedi and The Force Awakens is the birth of Han and Leia’s son Ben. In this exclusive excerpt from Empire’s End, the final installment in Chuck Wendig’s Star Wars: Aftermath trilogy, it turns out Lando’s been a bit too busy to pay much attention to his old friends or their babies.

The Aftermath novels have been chronicling the continued fall of the Empire and rise of the New Republic following the Emperor’s death. While they primarily follow a small group of rebels who hunt for missing Imperial officers (and occasionally Han Solo, when he goes missing), each book checks in with characters all over the galaxy; in Empire’s End, due out February 21, that includes Lando. In this excerpt, he recollects how he took back Cloud City, but also has the best idea for a baby gift in any galaxy.

First, here’s the official synopsis of the book:

EVERY END IS A NEW BEGINNING.

As the final showdown between the New Republic and the Empire draws near, all eyes turn to a once-isolated planet: Jakku.

The Battle of Endor shattered the Empire, scattering its remaining forces across the galaxy. But the months following the Rebellion’s victory have not been easy. The fledgling New Republic has suffered a devastating attack from the Imperial remnant, forcing the new democracy to escalate their hunt for the hidden enemy.

For her role in the deadly ambush, Grand Admiral Rae Sloane is the most wanted Imperial war criminal—and one-time rebel pilot Norra Wexley, back in service at Leia’s urgent request, is leading the hunt. But more than just loyalty to the New Republic drives Norra forward: Her husband was turned into a murderous pawn in Sloane’s assassination plot, and now she wants vengeance as much as justice.

But Sloane, too, is on a furious quest: pursuing the treacherous Gallius Rax to the barren planet Jakku. As the true mastermind behind the Empire’s devastating attack, Rax has led the Empire to its defining moment. The cunning strategist has gathered the powerful remnants of the Empire’s war machine, preparing to execute the late Emperor Palpatine’s final plan. As the Imperial fleet orbits Jakku, an armada of Republic fighters closes in to finish what began at Endor. Norra and her crew soar into the heart of an apocalyptic clash that will leave land and sky alike scorched. And the future of the galaxy will finally be decided.

And here’s the excerpt. We hope Lando actually got baby Ben the gift. Or maybe that’s what turned him to the Dark Side?

“Lobot, we’re home.” Lando lifts a dubious eyebrow as he looks around, exasperated. “Guess the Empire didn’t keep up with house­keeping.”

This is the Casino level. Game machines line the smooth blue alac­tite floors far as the eye can see. Sabacc tables, too. And pazaak. And jubilee wheels. Along the far wall are banks of holoprojectors meant to show the latest swoop race down on the track-tubes piped through Bespin’s toxic Red Zone atmosphere. Once, this was a shining pillar of gambling excess: classy and bright with light coming in through win­dows looking out over the sun-kissed clouds. Now it’s wrecked. Trash drifts and tumbles. Machines have been turned over, their credits cut from inside like food from a beast’s belly. The windows are covered over with metal. The holoprojectors are dark. Lobot steps up alongside Lando. The computer forming a half-moon around the back of the man’s bald head blinks and pulses, and at Lando’s wrist is a communication from his friend and cohort:

I’ll look into rehiring staff immediately.

“Do that,” Lando says. Then he thrusts up a finger. “Ah. But make sure we’re hiring some refugees, will you?” The galaxy’s like a cup that’s been knocked over, and now everything’s spilling out. Whole worlds have been displaced by the war. Lando can’t let Cloud City turn from being a city of luxury to being a tent city of expats and evacuees, but he can damn sure give those people jobs. That’s his fa­vorite kind of arrangement: the kind where everybody gets something for their trouble. They win. He wins. The ideal for how everything should work.

Cloud City was always that, for Calrissian. It was a respite—a ref­uge from the Empire while at the same time not existing to spite the Empire, either. He thought, Hey, everybody can be happy, baby. The Empire didn’t have to care. The rebels didn’t need to care. Cloud City could hang in the air above Bespin, separate from all the chaos, from all the strife. Come here, taste a little luxury. Meanwhile, he could mine the Tibanna gas, sell it to whatever starship manufacturer wanted it (the stuff was perfect for making hyperdrives, because with Tibanna, a little went a long way). Meanwhile, Lando could sit back, have a drink, roll some dice, find a lady or three.

Yeah. It didn’t work out that way.

He knows now: In a war like this one, you don’t get to be in the middle. You can’t play both sides. He’d lived his whole life shooting right down the middle, never taking up a cause except the one meant to support his own empty pockets. Those days are over and so is his love of sweet neutrality. When Vader came here, everything changed. He lost Han, for a time. He lost Lobot and Cloud City. He lost nearly everything.

But he gained a little perspective.

And he picked a damn side. Because sometimes, you want to win, you gotta bet big. You gotta put your stack of chits in one place.

It paid off. The Empire is gone. And now he’s a hero of the Rebel­lion (and oh, you can be sure he used that to con more than his fair share of free drinks, not to mention the attention of beautiful admir­ers). But all he wants is his city back. After Endor, he thought he would just be able to sweep in here like a handsome king retaking his throne in the sky—but then that son-of-a-slug Governor Adelhard formed the Iron Blockade. He kept the people here trapped not only by a well-organized Imperial remnant, but also by a grand lie: that Palpatine was not dead. And Lando knows that old shriveled cenobite is dead—because he’s the one who took out the Death Star’s reactor core. And because Luke said the monster was dead. Can you believe it? Palpatine and Vader. Both gone. Two scourges, scoured from the galaxy.

Suddenly he had a second war to fight. Here he thought the Empire was done for and Cloud City was once again his. What an eager fool. Nothing’s ever that simple, is it? It took months and months. He had to stage an uprising. Had to interface with Lobot on the inside. Had to cash in favors with a handful of scoundrels—like Kars Tal-Korla, that pirate. All because the New Republic wouldn’t commit a military ac­tion to retaking the city. He respects it, he understands it, and Leia put it best when she said, “The Rebellion was easy, Lando. Governing’s harder.” The chancellor was just trying to hold on to whatever advan­tage she had—and then with the Liberation Day attack on Chand­rila . . .

Well. All that is over and done. No need to dwell.

Cloud City is his once again. Lando starved out Adelhard. Most of the Imperials surrendered. It’s over. Thank the lucky stars.

He steps forward into the Casino level, and he and Lobot aren’t alone. He’s got a ragtag force with him: some of his Wing Guard secu­rity forces, but some New Republic soldiers, too. It’s just enough to perform cleanup on those who linger behind, clinging to the illusion they can still win this thing.

Together they march forward through the wreckage of the Casino level. He asks Lobot: “The holdouts are ahead?”

Yes. In the Bolo Tanga room.

“Fine, fine, let’s get this over with and evict our final tenants.”

As they walk, Lobot looks over at him as a new communication flashes across his wrist: I am told to remind you that the princess will soon give birth and you have not yet procured for them the standard natal gift.

“What? That’s impossible. She was just—I swear they just got married—didn’t I just get them a nuptial gift?”

It has been the proper biological time. You just do not realize how much time has passed. We have been busy.

“So have they, I guess.”

Also, you never got them a nuptial gift.

He sighs. “Okay, okay. Buying gifts for a kid. Can we get him a cute little cape and a mustache so he looks like old Uncle Lando?”

Lobot doesn’t respond, offering only a humorless stare.

“Fine, fine, I’ll think about it.” His mind drifts briefly to Han and Leia. Han, one of his oldest and greatest friends. And sure, one of his greatest rivals, too. He misses that old reprobate. The crazy times they had!

Good times even when they were bad. And now, Han is with Leia. Hoo, boy. Those two are a pair of rocket boosters firing full-bore. Lando just hopes those two engines are both firing in the same direction—because if they’re ever pointed at each other, they’ll burn each other up.

We’re here.

That, from Lobot. Ahead waits the door to the Bolo Tanga room. Lando can see it’s been sealed with mag-alloy. He turns to Captain Gladstone of the Wing Guard. “We got imaging?”

Gladstone nods. “They’re holed up in there. They’ve broken through to the beam outtake shaft, which in theory would lead them to the engineering sublayer—”

“But the fumes coming up through the shaft will kill them if they try.”

“That’s exactly it, Baron Administrator.”

“So they’re trapped.”

“Like crete-bugs in a beetle-bag.”

“All right, let’s open it up.”

From the book STAR WARS: AFTERMATH: EMPIRE’S END by Chuck Wendig. Copyright © 2017 by Lucasfilm Ltd. Reprinted by arrangement with Del Rey Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.

$19

From amazon

6 purchased by readers Gizmodo Media Group may get a commission

[izartn]

OP’s tags:

#Thinking about Nathaniel's death again and it's not quite a Hero's Rest it's more like a redemption? #and also a natural extension of his character arc #He wants fame and power and he wants his name to be known for him alone #I can't imagine a more surefire way to establish your place in history than as the guy who sacrificed himself to save the city #He wanted to hold Gladstone's Staff - to use it - and he got to #but also it was a reckoning #The magicians' way of life has always been unsustainable in London and across time and space #Nouda's/Faquarl's/etc. grievances simply came to a head in London but it could've happened almost anywhere and any time #Kitty goes through the Gate as her way of saying sorry and Nathaniel dies saving Bartimaeus' life as his way #Which also tracks because I think Nathaniel would've literally preferred death to apologizing #The story keeps going back to Nathaniel in the garden sitting with Ms. Lutyens and the statue of Gladstone #and his death ties together the qualities he admired in both

[adamarinayu]

Gold Feathers Pt. 2

PREVIOUSLY

Let’s barrel on since this was supposed to be all in one anyway

Tinged

When Donald was eleven the farm hit a hard time. The crops were failing and Grandma didn’t have enough to go around. At night, Donald, Della and Gladstone would creep around, listening to Grandma speaking to different people.

“This will affect us for years to come,” she had lamented to someone on the phone.

“I don’t have enough to feed the kids and pay the farmhands,” she had confided in someone else.

As such, all three children knew before Grandma told them that they were being sent to live somewhere else for a while.

“It’s just for a year,” she promised her grandchildren as all three of them climbed into a car that would take them to their uncle’s house. “Then, if you want to, you can come back.”

They loved their uncle- he told amazing, fantastical stories of adventure and lived in a house big enough for them to run around freely in- but being away from Grandma was... not ideal for them.

But it passed. They were expected to help around the house and the yard, as much work was fitting for three children, and Donald and Della fell into a comfortable routine. They found they liked living there, away from the smell of fertilizer in the summer, not having to watch where they stepped out in a pasture and such things.

Gladstone, on the other hand, hated every moment they were there. He and Scrooge didn’t get on too well. Scrooge was frustrated that everything he told Gladstone to do would get done with no help from his half-goose nephew, and Gladstone was frustrated that Scrooge just didn’t understand that he literally could not help it- that he had no control over it at all.

When the end of the year came, Donald knew Grandma was still struggling. He chose to stay at the mansion, and Della did too. Gladstone, however, went back to the farm.

“Do you think you should tell Uncle Scrooge?” Della asked Donald one day when they were twelve, exploring Scrooge’s garage. Donald was focusing on all the different forms of magic in there, feeling how it pulsed and moved, and it was almost as if he could understand it intuitively. “I mean, he has all these cool magic things, maybe he’d know how to help.”

“Maybe,” Donald agreed.

And he decided he would tell Scrooge.

It was too bad Magica chose to drop in. Scrooge kept Della and Donald behind him while fending off the witch, and afterwards had said, “Witches, bah! Let this be a lesson to ye, kids- keep your distance from anyone involved in magic.”

(Yet ironic, Donald would later find out, that Scrooge would say this when he was friends with literal gods, whose magic power was so much more than any sorcerer Donald had ever met. Overwhelmingly so, he could hardly even breathe on Ithaquack with all the magic pulsing and swirling together, competing for dominance over one another. They knew him for what he was immediately but never said a thing- beings so powerful know better, especially when neither Scrooge nor Della give off the waves.)

Donald and Della looked at each other and linked hands. They stayed quiet.

But Donald didn’t stop using it. He didn’t want to risk another buildup like what happened when he was eight. He kept practicing, and the more he practiced the stronger it got.

It was unsteady, unrefined, untrained magic, but no one was being hurt. That was better than the alternative.

Scrooge started taking them on adventures when they were thirteen, and at fourteen Donald met the Sorcerer.

He was an old dog- Scrooge claimed him to be a con artist, unable to feel the waves of magic rolling off of him. The Sorcerer, in turn, focused on Donald, undoubtedly able to feel his magic as well.

“Powerful magic, for one so young,” he commented when Donald finally approached him, feeling drawn to the man. “A young sorcerer- takes one to know one,” he had added with a chuckle.

Later, Donald would learn, only sorcerers could feel magic like that. Witches and wizards and mages and such, they were limited. A sorcerer’s magic, though...

“I don’t want to limit myself,” Donald decided when he was fifteen and the Sorcerer, now his mentor, was urging him to choose a specialization. “I want to learn it all.”

“Not even a sorcerer, in all the years he has, has enough time to learn all magic,” the Sorcerer told Donald. “It is best to master one.”

Donald considered it before shaking his head. “I want to learn as much as I can. Everything’s so interesting! And besides, it could come in handy.”

The Sorcerer didn’t seem to approve, but he nodded and taught Donald the base of all magic, and the basics of the different subjects (as well as he knew how, as he was a master of runes) of magic. He taught him alchemy, runes, sigils, seals, potions, battle magic, healing magic, light magic, dark magic- everything that he knew he taught to Donald, all without Scrooge’s knowledge.

When Donald had learned all he could from the old Sorcerer and turned seventeen, the Sorcerer gifted him with a staff.

“It will help you hone your magic,” he told Donald with a smile. “And it will enable you to control it better, concentrate it more and be more precise when you aim your spells. All sorcerers like ourselves need one- the magic that courses through us can at times be uncontrollable. This will help.”

The last lesson Donald had before he graduated from apprentice was how to use the staff, and he felt an immediate difference.

Magic, particularly strong magic, had left him exhausted as he focused so hard to keep it in his hands, focused so hard to keep it where it needed to be. The staff, however, seemed to resonate with the magic within himself, and when he channeled his magic through it the magic obeyed without struggle.

It was exhilarating.

He showed Della, and she marvelled over the craftsmanship- the hand-carved white oak and the pale blue crystal set into the rosegold head of the staff. It looked like an artifact that Scrooge would have gone after, had he known it existed.

And it belonged to Donald.

It wasn’t always easy, hiding his magic. It was like having a secret identity- he kept his staff hidden in its own little pocket dimension (learning that spell had been... difficult, to say the least), which could only be accessed when he cast a certain spell.

Sometimes, he’d be showing Della a new spell he learned when Scrooge would barge in, saying something about discovering the location of a new lost civilization. Donald would panic and shove the staff into the pocket dimension, thankful he always kept his back to the door.

That problem was solved when he figured out how to create wards to warn him someone was approaching.

Then, sometimes on an adventure, there’d be trouble. His fingers would twitch, he knew he could get them out. Della would notice and shake her head, even when she was being held captive by a creature that could only be described as...

Scratch that, it couldn’t be described.

He’d be seconds away from throwing his secret aside when Scrooge would work a miracle and everyone got out safe and sound.

“Don’t ever reveal yourself for me,” Della told him earnestly when they were fifteen, when he was still an apprentice, holding tightly to his hands. “We don’t know what will happen when Uncle Scrooge finds out.”

When. Not if.

But Donald promised her- he wouldn’t give up his secret.

So he hid it from Scrooge. He kept hiding it, even when it got harder. When the magic became more obvious.

When it started to show in his feathers.

He noticed the gold tinge on his fingertips and in his palms before he turned eighteen, and he contacted the old Sorcerer who told him it was normal- magic often came with physical changes, he’d said. Sometimes it was the colour of their fur or feathers. Other times it was the colour of their hair or eyes. Less often, though- less often, it was the colour of their blood, or a sudden development like thorns, spines or wings.

“It’s natural,” he assured Donald, patting his gold-tinged hands comfortingly. “Just be glad you only have changing feathers.”

“How do you hide it?” Donald asked, gazing down at his palms. It was barely noticeable but, he knew, it would only grow.

“There are different ways,” the Sorcerer told him, pulling the sleeves of his sweater up and tugging the gloves he always wore off. Donald’s eyes widened, observing how the silver- stark, strongest at his fingertips- covered the entirety of his hand rather than just the fingertips and palm, and extended up his arm. The sorcerer then pulled the neck of the sweater down, showing him the web-like pattern of silver reaching up his neck.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that the silver was extending from his hands, where he channeled all his magic into his staff, to cover his entire body.

That will happen to me.

Pity- Donald didn’t think he’d look good with gold feathers.

“I use clothing to cover mine, but you can use a charm. Dyes don’t work- the magic will show through.”

Donald let it go for the time being- it was barely noticeable, after all, and he needed to consider his options. It was a bridge to cross in the future. 

If Scrooge noticed, he didn’t say anything.

[myselfinserts]

“And wherever they take you, however scared you are, I promise you, you will never be alone.“

“Móðir? What’s going on?”

Isleen held her child close, trying hard to put on a brave face for him. Almost seven, his quirk only just manifesting, and he was so, so much like his father. The same gentle heart. The same timid courage. Isleen was already so proud of who her child had become. 

She hoped she’d live long enough to see who he was yet to be.

“Móðir...What’s with all the yelling? Why are there so many bad people? I’m scared. Where’s faðir? You said he was coming for us.”

Isleen winced, trying hard to stay calm and not panic. The ship had come to a halt. This wasn’t part of the plan. The plan was to leave for Elspie and then decide where to go from there. There was either Iceland to the west, or the U.K. to the east.

The shouts above deck grew louder, and a faint scent of blood began to pull at her senses. Isleen tried, by god did she try, to stay as stoic as possible. 

“Móðir...”

“It’s alright, Mirakel,” she assured. “You’ll be okay.”

“But...I’m scared.”

“And that’s okay.” Isleen looked at her child, smiling and brushing his tears away as best she could. “It’s okay to be afraid. You know...your faðir was one of the biggest cowards I ever met.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. He was downright terrified of so many things. Bugs, horses, the rain, lightning, learning to pick flowers. He would cry and jump at anything and everything. But he also knew how to be brave. It was hard, and he often felt as though he couldn’t be brave, but I’ve seen him do it. He worked very hard to be brave. And do you know what the bravest act I’ve seen from him was?”

Mirakel sniffled slightly. “What was it?”

Isleen gently pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It was the day he held you in his arms for the very first time. He looked at you and said ‘He’s so little. He can’t protect himself. I have to protect him. Our little Mirakel.’ And he wouldn’t let you go for the first night until it was time for you to eat. He kept hold of you, singing to you, telling you stories. Things he couldn’t do before. He promised he’d protect you and raise you as best he could. And he promised to love you every day.”

Mirakel stared up at her in awe. “Really?”

“Really. He loved you so much, my dear. And he fought very hard to bring you into this world, as I did. And one day, you’ll see him again.”

“CRAP! THE HEROES ARE HERE! GET READY!”

“Did anyone check below deck?!”

“I’ll give the quick sweep!”

Heroes. Someone was coming for them. It couldn’t have been Estmund. Estmund had no heroes. It had to be Elspie. Probably whoever lived closest to the port they were approaching. Isleen took a deep breath, trying to find her balance. 

I don’t have time. The heroes won’t be able to save both of us if those Villains come down here. I need to buy Mirakel time.

“Heroes?” Mirakel looked at his mother. “What are those?”

“Mirakel, I need you to listen carefully to me.” She held him close, the urge to break down starting to shake her to her very core. “I need you to be brave and listen to the Heroes. They’ll be here any moment now. They’re going to keep you safe and take you to your faðir. You’ll know who the heroes are. They’ll be dressed in beautiful clothes and stand taller than kings. You need to listen to them and follow their every word, you understand?” She pulled back, tears threatening to fall as she began to step away.

“And wherever they take you, however scared you are, I promise you, you will never be alone.“

“Móðir? What do you mean? You’re not going to leave me, are you?Móðir?!”

“Shhh stay here and stay quiet. I love you, my little Mirakel.”

“Móðir!!!”

“Sshhh.”

Slowly, Isleen made her way over to the step ladder. With a deep inhale, she steeled herself and climbed up. She waited until she was as far from the little hole as possible, keeping to the sides and remaining out of sight. She counted to three and stood, singing as beautifully as she could muster.  The villains turned their attention away from the heroes coming toward them on a jet ski, all of them looking to her with a hunger in their eyes.

She had no doubt that they were looking for her specifically.

“Over there!” the villain cried. 

“Grab her and take her to the sub!” called another. “And find the brat!”

“There’s no child,” Isleen said, trying to run. “I left him behind. I escaped on my own.”

The villain scoffed, grabbing her arm and throwing her against the nearest wall, knocking the wind out of her. Before she had a chance to recover, she was carried off the boat by some large brute. 

The last thing in her sights before the world went dark, was a man dragging a small, blue haired child out into the open.

Ceri did his best to stay cheerful as he served the last of the patrons for the night. It was getting close to that time of year again. That time of year when Heroes visiting from the North American circuit would be passing through and be paying their respects to the fallen Gladstone father. Many of whom had known him personally. Not close personal, but close enough that the loss was felt. 

Luci had decided to stay in their room. They knew why people would be coming by. They didn’t want them staring at them in disgust. 

It wasn’t fair, but Lucien had come to accept it. 

And so, Ceri respected their wishes. 

As the last patron finish their drink and paid the tab, he glanced over at the photo wall of heroes, his eyes resting on the image of the Gladstones. He looked forlorn and lost. As if a heavy burden rested on his shoulders. 

“You know,” the patron said. “I knew Dafyd Gladstone. We grew up in the same town and went to primary school together.”

“Is that so?” Ceri asked, trying to hide that he already knew. “I never met the man myself, but I heard he was a good person. A brave hero and good father.”

The patron nodded. “He and I had just gotten back in touch not long before the incident...” He sighed, shaking his head sadly. “He told me about this job he was gonna go for and had said he’d call me back once things were settled...I didn’t learn until a year after that call that he’d died.”

Ceri nodded, setting the empty glass in the tray to be taken to the kitchen. “What kind of job?”

“Estmund. No heroes there, you see. Said it’d be a good place to start up a hero school. Wanted to start something for support design there.”

Ceri only vaguely knew of that from the file he’d glanced at back in his basement days. He barely remembered it, but there had been talks between him and his wife of moving someplace safer after their third child was born. He hadn’t looked at the file since their names went dead. 

“I told him I’d be interested,” the patron said. “After the kingdom found their lost prince.”

Ceri froze. “Lost prince?”

The patron nodded. “Rumor has it the current king? He had a child. A little prince that was born to him and a mistress when he vanished for some time before takin’ the throne. Nobody I know believes it, but I do.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

“The way the king of Estmund carries himself. Its the way a father carries himself after losing a child. Something I’ve seen plenty of times in my days as a hero.” He sighed. “Too old to start the school myself now. So after the turn of the decade, I’m planning to retire. Perhaps Renegade will continue his father’s dream. I’ve seen footage of the boy. He’s got talent, just like his parents...”

Without another word, the patron left. Ceri quickly closed up stop, sending his staff home early. He made his way over to the Hero wall, staring at the old “Team Elspie” photo and focusing hard on Lucien. 

He saw what Lucien saw. The villains attacking the boat. The woman being carried off the ship just as the Gladstones arrived. The shadows. 

He looked deeper, seeing a little toddler waddling over to the woman, holding up a broken teddy bear and whimpering slightly. 

He saw the woman smile as she handed it to the king, watching as he fixed the toy. 

He stopped. 

“I need to tell them,” Ceri sighed. “I can’t keep hiding it-”

He stopped, feeling his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulled it out and checked, letting out a defeated sigh as he saw the message from Étienne.

“We’ll be by tomorrow. If you can, please have the entire pub empty except for Lucien. I’ll rent out the whole thing if I have to. Reginald has something for them.”

“Looks like telling the truth will have to wait,” he sighed as he prepared for tomorrow.

[myselfinserts]

“All I ever get is attitude.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Come on, Regi. You promised you’d keep an open mind about this.”

“I know, but-”

“I promise, you’ll find a kid you connect with.”

Regi let out a sigh. Eira wanted a little brother. Luci wanted another kid. And Luci insisted on adoption this time. Reginald didn’t mind. He was open to the idea. But he was rather nervous. It was already much harder to be a parent to Eira than he ever expected. And he still hadn’t fully grasped the fact that he practically raised his baby sister alongside Marianne sucsessfully. It took him so long to come to terms with parenthood. 

He wouldn’t give it up. No, not ever. 

But it didn’t mean he didn’t get scared about the idea still. 

“I promise,” the matron said. “We have plenty of fine young children who’d fit in well in your family.”

Lucien’s eyes kept glancing about, amazed at how packed the halls were. “There’s so many kids here.”

The matron nodded. “Several of the other orphanages closed down due to lack of funding, so many of the kids that couldn’t be housed were moved here since we’re the biggest and most staffed. And we double as a school too, so the students get their education while waiting for their forever family.”

Regi gently took Luci’s hand, trying hard to stay calm. “Is this the kind of place you grew up in?”

Luci shook their head. “No, the orphanage I was at was a lot less nice than this one. And the staff wasn’t nearly as nice.”

“We do our best to provide for all the children here, Mx. Adaire. All the children are well taken care of and fed and are up to date on their immunizations-”

Regi felt someone bump into his back and he stopped. Slowly he turned around, coming face to face with a boy a few years younger than Eira. He had on the school uniform, his hair was short and a vibrant shade of fuchsia. 

But his eyes. The left blue, the right green. Those struck a chord in Reginald’s heart. 

They look like papa’s…

“I’m sorry,” Regi said. “Are you alri-”

The boy’s eyes went wide and he stepped back in a panic. Before Regi could respond, the boy kicked him hard in the shin and took off down the hall. Regi nearly fell over, clutching his leg as the pain took hold. 

“Regi!” Luci gasped. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” he assured. “More worried I did something to hurt the kid.”

The matron shooed the children back to their classes before turning back to them. “I’m so sorry about him. He’s a bit of a handful.”

Regi shook his head. “I take it this is normal with, uh…”

“Leslie,” the matron explained. “He’s been sent back here a lot by previous families. Been here since he was a baby, then off and on after his first family learned he was quirkless. Other families came and went and none seemed to stick. He’s…a little skittish and mute at best. All I ever get is attitude from him at worst.”

“I know that feeling,” Luci muttered. “Used to be that kind myself. It hurts being sent back after being given the promise of being loved forever…”

Regi looked in the direction Leslie ran off to. He could feel his heart breaking. He couldn’t imagine how much it hurt to be unwanted and shipped back to a place to wait for another chance. Another chance that might not come…

“I wanna go talk to him,” Regi said. “Alone, if that’s okay.”

Luci and the matron looked at each other then nodded. 

“Okay,” Luci said. “You talk to him. I’ll wait for you in the main office, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Regi gave them a quick kiss and then hurried to find Leslie. It didn’t take him long. He figured the kid knew exactly where to hide. 

If it were me, he thought. I’d have picked an empty classroom not too far. 

And he was right.

Leslie was standing in the center of an empty classroom, crying as Regi came in. The boy turned around, trying to calm down while letting out a weak voice.

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to kick you. I just…got scared…Please don’t yell at me…”

Regi smiled softly and knelt to his level, holding out a hand. “My Imzadi was adopted, you know…Just like you, they were sent back time and time again by the people who promised to love them.”

Leslie stared at him, his lip quivering slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. He eventually found his forever home with me. We have a lot of people in our family. We’re…a little unusual. But I think you’d fit in perfectly with us.” Regi could see he was hesitating. He couldn’t blame him. “If you want, you can come join our family. You’d have an older sister, a wonderful slew of aunts and uncles, and you’d have a lot of cousins too. And a pet. Have any of your other families had pets.”

“Yeah,” Leslie mumbled. “But it was always dogs…I don’t like dogs much…they’re fine but…not my favorite…I like cats…”

Regi smiled and reached into his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a photo of Luci and Eira with Meatloaf and handed it to Leslie. “That girl there with the dark hair? That’s Eira. And the cat she’s holding is Meatloaf. Meatloaf would adore you.”

“Really?” Leslie looked at the picture, eyes going wide. “She’s got eyes like mine…”

“Yeah. And my dad? He had eyes like yours too.”

Leslie stared at him. “He had?”

Regi nodded. “I’m an orphan too. But I didn’t get adopted. I was looked after by my grandparents, then my uncle, but they all left. It was just me and my sisters for a long time. But now I have a big family that loves me a lot. And I love them. And I know they’ll love you too.”

Leslie handed back the picture. “No they won’t…Who would love a quirkless nobody?”

“I would.”

“…you mean it? You’re not tellin’ lies?”

Regi chuckled. “No, sadly I can’t lie to save my life. If I could, it’d have saved me a lot of trouble planning Eira a surprise party last year.” Leslie managed a chuckle. Regi felt the tension easing. “Why not give us a chance? We’re strange, but we’re more than ready to welcome you home.”

Leslie remained quiet for a while. Regi stayed still. He wasn’t going to force him. If Leslie didn’t want to be part of the family, he’d respect it.

Though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t hope the boy said yes.

“…would I have to change my name?”

“You can keep Leslie if you’d like. Or you can pick another name. My last name is Gladstone, and Lucien’s is Adaire. We hyphenated it for paperwork and for Eira. If you keep your name and both of ours it’d be Leslie Gladstone-Adaire. Does that sound good?”

Leslie let the sound of it mull over in his head before nodding and taking a step forward. “Okay…I’ll try being a…a Gladstone-Adaire…”

Regi smiled. “Then I think proper introductions are in order. I’m Reginald Gladstone-Adaire. And if you’d like, you can call me either Regi or Dad. Does that sound-oof!”

Leslie hugged him tightly, burying his face in Regi’s shirt. “Dad…”

Regi returned the embrace. “Come on, son. Let’s take you home.”