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[junedenim]

2006

beneath the boardwalk, part 4 (series masterlist)

505

warnings: fluff, angst, smut, sobbing, etc.

word count: 11.1k

In a boring fashion, Alex and I spent the winter much like winters' past. Time froze in that corner of our world and lifetimes existed between the drive from Wakefield to High Green. Charlton Brook was experiencing an ice age but we'd still drive out to as close as we could get without getting out of my car. 

Alex would be stuffed in several layers of clothing and his hair was always messy but always fell in the right place. We'd make out and I'd mess it up more and it felt like nothing else existed outside of it.

Some unknown song would play quietly in the background (one time "When the Sun Goes Down" played and I refused to let Alex turn it off and he refused to kiss me during it so we sat in silence in the car listening to it) and we'd occupied ourselves with kissing, talking, and playing cards. 

We began a tournament in Gin Rummy over my school recess and his touring break. Said tournament has continued since then. We never established a number we were playing to and so we have decided that the winner will be determined in death, however morbid that is. I had the lead that winter but over the summer Alex would overtake me. I seem to do best in winter while Al dominates in summer. 

"Are we boring?" I asked him.

"Hmm?"

"We've grown old and boring. We're playing Gin Rummy in my car at 11 AM."

He chuckled. "We've always been this way, Janie. We used to sit in a room and write in silence. It was glorified old married couple."

I wanted to ask him if he thought we'd be an old married couple, instead, I asked, "How do you think we'd be as an old married couple?"

He shrugged and discarded an ace. "I don't think we'd be boring. Maybe settled. But we'd always have something interesting. Even if music fails and you give up on writing—which I'd never allow—I can't imagine us not being the intelligent fun couple. Maybe I'd be boring but you never."

"With all my neuroses?"

"Of course," he over-enthusiastically said. "But you're too interesting and funny to be boring."

"Same to you."

"Even if I was, I'll be the old guy who sits in the corner and doesn't say anything. You'll have to do all the talking for me."

I laughed. "I'm fine with that." We shared a smile and I knew I'd love him forever, even if we crashed and burned, he'd always be my first love. "You know the thing you said about being intelligent?"

"Yeah?"

"Clearly you aren't." I scooped up his discarded ace and put down my ace three-of-a-kind and then placed my last card face down. With a smug look, I said, "Gin."

He threw his head back after watching the whole scene. "Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have done that. I knew—I knew you had to have had the other aces. Fuck."

*

One afternoon, the snow was thick and we deemed it too heavy to drive around in, which conveniently meant Alex would likely stay the night. In my room, Alex and I sat around in our routine of playing cards and listening to the radio. I had the fuzzy socks he got me for Christmas, which might seem like a cheap Christmas gift (it was) but back in our tour bus summer I had mentioned it to him and he had clearly noted it. 

I was shuffling the deck of cards and he was rubbing my feet after I insisted the foot rub would help them warm up. The radio was soft and for the whole morning, the house had been quiet, which should have been the warning alarm.

A loud crash rang from downstairs followed by my parents' loud yelling. I rolled my eyes and fell backward onto my rug. "There goes a peaceful afternoon," I said.

"Do you want to sneak out of here?" He asked. Alex had never witnessed my parents' arguments; they were generally further apart as I grew up because they decided it was best if they never spent any time around each other but when they did occur they were long-winded and brutal.

"Where? It's freezing and it's not like we can walk down through the front door with them yelling there."

"We could go out through your window."

I laughed. "And fall to our death?"

"We might be alright in the snow."

"No, let's just hide out here."

He stood up and turned up the radio. "It's gotta help out a little."

"Thanks."

He hummed along to the song and I giggled. "What an inappropriate song for this moment," I quipped.

He chuckled but shook his head. "Nah, I think it works for us. You know, 'Until the poets run out of rhymes' and all that."

"You're getting all soft on me." I flicked his nose, bashful under his heavy gaze.

"I've always been soft."

"You're gonna do your best to keep me satisfied?"

He jumped up, tackling me down onto the floor. I shrieked to the floor. If he didn't kiss me you would have thought we were wrestling. "Baby I'm Yours" fading in the background as a knock sounded on the door.

Alex rolled off and I muttered an annoyed, "Jesus."

I stood and opened my bedroom door where, thankfully, Stacey stood on the other side. "I need a fallout shelter here," she said. I widened the door. She stepped in and sat on the edge of my bed. "You guys playing cards? God, you're lame."

Alex chuckled. Stacey and he hadn't hung out much but had always gotten along and had a laugh with one another. "You want to play with us?"

She shrugged. "Sure." As I continued shuffling the cards she reamed us out more, saying things like, "If I had a boyfriend we'd be making out all the time."

"Maybe that's why you don't have a boyfriend," I replied. Alex laughed into his elbow not wanting to anger Stacey.

"No!" She insisted. "All the guys at my school are duds."

"You're 14, everyone is supposed to be duds at 14," I told her as I dealt out the cards.

She fought back, ever snippy and snarky. I have no clue where she learned it from... "You had a boyfriend at 14."

"I wish I didn't." Owen Stenison, blonde-haired, brown eyes, and a breath that tasted like tuna.

"You had a boyfriend at 14?" Alex questioned. We didn't often dive into past relationships, likely because I had a much longer list than him. He had two girlfriends before me, neither super serious.

"Yeah, and it was like the hundredth guy she had been with," Stacey mocked.

"Shut up," I bite back.

She held her hands up defensively. "I'm not shaming."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right."

"I'm jealous."

"Well, don't be, it wasn't very fun." Is it cheesy to say that I didn't know real love until Alex? Probably. So, I'll just say I hadn't ever had a proper relationship prior to Alex. I had never celebrated a Valentine's Day.

Stacey sighed, "Has to be more fun than being single."

"You're 14 this is the time to be single."

"Bullshit. That's hypocritical from someone in a relationship then and now."

"I wish I had waited."

"Load of shite."

I shrugged. "I don't know. It would've been nice for Alex to be my first boyfriend."

"How virgin pure of you. You're a secret prude."

Alex, watching the exchange from the sidelines, burst out laughing and I rolled my eyes. "Just pick up your cards."

*

The night before Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not was released, the band performed at The Leadmill. It was bittersweet, the end to a chapter of our lives that likely ended months ago but we knew things would be much different after that day. We'd also be separating yet again, which was no longer atypical.

I spent the concert with Alex's parents and while Stacey expressed a desire to be at the show, she elected to sleep over at a friend's house instead. In retrospect, it isn't shocking for me to consider the show with Penny and David as being fun but it was very unexpected at the time.

After the show when parents departed and drinks flowed, I found Alex outside the bar. He had a half-ashed cigarette in his hand and I questioned his sanity wearing only his hoodie in the Northern England January chill.

"Can I bum one?" I shouted down to him.

It took a moment for him to register it was me, a smile slowly spread across his face as I inched closer. "Depends. What do I get?"

I dug into his pocket, feeling his stomach through the cloth, and took the pack for myself. "My witty repartee."

"Well, in that case." He sparked his lighter and burned my end for me.

I leaned beside him on the wall. My head against the cold bricks. "What are you doing out here?"

He grinned down at his feet. "Cheesy to say I was waiting for you?"

I giggled with pleasure and shook my head. "I don't believe you." I blew my smoke out directly into his face.

Alex shook his head and pulled me into his, wrapping his arms around me and holding me so close I could have sworn we briefly had one body. My hands tucked under his jacket and my fingers fist in his shirt and he shivered from the chill of my hands.

"You want my jacket?" I joked.

He kissed my temple. "This tour is gonna suck without you."

"Liar."

"Well, I'll enjoy it." We both chuckled. "But it won't be the same."

"I should just quit school."

"You should," he facetiously agreed for a moment, looking down at me fondly. "No, you shouldn't do that because who am I going to brag about?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Brag about?"

"Yeah, I brag about you all the time."

I laughed. "It's not like I go to Oxford. What are you bragging about?"

He pulled back slightly to get a clearer look at me. "You have to stop undervaluing yourself so much. If you met yourself, you'd be your favourite person."

"You're my favourite person."

He gathered me up again, and kissed me, deepening it. It was messy, turned into brazen and shameless. I backed him against the wall, and the bass beat against his spine. 

*

At the end of February, the band played in London and attended the NME Awards. Alex brought me as his plus one. He wore an anorak over a long-sleeve blue shirt with jeans. I wore a black button-up with black jeans and black heeled boots. I didn't mean to come off as a gothy soul but I didn't have anything fancy and my mother has always told me black is classy. The rest of the band looked like they were dressed like they had to wait at the bus stop in the freezing cold for an hour. Everyone else was fancy-dressed compared to us as Alex would chastise in one of his speeches.

It was at Hammersmith Palais, a year before it was demolished. It was hard to get an appreciation for the building as everything was decked out in NME slogans and everyone was looking to get a piece of the band. For the first time, I was confronted with the question: "Are you his girlfriend?"

I swallowed my drink and nodded. I had a hard time wrapping my head around Alex no longer being my secret. In the coming months, this would grow into a bigger, uncontrollable thing where I would become forever known as "Alex Turner's girlfriend." In the beginning, there was pride in it that my boyfriend was successful and achieving height so long. Then, being referenced as that left me worried. I worried for my future where I would always be referred to in relation to him rather than an individual with a career. Later that night, the first paparazzi photo would be taken of us on the way to the after-party. I was nervous.

During the show, each time the band accepted their awards, totaling 3, we had progressively gotten drunker and drunker and drunker. It was free alcohol, who was gonna turn that down? Especially since the royalties check was still pending. Bob Geldof called Russell Brand a cunt, something that has only aged more gloriously. Ryan Jarman of The Cribs, who are from Wakefield, threw himself onto Kaiser Chiefs's table and had to have an ambulance called because he was bleeding profusely. 

Alex came and sat beside me after his last speech, in which he boasted that the band had no competition in the category of Best British Band. I called him "a cocky son of a bitch" and he kissed my cheek and got me another drink. We both got too drunk to remember the rest of it.

*

Alex convinced me to join them for the weekend in Paris where we saw none of Paris and I saw little of Alex. We talked very little. He was obsessively tired and I felt like a chosen accessory as he held my hand but made no move to involve me. 

I became annoyed with Alex as he napped and I sat by the window writing hate letters to him in my journal that he would never read. 

At night, I fought with Alex and he made little effort to engage in behavior with me. It enraged me more. I yelled about how he didn't care about me and he would blink for so long I thought he fell asleep. Then, he'd say, "Whatever, Janie. Nothing I say will change your mind."

It felt for the first time Alex was sick of me. I had tired him out and he was done trying to force something I would never allow him to change. I felt tired too. We were both exhausted. I slumped down on the bed, still red inside and out. I loved him so dearly and every move I made felt like the wrong one. I just wanted him around all the time and then the time he was exactly around I ruined it with shouting and dreaming up the fantastical things he did away from me.

I didn't know why I was so overcome with anger and I began to hate myself at night. I cried to Alex and he did his best to hold and comfort me but I think he was exhausted by the whole thing. I thought about going to therapy. Then, I woke in the morning and Alex was hogging the bathroom and I decided that I was right to be overwhelmingly angry. I decided I was right about a lot of things.

*

In March, I wandered around London for long spaces of time. Sometimes I was looking for something to do, but most of the time I was trying to pass the time. It was a form of meditation. I'd lie under trees in Regent's Park and count the leaves on each branch. My father had gifted me a red iPod Nano for Christmas and it was the first portable listening device I had other than my clunky portable CD player.

On these walks, I felt I was learning more about myself without thinking about myself. I lacked the ability to shut my brain off but I'd get so lost in the scenery and the music that I'd never think of how I was perceived lying in the grass pointing my finger up to the sky.

Walks calmed me during the day but it didn't often last into the evening. I didn't talk to Alex much. He was in America for most of March. I went clubbing with lasses from classes on weekends and smoked with Georgia and Robert on weekdays. 

Phone calls with Stacey were about the only thing that grounded me but they were of irregular occurrence. Alex wrote me an email halfway through the month that read:

Did MTV and Webster Hall. You'd love NY. I can picture you forcing me on walks through Central Park so I took one just for you. It would've been more fun with you but that's the case with everything. Didn't get to do much else so we'll have to come back. Whenever you want. See you in April.

I never responded to the email. It pissed me off too much because "whenever you want" wasn't the truth. I would never have him when I wanted and I wanted him all the time. I felt I might as well not have him at all. He signed off like I was some meaningless friend that he'd see the next time he was in town and I decided he might not want me at all either.

When April began I hadn't heard from Alex since the email. I tried to call him once but when that failed I decided it would be better for our relationship if I didn't reach out again. I would be mad either way, if he picked up I would be upset he didn't before and if he didn't I'd be convinced I'd never hear from him again. 

*

"I want to cut my hair," I told Alex. We stood outside Carling Academy. I smoked a cigarette and he watched me. I felt like a board was between us. We had only kissed once when we arrived and I didn't want to kiss him again, I only wanted to cry and I couldn't figure out why.

He had his hands in his pockets and he felt like snow to me. He floated down to me, soft on my skin, but cold to the touch, melting in my hands. He leaned his side against the wall and I suppose he was anxious about performing in twenty minutes but I didn't care much.

"I like your hair," Alex told me. His hair had grown longer and I thought he needed a haircut too because it looked like he had sideburns. He had a funny look to him, one that made him look like Alfalfa with a mad cowlick that wasn't intentional but he made no effort to tame it.

I took a puff and said, "I want to shave it all off."

He laughed. "You want to be Sinéad O'Connor." We avoided any serious topic and stayed on the mundane. I preferred that and we accepted that things would stay this way forever if we left it. Alex and I have always done well with the mundane. We didn't do too well with the serious.

I couldn't focus on him, so I smoked my cigarette instead and waited for him to say something. I was near the end of my smoke when he finally said something. "You know, we've got an EP coming out in about a week."

I refused to allow my face to show anything and stared at the floor because I knew he'd be able to see anything I felt when he looked into my eyes. "No, you didn't tell me."

"Yeah, I know."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know. It's just a stupid EP."

Before I'd say something different but everything had changed within months. "I guess." I put out my smoke and we went inside. He was gone the next day and he might as well have never even existed. He was gone into dust, with the wind.

I listened to the EP under the trees and wondered who "Fiona" of "Cigarette Smoke" fame was before I figured it must have been me. Nothing Alex could do was right because he had once again landed in the dilemma of whoever Fiona was—a random girl or me—I would've been offended. I listened to "Despair in the Departure Lounge" and decided not to listen to the rest in public.

The last line "What's happened to me?" rang through my ears the whole way home and I have never forgotten that twisting feeling in my gut that it felt like it would take forever for me to escape. We lost ourselves in our own microcosms; I in London and in my thoughts; He on a tour bus and in his music. It felt like the point of no return that was being unacknowledged.

*

I feared I was going crazy during my last month of school and I stopped attending class other than to do my exams. I had enough sense for that. I spent my money on cigarettes and forgot to eat most days and still to this day I couldn't tell you the exact reason why. I was likely in some form of depression but it felt too crazy to be depressed. I felt manic most of the time and wondered if my mother felt like this and we all ignored her. I wondered if my mother hated herself like I hated myself and I wondered if my mother ever thought about me as much as I thought about her.

I spent hours smoking outside my dormitory window, which was technically destruction of property to my university and they'd have grounds to kick me out for it but they never caught on, and even if they did I think I was too checked out at that time to care.

I felt like I was taking handfuls of painkillers but I felt too crazy to take anything so I never understood why I felt tired all the time. Robert stopped supplying me with Adderall so I was possibly withdrawing from it but it lasted too long to be that. I didn't stop smoking weed, which likely was not a good thing but it helped me go to bed and I had fun doing weed and I didn't have fun not doing weed. 

I would write in my journal while smoking out the window and I followed the belief that being a tortured artist leads to good work. Instead, it increased my chances of lung cancer and made me hate writing. Toward the end of May, I stopped writing and considered dropping out of school but the school year had finished and I knew my father would murder me if I didn't graduate. 

Alex arrived in May to play another show. I was supposed to meet him at the venue at 3 and instead arrived at 6 with no warning. I can't remember why I showed up late but I can't lie. There was probably no good reason.

There was nonsensical chatter before the show and Alex put up with my cold behavior until the end of the night when we were alone at my place.

After we had sex, I lay in the crook of his neck and thought about suffocating myself. I pressed my head so far into him that he yelped and asked me, "What are you doing?"

I softened my digging and thought that Alex no longer knew me. I don't know what was happening to me in those months but I was mad and didn't understand why he didn't see what I was doing to myself in those months.

"You never asked me about summer," I mumbled into his neck.

He closed his eyes and I felt like it was 2003 and I was begging him to kiss me again. He was so far removed from me and I feared I'd never have him in my grasp again. I held him tightly as he sighed. "We never talked about it."

"We never talk."

"I'm sorry." But it didn't sound like he was. He just sounded done.

"It's okay." I was more angry with him than I had ever been but I swallowed it like a dry pill.

"Are you going on your family trip?"

I was short with him. "Aruba."

"That'll be nice. For you and Stacey. I can see you by the water, drinking Piña Coladas." It comforted me that Alex pictured pretty things when all I was able to see was my inescapable rage. 

I thought about hooking up with a boy on vacation. One I had never met but one that would bring me out of this self-sacrificing funk. I choked my own spit when I thought about Alex. I wondered if he was just my human Band-Aid for the time. The way Joanie had kept me safe through secondary school, Claire had mended me through our first year of college, and Alex licked my wounds and said things were alright and sang me stupid songs and played cards with my sister while fires raged below but like Claire and Joanie and every boy Band-Aid I had before he would heal the previous wound before leaving with a chunk of me for the next one to fix. I cried then and he held me but I wondered how much longer he'd put up with this.

"It'll be fine, Janie." His hand stroked down my spine and he was oblivious to the terrible thoughts I was having, thinking he was consoling me over my family instead of him. "When will you be back?"

I sat up and he delicately wiped my cheek but had missed most of the wetness. I wiped my whole hand under my eye to dry the area. "Some time at the end of June. I can't remember."

"That's perfect." He smiled. "You can come to T in the Park and we're doing Oxegen so we'll be back in Ireland. I know how much you loved Ireland."

His touch felt foul on me. "I'm not your groupie."

My face had turned sour. "What's wrong?" Alex asked.

I tried to turn him away, insisting, "Nothing. I'm making a joke."

But he knew me too well. "No, you're not."

"I know when I'm making a joke and I'm making a joke," I mouthed at him.

But he was done. I had beaten up against him too many times for him to console anymore. "Whatever, Janie."

I scowled. "Well, fuck you." I was a ticking time bomb in those days. The slightest fire and I was going to blow.

Alex was oblivious, confused by the whole thing. I should take partial blame. I never opened up anymore. But he never asked anymore. He couldn't be bothered to give a shit anymore. Too much else on his mind to care about what was going on in mine. I only cared about what was going on in his. It was unhealthy consumption. He snapped, "What's wrong? What did I do to piss you off? You're crying and I'm comforting you and you're making digs at me."

I ripped my touch away from him. "You take everything so personal."

"I take everything so personal!" He sat up, showing frustration in talking with his hands. "Who the fuck are you then?"

I just stared at him.

He took a deep breath, rubbing his hair off his forehead. "I don't know what you want me to do. You seem to have an issue with everything I do."

I didn't accept his indolence. "Maybe everything you do is an issue. You ever thought of that?"

And he ripped off from there. "Do you have some bitch flip on?"

I got out of bed naked and made no mind to get my clothes on. I was too furious for clothes. "Fuck you. Calling me a bitch. You're a fucking joke. You're the biggest fucking asshole. You don't give a shit. You just care about yourself."

"Calm down, Janie—"

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down!"

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Alright. Geez!"

I stood with my arms crossed over my boobs but made no move to cover my exposed cunt. I wanted him to see my naked body and for it to not be desirable. I wanted him to call me a cunt. I wanted him to do a lot of things. I wanted him to be here in the morning. Most of all, I wanted to be able to say things to him again.

We stood with our chest heaving and he stayed still in my bed and I stayed still, digging my left foot into my rug. "We'll be back for 2 weeks in July."

I didn't say anything and I wasn't sure if it was good enough but I got back into bed with him. Like everything else, we never talked about it.

*

I did end up sleeping with someone in Aruba. The worst part was I didn't regret it. I'm pretty sure Alex was doing the same thing on the road and sleeping with someone else based on a presumption that your boyfriend is doing the same is not a good method for a healthy relationship with either party, including yourself. But I didn't mainly do it off the presumption, I did it after those suggested piña coladas and a hot Dutch boy called me cute when I didn't feel it and it felt worth enough to sleep in his bed that night. I hadn't slept in Alex's bed in a long time.

In July, I went to Oxegen because Ireland is so beautiful and Alex is so beautiful and I didn't feel so beautiful so I hoped some of their beautiful would rub off and make me beautiful. I was just thinking about myself too much.

When Alex asked about Aruba I didn't mention the guy just like when I asked him about the tour he never mentioned a girl. If neither of us uttered it, it wouldn't be true.

My hair had grown longer. If I bent my head back I could feel it hit my butt. Alex's hair was longer and it curled out to the sides like Carole Brady. It felt like the coldest day of the year in July, pissing rain, and the sun nowhere in sight. We didn't do any exploring in Ireland like we did the year prior or in the years to come, not even the festival grounds as everything was too muddy, and walking around with Alex at festivals could be a tricky thing.

Before their set, we played Uno, a thing that has always calmed me, unlike regular card games where I feel pressed to bluff and prove how strategic I am. Uno got me laughing and I felt a little whole again even in all the rain, even if I felt my body was being torn limb for limb, I felt the torture was put on pause and the festival named Oxegen felt like the title fit.

After their set, where the rain stopped no one from chanting and moshing and I grew in amazement at the sight of all the people, we played more Uno. Halfway through the game, I tried to peek over at Alex's cards and he let me because he knew I wanted to win. He never placed the Draw 4 card down either. So, I kissed him that night. In a way that wasn't a greeting and wasn't an invitation for sex, just a loving kiss.

*

Of Alex's two weeks at home, I spent most of the time at his house. We ate dinner with his parents four times during the stay and spent hours on the riverbed at Charlton Dam. Alex would clump grass in his hand and dip his hands in the water to wipe off the dirt. I counted the leaves on the branches. I imagined a life where we had stayed in Yorkshire forever but I knew even in fantasy I wouldn't have been happy.

Alex brought his guitar one day and strummed on the strings until I fell asleep. When I woke he had fallen asleep beside me and I thought of living our lives in that grass forever like some version of Blue Lagoon without the cousin-fucking part. It seemed magical and looking over at him I was struck by his calmness. He had always been subdued but asleep he possessed a stillness that would steady oceans and stop the Earth from spinning on its axis but instead, he chose to sleep.

A little while later he woke up and strummed his guitar with an unknown tune and I wrote random sentences in my notebook. I wrote of the grass on my bare feet and the muttering Alex did under his breath and my mother's Bloody Marys. 

"I'm bored," he whined.

"You're frustrated." I could tell he was stuck on something, Alex rarely cited boredom.

He gestured to me, curling his fingers. "Gimme me something."

"Like what?"

"Gimme me one of your lines." He grabbed a hold of my notebook, something I usually shunned, but for some reason, I gave it over to him that day. "Her Bloody Mary must be lacking tabasco while she bites her lemon and thinks of when she used to be fun," he read aloud with a chuckle. "Scathing."

I took the notebook back. "Stop it," I warned him.

"No, I like it. I want more. Write me a song with me, Janie."

I rolled my eyes. "I suck at rhyming."

"Well, then you write and I'll rhyme."

So, I wrote crudely and crafted tales of lost adolescence that did not specifically pertain to my mother. I don't picture my mother and sex in the same sentence.

"Is that a mecca dauber or a betting pencil?" He burst into laughter, falling on his back, and rolling around. "Jesus, Janie, I'm stealing that."

"Yet another man taking credit for a woman's accomplishment."

"I'll give you the residuals."

"You will not be publishing this!" Fat chance. Nonetheless, at the time, he agreed to this.

The line is still the best thing I've ever written.

*

The band left for Australia and New Zealand at the end of July and Alex asked me if I would like to join but I turned him down for a reason I can't recall now. Many things happened in the summer of 2006 that I have blocked out and for the life of me, I can't remember. I used to hope that I would remember what happened but now I think my brain is doing me a favour. 

My maternal grandmother died the first week of August and I personally can't recall the trip to Sarasota, Florida, where she resided in her final years. Stacey has told me my mother cried the whole plane ride over in my arms and yelled at the flight attendant who tried to console her. My father flew in days later for the funeral and flew out the next day.

My mother wanted to remain in Sarasota for longer. She hadn't visited her mother in many years and the last time I saw my grandmother before her death I was 15. She had visited us in Wakefield, which she hated, and said it was shameful not to live in a metropolis like London. She spent her childhood working on farms and I heard loose stories of my grandfather being sent to a gulag. She didn't like the suburbs.

Then, she moved to Florida in her retirement. I had never been to Florida. 

I know my mother didn't like her mother very much but the reasons have never been told to me. I assume it's for many of the reasons I didn't get along with my mother but I also know my grandmother and mother experienced more tragedy in their lives than any human should ever endure. They were bonded for life through events that both never told and loved each other dearly but they didn't get along and they didn't like each other very much. I don't think they liked each other at all.

That week, we helped my mother and Aunt Daria clean out my grandmother's apartment. Harper helped the first couple of days before returning to England leaving most of the trip to be Stacy and me with my mother.

On the second Monday in August, my mother suddenly insisted we go to Miami. With little ability to resist our grieving mother, Stacey and I hopped into a car with my mother for 3 hours. I don't think my mother has ever been so calm. She laughed with us and told stories of her childhood and teenage years in Philadelphia and talked about her early life in Soviet Russia, something she never talked about. She asked Stacey about her friends and Stacey confessed to her worries about passing her A levels. My mother was comforting through it all, insisting that we would always be taken care of and Stacey, as the baby of the family, would always be her baby.

My mother then asked me about Alex. "How is he doing?"

"Fine." It was hard for me to figure out what to say. It was an unfamiliar thing to talk about anyone with my mother let alone my boyfriend. "Busy. The band's playing Sydney tomorrow. Or, I guess, today. I think they're 14 hours ahead of us."

My mother placed her palm on her chest and sighed, gushing, "God, I loved living in Sydney. I love all of Australia."

Stacey, unsafely unbuckled as we sped down I-75, leaned over the center console to ask my mother what she and I were both thinking, "When did you live in Australia?"

"Oh, for a short amount of time," she waxed sublimely. "Long before your father, must have been early 1973, I think. I remember coming from New York, which had been frozen over, and landing in sunny Sydney. We spent all day on the beach and drank for days with no care. " Does that mean she has care with her drinks now? "I learned how to surf. I was very adorable and darling. The Sydney Opera House opened while we were down there. Queen Elizabeth came down to open it and I remember watching from the crowd. The next year I was in London but I should have stayed longer. We should've."

"Who's we?" I asked.

She hesitated, I could tell. She gripped tightly onto the steering wheel and then sighed, releasing her hands. "My boyfriend at the time. He was this Australian hottie." I realized then that I had unintentionally written my mother's truth in "Fluorescent Adolescent." More worrisome, I feared I had written my future truth as thoughts of what-ifs regarding Alex were at an all-time high in spite of still being together. Although, it felt like we were barely together other than in writing.

"Mum!" Stacey whined. 

My mother ignored her plea. "I had my fun. I was very beloved. When we broke up I couldn't stand the city anymore. Then, I left for London with hopes of marrying into the Royal Family but alas I could've never been the people's princess."

"I didn't know you traveled much before dad."

She laughed. "That's all I did before your dad."

We stayed at a Holiday Inn and my mother never complained with the exception of the smell in the gym. We were quick to get out on the beach and my mother refused to go into the water but she sat in a chair and dipped her feet as she watched Stacey and I stumbled our way through the waves. Later, we all laid up on beach towels and gossiped about American celebrities and I thought of my mother on the beach in Sydney, which made me think of Alex lying on a beach towel in Sydney, which made me laugh.

Over dinner, for the first time in my life, I saw my mother reject a drink. Since I wasn't old enough to drink in the US, she said she wouldn't drink in the US, so instead we all drank pink lemonade.

That night, after Stacey went to bed, I snuck out to smoke a cigarette and call Alex. It would have been sometime around 2 PM there. He didn't pick up the first call so I decided to wait a few minutes before trying again.

My mother came out halfway through the cigarette and though I had never smoked in front of her, I'm sure she knew I did it. She asked for one and we sat in silence while she lit it. Stacey was no longer a buffer for us. 

She nodded toward my phone. "Calling Alex?"

"Yeah."

She exhaled the smoke and I felt the Miami humidity suffocating me. "The band must be doing pretty well if they're playing Australia."

"Yeah." 'Doing well' was a laughable statement but I didn't have much of an idea of what to say to my mother to explain how wrong this notion was.

"Are you two doing well?" She asked.

"Yeah." She stared at me and I could tell she wanted to know more and, for some reason, I felt implored to tell her like we were suddenly the Gilmore Girls or something. "As well as two 20-year-olds can do I suppose."

She chuckled and it felt funny for her to laugh at one of my jokes. "He seems fairly well-behaved for a 20-year-old boy."

"Yeah. He's great." She could tell what I was edging on and we sat in silence as she waited for me to spill. "But, he's so far, you know."

She shrugged. "That's what I like about your father. You'll be thankful for that kind of thing one day."

I felt a bitter and salty taste in my mouth. I don't like it when my mother talks this way.

She sighed. "I wish he'd stayed longer but I got my girls and that's good for me. If only Harper was here."

"What about Gary?"

My mother snorted. "Men are no fun in Miami. Gary would be shaming us for sunbathing." I laughed. It was an odd thing. "Are you mad Alex didn't come?"

I laughed at that idea too. "To Grandma's funeral, no. He's got a good excuse for not coming too."

"Does that annoy you?" My mother playing therapist of all people is laughable. I would have laughed at it then if she wasn't asking me what I wanted Alex to ask me.

I didn't dignify the question with an answer.

My mother tapped her cigarette on the bench's arm. "Why didn't you go with him this summer?" I stayed silent. "I would've let you go," she told me. 

"I know."

"I'm glad you were in Aruba. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," I muttered. We listened to the cars drive by and if you focused for long enough you could hear the ocean waves. They coerced me to speak. "He didn't ask me to join. I didn't want to be the whiny girlfriend."

"So you're pouting with me instead?"

I sat up straight. "I'm not pouting."

"All you do is pout!" It was only a matter of time until she outburst. Just like me.

I didn't want to yell back at her. I didn't want to yell. It was 15 after midnight.

She offered her best solution. "Why don't you join him in Sydney?"

I rolled my eyes. "By the time I get to Sydney, he'll be in another town."

"Then, go to that town. It's young love, Jane, you're supposed to want to be near them. Why do you think I moved to Sydney?"

I shook my head.

"You don't want to hang out with Stacey and me that much. I know you can't stand me."

I feel bad that I didn't fight her on that. I have always loved my mother, even if she wasn't always worthy of that love.

"I'll buy you the ticket, darling." Darling was one of her dramatic words, she'd stretch it out syllable by syllable d-ar-lin-ggggg. It always felt elegant coming from her lips. "Miami doesn't suit your pale complexion anyway."

I laughed, she laughed, and then she dropped me off at Miami International Airport and I got on a plane to LA, which then took me to Tokyo.

*

I arrived in Tokyo a day before the band. I was too tired to do anything so I stayed at a capsule hotel at Haneda Airport after my flight and fell asleep almost instantly. I've never been able to sleep on flights and I think I slept longer in that capsule hotel than any other sleep in my life.

The band was coming from Osaka and I contacted Alex about my arrival but he never responded. Part of me felt like I was intruding but I thought of my mother's words and the delusions I had of Alex showing up in Sarasota prevented me from any great fear.

Alex told me earlier about the hotel they were staying at because he was excited about the advertised toilets that could open upon entry, play music, and give massages. I was creeped out by the whole thing. How can a toilet give you a massage?

I probably should have enjoyed more of Tokyo instead of waiting for the band's arrival in the hotel lobby but I liked my greeting idea too much to ruin it by seeing Sensō-ji, even if that monetarily would've been the better decision. I read The Year of Magical Thinking, my first Didion and a depressing choice for the plane ride over, but it felt right to read after a funeral.

He was dressed in an Adidas muscle shirt and was holding his duffel bag. I felt like a stalker, watching him from a distant couch. I had regret over Alex being uninformed of my arrival because these surprises made me nervous and left me with flushed cheeks and a pounding heart. 

I approached the band while they were waiting for the elevator. "Can I have your autograph?" I was really trying to play up the fangirl thing but it came off more embarrassing than I wanted.

I remember Matt was frightened and yelled out "Fuck!" which got him scolded by their manager and dirty looks from hotel patrons. Nick, who had only been in the band for about a month, looked confused. Jamie was the only one who looked normal, scrunching up his nose, and saying something whack. Alex just looked at me as if I were a ghost. I could see the wheels turn in his head as he tried to process what was in front of him.

"What? How? Huh?" He stuttered.

He hugged and kissed me, albeit awkwardly as he continued to look for answers. I gave them a short synopsis as we rode the elevator up. When we reached the fifth floor, we splintered off into our rooms with smart toilets.

Alex was sweet and possessive in his touch on me as he dropped his duffle bag and took me in his arms instead. The whole thing felt too romantic for two people who shunned hopeless ideas of kissing in the rain or cuddling in front of a fireplace but it was a precious and comforting thing as we finished and lay in a pile of consolement as I talked of my grandmother and the puzzle that was (and is) my mother.

He told me my mother was right, Sydney was real beautiful, and that he wished to take me there. I told him I was jealous that he was seeing the world without me. I insisted it to be a joke but he and I both knew that I was green-eyed over this fact but we both didn't acknowledge the fact that we were in Tokyo, seeing none of it because we both enjoyed seeing each other more than any city.

After their performance and a shower to get rid of all that sweat, Alex shook his hair like a wet dog. "Eek!" I squealed. "When are you going to cut your hair? You look like you got a mop attached to your head?"

"You don't like it shaggy?" He asked me as he pet it down.

I pushed a piece of his damp hair behind his ear, admiring his profile as he stared ahead at the bathroom mirror. "You just have to style it correctly."

"Do you want to cut it?" He offered. His eyes were hopeful and his trust in me felt unwavering. It made me smile and bubbles of bliss spread in my gut. There was never any doubt in me caring for him, just like I had no doubt he would always do right by me.

"With what? Do you have scissors?"

"I have my Swiss Army knife." I laughed but he grabbed the tool and flipped the small-scale scissors out of it, placing it in my hand.

"I'm not going to get much done with it," I told him as I stood behind him, combing his hair with my fingers.

"That's fine. Less for you to mess up."

I hit his shoulder and he chuckled with delight. I snipped a few ends off but not enough to make a significant difference. His hair had dried by the time I gave up. I offered the cutter to Alex. He was meticulous, knowing I was particular about these things. I had wanted my hair much shorter for a long time but it had to wait longer because he only snipped the deadends and kissed my temple. The whole thing felt like a holy ritual and I felt slightly creepy for keeping a piece of hair from it but it was more for the preservation of memory than to clone Alex or create a voodoo doll. It joined my trunk of trinkets. 

"I have something to give you." Alex searched through his bag, pushing things out of the way.

I spotted the white text popping off the black shirt. "Oh, my god, Alex," I laughed.

"Shit," he cursed, picking up the shirt. He shook his head at his ruined surprise. "I was going to do this whole romantic thing."

His precarious position of kneeling on one knee, looking up at me with the shirt in his hands led to a perplexed me. "By proposing?"

"Oh." He chuckled and stood up straight. Handing me the shirt that read I LOVE YOU WILL U MARRY ME. It had been graffitied on a Park Hill estate in Sheffield in 2001. I have held a deep love for the romanticism spread on the concrete bridge—something about its contrasting nature. "I found it in a shop in Auckland of all places."

I held the shirt up, examined the design, and then hugged the shirt to my chest. "Thank you. I love it. I'll wear it tomorrow."

*

I was woken up by Alex going to the bathroom early in the morning. He tried to be quiet but stubbed his toe on the way there. I stayed silent and while he was behind the bathroom door, I turned the bedside lamp on a low light.

In my vernal imagination, I pictured myself as being desirable. I wondered if I could be like those figures I saw in movies. Now, it sounds more of a porno than it is, but I hoped to be picturesque as opposed to X-rated. The kind of sophisticated class reserved for paintings of naked French girls where the demurity of women was dashed in pearls and bathed in light, shining effulgently. 

When I lied on my side, I felt capable of conveying this. Maybe it was the shade of lampshade light or how dark the rest of the room was, or the boy I was with. I felt like a siren, a vixen, a seductress. Alex came out rustled with sleep but he had awoken when his eyes landed on me.

We were curled—two parentheses. It couldn't have been long after we had finished like after the sexual release we had to have the emotional one. I have chosen to look back on what follows as poetic, especially with a song like 505. I suppose if I had never seen Alex again, I might view it as tragic. 

"We're flying to Austria tomorrow," he told me.

His arm curled around my waist and my heartbeat heightened at the fact he would have physical contact with me, intimate contact with me. "Okay."

"Do you want to come with me?" 

"School starts soon." I could have managed it if I truly wanted to but the difference was I didn't want to anymore because I had a feeling Alex would never be able to do that for me. Be where I wanted him to be. I couldn't blame him but I couldn't acquit him either.

"You think you'll make it to Reading & Leeds?" I hated how desperately hopeful he sounded. A quiver rang in his voice like we both knew what way the train was heading.

"Probably not. I'd like to be settled."

"We'll be done touring soon."

"And then what?"

"I don't know. Another album."

"Another tour."

"Yeah." He waited for a beat. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." I turned into his chest, placed the crown on my head against the divet of his collarbone. "I don't know when I'll see you again and I don't like that."

"I don't either but we'll make it work," he assured. It just felt like a painful lie and I didn't want Alex to lie to me.

I cried, sobbed, wept into his chest and he held me as I shaked in a far more somber way than he had held me shaking earlier. For the first time, I said out loud, "I don't think I can."

I felt him swallow but he refused to say anything. When I looked up at him with blurry vision, his mouth was tightly closed and his eyes drifted far away. He was crying. I had never seen him cry before.

I wanted to care for him the way he cared for me. But I couldn't do that. It was easy then to know to let go. Alex didn't rebuff my admission with insistence that we could in fact make it work. He knew too.

We didn't say anything the rest of the night and when I left in the morning, we kissed and only said goodbye. It felt like too much to say anything else. I fear if he said something, a whisper of 'I love you,' I might have stayed and I knew, for us, I couldn't do that.

I left the shirt he gifted me in 505 and a week later, at the Lowlands Festival, he wore it onstage.

*

I stayed in a capsule hotel in Shinjuku City, near Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden. I felt like an aimless body in the days I stayed there. It was a scene out of Lost in Translation. I visited temples and shrines watching, among the tourists, those who believed. I was desperate for that faith. It had been ripped from me so young I didn't know how to have that unshaken faith in something. Alex had brought parts of it out but I was codependent and untrusting and untrustworthy and young. Not much felt right and now everything else felt wrong.

For those few days, I regretted my decision. I walked around wishing Alex was with me but when I returned to my capsule in the evening, I realized he wouldn't have been there even without our ending. 

On my last day, I took a train to Kamakura and stood before Kamakura Daibutsu, a giant Buddha statue. I wasn't suddenly changed, I wasn't radicalized, I didn't feel liberated, I didn't feel suppressed, I wasn't different. But I liked the feeling of being dwarfed by the figure, 13.35 metres, 93 tonnes. I could be crushed by it. I could climb it. 

I went inside it where scrawlings of graffiti had been etched. Some nonsense, some prayers. It's been there since 1252. I wonder how far back some of those writings went. I had thought about being somewhere for so long, so long after my time. But I couldn't think of anything to write therefore I would not change a thing there. 

I flew home the following day. Only a piece of me is left in Japan.

*

The leaves were turning burgundy and gold when I saw Alex again. I entered my final year of university with questionable standings but a determination to finish and obtain a job that I truly loved. I had begun renting a flat with Georgia in Tower Hamlets across from the cemetery park. The park had been heavily neglected, bombed during World War II, and had been overgrown with plants. It was open 24 hours so I would walk through it early in the morning when I was restless.

I got a text from him when I was there one morning, stuffed under a tree in the fog. He wrote that the band was in town, recording their next album, and—if I wanted—he would like for me to join them for drinks.

I never doubted saying yes. Alex was my friend first and I wanted him always to be my friend. He gave me the olive branch, I must accept it. I brought Georgia to be safe.

Alex and I hugged when I arrived and I sat on the opposite side of the booth from him. Georgia and I shared chips with Katie Downes, Jamie's new girlfriend. She was (and is) one of the cutest people I have ever known. It was easy to feel jealous of her; she was gorgeous and a glamour model, who usually would've been described as a sex kitten bombshell femme fatale with being a frequent cover girl of lad magazines, but she wore her hair with the front pieces pinned back with butterfly clips and licked ketchup off her fingers. It was impossible not to find her adorable when she cackled at one of my jokes.

I wore an engulfing hoodie and sweatpants with my fingers itching for a cigarette but I knew if I went outside Alex would come out and we'd be alone. We were both pretty quiet the whole night and I found myself longing for him to say something, angry at him for texting me, dangling himself in front of me. But then again I was too scared to speak too. I watched him watch my hand fidget on the table. I thought of that cigarette we could share. I laughed at Matt's joke instead. I'm not sure if it was the right decision.

We would remain in the same cities for most of December. Their next album was recorded in London but we didn't see much of each other through my choice. I worried that my rejection of these hangouts would come off as if I didn't want to be friends. I reassured him once over text, saying, I just need time. Busy. Busy was a half-truth, school was piling up but emotionally I'm not sure I was ready to laugh with Alex. I hung out with Matt some. It was like I never knew Alex. If we had never talked, if I wasn't mistaken to be named Jeanie and wasn't a nicotine addict. It was comforting to be close with Matt again. It was terrifying to feel like I never knew Alex.

Alex and me and London was exactly what I wanted for years. I wondered if he chose to record down there to be with me. If he had daydreams of coming home to a shared flat where, for once, we could be together together. Part of me indulged in these fantasies late at night before falling asleep. Other than that I didn't allow myself to think of what-ifs. I wrote instead of Japan and of Kamakura Daibutsu. My professor, Madeline Critchley, worked for Granta, a literary magazine, and told me to submit it. A few weeks later, it was selected to be featured. It was my first paid published work.

The issue came out months later, in the spring, but it felt wrong for Alex not to read it. I felt like a betrayal that would get back to him. I emailed him the piece and told myself to expect nothing in return from him. He delivered:

The way you write makes me feel as if I'm in front of the colossal Buddha. It always moves me. You have etched your graffiti on me. It'll stay there long after we're gone.

*

I stayed in London for most of my winter recess but returned home for Christmas. I hadn't told my family that Alex and I weren't together. My parents never asked and I pacified Stacey saying he was away for the holiday season, even if I knew he was back home too. The 30-minute drive between us never felt longer.

Harper and Greg had returned home too with their spouses. On Christmas Eve, Stacey and I made sugar cookies and my mother displayed store-bought gingerbread men. We settled on watching Bridget Jones's Diary while eating these cookies. My mother and sister joined us because of their deep love of Colin Firth and my brother-in-law joined us because of his deep love for my sister. We sat below the Christmas tree which was my mother's pride and joy during Christmas. She'd drink eggnog while she wrapped garland around the tree and herself.

20 minutes into the film my phone buzzed with a text from Alex, who was outside. I knew I couldn't get away for long with this rare occasion of family time. I slipped on my winter boots, not even bothering to tie the shoelaces, and hoped my hoodie would suffice against the freeze outside. 

Alex was outside the front door in a bulky winter coat that I imagine his mother had dressed him in. "Hi." He was quiet. Everything outside my house felt quiet with a pure landscape of ice and snow and nobody daring to go outside this late on Christmas Eve. 

"Hi." I was quiet too.

"I have this—a little thing," he said, fiddling in his pocket before taking out a Christmas cracker. It was red with little snowflakes on it and my favourite holiday tradition. "I thought we'd pull it together."

"Well, you know me and my competitive nature," I mused. 

We sat on my porch bench, cleared of snow. He took one end and I took the other and with one big yank, it popped. I looked down and he had the bigger half, all the favours inside. "I win," he cheered.

I smiled through the awkwardness as he pulled the paper crown out and settled the rest back on the bench. He unraveled the pink paper, looked down at it, and placed it on my head. I giggled. "Are you too scared to wear pink?"

He shrugged. "Suits you more than me." He picked up his half of the cracker and handed it to me. "Show me what else I got."

I poured the remains out, reading the card first. "What do you call forty rabbits hopping backwards?"

"What?"

"A receding hareline." 

He snorted at the terrible joke. "Hopefully I'll be fine." He patted down his hair.

"You got it cut," I noted. It was cleaned up and the most tamed I had ever seen his hair. It was combed down in the front, stopping before his eyebrows, cut around his ears, and shiny.

"Yeah," he nodded, "got my local barber and all."

I chuckled and looked at the trinket in my hand: a mini deck of cards. I held it up to him and he asked, "Shall we play gin rummy with them?" 

I want January back. I want the car ride. I want the songs. I want those stupid guitar picks I made him for his birthday. I want to be the fun intelligent couple. I want it all back. It's mine. "Why'd you come here?" I asked.

He seemed confronted by this question like he didn't think I would have the nerve to ask it. I fidgeted and opened and closed his mouth several times, thinking of words to say. "I don't know. I missed you."

I only managed to say, "Okay."

"We're back on tour in February. It's more formal this time. A proper tour. We'll have breaks and downtime and—"

"Alex," I stopped him. My head was shaking, unable to process the thought. I was looking down at my hands, cold and chipped, looking for warmth. I thought of December last year when he gave me his gloves and had no qualms about being left with cold hands. Everything in me felt cold now and he made no effort to warm me and I couldn't blame him for it.

I could feel his eyes on me but I couldn't look at him. It was easy to picture his face, mouth downturned and eyes begging for relief. "It's not enough, is it?"

My voicebox died. I couldn't move myself to say anything despite thinking everything. 

"Do you want to go for a drive?" He asked me.

My head kept shaking. I didn't want to ruin that for us.

He laughed wetly. I could tell he was crying and the only way to prevent himself from caving in was to chortle. "Last time you rejected a car ride from me we didn't speak for months. I don't want to do that."

With my head still shaking and my eyes on my hands, I finally said, "We'll always be friends."

It was silent for a while and I began to sing "Silent Night" in my head to prevent myself from sobbing. Alex shifted, pulling away from me, he turned his head. I looked up to only see the back of it. He cleared his throat, tapped his foot, and in avoidance of my gaze said, "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

His eyes finally landed on mine. They were red and every bone in me was guilt-ridden. "Don't be. It's my fault for making things harder. I didn't mean to do it but I did and then I ignored it for too long."

"We both did things wrong. Young and stupid."

"I should've stayed in Tokyo."

"You couldn't have—"

"I could've. If I fought for it. It was over by that point anyway, right? Even if I had stayed and we saw that giant Buddha, things were too far gone?"

It hurt but I nodded.

He exhaled.

"I have to go," I announced. I wiped the remaining tears. "We're watching Bridget Jones's Diary."

Alex nodded. We stood up together and I walked him over to his car. He turned back with a smile, despite the blur in his eyes. "Have fun watching Hugh Grant," he teased. "I'll kill him if I have to."

I laughed but it wounded more than it amused. He got into his car and I watched him wrap his hands around the steering wheel. I walked back to my front door and looked back and his car was still there. I forced a smile to qualify me for Miss America and waved. He grinned, the best he could to not look like Cheshire Cat, and waved. Then, I went back inside and he drove away.

*

a/n: i don't have much to say. i'm a little mixed on this but i'll just leave it at that.

[amored-core-hotties]

ARMORED CORE SIX: WHO IS THE MOST BANGABLE NPC?

Hello, independent mercenaries. You are likely familiar with the arena ranking system. This will be a similar exercise.

Every mercenary in our database will be able to receive votes. Please vote on which mercenary is the hottest, most fuckable, and/or attractive pilot. Please share this survey so we can sample as many mercenaries as possible. ALLMIND looks forward to seeing your input. For more information:

There will be a list of all the named characters, each numbered. We will pick two numbers at random, at which point, you may vote on which you would most want in your bed. Here is the current list of candidates: 1. C-Pulse Wave Mutation Ayre 2. Handler Walter 3. "Cinder" Carla 4. "Chatty" Stick 5. "Invincible" Rummy 6. Nosaac 7. "Honest" Brute 8. "Father" Thumb Dolmayan 9. Index Dunham 10. "Uncle" Middle Flatwell 11. Ring Freddie 12. Rokumonsen 13. Gun One Michigan 14. Gun Two Nile 15. Gun Three Wu Hua Hai 16. Gun Four Volta 17. Gun Five "Mistake" Iguazu 18. Gun Six Red 19. V.I Freud 20. V.II Snail 21. V.III O'Keeffe 22. V.IV Rusty 23. V.V Hawkins 24. V.VI Maeterlink 25. V.VII Swinburne 26. V.VIII Pater 27. Augmented Human C4-621 "Raven" 28. Raven (Branch) 29. Raven's Operator 30. Chartreuse 31. King 32. Augmented Human C1-249 "Sulla" 33. Planetary Closure Administration Enforcement System 34. Kate Markson 35. Coldcall

We assure you that though you have not heard of the independent mercenary Kate Markson, she is very capable and quite attractive.

Please submit any individuals we may have missed.

The tournament will begin shortly.

[kivaember]

SITS UP AC6 AU IDEA: ROBOT WARS BUT WITH MTS.

Okay, tl'dr imagining there being a big fucking underground scene where people with souped up MTs brawl in an arena for prize money and fame. No guns are allowed, only melee weaponry, but there are so many loopholes and grey areas that it usually boils down to: did it look cool? Yes? Then it's allowed.

In this AU the Coral was successfully destroyed after the first Fires - or it has a much longer dormacy period that the PCA believed it to be completely destroyed, and drew down its presence on Rubicon to just an observation platform in orbit with a supporting fleet. It otherwise doesn't give a shit to what the Rubiconians do, so they're largely left alone on the surface.

But it's not necessarily a good thing for the Rubiconians. They haven't liberated their planet, as the PCA just have a distant ownership over it, but without any PCA bases on the surface their pickings are slim when it comes to raiding locations for needed supplies (as the climate is still thoroughly fucked and their attempts at establishing successful sources of food are slow going). With some of Flatwell's connections to some smugglers that come by Rubicon on occasion, Flatwell, Rusty and Ziyi end up going to Tau Ceti, where he knows they can make some cash and funnel back resources to Rubicon.

(The PCA allows this bc they know that the Rubiconians will just be able to survive at best, and they're not afraid to go down there and "prune" any efforts they make to step above that, but anyways)

tl;dr Rusty makes a name for himself as an MT Brawler of some skill, and is a fave to win on nearly every tournament he joins. All the money he makes though goes back home, and he only keeps that what he needs to maintain his MT and pay for food and board.

Then one day, after entering a tournament that had a big enough prize money to entice him into joining, he runs across a complete unknown: a pilot going by "621" who's sponsored by an old MT Brawler champion, Walter. Walter is a big name in the MT Brawling scene, but he retired bc of injury a few decades back, but he's made a comeback now with a 'protégé' of sorts, and after a long battle that's veeeeeeeeeery close, Rusty loses the fight to 621.

He's kinda sour about it, but mostly curious, bc 621 literally popped out of nowhere, and he's only heard about Walter in passing...

that's as far as my idea got but it's gripped me... just imagining MT Wars... the crazy souped up MTs people would build. So many chainsaws. Invincible Rummy would thrive there. Hmm, what kind of souped up MT would Rusty have though, that is the question...

[hplrules]

Neverwinter's Protector's Enclave, a place of law and order compared to the docks or river district: our story begins with a local Mob All player, the monk Zen Cobain, strolling to his morning meditation at the beach the day after his Golden Griffins won the tournament.

Enter the Griffin, Zen Cobain thinks back to his winning play as he travels the quiet morning streets to the dock. He reached the goal because he follows the Way of the Fist, but he used his Chi power to score, and a little heroic inspiration.

He always enjoys peace, wishing well upon all folks, but playing and winning for the Golden Griffins has make him unpopular with their rival, the Sea Wyverns. The new local competition is a civilized move away from arena fighting, but moving an oblong leather ball between goals turned out to be as violent as any other sport, and that's just during the game.

Zen travels through the Dock district, Sea Wyvern territory. His own team is made up of the city's crafters, and his woodworking trade puts him solidly in their company. His rivals are the dockworkers, sailors, and salty rogues of the harbor. There are some military and a few other trades that take up with them, but none of those are fine folks. Being a hero is always a matter of perspective, and to this angry rummy lout, the monk isn't at all welcome.

Zen drops his pulse with slow breaths, listening to the quiet dawn at the Broken Anchor Inn, which was almost silent but for this mugger. The rough man steps up with bravado and sneers, "A Griffin in the Wyvern docks", he taunts as recognition comes to his blazing eyes, "Are ye mad? That's yer last mistake, Sonny Jim!"

Zen bows his head and salutes, slowly lowering his staff out of sight, "I wish you peace." It was the only response to aggression that his sect, the Sun Temple, allowed to be spoken. He actually meant it, but this blighter paid no mind to his chance to walk away. With the threat still heavy in his voice, he chides, "You're a monk, eh? What's the style you'll be losing with today?"

After a moment of silence, the Griffin champion answers with a hint of good humor, "It's the art of fighting without fighting." The Wyvern player cackles derisively, "ah ha ha haaa...that just sounds like yer afraid t' fight meee!

Holding his salute in place, Zen Cobain affirms his blessing, "Peace to you."

Mohag the Wanderer, a solitary barbarian, feasts at the Broken Anchor Inn on Neverwinter's Dock District. On this fine morn, his plans are to sign on for work at the Porthaven Adventurer's Guild for a wagon escort job supplying Phandalin, a modest mining town forty miles south and east down the High Road to Leilon.

While stronger than most, faster than many, and tough as a bag of hammers, Mohag is a troubled soul driven mad with the loathing of his racial enemies, which are many and varied, but chiefly goblinoids, orcs, and giants. He attacks with the abandon and fury of a berserker, and then his strength matches his passion. Mohag is a Battle Rager, the unhinged type of spike-wearing wildman that only dwarves are capable of. This tavern is the last in this rough part of Neverwinter that serves him, his last chance to not use the furnishings as weapons, and he's gotten extremely primal of that as late. He just needs an excuse to go, and he'll go big enough for all of the Verbeeg giant-kin that leveled his village while he was delivering ore for his forge, dooming him to a life of mayhem and lust.

Mohag notices the mugging outside his window at the Broken Anchor, and picks a champion in it. He grumbles to himself, "Tha skinny lad is gonna get 'is arse handed to 'im by tha rummy mobber. He may shoulda slept in t'day, or stayed in bed all t'gether. Either way, I get a match wit' me meal, so it's lookin' a fine day." But even as he says as much against the wimp, there's something about him that compels Mohag to back him, an odd coolness that he's never witnessed and doesn't understand.

Nyx Ningle and Vanaer Larium are nightowl adventurers at the Broken Anchor Inn, closing down a long night of celebration of red wine and dark ale, a half-eaten spiced goose and baked yams on the platter between them. They're keeping watch on the burly mountain dwarf near the entrance who's made to sit apart from others for his rowdiness. The gnome rogue and half-elf ranger/cleric have travelled together locally for a couple seasons, and their team is about to expand.

Nyx casts her Mage Hand cantrip and leaves it visible, a "Mad Science" green, to get Vanaer's attention. Taking the cue, he quickly removes his cowl before she starts goofing with it. She admits in the influence of her cups, "My mentor left me last night when I told him about your Umbral Vision ability. Now he's off to be a Gloom Stalker and become unseen in darkness, and to gain Dark Vision himself." She took a last bit of dark meat and fed herself with the hand before raising it high.

Vanaer lifts his holy symbol as Nyx tests her balance without regret, and heartily exclaims "Selune's mystical glow, that's amazing! Aye, being a halfling, Hatchwork doesn't have that naturally, and there's very few creatures in the world that can see us by other means... Say, have you considered branching out to something a little more academic? You'd be a fine mage, and then we'd have it all covered: my bow and healing, your skills and arcane!" The half-elf knew his plan was the only one for his brilliant friend, as Nyx was running wild with the powers she'd been gaining since he'd met her.

"Aye," Nyx answers candidly, "it's something I've always been drawn to, but there's another path to magic that suits me. It's much closer to what I already do, right in line with my style. And there's no better time for it than now, while I'm still young and beautiful." She watches her partner blush at her closing, knowing that her sharp sylvan features had captured his interest.

Vanaer relaxes as her mischievous spell cancels, then wonders how dangerous she'll become with a full spell book in hand. It had been a wild theater of cardsharping for their expenses through the autumn festivals these last couple tendays of Lowsun, and he'd enjoyed the chance to protect his darling fey muse each night.

Just then, out on the street, the Wyvern mobber takes a swing at Zen Cobain, "I'll have a piece of you!" As the thug steps in, the monk channels his Chi power into a Flurry of Blows, gaining an extra attack, and swings his staff up and forward in a smooth arc as he steps to the left and away from the punch. He catches his attacker in the groin with the staff and punches his face in a vertical long fist. Wasting no time, the interception continues.

Zen spins his staff down and to the left, checking the man's right arm at the elbow and pulling him forward unbalanced as the monk switches his stance to the right, palm striking with his left to his opponent's jaw with the start of an energy vocalization, "KI..."

"YAH!!!" Stepping in with a crescent motion, Zen brings his left hand to his weapon and whips the back of it over in a fast arc, crashing down on the man's head, knocking him prone and pained.

The Griffin collects himself as the Wyvern sprawls on the cobblestones. "Without fighting?" he groans low, "you fought."

"Yes... but you didn't", Zen replies calmly as his opponent blacks out.

Zen is quickly surrounded by Wyvern players, one coming across from the butchery with his cleaver in hand! With him is a pirate, certainly no surprise to this fel and motley crew. A drunken rake finishes his bottle and breaks it, and a huge squire in a gambeson coat draws his sword. The Griffin considers the serious techniques he'll need to stop them all as he steps clear of his first opponent's body with flowing cranelike movements, surveying the threat of this deadly dual.

Inside the Broken Anchor, Mohag watches from his table, and his ire is stirred by the wicked mobbing.

Seeing the crowd mobbing the lone monk enrages the barbarian, who keeps a strong code of honor despite his wildness. Downing his ale horn in two heartbeats, he rushes outside to join the fight armed with a fat drumstick.

Mohag bursts out of the entry, swinging with all his raging might at the rake, smashing the meaty leg across his face! It doesn't break, luckily enough, but the bone is the only part left as the meat flies away to some lucky wharf rat.

Zen hears a rapier being drawn behind him and the crunch of heavy boots just past that. As the big squire advances and steps awkwardly onto the arm of his fellow, the monk spins backward to the two opponents behind him.

Mohag takes no notice of the condition of his weapon as he pummels his opponent, ending his wind and a couple of ribs with a punch to the belly, his arm spikes doing further damage as he follows up with a savaging rip.

The squire stumbles forward over the thug's arm, too late and well out of range as Zen spins away, and the pirate misses as well with his backstabbing lunge. The monk catches the butcher with a staff strike to his neck, stunning him, and the man falls to his knees.

Mohag hooks the rake's arm with his drumstick bone and grabs his belt buckle with his left, then steps into a throw and the man is flung at the squire. The big man turns in time for the impact, but is clobbered by it anyway.

Zen kicks the butcher to the curb, and he tumbles away as the monk also strikes at the pirate. That opponent is a better match, and deftly parries the staff with his rapier.

Nyx and Vanaer rouse to their feet as Mohag shouts and storms outside. The trickster sets her empty goblet down with a hop to the floor, and draws her crossbow from over her back. With the normal use of her Mage Hand Legedermain cantrip, a bolt flies into place from her quarrel by the unseen force, nocks itself, and the weapon draws ready. The ranger stows his holy symbol while replacing his hood. They hear a melee now, the distinctive knock and ring of wood on steel and the loud thumping of big fists.

Mohag the Wanderer assaults the big squire with berserk fury, clubbing his jaw with the bone. The melee becomes a fist fight as the squire drops his sword and they exchange a few mighty blows, but nothing slows the raging dwarf who lives for battle.

Zen Cobain finds a greater challenge with the pirate than he's known in a long while, and the cutthroat's blade commands respect as his footwork keeps him in the duel. They dance to a deadly tune.

Nyx and Vanaer enter the scene as the melee closes with Mohag crushing the squire as he insults the big man, his hot fury now a growling temper. Zen has out-dueled and disarmed his opponent. The pirate runs off to get help.

The rogue is shocked by how quickly the fight resolved as she and the ranger rushed outside, and speaks quickly without an introduction, "Well fought, fellows, but you mustn't overstay this. I can help you get away before they return with too many more. Shall we fly before the rest of them show?"

Having no options, the new party takes Nyx's lead through backstreets and allies that the others have never used, avoiding attention by anyone but a few homeless tramps, waifs, and urchins. Nyx pays each a copper for their silence, should they be questioned later, but she's also popular here.

The four travel together, giving brief respects. "I'm Nyx Ningle, a finder of wondrous antiquities, and this quiet fellow is Vanaer Larium, a gob hunter and priest of Selune, the Moon Goddess," she reports, starting their conservation.

"Well met, all," the half-elf gives the common greeting.

"I am Zen Cobain of the Sun Soul Temple," the monk replies with a respectful nod to them.

"Call me Mohag," the barbarian offers gruffly, recovering himself from his battle fury.

They save any more talk until they arrive at a rustic inn on the outskirts of Neverwinter, far to the east of the waking metropolis.

The party winds through nearly all of Neverwinter until they reach a welcoming business, the wind bringing pine and the clang of a dropped teapot from the kitchen. "This is it, lads," Nyx reports happily, "sounds like the cook is hung over again." She laughs merrily, adding to the charm of this rural sanctuary. "I think you'll like the Woodsman Lodge, my favorite escape, far from the bothers and cares that found us today. We'll cool our heels a bit and have some tea, though half of you will want their..."

"Red ale!" shouts Vanaer, giving a thumbs up as he interrupts from behind them. Mohag chuckles and turns back to wink his agreement. They laugh with the start of their brotherhood, feeling that a great connection is at hand.

Zen listens to every creature, drinking in the rural morning tranquility as a smile overtakes him. This is his kind of day shaping up.

The four adventurers go inside and greet the cook, who's up before the innkeeper. He's baking bread, and the smell of it finishing fills the place with a natural magic. Only the tea is ready now, and Zen and Nyx each get a cup, hers with fresh cream and honey.

The monk politely insists on using an old wooden bowl from his pack, and the trickster wonders what is so special about it. Could it be enchanted with purification properties? Her eyes note the chip in its brim, damage that doesn't usually happen to most enhanced items. Maybe it's an heirloom... She concentrates on sensing its magic.

While they're waiting for their ales, Vanaer follows Mohag to the hearth where a crackling fire is blazing. He draws forth his holy symbol to Selune, and shows it to his slightly battered companion. It's a black field with the white outline of mystical eyes orbited by seven stars, which begin to glow with a pale silvery blue light as the clerical healing spell is cast by a short prayer to the Moon Goddess.

The divine illumination dances across dwarven chainmail, healing the bruised ribs underneath, and Mohag exhales loudly with relief. He's only had divine healing a few times, and so long ago that he'd forgotten the wonder of it.

Zen watches it with total approval, his soul warmed by the goodwill of such a healing without any charge of payment. This is a good and humble fellow, he realizes.

The ale arrives with a cold drumstick, as requested, and Mohag wastes no time in getting the first couple of bites. "Thanks to you and your moon mistress, Van Ear," he misses on the half-elf's tricky name. "Any dwarf will take a healing, but no other magics, if ye get me."

Vanaer, pronounced Van-air, gracefully responds in Dwarvish, "I've little else and none of it arcane, so no worries, my friend."

Mohag's eyes fly open wide with shock, "you speak me people's tongue, a rare thing indeed! We'll travel well together. It'll be a treat to have me best insults understood." He raises his tankard in salute and takes a large swallow before continuing. "There's a wagon escort job south to a mining town I'm signing onto today, could use yer help. I've worn out me welcome 'ere anyway." He sets into his meal intent on finishing this one, which is far better without the fishy smell of the harbor ruining his day.

Vanaer also feels at ease being in the outlands, and slaps his bow to his cloak in a ranger's salute of agreement to the offer. "You might call me Van Lar, if you like."

"Vanlar, aye," the barbarian agrees through a mouthful of roasted meat, crunching the names together.

Zen and Nyx overhear the job offer and nod an agreement to it. The shaggy monk takes the initiative, "I'll return to my order to collect my trade gear and give my farewells. I have little in the world, but I shouldn't leave without notice."

Nyx's response comes almost as a fencing riposte, "I'm just the reverse, keep my gear with me and never owe any goodbyes." Her eyes light up with mischief in this idle moment. It's time to test this man and see if she can beat him at her game.

Nyx deftly lifts the monk sash from his belt while he drinks, then holds it waiting as he quickly notices, alarmed that she got past his keen alertness.

[bbgogame]

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[jioptret]

Rummy Goes Digital

You’ve touched on something really interesting! Rummy’s digital evolution is a fantastic example of how technology is reshaping traditional games. For a detailed breakdown, this article https://lyncconf.com/online-development-of-traditional-indian-card-games/ USA is a must-read. It explains how developers are translating the rules and strategies of Rummy into a seamless online format while enhancing the user experience with intuitive interfaces. The article also discusses how online platforms are creating space for global tournaments and social features, making the game even more engaging. Plus, it dives into the technical side, like ensuring fair play through sophisticated algorithms. Whether you’re a fan of Rummy or just curious about the digital adaptation process, this article offers a lot of great insights!

[ghoulangerlee]

so I think, in the spirit of it all, one of my absolute favorite memories of my mom has always been the long running game nights we'd have.

like my mom only really had a hand dealt in when we played cards maybe 3 or 4 times over the several years we did game nights, but my sister and I used to play rummy a lot, and as a kid, that game was always hard for me.

Cause we played with the hard rules which was no matching numbers, we had to only play runs. And we wouldn't just play 1 game, we'd play until someone got 1000 points.

And well, I was very bad at the game and my sister would always win, but like, one of the times, my mom, who had been watching a movie or something, leaned over and looked at my cards and told me which cards to play and what to do when it was my turn.

She ended up playing a hand or two for me too, showing me what cards to pick, how to pay attention to the cards being discarded, all the tips and tricks I needed to actually make a difference.

And I didn't win the tournament or anything, but I did get at least 30 more points than I usually would have 😂

In a similar vein, my sister and I used to record concerts that would air on tv (not pay per view, just regular cable tv) and my mom didn't really understand or get the hype for NSYNC or Backstreet Boys, but she'd sit there and watch them with us, sometimes we'd hear her singing the songs and it was just so nice.

We had at least eight different concerts recorded, the NSYNC Christmas one that aired on the Disney Channel was my favorite to be honest, cause that memory came wrapped with Mom's special red and green sugar cookies and hot chocolate too.

The patience and kindness and all around love that she exuded was just...so much. I know I wasn't an easy kid and I wasn't an easy teenager but she never once treated me as anything but her kid to love. When she passed, there was a hole and there still is a hole, even 13 years later. There's so much that I wish I could show her, there's so many people I wish she could meet. I miss her so fucking much it's painful.

But, I hold on to the fond memories, the ones where she was laughing and smiling and happy. I hold those so close to my heart. I don't much believe in heaven anymore but if anyone deserves to go there it was her.

[rummynabobz]

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[rummyappwala]

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[bestrummygameapp]

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Tips for Mastering the Best Rummy Game on Hukum Ka Ikka

To truly enjoy and excel at rummy on Hukum Ka Ikka, keep these tips in mind:

Learn the Rules: Before diving into a game, make sure you understand the rules of the rummy variant you're playing. This will help you make informed decisions during gameplay.

Practice Regularly: Like any other skill-based game, practice is key to improving your rummy skills. Play regularly to familiarize yourself with different strategies and tactics.

Observe Opponents: Pay attention to the moves of your opponents. Understanding their strategies can give you an edge and help you anticipate their next moves.

Manage Your Bankroll: Set a budget for your gaming sessions and stick to it. This will help you play responsibly and enjoy the game without financial stress.

Conclusion

Hukum Ka Ikka offers the best rummy game experience online, combining a user-friendly platform, a variety of game formats, and a secure gaming environment. Whether you're in it for the thrill of competition or the joy of strategic gameplay, Hukum Ka Ikka provides everything you need to enjoy rummy to the fullest. Sign up today, and discover why Hukum Ka Ikka is the go-to platform for rummy enthusiasts around the world.