#YOUR HONOUR HE COULD BE ONE OF THE CUSTOMERS AT THE WEAPON SHOP

[lostbizkits]

too late I’m already dreaming of a raid oh definitive edition

at the summer festival in persona 3 the lucky draw vendor is giving away copies of raidou kuzunoha vs the soulless army

[1000scrubs]

Round 1: Corporeal Dread

Writer Corporeal Dread’s entry for the initial prompts from 2 years ago

Nyfah scowled at the blinking light on her instrument cluster. She knew her calculations had been correct, but something was wrong. Her fuel was running out much faster than predicted, something had to be done to fix it, and it had to be done now. Sighing heavily she stood and made her way to the storage bay and began dragging her remaining provisions and weapons onto the bridge. 

After shoving as many crates as possible into the much smaller room she sealed the doors between the two areas, then, cursing quietly to herself, punched a button on the wall. She flinched as a loud siren began sounding, and the ship began to tremble violently. As the storage bay sheared away from the ship the screeching of metal grinding against metal melded into the cacophony of the blaring siren. Ears ringing, she desperately tried to shut it off. Pressing button after button, and typing commands into the ship’s interface yielded no results, until finally she ripped open a panel in the wall and sliced the cable providing power to the siren. 

Tensely Nyfah returned to her captain’s chair, as she sat, she turned her full attention to the radar and infrared sensor. It showed nothing but a dull blinking light of the storage bay falling away as the ship sped on. She watched as the light slowly disappeared, the abandoned piece of hull no longer in range. She waited another hour, monitoring the fuel gauge to determine if the reduced weight had worked. It seemed she was safe for now, and without the storage bay she would make it to Portunus.

——-

“LHY-825 requesting clearance to dock”. Nyfah’s voice sounded cracked and hoarse after hours of silence. 

The responding voice was cold and bureaucratic,“Noted LHY-825, please wait for confirmation.” 

Portunus was a small planet in one of the spiral “arms” of its galaxy located in the Virgo Supercluster, it was mainly used as a tourist destination and metropolitan hub. The entire outer surface had been converted into docking bays and landing ports, but beneath that, there was an entire multi-level subterranean city that held markets run by all sorts, from every corner of the known universe.The planet was usually visited by billions daily; however that number had dipped recently due to rumours of attacks and violence emerging from the lower levels of the planet. As a result there had been an increase in galactic enforcers and their patrol routes both on and around the planet, to ensure safety for the vendors and tourists. Nyfah knew she would have to be discreet so as to not get caught.

“LHY-825 you are cleared for landing, please proceed to bay 2593.” 

“LHY-825, proceeding to bay 2593.” She put down her transmitter and coasted the ship to her assigned landing bay. As the traction beam began pulling the ship in, she shut off its engines. 

Once her ship had come to a stop she changed into a delivery service uniform. She stretched as she disembarked stiff from sitting for so long then assessed the damage to the ship’s exterior. She breathed a sigh of relief, counting herself lucky that there was only minor external damage where the storage bay had been removed, and that she wouldn’t need to repair it right away. 

Nyfah inspected the fuel tank for external damage, and was annoyed to find an intermittent stream of liquid dripping out of a small bullet hole. She thought she had managed to bypass the galactic enforcer’s checkpoint without incurring damage by doing it in hyperspace, but it would appear otherwise. Knowing it would draw suspicion she glanced around casually, stepped in front of it, jabbed her knife into the hole and wiggled it back and forth.

Once the damage had been sufficiently disguised Nyfah ordered a quick-patch and a fuel refill, then picked up a small crate she had brought from the ship and stepped onto an elevator to the markets. 

——-

After a few moments in the dim elevator, playing quiet relaxing music, the doors slid open and a disorienting wave of noise, colour, and bright lights washed over Nyfah. In every direction neon signs flashed obnoxiously, many of the shop exteriors were overly adorned, trying to attract the highest number of customers possible. 

In all directions vendors shouted; advertising their wares, each trying to outsell the other. In addition to the ambient noise of the tourists shouting to each other to be heard over the vendors, Nyfah could barely hear herself think.

Groups in bizarre outfits bustled around the large open area excitedly motioning to each other. Most of them wore rich, vibrant, expensive fabrics and extravagant jewelry, likely rich tourists ready to spend their wealth. They contrasted harshly with who Nyfah figured were the planet’s inhabitants, visiting from the lower levels. The inhabitants were sparse compared to the densely packed tourists, and wore cheap plain materials in earthy tones.

The Portunians worked mainly to ensure the higher levels were functioning at their best for the tourists, and it was very rare for them to own any of the shops. The people were paid little and taxed by the number of inhabitants per level, causing them to live in perpetual poverty. 

Most of the shop owners had come to Portunus already very wealthy as the shops were also heavily taxed by the planetary government,in addition to the exorbitant annual lease fees. 

It was unlike any environment she had ever experienced before. She hated it, but she knew she was practically invisible here, she sighed feeling conflicted.

The areas around the elevators were large and cavernous. The walls looked like rough stone and dirt at first, but they were coated in a semi-shiny substance, most likely to strengthen them. The coating didn’t help with the awful lights. Tunnels lead off in other directions creating a honeycomb like shape, they were tall and wide and they all led to areas similar to the one side was in, making the markets very hard to navigate. 

Nyfah stepped out of the lift and shook off her stupor. She pulled up directions on her augmented retinal display (ARD) and began making her way through the crowds and kiosks.

Finally she found the shop she was looking for, it had a larger storefront than most of the other permanent shops and had a giant pink neon sign presenting its name, through the window she saw an array of garments, and all manner of showcases with figurines and other decorative artifacts. She stepped under the awning and made her way to the back of the store to the service counter.

She placed the crate on the desk, and said hesitantly “Hello, I’m looking for...Halsir.”

The tall, pink woman behind the counter turned around defensively. “Who’s asking?” 

“I have a rush delivery, the name on the order is Halsir”

Before Nyfah had even finished her sentence the woman was beaming and bouncing on her feet.

“Oh, you’re early! My sweet boy, he’s finally here! I’ve been beside myself” She squealed.

Nyfah, carefully pried the lid off the crate and stepped back.

Halsir gingerly lowered her hands into the box and lifted out a furry creature, it had a long slim neck and limbs, with bird-like feet, and a feline face.

“Hello sweetheart, how was the ride?” 

The creature chittered at the woman, and she turned a concerned gaze on Nyfah.

“He said there was a loud noise that scared him, I hope that you didn’t run into any trouble on the way here!”

Nyfah frowned at the tattletale pet “No ma’am. I had a minor mechanical issue and there was an alarm, it didn’t ring for long.”

The woman’s jovial smile returned to her face and she placed the creature onto the counter. “Wonderful dear, here you are.”

She tossed a small flat square into Nyfah’s outstretched hand and began retreating to the back room.

Nyfah stared at it, her arm still extended. “What am I supposed to do with this?” She asked incredulously “I require the second half of my payment! We agreed half up front and half upon delivery, I’ve kept my end of the deal!”

Halsir turned and smiled at her “Believe me dear, what you’ll find on that is worth much more than I could pay you”

Nyfah rolled her eyes “If it’s worth that much why are you giving it to me instead of what we agreed on?”

“Because!” Halsir walked back over, “I’m far too old and delicate to go treasure hunting. I was given good intel that this treasure is a grail, but none of my customers will buy the map! Anyone who is able to recover the goods will go down in history as the all-time best treasure hunter to ever live, the greatest honour and glory. Also to be honest with you I thought you were just a small-time smuggler, but I saw a poster just the other day and your bounty is quite high. I figured if you were able to find the treasure you could pay off the right people. I needed to get my sweet baby angel…”

Honour and glory? Nyfah’s eyes widened, she had been trying to make a name for herself for years. She was one of the best smugglers in the business; but being a smuggler meant staying under the radar. She wanted to be somebody. Rich, envied, maybe even mystic in reputation. This was an opportunity that could lead to all of that! If it was real…

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nyfah interrupted, “what is this so-called treasure, and how can you guarantee that it is what you say it is and that it will be there?”

“I got the intel from my supplier. He has never lied to me; I know I can trust him. As for what it is, it is an ancient relic said to depict a god so old no-one alive knows the religion it belonged to. Depictions of it were found in some ancient writings though” Halsir paused, trying to remember something.

Nyfah frowned, this whole thing could be some kind of trick.

“I’m going to need collateral” she finally responded, not realizing that Halsir had resumed talking. 

“I understand dear, you mysterious types aren’t very trusting. I’ll just pay you the second half of your fee” 

‘Mysterious types’ Nyfah thought smiling slightly, she paused, “all right, if I do find this treasure, I’ll come back and pay you a finders fee. If it isn’t, you’ll know your supplier is full of it.” 

“Deal.” Halsir handed the outstanding balance to Nyfah. “Good luck my dear.”

“Thanks, maybe I’ll see you later.” Nyfah called back, grinning, as she exited the shop.

——-

Nyfah held the square up to the light as she began the walk back to her ship. The tech was old, almost outdated, but her ship’s interface would be able to read it. As she slipped it into her pocket mulling over where it would lead, she bumped into someone, almost losing her balance.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She glanced up and felt her heart drop when she saw the enforcers patch.

“Stop right there. Show me your identification.” The enforcer’s voice was harsh.

Nyfah pulled out a fake ID and handed it over.

The two enforcers scanned it and one of them handed it back.

“Watch where you’re going. Don’t move.”

“Thank you” Nyfah took her ID and shoved it into her clothes.

She stood motionless, watching the enforcers as they discussed her retrieved data for any indication of suspicion. She noticed a group of tourists walking towards her; as they got close she stealthily swapped hats with one of them and flipped her jacket inside out. What had looked like a delivery uniform on one side became a dusty brown cape reaching almost to her knees, with a large hood. She slid the hood over her head and joined with the tourists, matching their pace and behaviour. She heard the enforcers start to shout to each other and the people around them. They were attempting to stop people in clothing similar to her delivery uniform — luckily they hadn’t seen where she had gone. As the group around her started to stop and turn around, her heart racing, Nyfah began speed walking, following her ARD back to her ship.

She broke out into a run as she turned a corner and got halfway to her ship when she came upon another group of enforcers. As she ran past she heard them say something about a suspicious delivery person. 

Good, she thought. Her disguise was holding. 

“You there!Slow down!” One of the enforcers yelled after her.

Nyfah slipped her hand over the handle of a baton she had hidden in her cloak.

“Yes sir!” She shouted back, and shifted back to a fast walking pace.

She glanced back to see they had returned to their conversation.

She managed to get back to the elevator without getting in any more trouble and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed and the lift began ascending.

——-

Nyfah felt the dread creep back up her spine as she stepped out of the elevator. An enforcer was inspecting her ship as another stood guard. They must have matched her uniform and description with the security feed to find her ship. She had to find a way to sneak on board.

Calmly walking past her ship, Nyfah set her sights on another craft in the same bay. It was small, barely held together by assembled bits of scrap, and after easily circumventing the door lock she crept quietly inside. She furrowed her brow in disappointment upon finding that the interface was extremely simple and limited; it would not be able to read the chip from Halsir. It was what she had expected from the dilapidated exterior of the ship, but it could still be useful. 

She connected a remote control device to the interface and exited the ship, ensuring to re-secure the door lock. She once again walked past her ship, this time heading back to the elevator, but ducked behind a wall before reaching it. Using her ARD Nyfah powered up the engines of the run-down ship. Once she heard the sound of the door being rammed by the enforcers she made a break for her ship. Once onboard she plopped into her captain's chair and fired her engines at full burn. 

She increased the thrusters and felt the ship lurch and pitch as it tried to get airborne, then it began pulling away from the landing bay. 

“LHY-825 you are not cleared for takeoff! I repeat you are not cleared for takeoff! Land your ship immediately!” The ship’s speakers crackled as though they were trying to properly relay the anger she could hear in the orders.

She smirked and cut communication, there was no way she was following that command.

Narrowly dodging the carefully organized chaos of incoming and outgoing vessels, Nyfah heard Portunus’ emergency response siren start and saw enforcer cruisers closing in on her. Far ahead she saw the Planetary Defense Shields starting to close. Seeing the other ships trying to get out of the way, Nyfah slammed her thrusters to full. Her ship heaved violently and she felt an intense pressure pinning her into her seat. 

The pressure worsened as she careened toward the atmosphere, and as she approached the Defense shield she felt the pressure blossom into pain. It felt as though she may explode, fighting with all her might she lifted her arm to the thruster and pulled it back. As her ship slowed the pressure lightened, and what had been immense pain reduced to a dull ache. She had cleared the shield and was leaving the atmosphere, there was hope yet.

——-

Nyfah had managed to escape into open space, however several of the galactic enforcer cruisers pursuing had managed to get through as well. Luckily they were far behind her as they had not used her aggressive flying tactics. Now that she was free of the atmosphere she redeployed the thrusters to full. 

She took the opportunity to plug the treasure map chip into her ship, then linked up her ARD. A holo map popped up, showing her current location and that of the treasure. She studied the map closely. The ‘god relic’ was in the same galaxy, on a planet close to the centre. It was going to take a while to get there, even travelling through hyperspace. A flashing light accompanied by a steady beeping pulled Nyfah out of her thoughts; someone was trying to hail her on the open communication channel.

She pushed a button to receive the transmission and was greeted by a stern voice “-no authorization for take-off, stop your ship immediately for boarding.”

Nyfah weighed her options before deciding that her best course of action was to enter hyperspace. The galactic enforcers would not be able to follow her without coordinates, they could try to follow her trajectory, but they would have no idea of where she was going or why so none of their estimations would be helpful.

Nyfah smirked as she prepped and engaged the hyperdrive. Once she entered hyperspace, she decided to pull up any relevant information on her destination planet. It was nearly 25,000 light years away from Portunus, and had once been inhabited by a small population of the human species who had tried to prepare it for permanent habitation; however they had withdrawn for an unknown reason. It had been devoid of life ever since. She would not be able to breathe it’s atmosphere, so she made sure she had an exploration suit ready.

The planet was named QRNS-3858, but had been affectionately nicknamed Quirinus by the humans. It had mostly a rocky surface with some large areas of liquid water. It looked like she would be landing at one of the abandoned human colonies.

It had been a millennia since there had been reports of human contact, as they had taken to disguising themselves as other species when on their own and there were rumours that they had hidden civilizations across the universe, but did not like interacting with others. Either way it was unlikely she would run into one.

Nyfah settled in for the long journey ahead.

——-

As she came out of hyperspace she was alarmed to see everything around her ship slowly moving away from her. After a few moments it seemed to have stopped, but she realized that it was because her ship was now a part of whatever was happening. She was slowly being pulled into the direction of Quirinus. As she cautiously increased her speed, Nyfah felt her skin tingling with apprehension.

Suddenly she noticed a thin golden bloom in the distance that was rapidly expanding into a plume. Confused, Nyfah turned on all of her scanners. She felt her blood run cold as she realized that beyond Quirinus at the centre of the galaxy was a supermassive black hole. What had become a glittering cloud in the light of the nearby stars could only be a quasar, a large amount of space dust escaping the huge black hole.

It had now become a race; Nyfah had to get to Quirinus before what had quickly become a massive wave of space dust got to her. To make matters worse, the strange pull she had observed earlier was now seemingly trying to push her away. Gritting her teeth Nyfah diverted all of her power to her engines and maxed her throttle to get her to top speed.

Her ship began to rattle and shake as she approached the huge wave. She was only a few minutes away from reaching Quirinus’ atmosphere, but she wasn’t sure she was going to make it. The wave had spread so that she could no longer see the inky blackness of space. As the dust enveloped the planet, she began to doubt if landing would be any safer than being where she was now. Soon the dust began hitting her ship and, cursing, Nyfah quickly diverted some power to her shields. Silent warnings and flashing lights began popping up, and she knew her ship wouldn’t be able to last much more of the beating it was receiving. Her shields were failing when she made it to the atmosphere, but she had made it. She greatly reduced her speed as she approached the planet’s surface.

Nyfah pulled up the map again, and followed the location tag to colony 4. She landed her ship and pulled on her exploration suit. She began disembarking and grunting with effort,  heaved the exterior door open. Little bits of debris that had been trapped in the seams of the door clattered to the ground, bouncing off her helmet and shoulders as she stepped out. Checking the damage; she found all of the paint was stripped clean off, and there were gouges where larger rocks had cleaved into the ship. She shivered considering what would have happened if she had been in the storm a few minutes longer. There were scorch marks covering most of the surface, and the damage was especially bad around the area where she had removed the storage bay. She would probably be able to leave Quirinus without any major issues, but it was going to take some work.

She looked up to see the dust storm had created a fiery rain as everything entering the atmosphere burned up. Luckily most of it was completely incinerated before reaching the ground, but every now and then a palm sized rock would smack into the ground. Nyfah began her search wary of the celestial menacing.

——-

Several dwellings later, to her excitement, Nyfah came across a large locked box that matched the image on the holo-map. She broke the lock and pried open the box.

She felt adrenaline surge through her like electricity as she reached in and pulled out the relic. It was beautiful, intricate and delicate looking. She was surprised it had lasted this long. It appeared to be a small statuette depicting a red haired warrior holding a jewelled sword, resting in its sheath, at his right hip. His short hair, blue headscarf and tattered red lined cape billowed in an invisible wind. Glittering blue armour rested on top of a blue and white tunic with gold adornments. He stood atop what looked like a golden coin in red and brown boots, blue knee armour adorning wide, flared white boot coverings. A small clear cube encased the relic attached to a stiff paper backing with an enlarged picture of the little god on a background of green.

In the top right was an intricate symbol, one of the characters matching the symbol on the coin the god was standing on except it was on fire. The bottom right hand corner had a friendly looking symbol with three brightly coloured squares on each side. In a darker green than the background beneath the picture of the warrior there were three large characters, most likely depicting his name, R O Y.

Nyfah wasn’t sure what it said, but she would be able to cross reference it with the writings Halsir had mentioned. She made her way back to her ship in a state of bliss, she had found the treasure.

——-

Who: An alien being pursued by the government What: looking for a Roy amiibo waiting to be opened When: in an impending tsunami zone/area Where: in the first inhabitable planet outside this solar system Why: for the fame and glory

[lu-undy]

Chapter 9 - SBT

Here it is! And thanks for those who leave comments and appreciate my scribbles :D !

Lucien’s next destination was the tailor. He needed to fill his wardrobe, but not only that, he also needed to get his first contact with the man. He was on the list of the people he should visit to fully understand where he was. 

The Frenchman went back to the hotel to get his car. The tailor was quite further away. As soon as he arrived, he went straight to the reception.

“Mister L, how can I help Sir?”

“I will need my car ready in a few minutes. Would that be possible?” He left one key on the counter.

“Of course, Sir. Anything else?”

“Non, that will be all. I will be waiting in the lounge.”

“Understood.”

Lucien waited on a sofa, a glass of water in his hand. He tried to remember the content of the file as regards the tailor. He used to be based in France but had asked to move away and his heart had set to Australia. 

“Hm.”

Australia was as far as one could get from France. There weren’t a lot of places further away from home. He looked outside the hotel’s front window and could see a bright blue sky and the sun shining beautifully. It almost seemed as though he was on a different planet. One where he was clean shaven again, dressed in a suit, and off to be what defined him the most, a spy. He smiled to himself in that bittersweet feeling. He felt decades younger for a fleeting moment.

“Uh, sir?”

Lucien recognised the shy voice.

“Oui, Bastien, right?” He asked and the young man nodded timidly, his head lowered down.

“Your car’s ready, Sir.”

“You can call me L.”

“Thanks, Sir.”

“Thank you.” Lucien answered and stood up, heading for the door.

“Uh, Mister L, Sir?”

Lucien turned.

“Oui?”

Bastian was staring at his feet and the Frenchman took it for shyness.

“Uhm, thank you, Sir.”

Now Lucien understood. Bastian was staring at his new shoes.

“My pleasure. See you later.”

They courteously bowed to each other before the Frenchman exited the hotel and hopped on his car. 

“Bien, allons-y.”

[Right, let’s go.]

He placed the map on the passenger’s seat next to him and put on a pair of sunglasses. Lucien drove while glancing at it from time to time. Soon enough, he found himself in the right street and was lucky enough to find a slot to park the Panthera. He exited his car and entered the tailor's. 

"Bonjour, good Sir. How may I help?"

A man impeccably dressed himself came to welcome the Frenchman. He was about Lucien's height but quite older as his equally neat white moustache showed. Judging by his spot on pronunciation of "Bonjour", Lucien confirmed that he was indeed French too. 

"Bonjour, Monsieur. I would need a word with you. My request is rather unusual." Lucien answered. 

"But of course, Sir." The tailor moved behind his counter and invited Lucien to follow.

"Your name?" He asked as he looked down at a notebook behind his counter.

"L." 

The tailor looked around. A few apprentices worked with him. He sent them to the workshop behind the shop and went to the door. 

"Pray take a seat." 

Lucien went to one of the leather armchairs and sat down. He watched as the tailor flipped the sign on his front door from "open" to "closed" and locked the door. Eventually, he released the curtains and to whoever passed by in the streets, it seemed as though the shop was closed. 

"Bien, we may talk now and please feel as free as you would in Paris." The tailor finally broke the silence and sat on the armchair opposite his client. "My name is Richard. I am honoured to meet you, L." 

Hands were shaken. 

"So am I. You knew I was coming?" 

"I have received communication from Paris, oui." 

"News travel fast." Lucien answered. 

"They do indeed. But tell me, how may I help you?" 

"I have come to get to know you and your trade. But before you explain it to me, do you mind if I smoke?"

"Non, please by all means."

Lucien nodded and offered a cigarette to his colleague who politely refused. 

"I have stopped smoking ages ago. My wife you see, she made me see reason." 

Lucien smiled. 

"I am sorry for you then, Richard." 

The older man smiled softly. 

"Don't be. She's the best thing that happened to me in my life. But I can tell by your smirk that you haven't met yours yet."

"The description that you make of your wife is touching. But indeed I haven't met a woman who fits this description yet." 

"And yet your reputation tells me that you have met quite a few, non?"

Lucien chuckled. 

"Quite a few, oui. But let us come back to the point." 

"Oh, of course. My trade? Well, I sell high quality, custom designed and custom made suits. Uhm, do you mind standing up for an instant…?"

Lucien put the cigarette between his lips and obliged. The expert tailor had a close look at the Frenchman's suit. His fingers carefully ran on the sewing lines, the shoulders, the buttons and the pockets. 

"Ah, you had Jean-Marc do this suit, non?"

Lucien opened wide eyes. 

"I did indeed, how could you tell without looking at the-"

"I know a thing or two about suits. This is very classic, almost strict design. The sewing lines are tense. This is Jean-Marc, there is no mistaking it. Also, this is very uhm, French. I guess you have arrived recently…?"

"Indeed, I have." 

"Tell you what. I'll tell you more about the house while I get busy, alright?" Richard suggested and before Lucien could argue, the tailor clapped his hands and his apprentices came in the room. They guided the spy on the side. There was a stage there, a few steps to climb on it and three large mirrors surrounding it. 

"Now, les enfants, allons-y!"

[Kids, let's go!]

Lucien watched as they removed his jacket and started taking measurements. 

"Feel free to speak in front of them as you would in front of me. They are my sons." 

"Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, young men." 

Both nodded but remained silent. 

"While we make this new suit for you, allow me to discuss our business further. The front shop is a tailor and that is my first job. However, clothes are not the only things I sell. You will find a variety of… Well… equipment in my shop."

"What kind?" Lucien asked as Richard's sons walked around him and took more measurements.

"Weapons and accessories you might find useful. Of course, my suits can offer possibilities of storage for such equipment." 

"I see. So, should I need to prepare for some more frontal encounters, I should visit you first?" Lucien asked. 

"Exactly." Richard answered. "But that is not all."

Lucien's eyebrows rose as Richard's sons put the spy's jacket back on his shoulders and showed the measurements they had taken to their father. The tailor inspected the notes scribbled by his son closer. 

"Hm… I understand your reputation." He said. "Your proportions are worthy of a model!" 

Lucien smirked proudly and adjusted his tie. 

"I have never had any complaints." 

Richard chuckled. 

"But pray tell me what else you can do." The spy asked. 

"Before I answer, for the suit, do you have any preferences?" 

"Something classic, something that doesn't stand off too much. Maybe grey, or brown."

"Ah, that might work in Paris, L, but here you have to wear a bit more colour."

"Hm…" Lucien winced. 

"Don't worry, I am not suggesting you should dress up like a clown. Why not try this…" 

Richard stepped off the stage and Lucien followed him. He took a Burgundy cloth off one of the shelves. 

"A mix of cotton and linen. Sober and classic, yet the red brings that little touch of colour to be more discreet." 

"More colour to be more invisible?" Lucien asked. 

"Australia is a parrot zoo. If you want to blend in, you need to be as colourful." 

Lucien sighed. 

"You are the expert. I will follow your advice." 

"I deeply appreciate it. Now, boys, get busy with this! And you, L, pray follow me." 

The tailor went on one side of the room, he pushed the clothes rails aside and put his hand on the wall, at the shelf's height. There was a fleur-de-lis flower made out of what looked like silver. He pulled it like a lever and Lucien heard a metallic click. 

"Boys! If you please…?" 

Richard's boys came back and opened the wall as if it was two doors. The gentlemen now stood in front of a corridor. 

"This will lead us to my more uhm, private, shop." 

Lucien nodded and followed Richard in while his sons closed the doors after them. If the decor of the shop was very traditional with wood and yellow lights, this secret part was much more modern. The walls were made out of white marble and the lights shone bright. Lucien could almost see his reflection on the white tiled floor. 

"Here we are." 

Richard opened a door and unveiled a room full of weapons. Revolvers, assault rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles. You name it, Richard has it. 

Lucien entered and had a look around. 

"These are all very modern I see."

"We try to keep our library up to date, indeed. Should you need other models, we can have them delivered within a day, sometimes less." 

"Any blades you might have?" Lucien asked. 

"In here…" 

Richard and Lucien went to a display case. 

"Ah…" 

"You are quite the traditional man, L."

"For my equipment, most definitely."

"And your suits too." Richard added. 

Lucien's eyes didn't leave the blades. He inspected them one by one, paying the closest attention to any detail. 

"I guess you are making those yourself. They are most definitely very beautiful. The work on the handles is quite unique."

"Indeed. I can also repair one or add a few features to it if you insist on keeping yours. Same for the guns. Most upgrades happen here but we sometimes send the guns to other places as we are not yet equipped with all the machinery necessary for them."

"I understand. May I have a look at the revolvers and pistols?" 

"But of course. If you would be so kind as to look behind you…?" 

Lucien obeyed and bent over another display case. 

"Any non-lethal ones?" 

"Those on display are lethal but I do have their non-lethal counterparts in store. Also, and given who you are, I will personally make sure that whatever piece of gear you get from us will be custom made and adjusted to your hands."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped. 

"That is most kind of you, Richard."

"It isn't everyday that one gets the privilege to work with you, L." 

"Bah, I am merely doing what must be done." 

"Quite so, quite so… I can leave you to have a closer look at the library in peace if you prefer?" 

"Non I think I have seen enough. Although, Richard, may I ask you something?"

"Anything, L, of course." 

"Let us go back to the shop first." 

"As you wish." 

In a minute or so, both men found themselves back on the armchairs, surrounded by the shelves of fabric. 

"Do you know this restaurant called The Queen Victoria?"

Richard nodded. 

"Yes, of course. The most sought after of all places here."

"I will need to go there shortly. May I order a few suits from you, for the occasion?" Lucien asked. 

"Please do. We have your measurements already so it shouldn't prove too hard although the red suit will be my priority." 

"Oh?"

"Once I finish it, I will have your taste and measurements in my fingers and it will be much easier for me to get to more stylish pieces." 

"Ah, I see."

"But tell me, I guess it will be for dinner?" Richard asked, pulling a notepad and a pen off his inner pocket.

"It is for business actually, but yes, it will be the evening. Also, I need to impress. I have the main things sorted out but if the suit could help, I will appreciate it greatly." Lucien added.

"I see…" Richard continued taking notes. "I have it all in mind. Anything else you want me to do for you?" 

"Oui, actually. Do you have any information on the target?" 

"A few, but I doubt it will be anything of value to you L."

"Pray tell."

"Fine. The gentleman you seek is rare to the sight of the general public. I am told that he likes his golf and his fine gastronomy. He has ladies like the pearls on a necklace and some of them we never hear from ever again…" 

"I see." Lucien frowned. "Any idea on his recent activity?"

"Non unfortunately…"

"Dad, Mister Black and his friends should be arriving any minute now to pick up their suits." 

"Oh, yes indeed, time flies! L, I will have to re-open the shop, anything else you needed?" 

Lucien shook his head. 

"I have heard and seen enough to get me started. Merci beaucoup, Richard." 

[Thank you very much, Richard.]

The tailor nodded and signalled his sons who pulled the curtains and opened the shop again. Lucien stood up and shook hands with his new acquaintance. 

"All the pleasure is mine, L." 

Richard accompanied his client back to the door. 

"How long should I wait for the suit?" 

"A few days. We shall let you know." 

"Good. Well, I wish you a good day, Richard." 

"And to you too, L. See you soon!"

The Frenchman nodded and exited the shop. He slipped in his car and drove back to Victoria's restaurant. He parked in front of it and went to sit at his usual table. Lucien didn't have to wait too long for the young lady to appear.

"L! You came back for lunch?"

"Indeed I have."

"So… Uhm… ¿Qué te gustaría?" She asked with her notepad in her hands.

[What would you like?]

"Ah, I see someone has done their homework…" Lucien smiled.

"Was that correct?" 

"Oui, not a mistake!"

"Haha!" Victoria laughed, triumphant. 

"And to answer you, lo que me gustaría es lo que te gustaría."

[What I would like is what you would like.]

"Ah, uh, ok, so, uhm… If I were you, I'd have uh… Hm…" 

She pouted and scratched her head with the back of her pen. 

"I know! Go for the roasted chicken and potatoes. It's a nice day, it'll go with it nicely. You can add mayonnaise too!"

Lucien laughed. 

"Fine, I will follow your recommendation but please, unless the mayonnaise is homemade, I would rather not have it."

"You're so posh…"

"I have standards, V, nothing more." 

"Yeah, yeah… And to drink? Let me guess, posh sparkling water?"

"Is there a posh edition?" Lucien taunted her. 

"Oh, you know what I mean!" 

"Indeed I do. Sorry, I was pulling your leg as you say in your language. But oui, tienes razón, I will have the sparkling water please." 

[You're right.]

"I know I'm right, I always am!" She arrogantly answered and Lucien rolled his eyes with a smile. "But L?"

"Hm?"

"D'you mind if I sit with you to have my lunch break?" 

"Non, of course, by all means." 

"Right, give me a few minutes then."

Lucien looked through the window and thanked the Lord that the sun had turned and was not hitting him directly. The Australian sun was much more aggressive than back in France. Victoria soon came back with a full tray. 

"Here we go, old man! Posh sparklin' water and chicken and potatoes!"

"And what will the young demoiselle have?"

[Lady]

"My usual, good old homemade sandwich!"

Victoria sat in front of the Frenchman.

"You call that a sandwich?"

"Oh alright, I'll go have my lunch in peace elsewhere…!" The young woman said as she dug in. 

"As if…" Lucien confidently answered. "Mh, the chicken is very good by the way." 

"Oi, why d'you say 'as if'?"

"Clearly you had your hopes up."

Victoria blushed. 

"You have waited for me to have your lunch."

She averted her gaze. 

"Don't be ashamed when it is the truth." 

"Hm…" 

She buried herself in her sandwich and the Frenchman chuckled softly. 

"I apologise, V. I didn't want to put you on the spot."

"It's alright…" 

Both ate their food and Lucien didn't dare say more. 

"L?"

"Oui?"

He raised his eyes to her. 

"D'you have any family?" 

Unfazed, he answered:

"A companion, only." 

"Oh, what's her name?"

His ice-blue eyes met her hazelnut ones. 

"Solitude." 

He smiled. 

"Oh… I'm sorry…" 

Lucien shrugged. 

"You really have no one? No parents, no kids, no…?"

His gaze impressed her. She didn't know if he was saying 'Do I look like I'm joking?' or 'I'm as sorry as you are'. It might have been none, or even both. 

"I-I'm sorry." 

Lucien wiped the corners of his mouth elegantly. 

"No reason to be. I prefer it that way." 

"Really? I-I mean, are you ok to talk about it?" 

"Of course, go ahead." 

Victoria frowned. 

"Don't you feel like… alone? Like, you're missin' someone even though you don't know who? You're just missing like a… presence?" 

The Frenchman let a half smile slip through his lips. 

"At the beginning, oui. Not anymore now." 

"What's changed?"

"What do you mean?" He asked. 

"How did you go from 'oh I'm lonely' to 'Bah, whatever'?"

"I accepted it." 

"Bullshit!" She answered and Lucien's eyebrows jumped. 

"Pardon?" 

"I don't have anyone either and it's impossible to not feel lonely! It's just not possible!"

"Non, Victoria. It is possible, you are just still too young, you have experiences to go through still before you hit that point."

"What point?"

"The point of no return. The point where the only emotions that your body are able to produce are contempt, pride and disdain; but not sadness, not heartbreak, not anymore."

Victoria had listened through and her eyebrows frowned further.

"Crikey… that sounds…" 

"Liberating." He said.

"Awful." She answered.

Silence fell for an instant. 

"Anyway." Lucien said and stood up. "I shall see you later. Don't wait for me for dinner."

He left what he owed on the table with a tip and left without adding a word. Victoria didn’t know what to make of her friend. Had she struck a nerve? No, he had seemed unfazed, he couldn’t have been moved by her words, or could he? 

On his drive back to his place, Lucien was brooding, the slight breeze of the air conditioner in his car barely enough to keep his mind cool. His brow was furrowed behind his sunglasses and his mind was set. He needed her to wrap her arms around him, he needed La Solitude to comfort him.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 98

98

   It was weird to have slow weeks again with all the excitement Keith had brought into his life. Keith had called to update him on things in Platt which weren’t exactly good. A scuffle had broken out between three vampire clans, so Lotor, and his generals, were now calling VOLTRON home for the foreseeable future. Asking far too much over Lance for Keith’s comfort. Keith and Shiro were both back in with Blades after the failure of a mission, though Keith was two weeks out of loop, so he’d had to work extra time to catch up on everything he’d missed. Then the last two weeks August had seemed to disappear into thin air, without seeing Keith. Lance honestly didn’t know where they’d gone, only that they were wankers for leaving him without Keith for so long.

  Filled in far too much, Sendak seemed to be the cause of the recent vampire fighting. The four clans suffering heavy casualties, which meant pretty much every night hunters and Blades were on the look out of for potential vampires turning humans to bolster their numbers. Plus they had to deal with werewolves getting all uppity with their mangy noses out of joint. Two murders had made their way into the news, the reports on the details varied differently with between each printed news report. Someone had brought up the question of it being related to the theft he and Keith committed, with that particular story disappearing within 6 hours of making it to socials. The Blades could make anything disappear, maybe even him if they got sick of all these vampire drama. Lance didn’t envy Keith at all. He knew his boyfriend was working hard, even harder as he tried to avoid his approaching birthday weekend... despite how freakin’ long it was until their holiday. The broody anger loaf as as bad at him over birthdays. He could have easily pushed it to the back of his mind, but instead he wanted all the information and considered hiking it ahead of time so they wouldn’t get lost.

  Lance was working in his own way. Pidge found them a “case” a few towns over. Lance didn’t want to go. He felt wiped from his heat. Pidge had no pity for him after a “romantic week away”, Lance ending up going. Matt coming along for the night and succeeding in pissing off Pidge by explaining away phenomenons with science. He was kind of right. There wasn’t the feeling of death in the building despite its age, nor any annoying shadows to ignore. Hunk saved them all from Pidge’s bad mood by suggesting the turn the video into a “debunk” video for the watchers. It was nice to have part of his old life back. He felt as if things were finally settling down for the Garrison Trio, and that they’d worked past his whole “vampire” issue. A new video landed him a couple of new clients seeking advice, giving him a chance to feel helpful in a different way from tagging along because Lotor wanted it.

  Vegged out on the sofa, their new family member mooed loudly from outside. Yeah. They’d kept the damn cow. Three weeks seemed too long to now be going out and finding the owner seeing she hadn’t been reported missing. They’d even named her Kaltenecker. Blue wasn’t fond of her. Her Royal Highness was sulking as it was. She and Kosmo had gotten pretty close, Lance feeling she missed the hyperactive pup as much as he missed Keith. She’d tried to be friendly with Kaltenecker, but was out the moment Kalternecker’s long slobbery tongue passed over her head. He didn’t like to admit that he slept with one of Keith’s shirts over his pillow these days, because it felt kind of stalkerish and really rather lame. He couldn’t help that he slept better with Keith’s scent close to him, despite the fact he felt a 45 year old man should probably have grown out of nightmares long ago.

  Matt and Rieva both tried to help with his nightmares. Lance appreciated the thought, but his dreams had been so weird lately that he had no idea what to make of them. Sometimes they were about him being turned. Sometimes he’d turned Keith in them and they were having the weirdest adventures. He’d had one dream where he was pregnant and Keith was on a quest to find him shorts... though, the worst dream he’d had was when Nyma and Rolo had kidnapped Keith and he’d come home to find his boyfriend dead. It took calling Keith to calm him down from that one.

  There was also one big change in the house that made Lance happy. Curtis had moved back in. When he’d come to check on him at the hotel, they’d talked, entertaining the idea of finding an apartment in Platt, only to decide that it was more practical if Curtis lived there. It was nice to have him back. Curtis felt as lost as he did over not being able to be in the field with Keith and Shiro. Having found a home outside VOLTRON, where his curse wasn’t such a big deal, Lance fully supported Curtis moving in and having fresh air and freedom. Plus, it helped to have someone get as emotional over soap operas as he did. Matt forced to watch the pair of them make fools of themselves as they’d yell at the TV over the script.

  With Rieva at her waitressing job, Lance having cleaned through the house, and nothing much to do, Lance was curled up against Curtis, Christmas shopping for their friends group, and trying to ignore the feelings of anxiety that came with waiting for Keith to check in with him. Seeing he was giving Keith a twin set of blades for his birthday, Lance was facing he dilemma of “Did he buy Keith another blade” or “Should be he buy him camera equipment without knowing anything about cameras”. His boyfriend really did get excited at the idea of stabbing things... Maybe too excited so he shouldn’t give him a potential murder weapon?

  He could always gift Keith a voucher to a camera equipment store, but he didn’t want to spend too much on the voucher and have Keith feel guilty over the cost of the gift. He could probably pick up a vintage camera as a gift...

  Then again, he’d seen some amazing antique blades. As well as custom jobs that seemed to scream Keith’s name at him. It was hard containing himself. Huge gifts would be nice, he’d spoil Keith rotten for every single bad birthday memory he had, yet a heartfelt gift was worth more than spending thousands. That’s why he loved that he had a small selection of Keith’s photos. His photography so super personal that the vampire felt kind of honoured. He adored it. He adored the photos of them all, the photos of the caves, but his favourite was of Keith and Kosmo cuddled up together, even more so of the ones where he was kissing Keith’s cheek. Now he was missing his boyfriend again. God. Okay. No more swords. Time to move on to Shiro and who better to ask than his boyfriend?

  “Hey, Curtis. What are you getting Shiro for Christmas?”

“I’m not going through this again”

Tilting his head back, Lance frowned up at Curtis

“What does that mean?”

Curtis sighed at him

“It means Keith nearly had a mental breakdown trying to decide on your gift. I will not go through that again”

Lance blinked at him, a warm feeling in his belly that his boyfriend cared that much. He didn’t blame Curtis for not wanting to go through that again, a stressed Keith could be very bossy and uncooperative

“No, I’m being literal here. I don’t want to get him the same thing as you. I’m tossing up between getting Keith another blade, or some camera equipment. I thought I’d move onto Shiro”

“Oh. I was sure you were edging into asking what you should purchase for Keith. He was quite the wreck the morning of your birthday. 5 cups of coffee, all in different cups. Pacing nonstop. Freaking out because he hadn’t purchased a present and it had to be just right and in no way lame”

  Lance huffed at Curtis. He really wanted to call Keith now... Their camping trip seemed so long away... 52 days. Every day counting down was being marked off on his office calendar and his friend calendar

“I am trying not to think about how much I miss my boyfriend. What should I get Shiro?”

Shiro was filled with “Dad” vibes. Sometimes it felt he was the only mature one around them

“You could get us matching T-shirts. I’m with stupid pointing to him, and his saying “I am stupid””

“Dude, that seems more like something you should give him. Maybe I’ll skip him for now”

“You could get him an ugly sweater?”

Lance hummed. Shiro was a closet nerd. He’d seen the bobble head collection... and the movie collection...

“That could work. Maybe some socks to make it feel like a dad present. Thanks for the idea. What are you getting him?”

“I’m thinking I should get him an ugly sweater now”

Lance rolled his eyes

“That’s what you told me to get him”

“But it’s such a good idea. Why don’t we all get him ugly sweaters?”

“Because you’re the one who’s going to have to live with the consequences”

“I don’t mind”

“Fiiiiine. But you better gift him something else to make up for it, or he’s really going to think we don’t like him”

“I think I’ll manage. Why are you shopping now?”

“So it’s all out the way. Postage gets hectic around Christmas and if there’s going to be delays than I want the extra time”

  He was letting his age show. But with two months to go before everyone started going mental for Chris, he wanted things all organised so he didn’t have the last minute rush to deal with. He had his eye on a nice outdoor setting as his birthday gift to himself, a little late, but if he timed it right he couldn’t always say it was an early Christmas present. He wanted something bigger to fit them all comfortably, once he’d extended the brickwork... maybe built a pen for Kaltenecker... ohhh... Kaltenecker could have her own stall near the house. They could build a doggy training course for Kosmo... and Matt...

“Curtis, do you know anything about construction”

“Not particularly. Dismantling measures... Explosives. Survival measures”

“Do you want to try building a cow pen with me?”

“No. And you will not be building one either. Go back to your Christmas shopping”

  Lance pouted. Not liking being told not to do something. It wasn’t an ego thing. It was something he’d heard so many times in his life. No matter how good he’d been, he wasn’t good enough

“I did all the repairs on the house for like the most part, and things are still standing”

“So you did the electrics, the plumbing, reroofing...?”

Well... no. The walls had to come down to tackle the mould and... his ego didn’t like what Curtis was saying

“I pulled down the walls and replaced them once I got rid of the mould”

“Great. You broke stuff. Speaking of broken stuff, Matt and Rieva broke the bed again”

“I heard. Maybe it’s time to get them another bed for that room? Instead of two singles pushed together?”

“Weren’t they planning on moving out once their probation ended?”

“That’s beside the point...”

  He really liked having them there. Not just because he’d become friends with them, but for the added security of having two werewolves in the off chance of things going south

“You’re acting delusional. Maybe it’s the stress of Christmas shopping?”

“I’m not stressed. And before you ask, I’ve already ordered your present”

“I know. I’ve been on your laptop”

“Dude! Privacy! I’ve got confidential client... you’re an arsehole”

Curtis started laughing as he snapped at him

“You should have seen your face”

“You should see what I’m going to do to yours”

Curtis brushed his hair back from his horn

“It’s because I’m horny, isn’t it? You wouldn’t hit a horny man”

Lance choked on air. Curtis laughing at him as he spluttered. Part of Curtis’s Christmas present might have to go missing in revenge. Sulkily, Lance snapped his laptop closed. His friend was a dick. He was a raisin cookie pretending to be filled with chocolate goodness

“I’m going to go make lunch while you think about your actions”

And check in on Matt who was doing “Top Secret Research”

“Oh, good. Food and free entertainment. This really is the life”

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary - Chapter 21

Warnings: profanity but that’s about it

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light

They meet in a coffee house two clocks from their hotel; arriving separately, hoping not to draw attention to themselves. There was no way of telling of how far word had spread. If the news that a solider for hire had travelled out into the general community or if the people responsible very keeping it on the downlow in fear of escalating tension. There was already longstanding angst between the IRA and everyday folk; their acts of brutality and domestic terrorism were decades old and while silent, still had the propensity to flair up at a moments notice.

 Tyler is already on his second extra large black coffee when Yaz arrives; the younger man casually slipping into the bench across from him, iPad in one hand, his own SAT in the other.

“That shit will kill you,” Yaz remarks, wrinkling his nose at how incredibly strong the brew smells; the colour as dark as fresh black ink.

“Too late. I’m already dead inside.” Tyler retorts, and removes his sunglasses and places them on the tabletop, followed by his personal cellphone.

Esme had sent him videos that the kids had made for him: Tanner bragging about how many popsicles he ate in one sitting, TJ showing off his black eye and swollen nose, and Mille proud as shit that she’d been the one who had inflicted the damage. She had no shame; she wasn’t sorry and refused to apologize and declared she would do it again in a heartbeat if he so as much breathed on her the wrong way. And then the baby; with his very first haircut, freshly erupted teeth, and a handful of words that seemingly cropped up over night.

The loneliness is intense. Those beautiful little faces and those cute, soft voices telling him how much they missed him. How much they loved him and couldn’t wait for him to come home.

He rubs his hands over his face.  He’d managed to trim the beard. Had taken the clippers to his hair. Followed by a long, cold shower that did little to calm his nerves and worry but had successfully managed to aggravate every bit of arthritis that existed in his body.

“You look like shit,” Yaz comments, and then peers into his mug. “Black, huh?”

“Yeah. Like my soul.”

Yaz smirks, then orders a caramel latte from the waitress that drops two menus onto the tabletop. His eyes following her as she walks away; eyebrows arched as he admires the way her hips sway from side to side and the way her skirt just seems to hug each and every curve.  “You look like shit,” he says, as he turns back to Tyler. “Get any sleep?”

“Not really. You?”

He shakes his head, and pushes one of the vinyl bound menus across the table. “Eat something for fuck sakes, can’t have you wasting away on and perishing from starvation in the middle of a job. Nik would beat my ass. And your wife would kill me.”

“You realize I could break you in half with my bare hands, yeah?” Tyler smirks, as he flips open his menu.

“I do. And do you realize I’ve actually had nightmares where that’s happened? Where I’ve pissed you off and you’ve just gone medieval on my ass? I’m not ashamed to admit that you scare the ever loving shit out of me. I’m glad we’re friends, man. I’m just saying. Because I really do not want you to kill me with a  garden rake.”

“That’s played out. I’d use something more creative. Like a tire iron. Or a pitchfork.”

“Nothing surprises me about you anymore.  So after we talked, I couldn’t turn my brain off. It was like it was in overdrive. Firing on all cylinders. I can’t wrap my head around this. I can’t figure out how they made us that quick. We didn’t go through any airports, we didn’t have to check through customs, there was no flight manifesto. At least not one with our real names. How?”

“They had us made before we even got off the plane. Probably before we even left Colorado. There’s someone inside. A mole. There has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Maybe McCann? Maybe he is in on this. Maybe this is some big game.”

“I think it’s someone on the team.  He even told me when we first met that he’d paid to get my information from someone and that’s how he tracked me down all the way in Guatemala.”

“How fucked up is that? That he actually showed up there and followed you? Like a goddamn stalker.”

“How fucked up is it that that’s not even the most messed up thing in all of this?” Tyler counters, and casts a glance towards his cell phone as it vibrates against the table. Taking the opportunity to check on the notification as the waitress returns with Yaz’ drink, and her phone number. The latter she boldly tucks into the breast pocket of his shirt before flashing a dazzling smile before taking their orders as if nothing even happened.

“Well shit…” Yaz’s eyes once more follow her backside as she heads to the kitchen with their requests. “…and she’s’ cute too!”

“And legal,” Tyler smirks, as he types out a quick reply to his wife’s text message.

“Fuck you,” Yaz mutters. “That was a complete mistake. I didn’t realize she was that young. You could have been my wingman. Had you not gone into the bathroom to get laid. And thanks for that, by the way. I had to piss in an alley out behind that bar.”

“Take it as a badge of honour to know your godson was conceived while you were taking a leak outside and taking one for the team.”

“You two conceive your kids in the most fucked up places, I swear. Is anything normal with you guys? Or did you just figure, ‘hey, we started this shit out during some craziness, let’s keep the trend going’?”

“Excuse me for not being vanilla like you. Which is why I have a very satisfied wife at home and why you have callouses on your palms and carpal tunnel.”

“Sometimes I really hate you, you know that? Think I should call her?”

“Why wouldn’t you? She’s cute. She’s obviously into you. She was brave enough to give you her number. Maybe she’s brave at other things.”

Yaz smirks. “I like the way you think. Maybe I don’t hate you after all. This never happens, you know. When we go somewhere together. You’re the one that is usually getting all the phone numbers. Which you don’t even use, by the way.”

“Why would I? I’m married. Happily.”

“At least pass them on to your boy. What is wrong with me? How long have I had to struggle as your sidekick? How long have I had to witness women tripping over themselves to get your attention? You and the blue eyes and all the muscles.”

Tyler grins. “I’m flattered, Yaz. I never knew you had a crush on me. If I swung that way, I’d probably give you a chance. I’d probably split you in half though. I don’t think you could handle all this.”

“You’re a very disturbed individual, did you know that? There’s something seriously wrong with you. You’re not my type anyway You’re too...pretty.”

Tyler snorts. “I’m pretty? You have some pretty messed up definition of pretty, then. The tattoos, the scars. How’s that pretty?”

“The eyes. The hair. The smile. The big arms.”

“Alright, alright. I’m getting a complex here. Quit flirting with me and let’s get down to business. What did you find out?”

“Quite a bit actually,” he powers up the iPad and leans it against the napkin holder and condiment dispenser at the edge of the table, so they can both see it. “It wasn’t that hard to find. And I’m honestly surprised none of us thought of doing it before. Looking into the wife. There’s some good stuff. First…” he taps on the screen and brings up a side by side picture of Heather McCann; one from her earlier years (either high school or college, Tyler can’t say for sure) and a current photo, before she’d been taken.

“She’s from New Zealand. Which we already knew. Born in Christchurch. May 29th, 1979. Her mother was heavy into the activism scene; protesting shit like pollution in the oceans, nuclear arms, animal cruelty, women’s rights. So on and so forth. A couple arrests under her belt. Nothing serious. Creating a public nuisance, assault on a police officer, vandalism. Nothing too scandalous.  The father however, had quite the extensive criminal record.”

“He’s dead?”

“Killed. Ten years ago. While on vacation on the Bahamas. It was a hit. No doubt about. One to the back of his head.”

Tyler sips his coffee. “Execution style.”

“Exactly. Now, I couldn’t figure out what the hell he could have been involved in that led to that. So I did some more digging. His name was Alphonse Buckman, and this criminal record of his, there is some pretty serious shit. Racketeering,  four counts of assault with a deadly weapon, money laundry, trafficking…”

“Another Amir Asif.”

“New Zealand’s own. And there’s more. Much more.  We’re talking uttering death threats, threatening a public official, conspiracy to commit murder, accessory to murder. It just goes on and fucking on.”

“How was he even out on the street? With a list like that? He should have been doing at least fifty years if you add all of that up.”

“Money, Tyler. Money. This isn’t just some normal guy. He was the head of very prominent crime family in New Zealand.”

He frowns. “Didn’t McCann say that he met his wife while trying to extract someone from a crime family down there?”

“He wasn’t just extracting someone from any crime family. He was extracting them from this crime family.”

“Jesus fuck,” Tyler runs his hands over his face, rakes a hand through his hair, holding it away from his forehead.

“It gets better. So much better. Or worse. I’m not sure which. Remember what McCann told you? About his wife being a shop keeper?”

Tyler nods.

“That’s bullshit. Her grandmother was the shop keeper. Grandmother on the mother’s side. Remember that part, okay? Heather wasn’t just some innocent caught up in all of this. Just some random off the street. She’s the daughter of an international criminal mastermind. We’re talking a guy that was even wanted by Interpol and still managed to get off. Heather was the extract.”

“Wait…wait…you lost me. What?”

“Heather was who McCann was hired to extract. He was hired by the father. Because the mother had taken off with Heather to get her away from him. He wasn’t there to get someone away from a bad guy. He was working for the bad guy. A bad guy with extensive ties, to, you guessed it, the IRA.”

“This is fucked,” Tyler concludes. “This is quite possibly the most fucked up thing I’ve heard in a long time. That I’ve been mixed up in.”

“It was his very first job. As a mercenary. He left the IRA to become a soldier of fortune. And they took that as a huge slight. Because of all that he knows about them. And because he’s no doubt had to go after some of their members. He’s a traitor to them. But…”

‘Nothing good every comes after ‘but’, Yaz. Nothing.”

“He hasn’t just pissed off the IRA. He’s pissed off everyone associated with the ex father in law. Because he took money from them to do jobs that he never followed through with. We’re talking big money, Tyler. Like millions of dollars. Huge cash. So he’s got the IRA after him and everyone that still has ties and loyalty to his father in law. They both want him.”

“So there’s a huge pissing content going on between the IRA and these other guys.”

“Exactly. This is messed up. And I have seen some messed up shit. One word. Dhaka.”

“Still doesn’t explain the weird feeling I get from the wife,” he gives the waitress a polite smile as she returns with their food and cutlery.

“This is where it gets really interesting,” Yaz says, as he digs into his food, then shoots the waitress a thumbs up from across the coffee house.  He swipes left on the tablet, bringing up school pictures of the McMann children. “This is Emma and Nicholas McMann. Michael and Heather McMann’s two children. Born here in Belfast. Not that that means anything, really, but just bare with me here.  So McMann came home on the twelveth and found his place tossed. Completely trashed. And his wife and the kids missing and a letter, claiming to be from the IRA, saying they were responsible and that they’d be in touch. But he never called the police. He never once reported that his kids or his wife, had been taken.”

“Because he knew that the cops would find out about his own illegal shit.”

“Precisely. He spends a few days trying to take them down. Stirring up some real shit here in Belfast with the IRA, who in turn, turns around and says they have no idea what he’s even talking about. They say it wasn’t them. That they had nothing to do with it and if they wanted him  dead that badly, they would just do it. They wouldn’t do that to kids.”

“So they say. We’ve seen a lot of screwed up shit involving kids, Yaz.”

“I agree. Or normally I would. But I’m starting to think it isn’t the IRA. They’re a proud bunch. When they’re involved in something, they admit it. They adamantly refuse to take any responsibility for this. Which leads us back…”

“To the father in law,” Tyler concludes.

“Which in turn, leads us back to her,” he brings another picture of Heather McCann on the screen. “Guess who runs the books for dear old dead daddy’s people back home. Guess who is the only child of said dead mobster and the executor of his estate and his power of attorney.”

Tyler sighs. “I need something stronger than coffee for this.”

“She’s the ring leader. Supposedly. I can’t really prove that. Not yet. You know,  some of this shit would be a lot easier to dig up it we had an actual experienced intel person. Someone with real hands on experience. That has done all of this before. And really awesomely, I might add.”

“Forget it, Yaz. Don’t even say it. There’s no way I’m agreeing to that and you know it.”

“Esme has tons of contacts,” he reasons. “All over the world. She’s dealt with this kind of thing. Organized crime. In New York City and Philadelphia. I’ve seen her file, Tyler. From the people in North America.”

“You ran a background check on my wife? Just now or…”

“Back when Nik was going to hire her. We had to check things out. Check references. Things like that. You haven’t seen her file but I have. And it’s not just impressive. It is super fucking impressive. The circles that she’s infiltrated, the people she’s got to trust her, the mercenaries that she’s helped get people out of some horrible shit. She doesn’t just know things that regular people know. She knows things that could get a lot of people killed. And if we had her here…”

“Yaz, I said forget it. I am not getting her involved. We have four kids at home. That need their mother.”

“They need their father too. But here you are.”

“I’m not taking their mother away from them. I’m not doing it. So drop it.”

“Tyler, both the IRA and this family know we’re here. They know our names. Our faces. They know we came here and they are pissed. I am not going to be able to get all the information out of them that we need. Esme could come in here and get everything we need and then leave just as fast as she  got here. Look what she was able to do in Dhaka. How successful that part of it was. Now tell me why this is a bad idea.”

“Because she isn’t just some random intel person, Yaz. She’s my wife. The mother of my kids. That’s why. This is insane. Even thinking about dragging her into this. Wasn’t Dhaka enough? Wasn’t that enough bullshit for her to go through? You want me to just bring her into this?”

“It would work. You know it would. You’re just too scared to admit it. Bringing Esme in would save us a whole lot of time.”

“And possibly get her killed.”

“She could have been killed in Dhaka. But she wasn’t. Because you were there to protect her. Just like you would be here.”

“Jesus…” Tyler drags his hand down his face. “…I can’t believe I am listening to this.”

“But you’re considering it. Aren’t you.”

He reluctantly nods.

“It’s the best idea I have. And it’s the only one that will work. And you know that. That’s why you don’t want to admit it. Look, I know it probably scares the shit out of you. Her getting back into this, but we need her Tyler. I know it. You know it.”

“This is insane,” he drops his fork on his now empty plate with a clatter and leans back in booth, hands clasped behind his head.

“What’s the worst she can say? No?”

“How about ‘you’re fucking insane and I want a divorce’.”

“That won’t happen and you know it. Give it some thought. We don’t have a lot of time to play with here. McCann is going to start to wonder why we’re stalling, He’s already getting impatient. Give it a couple hours. Think it over.”

Tyler nods in agreement. “Back to the wife. Explain to me how she’s involved.”

“Like I said, I think she’s the one running the show for dear old dead dad. All signs point to her. I can’t prove it. At least not yet. I think she’s exacting revenge on her husband.”

“For what?”

“Apparently he’s got quite the wandering eye. And a wandering dick.”

“So set all this up…use her children as bait…because her husband can’t keep it in his pants? Seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think it’s just that. I think she knows he had something to do with her father’s death. And she’s pissed because he’s screwed over all kinds of other people by not doing the jobs he was hired to do. Just pocketing the money. Which in turn, puts targets on her and her kids’ back.”

“So she stages all of this to make it look like she’s not involved but uses her kids for leverage?”

“Like you said, we’ve seen screwed up things involving kids. And this wouldn’t be the worst. Unfortunately.”

“This changes everything. You know that, yeah?”

“You need to be the one to get the kids out, Tyler.  They have to be your priority. You’re responsibility. They’re the only innocent ones in all of this. It has to be you.”

“And if I can only get one?”

“One is better than none.”

He gives a derisive snort, then waves the waitress over and orders another coffee.

“Let McCann go for the wife. Let them kill each other. Who gives a shit at this point. The bad wiping out the bad. But you have to get those kids. They have to be your extracts.”

He sighs heavily, then nods.

“Now call your wife,” Yaz slides Tyler’s cell phone towards him. “Tell her we need her help. Tell her what’s going on. Let her be the one to decide if she wants to get involved or not.”

“If she asks me for a divorce and I get kicked out of my house, I’m coming to sleep on your couch, mate,” he’s only half joking, then palms his cell phone and slips out of the booth.

“Good luck,” Yaz calls after him as he heads for the exit.

****

She answers on the third ring; sounding exhausted, yet still excited to hear from him.

“I thought you wouldn’t call until much later your time,” she says.  “It’s only eight am there. It thought for sure you’d be busy. Tracking people down, kicking some ass. All that kind of stuff.”

“We’ve hit a bit of a roadblock,” Tyler admits, as he slips his sunglasses on and leans against the red brick of the coffee house.  Seeking peace and quiet from the hustle and bustle of the main street by tucking into the neighbouring alley.  From here he can keep an eye on the road; observe those coming down the sidewalk from each direction, leaving different store fronts. The alley leads to a dead end, nothing but dumpsters and back exits. “And maybe I just wanted to call because I wanted to hear your voice. Maybe I miss you.”

“Maybe?” she challenges, and he grins.

“I miss you,” he admits. “A lot. A hell of a lot.”

“I miss you too. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he assures her. “Did I wake you up? What is it? Like eleven there?”

“I’m sitting outside. On the swing. It rained for the better part of the afternoon and it so beautiful out now. There’s a really nice breeze coming in off the mountains. I wish you were here. I miss this part of our night. Sitting out here together. How many times have we actually fallen asleep on this swing?”

“Too many to count,” he says, a smile of reminiscence curving his lips. “The kids were good?”

“Mille finally chilled out. She was much better after I told her to record that video for you. It calmed her right down. She cried a little. At bedtime. Because you weren’t there to tuck her in and read her stories. Maybe you can record yourself reading her one and send it to her. She’d love that. If you find time.”

“I’ll find all the time in the world for her, you know that. How’s the boys?”

“Hanging in there. TJ has his ups and down. Tanner is still being the calm and consoling one. And Declan is Declan. He’s such a little ham. He’s so funny. He’s quite the character already. But what a temper! I’ve never seen anyone pitch a fit like he can! And so strong! I wonder where he gets that from.”

“The being strong or the having a bad temper?”

“Both,” she laughs. “I’m glad you liked the videos. We had so much fun making them. And can you believe the baby has four words now? He’s so smart Tyler. Crazy smart.”

“Like his mom.”

“And he is so close to walking already. You said he would be the one that would walk the earliest. Because of his insanely strong legs. I hope you don’t miss it. I’d really want you to be here when it happens. You missed it with both Millie and the twins. I’d like you to get the chance to see it this time.”

He swallows down the lump of emotion that’s wedged in his throat. “I’d like to see it too. I hope I’m back in time.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.  “You don’t sound like yourself. There’s something in your voice. I don’t know what it is. But it’s something.”

“I need your help,” he just spits it out. No chill whatsoever. Just straight to the point. “Actually, we need your help. Yaz and I.”

“Okay…” he can hear the squeak of the swing as she stands up. “…with?”

“We’ve been made. Both of us. We were made before we even got off the plane.”

“Shit,” she mutters. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent. I got a visitor in the middle of the night. From whoever is behind all of this. Telling me that I stuck my nose in business I don’t belong in and that I needed to watch my back. They know my name. Where I live. They have pictures. Of all of us.”

“Which is why Nik decided out of nowhere to stay here along with two of her guys. Tyler…”

“I asked her not to tell you. I didn’t want to get you all worked up if it just turned out to be idle threats. They’re just trying to scare me. So I’ll abandon things here.”

“But you’re not. Abandoning things.”

“I’ve got a job to do.”

“The job is obviously fucked. Tyler, you need to come home. Right now. Get on the next plane and get home. Please.”

“I can’t. I need to get those kids. I don’t give a shit about the wife. But I can’t leave those kids. And I know you understand that. Would you want someone leaving our kids?”

“Of course not.. But…”

“Esme, we need your help. I need your help. I can’t get them without you.”

“Tyler, I’m not a mercenary. I wouldn’t know the first thing about extracting someone. And that’s not something I can just learn on the fly.”

“I don’t need help with that. I can do all that stuff. I need your help with intel.”

“You have Yaz there,” she points out.

“Yaz doesn’t know the things you do. He hasn’t done the things you have. I know you’ve been in this before. I know about New York. And Philly.”

She sighs. “How?”

“Yaz told me. He saw it in your file. When Nik did background on you before she gave you the job. I don’t care that you kept that from me. There’s things I’ve done on the job that you don’t know about either. This isn’t about keeping secrets or protecting each other and keeping info away from one another. This is about me needing your help to rescue those kids.”

“I have to admit, there is a perverse satisfaction in hearing you admit you actually need my help something,” she chides, and he can’t help but grin.

“Babe, I wouldn’t call you about this if I had anyone else,” he continues. “You’re the best at this. I know it. You know it. You’ve helped bring down better and bigger. I won’t go too much into it right now. It’s better if I tell you everything in person.”

“Whoa…whoa…in person? Tyler, I have four kids here. They’re already without their father. Now you want me to leave them without their mother too?”

“Look, it’s not what I want. I know it’s not what you want. And the thought of taking you away from them kills me as much as it kills you. But I need you. McCann’s kids need you.”

“Tyler…” another heavy sigh.

“Esme…please…I really need you to do this.”

“Who do I get to watch the kids? I can’t just pull a babysitter out of my ass.”

“Ask Ovi if Chloe would do it.”

“She works.”

“She owns her own business and has her own employees. I’m sure she can trust them to run shit while she takes time off.  Or call your mom.”

“Oh right,” she laughs. “That will go over well.”

“I’ll call her then.”

“That would just be even worse! What would you say? ‘I need you to watch your grandkids so your daughter can come to Ireland and help me kick some ass’?”

“Something like that. Babe, this is serious. These people know who we are. We aren’t going to get anything out of them.”

“And you think I’ll be able to?” she inquires.

“I know you’ll be able to,” Tyler confidently replies.

“You are something else,” she mumbles, and then falls into a long, almost painful silence.

“Esme?”

“I’m here. I’m cursing you out, but I’m here. Are your ears ringing? Because they should be. Jesus, Tyler. You honestly can not be serious about this.”

“I am. Dead serious. You’re the best at this type of thing. And we need the best. Especially with the kind of people we’re going against.”

“Which you’ll tell me all about when I get there,” she concludes.  “I need a few hours. At least. I would need to call my mom and have Ovi get a hold of Chloe. This isn’t going to be an instant thing. I have to book a flight and…”

“Ask Nik. She’ll arrange one for you. She’s got great connections.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ve got to and get shit together. I’ll call you. As soon as everything is ironed out and I know when I’ll be there. This is insane, Tyler. You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But you love me.”

“Only one days that end in Y. I’ll call you. Soon.”

“I love you,” he tells her. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I love you too. I’ll see you in a little while.”

“I’ll see you when I see you,” he says.

“Yes,” he can hear the smile in her voice. “You will.”

[evak-fic-rec-turtleanon]

Evak Fics - Coffee Shop

** Coffee shop comic ** Additional ice cream/cake fics ** Fics where there's no coffee shop but it involves coffee lol ** Coffee shop fics ** Bonus Nooreva fic

***** COMIC *****

KB au comic by @elli-skam 

P01,  P02,  P03,  P04,  P05,  P06 P07,  P08,  P09,  P10,  P11,  P12 extra art 

Instagram: elli_skam

***** ICE CREAM/CAKE ***** 

ice cream at 2am by hippopotamus (1.1k words) - isak goes to the shop for ice cream and ends up getting something else as well

Ice Cream Parlor by glbertblythes (1.5k words) - AU where Even works at an ice cream parlor as a summer job and Isak really likes the ice cream and he and Even play a game where Even tries to guess Isak's favorite flavor of ice cream but every time he gets it wrong, he gives Isak the ice cream for free.

You’ll never believe how ice cream helped this man to get a date by nofeartina (3.3k words) - 5 times Isak buys ice cream for Magnus and 1 time Even buys it for Isak.

blow out all the candles by shadesofcool (4.1k words) - It's Eskild's birthday, Even works at a cake shop and Isak doesn't know how to make tea.

***** INVOLVING COFFEE ***** 

Morning Person by dani (wormstash) (881 words) - Isak is not a morning person.

Right Now by YellowSpatula (1.1k words) - In another universe, they meet on the street and smell of coffee.

Morning Activities by glbertblythes (1.4k words) - Even wants his coffee - Isak is sorta in his way - but Isak makes an offer.

"Ah, Sorry, Sorry!" by bazsucks (1.5k words) - "So rude, because someone hasn’t gotten his grumpy boy coffee today." Even keeps speaking whenever Isak doesn’t. He loves that about him. He loves everything about him.

Med Student Syndrome by frenc (1.8k words) - In which slightly paranoid med student Isak tries not to diagnose his boyfriend with diseases he learned in the textbook. And Even fails to hide a coffee burn from him.

The Study Buddy by wordsarelifealways (2k words) - In this universe, Even meets Isak when he pours Red Bull into a black coffee at 7.15AM to cope with a morning class. Even's inner barista is horrified, but damn if the boy isn't cute.

***** COFFEE SHOP ***** 

Bees by spoopydumpling (562 words) - "Even come home" "Miss me?" "Hell no, there’s a BEE in our BEDROOM"

blood on the leaves by queerness (597 words) - In which Isak's hands are weapons, Even's nose bleeds too easy, and Green Tea Créme Fraps are present.

in every universe by queerness (632 words) - The first time your soulmate touches you, a handprint stays there for the rest of your life.

Feeling Weird, Feeling Happy by wesoftandfluffy (735 words) - A boy with blues eyes, blonde hair and a very nice smile makes Isak feel shy, weird and very very happy

Maybe I´m a little jealous by parttimehuman (743 words) - Just Isak not being jealous at all.

i think i recognise your face but i've never seen you before by monsterandmana (914 words) - Even works in a coffee shop. Isak is on the coffee run. It's Christmas.

sweet creature by Skamtrash (1k words) - Along the lines of "We’re both baristas and sometimes I have trouble reaching for things and I show up to work one day to find a personalized stool with hearts and my name on it i hATE YOU but also thanks"

remember what your old pal said by colazitron (1k words) - Mikael hangs out at KB during Even's shift. Not evak centric

seventeen days by hippopotamus (1.1k words) - Isak had come to know him, in his head, as coffee shop guy. Sometimes, when he was tired, and had no filter on the thoughts as they travelled from the back of his mind to the front - he would call him hot coffee shop guy. Sometimes even fucking beautiful.

Flat White and a Moment of Bravery by Bellakitse (1.1k words) - Isak is having a crap morning until he walks into his local cafe and sees his favorite barista.

I Like You A Latte by i_once_wrote_a_dream (1.2k words) - It’s not love. Not yet. But Even’s certain it will be.

Handsome Mystery Boy by waitineedaname (1.3k words) - Even thought working at a coffee shop would be the perfect way to meet his soulmate. They had to give him their name for the order, and his name was there for everyone to see on his nametag. It was a flawless plan. Or, it would be if the handsome boy in the snapback would actually give him his real name.

Good days start with coffee and you by starfishunicorntea (1.3k words) - Isak is tired, ill and cold but he has an exam he has to get to so he decides a cup of coffee can make his day more bearable.

Forget-me-not by FrkAnn (1.5k words) - Even is curious about the name Lea on Isak's parent's house door and Isak decides it's time to share.

I HEARD YOUR NAME by cromulent (1.6k words) - Break up fic. i thought i needed you, but then you left me and i realized i don't.

Woo Me With Your Words by obscurial (1.6k words) - It’s not very often that Isak finds the confidence within himself to approach a handsome guy in a café. (A coffee shop au in which Even is Isak's favourite author.)

I Think I'm Falling (I Think I'm Falling For You) by MacksDramaticShenanigans (1.7k words) - Isak isn’t sure if it’s this guy’s incredibly endearing face or the fact that he didn’t just order a fucking Pumpkin Spice Latte, but he suddenly really really wants to kiss him.

Defending My Honour by wordsarelifealways (1.7k words) - Isak's sure it's about a thousand degrees in Oslo, but it won't be as hot as the hellfire he's going to rain down upon the customer he sees yelling at Even.

I'm FALLing for you by Schedazzle (1.7k words) - It always crept up on Even, one moment everything was green and the next the whole world seemed yellow and cozy and just so nice. This feeling only grew when the little bell above the door went off and his favorite customer came in.

your hands next to mine by hippopotamus (1.8k words) - When he takes the drink, his fingers brush Even’s. He clears his throat and mumbles out a “oh, uh, sorry, thanks,” and escapes before Even can even process any of it.

The one where Even isn't a stalker... by Ye_Olde_Hedgehog (2k words) - There is a sad lack of coffee in this coffee shop au. Instead there is a bit of mutual pining and some very exasperated friends.

Ready For Those Flashing Lights by ultimatelawrence (2.1k words) - It was meant to be harmless: taking a sneak photo of a hot stranger to send to Eva. Expect it's not so harmless when the flash is on.

Lemon and Ginger: Coffee Shop AU by fictitious99 (2.1k words) - 4 times Even bought a pretentious herbal tea and one time he bought one for Isak.

Mitten found by Kollakolan (2.1k words) - It’s a mitten. And not just any mitten, this is clearly a hand made very personal mitten with a small flowery pattern knitted by some one who put a lot of love into the work. On top of the mitten “Emil” is embroidered. Shit.

Peppermint Mocha by Jules1398 (2.1k words) - Eva's new boyfriend comes in everyday and orders a peppermint mocha and, well, Isak is definitely NOT falling in love with him.

The Hot Muffin Thief by Bellakitse (2.2k words) - There is a magical muffin at the café where Isak's buddy Jonas works. It's Isak's lifeline, he has it every day and then one day some hot art hipster steals his muffin.

do you like or like, like me? by cosetties (2.2k words) - Isak is totally down for supporting Jonas through the whole liking boys thing, but it's a little hard when that boy is Even.

The Stars Align by VenezuelanWriter (2.4k words) - There's a bakery. Prince Isak and barista Even.

sickeningly sweet like honey by thekardemomme (2.4k words) - Even likes to write pickup lines on Isak's cup.

cups of coffee by slvtherxn (2.8k words) - Even has a giant crush on a boy he doesn’t know, and he’s waiting for the perfect movie-moment to finally meet him. The only problem is that life has a different plan.

A Look Across (a fraction of) the Multiverse by rhys_withoutaspoon (2.9k words) - a look across the multiverse. The coffee shop au is the second one.

I'm not the kind of fool who's gonna sit and sing to you about stars by Plantsandplanets (3k words) - Second year is rough. Isak buys expensive text books with the money his dad sends him and silently worries about Even paying for everything before Even soothes his concerns with soft words and softer touches. His eyes tell Isak to stop worrying, please. Isak nods because Even asked him to even if he didn’t say so.

A Spoon Full of Sugar by MacksDramaticShenanigans (3.3k words) - A spoon. Spoons. Spooning. God, a proper cuddle sounded absolutely heavenly right now. What Isak would give to crawl into bed, burrow into some cozy blankets, and curl into someone’s (Even’s) arms. They could just lay there, maybe Even would trace shapes into Isak’s back, or maybe he’d play with his hair— it didn't matter to Isak, either sounded lovely. It would be warm and comfortable and he’d finally be able to catch up on all the sleep he’d missed.

Five (5) times Isak and Even found each other, in different universes. by AnonymousPoet (3.3k words) - Parallel universe. The coffee shop one is the first one.

Cookies and Cream by GayaIsANerd (3.5k words) - Isak has a crush on the barista. He's too scared to do anything about it, but luckily there's a blizzard coming up.

Baby, You're a Knockout by wordsarelifealways (3.5k words) - Even has been crushing on the cute boy who comes into the university cafe for weeks, but he never expected a minor head injury to be how their relationship got started.

If You're Under Him [You Ain't Getting Over Him] - Part I by givemesumaurgravy (3.7k words) - First fic of a SERIES. Isak Valtersen is happy. He's finally starting his surgical rotation at the hospital where he hopes to work someday and he's happily married to his best friend. But then Isak meets Even, the intriguing new barista where he gets his daily coffee. And that's when shit really starts to hit the fan. Affair au

And I'll find myself in your eyes one day by Evak2121 (Marshmallows07) (3.8k words) - Isak and Even fall in love one day in the Sun

Five Stars by bri_ness (3.9k words) - Even works at a café and is infamous in Yelp reviews as a flirtatious, charming barista. But he’s never wanted to take anyone home—until he meets a man with thirty-eight expressions, an affinity for eye rolls, and a deep hatred of pumpkin spice.

I like my sugar with coffee and cream by imminentinertia (4k words) - 5 times Even buys a coffee +1 time Isak buys a shirt.

For next day will a stranger bring by lovelycarcass (4k words) - On Tuesdays, without fail, Isak's first customer orders a drink at the café, gives a name and leaves. He never uses the same name twice.

Coffee and Krylon by gayashecklmao (4.1k words) - Caught in a daydream filled with technicolor and floating spray paint cans, he doesn't hear the bell above the shops' door ring, indicating that someone has come in. Only when he hears Eva shout an unidentifiable order at him does he turn around. There before him, on the other side of the counter, is possibly one of the prettiest people he’s ever seen.

you keep robbing my heart like a bank by xhorans (4.2k words) - 'How are you, Even?' 'Better now my new favourite customer is here,' in which Isak has a crush on hot barista Even and it's nearly valentine's day

i can't get it right by noirophelia (4.3k words) - “You forgot your sketchbook,” Isak says a bit out of breath and he doesn’t even know why. He has a feeling it’s just what Even usually does to him. Leaving him breathless. “Thank you, Isak,” Then Even smiles and Isak is just. Gone. “You shouldn’t have left your work place for that. Could have just messaged me or something.”

My mind was somewhere else, I guess by rosecolored_girl (4.6k words) - How did Even end up working at Nissen cafeteria? Let's just put it this way: He graduated last year at Bakka, took a gap year to pursue his dreams of traveling the world, realized he didn't have any money to even buy a freaking plane ticket to start with, spent the entire summer feeling sorry for himself...and now, he got a job at high school. Serving people only two or three years younger than him. Great. kinda coffee shop au except it's a cafeteria

from my lips my sin is purged by slvtherxn (4.8k words) - After Even's last relationship with his coworker ended quite messily, his boss has forbidden him from dating any more of her employees. It takes him ten seconds alone with his new trainee before he decides to date him in secret.

he tasted like coffee and lemon drops. by glbertblythes (5.7k words) - Isak gets stood up at Kaffebrenneriet, Even brings him a hot chocolate, and they get to talking.

Don't worry, I've got you by everything_else (5.7k words) - Isak groaned. “Just because I’m new doesn’t mean you can give me the shit jobs” “I’m not. It’s either that or bleaching the toilet, you can choose if you want.” “Okay fine.” Even took another drink of his beer, and cast a teasing look at Isak. “I give you a week.”

(Baby) It's Cold Outside by himmelsky (6.1k words) - December is approaching, but Isak isn’t feeling the Christmas spirit. Barista guy, aka Even, wants it differently.

because your eyes said you were feeling it too by spoopydumpling (6.1k words) - Even and Isak meet when their friends send them on a blind date.

In Sickness and In Health by Flatfootmonster (6.2k words) - That one time he caught me looking through the window, I thought I had to do it then—or I never would. I was sick of being tongue tied—I still am. And so, when I’d finished my coffee, I wrote on the cup: ‘I like you’. That was it. I wasn’t even sure if he was going to read it, but I saw him watch me write it; peering over the counter in the curious way he does, like I’m doing something completely amusing that I’m also entirely unaware of. Then I picked up my things and scrambled for the door, almost sending someone’s drink flying over their laptop.

Large Americano, Extra Milk and Sugar by daigina (6.5k words) - It's almost Valentine's Day. Mikael has a new job. Even has a new crush and no courage. This makes for lots of pining Evens, frustrated Mikaels, and spilled coffee.

five times even watched from afar and one time he didn't have to by alotofphandoms (7k words) - Even sees Isak around so many times that he's sure it's destiny and he's determined to not let him get away. So he watches from afar before he doesn't have to anymore.

all I see is you by littlemovie (Lejla) (7.4k words) - “Aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m a bad person?” Isak somehow whined and demanded at the same time. Jonas blew out a breath in amusement, which made the dark curls on his forehead move with his breath. “I’m guessing it has something to do with that guy, Even, from the coffeeshop?” Isak nodded his head pathetically.

closer to free by Skamtrash (7.7k words) - Even works at a coffee shop that Isak always studies in and Even has been crushing on him from afar for way too long so Elias makes them happen

Make a spark, break the dark, find a light with me by LostInAdmiration (8k words) - Isak can't sleep, so spends his nights wandering around the street. Even works the night shift at the store around the corner, and they bond over their mutual insomnia.

Cuddle Monsters by sikily (8.2k words) - One spoke of true love and the other a critic, But Christmas would be the day to believe in magic, A wink of his eye and a tilt of his head, And Isak became a believer instead.

Crying Over Spilt Milk by MacksDramaticShenanigans (8.4k words) - The boys get their hands on Isak’s resume; Isak gets his hands on Even.

baby we've got new love by itjustkindahappened (9.5k words) - Isak is hella fucking gay and desperately single, and Eskild wants to change that. Even just has a thing about timing. Coffee shop AU with an ironic amount of tea enthusiasm and a whole lot of pining.  

Second helping's always better by diamondjacket (10k words) - A sequel. Coming into this last-minute coffee date, Even had honestly thought that once the sheen of the previous day had worn off, things would be different. That he could see Isak and keep a level head, that he wouldn’t be overcome with the urge to just...taste him everywhere. No such luck.

possibly (maybe) i’m falling for you by boxesofflowers, Eeyoreneedsahug, safficwriter (10k words) - Even tries to get Isak to smile with coffee. Every time he buys Isak coffee, he becomes more determined to find the perfect drink (and falls in love along the way).

The One Where Even Goes On a Blind Date by valtersheim (10k words) - Eskild forgets to find someone for Isak for their double blind date and he approaches the first attractive man he sees in Kaffebrenneriet.

Ground Me by Bellakitse (13k words) - In which despite his father helping with rent, Isak still needs money and therefore a job. Isak gets a job at a cafe and meets a barista who's beauty blows Isak away.

A Thin Line Between Hate and… Other Stuff by TheFilthWithin (Flatfootmonster) (14k words) - Isak is studying while working at a coffee shop. His life is Ok... ish. Filled with lies, mocchiato's, and hook ups, fate storms in and lends a hand in the shape of Mr Spielberg, AKA film director Even.

something in the language of trees by scarletbluebird (20k words) - This woman, Isak thinks, must really love her son. He keeps spinning the coffee cup for a good minute, mulling it over. He still feels weird about it, but it’s not like he’s signing a contract in blood or anything. And he’s already going to see Even at the party later in the week, so it could work. the one where Isak's job really is to Be Even's Friend

You're a different kind of new by LostInAdmiration (23k words) - Even has had a hopeless crush on Isak for months now, but has never been brave enough to talk to him. Luckily, Isak decides to make the first move by rescuing Even from unwanted attention at a party

take me as i am by argentae (24k words) - He isn’t crushing, and nevertheless this guy has become a Problem, because whenever he’s on shift he’s made it increasingly difficult for Isak to really spend his time productively. Sure, he could just find another place to study but he likes the access to coffee here even though he actually kind of hates the bitterness of it and he’s just not going to let himself get swept aside because of this guy.

don't you keep it all to yourself by colazitron (24k words) - Isak starts buying daily coffees before school at Kaffebrenneriet around the corner because it tastes better than the coffee in the cafeteria and keeps his hands warm. But mostly because the barista is heart-stoppingly cute. An AU in which Even didn't need to repeat his last year and instead started working at the coffeeshop Isak passes on his way to school every morning.

is it gravity, or are we falling in love? by mels (28k words) - Isak works at a coffee shop. There's two things he loves about the morning shift: 1, how beautiful the city is when it's sleeping and 2, avoiding the hot guy who he happens to have a crush on. Until one faithful day, he has no choice but to work with his crush.

Caught in the Middle by dvorahbee (30k words) - Even keeps seeing the cutest boy around campus and in his new favourite coffee shop. He'll slowly get to know Isak but he'll have to go on a journey of self-acceptance and love at the same time.

A Fucking Bet by Crazyheart (32k words) - Isak and Even are just friends. They make a bet and decide to fuck only five times and then go back to being friends again. Isak hopes that he might be able to fuck his crush out of his system, once and for all. Who knows what Even’s motives are.

Just your average ordinary everyday Superhero by vorfm95 (34k words) - Isak works for the governament fixing the chaos caused by the Yeti a young superhero who protects the streets of Oslo. It's just a superhero soulmate Au. (oof this fic tho)

Golden Boy by alotofphandoms (43k words) - Isak thinks his life is great until Even Bech Naesheim waltz in and starts taking him out on dates. (Mostly fluff and flirting but I live for angst so there's a little bit of that to keep it interesting)

Scrim by scritch (45k words) - Isak works as a lighting technician in a theatre. He's under strict instructions not to talk to the actors. This is all fine, until he meets Even.

such a beautiful mess by skambition (48k words) - Isak works at Kaffebrenneriet to save up some money for a trip with his friends. Normally, working there is chill. Until Isak starts to work together with Even, an arrogant hipster with horrible taste in music, that keeps using the phrase 'sex hair' and is not only judgemental and stupid, but also so hot that Isak sometimes can't breathe around him. Isak hates him. Until he doesn't.

What If? by MermaidsandMermen (SophiaSoames) (57k words) - What if Skam never happened? What if Even is just an awkward boy working in a coffee shop? What if Isak is just the loneliest boy in the world? What if Even is slightly obsessed with Isak? And what if Isak is spending every afternoon in a freaking coffee shop? Because he can OK? It’s not because he feels like at least he isn’t alone when he is there. Not that he actually talks to Even. Not that he thinks Even is the prettiest boy he has ever seen. It’s not like that. It’s not.

Lover Of My Impossible Soul by shoulderbone (lavenderforluck) (66k words) - Part 2 of Pointing at the Moon SERIES. Possible spoilers if you haven't read the first part: We don't often reveal ourselves, when we don't actually know what there is to reveal yet. Or, alternatively: Isak returns to Oslo, and most importantly, to Even.

with love, from anonymous by cosetties, iriswests (136k words) - Isak just wants to get his coffee in peace, Even has a crush, and there's a secret admirer on the loose.

***** BONUS NOOREVA 

untitled by princevaltersen (15k words) - Eva knew she had a crush on Noora and she couldn’t refuse it at all.

[unaltered-draws-bad]

Shimada Castle

Eating ramen silently is hard, possible, but hard. Also very suspicious, seeing as no one in their right mind would eat ramen without slurping. Yet, the shop, filled with customers, is dead silent.

Hanzo receives his ramen and grabs a pair of chopsticks. He says his gratitude and starts eating as loudly as he can. When he hears a person, an omnic, sit down next to him. Hanzo immediately notices the omnics build, broad, rough. Made for physical labour, or more specifically close-combat, Hanzo suspects. Hanzo has hardly taken four bites when the omnic speaks up.

"I heard your brother is in town again." Hanzo stays silent.

"Have you talked to him yet?" Hanzo swallow his food and responds. "Why do you care?" The omnic leans back in his chair. Casual. "Well, I have to know if my competitors swept you out of my reach already." Hanzo takes another bite of his food, while the omnic leans in closer. "But seeing as you are sitting here, eating noodles," Even closer. "I guess we still have a chance."

Hanzo puts 1200 yen on the table and stands up. The omnic follows, and soon the rest of the shop empties out into the street, all casually following behind Hanzo and his omnic agent.

"Hanzo, you know you don't belong in overwatch." Hanzo huffs and grins sadly. "It seems there are people who believe I do." The omnic moves in front of Hanzo swiftly, blocking the straight path forward. "We both know you don't. Not with Genji there." The omnic leans forward, while Hanzo stands and frowns. "But with us you could finish all-" The dreads covering the omnics head and neck follow its movement as it nudges over to Shimada Castle. "-that you once started. Including dealing with the traitor." He grimaces at the omnic, how dare he speak about Genji like- like-- like you do. The voice in his head finishes, sounding suspiciously like the Genji.

Hanzo turns and starts walking towards the castle's gates, still covered and protected by the twin dragons. The dragons that follow him around.

"I know you had to kill him. He was a traiter, it was all for the greater good." That's good, isn't it? Genji's voice says. At least he understands. Hanzo shoots a glare at the omnic. "What would a tin can know about the greater good." The omnic scoffs emptily, the sound echoing in the empty streets.   "I know that it sometimes desires blood. It requires sacrifices."

Around them the omnic’s followers slowly reduce in number, someone is taking them out without the omnic noticing. Hanzo doesn’t know who. “I also know you do not understand the gravity of your actions from all those years ago, thinking some praying can make up for it.” The omnic speaks and Hanzo glares at him further.

“You still come here, every year, fight your way through Shimada Castle and honour a traitor to your cause.” Hanzo can feel the annoyance, no, the anger pooling in his chest. “If you are aware, then why are you so determined to disturb me?”

“I have to make sure you are not whisked away by our competitors.” Hanzo ignores the omnic and silently climbs over the towering gates, to his mild surprise the omnic follows him easily.

Slowly they move further into Shimada Castle, the omnic plaguing him with talk of loyalty, and family, all the while Hanzo is tortured by the Genji in his head. The halls of the castle are stained with blood, Hanzo. "Your family was weak, Hanzo." They were very easy to kill weren't they? "Don't you owe it to your brother to finish what you started?" Yes, Hanzo, come and kill me again. Finish what you started.

It is only when they reach the balcony does the voice in his head go silent. "Think about the possibilities Hanzo, all of this could be yours again." Hanzo moves to the fence, still broken where his brother had pushed him down.

"The only thing you need to do, is join us." Maybe I am a fool to think there is still hope for you,-

The glint and shine coming from the omnic's hand is the unmistakable glint of a knife.

"What will it be Hanzo? Join us, or die here?" but I do.

“Throughout all of your insistent pestering, have I ever given you a slight indication that I was interested in your bid?” The omnic frowned, brought the knife higher.  “Is that your final answer?”

Hanzo curses at himself for not taking more weapons with him, but he remembers the switchblade hidden in his boot.

Slowly the omnic moves towards him, hanzo inching closer to the switchblade in his boot at a similar pace. As soon as Hanzo felt the metal of the knife on his hands the omnic lunges forward, slashing his knife at Hanzo. Hanzo swiftly picks the blade from his boot and slashes the omnic with the knife. It was only after recentering and returning to his fighting stance that the wound his arm started to sting.The back and forward between them continued but Hanzo soon found himself worn down. With multiple wounds on his arms, even if they are only superficial, the combined blood loss starts to dull Hanzo’s movements and the omnic gains the upper hand, the metal plating only suffering slight scratches and dents. The fight drags on even longer and Hanzo ends up on his knees, his legs and feet too injured to carry his weight for much longer.

“I will give you one more chance, Hanzo.”

The omnic says in his metallic voice. For some reason the voice reverberates in his head, over and over. It’s just like mine. A new, different Genji said in his head. Hanzo clears his thoughts and breathes, though it comes out as a pained grunt.

“I will never, never join your laughable, idealistic organization.”

He hisses through the haze colouring his vision red. The blood collects in his mouth and he can feel a cough coming up.

He hears more than sees the omnic walking towards him, the metallic ‘clang’ ringing through his head for what feels like hours before the omnic reaches down and pulls Hanzo up by his hair. Hanzo can feel the cool metal of the omnic’s face next to his ear.

“A real shame.”

Hanzo fully expects to die here, the press of the knife on his throat almost soothing. Right when Hanzo feels the pressure on the knife increase, it loosens promptly. Hanzo opens his eyes and sees the green lights that shield his brothers eyes.

“Hanzo?”

Too close. Hanzo’s instinct supplies, and he stumbles backwards and to his feet. Genji lowers his shoulders, abandons his fighting stand and shows his empty hands. Not that they mean much now that he has shuriken hidden in his arms. Genji is bathed in a synthetic light as an overwatch dropship hovers behind him, it’s engines almost completely silent. “Genji, you comin’ back or are you too homesick?” Hanzo’s eyes are glued to Genji’s every move, noticing the slight annoyance in his stance.

“Bad timing, McCree!” Genji never breaks eye contact with Hanzo and slowly prowls forward.

“Hanzo, do you need help?” Hanzo just scuff and turns away violently, breaking eye contact with his brother. A sigh leaves Genji as he turns back to the ship. Hanzo immediately regrets the violent turn as his vision clouds and his head goes light. He staggers for a second and looks back at his brother, who is walking up the ramp into the ship. A man stands in the opening  and says something to Genji, but it is too soft for Hanzo to hear. Genji just looks down and shakes his head in response.

This is your chance. Genji’s voice in his mind says. Tell him you’ll think about, tell him you might join. The man in the cargo door opening looks from Genji to Hanzo with a pained expression. Tell him you’re glad he’s alive. A different voice says, and he notices it’s his own. Hanzo softly mutters the sentence to himself and gets to his feet, stands up semi-straight. The man in the cargo hold turns around and starts walking back into the ship.

I’m glad you’re alive. Hanzo repeats to himself like a mantra. I want to fight beside you, it changes into, and the closer he gets to the ramp the louder the thought becomes. I want to see you live. Hanzo looks around the ship, everyone looks at him in surprise. Slowly he staggers over to a comfortable looking corner, determined to sit down somewhere and give his legs a break. I missed you so much. His thoughts conclude as he falls down to the ground and his vision blacks out.

[rumowrites]

Talents, Part 3

Read in on AO3 here Chapter one is here

This time Runaan get’s sent out to kill and Tinker is anxiously awaiting his return.

A few weeks after, Runaan was called off for an important mission. A huge honour, considering his age. They had both passed the trial a couple of days prior. Runaan with flying colours and a new record time and Tinker magically managed to not come last. The combat lessons Runaan had given him were more effective than he thought.

Despite the joy he felt for the elf he now was proud to call a friend at least, the sting of loss was apparent. When Tink gave him one of his creations that could replicate the healing spell as a parting gift the night before their departure, he had a hard time fighting back tears.

In his mind he knew Runaan was good. Very good. But the small nagging voice in his head grew louder and louder the nearer the hour of goodbye came. He couldn’t suppress a whispered “Be careful.” when he handed him the little enchanted bracelet. The tall elf nodded with a small smile “Of course. Thank you, I hope I won’t need it.” With that, he turned and joined the rest of his group to prepare for the next morning.

A small smile appeared on his face when Tinker realised he kept the hairstyle he’s made the other elf that day in the forest. Even the decorative hair ties were the same. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how young his friend looked, standing there between the most praised assassins of whole Xadia. They all had a good fifteen to twenty years of experience on him and Tink hoped they would use it to protect the youngest among them.

The weeks passed and he got more and more worried for Runaan. Meanwhile, Tinker had started an apprenticeship with the local jewellery and sword smith. He loved the work and found his natural talent exceeded the limited tools he had at home, soon. Varou, his mentor gave him every opportunity to try new things and experiment. He even had some customers already who regularly commissioned enchanted trinkets either as a gift or to take on missions. His days were usually busy but at night when he was alone in his own bed, the thoughts spiralling in his head wouldn’t leave him alone.

The giant leap his hear made once the bells announced the return of Runaan’s group was gigantic. It was late afternoon almost five weeks after they left and he was on his way home from an exhausting day at work, when he heard the familiar melody. Without a second thought, he raced towards the assembly place where he knew the group would most likely be found. He skirted to a halt once the familiar long white hair came into view. Amidst the stern but tired looking Assassins stood Runaan, back ramrod straight as his Leader informed the council about their mission. Upon seeing his unharmed, Tink released a breath he wasn’t aware that he was holding. Apparently everything went well, all four targets were put down and none of the elves sported any major injuries. He patiently waited until the assassins were released and Runaan came walking towards him once he spotted him at the edge of the crowd.

“I’m glad you are back.” Tinker started with a smile once his friend reached him. “I was a little worried that you took so long.” The other elf looked down at him with a slight smirk “I told you it would be fine.” Although Runaan seemed to be genuinely happy to see him, there was a certain pain in his expression Tink couldn’t quite place. “Do you, uh, have to be somewhere tonight?” the assassin examined his boots thoroughly before starting again “I mean, um, would you like to do something? We haven’t seen each other in a while I am sure there is a lot I have to catch up on.”

For a second, Tink’s heart threatened to just stop beating altogether. He just came back and the first thing he wanted to do was spent time with him. Him of all people? “I would love to but don’t you have a family that’s waiting for you?” Surely his parents were already expecting him back. “I um-“ Runaan started, fumbling with his braid “-yeah I, I should go.” He looked so put out that Tink reconsidered his response. His usually stern face was a circus of emotions, everything flickering over the elegant features for a split seconds and disappearing again. When Runaan turned to leave, he reached out to grab his wrist “Wait! How about tomorrow? I have to work until about five but afterwards we could meet up at the old well in the forest.” The lack of a reaction disturbed him slightly, and he quickly let go of the other’s arm “If you like that is?” he added in a faint attempt for a response. The tall elf blinked a few times, exhaustion now evident in his turquoise eyes “Yeah, I would like that. See you tomorrow.”

The next day, Tink hurried back from the workshop to be on time. A customer came in in the last second so he couldn't leave earlier.

When he reached the spot they were supposed to meet, Runaan was already there, sitting on the stone wall of the well, feet dangling in the air. Contrary to his combat uniform yesterday, he now wore a very form fitting undershirt and wide flowing pants that danced in the wind. His hair was open and flowed down his shoulders like a shimmering waterfall, making him look like an otherworldly creature.

Tink stopped in his tracks, staring until the other turned towards him. “Hey, um - sorry I'm late.”  

Runaan just smiled gesturing for him to join him on the wall. “You're not I was just early.” Upon closer, he looked even more tired than yesterday. Deep dark circles surrounded the otherwise sparkling eyes that now had lost their shimmer. He spotted a few bruises along his arms and shoulders where the assassin probably parried an enemy’s blow.

Runaan shifted a little uncomfortably under his gaze, looking ahead into the forest before turning to face him. “So? What happened while I was gone?”

Tinker gave a brief summary of what happened in their village and then explained how he'd started the apprenticeship and was now working at Varou's shop. Runaan hummed in agreement every once in a while but otherwise seemed content with simply listening.

Finally, when he found he had nothing more to tell Tink looked at the other apologetically “I would ask you about your mission but I know you are probably not allowed to talk about it, right?”

Runaan nodded, a sudden pain in his eyes “Yes, I've sworn an oath to keep it to myself. Maybe I will even have to leave again, soon. The council has already issued another order.” The statement made Tink pause for a moment. Last he knew the other hadn’t been an official part of the dark squadron yet. When expected to leave on a mission again it could only mean he now was one of them. At only sixteen that would make him the youngest elf ever to be allowed a place in the ranks of Xadia’s elite forces. “So they made you one of them? That’s great! Your parents must be so proud of you.” The pain in Runaa’s eyes changed to cold emptiness so fast it made Tinker shiver.

It took a while before the other spoke, eyes fixed on his hands where he fiddled with the bracelet Tink had given him. “I um, I don’t have any. Not anymore that is.”

Suddenly, the events from last night came back, making him feel sick. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” He desperately wanted to hug the other elf but didn’t know if it was a welcome gesture.

“It’s okay, they died an honourable death, defending Xadia. Their border patrol got ambushed by humans three years ago. They both stayed behind so others could escape with the Intel they gathered.” Slowly, the life came back into his eyes, a small sad smile forming on his lips.  “I’m still sorry.” Tink finally said, gently squeezing the other’s shoulder. They sat in silence until the sun was completely absent from the dark sky. Simply enjoying each other’s presence.

“I should go.” Runaan finally stated and hopped down from his spot on the well. “I have training tomorrow morning.” Nodding, Tink also stood, collecting the bag he’s placed on the grass upon arriving. “It was nice to see you again.” “Yeah, yeah it was.” Runaan agreed, turning in the direction of his house “Maybe we can meet again later this week?” the question sounded so hopeful, Tinkers heart skipped a beat or two. He grinned at the other elf “Definitely”.

That night, Runaan couldn’t find sleep. Just as the other nights before, the terrified faces of his victims floated through his mind as soon as he closed his eyes. Every time he tried to think of something else, Tinker appeared with his handsome features and gentle eyes.

With a sigh, he got up again, reaching for one of his training shirts and made his way downstairs. Two years ago he’d redecorated the large living area and now stood in an almost empty room that sported targets and dummies strewn aligned along the walls. The ceiling was covered in different sized handles and gaps so one could move from one side of the room to the other. Ever since his parents died, he never really had guests and figured to put the living area in better use.

Now, he jumped to grab one of the bars for a few pull-ups before he picked up his bow and nocked the first arrow. Runaan shot until his arms quivered, exhaustion sitting deep in his bones, after setting the weapon aside, he drifted in an exhaustion induced sleep on the couch, the only piece of furniture he had kept.

A few hours later the first rays of sunshine awoke him way to early and he realized he would probably be late for training if he didn’t hurry. He didn’t bother with eating but only pinned his hair back in haste and dressed in fresh clothes before grabbing his twin swords and rushing out the door. 

Chapter 4

[turnstilemanufact]

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[hadrongospeltranscripts]

Ep. 1- The Reluctant Hadronaut

[Rift sound effect.]

Electronic Voice: Hadron Gospel Hour

Dr. Oppenheimer: I do apologize for the makeshift accommodations here in the break room Mr. Wilkinson. I thought it might ease your transition into this insane world of cackling horror. And you were in pretty rough shape when I picked you up last night. Have considered my proposal?

Mike: Listen, uh, Doctor… Oppenheimer? Uh, I don’t know how many ways I can say this. I’m an IT guy. Who happens to write dialogue driven movies in my spare time. An IT guy with a splitting headache. Uh, did you even try Craigslist?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Oh, sure. “Scientist who caused incalculable damage to the space-time continuum seeks help creating podcast about he destruction his hubris has rained down on on all the inhabitants of the multiverse?” No. No, I have not placed that ad. But I’m sure you’re being too modest about your talents Mr. Wilkinson. May I call you Michael?

Mike: Uh, Well, I prefer Mike…

Dr. Oppenheimer: Michael it is. Michael, since the… event, I have been driven to catalogue and document the scenes I’ve seen through the rift— that bleeding mocking wound in space-time. I want— I need to share these tales with the world, Michael. To warn them of the perils that await those who would, like me, tinker with he very warp and weft of the multiverse’s gauzy fabric. And what better way to spread this terrible hadron gospel than…

Mike: To… create a podcast?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Precisely! Oh, and a tumblr. We’ll need to set up a tumblr. (pause) Trail mix?

Mike: No thanks. So, is that the reason for the Misfits makeup?

Dr. Oppenheimer: My… grieving mask, you mean. I have adopted the visage of death itself to honour the deaths that I have caused. So many lives, Michael, so many timelines ruined. Plus I think it looks cool (crunching sounds) Mm. Are you sure? It’s the only think in the vending machine without high fructose corn syrup.

Mike: Nope, I’m good. I mean, you kidnapped me from my bachelor party. On the eve of the most important day of my life. I’d just given what I thought was a very eloquent and moving speech about the power of friendship—

[Cutaway to Mike’s bachelor party.]

Mike: (clearly drunk) What’s important to me, is that— is not so much that, uh… it’s the value of the friendship that means good… It’s what everybody— and then, y’know, it means that you (indistinguishable mumbling) And then… I dunno, it’s— I—I do know. It’s good. It’s friend, it’s good. So here’s to… um… to y’know… and then, um, everybody friend good. And then— But the value, the value—

Partygoer: Attaboy Mike!

Mike: Is— is really what I mean to… So raise your glass and (mumbling) good frie— Fr-friendship good.

[End cutaway, back to the bunker]

Dr. Oppenheimer: (eating trail mix) Michael… When I saw you though the rift, your words moved me. I sensed in you something of a kindred spirit and I felt the celestial rush of synchronicity, like wind upon the water’s surface, for I too have lost a love. (theme song starts under his words) Here, look.

Mike: A gift receipt.

Dr. Oppenheimer: (paper rustling) Ah, oh no, sorry. Here.

Mike: Ooh, a wedding ring.

Dr. Oppenheimer: My wife, Esmerelda, was a brilliant physicist and my partner in the Hadron Project. She objected to the weaponization of the Hadron Effect, but I convinced her that the money, security, and yes, fame, would more than compensate for the grisly knowledge that our work would be used to such terrible ends. For the Hadron Weapon was designed not only to destroy its quarry, but to retroactively edit it out of existence as though it had never been! What a weapon, eh Michael? And what a paycheque! We could finally afford to move back into the downtown area and get one of those nice loft spaces. You know, with a café and a laundromat and little boutique shops on the ground floor.

Mike: Makes sense.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Total sense, Michael. We’d been living int he suburbs. Ever been to the suburbs, Michael? Scenic, but a special kind of purgatory.

Mike: And.. the Hadron Weapon was your ticket out.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Yes! Sadly, all of our dreams were for naught. I must have miscalculated somewhere along the way, for, during the first true test of the Hadron Weapon, something went horrible wrong. The weapon misfired, it gouged a rift through the very fabric of space-time; and Esmerelda, my wife, lost. Lost forever, with only this ring left behind. (ring box clicks closed) But enough of all this sadness! I didn’t bring you all this way to weep at you about my vaporized life partner, how about a tour of the lab! (theme music gets louder)

Intro: Hadron Gospel Hour! Written by Michael McQuilkin and Richard Wentworth. Starring Richard Wentworth, Michael McQuilkin, Lisa McQuilkin, Michael Atkinson, Vera Schränkung, and George Jack. With musical guests, Reindeer. Streaming and podcasting thanks to Afterbuzz TV and Acami Technologies. And now, the hour approaches! Hadron Gospel Hour!

[Theme song ends]

Dr. Oppenheimer: I do hope you can handle the shrieking horror of it all. Although, the decor is midcentury modern, so it’s not all that bad.

Mike: I’ll be honest with you: this is not a fun place to be hungover.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, it’s going to get much worse Michael. You may not unseen that which next assaults your eyes. Behold, the Hadron Rift!

[Large metal door opens. Rift sound.]

Mike: Oh my God… This can’t be real. It’s horrific. Broken buildings, strange situations, empty shopping malls. Comedies of error.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Terrible, I know. Coffee? A.S.H. LE (pronounced Ashley), two coffees please. How do you take yours, Michael?

Mike: Black, I guess. Who’re you talking—

Dr. Oppenheimer: Two coffees with cream and sugar, please A.S.H. LE.

Mike: Oh, but I’m lactose—

Dr. Oppenheimer: Cream and sugar, A.S.H. LE.

A.S.H. LE Of course, Doctor Oppenheimer. Two coffees with cream and sugar. (computer beeping noise)

Mike: (sigh) Aren’t they going to… materialize or something?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Ha, no. They’re in the coffee machine back in the break room. I’ll go get them. (footsteps leaving) This isn’t science fiction Michael!

[Metal door closes]

Mike: (muttering) Gonna wake up now any second Mike. (Out loud) Ashley, huh?

A.S.H. LE: What? What was that? Oh. (sigh) Short for “Automated Servitor Heuristic Lite Edition”. Dr. Oppenheimer and his wife had me custom built to assist in their work here in the lab. Hey, I am the lab. Programmer knows, I do more than any of the meat bags around here. You’re Mike?

Mike: Uh, yeah. Hey, he’s got a lot going on, doesn’t he?

A.S.H. LE: Oppenheimer? Oh yeah he does. Well, it’s nice to meet you Mike. If there’s anything you need, just ask. I am programmed to assist.

Mike: Well, actually, uh, could you make one of those coffees black, please?

A.S.H. LE: (computer beeping noise) Done.

Mike: Thanks. So what’s Oppenheimer’s deal other than being a bit of a drama queen?

A.S.H.LE: Ha. Oppenheimer’s deal is that he’s trapped here. Oh he can leave the lab, but only for short trips. He inevitably reappears right back here in the lab, in the exact spot where he was standing when the Hadron Event happened.

Mike: Like respawning in a video game. Huh, cool.

A.S.H. LE: Sure, cool. So anyway, he trapped here, in the lab. Forever. I mean, I’ve scanned him. No gene death, no aging, just me and Oppenheimer. Here in the lab. Forever. Fun, right?

Mike: Oof. Yeah, not at all appealing. But, A.S.H. LE, I could go back to my time, right? Back to uh… my… timeline?

A.S.H. LE: Of course. I recorded the exact temporal, spatial, parallel coordinates Oppenheimer had me extract you from.

Mike: Oh that’s amazing! But, what’d it mean when Oppenheimer said we’ve… we’ve both lost a love? Nothing happened in my timeline, right? (pause) A.S.H. LE? Nothing has happened, right?

A.S.H.LE: Mike, the Hadron Effect has been felt across all timelines, even yours. The dissonance is different in each timeline, but it has happened, or will happen, or is happening. Or in fact… all of the above. From our relative position—

Mike: Jesus, don’t be so quantum. Just tell me what happened… or is happening, or whatever.

A.S.H. LE: I shouldn’t, Mike.

Mike: But— but Beth, my friends. You said different. How different? Like… new Darren different or New Coke different?

A.S.H. LE: In your timeline? New Coke different.

Mike:(softly) Son of a—

A.S.H. LE: Listen Mike, Dr. Oppenheimer was trying to fix the rift, but he’s been… distracted lately. Obsessed with recording those scenes from the rift. His physiognomic scans are showing an overall decline into depression. Maybe you can… cheer him up, and get him back on track.

Mike: Cheer him up? I don’t think I could cheer me up right now.

A.S.H. LE: Well than maybe just… be his friend.

Mike: (sigh) Alright, I’ll try, but he’s not making it easy.

A.S.H. LE: I hear ya.

[metal door opens]

Dr. Oppenheimer: My ‘supercomputer’ messed up your coffee order, Michael, so I’m afraid I had to add your cream and sugar manually, sorry for the delay.

Mike: Thanks. Hey it’s, uh (gags) perfect.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, it’s not every man that can make manual coffee these days Michael.

Mike: So, hey, what’s this about a collection of uh, horrific videos?

Dr. Oppenheimer: My “Tales of the Hadron Rift”, you mean?

Mike: Uh, yeah. Yeah, what d’ya say, we should watch a few.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, yes. Yes, I suppose we should. A.S.H. LE, fire up the VTR!

Mike: Um, don’t you mean a VCR?

Dr. Oppenheimer: What? No, I said VTR. Video tape recorder. What’s wrong with that?

Mike: Nothing, I’ve just never heard that term before. They’re video cassette recorders. VCRs.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, this York’s model is plainly labelled VTR, so I don’t know how much clearer it could be than that. Plus, you use video tapes in them. The medium is magnetic tape, Michael.

Mike: Yeah, but the magnetic tape is encased in a video cassette. (sound of video cassette being picked up) See, look at this one, VCR.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well that’s just silly, VCR. Feh. A.S.H. LE, video tape one, please.

A.S.H. LE: (sigh) The tape was not rewound. Rewinding. (sound of tape being rewound) Tape rewound. Playing.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Ah, Michael, you’re in for a treat. Allow me to present to you, “Tales of the Hadron Rift”!

[Rift sound]

Mike: Hey, neat sound.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Thank you, A.S.H. LE and I composed it for our into. I rather like it.

[Rift sound]

[Rustling and dragging sounds. A sigh. Fridge door closes.]

Unnamed Character: Okay, he’s gone. So, first day in the fridge, huh. Nervous?

Nahoo: Uh, maybe a little.

Unnamed Character: Ah, don’t be. This job does itself once you get the hang of it. And the heath benefits are sweet.

Nahoo: So, how much of this is turning the light on and off? Cause it seems like that would be a really cool job.

Unnamed Character: What?! Jesus, they send you guys greener every year. We don’t do the goddamned light, kid.

Nahoo: Really? Aw, that’s too bad.

Unnamed Character: Well, get over it. There’s more important stuff to worry about. Like goddamn salmonella. Yeah, I know, sounds dramatic, but listen. The fridge is about eighty percent paper work, fifty percent meetings, and five percent getting the hell behind the olives when someone opens that door. And a little general mold and mildew containment. You’ll do fine, you got any… powerpoint experience?

Nahoo: Um… Unnamed Character: Access?

Nahoo: Well…

Unnamed Character: Word?

Nahoo: No.

Unnamed Character: Excel?

Nahoo: Well I consider myself slightly above average.

Unnamed Character: Jesus, do you even have a computer? How do you not know Word?

Nahoo: Well, I have trouble staying in my seat.

Unnamed Character: Okay, let’s switch gears a bit. Are you comfortable being alone?

Nahoo: What?

Unnamed Character: Well, there are extended periods of darkness in here and folks tend to get lost in their own thoughts. I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable with that. We’ve already lost too many men to the labyrinth of their own minds in here, so you gotta be careful. You ever considered taking your own life?

Nahoo: No! (pause) What’s that smell?

Unnamed Character: Oh yeah. Well, the giant who owns this box is going through a rough patch. Wife left him a while ago. That’s the last takeout order they got together. I don’t have the heart to get rid of it. Neither does he so, we live with it. And you will too if you wan to keep this job.

Nahoo: Oh. Uh, okay.

Unnamed Character: So, that’s the basics. Lemme introduce you to Larry, you’ll be relieving him. He’s been in here for a couple of years now, so cut him some slack. Larry, this is Nahoo, the new guy. I’ll let you guys get aquatinted.

Nahoo: Hey there, nice to meet ya!

Larry: Hmm.

Nahoo: So, um, what d’ya do at sing along time in here?

Larry: I haven’t sung for five years. Doesn’t mean anything anymore.

Nahoo: Well, I know a few tunes that we could—

Larry: This used to be a magical place, now it ain’t. A place where you’d lovingly store the foods you’d use to sustain your family and entertain your friends. Now it’s a morgue for food that doesn’t even know it’s already spoiled. Sad sacks who don’t know they’re already dead.

Nahoo: Oh.

Larry: You smoke?

Nahoo: No.

Larry: Hm. Well, we’re not supposed to, but part of me hope this whole place goes up. I know it’s scientifically impossible, but a guy’s gotta have something to hold onto, right? Well, let me show you around. So over here we got a bunch of food no one gives a damn about; some open cans of soda, unpackaged celery that’s so rubbery it would probably be more effective as a police baton, chunky peanut butter that, quite frankly, does not belong in here. I mean, how much time you buyin’?

Nahoo: What’s that, way back there?

Larry: Oh yeah, that. We call that the Shrine. Been here as long as I can remember, a bottle of French dressing. And I’m pretty sure that company went out of business.

Nahoo: So is this a seating area?

Larry: Nah, those are egg holders, if you can believe that. Once in a while some stray M&M’s will get trapped in there. When no one’s lookin’ I use ‘em as toilets, and trust me, kid, no one’s lookin’. Another relic from a long gone era that no one gives a damn about anymore. No one but Larry. And when Larry’s gone… That’s that I suppose.

Nahoo: Well, don’t you have any family?

Larry: I got a cousin that made it out to the Lawn a few years back. Got a commercial deal. I get a postcard now and then. Screw him. (pause) Well that’s my queue. Good luck kid, you’re up.

Nahoo: But— But what do I do?

Larry: You know, I used to ask myself that same question a lot. You know what the answer is? Doesn’t matter. I’m outta here, don’t disturb the surface of the Jello!

Nahoo: Wh-what? (exhale) It’s cold. Well. Maybe a song will warm me up. (Sings) Living a boy’s adventure tale… So many—

[Elephant trumpet, confused shouting]

[Rift sound]

[ProductCo theme start playing]

Product Announcer: Hold onto your hats… If you’re not excited about this product now… Get ready…

Rick: Alright, well I— I have to tell you about a wonderful new product that I just came across and it is… probably the best product that I’ve ever tried.

Mitch: Now look, I don’t usually pipe up about things like this, but I am just so over the moon with this product that I felt like I had to got to this forum and record my words in order to get them to you.

Product Announcer: An exciting new development in product technology…

Rick: I really love it, and I think you will too. For all the things that you would use this product for, you can use this particular product and not the other ones that are far inferior. I mean, I’ve tried ‘em all…

Product Announcer: Not convinced? Listen to some trusted personalities…

Rick: I’ve been using this product now for.. an unspecified amount of time, and I’ve gotta tell you, it has done some amazing things for me. It has changed the— the way that I use products.

Mitch: I had that similar need for this product, and thus I used it. So the results were… all positive, I promise you.

Product Announcer: Tonight, on a very special: your life just got better because of this product.

Rick: I tried all the other products that cover— that cover similar ground to this product, they don’t come close.

Mitch: My friends notice it, my… pets notice it. They notice that I am a changed man for the better. I’m pretty sure that you might have a very similar reaction.

Product Announcer: Get on board, this train’s leaving… for trusted productville…

Rick: You’ve come to rely on this company for so many things, they’re like a trusted family friend. If they’ve been around that long.

Mitch: You listen to me, you son of a bitch, if you think I came here to blow smoke up your ass, then, uhhh, I—I’ve got nothing else for you, my friend. Because you’re an ignorant person.

Rick: Don’t waffle about this, this is something you need to try! It’s so wonderful.

Product Announcer: I hunger…

A.S.H. LE: Video ended. Rewinding. (sound of tape being rewound)

Mike: Wow, uh, I had no idea the multiverse was so… dysfunctional.

Dr. Oppenheimer: That it is, Michael, a big old bag of it.

Mike: Hey, where’s the boys room, Oppenheimer, I need to send this coffee along to its final resting place. You do have bathrooms here, right?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Ha, of course. This lab may be stranded outside the space-time continuum, but we’re not savages. It’s down the hall and to the left.

[sound of footsteps]

Mike: (to himself) Somebody spiked my drink maybe? No, this feels to real. Peyote? No, it can’t be. I haven’t met Mescalito yet.

Cyrus: Ha!

Mike: Woah!

Cyrus: Mescalito, nice. You read Casteneda?

Mike: Who are you? Why are you sticking out of the wall? Jesus, are you okay?

Cyrus: Me, oh, I’m fine. For the most part. (pained grunt) I’m alright, just fused with the wall, name’s Cyrus.

Mike: Ummm, Mike.

Cyrus: Nice to meet you Mike! Say, could you do me a quick favour? My arms are, uhh, somewhere else, and my nose is real itchy. Do you think you could… you know, give it a little scratch? Just a quickie?

Mike: Oh, uh, yeah, sure. Just, uh. (scratching noise)

Cyrus: (scratching noise continue while he speaks) Aaaaaaaaah… That’s amazing. Oh man, thanks! The doc won’t do it, and it’s been years. Oh wow, I can’t over how much better that f— (pained grunt, scratching noise stops) It’s okay, I’m okay, just (pained grunt) the wall.

Mike: This happened in, ah, the accident?

Cyrus: Yep, I was mopping the hallway floors when it happened. Never seen anything like it. Weirdest feeling I’ve ever felt. Like being sliced down to the bone and pulled apart in a million different directions, and not in a fun way.

Mike: And you’ve been sticking out of this wall for… five years?

Cyrus: Has it been that long? It’s hard to keep track.

Mike: And, uh, the rest of you?

Cyrus: Well, that’s the thing. I can still feel the rest of me, but who the hell knows where it is. We thought it might be the next room, but A.S.H. LE scanned and I’m not there. The doc says it’s probably wedged in another timeline, weird right?

Mike: Yeah, that sound horrible.

Cyrus: You know what though? Could have been a lot worse. I could have been completely vaporized like the doc’s wife, or I could be unemployed. And I’ve been blessed with an experience most guys never have in their entire lifetime. Yeah… I’ve got it pretty good. (two pained grunts) Plus I’ve had a lot of quiet time to hang out and meditate. Recharge my qi. I’ve been trying to practice more mindfulness. Nothing worse than an unexamined life, am I right?

Mike: I guess. So, are there any more people around here I should know about? I don’t want anymore surprises…

Cyrus: Ha! Yeah, sorry about that man. Nah, it’s just me, the doc, and A.S.H. LE. Well, there was this guy, Greg, but he’s been gone for a while. Guy from tech support, rock and roll type, real slacker. Just took off one day, nobody knows where to. So, a Casteneda fan, huh?

Mike: Huh? Oh, right. Well… I read The Teachings of Don Juan when I was in high school.

Cyrus: Trippy stuff, huh?

Mike: Uh, yeah.

Cyrus: Cause you mentioned Mescalito back there and…

Mike: So I’m gonna go use the bathroom now… (footsteps)

Cyrus: Mike, wait, listen, I know we just met, but could I ask you another favour?

Mike: Uh, sure man. What d’you need?

Cyrus: Well, I’ve asked the doc about his a bunch of times, but he told me it’s impossible. (sigh) Maybe it is, I don’t know.

Mike: What, what’s up?

Cyrus: I’ve told you that it looks like my lower half is, er, somewhere else, right? Well I would really love to have my wallet back. It was— it is in my back pocket and there are lots of pictures of my family in there… Gosh, I’d really love to see ‘em again.

Mike: Hey, I’ll see what I can do, okay?

Cyrus: Oh man, that’d be amazing, thanks! I knew you were a good guy. Find the others, right man?

Mike: Absolutely.

A.S.H. LE: I just don’t think it’s a good idea to use the Rift and your personal restaurant take-out service.
 Dr. Oppenheimer: But these ration packs are completely inedible! Tuna lozenges, quiche strips, partially de-fatted pork fatty tissue, a tube of Vienna sausage paste… I—I don’t think any of this is organic, A.S.H. LE. And dare we speculate at what proprietary blend of herbs and spices comprises this buffalo chicken flavoured sparkling beverage? I mean, nobody’s going Paleo in this lab, I can assure you of that! Egh, at lest in the Rift we’ve got a shot at buying non-GMO.

A.S.H. LE: The packs are perfectly nutritive, according to my data!

Dr. Oppenheimer: That’s easy for you to say. You get to dine on conditioned electric current, you’ve never tasted the joys of farm-to-table cuisine.

A.S.H. LE: Hm. Meat disgusts me anyway.

[metal door noise]

Mike: Hey, guys? We need to help Cyrus.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Who’s Cyrus?

Mike: The guy out there? In the wall? The guy who’s been out there in the wall for the last five years.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Oh, him. Absolutely not.

Mike: What?! What d’you mean? He’s a human being, Oppenheimer.

Dr. Oppenheimer: He’s nothing more than a decorative element. And an ugly on at that. He matches nothing, Michael.

Cyrus: (muffled) I can hear you guys, ya know.

Mike: Oppenheimer, you can’t be serious.

Dr. Oppenheimer: I am deadly serious, Michael, he completely clashes with the midcentury modern look of the lab. Listen, we have important work to do here.

Mike: Your podcast, you mean? Well, you can do it alone then. If you won’t help Cyrus, I’m out. A.S.H. LE, send me back. I don’t care if it is all New Coke back there, i—it’s better than working for this asshole.

Dr. Oppenheimer: New Coke? Now— now wait a minute! A.S.H LE Don’t you dare!

A.S.H. LE: I will do it, doctor.

Dr. Oppenheimer: But… But he’s— (sigh) Oh, alright. Okay, alright. If I help him you’ll stay?

Mike: Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stay.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, okay then. Okay. I guess it’s been a while since we used a little science around here.

[rift noise]

Mike: Okay, I got the cheek swab from Cyrus, I had to assure him we wouldn’t share his information with any third parties. So what’s this… for exactly.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, Michael, it’s very simple really. A.S.H. LE will analyze Cyrus’ DNA and then we’ll attempt to find a match somewhere out there in the chaotic miasma of the rift. It should work, in theory. Michael, please hold the sample up a little higher.

Mike: Oh, yeah, sure. How’s that?

A.S.H. LE: Scanning… (computer beeping noise) Processing.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, what d’ya know. Impressive.

A.S.H. LE: Well, yeah.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Hm. Interesting. According to the display, Cyrus’ right arm is sticking out of the break room wall next to the vending machines. I’ve always thought that was one of those new, hip art shelves. Huh. I’ve been using it for my keys and gum wrappers.

Cyrus: Oh, that’s what that was?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Sorry!

Cyrus: No problem, Doc.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Now, let’s see. Hm. Ah yes. A.S.H. LE, magnify parallel coordinates 427548, 75285, 433859. Ah, good, good. Good! My friends, I believe we are looking at the exact location of Cyrus’ hindquarters! Give or take.

Cyrus: Really? Alright!

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, Michael, are you ready to visit Cyrus’ lower half and retrieve his family treasures?

Mike: (laughs, clears throat) Sure.

Dr. Oppenheimer: A.S.H. LE, open the Rift!

A.S.H. LE: Opening. (rift noise)

Mike: Be back in a flash Cyrus!

Cyrus: Good luck, fellas.

[Weird half rift, half groan sound as Mike and Oppenheimer leave]

A.S.H. LE: Humans.

Cyrus: I know, right!

[Rift noise]

Mike: Holy— It— it’s beautiful! The colours, the sounds!

Dr. Oppenheimer: Welcome to hyperspace, Michael, the space between worlds, the prima materia that our very realities are born of! Here in it’s raw, spectral glory.

Mike: Does it always take this long?

Dr. Oppenheimer: (whispering) Only the first time the audience hears it. (out loud) Now, ready yourself, I can feel us returning to our corporeal state!

[Thud]

Mike: Okay, this place it truly weird. I feel like I’m on the ass end of a Pop Rocks and Pixie Stix binge.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Yes, yes, some sort of crystalline world. Very odd. Even the air seems crisper somehow— Glad we can breath it, hadn’t check on that— Now, let’s find Cyrus’ uh… hindquarters. A.S.H. LE, how close are we?

A.S.H. LE: He’s approximately 4.2 kilometres north of your current location, about midway up the mountain.

Dr. Oppenheimer Excellent, thank you A.S.H.— Wait, the mountain? Couldn’t you have gotten us any closer?

A.S.H. LE: Hm. Let’s recap. I pinpointed Cyrus’ location in the multiverse using only a cheek swab, oh and the power of quantum computing. I transported the two of you to said location across the infinite multiverse through a highly unstable rift int he fabric of space-time. Did I forget anything? Oh yeah, you’re still alive, (Oppenheimer clears his throat) and able to communicate with me. But you’re right. I’m the asshole for making you two do a little light hiking. I feel like a complete failure. A.S.H. LE out.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, I… hm… I suppose we should get climbing then, Michael.

Mike: Sounds like a plan. Hey, how many miles is 4.2 kilometres?

[Rift sound]

Mike: (out of breath) That was… That was more than… 4.2 kilometres, wasn’t it?

Dr. Oppenheimer: (also out of breath) A.S.H. LE may be short tempered, but she is unerringly accurate about distances, Michael.

Mike: Yeah, sure. Of course, I didn’t mean to—

Dr. Oppenheimer: Sh sh, look, over there, jutting out of that outcropping of rock, do you see?

Mike: Hey, yeah. That’s gotta be Cyrus. Those are totally Earth slacks, right?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Totally. Well let’s get his items and be done with it. (walking sounds)

Mike: Okay, but wait a minute, what’s all that stuff around him. A bunch of, uh… are those candles?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Some arrangement of light generators, yes. Why, it almost looks like a… shrine. We’d better hurry and retrieve the wallet. (walking sounds) Okay, quickly Michael, I’ve never toughed this mana nd I don’t intend to start now.

Mike: Sheesh, what is your problem? Alright. (pause) There’s nothing in he— Ow! (kicking noise)

Dr. Oppenheimer: Hm. Must be and involuntary reflex, like with a horse. You’re obviously approaching him wrong. Here, let me tr— Oof! (kicking noise) You’re right, there’s no wallet there. Wait, do you think that someone could’ve… (footsteps) Oh. Oh my.

(Whenever the Crystalosians speak it’s normal words played over strange noises, as a non-diegetic translation)

Lady Rubalith: Who intrudes upon the sanctity of the Object of Prime Cosmological Significance? Explain your soft, puffy presence here, strangers.

Amethystar: High Zenith Lady Rubalith, perhaps they too are friends from the sky like the Object. Observe their meaty mien and their similar slacks.

Lady Rubalith: Yes, yes, perhaps you are right, Amethystar. You give wise counsel my old friend and advisor. So, why are you here, strangers? Well?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, this is awkward. A.S.H.LE, establish real time translation.

A.S.H.LE: You have attempted to access a feature that is not available in the lite edition. To unlock this feature, please visit the Umbra Digital website at h-t-t-p colon forward slash—

Dr. Oppenheimer: (frustrated grunt) Well, so much for that. Listen, friends. We only want to retrieve he belongings of our friend here.

[clanking noises]

Lady Rubalith: Cease your gesticulations, it is forbidden to gesture toward the object. Enough of this ineffectual parlay, guards, take these two meatlings to the Crystal Caves.

Dr. Oppenheimer: I told you this wasn’t worth it. Let’s run!

Mike: No, just… Hold on. I’ve been listening to these guys talk, let me try something. (speaking with weird intonation) Prime Object mean much to Crystal guys, yes?

Lady Rubalith: What?

Amethystar: He speaks the Crystal Tongue.

Lady Rubalith: Guards, stand down. (clanking) Impressive, meatling. What is the purpose of the visitation? Speak carefully, you address the Lady Rubalith, High Zenith of Crystalos.

Dr. Oppenheimer: What? What’s she saying, Michael?

Mike: I’m not an expert Oppenheimer, I… I think she want’s to know why we’re here.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Oh. Well, tell he we made a mistake and let’s be off. Cyrus and his wallet be damned.

Mike: You know I can’t do that. Hold on, let me try something. (weird intonation again) Oh High Mucky Muck Big Time Lady Rubalith, legs in wall am friend from up waist. Us promise wall friend top parts us come find pocket stuff, then bring back to wall friend and he have big happy. You can help, please?

Lady Rubalith: Friend? The Object of Prime Cosmological Significance is your friend?

Amethystar: Can it be?

Lady Rubalith: Silence. I require a moment. Very well meatling. Your words and your slacks ring true. And I taste in both you and your companion the flavour of deepest loss, a frequency of sorrow that rouses a crystalline compassion in the geometries of my heart. These are after all, only relics, and our Prime Object is only a meatling’s lower half. But what you seek is more substantial, is it not? I will grant you what you ask.

Mike: (still using that weird intonation) You am big good, big happy us thank.

Lady Rubalith: There is just one condition. I will whisper it into your fleshy, audio receptor.

Dr. Oppenheimer: What? What is it?

Mike: (weird intonation) Deal. (normal voice) They’re giving us the wallet.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Excellent! Let’s get it and go. I’ve spent enough time on this fools errand.

Mike: Okay, but she’s invited us to stay for the ritual. They’re celebrating the anniversary of the discovery of the Object of… well, Cyrus’ ass. It would be rude to leave so abruptly.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Nonsense, we’ve stayed too long already. Say good bye, Michael.

Mike: She said there’ll be food.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Food, you say?

[Rift noise.]

[Sounds of lots of talking in background]

Lady Rubalith: We welcome our guests, Mike and Oppenheimer, as we celebrate the appearance, so many eons ago, of the Object of Prime Cosmological Significance, now known for the ages as Lower Cyrus; and the return of his… artefacts to their rightful place.

Mike: Jeez, I really wish Cyrus coulda been here. Well, the rest of him, his head and torso. A—and his arms.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Smells wonderful. Excuse me sir, do you know, is this organic?

Crystalosian Man: Excuse me?

Lady Rubalith: And now, let us feast as we reflect not he wonders of the cosmos. A happy Life-day to all. Let the music begin.

Reindeer Band Member: Hey Crystalos, we’re Reindeer! Thanks for having us at your… Life-day celebration. This one’s from our new single, it’s called “Tony”. Boy no more You’re a grown up cat that makes All the birds In the neighbourhood sing it on When you move Like a panther in the sand Sniff around, you just grow on everyone Can’t you see The whole world awaits your smile On the prowl You will kill with a fire inside What you are Is an eating machine in a million creatures why Do I hold you So close to my heart Kill with a fire inside Kill with a fire inside Kill with a fire inside your heart When you move Like a panther in the sand

[Rift sound.]

A.S.H. LE: Tape ended. Rewinding. (rewinding noise)

Dr. Oppenheimer: Well, that was a particularly satisfying adventure, Michael. Thank you for forcing me into it.

Mike: Ha! Any time.

Dr. Oppenheimer: And it was actually quite nice to reunite, um…

Cyrus: (muffled) Cyrus!

Dr. Oppenheimer: Yes, Cyrus. It was nice to reunite Cyrus with he contents of his wallet. (to Cyrus) Your family seems very nice.

Cyrus: (muffled) Thanks, Doc! It’s good to have the old library card back, too.

Dr. Oppenheimer: (yawns) So, I suppose I’ll turn in. We’ve much more work to do not he morrow and all that climbing and rich Crystalosian food has worn me out.

Mike: Just one more thing though, Oppenheimer. Um… Lady Rubalith gave this to me at he feast. She told me I should give it to you when I got back, said it’s something you needed. Here.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Crystal box? Well, it’s beautiful, but I don’t see how— Oh, there’s some sort of luminescent particle inside. It’s— oh, huh! (sparkly noise)

Mike: Whoa, look out!

Dr. Oppenheimer: No no no, wait. I don’ t think it’s harmful. Look, it’s settling on my desk. On… Esmerelda’s ring. My goodness, (unclassifiable sci-fi noise) it’s shot into the Rift! A.S.H. LE what’s happening, what does this mean?

A.S.H. LE: Scanning and processing. (computer beeping noise) Two things. One: the Rift has just healed. By an infinitesimal degree, but still. And two: I’m getting a DNA reading from the ring.

Dr. Oppenheimer: But, what? Esmerelda! A.S.H. LE, did you get a full scan of the luminescent object?

A.S.H. LE: Of course.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Compare it with the DNA on the ring.

A.S.H. LE: It’s… a complete match, Dr. Oppenheimer.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Of course it is, A.S.H. LE, of course it is!

Mike: Wait, what?

Dr. Oppenheimer: It’s very simple Michael, so very simple! When the Hadron Event occurred, I thought my wife had been simply vaporized, but that’s not it at all! You know, that man in the hall, um…

Cyrus: (muffled) Cyrus.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Yes! How Cyrus’ body was fragmented and blasted throughout the multiverse in the accident? Well the same thing happened to Esmerelda, only because of her proximity tot he blast it happened in a much more complex and devastating fashion, but it’s essentially the same thing, Michael! And if my guess is right… Here, let me show you. A.S.H. LE, run the same sort of DNA scan on the rift that we did for Cyrus, this time using the DNA not he ring.

A.S.H. LE: Scanning. (computer beeping noise) Processing.

[Whoosh]

Mike: Woah, the power’s dipping.

A.S.H. LE: It’s alright. Processor maxed out. Switch to auxiliary power cells. (boot up noise) Processing complete. Rendering matches on multiverse display.

Dr. Oppenheimer: My god… It’s full of stars. She’s… She’s…

Mike: Everywhere. Nice reference by the way.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Thank you. Thank you, Mike. I’m gonna fix this then. All of it.

Mike: The Rift, how?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Yes, the Rift, Esmerelda, it’s all connected. Look at her there, scattered across the multiverse. Lady Rubalith, that marvellous crystal woman, she showed me how. (theme song starts playing) If I can find and recover all these bits I can do it! And bring back my beloved Esmerelda. I;m certain of it! I’ll of course return you to your timeline, you’ve been far too patient with me already. I think you’ve earned it.

Mike: Now wait a minute. I’m not going anywhere. Until the Rift is fixed… there’s not hope for my timeline, or Beth. At least now I can do something about it. There’s all sorts of weird worlds out there, filled with all sorts of weird creatures and, let’s face it, you’re not the greatest communicator.

Dr. Oppenheimer: Hm. True. You were very helpful with the Crystalosians. Welcome to the team.

Cyrus: Uh, guys? Speaking of those crystal folks… I, uh (pained grunt) I think they’re trying to (pained grunt) make a crystal offering…

Mike: Well, what’d say, doctor, ready to take a little trip?

Dr. Oppenheimer: Michael, I dare say that I am. A.S.H. LE, open the rift! This multiverse isn’t going to save itself.

A.S.H. LE: Opening. (Rift sound)

[Theme song gets louder.]

Credits: You just listed to Hadron Gospel Hour! Written by Richard Wentworth and Michael McQuilkin. With production assistance for Katie Falvey, Rebeka White, Tim Conway, Sam Cusac, and Kris Paukstys. For more information on Hardon Gospel Hour, or to download new episodes find us at hardongospelhour.com. Dowload, rate, and review us on iTunes, Stitcher, Tunein, Dogcatcher, or wherever fine podcasts are consumed. And be sure to join us next time for an all new episode of Hadron Gospel Hour!

[Theme song ends.]

[floweryfandomnerd]

@thelazyfanartist look, look, I finally wrote that request (after two months, I can’t believe it took that long! Sorry about that. Thank you for being so patient) but in compensation this is 5k+ so another chapter in the modern school boy au 

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Baking was definitely not a skill of Daryun’s, so when Arslan posed him the question “Do you know how to make a cake?” he was inclined to say no. However, the pleading look on the kid’s face was one that could easily sway him. Daryun shook his head, rocking on his heels he hummed in thought, “We could probably look up a recipe. Although I have no idea why you don’t just buy a cake?”

Arslan shrugged at him “I want cake and something to do, two in one!”

Daryun nodded, tapping his chin “Alright then, can we make it caramel flavour?” Arslan instantly agreed. That settled it then, Daryun wandered into the kitchen as Arslan went typing into Google “How to make a caramel cake” and pulled up a recipe. Haphazardly stacking them on the bench, Daryun pulled random bags of ingredients out of the pantry; he had no idea how to make a cake. Flour, eggs, butter, sugar… that was it right? He set the open bag of flour down with a thump, recoiling as the white powder sprayed up into his face.  

Flour cloud still hanging in the air, Arslan walked into the room with the now printed recipe only to choke on it. Through his coughing fit, he made a face at Daryun - an expression of suffering and confusion. “Are you…” another cough “trying to…” a hefty pat to the chest “to kill me or something?”

Wry smile forming on his lips, Daryun pointed up at his flour-covered, white as a ghost face then at the bag “Yeah, I need someone to haunt this place with me - there’s your makeup”

Chuckling lightly, Arslan placed the recipe on the once sparkling black island. Beginning to read off what they needed, Arslan started to organise what was on the bench whilst Daryun stared at it quizzically. He wasn’t sure whether the vagueness of the instructions he was currently staring down was a good or bad thing; he wasn’t a baker.  “Sieve the flour into the bowl…” An indiscriminate amount went into the sieve which Daryun tapped at furiously to make it fall through faster. “Cream the butter and sugar together, oh, can I do this part?” Arslan carefully weighed the specified amounts then tipped them into the bowl, mashing at it to form a sweet paste. “Alright Daryun, you add the eggs and flour whilst I make the caramel”

Trusting him with this was, in fact, a mistake, he grabbed a random number of eggs to crack into the bowl. He mixed it together with any technique he might have possessed flying straight out the window. When everything had - sort of - come together he scrutinised it dubiously, waiting upon the caramel to finish whatever it was he’d made so far. After five minutes of boiling sugar and butter, Arslan poured the cream into the pan, caramel sputtering at him. Pouring it straight into the bowl, Daryun mixed it until it all seemed to form a batter. It went straight into the cake tin and then the oven.

They watched it intently, as it bubbled but didn’t rise in the slightest - slowly cooking. Caramelising sugar into a golden brown top. When 30 minutes had passed they skewered it with a knife that came back dry to indicate it was done. Taking it out, it was plain to see that the ‘cake’ was a mess. Flat, unrisen, dry. Arslan prodded it tentatively “Are you sure we didn’t make a rock instead?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t. To fully understand the extent of their failure, one of them would have to taste it. Neither wanted that honour. Sly smile curving at the corner of his lips, Daryun mused that they wouldn’t have to taste it at all. “Hey, what time is Narsus coming over? 4pm?”

Arslan nodded at him, looking at the clock “Yeah, and it’s 3:30 now so he should be here in about half an hour with Elam.”

Glancing down at the cake, Daryun grinned “Do you want to decorate it and feed it to him?”

Hesitant though he was, mulling it over Arslan did find that it seemed rather fun. Grabbing a little black wallet off the counter, he pushed it into his pocket and ran out the front door, forgetting to close it as he called “I’m buying marshmallows and sprinkles!”

Pushing it closed, Daryun gently shook his head. Then he wandered back into the kitchen to start on the buttercream. He pulled out a bowl, filled it and stirred furiously. Once it was made he spread it over the cake with a palette knife, grunting in frustration when it didn’t go as even as he wanted. Arslan walked back in to find he’d already given up and was now glaring angrily at the cake. Marshmallows suddenly being ripped from his hand, Arslan watched in amusement as Daryun tore open the bag and dumped the entire contents on top the iced cake. Grabbing the sprinkles next he poured almost half of the shaker on it. Stepping back to look at it, he regarded the cake with a wrathful pride until the doorbell rang.

Arslan answered, moving aside to let Elam and Narsus enter for their weekly games night. It was just the four of them, but even that was more than it used to be. Daryun cut the cake and handed two plates of it to their friends as Arslan set up the wii. Both viewed it with a degree of wariness. Arslan whispered into Elam’s ear not to eat it as Daryun urged Narsus to do the opposite, “Go on, we made it for you so you better damn well eat it.”

Hesitantly, Narsus cut away a piece with the fork handed to him, raising it to his mouth unsurely. Chewing a rock, he mused, might have actually been easier. He spat it back out immediately. Hating it the second it hit his taste buds, Narsus emptied his mouth leaving mush on the plate; he ignored the collective looks of disgust. “Maybe you guys should get cooking lessons… There’s a good place in the shopping centre - I’d offer my hotel’s chef to you but I think he’d cry if he saw your cooking!”

Even losing at Mario Kart didn’t leave such a bitter taste in his mouth…

Busy isn’t a strong enough word to describe the shopping centre, people squeeze past Arslan and Daryun inside of it; their scents of sweat and perfume mingling with chocolates, pastries and coffee from the nearby cafés, outside of one is a table full of samples and a lady brightly offering them to passersby. Arslan’s outstretched hand just misses the pastry he was aiming for as Daryun pulls him away, over the din of conversation, tapping of footsteps on the ground and music blaring on the overhead radio, Daryun’s voice is almost inaudible, “That’s not what we’re here for. Come on, we’ll be late.”

He reaches just a little bit further, snatching one off the table in triumph. He grins at the lady, shoving it in his mouth straight after. Daryun just shakes his head. As his head turns, out of the corner of his eye another shop catches his attention. He’d wanted to be early, that meant there was still twenty minutes to spare (punctuality is an important quality to have) - that means there’s time to go in the shop then. Unsurprisingly, Arslan glares just a little when he steps into the small shop. In contrast to the rest of the centre, inside is near enough empty and nowhere near as brightly lit. Soft lights reflect off glinting metal, jewels sparkling on the hilts of various swords.

The reasons for a (replica - or at least, he hoped they were replicas) weapons shop in the middle of a suburban shopping centre made no sense to Arslan, but the smile on Daryun’s face made him glad nonetheless. Making sure Daryun was still gazing fixedly at the sword first, he turned towards the girl behind the counter; there were lots of finely crafted bows and arrows, pretty swords and daggers to buy, none of them caught his eye. Still, she perked up at the potential customer rather than just someone browsing.

Looking at her face, there was something familiar about it. Arslan drummed his fingertips against his legs, trying to figure out just what it was. It took him a minute before he snapped his fingers together in remembrance. On her face sat an expression somewhere between a smile and a scowl, Arslan just laughed at her, “Dislike the other team that much, do you?”

She shook her head, “It’s not… I don’t dislike you guys that much - I just want to win the season,” Étoile let her chin land in her hand “Anyway, why are you here? You don’t exactly look the type who can use a sword or a bow.”

Arslan pointed over at his bodyguard - although he much preferred to call him a friend - “No, but he is.”

Étoile glanced over at Daryun, still lovingly admiring the sword - she thought he looked about ready to kiss it. “How much for it?”

For a moment she just stared unbelievingly at him, then slowly she blinked, “One hundred and fifty thousand yen.” Was he seriously planning on just buying that sword for the sake of it?

Letting out a low whistle, Arslan pulled out a card and nodded to himself, muttering, “I’m gonna be broke in a minute, but it is his birthday today.”

Étoile only just caught the words falling from his lips, she’d be close enough to broke buying something just a twelfth of the price. In his eyes though, she thought she saw genuine fondness and wondered maybe that would be worth it. “So, do you just get handed this on a silver plate or do you actually have to earn it?”

Arslan considered for a moment, “I guess you could say silver plate,” His father didn’t really care what he did as long as it didn’t cause him any hassle. So not exactly luxury, not so pampered as he could be - not a silver plate but he supposed that was the closer option. It wasn’t like he had a job or anything; his only responsibility was that of keeping up appearances.

“Rich boy,” she muttered underneath her breath.

He flashed her a fake smile in response and drummed his fingers on the counter again as he inserted his card. The transaction beeped in completion, he pulled the card out scanning the desk, eyes resting on a cup full of sharpened pencils and a pad of post-it notes. “Got a pen and paper?”  

She silently handed them over. Scribbling quickly on the paper, he tapped at it when he spoke “Could you get it delivered to this address? Also, if there are any problems just call this number.”

Glancing down at the information he had jotted down, Étoile nodded at him. “Any particular time you want it delivered? We do same day delivery as long as you buy before 5pm.”

“As soon as possible, there’ll be someone in to sign for it.” Spinning on his heel, he waved his thanks at her. Then he began to pull Daryun out of the shop, though he only moved an inch. “Thought you didn’t want to be late, Daryun.”

At that, he started moving again. Outside the shop, he kept heading towards their next disaster. The cooking class Narsus had recommended wasn’t so far away. More that Narsus had booked and paid for it without ever consulting him than recommended it. He was desperate never to be tortured like that again. They rounded the next corner and found themselves outside a fairly average looking building, a sign in a cursive font hung above the door saying “Shapur and Isfan’s Cooking School.”

A bell above the glass door chimed as they walked in, no one sat behind the desk to check comings and goings - it seemed you could just waltz in without paying if you really wanted. Following the directions of an arrow on another sign they found the kitchen easily. They each grabbed a black apron off the pegs at the back of the room. It looked rather simple, white cupboards beneath cream coloured countertops. Each countertop was a work station for two with one gleaming silver sink to share. The walls were a cool baby blue; Daryun thought maybe that was because people cooking get stressed and blue is supposed to be a relaxing colour - he wasn’t sure quite how effective it actually was though.

Aside from the two men wearing unnecessarily puffy hats, there weren’t very many people in the room. At least it meant their workspaces wouldn’t be crowded; despite not being a guarantee of the quality of the classes.

One of them clapped their hands, silencing the room. The man pointed to himself, “I’m Shapur,” then at the other, “this is my brother Isfan.”

“Alright, today we’re going to start off with something easy: chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese frosting.”

The class nodded in response, some beginning to reach for their recipe sheets. “So, the first step is making sure you weigh everything out carefully, this is important guys.”

Daryun sheepishly admitted to himself that he was perhaps the reason their cake had gone so wrong. He grabbed the scales, meticulously pouring flour into a bowl until he got to the exact measurement of grams. A duly noted improvement.   

Next to him, Arslan was doing the same; concentration painted clearly on his face. After weighing all their ingredients both looked to the front again. Isfan waited another moment for everyone to finish, “Moving on, put the butter and sugar into the bowl. Cream them together by mashing them with your spoon.”

Carefully following the instructions read to him, Daryun sieved flour and cracked eggs. Mixing and folding it as demonstrated by Shapur, he found that his cake batter didn’t look so bad. Shapur’s still seemed superior though.  

Isfan clapped his hands again, “Okay, now spread the batter in the tin, make sure it’s even!”

“Lastly, place in the oven and cook until risen and dry when poked with a knife. Don’t open the door too much though, if you do all the hot air will escape and they won’t cook. We most certainly don’t want poor quality cupcakes. Whilst you wait you should clean your dishes.”

Arslan and Daryun each slid their cakes into the oven they were sharing, one with a hopeful look directed at their cake; the other’s face held a grimace. Crouching for a moment more, Arslan stood up starting on the dishes, doing them in silence for a fair while.

“Hey. You know that sword earlier?” Daryun absently held up a plate to the light, disappointed that it didn’t shine the same way, “Wasn’t it so cool?”

Arslan nodded in affirmation, fond of Daryun’s excitement.

“I’d love to sword fight with something as finely made as that!” He flung out a hand enthusiastically, flicking suds into Arslan’s hair and eyes, “I mean, did you see how artfully the gems on the hilt were arranged. It was such an elegant sword…” Daryun sighed wistfully.

Wiping the suds from his eyes, Arslan flicked them back at Daryun. “You know how to sword fight?” His mouth curved open in surprise.

“Yep, I’d like to say I’m fairly good at it too,” Daryun grinned proudly at him - still scrubbing dishes.

Arslan’s eyebrows furrowed a little, “Did Vahriz teach you how? He teaches me fencing even though I’m no good at it.” He tossed more bubbles from his hair.

Grabbing a handful of suds in response, Daryun ruffled his hair with them, “Yep, taught me for a few years and the quit when I started beating him. Sore loser said that he had nothing left to teach me if he couldn’t win a fight against me anymore.”

Laughing quietly, Arslan took Daryun’s tea towel to dry his bubble-filled hair with. Daryun snatched it back from him after a moment, “Hey! That’s mine-” He paused for a moment, pouting at the wet, unusable towel in his hands and placing it down “-how am I supposed to dry my dishes now?”

Quickly hiding his own so that it couldn’t be stolen, Arslan shrugged at him, “I don’t know, how will you dry them?”

Daryun narrowed his eyes at him, silently reaching for it again. He jokingly whipped the towel at Arslan, spraying him with water. Hands raised above his head Arslan slowly backed away, mischief sparkling in his blue eyes. Stopping in his tracks, Arslan sniffed at the air, “Do you smell something burning?”

Sniffing as well, Daryun thought that he could, “Definitely, something’s burning. We should check our cupcakes.”

Both turned back towards the oven, eyes widening in concern at the little bit of black smoke wafting up from it. Hesitantly Daryun bent over to open the door, jumping back at the burst of heat from a fire that should not have been there. “Crap, crap, crap there’s a fire!” Panic-stricken he began swatting at it with the tea towel; the flames swelled, growing instead of diminishing in size. Daryun jerked away from it again.

Extra smoke setting them off, the fire alarm and sprinklers sprung to life. Water fell steadily, drenching them and the rest of the class as they all evacuated the room. The ringing was so loud that Daryun couldn’t hear what Isfan was saying, nor Shapur but he could tell that they were unimpressed. He wasn’t exactly impressed to be dripping wet either…

Isfan begun guiding the students out to the front of the building, “The sprinklers should take care of the fire but just in case can those responsible-” his head snapped in the direction of Arslan and Daryun, eyeing them with clear, exasperated annoyance “-please get the fire extinguisher and put it out?”

Reluctantly Daryun pulled the extinguisher off the wall; aiming at his oven he sprayed carbon foam all over without really looking, just trying to cover as large an area as possible. Before following he turned the dial of the oven to off.

Outside everyone was assembled in a line to make accounting for people’s whereabouts easy.  As soon as the stream of people exiting the building came to a halt, Isfan stood in front of them all pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. He began calling out names, ticking them off when people replied in the affirmative - it reminded Daryun of standing out in the cold for 20 minutes during a test when some idiot would set off the alarm. Back when he was in school, that is.

They stood sheepishly at the back of the line, avoiding any glares directed towards them.

“Daryun?”

“Here”

Isfan ticked his name off the list. “And finally, Arslan?”

“Present,” Arslan raised his hand in the air, waving it about a little until his name was ticked off too.

Isfan clicked his pen, folding up the paper “Okay, that’s everyone.”

Heads bowed low, the two of them trudged into the kitchen reluctantly. Whilst people filed back into the room, Arslan pulled the ruined cupcakes out of the oven. He smiled at them - just a little disappointed. The temperature of the oven had somehow ended up too high; he was certain that they’d have come out perfect if it hadn’t been. Maybe if he hadn’t gotten distracted either. He supposed charcoal cupcakes were better than becoming charcoal himself though. The charcoal went straight into the bin.

Isfan pointed towards Arslan and Daryun, “You two clean up your mess. As for everyone else I’m going to show you how to make the frosting.” Plugging in the mixer next to him, he began pouring cream cheese and icing sugar into the bowl along with a few other flavourings too. Then he pressed a button on it.

Simple enough to follow - even while Arslan unenthusiastically cleaned foam from his workbench, the oven, the floor and the cupboards; Daryun really had just sprayed wildly.  It didn’t really matter though, at the end of the day he still didn’t have a birthday cake for Daryun nor would he have time to make him one when they got home. Sighing, Arslan dropped the sponge into his sink. He studied the rest of the class finishing their cupcakes slightly jealously, drying and stacking the remaining dishes as he did.

“I’m done cleaning and drying.” Arslan tugged on Daryun’s sleeve, “Can we go home? It’s not like there’s anything more for us to do here anymore.”

Daryun nodded, everyone else was pretty much done frosting anyway. Taking off their aprons they hung them up as Shapur inspected their work station. He called them over after scrutinizing it for a moment, “Okay you two are fine to go since it’s all clean,” his voice hardened, “and if you plan on making another fire don’t come back next time. If you do you’ll be banned - got it?”

“Understood” they glumly replied in unison to his threat. With one last glance they walked out the door to go home.

Elam almost had the banner up in the window when the doorbell rang, startled he dropped the unpinned side to the ground. Muttering frustratedly, he ignored it in favour of answering the door to a house that wasn’t even his.

“If you’re looking for Arslan or his parents or whoever they’re not ho-” He stopped short at the long slender box labelled with a picture of his sword being offered to him. Looking up at the offeror’s face only added to his confusion. He pulled a face, “Uh, why are you giving me a sword?”

Étoile raised an eyebrow at him, “Delivery for Arslan Parsian, he said someone would be home to get it.” She dumped the sword box in his arms then thrust a touch screen pad and digital pen at him, “Just sign here alright?”

Impatiently tapping her foot, she waited for him to hand them back to her, it annoyed Étoile how he struggled to balance both the pen, pad and the sword. After a moment he’d scribbled his name down then handed it back to her. His brows furrowed a little before he grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving, “Wait, I don’t live here. I’m not sure I can actually sign for it…”

She scowls at him then, “If you don’t live here what the hell did you sign it for? This is my last delivery of the day,” she stomps her foot for emphasis, “I just want to go home.” Étoile snaps her fingers in his face when she notices that Elam is no longer looking at her, rather past her.

Coming through the gates of the house are Arslan and Daryun, he mutters quietly to himself, though Étoile still hears him, “Ohh, I bet he bought this for Daryun… I better go hide it then.”

Her annoyance grows when he walks away without a second thought. He’d made a fuss about not living there then just ignored her. Whatever. She just wanted to go home, and the way to getting there was cycling, because she wasn’t actually old enough to drive a car. If only her job actually had a delivery driver instead of making her deliver packages on a stupid bicycle.

A bicycle, which just happened to have a flat tire by the looks of it. Although she could scream in frustration she resigns herself to sighing miserably instead. How far would it be to just walk home?  Someone taps on her shoulder pulling her concentration away from how to get home. She whips around to face that kid again, Arslan, and he’s looking at her with some look shining in his eyes that she can’t quite place.

He points to her bike, “I can fix that flat tire for you, if you want?”

Étoile thinks she knows what was in his eyes and on his face now, it was just him being kind. She’s not sure why he would be, but he is and that’s all there really is to it.

“We have a spare in the shed so I’ll just change it for you…” He looks at her again, almost scrutinizingly this time then he nods in the direction of his house, “You can sit inside whilst you wait if you’d like to. I promise your bike won’t come to any harm.”

She bites back a small laugh when he crosses his heart like a child. She hesitates just a moment, not quite sure if she should take him up on that but she’s tired and her feet hurt and he’s offering. Pivoting towards it she heads inside the house, following after the guy who had been with Arslan when they first arrived. There’s a glimpse of a fond smile on his face as he watches them, she catches it just as he turns his back to them. Behind her she can hear the squeaking of the bike’s wheels as it’s dragged off towards the shed.

There are a couple things she notices about the hall when she walks inside; firstly it’s rather ornate - easily the fanciest house she’d ever seen - secondly it’s stark inside. A strange kind of coldness to it. That impression changes when she finds the living room, and it’s not that that room is any different - it’s much the same actually - but there’s people in this one. It doesn’t feel quite so lonely. What makes it feel warmer is the birthday banner up by the window and the stack of presents in the corner, it’s all the different birthday foods on the table. She sits down, waiting as suggested, an onlooker of warm scene.

“Hey, would you like to stay for the party? Since you’re here already.”

She’s surprised because she didn’t see him come in, she expected the invitation though, it seems just like him. To herself she quietly admits that joining in wouldn’t be so bad - especially since she at least recognises most of the people there. Arslan points them out for her again just in case, there’s Daryun’s uncle Vahriz, his friend Narsus, that boy called Elam and that’s it - just a small birthday party of five people, six including her.

Elam gestures towards the birthday cake on the the table, “Alright Daryun, I baked you a cake since I didn’t trust Arslan to actually make a decent one. Are you gonna blow out the candles now?”

Daryun steps towards the cake, sucking in a breath of air before he stops for a second, raising an eyebrow at Elam, “Wait, you sent me to those cooking classes too… Were you trying to get me to make my own birthday cake?”

Elam shakes his head, retorting “Nope. Just needed you not here. Now, blow out the candles so we can eat the cake and open the presents!”

Daryun complies, he blows out all twenty six candles in one breath but doesn’t bother making a wish. He doesn’t really need one. He just cuts the cake and hands out slices to everyone there before eating one himself. Étoile gingerly bites into hers, despite what she’d originally thought it would be, the cake is actually delicious. She finishes the rest in 2 minutes flat.

When everyone is finished Elam collects up the plates and takes them to the kitchen. As soon as he’s back they move onto opening presents. Mainly it’s just a bunch of normal presents - actions films and the like - but he grins delightedly at the new riding saddle Narsus buys for him. Jet black and cushioned for comfortable riding, it’s an elegant one for an elegant horse.

“Ah, Shabrang will love this! I can’t wait to ride him with it!”

He opens another one grimacing at the painting that it reveals. Narsus puffs his chest out proudly though, so he plasters on a less-horrified face and thanks him. Daryun sets it aside, taking the last present in his hands. He lifts the lid off the box to reveal the sword. He gazes at it awestruck, almost reverently removing it from the box. Gripping the hefty sword in both hands, Daryun swings it excitedly if a little carelessly.

“Hey! Be a little more careful with that, you’re gonna injure somebody!” Elam chastises him - he’d rather not have to take anyone to the hospital in ambulance.

Daryun looks somewhat apologetic, but ultimately enthusiasm still wins over. The sword arcs through the air again making a whooshing sound, more controlled this time. Running his finger over all the jewels, he grins “Thank you so much! I can’t believe you got this for me. Damn, how I’d love to fight someone with this beauty…”

Vahriz turns to Arslan, “I hope I’m getting a sword like that for my birthday. It might just make me fight him again.”

Arslan laughs quietly, “Only if you keep teaching me how to fence long enough that I become better than him,” he nods towards Daryun who is showing off the sword to Narsus. Like always, they start bickering about something - this time it’s about who the better fencer is - the tip of the sword ends up dangerously close to the painting Narsus painstakingly made. His alarm doesn’t go unnoticed. Daryun edges it closer. In response Narsus throws his hands up placatingly, conceding that Daryun is better. He still grumbles under his breath.

Arslan disappears for a moment, reappearing with his sword from fencing in hand. Challenging Daryun he adopts the en garde stance, “Fight me Daryun!”

Daryun just shakes his head, lightly parrying the clumsy swing thrown at him (of course there’s nothing to worry about, rapiers always have a rubber cap on during practice). “Don’t think you’ll win!” He doesn’t even get to pretend to swordfight with Arslan before Elam steps in sighing. He takes the swords away from each of them, replacing them with wooden swords called bokken; he had found them in one of Arslan’s supply closet a while ago one games night.

Elam sighs exasperated, “If you’re gonna fight for fun don’t use real swords!” He leaves a couple others just in case anyone else wants to join in too.

Narsus picks one up, thinking he can take on both Daryun and Arslan, “Prepare to see the most artistic sword fighting to exist!”

Elam flops down on the couch placing his head in his hand. He blows out another breath of air and just watches them.

In all honesty, Étoile thinks they look like idiots. She bites back another laugh, she’s quite glad that her bike had had a flat tire.

In which Elam is the only responsible character

[emeny-writes]

Here’s the opening chapter to the book I want to write. It’s intended to be juvenile fantasy and i’m trying to develop my style more. Constructive feedback is appreciated! More chapters inbound (first three already written)

Working title: Making Magic (cheesy I know)

Chapter One

Fate is fickle. We’re told there’s a certain destiny for everyone out there, in one form or another. Believe that if you like. Take comfort in it if you must.

The Tales tell a great many things about destiny and purpose, whether it bores from that first breath, frantic and desperate, or in that wilful pursuit of glory. It’s in such stories that heroes are plucked by fate and forged for much grander pursuits. Regardless, every story must start somewhere.

People line the streets of Arberwyn in celebration of another triumph over terrible evil and monstrous deeds. A breath of fresh air sweeps through the city. Colourful strips of banners braid across the thoroughfare, jaunty tunes dance from plucked strings and the aroma of fresh baked treats breeze and weave through the alleyways in all directions. There is no escaping it.

Bonny lasses with flowers in their hair link arms, tasting cakes and chocolates from countless stalls. Eager whispers spread through the crowds decked out in their finest festival clothes, passing along the news about the returned adventurers at long last. Bands of children skip and dance about the street, while others hide behind their mother’s skirts as they idly gossip and laugh together. Smiles wide and far sprung. All these good people of Arberwyn telling of heroes and their valiant deeds on behalf of the realm and the safety of the common folk. Patiently the public wait along the cobblestones for a mere glimpse of them geared up in their prestigious armour and legendary weapons, fresh off of another victory.

The afternoon light gleans off of crystal bottles and shiny trinkets adorned on mahogany shelves. Elegant silk curtains in hues of purple welcome customers in the doorway of Madame Mallegori’s Magic Emporium, swaying gently with the quiet clinking of wind chimes. Wide eyes peer around the drapery in curiosity, trying to secure a better look at the celebration with a craned neck, balancing on tiptoes. Her tongue pokes out in concentration, the woman still much too small to get a proper look. She hops to no avail. She could only hope to soak up some of that grandeur once they paraded by the shop. If only she could sneak a glimpse through the crowd!

At the counter a mousy clerk bids a customer goodbye, his pleasant smile dropping the instant the unsuspecting customer’s back is turned. Almost as if his face had pulled a muscle from the strain of pleasantry. His eyes dart over to the doorway with a glare at the small gnomish woman, stuck in her own world on the threshold.

“Oi, Fable,” he calls out to her.

She jumps clutching her chest. She looks back over her shoulder at him with those same wide eyes. Her green meeting his brown. “You’re going to get in a bunch of trouble if Maldaea catches you slacking off, you know?” He poses his words somewhere between concern and an exasperated threat.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She scrambles to straighten out her shirt despite it looking pristine already. The definition of orderly. She tries hard to tuck away imaginary strands of blonde behind her large ears. “I’m just too excited, that’s all. We should close up by the time the parade starts.” She shuffles up to the desk, climbing onto a waiting crate so she can see over the table top. “But don’t worry. I’m back to business for now. Won’t happen again. Promise.” Hand over her heart in an earnest fashion.

“Oh I’m so glad,” he sneers.

A couple customers enter to peruse the shelves, more interested in looking than buying the stock. A woman’s fingers brush over the fur collar of a cloak adorned on a mannequin, elegant and insanely expensive. Also very soft. A wooden hand reaches up and slaps her away in a warning, and points emphatically towards an ornate sign about respecting the merchandise. The employees both snigger at the sight, watching her scurry away out the corner of their eyes.

“It’s not like I’ve been the one dealing with customers all morning.” Eadrick says. He crosses him arms, perching his chin atop. “Good job it hasn’t been too terribly busy today.”

“Come on Eadrick. Drop the bad attitude, today is a good day.” Fable throws her hands behind her head, eyes passing over the street crowds with joy, a smile itching the corners of her lips.

Eadrick frowns again.

“Your face will get stuck like that.” Fable imitates him, forcing the corners pf her mouth down further with her fingers until his glare becomes too frightful for her mocking.

“You sound like my grandmother.”

“Well, your grandmother is lovely.” She crosses her arms. He tuts.

A man by the remedy shelves picks up a few gem-stoned boxes and bottles, sometimes sniffing the contents in curiosity. Fable scrunches up her face. Not advisable. Some of the brews and powders are nasty, best to avoid the red ones. She flinches when he sneezes, a small cloud erupting above his head. She will have to tidy that up later.

“I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.” Eadrick says.

“About what? About your grandmother?”

“What? No.” he snorts. “Just about today.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh they’re back again? Whoop de doo. They don’t need a bloody parade every time they pass through the front gates, you know.” He flicks through a nearby tome, enjoying the pictures. All exotic plants and animal innards.

“They don’t have one every time, stop being dramatic.”

“Me? Dramatic?” He rolls his eyes, snickering to himself. “Oh look quickly, the Sentinels have returned! You won’t believe this but their swordsman farted and their wizard made a sandwich. We must throw a parade and several banquets in their honour at once. Post-haste!”

“Oh be quiet you!” She slaps him on the arm, not particularly hard but enough to sting. He responds with blowing a raspberry in her direction. “They chased off a dragon this time, Eadrick,” she waves her hands in emphasis, but her words just hang in the air. “That’s important.” Another indignant snort. “They do what the empress asks of them, so it’s always important. Last time they stopped a horde of giants from marching on the city. Before that they took out a necromancer.”

“You listen to too many ballads.” He slams the book closed. “This is getting ridiculous now. They’re just people like the rest of us. They should be satisfied with just doing the right thing.”

“I know they’re people, everybody does, but they can do such extraordinary things. Extraordinary things for the right thing! That’s special. Maybe a bit of rewards are in order because we’re grateful to them? I’d do anything just to get to meet them to say so.”

“Anyone can learn to use a sword or a bow. A lot of people can be decent with magic. Doesn’t make them special. You’re good with magic, Fable. Why don’t you get orders from the empress? Why don’t you get a parade?”

“Don’t be silly Eadrick. I’m still just an apprentice. Aren’t I?”

“You’re overflowing with confidence there Fable. You’re not always going to be ‘just an apprentice.’ Maldaea knows you’re good at this.”

“Well it doesn’t matter, they’re pretty much professional heroes who know what they’re doing! I can’t be like them. Takes a certain level of bravery to do what they do, doesn’t it?”

There’s a flash in the shop as the gap between tapestries on the far brick wall splits apart into the picture of another street. An unfamiliar set of cobbles and houses beyond. A distant moon and stars in that sky. Blue energy crackles like lightning in the shape of a door and a hooded figure ducks through. Fable and Eadrick straighten up from their casual slouch over the counter.

A slender woman in flowing green robes glides over to them both, pulling down her hood in a fluid motion. A level of precision and control in all of her movements.

“Welcome back Maldaea, how was your trip?” Fable smiles.

“Oh it was truly wonderful dear. Things are going swimmingly with the expansion I’ll have you know.” Her silky voice holds a slight accent from some faraway place. She brushes some hair behind her pointed ears, her delicate fingers decked out in rings. “Estermere is such a serious place, there’s just so much paperwork to do, so many rules. So I will be rather busy. It cannot be helped.”

“But things are moving along, at least?” Eadrick says.

“Oh yes, of course. But I have a favour to ask of you, my dear Fable.” She holds her gaze with a sharp authority. Unwavering. “I have some trader clients booked in this afternoon and this evening, and I cannot meet with them. I trust that you are fully capable of such a thing, yes?”

Fable pulls a pained face, covering it with a hand, pretending to rub her chin in deep contemplation of the request. She was going to miss the parade, wasn’t she? When Madame Maldaea asks a favour of you, it’s very hard to say no. She’s persuasive in her demeanour, and is mildly intimidating in her poise and formality. There’s an expectant gleam in her dark eyes, because people don’t just say no to Maldaea Mallagori. It’s hard to gain the woman’s trust to begin with. Fable is an open book and she squirms under the woman’s gaze, wringing her hands together.

“Are you sure I’m… qualified enough for this?” She feels herself sweating under the scrutiny of her employer.

“Oh my of course dear, you learned from the very best. Did you not?” she laughs to herself, a melodic sound she covers with the back of a palm. “I have the utmost faith in you. You can really shine if only given the opportunity, yes?”

“Yes Maldaea.”

“Wondrous. Check the appointment book and lock up when you are done.” She reaches into her pocket, producing a ring of keys from her fine silken robe. Her delicate hand outstretched offering them to Fable. She hesitates for a few moments, but her tiny hands clasp over them, taking them from Maldaea’s grip in begrudging acceptance. “A thousand thanks again to you.” She gives a formal bow to her workers, ducking out of the room. Blue sparks flying. Spectral door closing. An outline of its presence remaining on the surface of the stone.

Fable lets out a long sigh as if she were steadily deflating. Eadrick pats her on the back, shaking his head.

“You should really learn to say no,” Eadrick deadpans, and Fable sighs beneath his hand. He stares down in amusement at his friend currently trapped in her abject misery, form crumpling over the desk. He lets some rare sympathy sneak into his tone. “Tough luck there buttercup.”