#all interiors should be red. in cars... the lining of bags.... coats....

[grahamdollton]

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Tokyo Love Story (Part 1) Ruri Kazama

Oh boy... I got a lot riding on this one. *sweats*

@rurifangirl by request.

Even after climbing up out of the elevator shaft, your long night wasn’t over. The police raid, the one that prompted Hydra to move all their files in the first place, was about to begin and every able-bodied operative was running around trying to clean up the signs of the battle in the mural hall and the signs of the deadpools’ reign of destruction, including the bodies left behind. 

Exhausted, hiding in an equipment room, you slept, propped up between Caesar and Chu Zihang. You couldn’t lay down. The act of lying down was too painful. Out of the three, you had suffered the greatest injury. You had fought the deadpool in the basement, only to climb from the bottom of the elevator shaft to find another battle. You’d reached the limit of your endurance, so Caesar and Chu Zihang offered their shoulders and kept watch. Your mind relaxes despite still being in the midst of the enemy and you quietly slip into oblivion, feeling safer than you had in a very long time.

But you were forced to lie down eventually. Caesar found an unwatched police car and carefully lifted you into the trunk, then they climbed in themselves and shut it. The police car left the Genji Heavy Industries building. The Hydra may be powerful, but at this time when their headquarters had come under such a devastating attack, they were not inclined to search police cars. That was how you finally escaped.

Every bump in the road sent lightning through your nerves. If it weren’t for your lost voice, you doubt you could have kept quiet. But just in case, you take your hair and bite it between your teeth.

“Your back is already partially healed.” Chu Zihang’s voice is audible, but you can’t see him because your eyes are firmly shut.

“I noticed that, but I wasn’t going to say anything about you in front of that humanoid dragon.” Caesar was saying. “You slept for three days and healed from a grievous gunshot wound that nearly took your life. He healed from a stab through the belly in an hour and now… even with your wounds cauterized, they’re closed up a little more every time I look at them.”

“MC, the Lenin, the strange port, the so-called Hydras and the Devil Clan… they’re all pieces painting a single picture.” Zihang stated. “The way he described the so-called Ghosts, it sounded a lot like you. You’re the same Hybrid Species, but you’re more likely to become deadpool. It was good that we weren’t captured by the Hydras. They would definitely have killed you. As a Ghost.”

Caesar hissed in fury. “The whole Hydra organization will burn before I let them touch you!”

To think that at one time you actually felt like you could fit in more with Hydra than Cassell. You had followed after Chisei in battle, admiring his strength against deadpool. But if Chisei had known anything about you, he would have slain you in that elevator. Realizing how much danger you were in made you sigh.

Your heart sinks. You had been hoping to talk to Chisei about what he might know about you and find out what more similarities you might have with him. But now, that date over sake would be an impossibility. Caesar was right. The world really is bullshit.

Your eyes flutter open again. “Caesar. I almost forgot to tell you something…”

“Save it. It’s too hard for you to speak right now, and I can barely hear you over the sound of the car. Take this time to recover.”

Sneaking out of the police lot wasn’t difficult. It was raining hard and that concealed your silhouettes.  The heavy droplets soaked your clothes and the blood that was caked on them. Chu Zihang is carrying you now, sprinting down the flooded streets of Tokyo. You leave behind a trail of deadpool blood that mixes with the rainwater in black inky streaks and runs into the gutters and down into the storm drains.

The sun was coming up. If you were caught out here, Kaguya might find out where you were hiding, Hydra would rush in to trap you, and you would die.

Caesar slammed open the door to the Takamagahara. It swung on its hinge and banged into the wall. The morning light swept through the city at that moment to illuminate their entrance. Caesar and Chu Zihang held the door, panting, wet shirts clinging to their bodies, drops of water falling from the tips of their hair.

"Yo, everyone is still awake? Good business in the store last night?" Caesar waved his hand in greeting. He looked from the light into the dark interior of the lobby and couldn't see very well, only that the dance floor was full of people. But you had buried your face in Chu Zihang’s chest to hide from cameras and had no trouble with light-blindness.

In a glance, you take in the scene. So much is going on. The women you had helped Caesar take pictures of in the VIP private suite of the Takamagahara are standing in a semicircle. Their arms are over their ample chests or their hands are on their hips. They were all glaring, and the target of their ire was Whale.

Whale, this man that seemed like such a powerful tycoon when you met him, that was bold enough to keep harboring you despite being illegal immigrants, had been reduced to a groveling servant before them, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by scattered paper money. The bills were quite large, but no one moved to touch them.

Fujiwara, the former Sumo star and the man you described as the biggest Seal on the Shore of Baikal, was standing between them and Whale,  but his appearance was not that of someone who was going to try to defend Whale. It was the appearance of the shield bearer who happily takes the sword strike for his King and gives him the chance to escape!

Even though the Takamagahara should be closing, all the performers are crowded into the space, motionless in a bow, eyes downcast. You recognize your official suitors in the MC Romance competition among them.

Armani frowns deeply at you. Now that he was in the light of day, you can see that he’s the classic cold and stern type of handsome male character, someone with high standards of food, drink and clothing. Even now he was wearing a slick suit that was hardly wrinkled from the night’s activity. But despite this current figure, he had been wearing something far more revealing to meet you and you saw his belly button ring.

Chance snorts and tries not to laugh, covering his mouth with one hand before schooling his face into a sorrowful look. He was dressed the same with his chain and his sleeveless open puffy coat. You notice his henna tattoos go all the way up his arm in a twisting serpentine pattern. 

Diamond, the sexy cowboy, just looks at you in astonishment. He was the one who had been the most forward and confident in his win. Now he realized that after you had refused to give him a star-heart ticket, you went out with other boys! This had never happened to him in his entire life!

 But it was Calypso, the one who had handed you the closed rose bud, who spoke, pointing at Chu Zihang and Caesar. “What are you doing with her? You’re not competing!”

Everyone turns to look at you. Caesar’s eyes finally adjusted to the low light of the lobby and you see his face go taut and his eyes widened. “Shit!” He squeaked!

The humpback whale looked horrified and said, "You can't come back and speak that way to the guests!”

Chu Zihang touched Caesar's back with his elbow as he scooted over to hide behind him.

Caesar immediately understood and walked up to the women with an elegant salute, "How did you sleep last night? You look much better!"

"The guests drank too much and fell asleep. We went out for a bite to eat." Chu Zihang stammered. His Japanese was horrible. After all, he could make money with just his face and his sullen attitude so there was little need to work on pronunciation when all he had to do was mumble.

Whale is staring with eyes as big as dinner plates at Chu Zihang who was still carrying the travel bag with his sword inside. The bag was soaking wet and the blood mixed with water pooled on the floor where you stood. It looked like he’d hidden a severed head in there! Chu Zihang’s eyes shifted to his bag and then looked back up. “The Main Character was injured in the Earthquake so we had to take her and others to the hospital.”

It was a stupid story. It would have been better to keep his silence! Who knew Chu Zihang could stammer out a dumb line like that? It was about Lu Mingfei level of dumb. But Chu Zihang owned it, glaring hard with the cold stare of a killer. If he couldn’t make them believe his lie, he could at least stop them from asking any questions.

 Whale’s lips trembled. "I don't believe it! Can’t you make up a more logical lie about finding a dead cat or dog hit by a car in the street. So you brought it back to bury it because you like small animals?”

    "Ah! Right, Ukyou! Are you okay?" A large woman stepped around the sumo wrestler. If Fujiwara was the King of the Seals, this had to be the Queen. Her dress strained at the seams to contain her and she was like a giant egg testing the weight limits of her tiny heels. Her lips were smeared with gaudy red lipstick and she fluttered her gold powdered eyes at Chu Zihang.

But Chu Zihang’s reaction was telling. The way he tensed up, held you tighter and his eyes got wide, shocked you.

 "Who is the roadside nobody you rescued? Maybe he's a yakuza? Maybe it's some other bad guy or something that could….”

You turn and look at the woman, still carried in Chu Zihang’s arms. The woman’s face went pale and then paler, about as pale as the faces of the deadpool. Her mouth dropped open like a deadpool too only she didn’t have the rows of teeth to display. Her whole body started to shake and her hands went over her mouth.

Then her hands balled into fists, her eyes narrowed and her head dropped as if she were going to charge you. She let out a scream that sent chills up your spine. It wasn’t any words, just a primordial screech. Her face flushed red to her hairline. When she finally found the words, she bellowed, “Who the fuck is that?!”

She lumbered forward, eyes blazing with rage. “Get your hands off my Ukyou! You Bitch! You Bitch!” She swung her purse and missed you by inches, but her aim was good. She missed you because Chu Zihang had turned his body to shield you and the purse cracked hard against his jaw. Unbeknownst to both of you, she had filled her purse with bottles of champagne. Her plan was to take these bottles as a ‘fine’ for the insult of what happened to her last night. But at the sight of you, they became a weapon.

The sound of those bottles smashing against Chu Zihang’s head was audible to all and if there was any doubt as to the sheer force of her anger, her Prada bag turned dark and started to drip and the hall filled with the smell of champagne.

You look at him in disbelief. 

Chu Zihang didn’t move, but his eyes were wild. A small red bead of blood formed at the corner of his mouth and that turned into a thin red line down his chin.  The pressure of his fingertips against your skin told you that this blow really hurt.

She hurt him. That thought rings like a bell that sounds deep in your stomach and turns it.

The woman looks shocked for a moment. She didn't mean to strike him. He was hit because he protected you. "Why are you protecting her? I'm your client! Asshole! Do you know who I am? How dare you! How dare you take what I’ve paid good money for and give it to this hussy! You’re nothing but trash! No different from a dog! We spend good money so you can please us! And when I buy something it’s mine! Do you understand? Do you speak English? MINE!" Her face is inches from his. She reaches out with one hand to try to yank you out of his grip.

The woman suddenly stopped as though frozen in time. Her voice was cut off and she started to tremble. People couldn't see around her, they only saw your stare. It was like the empty and frozen stare of a shark, but you were smiling, a sort of strange disbelieving smile. You tilt your head in a curious gesture.

They couldn’t see that bronze dagger you’d slipped under the folds of her neck. If this woman so much as swallowed, the ripple of her throat would be enough to cut her. 

But the combination of empty eyes and surprised grin was far more frightening. It was the look of someone who snapped. The bronze claw in your hand was enough to pierce the flesh of Rank-A deadpool. With only a little pressure you could sever her head!

You were hungry, exhausted and in pain. But even if you had been perfectly fine, you weren't going to sit by and let this woman abuse him. He had fought all night with you, nearly died for you and then carried you here. This precious person who had rushed into the fire, who had patted your shoulder to comfort you. She treated him like an object, like a slave right in front of you.

Despite the ice of grief breaking around your frigid heart, giving you a glimpse of the possibility of happiness, you were still trained to kill and you’d killed for less… much less… than what she’d just done.

Caesar slowly turned his back, "I hate to see two women fight ...... so I can only turn around."

“My career is finished…” Whale softly moaned.

"Excuse me, is this Takamagahara? Ruri Kazama has taken the liberty of coming to visit for the Romance Contest." Someone knocked gently on the door.

You, along with everyone else in the room, looked over at the door in surprise.

The door was open. A handsome man with a boyish face stood in the mild sunlight, wearing a white shirt and black suit, with fresh straight black hair in a ponytail, holding a bunch of budding tulips.

The man was a little embarrassed by everyone's stares. He bowed deeply and offered his business card with both hands. “Please forgive my tardiness.”

"Master Kazama ...... Ruri?" Someone said in a reverent voice.

Master? You turn and look at where the reverent voice was coming from, but the entire hall was silent and no one spoke again. Chance was standing in mute astonishment. Armani’s sharp black eyes were wide.

Your knife lowers from the fat woman’s neck and you squint at this newcomer, wondering why this man was held in such high regard. He was nothing like the muscle bound flirts who had been jostling for your favor before. His manner was more like a shy school boy. As far as his appearance was concerned, you could be forgiven for mistaking him for a svelte young woman.

Fujiwara sprinted over, took the pure white business card. He held it high above his head as he took it back and placed it in the hands of the Whale.

"It's really Master Kazama at the door." Whale straightened his bow tie and stepped out to welcome him.  "Today is a glorious day for Takamagahara." The Whale bowed deeply.

 "I've heard a lot about you, too, Senior Whale. Yoroshiku Hajimemashite." Ruri Kazama returned the bow.

You reach up and gently wipe the blood from Chu Zihang’s face. “You okay?” Your voice is still gone, but he’s close enough to hear. When he nods, you ask, “Who is that?”

“There is a ranking in the Male Escort Association, and Ruri Kazama is the number one on this ranking for six consecutive years.”

“So what you’re saying is…” You rasp. “He’s like… Time Magazine Hottest guy?”

Chu Zihang shakes his head. “This ranking is not based on beauty nor popularity, but on the principle of art. Those selected are considered Master Ikemen. Ruri Kazama is a legend. They say he exists only for love. If he continues to keep this legend maintained for ten years, then he has the hope to become the god of the male escort world and will have a shrine built for him to receive offerings.”

You snort, disguising it as a sneeze, covering your face with your hand. “I’m almost sorry I asked.”

But Chu Zihang doesn’t seem to share your humor. “The fact that he has joined this contest raises your status as well.”

When you look back, the wind blew the hem of his coat, and Ruri Kazama stood in the sunlight with a slight smile. Although he behaved like the one shy kid from high school, you can’t deny his beauty. It shines like water: light and natural, but at the same time, reflected the sun’s infinite luster.

Ruri Kazama bowed deeply to Caesar, "It's BasaraKing, isn't it? This is a man who is as spontaneous as a Gundam."

He bowed again to Chu Zihang, "This one, if I'm not wrong, is Ukyo Sensei, said to be the image of a swordsman, but acts like a gentleman."

Then he looks at you. At first glance, those eyes looked clear and soft. But the longer you looked, they looked like two deep pools, the water of which was transparent. When you looked into their depths, however, they were pitch black, bottomless, and frigid.

[thefirebreathingqueen]

Tis the damn season

a folk of the air fic based on tis the damn season by taylor swift. 

Summary: after years away from her quiet hometown, Jude returns for the weekend. Someone is still there, waiting for her (Jude x Cardan) All human AU

Snow drifted lazily through the sky as her legs took her on an all too familiar path, collecting in her hair. This path was one well-traveled, Jude remembered it from ditching class with Larkin and Liliver and early morning study seshes before exams. The path had hardly changed in the years she had been gone, the quiet little town she called home hardly changing either. Small, old houses still lined every street, decorated with bright, twinkling lights. Children chased each other through the snowbanks, throwing loose powder at each other with gloved hands. Memories of her and her sisters doing the same pushed to the front of her mind, memories of a life long abandoned.

Taryn would be home, she knew, Vivi might be. Jude hadn’t been back since graduation, not for holidays or birthdays or anything. If her family needed her, they would pop over to her apartment hundreds of miles away.

And yet, she was here. After nearly five years of absence.

With a chime of the bells on the back of the door, the door swung open, Jude hastily slipping inside.  Stopping the snow of her boots, she entered the room. Coffee assaulted her nose, freshly ground and made. Inhaling deeply, a small smile pricked at her lips, shoulders dropping she fell into the comforting warmth of the small café.

Plush armchairs sat scattered around, varying shades of reds, oranges, and greens, the colours rich and inviting. Tables and chairs were mingled with them too. The glow of the lights cast everything in a bright and warm hue. Making her way to the counter, she smiled at the barista. Fand, she remembered, only a year or so younger than herself. Footsteps sounded behind her as she ordered, light as a cat and barely audible. Moving to the side to wait for her coffee, Jude turned, catching a pair of dark eyes already fixed on hers. A familiar smirk danced across the mans even more familiar mouth.

“Cardan,” She said, keeping her voice stiff and polite. He nodded at Fand as she asked something about a usual, dark hairs stirring on his head. It was longer now, styled in a way that simultaneously looked like it took seconds and hours.

“Jude,” her name rolled of his tongue smoothly. Jude’s stomach fluttered at it, at the way his lips curved around her name. Like it fit perfectly in his mouth.

Cursing herself quietly, he moved to stand next to her waiting on his own cup.

“How’s the city?” he asks, leaning closer. It was small talk, but somehow it didn’t feel like small talk.

Small talk was boring, and absolutely nothing about Cardan was boring.

Black eyes bore into mine as he waited intently on her answer. Refusing to look away, she shrugged, “It’s okay.”

After a moment, “How’s the town.”

Cardan shrugs, “It’s okay.” He mirrors her, “Empty now.”

“Empty?” she can’t stop herself from asking. Curiosity fell on her, forcing the words out far quicker than she wished.

Noticing he smiled a bit, but his eyes were still melancholy, “We seem to be missing a fiery brunette with a tendency to threaten people. Have you seen her?”

Jude’s throat tightened, “I don’t think you’d want her back.”

Looking around he muttered, “I think we would.”

The Greenbriar’s had known Jude and her family for a long time, Cardan was in her and Taryn’s grade, Rhia used to babysit us, Dain had given Jude her very first job. The Greenbriar’s had been a part of this town for as long as it’s stood.

A cup landed on the counter, nearly black steaming liquid inside. Grasping the cup, careful not to burn her fingers, she moved to an olive green armchair in the corner. Barely two minutes had passed before an extravagantly dressed man sat across form me, his own mug full of some sugary smelling, light coloured, drink.

Looking at him expectantly, as she took a sip, she waited for him to begin.

He was off, acting so much like and unlike himself at the same moments. Who he had grown to be was a mystery Jude, their last interaction at eighteen as he begged her to stay and she refused, chasing her dreams outside of the bubble they had lived in.

Seeing him now a small bubble of regret bubbled in her stomach. Jude didn’t regret leaving, didn’t regret going to university and finding her job. But for just a moment, she looked at him and imagined what it would have been if she didn’t.

“How long are you staying?” Cardan asks, eyes barely meeting hers.

“Just for three days,”

He nods, “I can work with that.”

 Cardan had walked her home, standing beside her, arms gently brushing. Warmth pooled in her chest at it, at the feeling of him next to her again. They had stayed and talked about everything and nothing for nearly an hour before she looked at the watch on her wrist. Everyone should be at home by now, and the sun would no doubt begin to fall on the horizon soon.

At the gate out front her parents place, Jude turned, pulling the lapels of her coat tighter around her body. A larger hand slipped into hers, squeezing it gently.

“I’ve missed you, Jude.” His voice was quiet.

Without room for another word, he turned and continued his way down the road.

 Knuckles hitting the door, she waited for just a moment. Nerves spiked, choking her out slowly. Dark wood pulled open in front of her, light and warmth escaping quickly. In the doorway was a tall, slender woman. Features of her face sharp and angular. Before Jude could even open her mouth arms wrapped around her.

“What are you doing here?” Viviane asked, excitement lighting her face.

“Thought I’d come for a visit, if you’d all be okay with that?” Jude tapped her boots together nervously.

With a small shake of her head, she pulled Jude inside.

“Who’s at the door?” A dark head poked out of the doorway to the kitchen, long hair in perfect curls. Taryn’s face dropped in surprise; mouth agape as she stared.

“Jude’s here.” Vivi said plainly, pulling the coat from Jude’s shoulders and hanging it by the door.

Rushing over, her body collided with her twins, hair of the same exact hue mingling in their embrace.

“Come on, Dad, Mom, and Oak are going to be so happy to see you.”

 The next time Cardan appeared was in a sleek looking black car pulling up next to her as she walked off the large breakfast she had been stuffed with. The window closest to her rolled down. Hesitantly she leaned into the open space, her nose just reaching the interior of the car.

“My darling Jude,” a broad smile fell across his mouth, “Get in.”

After a moment of debate with herself and against her best judgement. She got in.

The town had hardly changed since she left, still trapped in its own bubble. Just like the café, they talked easily, slipping back into who they were in high school. Jude’s shoulders felt lighter than they had for a long time. They drove up and down every street, and then back again, filling their time like they did when they were teenagers.

Eventually they came to a stop, climbing out into the busy streets. A small store selling handmade novelties sat quietly. It was always the best place for buying presents, and despite the fact she had purchased a gift for everyone before she came, one name had been missing on her list.

Holding the door open for her, Cardan followed her inside, moving silently through the rows of shelves. Items crowded the space, each marked with a little twine and tape price tag. Scanning the shelves, Jude searched.

“Look at this,” Cardan muttered behind her, grabbing her hand to keep her from walking any farther forward. They still fit together perfectly, calluses and soft skin in the same places, slotting like the final pieces of a puzzle. He held a small charcoal grey box. Inside was a necklace, a simple chain with only one pendant. A silver dagger, highly detailed for its size.

“It’s beautiful,” escapes her lips. After a moment, he sets it down, pulling her along the isles, not dropping her hand.

After a moment she managed to snag something while he was off looking for last minute gifts for his brothers. A small bag slung off her wrist as he met with her at the front of the store, his own bag in his hand. Silently, he slipped his hand into hers ago. And surprising herself, Jude did not let go.

The third time Jude found Cardan was at night, right after Christmas dinner. Her family has already unwrapped their gifts, muttering apologies that Jude didn’t have any to unwrap. They had already sent them in the mail.

One final gift stayed heavy in her pocket.

The Greenbriar estate was the largest in town, built and added on over two centuries, maybe even more. It was light up, brilliant lights lining the doorways and rooftops.  For a moment she paused, debating on whether approaching was a good idea. Her chest tightened, unease settling in her bones.

“Looking for someone?” a playful voice reached her ears.

Turning quickly, and very nearly slipping on the ice, she found the source of her conflict standing right behind her, leaning against a tree lining the street.

“Indeed I am.”

“May I be of any service then, my darling?”

Jude’s heart sped at the nickname. Cardan looked unphased by their teenage term of endearment however.

Pulling the small box from her pocket, she held into him.

“For me?” his dark rows raised, looking more unsettled than he had any other time this weekend.

“For you.”

Gently, he pulls the small box from my hands, popping open the lid.

“Are you proposing darling? I must admit that is one hell of a gift.”

Jude’s cheeks burned as blood rushed to them, “No I just know how you never go anywhere without them.”

Nestled on the black satin was a silver ring, one thick band. Scales were etched all around it, the head of the snake swallowing the tail.

Pulling it out, he slipped it on, fitting it perfectly on his middle finger. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear he whispered, “Thank you, I love it.”

Throwing all her judgement and reservations aside, Jude’s palms brushed against his cheeks, pulling his face to hers.

Cardan responded quickly, entangling his fingers in her hair, grasping right at the base of her neck.

“What are we doing?” he asks between kisses, lips sliding over each other’s.

“This,” she answers, “Just for the weekend.”

The last time she saw Cardan was when her car was loaded with her suitcase and she was idling outside the driver’s door. Waiting for something she didn’t want to admit to.

She had already said her goodbyes to her family inside, hugs and tears shed from all of them with promises of visiting more often.

As he always does, Cardan rounds the corner, already walking toward her.

Jude’s heart thumps in her chest, she had done this once, she could do it again.

Standing close, voice small and steady, he asks, “There’s nothing I could say to get you to stay is there?”

Shaking her head slightly, voice thick she whispers back, “No.”

Cardan nods, looking much like the eighteen year old she had left the last time.

Soft lips meet hers, slowly. A finale.

A goodbye.

Without wasting anymore words, he steps back, giving her room to slip into the driver’s seat. Moving forward she refuses to look in the rearview mirror and the man she is leaving behind.

As she drives along the busy highway and the town shrinks behind her, Jude pretends she doesn’t feel her heart shattering in her chest.

Back home, she had unpacked her bags, throwing a load of laundry in and beginning to dust every available surface in her house. Anything to keep her busy, her mind away from the images of dark eyes, long ring covered fingers, soft pink lips.

Finally, she collapses against the couch, a thin sheen of sweat coating her body.

A knock sounds against her door. Moving quickly, she pulls it open. Her whole body stutters as she takes in the image on the other side.

Leaning against her doorframe casually, Cardan smiles, “Hey.”

A/N: so its been awhile. I’m not sure the last time i even wrote and i think this SUCKS but im trying to get back into it. The characters both seem pretty ooc to me so sorry bout that but im trying to get back into the grove of things. 

[sunshine-shitposts]

ALRIGHT. First selfship piece is going UP. I got some big inspiration from @amethystsoda and @dongiovannaswife so like... love you guys 💖💖 no stinky vampire man... yet. Hoping to get the next part up within the next week.

Dust in the Wind—Part 1

It had been a while since Jotaro had been to the Dallas Speedwagon Foundation Headquarters, and it had since moved locations to outside downtown… somewhere.

It was a damn pain if you asked him.

Dallas was a mess to move around in; you were better off on foot, since there were so many one-way streets. His grandfather had explained, the first time that he had brought his grandson to the Foundation in Dallas, that it was probably because car size in America outgrew the more narrow streets that Dallas began with. Jotaro himself didn't really understand it until he saw for himself: Texans loved big cars. There was an astonishing amount of pick up trucks here, compared to other places he'd been.

He wasn't very familiar with Texas, he had to admit. He'd visited Galveston and Corpus Christi more often for marine work, though he had to admit to himself that they weren't his favorite places in terms of the ocean; this side of the coastline of the Gulf of Mexico tended to have a lot of sediment in its water. When he stayed at a house in a place called Crystal Beach for a while, he remembered how searching for hermit crabs with a colleague was rather annoying due to the brown murkiness of the water.

The houses on stilts were quite novel, though.

...That was enough reminiscing.

Jotaro huffed, figuring he could just go to the old location to ask for assistance—it was still being used by the Foundation despite it not being the main building anymore—when a bright voice floated through the air.

"Hey, mom. Y'got everything?"

"Yes, but it's a lot, you know, they turned in projects… can you open the trunk?"

"'Course, no problem. Gimme a sec…"

Jotaro looked up from his map, seeing a young woman helping her mother begin to load several large rolled up cardboard tubes into the back seat of a small blue hatchback.

The woman was dressed comfortably, a boon in the blossoming Texas heat, with a black wide-brimmed hat and minty-colored sunglasses and a lazy smile on her face. She couldn't have been more than an inch over five feet, and her wavy purple hair fluttered in the wind. What didn't look conducive to staying cool were the dark, full-length leggings under her jean shorts or the knee-length, full sleeve knit cardigan, but he knew what it felt like to have a comfort jacket. Her mother, several inches taller than her, was well (albeit colorfully) dressed with a lanyard and ID swinging around her neck, and a mobile folding cart filled with books, folders, and cardboard tubes. The mother's hair, a light silvery-blonde that fell around her shoulders, made Jotaro wonder if they were actually related, but he admitted to himself that stranger things do happen, and hair dye did exist.

Jotaro hummed to himself and looked back at the map as a gust of wind between the tall buildings sent papers scattering, the mother crying out in dismay.

"Sunnie–!!"

"Don't worry mom, I got it."

Jotaro watched the paper of his map flutter suddenly and unexpectedly, swooping in the opposite direction that it had been previously. It was such a sudden change that Jotaro looked back up from the map, only to see all the papers floating through the air to finally gather into the young woman's outstretched hand.

"I'll never ever understand how you can do that," the mother said, her voice equal parts thankfulness and bafflement, "And I don't think I ever will."

"You keep saying that, y'know," her daughter laughed, easily hefting the heavy folding cart into the trunk of her car.

"I know!! But it's true, it's like magic! But real!!"

Jotaro focused his gaze on the young woman.

Stand users are drawn to each other.

When the two women were nearly finished loading all of the mother's things into the car, he approached them, trying to relax his intense demeanor as much as possible. The woman's mother reminded him a lot of his own, and he didn't want to frighten her.

"Excuse me," he asked, fishing around in a pocket inside his coat to pull out his notebook. The two women turned to look at him, the mother's eyebrows raising as she made an 'oooh' noise. Her daughter's expression, however, was completely unreadable behind her large sunglasses, but Jotaro felt her gaze. Her carefree attitude had suddenly disappeared, and he knew that she was likely sizing him up. He wondered if she, too, felt the same weird restlessness in her own chest. "I was wondering if you could tell me how to get here," he continued. Her mother leaned in to see the address written on the notebook's page, then lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Sunnie! He's asking about the Speedwagon Foundation!"

Immediately, the daughter seemed to relax, looking at the page as well. "Oh, no shit?" After another second, her eyebrows rose above her sunglasses. "Oh! No shit!!"

"You know of it?" Jotaro asked, putting the notebook back into the chest pocket.

"Know of it? I'm heading there, after I drop mom back off at the house," the younger woman laughed, extending her arm for a handshake. "I'm Sunnie Green, recently employed by the Foundation. Good to meet you, Mr…?"

"Jotaro Kujo," he replied, accepting the shake and subsequently drowning her small hand in his own. Her shake was strong and firm and confident in a pleasantly unexpected way.

The second he said his name, though, a wry grin broke out on her face.

"No fuckin' way," Sunnie said, surprised, "I have heard some stories. Good to meet you in the flesh. Foundation's been expecting you."

Jotaro grunted. He knew that after his 'trip' to Egypt all those years ago, people at the Foundation liked to gossip about him, and he had hoped that those tales and rumors had died down, but it seemed that they'd persisted. He wondered if they'd only gotten more wild with time. "Well. That aside, if you could point me in the right direction, it would be much appreciated."

"Well, uh, it's not quite in Dallas anymore? It's a bit away from here, so uh…" Sunnie trailed off, her face scrunching up in thought.

"Sunnie," her mom stage-whispered, "Sunnie, you should drive him there."

"Huh-whaa?" Sunnie looked at her mom, eyes wide, then nodded like a lightbulb went off over her head, crossing her arms and grinning, "Yeah!! Yeah, that just makes sense. That makes so much sense!!"

"That won't be necessary–" Jotaro began, but Sunnie shot him a confident grin.

"Don't be silly! This is the perfect solution. It's late in the day, getting a taxi or rideshare there will cost you money you don't need to spend, I mean come on. I'm right here, dude. I gotcha." The smaller woman laughed and put the final bag of papers in the trunk of her car, shutting the door. "I'm not taking no for an answer. And mom?" she looked at her mom expectantly, who smiled widely.

"I'll sit in the back!" She beamed before looking back up at Jotaro, "That way you don't have to sit with all the projects."

Without giving him the chance to offer otherwise, Mrs. Green made her way to the back seat, opening the door and getting in. Jotaro breathed a quiet sigh, gathering himself before he walked to the front passenger's door and opened it. He did not miss Sunnie's triumphant smirk before he ducked inside. To his surprise, it was actually roomy inside the small car. At least, roomy enough to be comfortable for him. There was some music softly playing over the speakers and a water bottle in one of the cupholders, and dangling off of the rearview mirror were some small pom poms and repurposed cell phone charms, several of them Pokémon. In a little storage area under the main console, he saw a lanyard with an ID decorated with the Speedwagon Foundation logo on it.

Sunnie got in the car as well, buckling up and shifting out of park, turning smoothly into the street when it was safe. 

"I'm excited for you to go to the new Foundation Headquarters, Mr. Kujo," Mrs. Green chirped, hands patting her bright red jeans excitedly, "Some of my former students helped decorate the interior! I'm very proud of their work."

"Mom's an interior design professor," Sunnie laughed, "Used to get hired for private homes and hospitals and stuff. There was that one home on White Rock with the spiral staircase? Fucking dope."

"I still talk to them," her mom said airily, "Sometimes I stop by for cookies."

Jotaro didn't quite know how to respond. The two women were very open and friendly and it was making him feel… strange. Was it just a Texan thing in general? Joseph had once mentioned 'Southern Hospitality'. Then again, who could say? The old man liked to talk for the sake of talking sometimes.

He caught a minute glance from Sunnie, who then leaned her head back, a lazy grin on her face.

"So mom, what're all those projects in the back?" She asked, "No balsa wood models this time? That was a nightmare to transport."

"But those were group projects and they were light weight! These plans are deceptively heavy and there are so many–"

As Carol rambled on about the projects sitting around her, Jotaro found himself happy that Sunnie seemingly sensed his discomfort and acted on his behalf to divert her mother's attention. He zoned out, his mind stuck on the impending meeting—one that he had never imagined he would have to have, and one that was admittedly making him feel a little sick in his stomach.

The red brick house they arrived at was in a quiet little subdivision about 40 minutes in traffic away from Downtown Dallas, lined with large trees and with a nice pond. The houses were all two stories, most driveways accessible from the street, and the summer warmth and ample sunshine had the lawns dotted with flowers of many colors. Sunnie parked the car in front of the pebbled sidewalk to the house, and the large dark blue front door opened. A salt-and-pepper haired man with a moustache walked out, wearing an old shirt and jeans and carrying a duffle bag. Sunnie and Mrs. Green got out of the car, and Jotaro decided to get out as well.

The man, presumably Mr. Green, seemed surprised. "I doubt one of your students turned him in," he laughed nonetheless. Mrs. Green giggled.

"No, no! He's with the Foundation!" Mrs. Green explained, and her husband rolled his eyes.

"I was kidding, Carol," he said, voice deadpan. Sunnie snickered.

"We found him looking for the new campus downtown, so I offered to take him there. Speaking of, we gotta get this stuff outta the Spaceship so we can head out," Sunnie turned to Jotaro, "This won't take too long–"

"I'll help," he told her, "Least I can do."

Sunnie paused, pursed her lips, and nodded.

With four sets of hands, unloading took no time at all, but Jotaro once again noted that Sunnie seemed stronger than her smaller size let on. At the end of it, her dad handed her the duffle bag, which she tossed in the back seat.

"See you in a few days," she said, hugging her parents, "Don't get too wild without me around."

"Darn. We'll have to cancel that crazy party," her dad grinned, and she smacked him on the arm.

Jotaro got back into the car with Sunnie, and she drove them out of the subdivision.

"…Do you live with your parents?" Jotaro asked, a sudden burst of curiosity getting the better of him. Sunnie looked at him out of the corner of her eye for a brief second, then turned her gaze back to the road as she flipped on her turn signal.

"I left my husband recently," she said, smoothly turning onto the service road, and Jotaro suddenly felt incredibly awkward, "Got out of the apartment as fast as I could. Grabbed a few things, said goodbye to the dog, and fucking split. It was really sudden, and since I don't have that much money to my name and my husband currently is in control of my finances, living with my parents is easier. I'm actually in my childhood room right now, when I stay at the house." She laughed dryly, merging onto the turnpike.

"Mm," Jotaro simply responded, and Sunnie laughed.

"It's not weird, dude, come on. Chill," she said, passing a particularly large eighteen wheeler and switching two lanes to the left, "I mean, it's kinda weird. But it's fine. I don't mind. I've heard a lot about you from some of the other employees already, I think it's fair that you know about me, if just a little." She looked at him briefly, eyes twinkling. "You're kind of a hot topic at the Foundation, you know."

Jotaro shifted in his seat and looked out his window.

"Which brings me to an important point," she continued, "I know why you're here."

Immediately, he looked back at her, eyes narrowing. That was supposed to be need-to-know information.

"I'm a Liaison for the Speedwagon Foundation. That's my official title, but I have a very specific job, and he is why you're here."

"You mean you–"

"Yes, and I'm aware of your history with him. Well, with the one from here." Her finger tapped the steering wheel pointedly. "I know you don't like him, that you have reason to not like him, and I know you won't like this one. But I'm imploring you not to start shit with him when you see him, okay? I've told him not to start shit with you so, you know, if you would be so kind."

Jotaro audibly gritted his teeth. This was just his fucking luck, running into that bastard's babysitter. "What makes you think he'd listen to you?" He growled.

"I don't know? He's been cool with me so far." She snorted. "I mean, he's an absolute piece of work, but it's been alright. No worse than teaching a class full of preschoolers can get on a bad day, but I did have to… establish that I can take care of myself against him."

"And how did you do that?"

"I stole his air," she said simply, "Made it impossible for him to breathe."

"Have you ever done that before? To someone else."

Her mouth fidgeted, eyes unreadable. They passed under the tollway in silence, broken by soft, ghastly wind chimes as a shimmering turquoise hand with a swirling wing shape on the wrist partially manifested on her shoulder, squeezing lightly before vanishing.

"You'll have to buy me a few drinks before I talk about that." Her voice was short, clipped. "I'm sure you have similar unlockable content you don't talk about otherwise."

It was a weird way to put it, but she was right. He did.

So he dropped the subject, looking back out the window.

"By the way, Catherine—Mrs. Gupta, rather—is here today, too," she said, tone easily switching from icy and guarded to light and airy, "She's the Regional COO, though I'm sure you know that. I'm told that she's the one who contacted you, after all."

Jotaro did not feel like answering. He didn't know what to say.

Sunnie merely glanced at him again, grinned to herself, and kept driving.

After Sunnie showed her credentials and pulled through the gated entrance of the new Dallas Speedwagon Foundation HQ, Jotaro let his eyebrows raise in surprise.

The previous location, having been built when Robert E. O. Speedwagon himself had struck black gold in Texas, was (while large) old, and it showed in its architecture and the relative closeness of the buildings. This, however, was a sprawling, modern campus with green spaces and fountains galore.

"We've got seven buildings here, but we'll be heading to the main one. Explore later if you'd like," Sunnie explained easily, searching for a parking spot. "I may be a… honestly kind of critical Subject Liaison, but I still don't have a dedicated parking space. That's fine, however," She lifted her finger and grinned, the sound of windchimes clinking in the air as her Stand fully manifested: lithe, vaguely robotic, feminine, and lined with light turquoise and shimmery silver. The face was mostly featureless and smooth like a plain mask, save for two large and sleek wing-like shapes on the sides, and two calculating but blank amber eyes. "We'll have her take care of this for us."

The Stand wiggled its fingers excitedly, then zoomed out of the roof of the car, unimpeded by the physical barrier. Jotaro watched, blank faced, then asked what could have been considered a very personal question.

"What's it's range?"

"Dust in the Wind's most powerful up to about six to nine feet from me, but she can and will travel quite far." That's… two to three meters, Jotaro translated in his head. "The further she gets, the less effective she is, but she's curious. She likes looking for things."

Jotaro huffed out the barest hint of a chuckle, remembering his time in jail before his trip to Egypt—how Star Platinum had brought him toys, beer, and reading materials in an attempt to placate him.

"I thought up this little tactic in college, since parking was shit there. It was cut-throat, honestly, so Windy helped scope out all the good spots." The Stand swooped down in front of the car and began nodding and pointing, motioning for them to follow. "Oh fuck yeah, it's a good one," Sunnie said happily before following as her Stand danced through the air in front of them, gracefully carving through the air. "She's playful. That's how I, uh, originally met… you know."

Jotaro looked at her, slightly confused. "Your Stand found him?"

She nodded, rounding a row of cars. "You know that weird feeling we got when we saw each other? How Stand users just kind of… know when other Stand users are around? I felt that when I first came here. She immediately jumped out and disappeared to find the source and found, well, him. Then he demanded to see the user, and bam," She shrugged, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, "We met."

Jotaro found himself grimacing at the mention of that man demanding anything and getting it. That piece of shit didn't deserve fuck all, in his opinion.

"Ah! There," Sunnie mumbled, pulling into a spot a row away from the front sidewalk. "She was right, it is good."

As she turned off the car and they both stepped out, Windy flew back to her user, nuzzling her face and disappearing. Sunnie grabbed her backpack and duffle bag from the backseat and they headed down the large sidewalk, lined with magnolias and sparkling water features.

"The old Speedwagon Foundation buildings are actually currently used for housing… supernatural objects. Like Stands tethered to items, fragments of pillars… there's this weird broken sword there that apparently possesses people, but when it does it just begs to be fixed," Sunnie rambled, shoving a hand in her long cardigan's pocket. Jotaro had to catch a breath, recalling that fight where Polnareff had indeed been possessed. That thing was here now? "This facility does a lot of R&D, field agent training, the like. Dallas has a lot of big companies around so they have some good deals, like with TI and stuff."

"You know a lot for someone who hasn't even been here for four months," Jotaro mumbled, glaring at the small woman. She glanced at him with a lazy smirk, the frog bell on her decorated backpack jingling softly as she walked next to him.

"I actually used to be in politics. Handled VAN data in my last campaign, but my strong suit was research. Following the money, making connections, y'know, all that mess," she said, tone light, "I know my way around things. Donor lists, requesting things under the FOIA, the like. I wanted to get a good picture of the Foundation before I thought about working here. And the rumors about their involvement in… supernatural matters interested me."

They walked through the large sliding glass doors into a cooled, busy lobby, shiny and sleek and new. Reflective surfaces, swooping centerpieces, statement greenery… it was impressive. What Jotaro did not appreciate was the eyes he felt on him the second he had walked in and the whispers that he knew were dancing around.

"Oh, Miss Green?" a receptionist pipped up upon seeing her, "And Dr. Kujo, oh!" The young man quickly patted down his curly chestnut hair, "I wasn't expecting you to–a-arrive together, huh. Well, Mrs. Gupta is waiting for you."

"Thanks, Mikel," Sunnie smiled, waltzing past the desk and towards a central elevator. Jotaro nodded his head slightly to the nervous young man as he continued to follow the smaller woman, stepping into the elevator. Sunnie leaned down (she didn't have to go too far) for a retina and thumb print scan, and the doors closed, the elevator smoothly starting up. They rode in silence, until the doors opened to a series of sterile white hallways.

"We're well underground, so you know," Sunnie mentioned as they began walking again. "It's easier to keep him down here with no threat of sunlight. The trick is that these lights outside his suite have a bit of UV in them. Sort of like how they keep the Pillar Man in D.C.," she informed him as they took a left, walking towards a large white double door. "Remember," she said pointedly, "No fights."

She leaned in for another eye and hand scan, and they passed through a short hall and through another sliding double door.

The first thing Jotaro saw in this more lavishly designed room was a tall, lithe, dark skinned woman with close-shaven hair wearing a golden pencil skirt and a deep forest green satin blouse, and stilettos that easily brought her close to his own height. Her expensive-looking gold jewelry and hoop earrings seemed to glitter as she turned her head towards the door, and her glossy dark red lips split into a dazzling grin.

"Sunnie! I see you've brought our guest," she said in a low voice like honey, lightly accented and melodic.

"Yep! I'm surprised he fit in my car," the smaller woman chirped as she walked into the room, "You didn't mention how tall he is."

The woman held out a well manicured hand, which Jotaro shook. "My name is Catherine Gupta. I became the regional COO of the Dallas branch of the Speedwagon Foundation a few months ago. It's good to meet you, Dr. Kujo."

"Call me Jotaro," he said, glowering at the door beyond them, "I'm assuming that's where he is?"

Mrs. Gupta nodded. "These newer facilities have several suites, some aboveground, some underground, for various purposes, if needed," she said, "When he came to us, it just made sense to stick him down here, where he is both protected and contained."

"Throwing him in a blender would be preferable," Jotaro grumbled, and Mrs. Gupta laughed lightly.

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of the Joestars' history with him," she said, shaking her head a bit, "The Foundation has extensive files on what happened in Britain all those years ago, as well as what you and your group went through. I've reviewed all of these multiple times to understand the situation fully."

"Well if that's the case, why the hell was I only recently informed of… this??" He gestured to the door beyond them, far past trying to hide the venomous rumble in his voice.

She pursed her full lips, "I wanted to tell you sooner, and believe me, I did everything in my power to convince my then-higher ups to let you know, but they were determined to keep it a secret from you and any other members of the Joestar bloodline. I felt that keeping it from you, however, was a moral failing. So I simply took the power I needed to make this happen."

He had to admit, he was impressed. She had said it so matter-of-factly that one might mistake it for an easy task, but he was aware that it almost definitely wasn't. The roiling rage he felt building inside his chest simply from being in proximity to that piece of shit subsided somewhat. "You have my thanks, then," he said quietly, "Does the Don know?"

Having been quiet up until that point, Sunnie shifted and the little frog shaped bell charm jingled, her head cocking to the side curiously. Jotaro took this to mean that she was unaware of his family tree.

"I'm still working on clearing that. I'm sure you're aware that there are a few more hoops to jump through when it comes to navigating our relationship with Passione," Mrs. Gupta chuckled. Hearing the name of the infamous Italian mafia, Sunnie's eyes blew wide and she covered her mouth slightly to whisper, 'yooooooo, what the shit, my dude', before Mrs. Gupta shot her a knowing smirk. "You would have found out soon enough, Sunnie. Just keep it secret for now, especially from him," she looked in the door's direction, and the shorter woman nodded enthusiastically.

"You got it, boss," she said, grinning widely, "Is… is the Don of Passione is a Joestar?"

"Indeed he is," Mrs. Gupta nodded, and Sunnie nearly flailed, whisper-shouting 'yo what the SHIT' again, causing the taller woman to laugh, "Though, I'll let you in on that later."

"Dope," Sunnie giggled, before noticing a tupperware box on one of the tables. "Oh～? And this is?"

"Murgh makhani from Janpreet. He made extra," Mrs. Gupta said warmly, before shooting Jotaro a glance. "My husband," she explained as an afterthought.

"FUCK yeah, tell him I say thanks," Sunnie giggled.

"Will do."

Jotaro had mostly tuned the two women out, however; he was staring at the door, glowering. Mrs. Gupta and Sunnie shared a glance.

"Welllll, I know you don't like him, but here we go. Time to face the music, I guess?" Sunnie said as she turned, her long cardigan following behind her as she nodded her head towards the door. 

Mrs. Gupta raised an eyebrow at Jotaro, gesturing for him to go before her. He took a breath and turned to the door, steeling his soul and narrowing his eyes.

It was time to face Dio.

ゴゴゴゴゴ...

(Part 2)

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 4: Information Exchange

((Abe returns to his office to find a shady potential client waiting with an offer he can’t refuse.

Link to the previous part, Part 3: Slow Recovery.))

Abe made a detour by the parking lot to grab his bag out of the back of the beat-up car he called his own before walking into the office building, where there was no one waiting at the front desk. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he had ever seen anyone behind the glass since he signed his lease, but that just meant fewer questions whenever he was back in town. Instead, he took the stairs up to his floor, only to stop when he spotted the man standing in the middle of the hallway.

Right next to the door to his office/as close as he got to home these days.

He played with the idea of turning around and just going back to his car, but there was always the chance he would just run into the guy on his way out. Abe took another long sip of his coffee before stepping out of the stairwell and walking straight toward the door, hoping that maybe the man was just hanging out and waiting for someone else.

A hope that quickly died when the man turned with a slightly off movement, his head turning and his body following with a slight delay to fix Abe with a cold stare behind black square frame glasses.

“Abe Lincoln,” the man said, more a declaration than a question.

“That’s what they call me,” Abe said. His keys were already in his free hand, but he found himself slowing as he approached. A voice in the back of his mind screamed that there was something off about the man, more than just his odd movements and smile that failed to match his eyes. While he couldn’t point out what it was immediately, Abe knew enough to trust his instincts and keep his distance. “And I’m not taking clients at the moment. I left a sign on the door, didn’t you see it?”

“This just says ‘Be back sooner or later.’”

Oh. In hind sight, he probably should have double checked which sign he put up before he left three months ago.

“Well, point is I’m still not here to take another case, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Abe said. “Maybe call ahead next time, make an appointment with my secretary if I ever get one. And if you’re here looking for money, then you can just get in line behind everyone else.”

The man turned in place to watch as Abe circled around him to get to the door, the hunter just as careful not to take his eyes off of the visitor. Abe was already weighing his options, considering whether a punch with the keys in his fist or a splash from what was left of his coffee would be enough to distract the stranger if push came to shove. He had more options stowed on his person and in his coat, but this close there wasn’t a lot of room for trial and error if he didn’t know what he was dealing with.

“While I am capable of waiting out here as long as necessary, perhaps the hunter might be willing to hear my employer’s offer first. He is willing to offer you far more than your usual rate, in return for your assistance in looking into a particular person of interest.”

“Don’t see why he would need a hunter for that,” Abe said, making a show of unlocking his door. This close, he realized that it wasn’t just the stilted way the man talked, the emphasis not quite falling on the right words. Watching him out of the corner of his eye, he realized that the man’s chest wasn’t moving, just as there was no sign of movement around his nose or mouth when he wasn’t actually speaking.

The stranger wasn’t breathing.

“Just who is your employer?” Abe asked, trying to sound casual as he pulled his bag off his shoulder and tossed it down just inside the office door, on top of the pile of late notices covering the floor. Leaning against the frame left the hand not holding the coffee cup out of sight and free to reach for the handle of his revolver. Bullets didn’t work against everything, but they sure helped slow down most things.

“He would prefer to remain anonymous in this situation—”

“Nope,” Abe said, already reaching for the door.

“Wait!” The stranger reached out to stop the door from shutting only for his whole body to stutter the second his hand tried to cross the threshold. Sparks arced between his fingers and raced up his arm before he yanked himself backwards. His whole head twitched to the side before he returned to his far too straight stance, and Abe was quick to notice the red light in the man’s brown eyes before it disappeared, although his scowl remained. “You have anti-magic wards.”

“Of course I do, what hunter worth his salt wouldn’t think of something that basic?” Abe scoffed. And those were far from the only protections he had in place, although he was pretty sure the handy sigils he carved into the interior of the door frame probably meant he wouldn’t be getting his deposit back on this place. Landlords generally didn’t recognize a good thing when they had it.

Magic, but the ward hadn’t stopped some kind of spell or curse, it had reacted like he was the magic. Not fae, the eyes would give it away. Maybe an inanimate object powered by magic? One shaped like a human, or else Abe would have seen through it when he tried to break the ward, but that didn’t explain the sparks. He could probably figure it out with a few more clues, or…

Screw it, Abe thought.

“What are you?”

The man paused before he answered, his words falling out quickly as though he couldn’t help answering, “I am a Google unit, a blend of technology and magic created to provide information and services to my employer. Among other things.”

Magitek? Abe had heard of it, but never anything like this. This Google thing looked human, or human enough if you could ignore the slightly stilted mannerisms and the whole not blinking once while they had been having this conversation thing.

“Guess that explain the ‘G’,” Abe muttered, gesturing to the vivid white letter on the unit’s red shirt. “Well you can provide your employer with the information that I said ‘no.’ Hell no, if you feel like it.”

“While it is typical of humans to be reluctant to deal with superior beings—”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. I seriously doubt the ‘superior’ thing, but I don’t care what you are. The point is, I don’t take work from anyone who won’t meet me in person, much less refuses to even give me a name. Believe it or not, I do have standards.”

The Google unit’s eyes moved from Abe’s face to stare pointedly at the darkened office behind him, the floor covered in late notices and clothes that didn’t make the cut to come along on his latest trip, filing cabinets crowded up against the paper-covered desk, and the multiple cork boards full of papers and photographs pinned and connected to each other by lengths of string, and that was just what could be seen from the office door.

“Clearly. That is why my employer requested that I bring this to you, hunter. He believes that this person may be involved in certain activities that could be a danger to others, including to someone of value to significant persons within the city. If he were to take these suspicions through official channels, there might be enough bias against the person of interest to prevent a real investigation from taking place.”

Abe had to take a second to work that out, but considering they were coming to him he thought he could take a guess. “This person you want me to look into isn’t human, and if enough rumors float around they could be in trouble whether it’s true or not.”

“Correct.”

Abe hesitated. He had taken enough cases like this before, but never one that sent up this many red flags at one time. There was clearly something shady going on here, and the last thing he needed was to get dragged into someone else’s mess when he had enough of his own to deal with.

As if sensing something else was needed, the Google unit added, “I have been given permission to tell you that an exchange of information is also on the table, should you choose to take this case.”

“What kind of information?”

“Information regarding one Wilford Warfstache, the most recent alias of the man formerly known as William J. Barnum.”

The floor could have opened out underneath Abe at that moment and he didn’t think he would have noticed the difference. Without realizing it, he had stepped back out into the hall, his hand wrapped tight in the collar of the unit’s red shirt as he pulled him closer.

“What do you know about him?” he growled, but the automaton’s expression did not change.

“All information about this person is stored in a file that I cannot access until given permission by my employer, which will not be granted until you provide your own information about our person of interest.” Google did not blink, and there was no trace of concern in his voice as he added, “If you attempt to damage this unit, the information can and will be deleted.”

Abe forced himself to let go of the unit’s shirt, but his hand just as quickly closed into a fist. “Why should I believe you know anything about him that I don’t?”

“I cannot provide that information until permission is granted. However, my employer thought you might be interested to learn that last night at approximately 12:37 AM, the local police received a report of strange lights and noises at the house formerly known as Markiplier Manor. By the time they arrived, there was no sign of any persons in the area,” Google answered, his gaze taking on the faraway stare that Abe was beginning to recognize as him recalling something from his memory.

Abe made a conscious effort to control his reaction to those words, to keep his breathing steady and his eyes as clear as he could, to not give in to the shudder that raced down his spine to meet the pit opening in his stomach.

“That could be anything,” he said. “Some kids messing around, frisky raccoons, you name it. Doesn’t mean it’s related to—to him.”

“I am also allowed to say that we have reason to believe that Wilford Warfstache has returned to the city,” Google said. “But as I cannot provide anything to verify this information until after you provide something in return, and you are clearly not interested—”

“Wait.”

Abe hated this, he hated not knowing what he was getting himself into, he hated not knowing who was behind this, hated that whoever it was clearly knew enough to get his interest and press his buttons, but more than anything he hated the idea of missing his chance to finally get his hands on the one monster that had evaded him all these years. If there was even a chance this thing could lead him to the Colonel, or whatever he was calling himself these days…

“Who does your employer want me to look into this bad?” Abe asked.

“Does this mean you’re taking the case?” Google asked in turn.

Just because he agreed, it didn’t mean he couldn’t do his own investigating on the side. And if this guy was as dangerous or as in danger as robot boy here claimed, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt Abe to look into him.

“Yeah, I’ll find out what you need to know. Just give me a name.”

The Google unit pulled an envelope out of his pocket and presented it to Abe, inside of which he found a downtown address, a photograph of the man in question, and a copy of a certificate verifying the person in question was registered with the city and the Bronson Institute.

“My employer wants you to obtain as much information as possible about any suspicious activities or relationships involving the vampire, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein.”

((End of Part 4. Thanks for reading!

Link to Part 5: Second Opinion.

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[semperintrepida]

The Sellout: chapter four

four: the first thaw

This was a mistake.

Kassandra only had time for that one, brief regret as she toppled backwards into the display case. A bang clapped through her skull and left her ears ringing, and a manic grin loomed before her as the world desaturated to grey, then black... and then her vision returned in a shock of light and color as crisp as sunshine on fresh snow. Then time slowed down, down, down and she stopped thinking and started moving: finding her feet, grabbing fistfuls of the man's coat, and launching herself forward. She pushed him along, gathering speed as she angled him towards the windows, and then she threw him into the wooden bar hard enough to send the stools on top of it flying.

He bounced off the edge of the bar and landed on the floor in a sprawl, and as she sank to her knees, she heard the slap of his shoes against wood, then the door opening and closing, and then silence.

Every straight line in the room curved in on itself, and she pressed her palm into the floor to keep from falling over. Her chest was a furnace, each hot breath harsh in her ears, and she knelt there, staring at a knot in the floorboards, fascinated by the way it punctured the woodgrain around it.

Footsteps approached her in a hurry, then a voice, thin and tight, said, "Are you— Hang on, okay?"

Kassandra studied the cracks radiating out from the center of the knot. A weakness in the grain. Stupid. She'd thrown herself in harm's way for a woman who hated her. Why? She didn't even know the woman's name. So stupid.

She heard metal jangling against metal at the door. Then the footsteps returned, and the woman knelt beside her, a phone in her hand, its screen bright enough to sear a halo into the edges of Kassandra's vision.

"I'm calling 911—"

Kassandra put her hand over the screen, and as their skin touched, the woman jerked her hand and the phone away as if scalded. Kassandra sighed. "Don't."

"Don't what? Call?"

"He's long gone. The cops'll never find him, and they'll bring you more trouble than it's worth." And more trouble than Kassandra wanted to deal with to keep her name out of the newspapers and off of Twitter.

"Fine. No cops. But you should still go to the ER."

Her head ached too much to shake it. "No. I hate hospitals."

"Everyone hates hospitals."

"No ambulance."

The woman exhaled, sharp and quick. "Then what do you want to do?"

"Call an Uber, and go home." Despite her aching head and stiff neck, the burn in her lungs was fading, and the lines of the floorboards, and chair legs, and table tops were straightening back to true.

"That's a terrible plan."

Kassandra shrugged, and then she started to climb to her feet. She got as far as raising herself on one knee before her body refused to move any further. She swayed precariously. The floor seemed a long way down, and she imagined how it was going to feel when she smacked face-first into it — but hands grabbed her by her shoulders and held her upright. So much strength in those hands, but not an ounce of warmth.

"Sit here and don't move," the woman said, guiding Kassandra down so she rested with her back against the window. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Desperation drove Kassandra to catch her by the arm. "Don't. Please," she said, and the light in the room chilled from warm yellow to cold fluorescence, and instead of coffee she smelled disinfectant. She shuddered with the memory of medication and pain and being trapped in beds in white rooms, and it set off a fresh round of ringing in her ears.

The woman stared at Kassandra's hand wrapped around her forearm. "Okay, fine," she said, and when Kassandra released her, she rocked back on her heels, putting space between them. "Have it your way."

Kassandra shivered again, her spine cold where it pressed against the glass window.

The woman frowned and leaned closer. Her irises were rimmed with red, and graphite smudged the skin below her eyes. She clearly hadn't been sleeping much.

Kassandra could guess the reason why. She looked down at her hands. Stupid, coming back here — she should have left things to her research and legal teams and stayed out of the way.

"How does your head feel?" the woman asked.

"I've got a headache."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"For a moment, if that."

"Stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

Footsteps, then rustling, and a drawer opening and closing. More rustling. More footsteps. And then the woman was back and handing her a bag of ice wrapped in a clean bar towel.

Kassandra took the ice and pressed it against the back of her head. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. This wouldn't have happened if I'd locked the fucking door like I was supposed to."

"And you didn't because I was distracting you."

"You sure as hell did." The woman shook her head irritably. "Offering to buy me out. You don't even know what my books look like."

"I don't even know your name."

Her eyes widened a fraction. "Don't you have... people to figure stuff like that out for you?"

"Yes, but I was holding out hope you'd volunteer it."

She snorted. "Even after I told you to fuck off."

"I guess I'm just optimistic."

"No, you're just used to getting whatever you want."

It's called winning, Kassandra's brain offered unhelpfully, but she clamped her mouth shut around the words just in time.

They stared at each other in a silence that grew more and more awkward until the woman sighed and gave in. "My name's Kyra."

Kassandra extended her hand purely out of reflex. "Kassandra."

"I know," Kyra said dryly, and after the slightest of hesitations, she reached for Kassandra's hand and shook it.

A handshake was a message, and Kyra's said I don't suffer fools gladly. Her grip was firm but not crushing — though the muscles in her hands certainly held the strength to do so. Solid muscles, calloused skin. Powerlifter? No, too lean across her shoulders and thighs. Her mystery remained unsolved.

The ice was working its magic, tamping down the ache in Kassandra's skull. "I'll call that Uber now," she said.

"How did you get here?"

"Drove."

Kyra said nothing for several seconds, lost in thought. Then she gave a quick nod and said, "Look. I'll drive you home, or wherever. If you want. It's the least I can do after you..."

She didn't say ended up with a concussion on my behalf but she could have. Kassandra considered the offer. Passing out in her own car was more appealing than passing out in some random Uber, but there'd be a stranger at the wheel either way. She could see herself now: out cold in the front seat of her Audi, a flash of brake lights, the door opening, then Kyra dumping her into the nearest gutter...

Of course, if she was that worried about it, she could just call an ambulance.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay." Kyra sat back. "You all right with waiting a few minutes? I've got to close out the till."

"Sure."

Time passed in the form of sounds and silence, and then Kyra was crouching in front of her and asking, "Ready?" and when Kassandra nodded yes, Kyra offered a hand and helped haul her to her feet.

The room tilted out from under her, the floor bending like a rubber band.

A strong hand slid under her upper arm and steadied her. "You gonna make it?"

"I'm fine." She stared at the floor until its planks straightened again.

"Sure you are," Kyra said, but she didn't let go. She guided Kassandra around the stools that had fallen from the bar, and only released her when they stood before the door to the shop.

Kyra unlocked the door with a twist and jingle of metal keys, and then it swung open and Kassandra stepped into cool, night air. She waved Kyra's hands away and took a deep breath. The damp breeze sweeping in from the river was almost enough to cover the greasy carbon smell of exhaust. Around them, the sidewalks were already empty. No city packed up and went home as early as Portland did.

Her Audi sat by itself a few spaces up the way, lit by a streetlight. "I'm assuming that's yours," Kyra said, nodding in its direction, and she could have been pointing out a garbage truck for all the enthusiasm in her voice.

"Yeah." Kassandra walked gingerly to the car. The streetlight blazed down, bright as a spotlight. It made her eyeballs throb, and she squinted as she opened the passenger door and eased herself inside the car, grateful for the darkness of its interior.

It was disconcerting, sitting on this side of her own car, a mirror universe where everything was reversed and a stranger was sliding into the driver's seat. Kassandra leaned back so her head held the bag of ice in place — and then she pulled her seatbelt extra snug.

"It's like the cockpit of the space shuttle in here," Kyra said, as she ran her hands over the steering wheel and eyed the blank computer screen that took the place of a gauge cluster.

Kassandra grinned. "Push the big red button to start the launch sequence. Just don't... stomp on the gas."

But Kyra didn't leap at the chance to drive it like she'd stolen it. She took her time adjusting the mirrors and getting comfortable in her seat, and only then did she push the button to start the car, biting off a curse at the sudden roar of a hundred explosions a second being contained in the engine right behind her. Then she checked her blind spot and pulled onto Belmont as Kassandra worked the navigation system to make the route to her condo appear on the display.

Kyra's driving was competent and composed, and Kassandra began to relax despite the growing silence between them. They knew next to nothing about each other, and what they did know was something neither wanted to talk about.

The car turned as smoothly as a greased bearing onto the Burnside Bridge, the river an oily black ribbon below. At the far end of the bridge, the big "Portland Oregon" sign flashed its lightbulbs and neon, a vintage throwback that set the tone for the neighborhoods behind it.

Kyra changed lanes. "I'm surprised this thing doesn't drive itself."

"In a few more years I'm sure they'll come out with one that does, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" The passing streetlights lit her face in alternating stripes of light and shadow.

"I like driving. The sound, the feel of it."

"Driving one of these, sure. You're like a shark among the sardines."

"True." Kassandra couldn't imagine driving a beater Honda in rush hour traffic, and was glad she'd never had to experience that particular displeasure.

They glided downtown in a smooth bubble of movement, and whether that was from the car or from Kyra's driving, Kassandra couldn't say. Downtown, where food trucks clustered under high-rise office buildings and tent cities squatted within sight of every luxury hotel.

Burnside Street took them to 10th and the Pearl District — a neighborhood as clean, shiny, and multilayered as its namesake. Dig far enough and you'd hit the industrial sands it was built upon.

"Turn into that driveway on the left," Kassandra said as she fished her keycard out of her wallet. The gate lifted and let them inside, and she guided Kyra through the cramped nautilus of the carpark until they reached another gate. This one led to her private garage, isolated and secure.

The garage had three bays, but she hadn't bothered to ship any of her other cars here. Instead, she'd brought a pair of motorcycles: her favorite Triumph custom for the street and another bike for the dirt. The riding here was supposed to be some of the best in the world, but she'd rarely had any free time to find out.

Kyra eyed the bikes as she shut the engine off and opened her door.

"You ride?" Kassandra asked from the other side of the car.

"Nah," Kyra said. "I'd never have the time." A shame. She'd look good swinging her leg over that Triumph, wearing a black leather jacket to go with the red lumberjack flannel and jeans she was wearing now...

Her voice brought Kassandra back to reality. "You've got someone at home to watch you tonight, right?"

This is what Kassandra would come home to: high ceilings, tasteful furnishings, a spectacular view of the city — all of it very, very empty in its solitude. She'd have to admit it one way or another, but if she stayed silent she wouldn't have to hear herself say the words out loud.

Kyra looked at her. "You don't," she said quietly, and Kassandra couldn't tell if she was surprised by it or not. "I fucking knew I should have driven you to Legacy and bounced you onto the doorstep of the ER."

"I'm glad you didn't," Kassandra said. "And now that I'm here, you've done your good deed and you're free to go. I'll call an Uber for you, or a taxi. Whatever you want."

"Oh no, I'm not about to let you go on alone, just so you can die all by yourself."

"Wanting to watch is a bit bloodthirsty, don't you think?"

It was a good thing there was a car between them, because Kyra looked about ready to strangle her. "That's not what I meant."

Kassandra couldn't help herself, and she laughed even though it made her headache flare. "Well, come on, then. You can hate me up close all you want."

Up close is exactly what they got: in the stairwell, in the narrow hallway to the private elevator that serviced the upper floors of the tower, and in the elevator itself, where Kyra stood as far away from her as possible. Kassandra slapped her keycard against the reader. The numbers on the floor indicator ticked higher and higher, until they weren't numbers at all, just "PH".

The elevator released them into a small foyer.

"I don't hate you," Kyra said suddenly.

"Jesus doesn't like it when you lie," Kassandra said as she used her keycard to unlock her front door, and whatever Kyra's answer would have been was swept aside by their arrival.

The lighting and window systems woke up as Kassandra's smartphone connected to her home network. A soft glow from unobtrusive fixtures brightened the open interior of the space, while the windows shed their tint to put the city skyline on full display.

Kassandra crossed the room and sank onto the low-slung couch with a grateful sigh. She kicked off her shoes, then set the melted bag of ice down on the glass end table beside her.

Kyra was still lingering by the door, where the nearest wall displayed a triptych of poster-sized, black and white photographs. A lone dirtbike outracing a dust storm across the desert. A crumbling building made abstract in shadows and light. A landscape of the mountains encircling the bowl of Death Valley.

"Who took these?" Kyra's voice echoed from across the room.

"I did." Back when she had time to ride and travel. Now most of her shots were hurried sketches taken with her phone.

Kyra's circuit of the wall pulled her past the flatscreen TV, past Kassandra's bookshelves, until she stood in front of the windows. "It's so beautiful," she murmured as she gazed at the twinkling panorama of the city's east side.

Kassandra nearly got lost watching Kyra enjoy the view before she remembered her manners. "Can I offer you something to drink? Beer? Water?" She grinned. "Coffee?"

That made Kyra turn and approach the couch. "Is it from Starbucks? Then no, thank you." She picked up the soggy bag of ice on her way past, holding up a hand when Kassandra sat forward. "No, don't get up. I can find my way to your fridge," she said, glancing at the kitchen in full view before them. A trace of humor instead of irritation. Seemed this evening would bring Kassandra one surprise after another.

But no surprise would top the fact that there was someone else here with her. She'd never invited anyone — no friends, no lovers — to her home, or to any of her homes, really, and now some stranger was rooting around in her refrigerator and cupboards.

She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of Kyra making herself right at home: the fridge and cabinet doors opening and closing, a quiet "Ahh!" of surprise as Kyra found her coffee stash, and then the kettle being filled and a gas burner igniting.

Then there was a gentle swirl of air beside her: Kyra, perching on the armrest of the couch, offering her a fresh bag of ice and a bottle of water. "You should drink this," she said.

Kassandra raised the bottle in thanks and took a swig.

"You've got beans from Camber and Sweet Bloom. So you do know something about good coffee."

"Not as much as I should. But coffee's not really my gig," she said, well aware of how it sounded. "I know a lot more about buildings and the land they sit on." She'd cut real estate deals and maximized returns on investments for over a decade, always high enough up the chain where the numbers involved had at least seven digits, insulated from ever having to see that the mom-and-pop competition belonged to real people instead of numbers on a spreadsheet.

Kyra's jaw clenched around a response. "I hope you don't mind me dipping into your stash," she said instead, keeping up the détente between them. "I'm going to be up awhile."

"Have as much as you want."

The sound of the kettle whistling drew Kyra away, and when she returned a few minutes later, it was with a mug cradled in her hands. She sat at the edge of the armchair across from Kassandra and closed her eyes as she inhaled the steam. "I'd offer you a cup, but I'm not sure you should with..." She gestured vaguely towards her head.

"I'm fine with this," Kassandra said, tilting her water bottle. "Which one did you pick?"

"The Sweet Bloom." Kyra sipped from the mug, then shrugged. "Aspirational, I guess, given our circumstances. And this particular roast cuts a nice profile."

"How so?"

"Light, honeyed, lots of florals. And brewed right, the results are"—she sipped again and smiled—"amazing."

That smile was enough to fill Kassandra with the irrational urge to keep her talking. "Who's your roaster?"

"Heart, here in town."

"Ahh, I should have known." They had a coffee shop of their own just up the street. "Why them?"

"They're local. And they haven't sold out to Wall Street like Stumptown did." She stood up, abruptly, and took her mug over to the windows, drinking from it as she watched the city lights. "Do you know why all the indie roasters started focusing on lighter roasts?"

"No."

"Because Starbucks went in hard on the dark roasts." Then she laughed, a brittle sound that bounced off the window glass. "I got into this business as a barista first, because I love how the best coffee tastes. I still do. I'll never serve anything less." She gazed pensively at the city, seconds stretching into minutes. Eventually, she turned to Kassandra. "How's your head?"

"Sore, but I'll live." She turned her neck experimentally. Still stiff. At least her head wasn't ringing anymore.

Kyra returned to the armchair and sat down. "Tired?" she asked.

"A little." More than a little. She'd been up since five and it had to be well past midnight by now.

"Sleeping would actually be good for you."

"Really? I thought it was the opposite," Kassandra said, remembering being poked and prodded on team flights and buses, kept from sleeping by assistant coaches after games where she'd cracked skulls with some opposing player. But that had been a long time ago.

Kyra flashed her a wicked grin. "That's why I'll be here to wake you up every couple of hours, to make sure you're just sleeping and not slipping into a coma."

Kassandra had been prepared for awkward silences, and perhaps some talking spiked with vicious, vicious words. But falling asleep while Kyra had free reign of her home... This was a terrible plan.

Kyra's grin grew wider. "Don't look so scared. My face is all over your security cameras and you know exactly where to find me." She made a show of studying her manicure. "Besides, murder's not really my style."

She had a point — and an actual sense of humor. Kassandra smiled. "I'm not so sure. You seem to know a suspicious amount about head injuries."

"I've seen enough of them to pick up a thing or two."

"I didn't know the coffee business was so dangerous."

"Not at the shop," she said, rolling her eyes. "Out on the rock, and in the climbing gym."

Rock climbing. How had Kassandra missed that connection? "Cliffhanger."

"My three loves put together."

Coffee, climbing, and books. "Tell me about them?" Kassandra winced at how inane the question sounded.

"I can definitely bore you to sleep if that's what you want."

"If I fall asleep, it won't be because I'm bored." And right on cue, she yawned.

"Well, this won't take long, then," Kyra said brightly. "So speaking of the folks at Heart — they called me up last week, all hot about this small, family farm they'd stumbled across the last time they were in Honduras..."

And Kyra talked, about heirloom coffee, and how roasters searched the world for the most interesting varieties, and Kassandra stretched out on the couch and listened, sometimes asking a question, but mostly resting in silence, mostly thinking about what it was like hearing another voice in a room that was usually so quiet and still.

And much later, she woke up to Kyra's hands gently tucking a blanket around her. "I'm awake," she murmured, wriggling in the blanket's soft cocoon.

"So you are," Kyra said wryly. She settled back into the armchair and picked up the book she'd set aside. "Go back to sleep."

"Not yet," Kassandra said, her voice thick and drowsy. The blanket was warm, like Kyra's hands had been. "I want to know what book... you're..." And then her brain tucked itself in and said good night.

Chapter four of The Sellout. Continued in chapter five...

[theonyxpath]

Hi all! Matthew Dawkins here, the developer and one of the co-authors of Chicago by Night. I thought it’d be a nice treat to drop some of the fiction from the book on the blog, for those of you who haven’t seen it in the Kickstarter updates. Here, without further ado, is Jiba Molei Anderson’s Red Nº 5:

Red Nº 5

A Night to Remember that you’ll probably Forget

Oh, my god! What a fantastic night!

Okay, so my girlfriend Krissie and I are from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We came to Chicago for a girls’ weekend and were having a little pre-game wine drinking session at Zed451 when Jason invited us out to meet a couple of his buddies at this place called Red Nº 5. We were like “sure!” We were two girls out, looking cute, ready to mingle and, perhaps, get into a little trouble. Besides, Sho-Lo Fidelity was supposed to be playing tonight and I love his sets because I’m a big house music fan, right? I mean, don’t let my “becky-ish” looks fool you. I love getting my groove on and getting down with the “brothers,” if you know what I mean.

We got to the club, which is a couple of doors south right past the six corners of Milwaukee, Grand and Halsted around 10:30. Now, you wouldn’t think a place like this would really start jumping until, like, midnight. But, there was already a line at the door filled with people wanting to get in. It was crazy! It felt like that movie about that club in New York that was real big during the disco era. Anyway, the bouncers looked really rough. I mean they looked professional, all clean-shaven and wearing black suits, the kinda doormen you’d probably see at any classy spot. But, it was clear that they were definitely not to be fucked with. They just had that vibe about them, y’know?

There was this one group of girls who looked like the just stepped off of an episode of “Real Housewives of Chicago” who looked like they were almost about to start a scene because the bouncers wouldn’t let them in. I don’t know why they wouldn’t. They definitely looked like the kind of ladies guys would want in the club. They were looking like those ghetto models with their weaves, all squeezed into their tight dresses, which barely covered their asses or their tits and shivering in the cold because they left their coats in the car and didn’t want to pay a coat check fee. I mean, it’s the frickin’ middle of March! You know Chicago doesn’t decide to get warm until, maybe, late May!

Anyway, just as they were about to really turn up and act rachet for not being able to get in the club, one of the bouncers (a big, pale white guy about 6’3, 350 pounds with a spider web tattoo that began on the top of his head and trailed down to his neck with a spider at the end of it) lowered his head, tipped his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose (so pretentious with the sunglasses at night, right?) and stared right into the lead chick’s eyes. Then, he says real calm and cool, “I’m sorry, but you ladies are not allowed in Red Nº 5 this evening.”

I don’t know, but it looked like the lead girl almost wet her pants. She was so scared, she quickly went to her girlfriends and announced they were leaving that very second. The other girls were so shaken up by the look on their friend’s face they left the line without hesitation. I looked at the group I came here with and got extremely nervous.

Don’t get me wrong. I mean, Krissie and I are, like, super-cute girls. We’re both blonde and we both work out. Krissie is a little thinner and, like, two inches taller than me, but I’ve got the bigger rack and, a little “junk in my trunk,” which the “brothers” like. I totally get called a “snowbunny” all of the time. But, we definitely weren’t “model-chick, hoochie-fabulous” like those girls who were kicked out of line. On top of that, we had three guys with us, in untucked shirts, blue jeans and regular shoes. If those girls couldn’t get in, what chance would our grubby little crew have getting past the velvet rope.

I was kind of shocked when “Charlotte’s Web” (my nickname for the bouncer) let us into the club with a smile and a friendly “Enjoy your evening.”

Now, what I didn’t mention earlier was that Krissie and I were ready to party. By that I mean, we were smoking a little reefer in the car, which accentuated a really lovely merlot buzz. Then, Jason’s buddy Trevor “surprises” us with a couple of pills of pure MDMA, not that corny “Molly” shit. Obviously, Trevor was hoping a couple of happy pills would get him some lovin’ from either Krissie or me… A blowjob at the very least. It was obvious he wasn’t picky. But, what he didn’t know was that Krissie and I were old pros in this game and, we were in full TLC mode that night AKA “No Scrubs.”

We paid our entry fee and got our hands stamped. By now, the pills started kicking in, a little hard, but manageable as we started walking down this black corridor into the club. The red lights made it feel a little mysterious, like “Eyes Wide Shut,” but less cheesy. It was kinda sexy.

We enter the main room and, it was pretty big, but not crowded. It wasn’t empty. I mean, there were plenty of people there, but it was easy to walk around without bumping into anybody unless they were really sloppy. It wasn’t your usual Friday night crowd. Sure, there were a couple of people in suits and fancy dresses in the club looking like they’re playing a role, but this didn’t feel like the usual “Let’s go out because it’s Friday” type of crowd. They were dressed nice, but there was a casual vibe, like they all knew each other or something.

The red lights hit the mahogany walls and chrome railings real nice (I’m studying interior design so I pay attention to these things). The DJ had his own platform above the dance floor. It was a small, circular perch that was large enough to fit the turntables, a small couch and a circular table to set your drinks down. DJ jazintellect (I love jazintellect!) was playing some old-school Hip Hop from the 90s. The initial rush eased into the smooth groove of some really good shit. We walked past the first bar through a doorway that didn’t have a bouncer with a rope in front… Free access!

There was another bar behind the main floor! So cool! There were these black leather couches with mahogany tables. People were hanging out and having drinks so, I thought we should get started with another drink before heading downstairs to hear Sho-Lo’s set. Those couches were so soft and buttery, I felt we were in the coolest music video ever!

So here I was, feeling good and rubbing this leather couch. Trevor thinks that this is a sign that he should make his move. Krissie, being the baddest bitch ever, slides between me and Jason like a good cock blocker should. Unfortunately, Trevor doesn’t get the hint and starts trying to push up on the both of us… the creep! It’s about this close to getting ugly and harshing my roll when the waitress comes to our table for our drink order.

Oh, what I forgot to say is that all of the waitresses are hot. I mean, “Off the cover of Vogue and what the hell are you doing working here?” hot. Our waitress was this tall, light-skinned Black girl with green eyes and a close-cropped haircut dyed blonde wearing a tight-fitting black scoop-neck cocktail dress. I don’t if it was the mix of weed, ecstasy and alcohol, but I was seriously questioning my orientation with this girl.

So, she gives a menu. And, I’m looking at the specials and I say out loud, “Excuse me, what’s in a Winter Rosebud?” Her eyes get a little big and she quickly snatches the menu from my hand and gives me another one. “I’m so, so sorry! I gave you the wrong menu! That was… um… last night’s specials. Here’s tonight’s menu.”

I thought that her reaction was a little over-the-top. I mean, so what if it was last night’s menu? What’s the big deal? I didn’t know that alcohol went bad a day later. Whatever. I’m rolling and it’s not even that deep. So, I kept my thoughts to myself and order my drink.

Then, I saw him.

Now, remember when I said that this felt like the coolest music video ever? Ok, imagine you’re moving in slow motion. The music is thumping 96 beats per minute in sync with your heartbeat. The lights dissolve from red to purple to blue and back again. People from all races and backgrounds are around you looking cool and ethnic and different and sexy…

And then, the crowd of beautiful dancing people parts revealing the sexiest man God Almighty ever made.

He walked into the room talking to a waitress on his left giving him some receipts for him took look over with some corporate-looking douche bag in a suit walking on his right side. He was 6ft tall with milk chocolate skin. His hair was cut real low, had a goatee and he wore simple metal loops in his ears. He was chill, but had a little swagger youknowutI’msayin’? He wore a crisp pair of blue jeans, black shell-toe sneakers and a black t-shirt with a logo that read “Good For Party” that hugged his muscular shoulders and arms, but hung loose untucked over his jeans. I mean, his outfit shouldn’t have stood out like that. On anyone else, especially the guys Krissie and I were stuck with, you wouldn’t give that guy a second look. But this guy… His look was super-crisp and he wore it with such confidence. He totally owned it. Like I said, mama likes a little hot chocolate in her milk and this guy was looking very yummy.

I was thinking about the butterscotch babies “Special Dark” (my name for Mr. Yummy) and I were gonna have and being totally comfortable with my parents disowning me when Krissie bumped my shoulder and said that we should go downstairs to hear Sho-Lo’s set and to get away from Trevor’s clammy mitts. I totally was down for that since “Special Dark” looked like he was heading that way too. We told the boys we were heading downstairs and that they should hold down the table until we get back because we weren’t gonna be down there long (total lies). They were busy making plans to try and mack on some of the girls they’ve been seeing in the club since it was obvious that they were getting nowhere with us. Krissie managed to get another pill from Trevor. We split it, popped the respective halves into our mouths washing the bitter taste down with our extremely well-made cocktails and made our way to the basement.

The basement. Oh. My. God. It was amazing. It had a similar layout to the top floor, but didn’t have the second bar in the back. The black leather couches and tables were on an upper landing that flanked the dance floor. Sho-Lo was in full effect. He was laying down some super-funky Afro House like Black Coffee mixed with some Femi Kuti. It felt like we were at an Afropunk festival. It was all natural hair and face paint. Some people had nose piercings and tribal tattoos, but some people dressed… older? I mean, I saw some people our age dressed like they the 70s fashions from Soul Train were new. But, it didn’t matter because Sho-Lo got them all into the same groove and everybody was dancing like it was some tribal ceremony invoking the ancestors.

And, before you ask how do I know about that tribal / ancestor stuff, I’ve taken some Pan-African studies’ classes, too. I’m, like, totally woke.

Now, the second half roll is kicking right when Sho-Lo drops my favorite new track from the Black 80s. Krissie and I get on the dance floor and just start getting into the whole groove. So, we’re dancing and I see “Special Dark” in the left corner table sitting with this tall, lanky, super-dark bald Black guy in a, I think it was wine-colored, three-quarter length suit with a yellow tie. He was kind of creepy-looking.

And, no! It’s not because he was really dark that I thought he was creepy! I’m not a racist! I’m just saying that he just sat there like some sort of African statue, barely nodding his heading to the music while “Special Dark” was trying to say something to the “Statue”, which seemed kind of important.

I get really focused on details when I roll. It’s kinda my thing.

Next to the “Statue” was this Puerto-Rican woman with this big, curly hair in a yellow 30s-style “Flapper” dress. She was gorgeous and she had her arm wrapped in the “Statue’s” while they sat. They were obviously a couple. They almost looked like they could be “Special Dark’s” parents based on the vibes they gave off from their body language. I saw “Special Dark” get up from the table and was making his way to the dance floor. I started dancing as seductively as possible to get “Special Dark’s” attention. Unfortunately, the only attention I attracted was some greasy drunk guy trying to grind all on my booty. He was grabbing my waist trying to pull me close and I could smell a mixture of menthol cigarettes and Jack Daniel’s on his breath. Ugh! He was gross! Even worse, I could see that “Special Dark” started dancing with Krissie… That bitch! While she was getting swept off of her feet by my future baby daddy, I was stuck under the bridge with this troll who could not take a fucking hint!

Krissie whispered something in “Special Dark’s” ear. I think she wanted to check on Jason and Trevor (since they were our ride) and left “Special Dark” on the dance floor as she headed upstairs. There he was, my dark prince alone while I’m stuck with this basic bro trying to publicly get into my pants while we’re dancing.

Then, “Special Dark” turned his head and our eyes locked. He studied the situation for a moment and obviously saw a damsel in distress. What happened next is probably the sexiest thing that happened to anyone. He smiled and held out his hand, which I took immediately, and pulled me away from “Captain Newport.” I wrapped my arms around “Special Dark’s” neck and we started dancing as if we’d known each other for years. I barely noticed “Captain Newport” as he attempted to make me the ham in his freak-down sandwich. He must’ve finally gotten the hint, because “Captain Newport” finally left me and “Special Dark” alone so that we could get to know each other a little better.

As we danced, “Special Dark” told me his name was Bennett and he was the host for tonight’s party. I also think he said he was a co-owner of Red Nº 5 as well. All I could pay attention to was rubbing his strong milk chocolate arms as he held me close while we swayed to the beat. I looked into his light brown eyes and couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted this man and, it wasn’t the drugs that prompted my next course of action. I mashed my face against his, feeling his soft, pillowy lips against mine. Man, could he kiss. He took my breath away! This was it. In my mind, we were gonna run away together, get married and have a couple of beautiful mop haired café au lait children. I was so lost in the moment, I didn’t notice Krissie coming back downstairs until she broke up my potential romantic love scene with “Special Dark.”

Now, here’s where the story gets really crazy.

Krissie joins us, wraps her arms around the both of us and we all start dancing together. Bennett is in the middle of these two white girls like a reverse Oreo cookie. I know “Captain Newport” would have been extra-pissed if he saw this happening. Krissie and I were rolling really hard now. It got really hot as our hands were sliding up and down Bennett’s waist, arms and all over each other. Then, Krissie slides from behind Bennett to come in between us. She turns and plants a Bennett a long, soft wet kiss on his pillow lips. Normally, this would have pissed me off, but I was feeling so good I didn’t care. In fact, it was a huge turn-on. Then, Krissie turned to me with a look that I never saw before. I was like a deer in headlights as she started to kiss me! Next thing I know, we were all kissing each other becoming this sweaty, sexy heap of passion.

Oh, man. We needed to find a room and handle this before we really became “those people” at the club. Krissie and I were definitely letting our inner hoes out that night. But, I guess we had nothing to worry about since Bennett was the club owner, right?

The next few moments were a blur. Bennett’s strong hands are gripping my ass just right while Krissie is kissing and licking Bennett’s neck before returning to his lips. We’re still all moving to the beat of the music as Bennett breaks away and starts kissing my neck as Krissie licks his ear… Ow! Did Bennett just bite me on my neck? That was kind of hard, but hot at the same time. Oh, now Krissie is licking my neck where Bennett just gave me a hickey. She pulls away with her tongue sticking out before shoving it down Bennett’s throat. Wait. Was that blood on her tongue? Wait. Was that MY blood on her tongue?

Jason and Trevor ruined our love fest by coming downstairs and ripping Krissie and I away from our new favorite candy bar. They pushed Bennett toward the bar. The boys were really pissed and tried to start a fight with Bennett probably because Bennett got farther with us then they ever could, or ever will. They got all up in his face while Bennett stood there cool as a cucumber. I don’t know why the bouncers didn’t get involved, but Bennett just shot them a “I got this” look and these three big, scary guys, including “Charlotte’s Web” from earlier in the night backed away.

Now, during this whole time, the music kept going and the people kept dancing. It’s like it was no big deal. Even the “Statue” and “Flapper” just sat there like this was nothing, just another Friday night at Red Nº 5…

Until Trevor broke a beer bottle on the edge of the bar and lunged at Bennett. What transpired next happened so fast, and I was so fucked up, I know I’m making this up. But, I thought Bennett grabbed Trevor, spun him around into a chokehold and sunk his teeth into Trevor’s neck. He threw Trevor down like a used napkin, grabbed Jason by the neck and body-slammed him to the ground…

With one hand.

The last thing I remember was Bennett’s light brown eyes staring at me while his mouth was stained with Trevor’s blood. Then, everything got very hazy…

I woke up the next morning in my hotel room. Krissie was lying next to me in the bed, we were still fully clothed. She woke up about five minutes after me. We tried to clear our heads from the fog because we were both groggy as shit. The ecstasy we took last night was clean, but still. The after-roll leaves you in this half-floating state that could last the whole next day. We both were wondering what happened last night. It was a dream, right? Jason and Trevor were fine, right? Krissie went to get us some coffee while I tried to call Jason and see if he and Trevor were ok form the night before. The call went straight to voicemail. I tired calling again, same thing. I must have called at least 10 times before finally giving up.

Jason never called back.

A couple of months later, Krissie and I were back in Chicago for another night on the town. We decided to head back to Red Nº 5 since we had such a great time there before the weirdness. As we got to the front of the line, we saw that “Charlotte’s Web” was working the front door. However, he wasn’t so warm to us this time.

“I’m sorry, ladies, but I can’t let you in tonight,” he said.

“Why not?” I asked in my best little girl voice.

“Last time you were here, you caused problems. We can’t afford problems here.”

“That wasn’t us!” I pleaded. “We didn’t cause the problem, it was those two guys we came here with! You can’t blame us for something someone else…”

Before I could get the next words out, “Charlotte’s Web” lowered his head and tipped his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose. I looked into his eyes and, at that moment, saw what happened to Jason and Trevor. They brought us into an environment we knew nothing about and they proceeded to shit all over the place and break the rules. They paid the price and it wasn’t pretty. It was only because of the “rules” that Krissie and I were able to walk out of the club. Now I know those hoochie mamas felt a couple of months past.

Krissie and I got out of the line and left. We never stepped foot into Red Nº 5 again.

We don’t know what happened to Jason and Trevor and we don’t wanna know.

We just knew that we didn’t belong there.

[alittletournesol]

Blooming Rose {Jinki x Gwiboon}

inspired by this

words count: 3247

Soothing Lips

The day had gone particularly fast and busy, customers converging at the coffee shop Jinki worked at. He hadn’t realized how long he had worked until his colleague had started cleaning some of the rounded tables near the window : it had almost been the closing time, and they hadn’t welcomed people anymore. The employee had taken good care of the few last customers until they had all left, allowing him to do the cleaning.

As usual, he had needed half an hour to do the last dishes and place the chairs upside down on the tables, moping the floor just after. Once he had been done, he had said goodbye to Jonghyun and reminded him that the next day was his day-off, then he had headed to his car to head home safely. The traffic was pretty calm at that late hour, the road being illuminated only by street lamps and cars’ headlights.

As he reached his flat, Jinki drove inside the basement to park on his dedicated spot, and he noticed the white BMW on the next one : Gwiboon had come home too. With a smile on his lips, the barista stepped out and grabbed his bag before heading to the elevator, making it go a few floors up until a robotic voice announced he had arrived. He walked to his door and didn’t bother looking for his keys since his girlfriend was already home, certainly waiting for him.

Entering and turning the hallway’s light on, he removed his coat and shoes, and frowned when he didn’t hear anyone coming to him : no footsteps, no greeting shouted from another room. The only light he could make out was weak, coming from the bedroom, so he put his bag on one of the bar’s stools and headed there. He slowly pushed the door and discover a body huddled up on the bed, only wearing a shirt that he understood was his, considering it was a bit larger than the silhouette.

He carefully approached the woman who was offering him her back, and he sat on the mattress behind her. The way it sunk under his weight made his girlfriend move her head on the pillow, and Jinki pursed his lips together. It was one of those rare moments when Gwiboon hid from the world, and even from him. The man’s hand reached her hair, softly caressing the crimson red strands.

“Hey, baby.” He whispered. “How come I didn’t see your beautiful eyes on me when I came home ?”

“Didn’t feel like getting up.” The woman answered, her voice low and a bit hoarse, as if she had cried. “Excuse me…”

“It’s fine. I missed you.”

Gwiboon’s lips eventually let a tiny smile be drawn on them, and she turned her head a bit to look at her boyfriend. As expected, her eyes had this fading tint of red that betrayed the previous tears ; Jinki frowned and made his thumb caress the pale skin above her cheekbone, making sure it wasn’t wet anymore.

“Bad day ?” He asked, keeping his hand on her cheek.

“Hm.” She nodded. “Could have been better. Way better.”

“Tell me, I’m here now. Let’s not keep this inside forever.”

“I don’t know, Jinki, it must be me overdoing again… I mean, it’s not that deep, I shouldn’t cry.”

“Why shouldn’t you ? Gwiboon, you’re never overdoing when you feel bad about something. If it feels bad, it feels bad, don’t make it worse by blaming yourself.”

The crimson haired woman sighed and turned over, lying on her back and playing with her fingers on her stomach as she stared at them. Her boyfriend had that sixth sense with her, always sensing when something was wrong and magically guessing where it could come from. Somehow, it made her feel safe when he was so close to her, and she often wished, in the middle of a working day, to go back home and lock herself in Jinki’s arms.

The safest place in this world.

Slowly, he lied on his side next to her, supporting his head with his hand, elbow on the mattress. His other hands made its way to Gwiboon’s stomach, and he intertwined their fingers. Her skin was so cold he wanted to draw her into a hug, but he knew it wasn’t the right time ; she tended to be against any physical contact when she was feeling bad, she would feel even more oppressed and he had learnt about it.

“You can tell me everything.” Jinki said, his voice already soothing to his girlfriend’s ears. “I know this look in your eyes, sweetheart, did someone criticize you again ?”

“Sort of…” The young woman replied, not looking at him. “I suppose it was only a joke.”

“Joke or not, it hurt you. What did they say ?”

“I told you it’s not that deep… they just called me something I’m not. I wasn’t even supposed to hear them.”

“How ?”

“Women’s restrooms were closed today, I had to use men’s. Two of my colleagues entered while I was locked in the toilets, and I heard them talk behind my back. Only because I told them off about something they did bad, something I had asked them to do a whole week ago.”

“What did they say ?”

“They said… they said I was a conceited bitch and that they pitied you.”

Jinki took a few seconds to swallow the information. It wasn’t the first time his girlfriend was called conceited, in a very pejorative way, because of her self-confidence on the outside. Whenever she was out, Gwiboon wore this shell she had created during her teens, showing a proud and confident image of herself. It was her way to feel safe, and the way some people were telling her how impressive she was and that they admired her for that, helped her to feel a bit more important.

But wherever there were nice people, they should be mean ones. It was like a good balance that was needed in every world. And Jinki’s girlfriend was often suffering this nastiness regarding the personality she showed ; he hated that. He hated that because he knew who she was in reality, who she was in the snugness of his arms, the real Gwiboon. Seeing her feeling so hurt, seeing the fading tears on her cheeks and the pain her eyes… he could feel anger making his blood boil in his veins.

But he had never bursted out. Because that wasn’t what his princess needed.

“They don’t know you.” Jinki said, softly, as he caressed her cheek and stared into her eyes. “And they don’t deserve to know anything about you.”

“Jinki, it’s not…”

“They don’t know how beautiful is the treasure you hide inside. The only wealth I need in my life is this treasure, do you know that ? They will never know how sweet your voice is when you whisper your love next to my ear.”

Gwiboon stopped talking, she only listened as her boyfriend approached her face with his and tenderly kissed her lips. It was a brief but meaningful kiss, like a way to illustrate his words.

“They will never know how soft your lips are, and how beautiful the words they let out are.” Jinki pursued, putting another kiss on her neck and making her giggle. “They will never know that the easiest way to make you laugh is to kiss you here.”

“Jinki…”

“You know what else they will never know because they’re just assholes ? Your shyness. And I love this shyness, the way your cheeks turn pink whenever I look at you for a bit too long, whenever I start kissing you here.”

Jinki smiled and put his lips on his girlfriend’s exposed collarbone, slightly moving the shirt’s collar aside. Gwiboon immediately blushed, just as he said, and this accuracy made her smile as she closed her eyes. The young man made the most of it to steal her a longer kiss.

“They pity me, you said ? But I’m way much happier than them, and this is all thanks to you. I know the real you, and I love you. I love when I come back home and find you, wearing my clothes because you find them comfortable, and with your hair free.” Jinki softly played with one of the woman’s strands before he put it behind her ear. “They only know the woman with her strict bun and her expensive suit, the professional Gwiboon. They don’t know my Gwiboonie, and it’s me who pity them for not having a woman as beautiful outside and inside than you.”

Saying these, the man leaned on his girlfriend and claimed her lips with an incredible gentleness. She returned the kiss and slid her hand on his cheek to hold him close, making him smile and stumble on his knees. Jinki moved his head backwards to look at her, and Gwiboon slowly opened her eyes ; she smiled, and it was one of her so honest and fragile smiles that her boyfriend loved so much.

“What would I do without you by my side ?” She asked, whispering and moving Jinki’s bangs away from his forehead. “Hm ?”

“I don’t know, maybe you would walk naked because you wouldn’t have my clothes to wear ?” The man replied, making her laugh, her so beautiful laugh resounding against the walls of the bedroom. “What would I do, is the real question.”

“You would have more clothes to wear.”

“That’s true.”

Both of them laughed together, and Jinki leaned on Gwiboon again, kissing her lips with a bit more passion than before, even though he remained the softness itself. He had always been like this, able to convey countless feelings through the simplest physical contact. He had that power on the woman, he could soothe her so easily. With only the power of his lips against her skin. He had soothing lips.

“Kiss me again.” Gwiboon whispered, and Jinki obeyed.

“You’re still tensed, baby.” The latter said, smiling. “Let me help you, hm ?”

As the words escaped his lips, close to hers, the man put a soft kiss on them before he made them go on her neck. Not too much, because she was so sensitive she was able to have the giggles with only one kiss ; no, he went down to her collarbone, kissing it on its whole length, from the exterior to the interior, until his lips were put on the small hollow between the twin bones. Starting from there, he drew a line of kisses along her body, and Gwiboon welcomed them by unbuttoning the shirt to give him access to more of her skin.

She didn’t want him to kiss the cloth, she needed the softness of his lips on her, not anywhere else. As she felt them on her stomach, she slightly moved backwards on the bed to have her upper back against the pillow, so she could press the back of her head against the wall. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to let the magic work.

She steadied her breath and she felt two virile but gentle hands move her shirt-tails aside ; they then were put on he hips naked hips, while lips were coming back on her body, this time on her lower abdomen. A comfortable warmth invaded her body, coming from where his boyfriend’s mouth had just imprinted her skin. She kept her eyes closed, only feeling Jinki’s hand sliding to her thin thighs and carefully, gently spreading them ; she knew where this was going, and she knew this had nothing to do with pure lust.

Jinki was just being the magician he was, in his way.

He looked up to see if Gwiboon was still with him, and smiled when he noticed her slow, steady breath. But her shoulders were still tensed, he could see it, just like he was seeing her chest quiver when one of her inhalations was broken again. Thus, he put his lips on the inside of her left thigh, while he caressed the right one with his hand. He pressed his thumb against the muscle, several times, willing to soothe her.

His kisses on her skin slowly made their way towards a deeper inside, until they found their treasure : Jinki placed the softest kiss on her the petals of her beautiful rose, making her shudder and drawing shivers on her body. Looking at her, he noticed her furrowed eyebrows for a second, and pressed his lips there once again. He wasn’t aggressive, nor in some rush to please her, no. It wasn’t his purpose.

With an infinite gentleness, he played with his lips, kissing hers, slowly sucking on them. After a few seconds, he felt her legs relaxing and being spread a bit more, and he made the tip of his tongue go up before focusing his mouth on this special petal that was calling for him. This so simple gesture drew a muffled moan out of Gwiboon’s lips, which she left half open to release a sigh. Another shiver ran down her spine and the warmth she was feeling inside slowly intensified ; she was feeling more comfortable by the seconds passing, and she eventually opened her eyes.

Looking down, she noticed how Jinki was looking at her, with his eyes full of affection and the pressure of his lips always so gentle. She smiled, her cheekbones tinted with a shy shade of pink, but there was no trace of pain anymore in her look. Her eyelids slightly closed, yet not completely, just enough to relish the sweet sensation those soothing lips were giving her while looking at their owner.

The man smiled with his eyes and set a steady and peaceful rhythm up with his lips, kissing each petal of his Gwiboon’s flower. His girlfriend let go of the sheet to approach his face with her hand, slightly pushing his bangs away another time, to have a better sight of his expressive look. She kept her fingers on Jinki’s hair and gently caressed them, her thighs completely spread and resting on the mattress now that she was relaxed enough to let her body unwind.

A sigh escaped her lips when she felt a sudden wave of pleasure shake her from inside, yet it wasn’t strong… it was just like her boyfriend’s magic : calm, pleasant, soothing her even more. She leaned a bit more against the pillow, which welcomed her like a comfortable cloud while she was seeing some first small stars before her eyes.

“Today was good, hmm…” She said, her hand still caressing Jinki’s hair. “Despite that… I don’t know if you remember that file I told you about… important one, hm…”

“Hmhmm…?” Her boyfriend hummed, his lips and tongue still busy keeping their pacifying rhythm on her rose.

“I managed to close it… but it made me skip lunch and— ouch, hey…” Gwiboon looked down to find Jinki frowning between her thighs, and it made her laugh a bit. “Don’t worry, I ate… I ordered sushis and took a long well-deserved break. Happy ?”

“Happy.” The man smiled, letting go of her to press a kiss on her lower abdomen. “What about your afternoon ?” He went back to his previous work, making his girlfriend shiver and close her eyes for a second, her lips parting to let a high pitched moan out.

“I-I… hmm… wait, it’s good… my afternoon was… peaceful, just some reports to check and… hey, you’re tickling me…”

“I’ve always been good at soothing you, right baby ? Keep talking to me, I like hearing your voice and listening to your words. Go on.”

Gwiboon giggled and bit her lip, before she leaned her head back against the wall. With her hand still stroking her boyfriend’s hair, she talked more comfortably about what she had done during her day, almost forgetting about what Jinki was doing to her. As she reached the end of her working day, she was reminded of what she had heard but before she could tense up again, the man pressed his lips and tongue harder against her precious petal, teasing the special spot to distract her.

She smiled and moaned at the same time, and this combined expression on her already beautiful face sent stars in Jinki’s eyes.

“Forget about them.” He whispered, staying extremely close so his hot breath tickled his girlfriend’s rose and made her quiver with pleasure. “You’re beautiful.”

With these words, the soothing magic turned into something a bit more teasing, the man intensifying the pressure and making his tongue more playful than before. Without warning Gwiboon, he gently grabbed her by her hips and pulled her so she could lie down, without any brutality. Her back touched the mattress and she lifted one of her arms above her head to grab the pillow behind it ; her other hand was still on Jinki’s hair, not holding it but just with her palm on it.

The latter made his hands caress the soft skin of her abdomen as he tasted her flavor with even more expertise, in this wonderful way he had to combine passion and gentleness. Never did his tongue bluntly lick her petals, nor did his lips loudly suck ; he remained quiet and so close to her, only wishing to arrose his rose until it started blooming. He was looking at her chest rising slightly faster yet not abruptly, the pleasure he was sending her travelling through her body by long and pleasantly burning waves.

Gwiboon stopped talking to keep her mouth half open, her eyes shut and her cheeks red, warm ; her face was gleaming with drops of sweat, just like her neck and chest. When Jinki added more pressure against the already so sensitive heart of her rose, it wasn’t a wave anymore, but an ocean, that shook her from inside. Her mind was carried away as stars were the only thing she saw behind her closed eyelids, and a strangled, high-pitched sound escaped her lips, before they mouthed a “yes” and moaned her boyfriend’s name.

She wasn’t really aware of the sounds she was making, but what she knew was that Jinki heard her, because he didn’t stop. He deliciously, sweetly tortured her swollen petal until she couldn’t think anymore. Her back slightly raised from the bed, and her boyfriend immediately slid his arm behind it to hold her ; the next thing she knew, she was somewhere else.

Everything went white, while a last wave enveloped her body in this indescribable sensation and made her heart explode ; the heart in her chest, but also the heart that was her man’s prisoner in this instant. She felt like daydreaming, light as if nothing was holding her, as if she was flying on the spot with only the idea of having Jinki as closely as possible to her. That was all she needed.

A few seconds flew by, and when she felt like her legs weren’t supporting her weight anymore, the hand behind her back did it for them as she came back on the mattress. She remained there, lying with her eyes closed and her breath slightly panting, and she smiled when she felt those soothing lips drawing a path of open-mouthed kisses up her body. She waited, appreciating the touches, until her lips were claimed. Instinctively, she embraced the body above her and pulled it closer, feeling Jinki as much as possible and returning a passionately sweet kiss.

The rose had bloomed.

[crowkingwrites]

12 Days (Pt. 3)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Fic Request: Can you write more Christmas works, please? Like maybe part 2 ‘bout their trip with smut please? And maybe another part where they prepare to celebrate actual Christmas with well fluff, but, you know, as much as it implies to Ramsay. Maybe reader says 'I love you’ and he’s ultraexcited about it?

Words: 1490

Author’s Notes: Merry Christmas everyone :)

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12967560/chapters/30017286

“Today’s forecast includes some snow today, Cheryl,” the weatherman smiled as he pointed to the screen. “Looks like we’ll have a White Christmas after all. It will be snowing all day, so I’m assuming traffic is going to be heavy, right Thomas?”

“Fuck,” Ramsay muttered to himself, checking the bottom of the burnt pancake he’d been making. He woke up early in an attempt to make you breakfast because you agreed to help him decorate for the holidays, but really he wanted to spend more time with you. He threw down the spatula and sighed. “Donuts it is.”

Looking at his watch, he quickly grabbed his jacket and sped out the door. The weatherman was absolutely correct for once. Snow was falling from the sky in a gentle, but heavy manner. It piled on parked cars and on rooftops of the city.

Ramsay made his way inside a local coffee shop and grabbed both of you a box of donuts. He made weaved in and out of the Christmas tourists and back to the apartment where he started to brew another pot of coffee. Ramsay wasn’t exactly the type of person to host guests, except for maybe his brother, Domeric.

His apartment was covered in family heirlooms that he proudly displayed. A family tree hung on the wall. Knives from WWI and WWII sat on a shelf where they never collected dust. Ramsay had boxes and shopping bags everywhere filled with newly-bought Christmas decorations. Unlike his brother, Ramsay had no sense of interior design.

Hence why you were coming over to help. After receiving 12 days of presents and then a very cozy and steamy vacation, you and Ramsay had grown very close. Some of your coworkers raised their eyebrows, but other coworkers like Jeyne Poole had rooted for both of you.

Ramsay heard a buzz from the intercom. He almost spilled his coffee getting to the intercom.

“Hello?” he greeted.

“Hey it’s me!” you smiled through the intercom. Ramsay sighed.

“Come on up, I got fresh coffee for you,” he buzzed you in and prepared you a cup. It wasn’t even seconds after he stopped pouring that you knocked on the door. Ramsay let you in.

“Hey you,” you smiled.

“Hi,” he smiled. “I’ll trade you. Give me your coat, and I’ll give you this.” You handed over your jacket, revealing a gray sweater with a penguin on it. You took the warm, steaming cup from his hands and looked over the room.

“I see you bought a bunch of things,” you took a sip. It tasted like gingerbread. Ramsay closed his closet door and turned to give you a half-smile.

“I didn’t know what to get. I just kinda bought a little of everything,” He gestured to the bags and the large box. “I also bought a tree? I don’t know what I’m doing.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped backwards.

You took a peek in a bag and saw golden tinsel. “I’m sure you’re fine. I’ll help you.” You smiled at him, and Ramsay stepped back again only to bump his head into the wall. He rubbed the back of his head and quickly change the subject.

“There’s donuts,” he said. “I bought them from that local coffee shop you told me about.”

“Josie’s? They get the best pastries I swear to God,” you grabbed one and stuffed it into your mouth. You spoke between bites. “Thank you so much. This is so good!”

Ramsay grabbed himself one, stuffing his face with it. “Where did you find them?”

“Jeyne and Sansa are regulars there. They introduced me to their butter croissants and I got addicted,” you explained. Ramsay hummed.

“Well then. I guess I’m an addict too,” Ramsay’s mouth was covered in chocolate and crumbs. You giggled and he looked at you strangely. You licked your thumb and swiped it across the corner of his mouth, wiping the chocolate off. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you didn’t realize how close to him you were until now. His chest was so close to yours. You stepped back and picked up one of the bags. “We should get started.”

You unbagged items like ornaments, a nutcracker, and several springs and branches of pine. Ramsay set up his tree, not sure where to start. You unwrapped a string of lights and handed it to him, silently telling him what to do.

You looked away for a second as you hung the large wreath on his front door. The next second, you look back to see Ramsay tangled with blinking lights. He looked up to you and his brow furrowed.

“This isn’t funny,” He told you, but you couldn’t help but stifle a few chuckles while looking at him. “Don’t. I swear to God, Y/N. Stop it.”

“I’m so sorry,” you covered your mouth. Your eyes couldn’t look away from the disaster that was Ramsay and his tree. You helped him untangle himself and put the rest of the lights on the tree. You couldn’t help but notice the lingering glances Ramsay sent your way.

You weren’t sure what you two were. Everything had happened so fast, but you knew one thing. You did have feelings for him. It didn’t matter to you how fast and intense things were going. The only thing that mattered was that you were here, alone with him, and that made you happy. Labels weren’t that important right now.

“So, how’s it look?” Ramsay said as you both looked at the finished product of the Christmas tree. Yellow lights twinkled and colored round ornaments decorated the full tree. Your hand brushed by his and you stepped back.

“It’s wonderful,” you managed to say without stammering.

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at you. “It’s beautiful.” The apartment looked full of Christmas cheer. A wreath on the door, a tree in the living room, and light strung on his windows. Holiday scented candles filled the air with different aromas. Tinsel hung over his doorway with red ribbon around it.

You sat on the couch with Christmas music playing in the background, exhausted from decorating. The plush couch was warm and comforting. Ramsay handed you a mug of hot chocolate and sat next to you on the couch. His arm reached behind you, and both of you just enjoyed the Christmas spirit in the air for a moment.

“You know,” Ramsay opened his mouth. “I saw a good joke this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” you let your body lean into his side. You could feel his breathing relax. His cotton Henley was warm to snuggle up to. You glanced and saw Ramsay trying to adjust to this new position. His face stuck between happy and confused.

“Uh, it’s what do you call a kid who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus?” he asked while looking forward towards the television.

“What?” you responded, enjoying watching Ramsay get increasingly uncomfortable with this newfound intimacy.

“A rebel without a Claus.”

The line hit you and you found yourself snorting in laughter at the cheesy joke. Your upper half went forward, almost spilling your mug. You covered your mouth and tried to calm down. Ramsay joined in on the laughter. His chuckle lit up his entire face and his body leaned into yours. His arms wrapping around you. His body weight carried you both to the floor where you both laughed even harder.

Tears came from your eyes and you wiped them away. Ramsay’s arms still wrapped around your body. He laughed into your chest. His smile went on for miles, and you felt like you had to say it.

“I love you,” you giggled out. Ramsay stopped laughing and his face went completely blank. His icy orbs looked into yours. For a moment, you thought he stopped breathing.

“You what?” he asked in disbelief. You weren’t going to take it back. You laid there on his carpeted floor with his body over yours, and your hands on his chest. His heart beat in a steady manner. He wasn’t nervous or anxious. He knew what you said. He wanted to hear it again.

“I love you,” you repeated yourself. Ramsay smiled at you for a moment and then he put his lips over yours. Kissing you over and over and over. On your lips, on your nose, on your forehead, on your cheeks, and then neck. You couldn’t stop giggling.

“Say it again. Tell me again,” Ramsay told you in between kisses.

“I love you, Ramsay,” you said.

“Tell me I’m yours,” he placed his forehead against yours.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours,” you told him. He placed another firm kiss on you, and you returned it. Ramsay separated from you first. He stood up and helped you up. He took your hand and put you under the mistletoe. His hands grasp your curls and he kissed you again, slower and gentler.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he said. “Merry Christmas, my darling.”

[eloisemarieedmunds]

Obscurity: Eloise & Vlad

Hearing the distinctive Skype ringtone from her computer, Eloise ignored it as she had been for the past week. Talking to her friends was the absolute last thing she wanted right now. They had questions and wanted answers that she didn’t have to give them. No doubt, Allison had spread the false story she'd been fed. What could Eloise say to that? Not the truth obviously. If she said the words 'vampire prostitute' they'd stage intervention again and she could not be put through another one of those. She couldn't carry the lie on either because then they'd want to vet him themselves.

And that can't happen because he's not around, she thought bitterly as she blotted away her excess lipstick with a tissue. Of course, as soon as it occurred to her, she cursed herself. She'd decided the morning after the car incident that she wasn't going to acknowledge his existence anymore. He'd gotten what he needed from her and that was that. Which, what the fuck ever, right? She was fine. Just fucking perfect.

Forcing her mind back into the present, she checked her look one more time to make sure everything was precise. The burgundy cowl neck bodycon dress reached only her mid-thigh and fit her like a glove. It accentuated every curve and distracted from her rather lackluster chest, lengthening her legs and most importantly displaying her neck. She turned, examining the look from the rear. The cross-back strappy design slimmed her waist while also showing off ample skin and the fabric made her ass look more enticing. It was rather obvious why this had been Chad's favorite dress of hers. Yeah. He maybe a total shithead, but he certainly has an eye.

Turning once more to face the mirror, Eloise examined her loosely waved hair, using her freshly painted gold nails to secure the front strands on either side of her face behind her ears. With lips coated in a color to match her dress and eyes shadowed in a glittering gold with mascara and eyeliner, Eloise figured she was as ready as she would ever be.

Padding out into her bedroom on bare feet, she checked all the items she'd laid out on her bed. Her clutch, still containing the condom and breath mints from the last time she'd ventured into the club scene, was soon additionally stuffed with her identification and apartment key.

"What am I forgetting?" She mused allowed, letting her green eyes roam the room. The small plastic bag on her dresser top caught her attention and she hurried over to grab it. Once the expensive treat was secured in her bag, she headed for the door to her apartment. She stopped for only a moment to ensure that her cellphone was indeed charging where she'd left it and grabbed her kitten heels before walking out the door. On the stoop of her building she slid her feet into her shoes prior to going to the curb to hail a regular old yellow taxi; that was one major downside of unplugging for the night, she couldn't use any applications. It was epically old school.

Having scoped out her various possibilities and having ruled out Nite Life immediately, Eloise knew exactly where she was heading. She gave the driver, a middle-aged man who seemed remarkably well-kept for a taxi driver out doing rounds at such a late hour, the address and they were off. Determined not to let her mind wander, Eloise reached into her clutch and took out the tiny zip lock bag containing her four special pills: two lavender & two seafoam green. It was a new designer drug called Heartsome, that supposedly made the world ‘colorful’ and relaxed you all at once. Ellie wasn’t exactly clear on what her dealer meant by ‘colorful,’ but she wasn’t sticking around to ask. He would have started teasing her for thinking she was done with his drugs just because her friends said so and she was in no mood for his shit. She tucked the baggie back into her purse as the vehicle slowed down.

The car came to rumbling stop outside Obscurity, a sleek, modern building that gleamed like black onyx against the night sky. With sincere thanks and handing over cash to the driver, Eloise climbed out, straightening the fabric of her tight dress before confidently approaching the two bouncers guarding the entrance. They requested her identification and shown both their flashlights upon the lamented surface. Convinced that she was indeed twenty-six-years-old, the bulky men moved aside to allow her entrance to the upscale club.

The interior of the club was just as sleek as the exterior, all the surfaces a shiny material reflected the color lights that descended from the ceiling. People milled about everywhere, human and vampire alike, but there was a touch more decorum in Obscurity then there had been in Nite Life. With a soft smile molded to her lips, Eloise made her way to the bar and almost immediately one of the bartenders was there to take her order. After inquiring what he’d suggest for a human seeking to have a thrilling night, he made her a trio of flaming shots.

“Remember to blow them out before downing them,” the bartender warned before darting off to attend another customer.

Lifting the shots up one by one, blowing them out and downing them was an interesting experience. The liquids were warm as they slide down her throat before settling in her stomach, like she swallowed a simmering glow.

“How did you like the Earth, Wind, & Fire?” It was clearly a line, but the young woman no longer gave a shit. She was here for one thing and one thing only: to forget he-who-shall-not-be-thought-of and to feel uncomplicated pleasure. With her goal in mind, Eloise turned and found herself staring at a man’s broad chest, covered by a black dress. Tilting her head upwards, Ellie met soulful brown eyes.

“Yes,” she answered easily enough, “it was a shot experience. I’d recommend it if you’re thinking of trying it.”

He laughed, a full body sound that shook his broad shoulders and light up his handsome face, “I’m glad to hear it. I invented the trio, you see.

“You did?” she assumed this was just the puffing typical of the bar atmosphere.

“Mhmm,” he said, smiling brightly, his fangs appearing in an instant, “My cousin owns this place and he gave him all my good drink ideas.”

“What about all your bad drink ideas? Did you give him them too?”

“I did,” he agreed with a light wink, “What’s your name, tiny human?”

“Eloise.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand with the speed of his kind, “My name is Clifton.” His index finger came to rest upon the inside of her wrist, the opposite of the one that Vlad had bitten, “It’s a true pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Eloise.”

Miss Eloise? So formal. A small smile tilted the corners of her lips upwards, “You too, Clifton.”

“Can I get you a more substantial drink?”

She shook her head softly, “I get my own drinks for safety reasons. No offense.”

Again, he chuckled lightly, “No offense is taken. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders; it’s…appealing.”

Turning back to the bar for just a moment, Eloise flagged down a bartender and ordered a dirty martini. Clifton fitted himself between her and the next bar patron, his chest mere inches from Eloise. His left hip rested upon the bar’s solid structure. “After you get your drink, would you care to dance?”

“Are you a good dancer?” She asked teasingly, “I don’t want my feet trampled upon. Not in these shoes.”

He looked down at her feet, eyeing the golden kitten heels, before looking up again, “It would be travesty to step upon such cute feet. You’re in luck though, Eloise, I’m a marvelous dancer. “

The sound of a glass being set down upon the bar’s top drew Eloise’s attention from the charming vampire. She thanked the bar tender and handed off the necessary money. She tugged the tiny baggy from her clutch again and took out two of the tablets, one lavender and one seafoam green and popped them into her mouth. Taking a sip of the alcohol to chase the pills down her throat, Eloise returned her focus to Clifton. He was still gazing down on her, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Has anyone told you tonight that dress looks fabulous on you?”

“No.” Eloise said with a small smile over the wide rim of her glass.

“Well, it does,” he assured her,” he reached and grasped her elbow to steer her away from the crowded bar and onto the dance floor, “You look quite…delectable. Red is a very tempting color on you.”

Among the crush of the bodies upon the dance floor, the colored lights playing upon the various individuals and surfaces as Clifton pulled her close. His right hand rested on her lower back, his cool hand standing out against her heated skin, bringing her pelvis against his own. There was no mistaking his interest or intent. He spun her away with the music before pulling her back into him, this time with her back to his chest.

An arm encircled her waist, securing her to his larger frame. He nosed at her throat, bringing up memories of Vlad that she didn’t wish to recall. Luckily for her the Heartsome was beginning to kick, chasing away her unwanted thoughts and concerns. Indeed, all the colors, that had once been dulled by her weak human eyes, were bright, vivid, magical.

“You smell fantastic, tiny human.” Clifton’s voice sounded slightly distant, but she could still feel the press of his solid body behind her so she knew that he hadn’t moved. “Have you ever been bitten, Eloise?”

“Yes once.”

“Mmm,” He mumbled, the vibrations of the sound against her skin, lighting up her nerve-endings. “Were you being fucked at the time, princess?”

“N-no.” His hand slid up her stomach slowly. The music was fading away to nothing, the other people melting away into nothingness. Her fingers relaxed unconsciously around the stem of the martini glass, sending the item crashing to the ground and shattering.

His fangs scraped over her tender neck teasingly, making her shiver, “You missed out, Eloise….” He paused, his lower lip dragging slightly on her skin, “Maybe we should rectify that tonight. Let’s go outside, yes?”

Clifton was directing her towards a backdoor, but Eloise barely noticed. Her eyes felt too wide and the rainbow of colors that encompassed the club were very distracting. “O-okay.”

The bracing cold of outside was a shock to her system for only a moment before the buzz of the pills came back full-force. The darkened alley was a great deal less interesting for the drugged young woman, but before she could complain, Clifton was pressing her back against the sleek wall of the club. Her eyes rolled in her head as he hands pinned her hips to the walls. There was so much happening in her drugged-out state that Eloise failed to notice when the door, they’d just come out of, banged open and another person exited Obscurity.

[jaeminlore]

nine hours until dawn εïз nct

group: nct hyung line category: thriller warnings: blood mention (seriously just a mention)

Jaehyun shivered on the steps, his numb fingers tapping at his phone screen. "Yo, Doyoung, why is there no cell service here?" Doyoung turned from his spot in front of the door, struggling to unlock it. "My parents never invested in cell towers. You know, technology takes away from the outdoor aesthetic." Taeil snorted from his perch against the steps. "You've got to have power, though, so why didn't you invest in at least one tower? For emergencies or something?" "There's a radio tower down the way," Sicheng mumbled, sticking close to Ten. "Well despite all that, this lock is frozen solid, so someone needs to come with me and find another way in." Doyoung said. "I'll go," Jaehyun volunteered. He and Doyoung walked to the side of the building. Jaehyun ran his hand along the wall as he walked, only stopping when his hand met a papery substance. "What's this?" Doyoung turned around and looked at the wanted poster tacked to the wall. "Oh, yeah, that's the man the police suspect. He's been missing for awhile now." Jaehyun peered at the words, "Hansol Ji, suspect wanted for arson. Wait, he's up here? With us?" "I reckon," Doyoung said. "The lodge is made of stone, though, so it wouldn't burn." "That is so not how science works." "It is. Rock beats fire, dude." "Rock beats scissors," Jaehyun corrected. He pointed behind Doyoung's shoulder, "There's an open window." Together, the two boys pushed an old storage unit under the window and ignored Kun and Yuta's urges to hurry up. "You go," Doyoung said, peering into the lodge. Jaehyun rolled his eyes, "Shouldn't you go since it's your lodge?" "No way, dude. I have to keep watch so that Hansol guy doesn't creep up behind you." Jaehyun pressed his palms against the window sill and climbed into the dark room. "Any idea how to defrost the doorknob?" "Yeah," Doyoung tossed him a lighter, "Light this under the doorknob from inside." Jaehyun sighed. "This really isn't how science works." Ignoring Doyoung's laughter, Jaehyun walked through the lodge. He took time to study the interior. He hadn't been there since the incident, and the thought gave him chills. Just upstairs was where the prank happened, and where everything seemed to have went wrong.

The stone walls seemed to make the atmosphere colder. The wooden floor creaking every other step made him extra jumpy. He wondered where the light switch was. He also wondered if he could take a bath after doing his door-keeping duties. "That's right," he mumbled, being reminded of his mission. He trotted to the front door and held the lighter under the doorknob. After a minute or two, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted before hastily letting go. He pushed the door open, "Here we are, gentlemen. Our castle awaits." Taeyong walked through first, tossing his bag against the couch and falling into the cushions. "I can't say it's any warmer, but it's definitely more comfortable than the stairs." Sicheng was next, followed by Ten and Yuta. "Oh no," he closed his eyes, "I can't do this." He turned around, only to be caught by Yuta. "Hey, it's okay. You've got this. You can do this." "I can't." Sicheng shook his head, tears blurring his vision as he pushed against Yuta's hold. "I can't, Yuta. It's too much." Doyoung walked in then, with Kun behind him, and his eyes softened. "Sicheng, if it's too much for you to stay here, you can always stay at the guest cabin. It's a fair walk from here, but it's away from the ... memories." Yuta grabbed both his bag and Sicheng's. "That would be best. I'll go with him." Doyoung opened his bag and grabbed a pen and pad. "I'll draw a map for you. You'll have to head through the mine, but it's a short distance so it shouldn't be too scary. I have extra flashlights as well." "I hate to interrupt," Taeyong said as he looked through his own bag, "but I think I left my briefcase by the cable car." "What's in it?" Kun asked. "My graphs." "Dude, you brought work with you?" "Time can't stop for everyone," Taeyong said. "I've got to fill in this paperwork so it'll be ready to fax over when I get back." Kun rolled his eyes, "You're so freaking boring, but fine. I'll go with you. The power better be on when we return," he directed his last statement towards Doyoung. "I get it," Doyoung said, poking at the fireplace, "I'm a terrible host." Jaehyun grabbed his bag. "I'm going to go take a bath. Don't bother me." - Jaehyun turned on the faucet, his muscles aching to feel some warmth. When he came up empty, save freezing water, he groaned. "Doyoung really is a sucky host." He stomped through the house, looking for the water heater, but ended up in a spare bedroom. The blue sheets reminded him of Johnny's favorite color. He entered and looked at the desk that was covered in random trinkets. "Johnny and Ten's room," he read the small handmade sign on the door knob. "This must've been the place they stayed whenever they visited Doyoung."

Jaehyun looked through the different trinkets, his eyes landing on a business card for a tattoo shop. He turned it over to see a rose design, and he immediately recognized it as Johnny's shoulder tattoo. He remembered the day Johnny got that tattoo, when he skipped work and made Jaehyun drive him to the parlor because he was so scared. Remembering Johnny made him want to cry, so he quickly put the card back in it's place and left the room. He pounded down the stairs, overhearing Doyoung, Ten, and Taeil talking about spirit boards. "You should go find it. Ten, Johnny and I used to play with it all the time." "I hate to interrupt," Jaehyun shouted as he walked down the stairs, "but there isn't any hot water." "Right," Doyoung had the gall to look sheepish. "I'll go turn it on now. Help me out; the basement is scary." Down in the basement, Doyoung's voice turned serious as he searched for the control panel. "I'm really glad everyone came back. I know it's hard, but I think it'll help us move on." "It's good to find closure," Jaehyun agreed, "and to stop allusions." "You mean Ten?" "He thinks Johnny is still alive somewhere."

Doyoung opened the door to the control panel and peered at the many knobs and buttons. "Can you blame him? I mean, you were really the only one who saw him fall." "Which is why I know he's dead," Jaehyun said. "He couldn't have survived that fall." "That still doesn't explain why they could never find the body." Jaehyun's mouth felt dry. - "Does it seem colder to you?" Sicheng asked. The landscape seemed to harbor no color save shades of white and blue. Yuta's coat did little to shield him from the cold, and his jeans seemed to be absorbing the frosty temperature, if anything. He could hear the rustle of the bare tree branches and the cawing of crows. "We should've brought snow pants." "You think that's it?" Sicheng asked. He looked around, hugging himself. Yuta wasn't sure if Sicheng was cold or simply sad. He ran to catch up with Sicheng's light, elf-like footsteps. "Are you alright? We can head home right now, if you'd like." "It's the same everywhere. Johnny's gone no matter where I am or what I'm do— hey, what's that?" Yuta glanced up and saw a nearby tree wrapped in tape. "Police tape." "Why is it here?" Sicheng asked. "They never closed the investigation," Yuta reminded him. "I guess this was one of the places the police worked last year. Man, I feel like it happened years ago. I can hardly remember any of it." "I can. We played a stupid prank on my brother that probably got him killed." "The prank didn't kill him. It was an accident." "Whatever," Sicheng muttered. As they walked on, they heard what sounded like a scream in the distance. "What was that?" "I don't know, but it doesn't sound good. Oh, here's the mine Doyoung talked about." Yuta glanced up at the large wooden doorway. It looked completely unsafe, as if the roof would cave in on them at any moment, but the only other way to get through was by climbing a bunch of snowy cliffs. Yuta didn't like the thought of slipping and sliding on rocks. Surpringly, Sicheng entered first, lowering himself down to a bottom level. Yuta peered down, "I guess there used to be stairs here?" "How am I supposed to know?" Sicheng sassed from below.

Yuta grumbled at him and jumped down. The old minecart shaft in front of them went down, lit by nothing save the setting sun peeking through the other side. "What the heck?" Sicheng walked into the end of the tunnel first, his eyes widening at what he saw. Empty oil barrels were set around like tables, or counters, and covered in half-melted candles and cigar buds. "Does Doyoung know about this?" "It could be his dad's," Yuta said, examining a cigar bud, "Johnny always said he had weird hobbies." "But this looks recently lived in. And look at this—" Sicheng pointed to a large map of the mountain. Different places were circled in red, marked with strange notes about repairs. Yuta shivered. "Let's just leave, then." "Fine," Sicheng said. On his way out, he grabbed a pile of snow and rounded it into a snowball. While Yuta's back was to him, he tossed the cold substance at his hair. "Ah!" Yuta shouted, the snow making his dark hair damp. "You're going to get it now, Sicheng." Sicheng laughed lightly, darting away as Yuta built up his own extravagant snowball. Yuta turned around, ready to attack, only to find his younger friend missing. "Sicheng?" Sicheng replied, but only in the form of a terrified scream.

"Sicheng!" - Kun walked along the pathway, the snow crunching under his heavy boots. He waited while Taeyong searched through his briefcase, having found it right where he had left it on a picnic table. "Seriously, did you have to come back tonight? Couldn't we have done this tomorrow morning?" "No," Taeyong protested, leafing through his papers, "my plan is to finish my work tonight so I can relax the rest of the weekend with you guys." "Oh. Lovely. Speaking of relaxing, can we please head back so I can get my beauty sleep." "Yeah, yeah, let's go." Taeyong grabbed his briefcase and trotted past Kun, "I'll race you." "No way." The two ran back towards the lodge, Taeyong taking the lead. By the time Kun caught up with him, Taeyong had stopped running and was staring at something. "I thought we were racing!" Kun taunted. "We were," Taeyong said, "then I saw this." He pointed to the object. It was a pig's head, bloodied and penetrated with a stick. A note was attached to it's neck, Welcome Back. "I-It's gotta be Yuta or Doyoung, right? They just wanna mess with us." Above head, the street light cut off, leaving the two in fearful silence. Taeyong reached for Kun's arm, "Let's get out of here." "Agreed." [...]

[creativitytoexplore]

The Library in White Cedar by Edward Ahern https://ift.tt/2Zf6txu John Willman attends the death of a library, and stands to inherit its books; by Edward Ahern.

The two-day drive from Connecticut to White Cedar, Michigan was endless neon chain links - the same motels, gas stations, and restaurants sprouting up about every ten miles along the interstate. I was on my way to assist at the funeral of the library in White Cedar. My great, great grandfather, Thomas Willman, had provided the money to build the library and on his death had bequeathed his books to it. He'd specified that if the town closed the library the books should be returned to his heirs. I was the only surviving descendent the town had found, and I'd rented a large SUV in case the books were worth claiming. Cathy Bender, the town librarian, had been the one to call. Her voice had that slight midwestern nasality that some easterners find annoying but I had always liked. "Mr. Willman, praise the Lord I was able to find you. We need to talk about the Willman books in our library." "Call me John, please. What about them?" "White Cedars can't support the library any more, and has to close it." "Maybe get some cultural aid money from the state." "Ah. Well, they're radical Democrats and we're solid Tea Party, so they don't look too kindly on us." I paused. "Well, Cathy, I could be classified as one of those rad libs." There was a pause on her end. "Well, you seem nice anyway, John, we just won't talk politics." Or religion, I thought. Cathy and I spent the next fifteen minutes talking safely if boringly about White Cedar and its recent activities. Her voice had a pleasing brook burble to it, and I let her flow. I drove into town the late afternoon of the second day. The main street had only one traffic light - a flashing yellow. Many of the store fronts were papered over, and those still clear-glassed looked grimy. White Cedar was dying, one organ at a time, and it was the library's turn. There were no pedestrians, and the only hint of congestion was at the gas station cum convenience store. Beer sales apparently were still good. I parked in the overgrown lot of an abandoned Kmart and called Cathy. "Cathy? It's John Willman. I just got into town." "Depressing isn't it, John. The nearest motel is about seven miles down the state road, in case you've changed your mind about staying with me. My place is no Marriott, but it's comfortable, and I could use the money. I have WiFi." After two days of blurring Motel Six, Days Inn and Red Roof signs, I wanted local. "Still forty dollars a day?" "Yes. Is that too much?" "It's fine. I'm guessing meals aren't included?" "No, but the diner down the street is open early to late and could use the business too." It took a full three minutes to drive to her house. She was waiting on the front porch. "We've talked so much on the phone, John, I feel like I know you." Cathy was petite, slim and short haired. We said hello again and hugged because it seemed the thing to do. She felt nice. We walked my bags up to an upstairs bedroom and came back down into a front room stuffed with old furniture. She called it a parlor. "I can do credit cards, but if you pay me by cash or check it saves me money." My check book was seven hundred fifty miles away. "Ah, no problem, I'll just hit an ATM when I go for dinner." I looked at Cathy more closely. She'd graduated from forty, but then so had I. Her expression had a weathered, inquisitive quality, as if despite bad treatment she was still open to experience. "Look, if you haven't eaten, would you mind coming with me to dinner? You could fill me in on the library and what we need to do. My treat." She didn't bother to protest, which I liked. "Sure. I haven't eaten there in weeks." The diner had a faint background aroma of rancid grease. Cathy said first name hellos to the other eaters and the waitress and introduced me, although I assumed that they already knew who I was and why I was there. She didn't drink alcohol, so neither did I. After we'd coated our stomachs with fried food, we started talking about the library's last rites. "Once the elementary school closed and the kids started getting bussed to Smithdale, the library emptied out. There's no money to fix the building or buy books, hasn't been for years. My title is librarian, but I'm just an unpaid caretaker. "A book merchant will take all the other titles, John, but at thirty cents apiece. We'll get four thousand dollars, which will barely cover closing up the building and paying off the utility bills. Except of course for your great, great grandfather's collection. That's in a separate room. Doris Lunning, the last real librarian, limited access to the collection to what she called 'serious scholars.' Nobody claims to be that in White Cedar, so the collection just got dusty." I was familiar with dead ends - the childless remnant of the Willman line, with family records and photos mailed to me as other relatives had passed on. Records that included a listing of the books in the Willman collection. I'd emailed the descriptions to two dealers for initial appraisals. Cathy wore what looked to be an engagement ring on a right-hand finger. She caught my glance and puckered her mouth. "It's what you're guessing. Six years of un-bliss and a divorce. He was a jerk and I kept the ring. He left town." "Kids?" "No, thank the Lord. Although I wanted them." "Same story, different perspective. She left me for another guy, but did give the ring back. Keep it in my hope chest." Cathy laughed. The resonance was pleasant. Then her expression tightened into serious. "I've talked with the mayor about the Willman books. They were, after all, willed to the town. Wouldn't it be the right thing us to find another home for them? You could just sign a waiver giving the books to us." I wondered. If they were trying to get legal rights to those antique books there might be something more to them than paper lice. "Sell them off, you mean." "Yes, but as a collection that would be housed in another library, and would live on as a collection under the Willman name. You've seen what our town has become, we're in desperate need of funds. It would be beneficial for both you and us." I studied the four wilted French Fries left on my plate. "Interesting possibility, Cathy, but before I decide on anything, I need to know what the books are worth. It'll take a few days to hear back, and meanwhile I need to go through the library and verify their condition." She touched my hand. "That sounds like a polite no. Please don't slam the door on us, John, leave it ajar while we keep talking." I realized I didn't want to go back to suitcases and WiFi. "Is there any place left in town where you can watch me drink?" She laughed again. "We haven't sunk quite that far. There are two bars, one for the beer and shot crowd, and one with cocktail napkins under the glasses." "Upscale please." We could have walked to the bar, but I drove. Cathy also knew all five people there, and introduced me as 'the Willman heir.' I cringed, because it made me sound like someone ripe for donating. She ordered cola, I ordered scotch and soda. We avoided discussing the library, and peeked into each other's lives. I knew she was a born again Christian and staunch conservative, which took several other topics out of play. Cathy described losing her last job when the local car dealership closed, and having no immediate prospects for a new one. I downplayed my position in an academic think tank, but she called me out. "Don't give me that false modesty. I looked you up. You're a senior fellow. And a successful politician before that." She said it with a forgiving grin and I shrugged admittance. Our chatter quick-stepped from topic to topic, and I reluctantly called it a night after two drinks. I didn't want the one cop on night shift to bust me for DWI. On the drive back she offered to provide breakfast before we went over to the library, and I immediately accepted. Back at her house, we settled into saggy cushioned easy chairs in the living room. She kept surprising me. She'd gone to college on a scholarship, and used her teaching degree to get a job at the town elementary school. A job that disappeared when the school closed. The well-used house we sat in had been her parents and grandparents. Cathy was attached and beholden to a town that would, like her husband, leave her. When we stood up, I wanted to kiss her cheek, but just shook hands before I went upstairs. Once in bed, lights off, I realized it was too dark and too quiet. I missed my overdeveloped suburb and its white noise pacifier. I smirked after coming downstairs the next morning. We were both dressed in flannel shirts and jeans, ready for dusty work. Breakfast was healthy-yogurt, juice and whole wheat toast, and I guessed that Cathy had eaten her chicken-fried steak the night before as a gesture for me. The library building, a small Victorian, sagged both outside and in, and water stains blotched the paper on several walls. The building was uninsurable and probably uninhabitable. I raised an eyebrow at Cathy and she shrugged. "I warned you we were on hard times." The Willman collection was in an interior room, musty but still dry. It needed to be moved soon, before the cloth covered electrical wiring or a water leak attacked. But even dusty and unused it was impressive. Three hundred fifty books, about half of them leather bound, with several outsized folios. According to my list, the last book had been added in 1902. I'd brought my laptop, and I held it up toward Cathy. "Do we have service?" "We pirate internet from the auto supply store next door. They know about it, of course." Small towns are without secrets, and I assumed last night's house sharing was already under discussion. I'd started taking cell phone photos and sending them off to the book appraisers, when an overdue thought struck me. "Cathy, I'm guessing you've already had the collection evaluated?" She paused. "Sort of. We couldn't afford a real appraisal, but sent a list to the book dealer in Grand Rapids who's buying all the other books." "What did he offer for the Willman lot?" There was a longer pause. "Twenty three thousand. We have no idea if that's fair." "Neither do I. But I will. The two companies I'm using won't be bidding on the lot, so they'll hopefully be honest." Cathy left me alone in the Willman room and went over to the desktop computer at the checkout desk. After I'd sent off pictures and details I started browsing through the records, trying to get a feel for who my great, great grandfather had been. His obituary was fulsome with praise, but family gossip had told of a cunning and ruthless businessman. I wondered if the library building and the impressive books had been his repayment to all the townspeople he'd skinned. As I was gingerly leafing through the books, I got an email back from Dulters and Wilkins, one of the appraisers. "Advisory on the Thomas McKinney History of the Indian Tribes of North America, three volumes 1838, 1842 and 1844, inscribed by McKinney to Henry Clay and containing pasted-in Ex Libris bookplates of Henry Clay, signed by him. Impossible to provide formal valuation without physical examination, but initial indication unsigned is $170,000 and signed by author and Henry Clay $225,000. Other valuations to follow." I stared at nothing. The book dealer Cathy had mentioned would have at least a vague idea of the value of the McKinney books, which meant either he was playing the town of White Cedar or Cathy was playing me. She'd left me alone in the Willman room and after another hour I realized I wanted her company and walked over to the main desk. She was watching videos on her cell phone. In the three hours we'd been there not another person had entered. "Lonely work." "And I usually shirk it. I stay home, and just leave a sign on the entry door that anyone who wants to use the library should call me so I could open it up. No one does." I wondered if it wasn't equally boring at home, but said nothing. I lifted the countertop hatch, went into librarian territory, and sat at a desk facing Cathy's. "You should get out of here." "And go home?" "No, move out, find a town with a pulse, and get the teaching job you deserve." She showed me that smile again. "And leave all this? I get by, sort of, on alimony and some left over money. Nobody would buy the house, so I'd just have to board it up and abandon it. Except for college, everything I know and am is here, including my church Moving away would be like abandoning a sick relative I should be caring for. Does that sound stupid?" "A little. But I've never had the relationship with place like you're talking about. Look, let's get out of Sleepy Hollow this evening. Bentonville is less than an hour away and according to my laptop has six restaurants and a multiplex theater. Could I entice you into a movie and dinner?" "Well aren't you suave. Of course. A woman my age shouldn't turn down a date." Once we'd locked up the library, we stopped back at Cathy's house to change before heading out. The speed limit plus ten conversation was haphazard, because our frames of reference not only didn't overlap, they almost didn't abut. Her temperament suited me, but I was a fervently liberal atheist intrigued with a born-again Tea Partier. Despite that, we laughed a lot. After we'd left the restaurant and gotten into my car, I turned to her. "Cathy, I need to tell you up front that I'm going to keep the Willman books. I feel about the books the way you feel about White Cedar. I want to shepherd them for one more generation. I'll be leaving in a couple days and will pack them up and take them with me." I studied her while I said this. She looked relieved rather than disappointed. "I had to ask about them, but that's fine, they're your books, after all." "It's great that you understand. I need to make a quick stop at the pharmacy before we head back." The ride back was quieter, the conversation more piquant. We'd only met the day before, and my departure was already in sight. Once back in her house we sat close together on the living room couch. We kissed, lightly, and then again more seriously. Without words we began to gently explore each other, the geriatric sofa complaining about our shifts in position. Cathy leaned back slightly and looked at me. "Does your pit stop at the out of town drug store mean what I think it does?" "Afraid so." "I appreciate your discretion." She smiled, and we resumed, two long abstinent adults relying on muscle memory. Once we subsided and snuggled together, the sofa got its revenge, and my twisted back began to cramp. Eventually I gave up and suggested she could share my bed, but she turned me down. "Your neighbors will talk no matter what we do." "Of course, but I don't want them confirming it by seeing two shadows in an upstairs bedroom window." We kissed and I went upstairs, carrying my wadded-up clothes in one hand. The next morning, I realized how much I missed a comfortable, not quite-fully-dressed conjugal breakfast, helping each other to set places, and serve the meal. In Connecticut I didn't even have a dog. "If you're willing to give me the library key, I can finish up with the Willman collection by myself, Cathy. But if you're not busy I'd love to have you there with me. We don't even have to talk about Thomas Willman, who by insider accounts was a bastard." Her half smile revealed slightly uneven teeth that I found winsome. "John, I'm feeling guilty about last night, and hanging out together is maybe not a good idea." "Please. Don't leave me alone with these mummified books." Her smile this time was open. "I suppose I have to keep an eye on you so you don't steal any of our valuable volumes." "Atta girl." We washed up the breakfast dishes and drove over to the library, where I reviewed the texted appraisals and answered questions that had come in since the day before. There were some other pleasant surprises. I took flattened cardboard boxes, interleaving sheets and tape out of the SUV, then started folding the boxes into shape and filling them with Willman books. Around noon I drove over to the quick mart, bought a couple drinks and premade sandwiches and brought them back for our lunch. The sandwich bread had the consistency of the cardboard I was assembling. I started in as we were finishing our colas. "Cathy, I'll be leaving early tomorrow morning, so no breakfast please." She said nothing, her expression a sad-serious it hurt to see. "But I hope we can go out to dinner again tonight." She still said nothing. "We're so different I think we'd be throwing knives at each other before the end of the month, but I also think you're wonderful." She stood up in silence and walked over to me, cupping my cheek in her palm. "Have you ever made love in a library?" "What? No." "Neither have I. But I've thought about it. There's a skinny sofa in the librarian's office." I locked the front door and we walked together into the back office. The settee barely had room for two posteriors, let alone two torsos, but we made do. Afterwards we stuffed the car with book boxes, cleaned up at her house and had another diner dinner. This time I tried with a Greek salad, but I didn't think a Greek would have recognized it. Once back at Cathy's house we sat on the sofa again, but just talked. For hours. When I finally went up to bed, I'd learned a great deal more about her, but still had to stand outside her viewpoints. She was like a Japanese scroll, with beautifully brushed kanji whose shapes I could admire but remain unable to appreciate the meaning of. In the morning, after coffee, I gave her a gentle goodbye kiss. "I've left a three-volume set on the bed upstairs, Cathy. They're yours to sell. A book a night, seems a fair room rental. There's a card inside the top book from a book appraiser - I've told him you'll be calling. "You could give the money to the town but there's not nearly enough to save it. There is enough to resuscitate you - get a teaching job someplace that deserves you. You could always come back and spend summers here, the winters probably suck anyway." "You said you were going to keep the books." "I lied. I needed to see if you knew the books were valuable and were playing me." Her expression hardened and quickly softened again. "I passed, so you made one?" "Something like that. Whatever you decide, in summer, who knows, maybe I'll call with a yen for your local chicken fried steak." She laughed again, and I carried the sound with me out to the car. The smell of old leather and paper permeated the interior on the drive back, reminding me that the rest of the Willman collection would allow indulgence in expensive habits for some time to come.

[ladytrollfishes]

>Cress and Shupaa: Ride the Train

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

You don't hear her following you, and there's no way you're going to follow her at this point. She makes your skin crawl, and Maera's an unknown factor in this right now. Her shut off is on, the only thing you can hear from her is a focused buzz. She's slightly warmer to touch now as you grab her by the hand and tug her through the crowd, heading for the working subway station around the corner. 

 "Come on," you say, clutching your bag to you. "We're getting out of here."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

SUBJECT: AUBADE keeps focused on the path ahead. You need to keep your awareness sharp, and ensure no one behind you gets any ideas. You keep glancing over your shoulder, with no time to disguise it as a more subtle motion. You don't see anyone, but you've been wrong before. 

 Aubade keeps pulling you. She aims to take the subway. If you go in the opposite direction, away from the broken-down station, there's potential for safety. She must realize this, too. When you're reasonably sure you don't have a tail, you pick up your pace until you can run beside her. The hand-holding keeps you together in the crowd. That's useful. You only slow down when you meet with the turnstile, only because it physically blocks you. 

You fish caegars out of your pocket, and put them into the machine until it spits out tickets. The first is for Aubade. The second is not. "Yours," you say simply, leaving it for her. You take your own ticket, but you don't push through the turnstile until she does.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

Thank god Maera doesn't fight you on this. She even holds onto your hand until you hit the turnstile and she's even quicker to pull out payment for the ride than you are, insisting that you take the ticket first. You can't hear anyone with the intent to follow you, but the thunder of a train passing is enough to shove you running through the turnstile and out for the train, with only a quick glance to see what direction you were heading in. Any direction would do. 

Maera still sounds like a blank. It's not something you've dealt with, outside of your first meeting and you wonder if you need to call someone to see how to deactivate it. First things first, you had to get away. You run for the jade door to the tram, and hold the door open for Maera. You'll stick out there like a sore thumb, but you have plausible deniability there and you don't want to deal with the possibility of other psychics right now.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

You step in. You waste no time, not meandering, not busying yourself with any other thought or action. You stay single-minded to your task, and once inside the train car, you scope it out in a moment: Jadeblooded trolls, and a few friends of close colors, all separated into their own tiny factions throughout the car. None of them look up. That's Neuja city policy. You hold the door from the inside for Cress, and let go the moment she's safely inside. 

She, unlike you, does draw a few looks. They don't seem to make moves towards her, but you take note of the individuals, committing their details to memory. SUBJECT: UNKNOWN 1, SUBJECT: UNKNOWN 2, SUBJECT: UNKNOWN 3... 

 "Do not make eye contact." Your voice is flat and unfeeling. She might know already, but you don't want to take chances right now. If any of the jades here know the superstitions you learned in the caverns, they could get aggressive, or nervous. Either would be bad. You find a handle, hanging from the ceiling, near an empty seat. You don't want to sit yet. You must keep vigilant.

"Did you see which direction this train travels."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

Maera’s stiff as a board. It would be easy to mistake her for your security, which then begs the question why you’re here in this car at all. She takes the handle, casing the car, but you step in closer to her, much closer than casual acquaintances care to get. She’s still cold, but no longer freezing as you grab her free hand again. When she tells you not to make eye contact, you keep your gaze fixed on hers. 

 “Relax,” you murmur, close to her ear. You keep your voice soft and smooth and with each word you push calm at her. “I can hear all their intentions right now. They’re hungry, bored, and stressed out, but nothing strong enough to mean something in the car.” 

 You reach into a pocket where you keep four sets of rings, each of them slightly tinted metal with imprints on them. You find the pair with diamonds on them, and slip one into Maera’s hand. “I’ll want that back,” you murmur again. “But this gives me a good reason to be here instead of with the other highbloods. So relax before someone gets suspicious. We’re headed towards Filler right now.” 

 You pull back so you can look her in the face and smile brightly.(edited)

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

She meets your eyes with hers again. Like an electric shock, your cybernetics burst to life again. Their light is default green in the first instant, but in the moment after, they switch back to red in a snap, because oh, you are still fucking furious. It's just ever-so-slightly below your upper limit. You can't feel the ring through your gloves. You have to take your eyes off her to see it. You're wary of her now, more wary than before, but... She could have left you behind. She could have killed you, when you let her get close to you. She didn't. 

Begrudgingly, you realize that counts for something, so you look at the ring, and. And you hate this, actually, quite a lot. You inhale deeply, steeling yourself, and recognizing that, logically, she's just handed you an alibi. She's trying to make sure both of you survive, for whatever reason, and you don't have enough of an advantage to refuse. So you bite the bullet. You slip off your glove. 

Your hand is riddled with dark lines of hardware, faintly visible under your skin. It makes you look sickly and strange. When you put the ring on - reluctantly - the metal immediately forms ice crystals on its surface. No one wears one glove alone, so you have to take the other one off too. You fold them into an interior pocket of your coat and try not to look at her.

"This request is more easily asked than done." You're a storm of grim emotions. You don't trust Cresce and you don't trust Lyrian. You're angry - at Lyrian, because she set you up; at yourself, because you stupidly thought Cresce was different. You would be afraid of Lyrian tailing you, even now, but you're too preoccupied with how insulted you feel, that she insinuated you were incompetent at the one thing you were made to do... and you're upset, that you couldn't give her the fight you wanted to start. 

 Your face gives none of this away. Your implants betray you, but only in short. You grip the handle of the train car tightly. You ignore the way small, forming ice crystals dig into your skin. "Filler will take us to a safer location. This is acceptable."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

Maera flickers back on, green and then red and it’s only sweeps of training that keeps you from doing more than blinking when the cacophony that pours out of her.

The air around her immediately gets colder too, enough that you shiver but not enough to make you step back. You take a moment to try and unpack everything she’s feeling- anger, definitely no way to mistake those gongs. A slow boiling hatred when she slips on her ring. There’s upset and frustration, and betrayal, you think and she’s still losing control of her psi. And it’s impossible to tell which one of you is sending her into a tizzy. 

 “We will be fine,” you say, still pushing calm. You brush off a patch of dust you spot on her shoulder. You wanted an ally in this struggle against Lyrian, and as far as you can tell, she sure did her best to keep Maera from doing exactly that, now that you’re forced to justify how you really aren’t using her as a tool. No one likes to be manipulated, even if everyone does it to everyone else all the time. Letting go might be the only chance you have at earning a little more trust. 

 “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I understand if you don’t want to work with me after this.”

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

The effect is subtle. To you, it feels like the fire is burning out. Her power wears down your anger until it's no longer edging into that danger zone, but the embers of it are still burning, just waiting for something new to feed them. Its absence forces you to go back to thinking logically about the situation. You don't want to. Your breath clouds when you exhale out your nose. You lift your head, but you still don't look at her. You look past her, out the window of the train car, where you can see only the dark inside of the tunnel. 

 "It does not matter." You don't pad your words, but you keep them quiet, matching her volume. "Apologies are irrelevant." 

That doesn't explain the balm it's putting on your anger. You conveniently ignore that. When you start again, you lower your volume even more. 

"What is of relevance is the fact that this - the current situation - is in-de-fin-a-ble. If you intend to make use of a tool, there should be greater distance involved."

Yes, there's hurt behind the words. You ignore that, too. 

"It is more pro-fes-sion-al." You don't mind being used, you think. At least, you try not to mind. You accepted it as a reality long ago. What you mind, or at least the part you're admitting, is that Cresce acts friendly, too. You're just as guilty of that as she is. You just want a decision. 

 "But if you also share her opinions of the work rendered, there is nothing more to discuss." It's a dare.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

The anger continues to recede but there’s pain in the calm. She still refuses to look at you, and the silence is filled with the rattle of the train and the soundtrack of other people’s lives. Her brief statements are terse and hurt, but when she all but demands to know what’s going on, you spot an opportunity. 

 “I don’t want a tool,” you say, low and a little sharp. “I want an ally. I want help with my crazy signmate and I don’t want to do it alone. So yeah I want you to work with me, but in my experience, treating your allies like dirt means they won’t be your allies for long.”

You pause, looking in her eyes for any changes in her mood that you can’t hear. Lyrian treated her like a tool. Archtopi labs treats her like one too. Even Maera herself does, even though she finds Lyrian’s words upsetting. It works to your advantage, really. 

Keep treating her like an equal and she can grow her confidence and be attached to you. You want her to work with you and working with you could help Maera out too. It’s mutually beneficial for you, even if she needs the idea that no one’s manipulating each other to go through with it.(edited)

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

You feel bitter, when she says she doesn't want a tool. You have no proof to say that it's a lie, but everyone you've ever met has been content to leverage people as means to an end. Everyone does it. Anyone who claims otherwise is lying. But the fact that she's trying to lie means something, doesn't it? And she doesn't insult your work. She values it enough to try to get you to stay, even when you've given her an out. 

"Why this?" You finally meet her eyes. "There are easier allies to obtain. You have the option to take them." You don't trust her. You are confident she'll lie to you, but you want to see which lie she picks.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

She’s still bitter, hard, and angry which is frustrating. You have to respect that she doesn’t immediately melt at the idea of being more than a tool, but it’s still annoying. You huff, even as you lean in closer to her. 

 “Obviously you’re pretty skilled in a fight, which is helpful here. You have reason to dislike Lyrian and you’d have no other motive to screw with me, besides this. Plus you’re already in the know, so word about my crazy signmate doesn’t get out too far.” 

Out of everyone you know on campus basically the only person you’d tell about this is maybe Melete. She’d understand the whole wicked signmate thing, but you’d rather keep your attempts at flirtation separate from the rest of this mess.  Rumisa already knows too much as it is. She was never one whose judgement you could trust. Maera, on the other hand. She wasn’t savvy but she wasn’t hopeless either. Not so secure in her own invulnerability to be careless, and more inclined to stay mum than blabber on. 

 “From where I’m standing, you’re the best person to ask.” You can’t help but send a Lyrian a few curses for making her feel this way. Maera was aware that this was what Lyrian intended, right?”(edited)

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

At least the lie she picks makes sense. You blow out another mist-filled breath, as your implants shift back to green. You don't have more interrogation to give. Your role is not to decide what does or doesn't fit. No matter what she says, you are a means to an end - but you're an effective one. You mirror her, leaning in, and you bring your free hand up until it blocks her mouth, and yours, from sight. Your bare fingertips, still cold, but not freezing, rest on her face. You tilt your head, as if you were giving a chaste kiss to her cheek. 

 "There are several individuals you should meet," you whisper, "who will be able to assist this effort. They are scattered throughout the area, and it is too risky to contact them remotely. You will not be able to recruit them to your program. But if you intend to gather information, they are the most valuable assets possessed. Are you interested?"(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

Your answer satisfies her at least, though you don’t think she believes you. But she makes a move you don’t expect, touching a cold hand to your cheeks and pressing her face up to yours. For a second you don’t know what you expected, before she simply gives you more information to use. Really leaning into the alibi now was she? You nod in reply. Recruiting more people to Torrent is probably not a great idea anyway but wheeling and dealing with other informants would be important so long as you could keep them honest. “What can you tell me about them?” You ask.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

You have a small network left on-planet. You know plenty about them, and you don't intend to tell Cress everything, but if she's curious, you can provide some details. 

 "The closest contact, geographically, is Passer Luteus. He resides outside Neuja city. He is responsible for the calibration of digital signs around the city, and his vantage point allows him to see things that others may miss." 

 He's sharp, small and agile. Last you heard, his location was still accurate. You pull back from your false "kiss," but your hand stays. You don't want anyone to read your lips. "He is one of several. Your signmate is unlikely to stay in Neuja, but Luteus may notice where she leaves, and how. Other contacts can watch for her presence and activities."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

You hum, quietly as you think about it. "Who would you say would be the most useful?" you ask. "Lyrian could be leaving already, and we're still be on the way. Difficult to track someone when you don't know who you're tracking." 

 You shift so that she doesnt have to keep holding her hand up- clearly a gesture to hide her lip movements- and pull her into a sort of a hug, one arm slung across her shoulder. If you tilt your forehead down, it gives her cover to talk, and you're not so tall she can't see over your shoulders to the rest of the car.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

"That depends," you reply, "on where you believe she intends to go." You have several options. Lyrian could leave Neuja in any direction. You have contacts that cover critical points on the map, but you don't have people everywhere. If you delay, if you make the wrong choice, the trail will go cold. 

 "You are slightly more aware of her past habits. Data collected pertains only to her present and recent actions. However, most trolls, after causing a scene, would try to find somewhere to hide, and establish normalcy." You pause. "Where is she best known?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/07/2019

You pause, as she looks to you as the expert on Lyrian. You're not an expert on her. You don't know her as well as you ought. You did some poking around, but you haven't found much at all. The global database doesn't give you much more than her name, chrome, and profession, three out of three that you share with her. Her last known address was sold to a cerulean banker half a sweep ago. She's like a ghost. 

 She doesn't strike you as the sort to use social media but if she did, then it's like she's struck out any mentions of her name on the internet, and while you know she's a clown, you don't know which sect, where she frequents, or what she does. "I don't know," you say after a moment. "Her last known address is in Neuja though, so I assume she knows the area. She used to live right next to the Maralis Bridge."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/07/2019

Then that makes two of you. "If she knows Neuja, she may assume she will be traced, and she may take a route known only to locals. Tracking her from Neuja would be difficult, but predicting her next move without context would be harder still." You lift yourself from Cress's embrace. You keep your head down, and cover your face partially with one hand, such that it looks as though you might be emotional, or crying. It's an intimate expression that most trolls would rather look away from, which gives you an extra defense. You stay close to her, leaning your forehead on her shoulder. Proximity is important. "Luteus may know of her public presence, if she is in fact a local. Any history she left behind may inform her future. He may be able to provide clues to assist in the choice of a starting place for our search. Beyond that, however, we will need to simply sweep the area. If she has her own transport, public transit records will be useless."

March 8, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

“Alright,” you say, pressing a small kiss to the top of her head. “That’s a promising lead. Let’s see Luteus.” The train rattled on down the tunnel as you consider Maera’s head on your shoulder. She’s really doing much better with the alibi than you expected. Maybe you should coach her a little in how the game is played. Not a tool, an ally. Harder to use but is more useful. Then again, maybe that’s a thought for later, when you trust her more. 

 “Where can we find him?” You ask quietly as the train rattles to a stop and passengers step on and off the train. You get a couple glances but an obviously upset jade in your arms, you basically get a pass.(edited)

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

You can't calibrate your map underground. You'll need to make a guess. This frustrates you, but only a small amount, compared to your levels before. "Megleno Valley." You try to pinpoint where that will be, in relation to Filler. 

"Remaining on this train is the wisest option. It is reachable by bus from the end of the line." 

 Luteus doesn't work until morning, when slightly fewer people are out and about in the city. You can contact him to arrange a place. You'll owe him, of course, but if it's just one favor... You are willing to do that for her.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

"Alright," you say, and sigh. "That will take awhile. You wanna sit down?" You step back, letting your hands run down her arms so you can grab hers again. Your feet are starting to hurt in these heels, and you'd rather take your weight off of them.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

After a brief moment of reluctance, you relent. You let go of the handle as it starts to thaw, and you let her hold your hands. She's gentle. It's a different feeling than you're used to, most of the time, but you watched her accidentally crush a fork, then bend it back into shape. You're sure she could break you if she tried, so you don't get comfortable. You sit down beside her. The train moves on. As trolls arrive at their destinations, they leave the car. As time goes by, fewer and fewer trolls board to replace them. 

You spend the quiet organizing your memory files from your meeting with Lyrian. No one will read them now, but it gives you something to do. But you finish that, because as much as you try to drag your feet, you were built for efficiency. Then, there's nothing left to do but... follow that memory, with your eyes finally resting on her neck. She touched here when you mentioned Lyrian at lunch. There's no mark, no bruising or scarring or any kind of indication as to why, but it wasn't just a standard nervous tick. It was too specific a motion. 

 "She ne-ver needed a tracker," you say, quiet, "did she?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

You stare out of the train, as it pulls out of the underground and onto an open air tram. The sky is dark and cloudy with smog as you watch the lights of the city pass by. It distracts you from the everyone's sound for a moment- you could turn down the volume, but awareness right now was still important, even as Shupaa's suspicion of your gentle gestures still pulses next to you. Like a horror movie soundtrack. It fades though, eventually, to a gentler thought and curiosity, up until the point she speaks. 

 "A tracker?" you say, blinking. Lyrian? Of course she needed a tracker, to accomplish whatever she wanted to accomplish, if she hired Maera. "What do you mean?"

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

"She already found you." Efficiency sometimes means bluntness. It's an unfortunate side-effect. (Just kidding, it's a conscious choice. You don't like beating around the bush.) 

 "Your reactions suggest you encountered her before. You are not exactly low-profile. Your digital presence and name recognition made it easy to find you in the early stages of tracking." You watch her face for any tells. You're certain that Torrents are trained out of them, but the topic of Lyrian strikes a chord with Cress. You've seen a reaction before. You might again.

"She did not require assistance to find you. The only assistance she may have required was to watch you, as she herself would draw suspicion."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

You blink twice and swallow as you smile at her again. You've referred to the meeting before, in the slightest of ways, but the meeting is not something you'd prefer to recount. 

 "Ah, yes we've met once," you say, low. "Before you were hired. At the 12th perigee ball, actually, so anyone could be anywhere at the time." Your free hand almost bounces back up to your throat but you keep it firmly in your lap.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

Sorry Cress, it's being recounted. "The point stands. It is an ir-reg-u-lar pattern. You understand this. Confirm?" 

If you pull up the files in your memory, side-by-side, the information doesn't click. It doesn't fit the patterns you've seen in your jobs prior - and you've had many jobs. She wasn't desperate for help. She reached out to a relative unknown for a job where you weren't supposed to kill your target.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

You smile a little more thinly at her, before blinking innocently at her again. "I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at," you say sweetly. "Of course it's irregular, and I can't very well say exactly what's going on in my signmate's head, now can I?"

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

Annoyance sparks a flicker of red in your cybernetics. "This is a matter of analysis." You hold her gaze. "Not mind-reading." Psychics. Life is so much easier when you don't have the expectation of knowing someone else's thoughts. Resentful? You? Maybe. 

 "It means that if she wishes to find you again, she may do so, or she may send someone else, with more information and less of a leash. It means, too, that she may have had some other motive for sending an outside tracker." 

 You lift your hand from hers, this time to touch your thumb to her temple, letting your fingers rest on the side of her head, tucked into her hair. It might look tender, to an onlooker. Really, you're just trying to get her to snap out of her funk. Cold touches are good at that. "Why do you continue to block out information that is uncomfortable? It does not serve you."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

Maera gives her measured, logical take on the situation, even as she touches your face and you have to steel yourself from the flinch and iron out any reaction you have to her prodding. You've been embarrassingly affectionate for the alibi and you're going to see her contact. You smile instead. 

 "Obviously," you say quietly. "I told you, I don't know what her motives might be, except, perhaps something about our line and disapproving of me. Did you hear her laughing back then? She's enjoying this, I could hear it."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

You had heard, but you hadn't paid it much mind. People laugh at strange and horrible things... but Cress can hear emotions, too. Whatever she heard has shaken her. But now that you understand, you have a different roadblock: You are so, horrendously bad at being compassionate. You feel sympathetic. You want to offer her comfort, but it's not something you do. You're made to hurt, not to heal. You touch your forehead to hers, which gives you a brief moment to cover your mouths again, and make her a promise. 

"Your tracks will be covered." It's the most comfort you can offer. When you have more time, when you aren't hiding in plain sight, you'll work with her on some sort of disguise for these outings. Then, at least, she won't run the risk of being caught as Cress, looking for Lyrian. When you part, you put your hand on top of hers. Through your calm, you might even feel like a normal jadeblood temperature, now. "Do you have a pseudonym?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

It’s not a comfortable feeling, being out on a limb like this. Have you ever felt like this? Not when you realized why you’d never see your lusus again. Not when you had realized what you’d have to do to Peggio. When you’d woken from your wetware surgery in a panic, maybe but that was so easily solved. It crystallizes, somewhat when Maera’s melody swells just a bit and presses her forehead against yours. She’s comforting you in the only way she knows how because she can see you’re scared.

It’s a little too intense actually, the steady stare she gives you and you tuck your face into the crook of her shoulder. You might as well, so long as you’re faking the quad. “Thanks,” you say shortly, before you pull up again and look out the window. “No, actually. I don’t go into the field very much.”

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

The motion amuses you. She's cute, when she's not trying to intimidate you. Maybe you just have lethal taste. "It would serve you to create one for our search. Give it thought." And her horns... Their distinct shape, their asymmetry. They're too unique for undercover work, especially when dealing with her signmate. You'll find some way to help her. 

 "Do not try one tonight. It is better to divorce your pseudonym from yourself, however possible. You still appear to look like you, and your career, in both parts of your life, would be in jeopardy." She has something to lose. You don't. "It will give you an extra layer of security. Another night, it can be finalized. Only remember that tonight, the name you give Luteus may be used after you leave." You want to advise her to use only her last name, for that reason, but she's smart. She can make her own decisions.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

Maera definitely enjoys the gesture, which is frankly quite a relief after all the suspicion. It's a bit of a balm even, on the embarrassment and the vulnerability, to know that she doesn't think less of you for it. She advises you on how to pick a psuedonym, and she's right, for the most part, but you have an idea. You lift up your head and take out your ponytail. "If we drop by a mall, I'll go as Lyrian," you say. "Looking to see what people are saying about me. Would that work?"

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

You almost smile. She earns your strange half-smile for the slightest moment, because this is hilarious. "You need paint." Your thumb touches her cheek, where one of Lyrian's markings would be. Otherwise... she's the spitting image of her signmate. It could work. "And you should not make it a habit. Contacts expect pseudonyms. Identity theft is far more serious." You don't want Luteus to approach the real Lyrian by mistake. That could be really, really bad. "Do you keep makeup with you?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

Maera all but bubbles with mirth at the idea, but all that shows on her face is a smile that looks strange on her face, as though she's not used to it. You've known her just long enough to know that she probably isn't. What she is getting used to though, it looks like, is touching you. Her hand touches your cheek and you have to smile yourself. That wasn't a motion meant to hide her mouth from lip readers. "I've got lipstick that would work, but I'd need to pick up some lighter foundation," you say. "And a black coat too. I remember what her paint looks like."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

It wasn't, but good luck getting you to admit that. "You should not be seen as Lyrian, buying it, but a detour will be made." You let your hand drop. "You are slightly too tall, but the difference is negligible. Your manner will be of most concern. Lyrian is not nearly as pleasant."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

Aww she thinks you're pleasant. "Her horns are a mirror image of mine too, but I'd be willing to bet most people won't notice unless we're standing next to each other," you say. "And I'm wearing heels, which is a good excuse as any for varying heights." You school your face into a flat expression, and let your eyes fall lidded. "I hate everyone," you say in a soft monotone. "And I think I'm better than everyone else." It's only slightly mocking.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

Only slightly. You nod, feeling more confident already. "That will do." When the subway reaches the end of the line, you and Cress are the only ones left in the car. You leave, and stick to your alibi - moirails, not allies - until you can board a bus, headed to Megleno Valley. Even before you get there, the cloud cover above and around you thickens. When you arrive, it's thick enough that you can't see more than a block in any direction. The buildings blend seamlessly into the gray nothingness of the town's characteristic fog. You lead Cress. You've been here before. "The mall is in this direction. We have not been followed so far - therefore, taking a direct route is somewhat reasonable. It will also give you more time for your disguise." You, a jadeblood, purchasing clown paint without any kind of religious symbol or garb, would draw looks and prying eyes. For Cress, it would be pedestrian. If you can keep her in sight and out of harm's way, you can spend that time contacting Luteus, and arranging a meeting. You explain this plan to her as you walk. "There is one concern," you add, "beyond the discussed hazard of being discovered for your false identity. Should you encounter any other members of the church, they may be able to single you out, in a way other trolls could not. Data surrounding the clown population in Megleno is insufficient to determine the likelihood of this. How much do you know of the church?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

You tuck your purchases under your arm as you head to the bathroom. You pause one moment, and nod in response. "I know enough, I think," you say. "Not much about Lyrian's particular sect, because well. I don't know what it is, but she's got a pretty different manner to a lot of them. But enough to pass as a regular one." 

 You learn a lot about the church and its many sects in Torrent. They're one of the many people you're supposed to be keeping an eye on, though it's somewhat under the table. You've never considered the church for yourself- it's a conflict of interest to your work in Torrent, and it honestly seems like a load of hogwash meant to manipulate their followers into acting like they want them to.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

"Enough is all that is necessary," you confirm, and you let her go. You have a call to make. Passer Luteus is one of the few trolls you know who keeps a diurnal schedule. When you call him, he has only just woken up. He agrees to meet you in the mall, even on such short notice, on the condition that the meeting is kept brief. If you were alone, this would make you reconsider, but you know one thing about Cress: She's a skilled questioner. You pick a meeting place, end the call, and make your plan. Then, all you have to do is wait for Cress.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

You nod and head into the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. It's empty, but you don't expect it to stay that way for too long. You have to hurry. You look at yourself in the mirror. You almost never keep your hair down. 

Lyrian has shorter bangs than you do. You brush your bangs to the side, but it's not quite the right look, but you don't think you're willing to cut them to look even more like her, for this. If Luteus sees Lyrian again, she could have always cut her hair. You start caking on the light foundation as you try to recall what exactly her make up looked like. You open your laptop and load up the footage you recorded during the meeting only a couple hours ago. You get the swipe of dark lipstick across your cheeks, carefully placing the circles and filling it in. 

Clowns are particular about your make up, and you're not practiced. It'll do so long as you don't come across too many clowns. Those that aren't in the church won't look you in the eye. When you're done and you look in the mirror, you look enough like Lyrian, that you feel something bubble in your chest. You shut your laptop, slip on the black cloak and walk out the bathroom. 

 You're in a bad enough mood from your makeover that it's not a push to press your smile out of existence. You push out fear with each click of your heels against the linoleum floors. You look at Maera directly when you leave the bathroom. You're Lyrian. You're Lyrian right now. 

It's not a great thought. You quirk an eyebrow, but otherwise school your face to stillness. "How do I look," you say, pitching your voice slightly lower.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

Oh, yes. That's the aura you know well enough to detest. You aren't sure how she managed to emulate Lyrian's atmosphere to a T - until you remember, right, Lyrian can influence emotions too, not just hear them. Why couldn't Cress? 

"Terrifying," you say, followed by the more appropriate response, "and accurate." There's something about Essence of Lyrian that makes you miss Cress's too-cheery smiles. Maybe it's the creepy clown paint. "There is one last detail to attend to." 

You remove the ring. By now, it has thawed, and is only cold to the touch. You slip your gloves back on, and then offer it back to her. "Personal relations within the work environment are unprofessional, and there is little wish to inadvertently begin rumors of Lyrian's romances."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

The fear aura definitely works. You can hear it reflected in Maera's song, though you're tempted to stop it immediately. Was this the sort of thing that Lyrian wanted to hear all the time? She did have bad taste. 

 Maera slips off the ring and you take it back, stripping your own off as well before tucking them into your pocket with a nod. You struggle not to smile when she mentions Lyrian's romances- she never did have any listed that didn't look like drone partners. 

 "Of course not," you say, when you've regained your composure. It wouldn't do to mock her too much in your head, not when you've stepped into her shoes. "Then let's go."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

You nod, and direct her down the appropriate street, just a few more blocks. You have one last stop to make, just before the mall: A sandwich shop. "You are familiar with the concept of a cover story. Confirm?" 

She said she doesn't travel much. You don't know Torrent like she does, and you aren't sure if she's actually trained to do any of this. You're also not very talkative. If you don't need to explain what you're doing, you won't.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

"Of course," you say with a small nod as you enter the sandwich store, like you know why you're there. "I assume you have something in mind." You haven't been in the field much, but being a Torrent was sort of like field work, just with less paperwork.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

You place the order first. Your attention is on your internal clock. You need to make sure you arrive early enough to check for countersurveillance, even though you know there isnt enough time to intentionally sabotage the scene.

 "Steak, horseradish and avocado," you request, with remarkable surety. The clerk gives you a funny look, but they don't protest. Then, you pause, turning back to "Lyrian." "Ma'am," you start, and you hate it already, "what would you like?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

You don't blink at her strange order, as much as you want to. "Honey mustard and ham," you say, trying to keep to Lyrian's low tones. It's kind of weird to think of her in a bodega, ordering a sandwich. She usually gives off more of a "classy" sort of vibe, you guess. You wonder what sort of things she does when she goes hive."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

You pay for the order, without ordering anything else. Then you step back to wait, and do your best to fade into the background. "We are attending a picnic with a friend," you explain. "There is a garden on the roof of the mall that is lovely, in this season. Our schedule is tight, however, so we must make the most of the time we have. He is quite busy." Her fear aura makes it slightly harder for you to keep your cool. You're staving it off, for the moment, with the knowledge that this isn't Lyrian at all. How long that will last... you're uncertain.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

You nod. "A picnic at this time of year would be lovely," you say. The sound of fear is near suffocating, and you're fairly certain Maera's not very pleased with it either. You may as well drop it. The clown paint would be enough for passerby, wouldn't it? up until you meet this friend of hers. You don't need to force her to bear your aura for now.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/08/2019

She gets it! And whether because of that confirmation, or because she's changed the aura she projects, somehow, the whole situation becomes easier to bear. When it's your turn to pick up your food, you take both sandwiches. You've played bodyguard before. With trolls that think themselves important, it comes with an element of servitude, for better... ...Or worse. The last time you were in a food establishment, guarding in any capacity, an imperial by the name of Hayato shut you down. You lost your client. You lost part of your memories.  The brief recollection increases your stress exponentially as you survey the room. "There are places to go." You want to leave, and it's not just for your schedule anymore.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/08/2019

Something changes, and it's not because of you, you don't think. You let her take the sandwich and carry it for you like an arrogant highblood would, but her melody ramps up in tension, working towards some sort of resolution that doesn't come. 

 "Obviously," you say dryly, without breaking character. "Come." You turn on your heels and stride out of the store. You know where the mall is. You don't need Maera to lead you there.

March 9, 2019

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/09/2019

This kind of attitude comes naturally to you. You're quick to follow her, falling into step close enough that you are leading her through the fog, just not in any noticeable way. It's an art. "Do not go immediately to the roof. There is still time. Walk around for a few moments on a lower floor, find whatever catches your fancy." You keep your voice low, and your mouth barely moves as you murmur these instructions.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/09/2019

Maera’s stress and fear about resolves the moment you leave the shop. You moderate the aura this time. You push it out in small bursts whenever you hear someone passing by and the crowd parts around you like water around a paddle. It’s a cool feeling, really even if it sounds annoying. You know immediately what you’d want from a mall. Another sparkly eyeshadow, apple scented hand cream, and a cinnamon pretzel. And maybe if you find a cute sweater you wouldn’t turn that down either. Or some more glitter pens and matching stationary. What would Lyrian want from a mall? That stumps you quite a bit. Does she do skin care?? You had to imagine yes, with the amount of paint she has to slather on her skin every day. You can’t imagine any signmate of yours tolerating pimples. You make your way to Bath, Body, and Beyond: the Works!

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/09/2019

The smell of the store hits you like a physical wall. You keep your mouth tightly closed, and try not to cover your nose, too. Walking into the store gives you time to scope out the inside of the mall. Malls tend to be hotbeds for all kinds of people. For this reason, security is tight, but in a subtle way. If too many guards are stationed, trolls would feel too intimidated to shop. If too many cameras were obviously placed, some trolls would feel paranoid. As a result, most cameras are hidden, and guards are few and far-between. You spy one obvious camera, hanging in a corner of the shop, just inside the archway. Another is hidden under a shaded dome, along one wall. "Five minutes," you murmur. "Make them count."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/09/2019

Again, you’re struck with the sense of walking in shoes you don’t understand. You know what scents you like. Does Lyrian have a favorite scent? Is she a Midnight Blossom or a Fresh Laundry kind of a troll. Maybe she goes with unscented lotion and wears perfume. Or- she is a clown. Maybe she just smells like Faygo. You stride through the store, casually, the customers crowding away from you. The sales trolls have clustered together to argue over who gets to approach. She’s got such bad taste, you think again, as the strings of the people around you all tremble, low, without resolution. You don’t give anyone time to wrack up their courage. It’s been five minutes. You pick up a bottle, examine it for a few seconds then idly stroll off again.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/09/2019

With subtle movements, and adjustments in your own course, you direct her to the rooftop garden. You take the long way, making a full round of the mall's second floor, before taking the next escalator up. As near as you can tell, you aren't being followed. And once you get to the roof, the real work begins. "Act natural." You glance over at her. If you were the type to smile, you might smile here. "If you are able to gather data on other trolls present, this may play to your skills as well." You stay with her until you spot the first camera. You crack a water capsule in your hand, split off half of the water, and form a tight, frozen cap over the lens.

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/09/2019

Interrogating someone as Lyrian means something different to you. Your strategies are all about making someone feel comfortable and letting them flap their lips while you steer them towards what you want to hear. That’s not even remotely how Lyrian does it. You remember your first meeting and the strategies she used to try and establish first contact. She wants to establish superiority, make sure the other party knows what happens when they lie, follow it up with physical violence as necessary. It’s a pretty common attitude in interrogation and not your style at all. And while you can’t slip character-wise, you’re not going to get anything done her way either. Something of a happy medium then? Whatever that is. “Mmm,” you hum in response to Maera’s commands, as though you haven’t heard. There’s the sound of a crack that’s not psychic but you keep yourself from turning around and looking. Maera knows what she’s doing and she sounds calm.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/09/2019

You are calm. This is your element - being out in the world, surrounded by danger, with enough pressure bearing down on you to boil all your ice. This is a less dangerous, less risky situation than others you've encountered, but that doesn't make it any less exciting. You've been doing this work for long enough that "exciting" is your "normal." Anything outside it feels too calm. You freeze a shell over a hidden camera. "

You can choose the location," you offer, in what is probably the most polite way you've said anything all day. "Keep escape routes in mind."

March 10, 2019

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

“Oh I can work wherever,” you say, momentarily slipping out of character as you absently survey the roof top garden. You’ve done the stake out exercises and you know what’s supposed to be done.

But even though you had a 99% in clandestine meet ups the class had been over a sweep ago. Still, it wouldn’t do to look the fool in front of Maera. You catch the glint of ice on the lenses of the security cameras- that’d at least blur your faces out so you don’t have to worry so much about that if someone managed to get their hands on the footage. You pick a spot that’s not too far from the door to the roof, a bench sat next to the edge of the roof. There’s a way down from there- a small balcony for outdoor seating at the food court. 

The both of you are sturdy enough to survive a one story fall, even if your heels don’t. You settle yourself in the bench, drawing your self up, pressing your lips down, and crossing your legs as you wait for Maera’s contact.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

With your job finished, you join Cress at the bench, setting down the wrapped sandwiches you'd brought. As if on cue, someone new enters the vicinity. Passer Luteus is a well-built yellowblood, with no obvious psionics. You know him to be a low-grade telekinetic, just strong enough to move mechanical parts at close range, but not strong enough to qualify for most programs. 

In the absence of the ability to lift himself psionically, he has become very adept at freeclimbing, rappelling, and other rope-assisted climbing methods, in order to scale buildings and structures of all kinds for repairs. He's cheerful and energetic, wearing his usual sleeveless jumpsuit, which sparks a small amount of disgust on sight. He spies you, but makes his way over casually to the balcony, peering down before he says anything.

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" he says into the endless fog. You would roll your eyes, if you ever emoted. "Your bad taste precedes you." He just grins, before turning to both of you. "And this must be your friend!"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

Your first instinct is to reach out with a hand and a big smile, but you’re still pretending to be Lyrian. Instead, you give him a fixed stare. He sounds like he’s in a good mood, which you’ll probably have to ruin at some point in time. You turn to Maera and simply raise an eyebrow in question.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

You're with Lyrian, not Cress. That... doesn't help, you think. There's the briefest twinge of trepidation, which doesn't make it into your flat voice, when you announce her as "Client, actually. Lady Aubade." You're trying to play it safe. "This is Luteus." "Charmed!" 

He isn't, really. He, like other reasonable trolls, has a healthy fear of clowns, but he still puts on a strong face. He takes a seat on the bench. You stay standing, and put your back to them. You're playing guard. It's reasonable to want to watch everyone around. He picks up the wrapped sandwiches, and finds his. "Oh, good! They got it right this time. Some trolls just don't understand a good sandwich, they try to make 'better' orders for you. Nothing beats this, though." 

As he unwraps it, he says, "So I know what you want, ma'am, at least in the general sense, but I don't have time to relay the all the city's history to you. What, exactly, brings you here?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

His melody drops the minute he sees the paint, and you can’t blame him. You keep your eyes flat as he settles next to you, giving his sandwich a single, barely disdainful glance. That one’s not too much of a stretch. Horseradish and avocado? Really? 

 “Me,” you explain breezily. “I had a previous residence here, nearly a sweep ago. I am looking to return, but I was curious to see what reputation remains in the city. Aubade. Lyrian Aubade.”

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

For a moment, he's surprised, that this is all she asks. When she says her full name - Lyrian Aubade - you can practically hear the gear switch in his head. His temperature rises. He's nervous. 

 "Well, ma'am, with all due respect," he says, which is what he always says before he says something disrespectful, "you'll have a pretty rough time re-integrating after your last fiasco. A lot of people, uh... figured you had a bunch of work to do back at the H-Q? Paperwork, you know. For all the shit that blew up."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

He has heard of her, and it’s not great from his reaction. It’s practically a blaring alarm. You actually kind of have to admire how brave he has to be to say what he did. “I’m sorry?” You say quietly, in the even tone Lyrian never doesn’t speak in. “I don’t recall any of my fiasco being my fault.” 

 You have no idea what he’s talking about. What fiasco? Stuff blew up? Things were always happening in Neuja city. When was the last time something blew up here? There was the threatened attack that was circumvented a couple perigees ago, but nothing actually exploded then. No, no, it’d have to be something at least almost a sweep ago. What happened again?(edited)

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

"You seriously don't remember?" Luteus has all kinds of emotions running high right now, but among them, you actually detect a note of sympathy. "Damn. I mean, I guess a head injury isn't out of the question, but it's cruel of them to not fill you in." He scratches behind one of his horns.

"Uh... Granite Guts Spaceport? You know, the first one. Or maybe you don't, injuries are finnicky. But you kind of blew it up? You and the other one, what's-his-face Aubade. Never met the guy, but he had his fingers in that pie too. You must remember him, right?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

Granite Guts. You remember that. She was involved? Torrent had thrown an entire conniption when that happened because there hadn’t been a single whisper within your information networks something as big as that was going down, and no one had any answers as to what happened. And there was another Aubade? Man, your line liked signmates didn’t it. 

It’s like striking a gold mine, but your lips don’t twitch. You stare straight at Luteus. “As I said,” you say softly. “I don’t recall being responsible for any of it. Rebels had their run of the station and stole a ship.” That much you know from the incident itself. If the street thought Lyrian was responsible... well. That was also just straight hilarious, but you keep your face still, soft, and slightly threatening.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

He's holding back. His temperature stays elevated, just slightly, and he fidgets with the crinkling foil of his sandwich. 

 "I wasn't there," he says, defensively, "but word says you were there, and so was your signmate, and yknow... it takes two to tango, ma'am. Maybe you didn't start the fire, but you sure helped finish it, and it was your signmate's show. You two were like -" He holds up his fingers, and you peer over in time to see him cross them. "Like that. Uh. Sorry, too. That might not be something you wanted to remember."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

“No,” you respond icily as you wonder. What the heck? Lyrian was close with this other signmate and yet insists on harassing you? “I don’t appreciate the implication that being the victim of an attack means I am implicated in the result. Especially after what happened to my signmate.” What did happen to your signmate? Your other signmate?

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

"Right, right." He busies himself with unwrapping his sandwich. You keep your eyes on the passers-by, who pay you no notice. "Uhh... Anyway, aside from that, I mean, you'll probably be fine, excluding cl- uh, church politics?" He tries. He's used to talking only to you, and it's easy to speak freely, when both of you regard the church with disdain.

"If you've got that resolved, I can't say the people of Neuja will be thrilled to have you back, but it's Neuja. What are they going to do? You're one among millions, ma'am, I'm sure you'll be fine after a season or two."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

The poor thing is so uncomfortable, and you can clearly see he doesn’t think well of the church. Neither do you, but he doesn’t know that. “Hm,” you say instead trying to keep a straight face. “Very well. What do you want for this information?”

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

He laughs, more out of surprise than amusement. "Is that a trick question? I mean, not to refuse your offer, ma'am - I guess I'd kind of like to... you know, go back to work alive, in one piece? Please?" You're confused, too, because you've never seen Luteus like this. He doesn't seem to be joking. He seems... genuine. What does that mean?

"Preferably with my thinkpan unscrambled, too, I kind of need that." He narrowly avoids saying this with a mouthful of food. He hasn't been so kind at your other meetings.

"Maera has a deal with me, and you're here on her dime. That's, uh, the only reason I'm doing this, really. Speaking of which, can we, like, talk?" He says that part to you, strangled and nervous. You nod to acknowledge it, and sign, "Later:" A twisted "L," with your thumb against the palm of your open hand.(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

Well. Maera’s startled but you guess Lyrian’s got a reputation. You’ve got an inkling about what it is- you know what people in your profession are infamous for, so you raise a dismissive hand and wave him off. “It’s more trouble than you’re worth,” you say, and stand. 

“Do you believe I waste all my time terrorizing everyone who crosses my path?” You glance at Maera. “Five minutes,” you say, and walk off into the garden, out of eyesight but not out of earshot.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

Luteus speaks first, because you don't get the chance. "What the fuck?" "It is understandable that the unconventional nature of-" "I don't give a damn about the nature," he just about growls, but he's also nearly hyperventilating, which doesn't make him very intimidating. 

"You brought Lyrian Aubade? Are you fucking dumb? Have your little circuits gone and gotten fried? I could get killed! You could get killed!" You wait until he's finished to try again. 

“She is dangerous," you admit. "This is why cooperation is necessary." "And I know other dangerous people, who know the kind of dangerous people she probably wants dead for what they did. They give out these lists of interrogarroters to watch out for, and she's like the very first name. This isn't news, Maera. I'm not imperial, I don't have protection against people like her, and I'm not a full-blown rebel but I've got friends, and I know you know this because -" He takes a deep breath. "Because we've talked about that! And you just brought Lyrian fucking Aubade to my hometown! How much does she know? How much did you tell her?" 

 "Little. Confidentiality is a priority."

The real Lyrian doesn't know anything. Cress only knows his name, and this town. And... his sandwich order. That's it. "You lack trust." "Now, yeah," he grumbles, and takes a bite of his sandwich, in the most angry way he can. "You owe me, big time. Be prepared for that. I don't know what I'll ask, but whatever it is, mark my words, it will be worth all of this, and you have no room to refuse it now."(edited)Reluctantly, you mark this in your memory. At least he's giving you a warning. "No-ted." You try looking for Cress, and can't find her. You hope she's safe. "Is this all?" "Sure," he says, with another mouthful of sandwich. "Whatever. Don't bring her back here. If she shows up again, I'm calling you to take care of it." "Then leave will be taken." You stand. "The contact information you possess is still correct. Contact as needed." Where did she go?

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

Man, he couldn’t wait to have that conversation with Maera huh. Not even enough to check and make for sure ‘Lyrian Aubade’ of whom he was so afraid of, wasn’t listening. Rebel contacts or not, Luteus wouldn’t make it for very long if he kept messing with higher level people. When Maera comes looking for you, you step back out from behind cover and suppress the urge to smile brightly. “Let’s go,” you say. You can’t wait to take this make up off but it’s probably not safe to do that here.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

"A-greed." You only feel guilty for the stress you've put Luteus through. You haven't put him in any real danger, not yet, not today. Still, the guilt you have weighs on you as you leave, and you start to lead Cress through the motions of leaving, indirectly, so you don't attract attention and can check for a tail. As soon as you're out of the mall, you slow to a more casual walk. "The information provided was foreign to you too, correct?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

You steal a glance at Maera and your face breaks into a large smile as you giggle. “Yes!” You exclaim. You feel like dancing. “Omgggg did you hear? I have another signmate?? Whose dead I think? This. Is. Crazy!!” You laugh again before you assume your Serious Lyrian face again. “Let’s find a bathroom quick,” you mutter, “before someone sees and wonders why Lyrian Aubade is in such a good mood.”

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

She is whiplash, embodied. "Here." You nod to a small establishment, one you didn't stop by on the way in. You slip past attendants and into the restroom. You check for heat signatures first, and finding none, retreat to a wall. "It is clear." You rub your forehead, and lean against this wall you've found, your wall, the wall that now belongs to you- Your most burning question now is this: "Did you say "O-M-G" out loud?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

It’s almost startling to see your reflection in the mirror, and even more startling for you to start smiling through the paint. God you are so going to break out. You scrub your face as she asks you if you really said what you said and you laugh. “I said what I said!” You exclaim with a smile as the paint washes off your face. “I’m very excited right now don’t judge me!” 

You grab a paper towel and scrub until you’re clean to your satisfaction, then start reapplying your usual make up. Eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick. “It’s been a rollercoaster of a day, wouldn’t you say, Maera? Geez! But this is a real good sign.”

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

"It is a sign," you respond, in what would be a grumble, if you didn't speak in monotone. You cross your arms. "Data is insufficient to confirm its nature as 'good.'" Luteus was able to answer some questions, but his answers proposed entirely new questions in their stead. "What occurred at Granite Guts?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

You roll your eyes as you put your lipstick on. "A starting point is very very good you know! It's a lead. Maybe now I can figure out what she wants from me." "Oh, I'm sure I have no real idea as to what happened," you say, leaning into the mirror as you tilt around making sure you have proper coverage. 

"Intelligence community threw a fit over it, because  most the big moves from the rabble have a ripple or two, and then the people who are tracking it get to be heroes or whatever, but this one barely had a whisper! Identified two of the rebels, but not anyone else involved, and they haven't been caught." 

 You shake your head. "Incredible. If she was involved with that," you say as you finish up, cap your lipstick and smack your lips together. You shed the black coat you were wearing and tie your hair back up, and tada! You were yourself again in the mirror.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

It's relieving, to see Cress again, not Lyrian's doppelganger. It moves your pessimistic attitude, just slightly. "If," you repeat. "Is she also part of Torrent? Is she Imperial at all? Are records kept on these occurrences?" They must be, you think. The only question then is whether or not Cress can access them. "And your second signmate... Who may be dead. What if she killed him?" You wouldn't put it past her. Your chief concern, right now, is whether Lyrian intends to kill Cress, and since the answer isn't "no," you want to make sure it isn't "yes."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

"Definitely not," you say. "Not Torrent. I would have known if she was in my department. She's definitely worked as an interrogarroter in Neuja, usually with policeradicator departments, but as far as I can tell, she's abandoned the work." After giving yourself another once over in the mirror you turn around to face Maera again, leaning your hips against the bathroom counter. "I have no idea!" you exclaim. "Maybe!" You shudder. If she did, maybe she wanted something similar from you. "I'll have to look into it some more."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/10/2019

Your implants pulse in yellow as you think. You're... nervous. You exhale through your nose, and it comes out as a fine mist. After a pause, you ask, "Do you intend to return to Ghoulisar or Arkady?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/10/2019

You pause too, as Maera pulses with nervousness. "Arkady," you say carefully. "I can look into things far easier from there. Are you alright?" You mean to have a word with her too, about her association with Luteus.

March 11, 2019

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/11/2019

"Systems are functional," you huff, and you straighten. Your arms drop to your sides, and you roll your shoulders back. "Movement is required, and you should not travel alone. Arkady being a closed city, you will be safer once you have reached it." 

 Lyrian hasn't been tailing you all this time, but you can't shake the sinking feeling that you haven't seen the last of her. She's dangerous, she doesn't like Cress, and from what you've heard tonight, she has the potential to be more dangerous than you may have anticipated, especially now that you've given her a reason. And no - Cress isn't paying you, this isn't a job, but you still answer to her. And if you aren't doing what you were built for - hurting someone or protecting someone - what other purpose do you have? 

 "If you are satisfied with your appearance, sunrise is in approximately two hours."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/11/2019

Right, of course she’d take it as a physical check. “I meant that you’re worried,” you explain. “I don’t think we need to be afraid just yet. I doubt Lyrian expects us to have made the moves we did today.  Unless it’s about Luteus?” You glance, surprised, outside when Maera mentions the time. Damn, already? Might not be enough time to get back to Arkady and get back to your apartment without getting burned. And you didn’t bring a suncloak today.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/11/2019

Your lights flash red with your annoyance. You've changed your mind: the empath thing isn't handy, it's a pain in the ass. "There are two options: worried, or dead." Then you realize you've admitted to the worry, and correct yourself: "It is concern for your safety. Not worry." 

What's the difference? You don't know. But "concern" sounds more detached, and you don't want to admit she's right, because that means you have to talk about emotions. 

 "Luteus is capable. He will likely not approach Lyrian, and with luck, Lyrian will not notice him." You're concerned about him too, but... lesser, and you don't want to talk about that either. You want to keep moving, and you start towards the door. "None of this is relevant. Are you prepared?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/11/2019

You hum, slightly, as you listen to her concerns- she is worried about you! Adorable. “I’d be a little more worried about Luteus,” you comment. “He doesn’t seem very... smart. For example, he didn’t check to make sure I was out of earshot when you had your little conversation. And he made it pretty clear as to why, even without me prying.”

You throw a hand up to preempt any concern Maera might toss out. “Don’t worry, I won’t turn him in. I have bigger fish to fry, but if this is how he handles stuff like this I don’t expect him to survive for too much longer.” 

 You stand up straight and head to the door. “But yes, I’m ready. It’s three hours to Arkady, however, so I may have to stay here, or Ghoulisar if I rush.”

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/11/2019

The red of your implants lingers this time, but you don't say anything until you're out of the building. 

 "It may be in your best interest to remember that the existing network has existed far longer than you have been doing field work," you remark, with your voice just teetering on the razor's edge of your anger. You don't look at her when you say it. Your eyes are focused on your destination - the train station, ahead - and the people around you, as they filter off into their separate ways. 

 "What you participated in today was an uncommon occurrence. Contacts usually do not speak to others outside the network. If it con-cerns you -" you break, just slightly, speaking through gritted teeth, "- respectfully, you need not attend another such meeting in the future."(edited)

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/11/2019

Oh, now she's mad. You try not to be too offended- after all, you've only known her a short while, and Luteus is her friend! But now you do know it's an entire network. You don't think Maera's too different in age than you, and you've been doing field work from a fairly young age. Not that she would know that. 

 "Very well," you say with a sigh. "It's merely advice, you may take it or leave it as you like." You glance at your phone for a time check- Ghoulisar was maybe pushing it too. It'd take almost an hour just to get back to the city center itself. "I'll find a room in the city, I think," you say.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/11/2019

"And I am not his keeper." She actually backs off, which you weren't expecting. You're regretful, you realize. But, without fuel, the anger fizzles out again, until it's only a background hum of slightly-elevated resentment. Then... she suggests staying in the area. You're confused, concerned, and kind of against this idea - though, then again, you're a jadeblood. The sun doesn't seem like that much of a big deal. 

"In Neuja? Are you certain?"

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/11/2019

You sigh again. "No," you say. "You're right, it's risky to stay here when we've been so active in the area, but I'm also very not prepared for the sun and more tired than I realized." 

 It's true. The emotional rollercoaster of the night has left you feeling pretty drained. You basically just want some sopor and some quiet. You rub the back of your neck. "Perhaps we can find a place outside of the city."

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/11/2019

Even though you're hanging onto your anger, your priority has always been your mission. No matter what direction those missions take you, you strive to complete them, by any means necessary. In this case, you've determined that her safety is your mission. This helps you rationalize your decisions to yourself, when you exhale a small puff of cold air, and undo your belt. 

You hang the belt around your shoulders, carefully - you don't want a repeat of last time - and unwrap your coat. It's trimmed in green and emblazoned with your sign. Underneath, your long-sleeved, high-collar shirt is still covering a majority of your skin, but there are places where your external hardware bunches the fabric. If someone looked too hard, they could see it. You're counting on no one doing that. 

 "Take." You hold it out to her. "It is resistant to everything under the sun. It is likely resistant to the sun itself, too. As long as your exposed skin is covered, you will not burn."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/11/2019

You blink, surprised that she'd do something like this even though she's still angry. Your lips quirk into a small smile as you take it, a little doubtfully. 

 "You don't need it?" you ask, before you give yourself a tiny smack on the head. "Oh right. Jade." 

You take her coat and put it on. You're slighter in the shoulder than she is, so it's not a perfect fit, but really, it was good enough. It's really pretty comfortable, and hey, it totally sells the quadrant alibi. "Thank you," you say genuinely.

Kitty | mpembasVauntlay03/11/2019

You fix your gloves, re-adjust your belt, and clip it around you again. You say nothing in response to her thanks, because it's unnecessary words. You just urge her forwards with a motion, as you start walking briskly towards the station. "Quickly. You need to be on the next train."

Tang | MD (indigo) IT (maroon)03/11/2019

> END RP

[nightships]

“Extras” Request Fic: Surfer AU

I finally got to the first of my “extras” requests/dusted off my writing hands, so here you are, @evil--isnt--born, an extra from my Surfer Killian AU! Side note, she wrote one in this universe for me and it is genuinely too good for me to handle, so be on the lookout for that if she chooses to post it.

The full morning sun is unrelenting, especially where the interior of her car is concerned. Every shard of light that cuts through the tangled trees lining the winding road flickers across her face, her arms, her thighs, warning her of the heat to come, but it’s a warning Emma finds herself easily distracted from. Thoughts of the day ahead of her are more than enough to drag her focus away.

She ran out of excuses a week ago. Her bills were paid, patient treatment plans written, apartment clean as it was ever going to be. Work’s slowing down, too — at least half of her patients are out of state for work conferences or vacations, and even Regina is beginning to get annoyed with her restlessness. Killian, on the other hand, has been waiting patiently for her to admit she’s ready for her first lesson. She can feel it every time a good morning text greets her when she wakes, every time he drops by her desk with the lunch she forgot to pack, every time they sit on the beach and watch the ocean swallow the sun.

He’d given her the choice between sunrise and the hour after her last appointment ended. Emma picked the latter, tricking herself into believing the extra time would help her prepare. Like the few wispy clouds that had greeted her from her bedroom window when she woke up, time slipped away. Now she’s parked in the beach access lot, no clouds to be seen, and she’s more nervous than ever.

The air is dense, filled with a wet smokiness left over from last week’s wildfire, and the sand pricks fire into her ankles the moment she steps off the salt-bleached stairs. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, jogging in place as she considers the line of beach that spreads to her right. Several beachgoers are already setting up for the afternoon, burying umbrella stands and positioning chairs and running kites into the sky. Seagulls pick at the shoreline, chasing sandpipers into the wettest part of the sand and squawking whenever a jogger passes too close. Further down the beach is the pier, empty of all but the most stubborn fishermen. She spots a head of dark hair just beyond it, lurking where the beachgoers are the most sparse, and chuckles to herself.

He’s already shirtless, of course — she swears he’s solar-powered on some days —and totally focused on the board resting in front of him. The muscles in his arm flex and relax in a steady rhythm as he draws patterns of wax on the surfboard, and for a minute she just watches him. Then he smiles, and she realizes she’s been caught.

“Did you even bring sunscreen today?” She asks him, taking note of the many freckles that span his shoulders and course down his spine. If he’s not careful, he’ll turn out as red as the surfboard wax he’s using. He smiles and turns his head up before her eyes really make it to his face, and she’s caught again.

“I did, but I was hoping you would be willing to assist me with mine,” he flirts back, dropping his eyes to her bag. “Unless you were planning to set up camp.”

“I came prepared,” she tells him, mild accusation in her voice. His keys are clipped to his water bottle, sitting next to a neatly folded towel, but other than that it’s just him and his board. Emma dumps her things next to his as she sits, trying to pay attention to what he’s doing in case the lesson’s already begun. “You’re putting a lot of that on the board.”

“It keeps your feet from slipping,” he explains, showing off his handiwork. “It’ll give you a better grip.”

“You’re assuming I can stay upright on this thing for more than a second,” she says warily, casting her eyes down to the nonsense patterns he’s coated into the board. The waves looked small when she first got to the beach, but she’s not sure calm waters will make a difference.

As if he can hear her thoughts, Killian nudges her knee with his.

“If you could get me back onto my surfboard, love, I’m certain I can get you standing on this one at least once today.” He punctuates the soft promise with a teasing smile, throwing a little challenge her way. It’s taken time to get here, to the place where he can be lighthearted about his fears and his injury, and that progress feels much more apparent now that they’re getting ready to surf on a public beach. It occurs to her just how far out of his own comfort zone he’s willing to go for her, how much he gives for her to freely take if she wants it.

Open hopefulness sits in his eyes, promising her she’ll be secure at his side, and Emma can’t find in her to do anything but nod and reach for the sunscreen.

He takes her waist-high into the water first, holding the surfboard at his side as it bobs smoothly in the water around them. The waves are throwing diamonds of sunlight into their eyes, and the water is clearer than it’s been in days. Emma can almost see her toenail polish from where she stands, her feet comically pale compared to his own.

“The winds are favoring us today,” he tells her, pointing out a flag on the end of the pier, “but the current is still strong. It’ll try push us down the beach once we go deeper.”

“I don’t know if I’m going down the beach.”

“We’ll see. Let’s start with your pop-up.”

Emma’s exceedingly grateful that this was part of his therapy. Having even a little practice with the motions makes her feel more competent as she climbs onto the surfboard, steadying herself as best she can. He’s worked hard with her, taking her advice and instruction at face value, so it’s the least she can do in return even if she feels like everyone on the beach is watching her. After two tries, she finds herself standing upright on the board, looking down at him as he beams up at her.

“Well done, lass. Just like before,” he says, an almost ridiculous amount of pride in his voice.

“I still think we should have brought the floaties,” Emma teases back, holding her arms outstretched to keep from falling again as a wave rolls beneath her. He braces the board before it can knock her over, though, and a sudden certainty blooms in her chest. Killian came back home to the ocean because he trusted her to help him recover from his accident. He’s standing here now, eyes shining up at her with all the sunlight in the sky, because he believes in her. Instead of feeling heavy with the burden of it, she feels light, and suddenly it’s easy to let that same trust steer her forward.

Hours pass in the blink of an eye again, except this time she’s enjoying herself without restraint. Emma is by no means a quick learner, but Killian has more than enough patience to make up for it, so they make it into deeper water eventually. He teaches her how to paddle into the waves, how to dive with and without the surfboard beneath. He’s by her side the whole time, coaching and encouraging and teasing when the moment calls for it, convincing her she’s doing a decent job even when she chickens out of taking what would have been a perfect starter wave.

“Can’t you get up here and show me?” Emma asks exasperatedly, tugging down her rash guard of a shirt as she climbs onto the board once more. It’s like the thing can smell fear, the way it falters when she attempts to control it.

“And give up my view from down here?” Killian grins at the color that rolls up her cheeks, triumphant any time he gets a rise out of her. He treads closer, laying his arm across the board to keep her still and gently curling his fingers around her ankle. His thumb sweeps over her skin, chasing away salt water and an errant clump of wax in a soothing rhythm. “You’re doing fine. I didn’t get it on my first day either.”

“I doubt that,” she tells him, strangely self-conscious with his focus trained on her the way it is. “You’re a natural.”

“Even naturals need to start somewhere,” he says softly.

Emma remembers the first time she met him, how small they had started, and how far they’d managed to come since then — in more ways than one, she admits to herself, thinking of that morning on his front porch. They’ve had quiet moments since, but they’ve been rare, busy as she was with work. The quiet way he’s touching her now makes her wonder if he’s thought of it as often as she has since.

“I promise that you are making great progress,” he continues, pulling her out of her thoughts with words she’s said to him on days when he’s the one who’s unsure. “Give it another few days and you’ll get the basics down, just as I did. A good foundation takes time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” His smile is tender, but only for a moment. It turns mischievous, a second’s warning before he yanks her ankle, tugging her down off the board and into the water in front of him. Emma yelps with surprise, sliding forward and almost taking him down with her.

“How is that helping?” She asks moments later, blinking water out of her eyes and splashing him in protest. The surfboard floats nearby, tugging at her ankle leash and bumping into her shoulder, but Killian’s clearly abandoned lessons for now. In fact, he’s pulled her closer, his arm around her waist keeping her above water. It’s easy to blame her racing heart on the surprise, but it’s not entirely true.

“Sorry,” he answers unapologetically, brushing hair out of her eyes and off of her cheek. Emma realizes he’s holding her steady with the arm that was injured in the attack, not hesitating to put skin to skin. “I thought it might be easier if you came down here instead.”

“Easier for what?”

“For this,” he replies, sealing the last of the distance between them. The last of her annoyance melts as he kisses her, as he holds her to his chest, as she feels him trying his damnedest to keep a smile at bay. The press of his arm at her back steadies her as his stubble scratches against her chin, and she answers by dragging her nails through his hair, teasing him even now. For all the times she’s recounted that brief kiss on his porch, this is better, more playful and sure.

It’s like they aren’t even on a public beach. This kiss, the one that seems to have waited days to find its way to them, has found them in a moment free of insecurity and doubt, and she’s reluctant to do anything but press closer to him as the sun turns the sea into gold.

“You’re right,” she tells him as they break apart to breathe, not quite opening her eyes. “This would’ve been a little harder on the board.”

His answering laugh tastes even better than it sounds. “We’ll have to get a bigger one next time, then.”

Even teasing, she can hear the promise. Emma grins and hooks her foot behind his leg, tugging him under water this time, and they play-fight like two children in the water, their laughter trailing down the beach on the wind. It’s evening before they climb back onto the sand, fingers pruned from so much exposure to the ocean, but she can feel something’s shifted before they make it to the dry part of the sand. She feels it whisper to her as they walk up the beach and he talks about paddle board rentals. It lingers in the air as they dry off, his fingers twining with hers, their towels pressed together. It settles into her chest as they watch the sunset, warm wind tangling her hair and tickling those freckles on his back. She sees a future with him in the orange-pink of the clouds, in the first few stars blinking awake in the twilight, and it’s not nearly as terrifying as she thought it would be.

[fanficsandfluff]

Supernatural: Cold, Snow, Tea

A lovely anon asked for Sam x Reader, and I had a really fun time writing this. It’s pure fluff and there really isn’t a plot at all lol so I hope you all enjoy! 

Words: 2,369

The dead of winter had always been an isolating and even frightening time for you. Snowstorms were frequent and usually ended up snowing you in, making you get sick of staying in one place for too long. So that's why you were nervous when Sam suggested you all get a literal cabin in the woods and take a break for a week or so. That did not seem like the most rational choice a hunter could make. You tried your best to hide your qualms about the situation, and went along. 

To your utter surprise, upon arriving at this spot in the middle of the woods up on a mountain in some part of Colorado, the charm of it all made you gasp out loud. No snow yet, but the spruce trees were thick and green, lining the path to the sizable cabin.

"Wow, this is a damn nice place," Dean remarked, stepping out of the Impala. Yourself and Sam stepped out next, with the angel Castiel following suit. 

Sam walked right up to the door, taking out the rental keys and unlocking the polished wooden door. He pushed the door open and smiled, "Wow."

"Cahan we move here?" Dean grinned when he barged in.

The interior held a high ceiling, floors speckled with thick rugs but the clean wooden floor still peeking out. Dean next jogged towards the stairs, wanting to pick the first room.

"This is very quaint. Good choice, Sam," Castiel grinned softly.

Sam chortled, "Thahanks, Cas. G'head and look around."

Castiel climbed the stairs after glancing into the kitchen and living room in the downstairs space. 

"I can't believe we're really doing this," you smiled gently at Sam.

Sam grinned back at you, "Doho what? Take a vacation?"

You nodded, "Exactly. You guys never do that."

"I figured we needed a break. In the winter it sometimes gets too cold to even think of going out and hunting," Sam shrugged, checking their stock of food in the pantry and fridge. 

With a nod, you walked over to Sam and went behind him, wrapping your arms around him in a hug, burying your face into his back, "This is gonna be such a fun experience," you informed him despite your own worries of an incoming snowstorm predicted on the news. 

Sam smiled softly and you felt his larger hands clasp around your own, "It is. Or I'm going to make sure it is. Nohow come on, we should hurry and pick a room before they take the best ones," he turned around and pulled you closer to him, kissing your forehead.

You smiled and nodded, picking up your bag before heading upstairs along the shining staircase. 

"Sam, you said there were three bedrooms," Dean remarked, walking out of a room to the left of the stairs.

"There aren't?" Sam rose a brow.

"I think you misread it as three beds. There's a king bed in that room and two queens in this one. Cas and I are gonna take that one, so you love birds can have the master all to yourselves," he smirked with a wink.

You grinned, "What? You and Castiel don't want to get all cozy with each other?"

Dean flushed red and Castiel stifled a laugh behind his hand, "I thihink we're fine with the double beds, thank you," he winked at you.

Sam chortled, pulling you by your arm gently, "Thahanks," and he got you to your room. You went to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked out at the expanse of green from the spruce and fir trees plaguing the area. The cloudy skies signified the coming of snow. 

Sam rested his hands on your shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze, "It's beautiful here, huh?"

You nodded and smiled, "Yeahah. Amazing."

You felt a soft peck on your cheek and Sam whispered, "Not as beautiful or amazing as you are."

With a short chuckle, you looked up at the Winchester, "Gehetting flirty, Mr. Winchester?" 

Sam smiled down at you, shrugging innocently, "Whahat else can I do? You always look gorgeous."

You blushed, knowing your hair was already in a messy bun and you were wearing the most comfortable (and casual) clothes you owned, probably looking disheveled after sleeping in the car, "Shuhut up," you shoved him lightly, his bigger form not budging an inch. 

Sam chuckled and tilted your chin upwards so he could kiss you on the lips. You hummed and kissed back. 

Dean knocked on the door, "Hey, lovebirds, they have a fire pit outside. Me and Cas were gonna party it up out there if you wanna join," he grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes at his big brother being a cock block and he turned towards the door, "Suhure, Dean, we'll be right there."

You chuckled and poked Sam's belly, "Dohon't give him a look like that, he's just being himself."

Sam flinched, holding his side, "Yeahah, his annoying self. Come on, let's see what they have planned," he smiled.

You followed Sam out, but not before glancing back at the window to get a look at the sunset peeking through the thick clouds. Sam took your hand and guided you out of the room. Each of you grabbed your coats before heading out the sliding back door, seeing Dean stoking a small fire with Castiel observing. 

"Who's ready to roast some of these bad boys?" and Dean held up two bags of marshmallows.

You gasped and smiled wide, "I totally am! This is such a great idea," you smiled and sat on a wooden bench by the fire. 

As the fire blazed, the group spent the peaceful, very chilly night outdoors, toasting marshmallows by the warm fire. Dean got up and recollected old times with his brother, acting scenes out behind the fire, to which you were by far the most amused. Then you each went around, reciting the most outlandish ghost stories a group of hunters could tell. This vacation was off to a pretty damn fun start. 

When it got so dark and late that the only light was emitting from the fire before them, flakes of snow started to fall from the sky. 

Sam smiled and tilted his head up, catching a few flakes in his mouth, "Wehe should probably go back inside. Don't wanna freeze out here."

Dean chuckled and nodded, tamping the fire. 

Castiel stepped inside and rubbed his vessel's arms. Usually he was more impervious to weather, but he spent a long time out in the cold.

Dean walked in, stomping his boots on the floor before removing them, "Wehe gotta go out there every night."

"Well, theoretically we could," Sam smiled, "Nothing's stopping us."

You yawned as you shed your boots at the door, also hanging up your coat. Sam grinned at you, "Sleepy?"

Rubbing your eyes and smiling, you nodded, "Mmhm, pretty tired."

"Come on," Sam kissed your cheek as you walked upstair with him, bidding goodnight to the other two. 

"Dehean may have been a little drunk tonight, huh?" you mused with a giggle when you got into your bedroom with Sam. He snorted.

"Youhu think? He wouldn't shut up."

"Buhut it was funny as hell," you chuckled, getting undressed for bed, "Especially went he outed you and your childhood."

Sam rolled his eyes with a fond grin, "Yeah, I'm sure you really loved those parts."

You slipped on a shirt for bed with some sweatpants and grinned, "Someone embarrassed?" you walked up to Sam.

The Winchester smiled and shook his head, "No, I'm not. Are you going to keep bringing it up?"

"Yehes," you giggled.

That prompted Sam to smirk and he grabbed you and lifted you into the air before dropping you onto the bed, "Youhu are?"

You squeaked when Sam did that and laughed afterward, "Yeahahah! Youhu gotta be sexy with me like you did your fihirst girlfriend," you giggled, "Ahahall tongue!"

Sam's cheeks flushed but he didn't take the teasing without some retribution, and he buried his fingers into your sides. You gasped when you felt the wiggling digits and burst out laughing.

"Sahaham! StahahAHAhahahap!"

"Why would I stop? You deserve this," Sam grinned, dragging his fingers to your belly, skittering them along your quivering, smooth flesh. 

With an arching of your back, you tried pushing Sam's hands away from your belly, only succeeding briefly before he got them free again and attacked with more vigor. 

"Sahahammy! Ihit tihihihickles, stahahahap!"

"Wow, it does? I never would have guessed," Sam chortled, leaning most of his weight on you so you'd squirm less. He nuzzled his stubbly face into your cheek and neck as his hands wreaked havoc crawling up your ribs.

You snorted, "EEHEhehehahahaha! Gahahad! Stahahahappit!"

Sam smiled and hummed into your cheek, "I lohove your laugh.... Oh, and about the tongue?" he shifted and pressed his lips into your smiling ones. He slipped his tongue into your already open mouth, fingers slowing their movements on your sides, merely grazing the skin there, giving you goosebumps. 

You moaned into Sam's mouth and when he pulled away, you leaned forward to keep the kiss lingering.

Sam smiled lovingly at you, "Hohow was that?"

Your cheeks flushed and you panted, "I lohove you," you grinned up at Sam and played with the hair hanging over the back of his neck. 

Sam hummed and kissed you again before laying next to you in bed, "Let's get some sleep, babe."

You nodded and got under the soft covers with your partner, cuddling into Sam's side, "G'night, Sammy."

Sam smiled wide and pecked your nose with a kiss before shutting his eyes as the two of you laid in the warm bed inside, while snowfall carried on just outside. 

The next morning, you awoke before Sam and you blinked your eyes open, rubbing the early morning crud out of them. You heard Sam's light snores and smiled at the mess of a bedhead sleeping beside you. Outside the window, all you saw was white. You sat up in bed to get a better look of what it was like out there. The spruce's were decorated with dazzling white snow, and the flurries were still falling at a lighter pace than what had surely gone on overnight. Despite your worries of being snowed in, this was too beautiful to pass up. And hell, you wouldn't mind being snowed in with your favorite people in the whole world. 

With a yawn, you laid back down and wrapped your arm around Sam's waist, your head resting on his shoulder. He shifted under you slightly but not enough to show any signs that he was awake. 

Now that you were awake, you never usually fell back asleep. Your fingers stroked through Sam's hair, detangling any knots in it. You felt him give a shiver when your nails came into contact with the back of his neck. Your lips quirked and you traced your fingers down Sam's spine and drew patterns on the expanse of his back. 

Small huffs of breath came from Sam and he started to squirm lightly. 

You smiled, "Good morning, baby," you whispered. 

Sam turned his head and groaned softly as he stirred, "Mmm.... that tickles..." his lips curled into a sleepy smile. 

You chuckled and kissed his nose, “Yeahah? Giving you goosebumps?” you tippled your fingers along the crevice of his armpit, which was partially exposed since his arms were up underneath the pillow.

A peal of giggles left his mouth and his arm twitched, “Mmhmhm yeahahahah...”

You smiled wide, “Youhu’re adorable in the morning.”

Sam’s cheeks reddened visibly and you kissed one, hugging him, “How’d you sleep?”

“Perfect,” Sam smiled and rolled onto his back, drawing you closer and wrapping you in his strong arms, “Waking up next to you made it even better.”

You smiled, “Thahat’s sweet. And I slept fine myself, too, in case you were curious. It snowed a lot,” you nodded your head towards the window. Sam looked over.

“Wohow, it really did. We need to go out and play in it today,” he grinned.

“You’re sounding like Dean,” you chortled, lightly drumming your fingers against Sam’s belly, making him giggle.

“Shh, hehehe..”

You leaned up and kissed Sam’s lips, “Mmm... I’m gonna make breakfast, okay? For everyone.”

“No, lemme help. I have a surprise for Dean I wanna prepare,” Sam smirked.

You rose a brow, “I dohon’t know if that means if it’s a bad thing or not,” you chuckled.

Sam laughed, “Ihit’s a good surprise, don’t worry. Let’s go,” he slapped your ass gently with a smirk.

You didn’t even yelp but you bit your lip and grinned back at him, digging your thumbs into his hips. Sam bucked and burst out laughing. 

“HEHEheheHEHEY! HAHAhahahahahaha!” 

You giggled and blew a quick raspberry into Sam’s neck before jumping out of bed and running down the stairs. 

Sam sat up, “Cohome back hehehere!” and he ran after you.

Dean grumbled as he trudged out of his own bedroom, “Jesus, can you two hold off till later?”

You got into the kitchen before Sam but he caught up a second later and grabbed you around the waist and hoisted you into the air. You squealed and laughed, “Saham!” 

He giggled and nibbled your neck, making you squeak and laugh, trying to get out of his grasp. 

Sam released you and gazed down at you with a wide dimpled smile on his face, “Wahahant to make breakfast now?”

You giggled and nodded, “Yeahahah,” and you hugged Sam, so happy and light feeling. He made you feel amazing all the time and you loved him. You then went to the fridge and started to search around for breakfast items. And you found teabags in the pantry, so you began boiling water. Because who doesn’t love tea on a cold winter morning? 

“So, what’s Dean’s surprise?” you asked Sam.

Sam smiled, “They left us a pie. With instructions on how to heat it up.”

You beamed, “Ahaww! He’s gonna love it!”

And Dean enjoyed an entire apple pie to himself, and you and Sam cuddled up eating chocolate chip pancakes and drinking hot tea on the couch while watching white fluffy snow fall outside the peaceful log cabin. 

[medusanaut]

Apartments and Warehouses

@nevercomestheday requested: how about a first-and-last time flashback and forth fic? like the first time larry held freddy and then the last time while he was bleeding, then back to the first time he told him he'd be okay, etc. does that make sense?actions

A good portion of the lines and actions in this are taken from the actual film and for those I take no credit what so ever.. They belong to the Dark Lord QT of course. But the extra sequences and added pieces belong to me.

Obviously because it’s Reservoir Dogs there is blood, gore, and death in this.

“AH GOD! AH SHIT! I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die!” Pain rips through Freddy Newandyke’s body like a bullet, shit, or maybe it was a bullet ripping through his body, couldn’t have been a sword... no one carries ‘em except when there’s a war reenactment, couldn’t have been a knife, the pain was a little too spread out for that, whatever the fuck it was that had got him, he knew, had severely harmed him. His hand is covered in his own blood and his clutching his belly when he starts to come out of his initial shock. All he sees is red, bright red. Pain. Everywhere is pain. No wait, the red is his blood, shit, it’s everywhere. It feels like his intestines are being taken out of his body and squeezed, he wants to bash his head into the car’s interior so hard that it’ll end his misery. He bashes his head into the car’s interior, writhing from the pain.

“Just hold on, buddy boy.” Larry’s there. Freddy knows that Larry is mustering up all his focus to keep them going in the right direction.

Another surge of pain and Freddy yells out, “I’m gonna die!” He’s curled up in the back seat, hands coated, blood covering the interior of the car, and he can feel the blood that had gotten on his face starting to congeal.

“Hey!” Larry offers his right hand and Freddy’s blood covered one takes it. He needs this lifeline, he needs Larry.

The pain is spreading as Freddy whines in pain, “I’m sorry.” Larry shakes his hand and for a moment, Freddy thinks he’s gonna go out, “I can’t believe she killed me, man. Who would’ve fucking thought that?” He starts to sit up, which only increases the pain, he sharply exhales as he sits up and then falls back down. Goddammit he hates the song on the radio, fucking Little Green Bag by the George Baker Selection. Why Larry always insists on K Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies, he’ll never know.

“Hey, just cancel that shit right now.” Larry says as he starts to look back at Freddy as he shakes his hand and then looks back at the road to continue driving. “You’re hurt. You’re hurt real fucking bad.” He gives Freddy’s hand another small shake and continues to focus on the road. “But, you ain’t dying.”

Freddy picks his butt up off the seat, trying to stretch out his stomach, maybe get the pain to move, but that only hurts more, so he slowly brings his ass to the seat once more, “I’m gonna die!” He picks his head up and grips Larry’s hand. He lets out a sob of pain as breathing is starting to really hurt. There’s blood everywhere, Freddy doesn’t like blood, “All this blood’s scaring the shit out of me, Larry.” He looks at Larry, “I’m gonna die. I know it!”

Larry turns his head back for a moment and looks at the younger man, “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize you had a degree in medicine.” Larry looks back at the road, trying with all his might to make sure that the guy in the back seat is comforted and that they make it to the warehouse okay. He tries to think of something to say as the man in the back wriggles in pain, “Uh. Uh.... Are you a doctor?” He looks back. God, blood is everywhere. He knows the answer, Freddy Newandyke is not a doctor, he’s a cop. Freddy just continues to whine in the back seat, “Are you a doctor?” He shakes Freddy’s hand trying to make sure that the man is awake, “Answer me, please, are you a doctor?”

Freddy pants in pain as Larry shakes his hand, “No, I’m not. I’m not” He pants out, the pain seems to be getting worse.

“Okay. So you admit you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Larry looks behind him briefly, he’s trying to convince Freddy that he’s not gonna die. He’s winging it, he needs the kid to stay strong. So if you’re through giving me your amateur opinion, lie back and listen to the news.” He checks behind him again, he’s getting scared now, Freddy’s starting to make less noise, and he knows that this is not a good sign, “I’m taking you back to the rendezvous, Joe’s going to get you a doctor,” he hears a sharp exhale, a good sign, Freddy’s still with him, “the doctor’s going to fix you up, and you’re going to be ok.”

Freddy lets out a high pitched moan, “Now say it.” Freddy’s picked his butt up again, he can’t get relief from the pain, he lets out a high pitched whine and grits his teeth, “You’re gonna be ok.” Freddy starts thrashing about and Larry shakes his hand, “Say it!” Another high pitched whine, “You’re gonna be ok.” He looks behind him again, he’s getting more worried, “Say the goddamn words. You���re gonna be ok.” Larry keeps looking at the road and at Freddy. Freddy let’s out a pained groan, Larry’s trying everything to get him to relax a little, “say the goddamn fucking words! Say it!”

Freddy let’s out a pained whine, “ok, larry.”

Larry breathes a little sigh of relief, since Freddy had decided to fight the pain and stop trashing about, “Correct.” Freddy grips and shakes Larry’s hand as he tries to fight the pain.

Freddy pants and let’s out a short whine, “okay.” He tenses his face as another wave of pain comes over him.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Larry whispered as smoothed Freddy’s back, “You’re gonna be okay. That was a nightmare.” He held Freddy’s clammy body close as his hand moved up and down Freddy’s back, reassuring the younger man that everything would be just fine. The younger man trembled in his arms, “You’re gonna be okay, Freddy.” He kissed the top of Freddy’s head, “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

Freddy pressed his cheek against Larry’s shoulder and then sighed, “I’m gonna be okay.”

Freddy’s really starting to head down the terrifying path of extreme blood loss when they enter the warehouse. The hallucinations are coming and going rather frequently, but for now he is lucid and in an incredible amount of pain as Larry holds him up and drags him into the warehouse, “Who’s a tough guy?”

Freddy can’t help but be a dead weight as Larry makes the effort to get him to the ramp, “Who’s a tough guy” all Freddy can do is moan in pain, “Come on, who’s a tough guy? Who’s a tough guy?”

Freddy manages to say, “I’m a tough guy, Larry,” between high pitched moans.

“You’re a tough guy.” Larry says as they near the ramp, “You’re a fucking tough guy.” They reach the ramp and Larry helps Freddy lie down slowly. Freddy proceeds to squeal in pain and roll around for a second in pain before pushing himself further up the ramp. “We’re in the warehouse. Look where we are.” Larry’s voice is soft as he places Freddy’s gun in his hand. He swings his body over Freddy and then kneels next to him, “We made it.” His hands then go for Freddy’s belt, “We fucking made it.”

Freddy doesn’t know what to think when Larry’s hands go there, he doesn’t want to be exposed to the rest of the guys, but he is in too much pain to fight it. Instead he just groans and moves around, trying to relieve pressure from his stomach.

“We’re in the warehouse.” Larry says his one hand messing with Freddy’s belt and the other about to cradle Freddy’s head. Freddy’s head smacks against the ramp with a thunk as Larry looks at the blood covering Freddy’s shirt, he knows that it isn’t good. “Look where we are.” His voice is low, calm, and comforting as he starts digging in the pockets of his jacket. “Look where we are.” He pulls out a handkerchief and his keys, which promptly drop to the floor with a thunk, and he brings the handkerchief to Freddy’s forehead as Freddy raises his head, he starts dabbing away the blood on Freddy’s face for a few seconds until another wave of pain comes over Freddy and he bangs his head into the ramp again with a groan of pain. Larry’s hand starts attempting to undo Freddy’s belt once more.

Freddy moans and hits his head softly against the ramp exclaiming, “shit!”

Larry begins to really attempt to take off Freddy’s belt with one hand, hoping that maybe it’ll lower some pressure or something, “quit banging your head.” It hurts him to see Freddy in this much pain, it is horrific, but all his mind is focused on it making sure that Freddy makes it out of the warehouse alive. “You’re going to bang and fucking hole in the floor.” He’s finally making progress with getting the belt loosened, and Freddy starts to laugh with this extra coat of panting and pain, “You don’t want to hurt the fucking floor, do you?” He finally gets the button of Freddy’s pants undone and then gives Freddy a very slight, almost unnoticeable smile as Freddy moans. He’s trying his hardest to keep Freddy sane, he’s giving it his all, which makes it so hard for him to say, “I can’t do anything for you.” He gives a sharp exhale, “But when Joe gets here which should be anytime now, he’s gonna help you out.” He looks at Freddy who is looking him in the eye, his hazel eyes showing signs of pain, his pupils dilated. Freddy lets out a little cry, “He’s gonna take care of ya. Okay? Just sit here and we’re going to wait for Joe.” Freddy’s head is being propped up by Larry’s arm, and for a moment he seems far off.

The patter of rainfall could be heard from inside the apartment building as Freddy stood at the window in the living space, cup of coffee in hand. Never did he imagine that he, Freddy Newandyke, an officer of the LAPD, would be standing in the apartment of a career criminal who he had just had sex with. If it had been with anyone but Larry, he would have felt dirty from mixing work with play. He had always kept his personal life extremely separated from his work life. The remote idea of the two merging was a scary thought, mostly because he was afraid of what his work partners would say about him being gay. If they found out he was gay, well, they would call him a faggot and he probably would be kicked off the force or some shit, but the fact that he was sleeping not only with a man, but with a criminal.. Well, they would eat him for breakfast for that. Even though these were things that he normally feared, Larry was different, and as he stood looking out over L.A. he felt happiness wash over him. The happiness only increased as the now familiar older man wrapped his arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his neck, “good morning, gorgeous.”

“Good morning, Larry.” Freddy slowly turned around and they shared a kiss.

A kiss filled with so much passion that Freddy felt faint, but he knew that if he would fall right then and there, Larry would catch him.

He let out a very faint whine and looks Larry in the eyes, as his lower lip trembles, “Who are we waiting for?” Larry asks as he keeps eye contact with Freddy.

Freddy swallows and manages to faintly say, “Joe,” before he descends into a fit of panting.

Larry brings the handkerchief to Freddy’s forehead, patting the blood away, and then moving to Freddy’s cheek.

Freddy pants, “Larry, I’m fucking scared, man.” He closes his eyes for a brief moment and then regains eye contact with Larry, he gulps and whines and then stutters out, chin trembling, “Would you please hold me?” as Larry leans down real close. Freddy gulps and the regrets sinks in. He begins thinking that that maybe Larry would leave him there to die. Larry most definitely has a masculine criminal complex, and Freddy worries that maybe Larry will not oblige due to the potential for another member of the crime ring to show up.

Within only a few seconds though, his fears are dashed when Larry responds, “Yeah, sure.” and he feels Larry adjust himself next to him and then slowly prop him up with his arm under his head, cradling him carefully, making sure not to hurt Freddy’s ribs. Freddy winces in pain and Larry sighs as he goes digging through his coats interior pocket, he whispers a brief joke into Freddy’s ear and Freddy laughs for a second as Larry starts combing Freddy’s hair. Freddy’s laughs sound more like spasms though and it’s brief and then he grimaces in pain from jarring his ribs and starts exhaling sharply again in pain. “Go ahead and be scared, you’ve been brave enough for one day.” Larry rubs his nose, puts the comb, down and looks at the man in his arms, “I want you to just relax now, ok? You’re not gonna fuckin’ die, you’re gonna be fine.” Freddy looks rather longingly at Larry and his lips tremble, he bites his lower lip in order to stop it, “When Joe gets here, he make ya a hundred percent again.” Larry whispers his tone reassuring as he cradles Freddy close.

Freddy let’s go of his lower lip and it trembles for a brief second, “I’m gonna die. I’m hurt bad, Larry.”

“It’s not good.”

Freddy smiles at this and pants out laughs, “Larry,” He starts to feel the waves of pain come over him again and he starts pressing his lips together. “Bless your heart for what you’re trying to do.” He breathes,  “I was panicking for a minute back there,” A breath stutters out, “but I’ve got my sense back now. The situation is I’m shot in the belly.” He inhales sharply, “And without medical attention, I’m gonna die.”

“I can’t take you to a hospital.” It pains Larry to say so, but it’s true.

“Fuck jail, man! You don’t have to take me in. Just drive me up to the front. Just drop me on the sidewalk, I’ll take care of myself.” He takes a few strained breaths, “I won’t tell them anything, man. I won’t tell them anything. I swear to fucking god, man.” He pauses and takes another breath, “Just look in my eyes. Look in my eyes.” He waits until Larry makes eye contact, he can see the fear in Larry’s eyes, and it terrifies him, and momentarily he wonders if Larry can see the fear in his. “I won’t tell them anything.” He pants out, “You’ll be safe, man” He’s serious when he says it. Larry dropping him off would prevent the cops from knowing anything about Larry’s wearabouts. Maybe they could plan, maybe they could figure out how Larry could escape and hide and how Freddy could keep contact.

“You’re not going to fuckin’ die, kid. All right?” Larry knows at this point that he’s also saying this to try to convince himself that Freddy will be alright, but they’re in rocky territory and he knows it all too well. “Listen to me. You’re gonna be fine.” He pauses, “Along with the knee cap, the gut is the most painful area a guy can get shot in.” It’s true, but it’s also the most deadly.

“No, shit.” Freddy says.

“But it takes a long time to die from it, I’m talking days.” Larry knew it was a fucking lie before it even came out of his mouth, but he needed to give the kid hope. “You’re gonna wish you were dead, but it takes days to die from your wounds. Time is on your side.”

And that’s when Pink comes storming in, complaining about a set up.

Yeah, Freddy knew about the set up. He was the set up.

Freddy awoke to a kiss on the shoulder, and an arm draped over his side, “Good morning, gorgeous.” A low voice said as he pulled Freddy into a close spoon.

Freddy smiled, his cheeks flushing at the thought of the wonderful night that they had, just thinking of it made his heart want to sing. “Good morning, Larry,” his voice was laced with the remnants of sleep and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You get a good night's rest, kiddo?” The older man asked, his hand trailing along Freddy’s side, down to the younger man’s hip, over a decently sized bruise from the night before’s session of rough play.

Freddy didn’t hesitate, “The best nights sleep I’ve had in a long time.” He wasn’t lying when he said that, he had been able to sleep so well that night, with the older man curled around him, he had felt for one of the first times, safe.

Larry pressed another kiss to Freddy’s shoulder, “I’m glad. Now, are we gonna stay in bed all day or are we gonna go out?”

Freddy rolled over slowly and pressed the tip of his nose to Larry’s with a smile, “bed.”

Larry smiled, “Alright, seems like a fair request, but come here for a moment. I just want to hold ya for a sec.”

Freddy would have been the last to admit it, but he certainly thought that it was a rather odd request, but he wasn’t going to deny the older man. He hadn’t imagined Larry as the cuddling type, and so he had found the fact that he requested that to be a little strange, but he nodded and obliged.

Larry sat up and propped himself up with pillows and Freddy slowly moved so that his head was cradled in the crook of Larry’s arm, “Thanks for the amazing night, kiddo.”

Freddy smiled and chuckled, “I never thought that an old man could tucker me out like that.”

“I’m not that old, Orange.” Larry chuckled.

Freddy’s hand trailed up Larry’s stomach, “my name’s Freddy.” He smiled softly.

Larry smiled back, “Freddy, huh. Suits ya.”

Freddy laughed, he was happy, really really happy.

Pain, Freddy is certain that he is going to meet his end soon, he is in so much pain. Being shot in the belly was certainly more painful then he could have ever imagined. He wishes as hard as he can that he was still in bed being held by Larry like he had been the weekend before. It is all that he wants. He looks up at Larry and he fights the urge to cry back thinking to himself, ‘Man, you can’t cry. The guys will be back soon and you’ll look like an idiot.’ And only a few seconds later the guys came waltzing back into the warehouse, he watches Larry jog over to him as Nice Guy Eddie and Mr. Pink inspect the body of Mr. Blonde. Freddy knows he’s dead, he had a near perfect track record for shooting and he had taken the perfect shot when he had had the opportunity.

When Nice Guy Eddie says, “What the fuck happened?”, Freddy decides that he needs to fabricate a story, and fast. He needed to become and actor as Holdaway had told him, but the scary part was that the majority of what he had thought was an act earlier was now him. He had seeped through his character too much to the point that Mr. Orange really was him, and he was Mr. Orange.

His voice was strained as he spoke, “he slashed the cop’s face, cut off his ear, and was going to burn him alive.”

Eddie responds with, “What? I didn’t hear you?”

Freddy uses a lot of the strength left in him to say, “I said Blonde went crazy. He slashed the cop’s face, cut off his ear, and was going to burn him alive.”

Eddie reaches into his blue jacket, “This cop?”

And just like that, Eddie blows Marvin Nash away.

Freddy lies there for a moment, not able to think. Sure, he didn’t like Marvin Nash from the moment that he had met him some time ago, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

He falsifies the rest of the story, and somehow, Larry backs him, he even swears on his dead mother's soul. Even Mr. Pink seems to believe him. Larry’s hand lovingly rubs Freddy’s shoulders as Eddie goes on with a story about how Mr. Blonde was a great man. Bullshit that Freddy would never buy.

Larry only stands up when Joe shows up, and Joe accuses Freddy of working for the LAPD.

“Joe, I don’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.” It hurts for Freddy to breathe. His lungs hurt, his belly hurts.

Larry backs him once more, and then suddenly a Mexican standoff is formed and by the time that Freddy registers what’s going on in his head, everyone gets shot. Including Larry.

Larry rolls on his knees and then inches his way up onto the ramp and holds Freddy. They’re a whimpering, sniveling mess, but Larry holds Freddy’s head and rubs his cheek as Freddy reaches up in an attempt to wrap his arms around Larry, “I’m sorry, kid.” Freddy grabs ahold of Larry, “It looks like we’re gonna do a little time.” He rubs Freddy’s face.

“I’m a cop.” Freddy pants. He looks at Larry’s face, looking for a reaction. “Larry, I’m sorry.” Larry’s hand keeps rubbing his cheek, “I’m- so- sorry. I’m a cop.”

Larry lets out the most heart wrenching wail and Freddy doesn’t think he can handle it, he hates the pain he’s put Larry through. The older man is crying and then as Freddy repeats apologies a gun is brought to his jaw.

“Hey, kiddo. Let’s go to bed.” Larry wraps his arm around Freddy’s waist and they head into the bedroom, “We got a big day ahead of us and we gotta go over the plans.”

It’s midnight. If there are grammar or spelling errors, I’m really sorry. I’m going to look over this in the morning again. If you have requests I take them just please look over the link in my description titled PLEASE READ BEFORE PROMPTING :) .  Thank you! Hope you enjoyed.