#and hiccup and Jack are making heart eyes at each other over their war games

[nameless-inklings]

[imnotwolverine]

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 4

< Chap 3 | Chap 4 Lady Things | Chap 5 >

Summary: When living in a man’s world, you need to know a woman’s worth.  

Author’s note: I wasn’t sure how I’d introduce Lucia. My initial draft made her too meak. So I hope it sort of works... 

Word count: 4813 (17 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, corporal punishment, mobsters, mystery

–

Lady Things

--

‘I tell you boy. It’s a ..marveilleuse..place!’ Jacques slurred. 

The once stoic man was giggling like a twelve year old boy in love, moustache curling at the edges. Jack grinned and tugged him along. 

Ever since the incident at the lunchroom a few weeks prior, Jacques had changed. Before then he was never late and ever precise. But meeting Stella had set something off. And though Jacques was still a very capable detective, there were moments he finally let loose. Like right now. 

With unsteady feet he and Jack crossed the cobbled road towards Madame Chartreuse. A small looking club with green shutters and bright red neon signs. The rain that had fallen an hour earlier, casted everything in a devilish hue, the whole world seemingly aflame with red delight. 

‘Is it just because she is here?’ Jack asked, eyes studying the stupidly grinning man hanging from his shoulder.

‘No no...there’s other...’ Jacques hiccupped. ‘Other reasons too.’  

Jack smiled. Indeed, there must be other reasons or they would have simply gone to the far more established Moulin Rouge.  

‘Well you take care of yourself old man.’ Jack tapped him on the shoulder as they halted before the doorman. Outside a few people were having their smokes, coats hanging from their shoulders. The streets here were far more quiet than the abundant area near the Moulin Rouge. And were it not for the silent passing footsteps of a couple passing, it would have been close to dead quiet. 

The doorman tilted his grubby face and with the exchange of a few words, coins and gauging looks, Jacques and Jack got inside the most well-kept secret of Paris. Madame Chartreuse had once been a home. And though Jack had never seen it when it had been an actual house, the vibe still clung to its happily wallpapered walls. 

The entrance hall was small but crowded, and smoke wrapped everything in a magical yellow mist. Live music and dancing feet were heard in the back, whereas the living room and reception room on the left were more merrily entertained by conversation and card games. Beaded curtains hung from the door frames and for a moment Jack wondered what the purpose was of such contraptions. It didn’t even manage to keep flies away if the flies were the size of a hand, so why bother? 

‘This way.’ Jacques said, pushing through one of said curtains, its glass beads clicking above the sound of soft chatter.  

‘Zja-zja!’ A woman jumped from her recline and before Jacques could respond, she was already on his lips. 

‘My dear.’ He grinned stupidly, blinking at her sudden closeness. 

‘I missed you so-so much.’ The woman pouted her painted pretty lips before she turned her dark brown eyes towards Jack. ‘And you brought a ..present?’ She smiled.  

‘Oh, yes. Couldn’t leave the poor bugger -’ 

‘My pleasure!’ She pushed her upturned hand towards Jack, who carefully pressed a kiss there. 

‘Likewise. Jack.’ 

‘Stella.’ 

Jack cleared his throat and looked around the room. Some ten people were lounging about on dark green couches and the whole atmosphere seemed to breathe the pure and utter eroticism of decay. The lights were low, but Jack saw the slight fraying of the wallpaper. The wear-down of the shut curtains. The slight crookedness of the lamp shades that dimmed the chandelier’s many, many lights. 

‘I’ve never seen you before.’ Stella said. With a tantalizing bite of the lip she looked down Jack’s physique. He was a good looking man with his square jaw, dark hair and crisp blue eyes. But he never seemed to be truly aware of it - or so it seemed. With a slight quirk of the eyebrow he questioned her intentions. 

‘And! You won’t need to see him again.’ Jacques interfered, using his large palm to turn her attention back to him. ‘Oh my dearest dear!’ 

‘Oh my Zja-zja!’ She cooed back. 

Before long Jack had lost interest in the lovebirds who started to french kiss each other like their life depended on it. With another clearing of his throat and a soft: ‘I’m going to look for some drinks,’ Jack moved to inspect the rest of the curious club. 

Back in the hallway, the entrancing strum of a jazzy bassline lured Jack in closer. The people here were crowding and the air was hot. A quick beat was introduced and a trumpet cheered; people started dancing and before Jack could escape he was dragged into the moving body of the young and merry. They didn’t have these type of parties in England; there the men would hang out in dungy bars, losing their nickles and dimes on shots with ladies hardly worth the time. 

Yet here. Here, there were ladies in abundance. Here the ladies were sweet and slick with sweat that drizzled down their provocatively deep-cut dresses. Here.. Jack hesitated as he stood amidst the dancing crowd. The upbeat drum became more hastened and everything seemed to swim. 

‘Jack..?’

The grabbing hands that slithered around his jacket felt like hooks, clutching to him like..

‘I’m going to die, huh?’ Harry’s lip shivered as he lay there amidst the many fallen men. The bloody fields of Hannut stank of piss and sweat and shit. And here lay Harry. His childhood friend. 

Jack gasped and looked around. The room and fields blurred into one indistinguishable mess of then and now. 

‘No.’ Jack started to shake his head, hands wanting to grab for Harry who somehow continued to remain out of reach. ‘..noo..no you won’t!’ Jack screamed as a rogue tear fell from his cheek. 

Suddenly he was back in the club, where people backed off like he wore the plague. The music hadn’t managed to drown out his heart wrenching sob and panicked cries, and were it not for the slightly muted lights, he surely would have seen the true terror in the eyes of the dancing crowd. 

Fuck. 

With hastened steps, Jack moved back to the hallway, ashamed of the way his heart still beat in agony. He had hoped that the liquor and ladies would soothe his aches, but his heart only screamed louder. Louder and louder and.. The drum returned like the drums on the fields. 

Oh gods. 

Gasping for breath he grasped onto the door that separated the dancing room from the hallway, where people were still giving him a few looks. 

He felt so terribly lost and broken. It was like the war had eaten a part of him and spit out a mere shell. A shell with pretty blue eyes. One that made women want and men wonder. It was this shell that had gotten him his job as boy-errand for Jacques. The good looks helped to get an in, and for many months Jack had just followed Jacques lead, hoping that with time he’d feel the ache of war wear off.

Those same many months he would lay sleepless in bed. Sweating and hoping, wishing, waiting that it would get better. 

Perhaps he just needed another drink. 

Turning to the left he entered a room with a long table. A low light hung just above it, washing milky light over hairy hands that moved poker chips back and forth. It was hard to see at first who these men were. Perhaps he shouldn’t have entered. But then there was also the intrigue.

With careful steps Jack moved around the table, watching as the men continued on, undisturbed. In the darker corners of the room were a few women as well. Their hazy eyes looked up at him, though they too seemed to care little for his presence. 

‘You!’ One of the man called and Jack swiftly turned heel. The stress of the war fell away as he noted who it was; the peculiar man from the bistro. What was his name again? Manari? Minaria? Jack moved closer and greeted the man without disturbing the others. 

Where the rest of the house was filled with conversation, here the room was hushed.  The only sounds were the swallowed sound of the music further up in the house, alongside the clicking of poker chips, the sucking on cigarettes and the mumbling of the men. 

‘Jack, wasn’t it?’ The man quirked an eyebrow at Jack, smiling. ‘Come sit down with me.’ 

Miniri? Maniri? Jack just couldn’t grasp the man’s name, and so he just did as requested. 

‘Luigi, your call.’ One of the other men nodded. 

Luigi, that was it. But what was his last name? Sinking down on the proferred seat, Jack unbuttoned his jacket and watched as Luigi moved coins to the mountainous stack in the middle. 

‘All in.’ 

The other men grumbled and snarled, but Luigi didn’t care. He just smiled and turned his frame to get a better look at Jack. 

‘You look like you can use a drink.’ 

‘Indeed.’ Jack breathed out. 

‘Madame!’ He snipped his fingers and a woman appeared from one of the dark corners. ‘Champagne please!’ 

Jack gasped. ‘Oh no, no. Some beer or..’ 

‘Eh!’ Luigi shushed him and grinned.

Jack frowned. ‘Why.. champagne is for celebrating and you have not even won!’ 

‘But I will! And if not..well..let us celebrate friendship.’ 

‘Friendship?’ 

‘Indeed. And if not..’ Luigi shrugged. 

Jack smiled and sniffled back the last of the tears that burned his eyes. Real men didn’t cry now, did they? 

‘Thank you.’ With a sigh he settled back in his chair. He was a little rattled by the trauma that had reared its ugly head just now, but Luigi’s ease was perfectly soothing. Even with this man being obviously a good many ranks above him in stature and earnings, he treated Jack like an equal. Or better yet.. a new friend. Jack cleared his thoughts and turned to Luigi as well. 

‘Seen that woman since?’ 

‘Her? No, no. Ha! But got a sweet deal out it with Delancour.’ 

Jack wondered for a moment what or who Delancour was, but he felt it inappropriate to ask. Why couldn’t he be as suave and amiable as these men? He felt so young in his years. Then again, he figured that he just really needed to practise before he could be like Jacques; fake it, until you make it, Jack-boy. 

‘A little tense there, huh?’ Luigi’s French-italian accent was funnily unnerving and Jack smiled, shaking his head. Just never fake your smiles. 

Jack sighed and nodded his head, watching as more and more men folded away their cards. ‘Just haven’t been out since the war.’ 

‘Ah, the war!’ Luigi smacked his lips and turned to reach for the filled champagne glasses that had appeared behind their backs. The pretty crystal cut goblets shone pretty spots of light on their arms as they toasted. ‘It’s like there’s no end to it!’

--

Jack’s stomach rumbled quietly, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to interfere. 

‘But you see my mother is not all bad.’ Luigi said, sitting in the window sill. Outside dusk had settled in over the Tuscan hills, and with every puff of Luigi’s cigarette, a new small cloud flew up in the pitch black dark. For a good many minutes the two men had conversed. Or better yet: Luigi had spoken about his peculiar mother, and Jack had listened. Sitting on the floor, with his back against the bed, he was rolling fresh cigarettes to smoke - he enjoyed those more than the factory made.

‘So free women are bad?’ Jack lit one of his freshly rolled cigarettes and looked through the smoke at Luigi. Luigi kept his face turned to the gardens outside. 

‘No. No. More like..’ Luigi shrugged. ‘You just don’t marry free women. You see Jack. There’s two types of women. The women that make your blood boil and cock hard. And the ones that soothe your pains and raise your flock. Can’t have both, never both.’ 

‘Might as well not have any women at all then, hmm?’ Jack grinned, allowing himself to sneak a peek at the key hole that was still far darker than it should be. Was he right? Was someone there? And if so, could he guess who? Sucking on his cigarette again he returned his attention to Luigi, who hastily looked away from him. 

‘Yea..yea. Women..’ Luigi cleared his throat and dragged a long breath from his near-finished cigarette. 

‘Do you..want a family though?’ Jack leaned into the bed and folded an arm over the neatly made bed. Luigi shrugged, keeping his eyes where Jack couldn’t see. 

‘And risk losing it all, again?’ A tinge of sadness crossed Luigi’s usually preppy and confident tone of voice. 

Jack sat up and stood to place a hand on Luigi’s shoulder. 

‘I’m sorry about Alfi, man. Truly. But we’ll find him.’

Luigi kept his head turned away, jaw tight. ‘It’s not that.’

Jack hesitated. With cautious eyes he watched Luigi stare out into the dark nothingness. A few silent moments followed, before Luigi finally, though testily continued. 

‘We’re cursed, that’s what. Every time good things happen for our business, another one of us bites the dust.’

Jack remained quiet. 

‘First it was Zazoo..’ Luigi sighed and flicked his cigarette out onto the terraces below. ‘It was our first big deal that brought us out of the shitter. He was..barely seventeen. Three bullets in the head. And then there was Paris.’

‘Paris?’ Jack asked. Luigi sighed again and offered a half-smile over his shoulder. 

‘Way before you and I met, English.’ 

‘Tell me.’

Luigi bit his lip and shook his head. ‘It was a mess. Father was sick for months. We needed the cash. We were all young boys, hardly capable. But family is family and business is business. We’d have a simple deal with another Italian family. Snip-snap hand in cash.’ Luigi flicked his wrists. ‘But instead it was snip-snap Piero is dead.’ 

Luigi spat out the window. 

‘You took care of that?’ 

Jack was near shocked to hear himself say it. But he knew what The Business was. And he had chosen to come here. Like a moth would come to a flame, even if it knew that it would burn. With a tight throat he watched Luigi’s lips curl in a thoughtful smile. 

‘Ever the detective.’ He said. 

Jack felt a cold shiver run up his spine as Luigi pushed himself off from the window sill. Suddenly the large man felt near threatening as he looked deep into Jack’s eyes. A silent second passed as Jack looked back, waiting for this to be the fire that would melt down his wings. 

But no. Luigi smiled, genuinely.  

‘To me you’re Jack though.’

Jack let out the softest of sighs, and Luigi took it for an invitation to pull his English friend in for another hug. 

‘There’s few like you Jack. Truly.’ Luigi backed away and cleared off invisible dust off Jack’s open hanging jacket. With admiring eyes he watched down Jack’s half-unbuttoned blouse, before he looked up. ‘So very few.’

Jack wasn’t sure what that meant. Italians always tended to be a bit more intense with relationships, so his friendship with Luigi left him at times a little unnerved. But then again, it was fine. Luigi was the man who had pretty much saved him from death by trauma. And he was the one who accidentally had introduced him to her. 

Lucia. 

--

There was something exhilarating about Paris after the war. After years of suffering and pain, people wanted to live. And they wanted to live hard. Jazzy pop and cigarettes filled the nightly skies. And if not working, Jack found himself more often than not in the company of either Jacques or Luigi. 

The two men were like fire and ice. Jacques was calculating and gentle. Luigi was fiery and extravagant. And now Jacques’ attention had turned towards his new lady-love Stella, Jack found himself more and more often in the company of Luigi. 

Luigi appeared to be a textbook style caricature of an Italian man. Or so Jack thought. He had the slicked back hair, well cut suit and sparkling, mischievous eyes. But there were also some elements that were perhaps just typically Luigi. Like the ever-present hands that smoothed around Jack’s shoulders and back. The resting gazes and tight pressed hugs. 

Perhaps it was just Luigi. 

Where was he anyways? 

Sucking on his cigarette, Jack looked around the fairylike-lit courtyard. People stood around under the glow of the lights smoking cigarettes, all huddled away in their coats. Spring had come a few weeks ago, but the nights were still chilly. 

Looking around in the half-dark, Jack could recognise a few faces, but not Luigi. He likely had found himself another type of entertainment. A lady perhaps? Who knew. 

Jack sighed and killed his burned out cigarette beneath his well-polished shoe. If not for Luigi, he sure could find some different entertainment, right? Turning to the party inside, he was soon back in the lavish palace-like home of Monsieur Martinique-de-Boncour. The old man was rich and cared little for high society, but apparently these type of parties did please his wife who now stood by the grand piano, singing some hardly bearable tunes. 

Turning to his right, Jack found himself in the lobby. People were mostly here in passing, couples all arm-to-arm as they either moved out for air, or to the backyard for love. Jack, however, was alone. 

‘Jack right?’ Another man stepped in. Wide-shouldered, but in fact no more than a boy. Jack turned on his heel and outstretched a welcoming hand.

‘Indeed. Pleasure to meet you, mister..’

‘Maniari. Big.’

‘Ah, I see. Family of Luigi, then?’

‘Indeed.’ The boy already had the smug look down, eyes studying Jack for a moment before his attention moved to a familiar face. Luigi, slightly deep in his cups came strutting into the room. By his side he had two lovely ladies, the two of them either just as drunk, or terribly enamoured. 

‘Family! Family!’ Luigi laughed before he noticed Jack. With a swaggering step Luigi freed himself from the ladies, two arms wrapping tightly around Jack. ‘And a friend!’ A wet kiss was pressed on Jack’s cheek. ‘Good! Where’s Alfi?’ 

‘Only God knows.’ Big sighed, reverting his attention back to the entertainment room where Mrs. Martinique-de-Boncour gave a rather shrieky rendition of Toute Le Jour, Toute La Nuit. 

Luigi wet his lips and let his eyes fall on a woman who passed by with an even more exaggerated swagger. With a wrinkly hand she grasped for a curtain, near dragging it down as she tried to steady herself. It was then she laughed, ridiculously hard. Even the crowd in the entertainment room by the door took a gander. 

‘Oh my..’ Luigi tutted and wrapped an arm around Jack’s wide shoulders. ‘Would you look at that.’

Jack felt the innate need to help the poor woman, but the men just stood there, chuckling. There was some type of distaste on their lips as they watched the woman struggle to get up on her old, but dainty feet. 

‘I am well! Please!’ The woman snarled as she was helped up by another woman who passed by. With a sharp tug the old woman righted herself, shoulders pushing back to take on a more confident mien. She wore an oriental type of dress. It stood out from the crowd of auburn and champagne frocks that most women wore. Like molting purple gemstones it wrapped around her, all the up to her slender neck.

With a sure nod she greeted the Italian brothers, who didn’t bother to nod back. 

‘Do you require assistance madame?’ Jack asked. With a sure step he moved towards the woman, leaving Luigi’s arm falling down behind him. The woman blinked at him and tilted her head. Perhaps Jack had just done something uncalled for, because her eyes betrayed that she was taken aback by his gesture. With quick flitting eyes she looked at the Maniari brothers behind Jack.  

‘A new family member?’ She said testily. 

‘Oh shush it Lucia.’ Big groaned. 

She frowned and looked at Luigi, but the big brother did not intervene. Instead Luigi’s eyes bore into Jack’s back. He was obviously not amused with the way how Jack had side-stepped from his brotherly arm-on-shoulder. Slowly he returned his gaze to Lucia, who received all the annoyance a man could muster. 

‘Could have chosen a better frock, hmm. No longer mourning your husband, I see?’

Lucia returned his disgusted stare. ‘Do not speak of my Leo, Luigi.’ A flicker of emotion moved behind her high cheekbones. 

‘Yea yea. I hope it was worth it!’ 

Lucia’s eyes started to spit fire. ‘I did ..not! I did not ki-- I..’ She sputtered as Luigi and Big continued their way to the entertainment room. 

‘Come on then Jack, want to hear some of our hostesses’ fine singing?’ Luigi called, but Jack stayed, eyes remaining fixed on the woman named Lucia. She had olive skin, a slightly Italian lilt and fire in the eyes. Even with the Maniari brother’s hurting words, they glittered with the promise of hell and passion. 

Again, perhaps Italians were just all like that. 

Stepping forward Jack hoped that people would stop staring. Lucia, however, couldn’t be bothered by the stares. With another burst of laughter she started shaking her head. 

‘All of you. Sheep! You’re sheep!’ She turned her gaze to all who dared to look, but just as curious as they had been moments earlier, so ashamed were they of looking at her now. 

‘And you..’ She looked at Jack. ‘I don’t know you.’

Jack smiled. He liked her. ‘Not part of the family.’ He said.

‘Good.’ 

--

The man in the bushes ducked down a little more. A light burst from the small shed he had been investigating. And though the night was dark, he felt suddenly aware of his exposed position behind the young Cypress trees. A car was parked just outside the shed and a few minutes earlier he had seen someone enter, shrouded in mystery and a long raincoat. 

Peering into the quiet, he watched as the light beam shifted. It was as expected. 

‘Oh mom..’ He sighed. 

The light died out again. 

--

Jack hoped that dinner would be served soon. His stomach was growling after the long day of rent collecting and fruitless investigating. Leaning into the window frame he watched Luigi. Luigi kept a pensive gaze out of the window, cigarette in hand. 

Outside the first lisps of mist were crawling over the darkened Tuscan hills, and it wouldn’t be long before everything would start to look like a scene out of a classy horror movie. Luigi, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by the gloomy scenery. With focused eyes he was looking at something in the distance. 

‘See that?’ He asked, puffing out smoke. Jack stepped in and followed his pointing finger. Right through the mists, some few hundred meters from the house, came a light. It was nearly too small to catch if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but it was definitely there. And it blinked. Which was curious. Was it a car? 

A little thump broke the silence. 

Luigi reared his head towards the source - the door - and before Jack could intervene, Luigi had rushed towards the hallway where two Bambi-big eyes stared up at him. Jack followed in quick pursuit and like always he had been right; someone had been staring at them through the keyhole. Bunny. Brown haired, long legged, ever curious; Bunny. 

Since their meeting in the village square Jack had wanted to get a word in with her. But with the thrill of a literal chase, followed by the whirlwind that was the Maniari household, he simply hadn’t managed. Besides, it was likely not a good idea to be alone with her, lest he be daring to face the wrath of Augusto. 

‘Looks like little Bunny wants trouble, huh?’ Luigi grasped her by her shirt collar and started dragging her down the winding staircase until they stood before one of the most dreaded doors in the entire house. With little squeals and whines Bunny tried to fight Luigi off, but he held a tight grip on her.

With a sharp rap he knocked the door three times. And were it not for Jack to be right behind them, he would have missed the little exchange brother and sister made. 

‘I do love you.’ Luigi whispered as the door was opened by a bored looking bodyguard. 

Bunny stiffened and as she was pushed inside, Jack and Luigi were also invited in. 

‘What?’ Augusto grumbled from behind his desk. He was hiding behind a newspaper the size of a tablecloth. 

Luigi cleared his throat, which left Jack just enough time to step in instead. 

‘Before we do continue, sir --’

The newspaper was lowered and two dark eyes stared over its edge. 

Jack nodded his head in greeting and continued: ‘I’d report on my findings regarding your missing son.. Alfonso.’

Augusto kept a straight face. ‘Well, I don’t see him here, do I now?’

Jack tilted his head, thinking. ‘Indeed. Yet he may not be far. Even ..close-by. I’d like to perform more rigorous searches tomorrow, early morning, when tracks are fresh. Also, do you happen to have a pair of his shoes that I could take for measurement and wear and tear?’

Augusto lifted an eyebrow. ‘Shoes.’

Their eyes met. 

‘Even one shoe would help considerably.’

‘You think he’s alive?’ Augusto said with a tinge of melancholy. 

‘There’s no signs of the contrary, so there is a good chance he --’

‘Number Three will see to it. Luigi?’ Augusto looked towards his son, who still held firmly onto a stiff-standing Bunny. 

Luigi tilted up his chin. ‘The usual.’

Augusto sighed in utter annoyance as his dark beady eyes shifted towards Bunny. She visibly shivered, though her face remained stoic. ‘Might as well have you married off and done with. Would you like that Bunny-dear?’ 

Bunny kept her gaze focused on the bookcase that stretched along one of the walls. Everything here was brown; the mahogany wood, the smoke-tainted leather, the chesthair that poked out of the men’s crisp white shirts. It was the very last place a woman like her wanted to be. That much was clear. Especially now Augusto raised from his seat. 

With a grunt and slow, stiff joints, the man pushed himself up from behind his desk. A silence fell over the room as he awkwardly shuffled forward until he stood in the middle of the room, arms folding behind his back. With a plopping lick of his lips he shook his head. 

‘So many sons. Good sons. And then there is you.’

Bunny looked up and pain flashed behind her lashes. She shut her eyes in shame. 

‘Always causing trouble. From the day you could walk, you did everything you shouldn’t.’ He stepped forward and used his grubby finger to tilt up her chin. ‘Now look at you.’

Jack felt a rush of dizziness come over him. Perhaps it was the hunger in his stomach. And perhaps it was the start of another war flashback. 

‘Look at me Jack. I’m here.’ 

Bunny was struck across the cheek with a snapping flat hand. 

‘It’s okay. Breath for me.’ 

Another slap to the other cheek. 

'I’m right here.’ 

Bunny let the force of her father’s hand turn her face towards Jack. Her eyes found his. 

‘Right here.’

A silent tear fell from Bunny’s pained eyes, but she did not give a kick. Jack looked back. 

‘Don’t ever let them take your worth Jack-my-sweet.’ Lucia’s long fingers curled around his cheek and for a moment the harsh looks of the aristocrats at the party fell away. Not even the war could trouble him beneath her fingertips. She smiled. ‘I mean there’s only so few who know a woman’s worth.’ 

‘What if I can’t? Can’t do it?’ 

‘There’s always a way.’ 

--

Chap 5 >

--

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[immabethehero]

A Little Theory

It wasn’t that the egos were terrible people or anything. It was just that… they weren’t the most becoming.

Jackieboy Man was a so-called superhero with absolutely no powers whatsoever. Police saw him as more of a nuisance then a hero. People started to avoid interacting with him, wanting none of his “help”.

Marvin the Magnificent’s shows were so terrible very few came, the only ones who did only wanted to make fun of him, or criticize him endlessly.

People trembled when Dr. Schneeplestein walked into the room, aware of the many patients he had killed over the years. His wife couldn’t bear another death brought by her husband and left him to his troubles.

Chase Brody ran a channel that got more trolls and hate with each passing day. He could barely escape the failures piling up on him, from family issues to channel scorn. His embarrassed wife couldn’t stand his pathetic lifestyle and left with the kids following suit.

Four outcasts, with nothing worth redeeming.

When Sean McLoughlin first introduced his egos, he meant to have fun, making characters through satirical nonsense. They weren’t the best people, and frankly, he couldn’t care less.

But when life couldn’t bear to look in their direction, the fans did. The community couldn’t help themselves, there must have been something there. Perhaps it was Sean, fooling around but having so much fun dressing up and playing pretend, his bright blue eyes twinkling with laughter, his smile brighter than the sunniest day. Maybe it was sympathy for the green-haired beings with Sean’s face. But they saw something in those egos, that no one else, not even Sean, could see.

The changes came gradually, but Sean saw it every time he came to check on his creations. Jackieboy Man began lifting items heavier than all the egos combined, and scouring the city, taking out mob bosses that had been wanted for decades. Marvin’s shows became more successful, and he was able to make something of himself. More of Dr. Schneeplestein’s patients walked out of the hospital alive and healthy, rather than in a bag headed to the morgue. Chase’s trickshots were beginning to perfect themselves, and Chase was thriving on his new fanbase.

Sean began dreading the visits less and less, as he watched his creations’ eyes light up as each explained their day. There were hiccups, or course, but bonds were forming, and the egos had never been happier.

Sean couldn’t help the nagging thought in his head. Was this his community’s doing? Was their love and support for the egos the reason they were so strong and capable and happy now? Everytime he found a new post showing their love for an ego, the stronger the ego got.

A new suit for Jackieboy, and he became stronger and more capable. A sweet picture of Schneep, and another patient lived to see a new day.  A drabble of happiness for Chase, and he got billions of likes on his newest video and a chance to watch his kids on the weekend. One fantastic design for Marvin, and little sparks of magic started to show in the magician’s hands. One little post was all it took, and the egos got stronger.

And then Ȃ̴̼͓̬͎͔̻̀̆́͋̈́̎̌̒̄ņ̵̢͚̯̩͕̙̯̟̞̥̉̈́͛͋̃̾̃̄̉͠ͅt̶̨̡̛̮̣̲̭̥̳̱͍̾̄̈͒͊͛̅̏̌̓̕͜͠į̵̛̛̦̪̎́͂̓͒͂͋́̀̐̑̕͘ş̴́̓̑͂̿͊̿̕e̶̡̨̛͈̜͕̣͍̬͔̣̲̾̓̓̌̄̈́͋̊͊̎̔͝p̸̢̢̡̮̹̮̝̻̠͇̝͙͎͌̀͐͋͒̉ͅͅt̵̼̦̩̳̀̒̀̈́̏͗̎͐͊͑͘̚͠͝î̵̗̮͗̂͋̓̒́̌̕c̸̫̲͕̬̝͇̬̼̀̿̓̅̀͌͆̓̈̽̒̚͘̕ę̵̧͙̣̻͔̳̽̿̈́͑y̴̯̙͍̤̻̿̒͑e̶̡̨̛̦̻̮͕͇̓́͆́̔ showed up. He snaked his way into the egos’ lives, bent on destroying them and their world. Dr. Schneeplestein became the first doctor to find when someone was attacked by Anti. Jackieboy’s mission was less about helping the city, and more about protecting it from Anti. Chase’s bad thoughts returned, and he began practicing using real guns, hoping it would protect his family from the monster that haunted his dreams. Marvin had bursts of real magic, and he used them to track down and fight the glitch terrorizing the city.

If it was the community’s love that brought strength to the egos, then it was also their love that kept Anti alive. Many of them didn’t consider Anti to be a huge threat, and it was all in good fun to play with a villain.

But Sean knew of Anti’s power. Enough support from the community, and Anti could take their world by storm. He hadn’t thought much of it when he first brought Anti to life, but when he came to the egos’ world after that fateful Halloween, he realized just how much of a threat Anti really was.

And so he began fighting in his own way. He did his best to ignore Anti entirely, hoping the fans would back off, and Anti’s power would weaken. But the fans made sure Anti stayed alive, and from that point on, a war was waged.

Anti’s support vs the love for the egos. An unstoppable force versus an immovable object. The villain versus the new heroes. Sean did all he could to help the heroes succeed, from reblogging fanart to holding polls excluding Anti.

Maybe it was that poll that sent Anti off the deep end. Because since that day, things only got worse.

August 3rd, 2017. Sean found he couldn’t get into the ego's world. He tried his best to open the door, but to no avail. Anti had discovered another foe, by the name of Jack. And the glitch was not pleased.

On the other side, Dr. Schneeplestein fought a losing battle, trying to wake his friend up. Chase could only watch in tears as his best friend slipped into a coma, and Dr. Schneeplestein disappeared.

While Sean couldn’t enter, he could see what was happening. Chase prevented his world from finding out about Jack, putting on a smile and running both channels. Jackie and Marvin tried in vain to find the good doctor, but there was no trace of him.

Jackie went missing next. Sean tried playing as the hero in a new video, but not even his playthrough could bring the superhero back. Marvin’s magic was now the only thing protecting him and Chase from Anti’s persistent attacks.

Sean knew it would be insensitive, but he could feel the new ego’s presence nagging at him, and besides, maybe Chase and Marvin would like a new friend.

For the first time, an ego was made from pure, elated joy, rather than satire. Jameson Jackson graced the moving pictures with his charm and exuberance.

Naturally, Anti was furious. Furious at “Jack”, who, despite being a coma, created such a happy and kind character. On Halloween, of all days! His day! The glitch let his fury show that Halloween, and Jameson Jackson suffered the consequences.

The community balked at welcoming the gentleman from the 1920’s, fearing him to Anti’s plaything or even the glitch himself.

Sean calmed them down, welcoming Jameson as his new ego. Most of the community quickly fell in love with his cute and quirky mannerisms, but the rest still feared him to be evil. While Jameson sure didn’t show it, it broke his heart every time someone accused him of being with Anti.

Marvin and Chase were sceptical to welcome the new ego, but seeing how much being doubted and feared hurt the dapper gentleman, they quickly took him in, deciding that if Jameson wasn’t with Anti now, he would be if they continued to fear and isolate him.

Anti, on the other hand, couldn’t let go of the fact that some considered JJ to be evil. Even Sean played around with the idea. Finally, he decided to act. When JJ was alone, with the others on tour, Anti kidnapped him, intent on making a puppet out of him.

JJ’s disappearance crushed the last two egos. Marvin spent hours searching for the glitch, but he found his powers faltering. Chase looked into it, and realized that JJ wasn’t the only ego not trusted. They were all under fire, Marvin especially. Chase never brought it up with Marvin, but the magician found out soon enough. Not unlike JJ, he did his best to hide his pain.

May came, and Sean couldn’t stand his egos suffering. It was honestly starting to get to him too. So he acted in his own way. Dressing like the doctor, he posted a new video and picture of Schneep.

The fandom took it as a sign that the doctor was alive, and their love certainly brought good news to Marvin and Chase. Both could feel the doctor’s presence. Schneep was alive. They didn’t know where he was, but he was alive.

Disaster struck again, later that month. As Sean experienced with new games and possible storylines, some of the fandom began to suspect Chase of villainy. Was he with Anti? Did he kill his family? The stress of being Jack, along with the accusations, slowly chipped away at Chase and he began using alcohol as a coping mechanism. Anti made his move. With the vlogger drunk and off his guard, he quickly baited him into thinking his kids had been attacked, then spirited Chase away.

Now it was just Marvin left. He had to do everything now, from looking after the channel, protecting and caring for Jack, to surviving Anti. He was nothing more than a shell of the confident magician he used to be. Exhaustion and loneliness caused his magic to suffer, and yet, he persisted.

Sean did try to enter the realm again, but other ventures pulled him away from the world, and he found himself too swamped with his own thriving life to help Marvin. But seeing the magician so downcast broke his heart, so...

He tried another little trick. Ego Art Weeks, during the summer, when many artists weren’t swamped with work and school. The fandom celebrated joyously, showing passion and beauty for the egos.

One by one, Sean could feel their strength returning, despite being in Anti’s clutches. It let him know his creations, his egos, his friends, were still alive.

Marvin was a little scared at first when he felt his powers returning like wildfire. He didn’t know who was helping him, but he appreciated it. But, he could use a little more help…

When the weeks were over with, Marvin began to work. He hijacked the posts, leaving Anti’s marks all over them. A little sign, hinting at what had happened.

The community panicked, fearing Anti had attacked. Anti responded by spreading the fire and posting some fanart of him on Sean’s Tumblr. Sean was locked out of his account for a week as Marvin and Anti fought over the Tumblr.

As summer dies down, a war still wages. Marvin the Magnificent hangs by a thread, living a lie, protecting his friend, waiting for the glitch bitch to show his face again.

Antisepticeye persists but can never quite break his “puppets”.

They’re all alive. They’re all still out there. B̷̡̜̫̲̜̰̹̼̦͇͈̎͘ͅů̵̹͖̟̘̟̮̘̜̬̖̯̺͎͚̑̔͒͐̏̈́̔̈́͜͠t̷̲̞͙̯̻̜͋͛ ̸̧̨̛̜͕͎̲̹͍͈̮̻̙̠͑̔͐̈͜ŵ̷̧̛̛͍͐͂͐̾̉̊̾̚ḩ̸͓̙̮̝̩͚͍̜̃́͋͛̐̉e̴̮͆̉͋̄́̅́̈́̌̌͆̚̕ņ̷̫͉͕̤͇̗̟͙͂͛ ̵̡͖̳̹̯̹͉͖͆w̸͚̼͚̳͐͒̆̓͆͐̎̕͘͝͠i̷̺̜̗̎́̈́͋̇̌̈̕l̷̢̢̡̛̲̣̟̖̹̺͇̞̖̆̓̓͐́̋̃͒́͒̀̅̂̚ͅl̵̢̼͚͚̯̹̟̞̻͚͛̋͒̌̍̏̐̀͋̆̚͜͝͝͝ͅ ̴͕̟͎̱͖̎̉̆̓̚͠͝ͅw̴̢̳̹̮̪̗͓͙̣̬̆͛̆̇̆̊͜e̴̛̟͇̭̦̟͚̠̥̭̗͎͍̐̐͘ͅ ̵̧͔͚̖̺̘͉̈́̂̓͛̇̄̃́̓̒̄́̚͠͝s̴͚̓͗̂͗̈͂̕̚͝͠ͅe̵͇͎͓̲̰͕̗̼̝͐͜ͅẻ̶͙̫̰̙̗̖͔̮̳̬̞͗̀͐͌̊͊̈̒͑̚ͅ ̴̣̹͖̻̰͓̈̀͌̄͂̏̐̅̽̉̽̎̋̚͜͝t̸̢̲̟͇̪̩̪̼̗̖͚̭͔̑͗̂̾͘͜ͅḫ̸̛͚̠̠͇̤͕̭͓̀͊̐̒̊͂̽̈̀͑̊̓̚ḝ̷̲̙̹̪̦̗͍̻͖͍̽̋͊͛ṃ̸̏ ̷̛̛̣̫̻̭̙̦̙̙͚͖̀͛̈́͛͊̒͗̐̉̀͜͝͝͝ą̵̱̣̖͙̮̹̱̩͕͑̀̓̄̂́͠ĝ̶̛͈̜̭͓̤̽̂̆̈́͝à̵̛̪̲̓͂̽͑̉͊̀̓͒͛̚ͅ��͈͓̮̪̻͈͔͇i̶̧̛͇̬̖̖̙͚̰̘̝͖͈̖͕̜̿͛̇̒̈́̓̐̓̓̇̔͝ņ̴͕̙̺̞͓́̈́̂̇́̓̚?̴̡̛̺͚̯̞̖̪̓̍͛͜͝

--------------------------

RRRREEEEEE IT”S OVER WITH!!!!!

@flyying-grayson, @beerecordings, @septic-dr-schneep, @goldenoceanaart,

@florenceisfalling, @dumbasticart, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @cyanacity, @hi-alex-the-ghost

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

This story comes soon after the Roman ambush on Alabaster’s laboratory. After the Pax brothers and Alabaster defend the lab until reinforcements show up, the question hangs in the air: who revealed the location of Alabaster’s lab? The Spy Master is assigned to find out or, at least, find a scapegoat.

 Mercedes: Interrogation Letdown

           If you asked Mercedes, she would say that she didn’t drink coffee. Her hijab always smelled of the robust aroma, one that wafted memories of her mother, of her mother’s lips as they pressed Mercedes’s forehead in a morning goodbye. Another day of work. Another disposable cup of coffee. Another hour to torment her brothers as Mercedes corralled them ready for school.

         There were few personal items in her Camp Othrys cabin, but two of her most valuable were a rug (for when she went to “tend to the Hecate garden” in the chapel) and a small French press.

         Few were awake early enough to witness her trek from Fajr prayer to the Spy Wing. There, she dumped some coffee beans and hot water into the glass container. After capping it, she would lean over the golden lid to inhale the fumes. Normally, the French press, accompanying mug, and coffee were all cleaned and away before anyone came in.

         Today, she set her coffee mug in the center of the interrogation table. Steam curled up between her and Pax. She tapped her pen against her Othrys notebook. She hoped her irritation was prominent enough to cover up her worry. Pax didn’t need to know she was worried about him. It would get into his head, inflate it, and he’d become the next astronaut to circumnavigate the world and her anger.

         This silence was one of her and Pax’s many games: invite him into the spy wing, give him no clear instructions, then ignore him for thirty minutes. At the end of his twitching, squirming, and sprawling across the table, she would ask him which three suspicious activities she had done. She would ask for the exact timestamp for each.

There weren’t always three. Sometimes there were none. Sometimes there were eleven. She wanted him to question her authority, and she wanted him to use his brain, something many people found abhorrent, she knew. At least Pax could be bribed into it.

         Today was not one of those exercises. However, she didn’t correct his assumption that it was. She enjoyed his rapt attention and silence.

         At the top of the page, as she did in every page of this notebook, she scrawled, “To me, death is nothing but happiness, and living under tyrants nothing but living in a hell” and “The end justifies the means.”

         Pax, as suspected, broke first. “Are you going to drink that?”

         “No,” she said, “It’s there for the aesthetic.”

As per usual, Pax couldn’t tell if she was serious or sarcastic. That’s exactly where she liked him. His face scrunched up in his I’m Over-Thinking expression. Mercedes loved it. Pax’s unending chatter put her at ease. Ever since he went to Tartarus, his liar’s tells had become obvious. If she waited long enough, he’d rat himself out.

That’s why she left Pax’s interview for the end. He was uncomplicated and comforting after the morning’s slog.

Underneath her paper’s quotes, she wrote, Suspects.

“Did you decide it wise to tell someone about Alabaster’s super secret layer before its defenses were activated?” With others, she couldn’t be so direct. With Pax? If he thought he was at fault, he would crumble to guilt.

Instead of falling apart, he fell onto the table. The coffee mug jerked, the brown liquid sloshing against the white, ceramic sides. She forced herself not to grab for it, to maintain her composure as cool and collected.

“Oh! Mercedes! Do I have to answer more questions about this?” He peaked at her through his fingers, his amber and black eyes glistening. “Axel and I didn’t know the location until we got there! We were just told we’d be Alabaster’s pack mules for the day and we’d do less of a half-assed job that the empousas would.”

From the information she’d collected, this was correct. Mostly. Alabaster verified it: he hadn’t told the Pax brothers anything until moving day.

However, Axel, after several rounds of questioning and clearing his throat, admitted that Alabaster had given him a rough approximation about the plans and location. This either meant Alabaster was willing to lie for one of his “meat shields” or that he had forgotten that detail. Alabaster had come to their interview with a stack of papers meticulously chronicling each time he’d mentioned the lab project over the last three months. If he had forgotten, Mercedes was a Zeus fangirl.

Mercedes had checked his records and found that Alabaster had altered them. He probably thought she wouldn’t notice, but….

But Mercedes knew Alabaster. She knew all of them. It was her job. She knew that Alabaster rubbed the upper left corner of pages when he was thinking. Several pages from his records had unmarred corners. The penmanship was sloppier on those pages. (He forgot to dot an “i;” an atrocity in Alabster’s book of How to be a Hard Ass.) The margins were five millimeters wider than the other pages, something he would balk as being a behemoth waste of space. He likely rewrote those pages, omitting that he told Axel anything. And he thought he adjustments were small enough that she’d overlook them.

From Pax’s reaction, neither Axel nor Alabaster had told him.

“Pax Two, you’re—”

“I know, I know.” He sighed, slumping back into his chair. “I’m excreting salacious facial sweat onto your interrogation table.”

She forced her lips not to twitch. “Sebaceous,” she corrected and immediately regretted it. It brought her joy to envision adult Pax on a CSI crime scene, taking fingerprint samples and discussing how “salacious” or “lustful” the evidence was to the appall of all of his coworkers, all left to theorize about his sex life.

Mercedes was always pleasantly surprised by how carefully Pax listened to her and remembered what she said, even if he did mispronounce a word way out of their grade’s reading level.

“How did you detect the Romans?” she asked. Part of her wanted to be proud of him: he was her trainee, after all and he thwarted the Romans with his snooping.

“One of them shot Sphinx.” The playfulness was gone. He stared at the coffee mug’s rising steam.

Mercedes set the pencil down. Her instincts said to touch his hand or give him a hug.

Impartial, she reminded herself, tracing quotes in her notebook. I’m supposed to remain impartial. Not to think about Lou Ellen crying when she went to the lab, where Sphinx used to live. Not to notice Pax shamefully avoid his best friend’s gaze, horrified Lou Ellen might blame him for not saving Sphinx.

I’m as impartial as a campaign poster.

Mercedes often caught herself daydreaming about ending this war without any deaths. This was the problem with being a spymaster: you had friends on both sides of the war. Little divided you other than a sense of loyalty or cultish idealism. When most Romans defected from Camp Jupiter, they left everything and everyone. But, Mercedes was the spymaster. She needed contacts. She could never truly leave either camp.

No one had won this fight, though New Rome definitely lost. Alabaster no longer had his lab, half-a-decade’s worth of priceless magical artifacts, and one of his spell books. The full death toll wasn’t in on the Roman side, but they had lost a lot of people. Mercedes still needed to verify the death of their prisoner. Rumor said that he had consumed a suicide pill during Jack and Flynn’s “questioning.” Lucille and Mercedes normally did the interrogation. They kept the interrogation humane. Jack and Flynn didn’t.

Mercedes shivered. She didn’t like Flynn and Jack doing interrogations. She didn’t like that Jack’s mind was waning alongside Luke’s.

On top of that, rumors swept the Roman legion of a new monster, this creature that had awaited the legionnaires in the Mist of the Witch’s Layer. No doubt, this was a rumor started to preserve some soldier’s honor, to make the Pax brothers and Alabaster seem an insurmountable foe instead of three panicked kids. From the way Pax retold the story now, he had no idea about the impression they had made.

Pax was retelling the events—enumerating the soldiers, recalling their location, their armament, their words—when he choked. “I couldn’t kill her, Mercedes. Is that bad?” He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. His eyes were glassy. He had been talking about a soldier that he’d caught in a noose. “Good thing to know I’ll always go for the high five. I’ll never leave you hanging there.” The last words broke with a hiccupped sob.

Impartial. You’re impartial.

Mercedes gripped the handle of the mug. The warmth was fading from the ceramic. She lifted it. What was left of the heat and the scent of tangy undertones—she exhaled, shuddering. How would she get through this talk without hugging Pax?

He shouldn’t have been at this fight. He ought to have been failing out of middle school. Really, he ought to be playing with a pegasus at Camp Half-Blood. She tried not to consider how their relationship would differ if he was.

She set the mug back on the center of the table. “No. A propensity for murder isn’t a skill I value and… and the availability of a compassionate heart is a rare delicacy on this ship, despite what Luke and Kronos preach.”

Pax’s watery eyes went wide. He sniffled. His gaze shot around the room before resting back on her. “You don’t like Luke very much, do you?”

Mercedes scowled. “That is a dangerous accusation, Pax Two. I feel for him the same way I feel for my father.”

Irresponsible. Power-mad.

Luke had made her exchange her fear of one monster for another.

She did not always see eye-to-eye with Axel; she’d been to one of his cage matches and was unfond of the sensationalized violence he so easily exhumed. However, she’d never been more relieved than the day he stood between Annabeth—a bound and gagged, thirteen-year-old girl—and her would-be molester. That changed her mind about Luke forever.

This was not a conversation to have aboard the ship.

“I made you something,” the words exploded from Pax. It startled Mercedes and reminded her of the time that Pax smuggled thirty containers of pudding from the cafeteria in Matthias’ spandex boxers. The seams ripped, much like Pax had sputtered these words: clumsy and a little too excited to escape.

Trust Pax to easily dodge a conversation and to make you think about someone’s underpants.

He withdrew something from his jacket pocket. A bulge had inhabited that it since he’d returned from Tartarus, though she’d assumed it was some kind of safety blanket. Knowing Pax, it could have been a preserved piece of skin that hadn’t properly reattached to Lou Ellen’s hand.

When he unfolded the brown silk, Mercedes stopped breathing. While scrunched up and crinkled, the embroidery was still beautiful: all pink and gold thread. It swirled in an elegant floral pattern along the square’s edges. He made this?

“And—I—I made you a magnet pin to hold it together so you don’t need to be worried about piercing the material…”

When he fumbled in his pocket again, Mercedes could feel her lip trembling. Before he looked up, she shut her jaw and dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. By the time he had set the items on the table, she managed her expression into a neutral one. She added Practice Facial Expressions to her list of spy exercises for his training. Vitally important if he ever had the karma of training a mini-him later down the road.

“I made a different one and ruined it when I practiced pinning it. Can you show me how to put one on right? The fabric slides and goes everywhere so I can’t test it properly. You won’t tell us when your birthday is, and I’ve been wanting to make you one for awhile, and this is one of the many things I wanted to do to make it up to you...”

His voice trailed off. Although he tried to keep his eyes sheepishly on the table, they kept flicking up to check her reaction. His information cataloguing demeanor was so obvious: wide-eyed excitement, the hint of a smile curling his lip, a slight lean forward.

Mercedes couldn’t keep her hand from shaking when she reached for the fabric and magnets. He would notice the weakness; she had taught him to notice.

Both sides of the magnets were decorated, one a subtle brown that matched the hijab and another with bold gold and pink paint to match the embroidery, presumably to either blend or use as an accessory. Both were coated in a smooth gloss, likely for comfort. From what she could see, there was no trick or prank attached. Just a small, thinner section, where he must have fiddled with the fabric when talking to her.

This was one of the nicest things someone had done for her since she got to Camp Othrys.

His words echoed in her head. I wanted to make it up to you. To make up for lying and going to Tartarus.

         “This is an acceptable start, Pax Two,” she said, “This does not mean you’ve dissuaded my wrath. Continue to grovel and do not expect any items in return.” If he thought she was mad, he was less likely to do something so stupid again. Mercedes almost swore. Technically, Pax was younger than her, even if by less than a year. She ought to give him something, even if it was a few pennies, for Eid al-Fitr. He better not look at that as an apology acceptance.

         Pax’s conniving smile broke into a goofy grin. “Gifts are not gifts if you’re expecting something in return.” He sounded like he was quoting a childhood mantra, adding in a little jingle.

         “Then they’re transaction pieces,” she agreed absently. Mercedes folded the fabric and attached the magnet to assure she didn’t lose it. She shoved the gift out of sight, under the table. If she looked at it for too long, he’d catch her smiling. She was furious that some part of her wanted to be somewhere private, so she could examine the embroidery in detail.

         She began again, “The investigation—”

         Pax whined and sank right back onto the table.

         Mercedes waited until he quieted his whining. “Did you notice anything suspicious? Oh competent assistant of mine? Or were you too busy examining Alabaster’s assets.” She flipped her notebook to a previous page, one with two columns of names that were subdivided into tables. “This is my list of people who found out or were told. Who would you find most suspicious? Who do you think can’t keep a secret and to whom would they relieve the secret’s burden?”

         She read it aloud from a second copy before he could point out that he couldn’t read:

 Involved in the planning process: Alabaster, Matthias, Lou Ellen, Hecate, Prometheus.

Involved in construction: Matthias, Alabaster, a rotation of blind-folded minions under Matthias (see back)

Knew the location: Alabaster, Matthias

Found out the location: Flynn, Jack, Luke/Kronos, Phil, Pax One, Pax Two, Mercedes, Morpheus

Two days of constant interviews had taken its toll. Tension clenched her jaw, something she didn’t notice until Paxton forced her to relax. Had she had water since before Wudu? Her mouth felt dry.

         Paxton began to babble, “Matthias is a great secret keeper. I still don’t know how he shaved an underwear pattern into Phil’s—”

“Pax Two.” She meant to stop him from going off on a tangent. He took it as an accusation.

“Who, me? I’m a huge security flaw.” He gave her a sly smile. “I tell you everything.”

“That’s amply evident.” Since his return from Tartarus, he felt the need to tell her each time his color switched from green to transparent.

Pax tapped the lower part of the paper. “You forgot the centaurs. They didn’t know until we got there, but they did find out.”

Mercedes applauded this observation with silence. This would indicate that she had not forgotten the centaurs, but wanted to know if he would. This type of testing was so customary to Pax that he continued unhindered.

“Oh! And that sun god—the old one? Hecate’s friend that can see everything under the sun, like Greek Santa. How come he gets the privilege of being Greek Santa but the sky god doesn’t? If I were Zeus, I would want some those powers re-sorted

         “Helios,” Mercedes said. She had forgotten him. Rumors of his power (near-forgotten at the likes of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter) were rampant in the Othrys ranks. Helios sometimes claimed his powers didn’t work because he didn’t have the sun chariot, but she would need to be sure. Mercedes sat very still. Would she need to interview another titan? One she did not want to see?

         “You forgot about him.” Pax sounded cheery.

         Slowly, Mercedes nodded. “I had. This is why it’s good to keep parasites around. Sometimes they keep things in their digestive systems longer than the host. Or, maybe, sometimes hosts need partners more than parasites.”

         Elevating Pax’s position—that was a conversation for another day.

         Mercedes felt sick. She wanted to accuse a friend of espionage as much as she wanted to volunteer them for an interactive presentation on degloving. No one had given her much to work with, but most didn’t fit the bill.

Matthias had gone in rambling circles during his interrogation. The main thing saving him? He was too clever and resourceful. Had he wanted to capture the three boys in a building that he had designed, there would have been an attack of chloroform-coated underwear automatons.

Prometheus, likewise, would not have been so sloppy. He, as he admitted, would have gassed the boys or poisoned them.

Alabaster and Lou Ellen suspected Lamia. Apparently it would be easy for such a powerful witch to locate the magical objects transported there. Mercedes had Lamia on a different suspect list.

Luke, in his ever-increasing paranoia, thought it was Alabaster who set himself up. A charming disposition to cover up Luke’s insecurities, but Mercedes knew that Alabaster had no use for subterfuge. His family made up a third of the army. If he wanted, he could have the Princess Andromeda make port in San Pedro Bay with a Welcome Legions of Rome! sign.

That left an option Pax should have pointed out but never would.

Axel.

He was close to all the right people: Luke (formerly. Mercedes blamed their falling out on a lack of shared interest. Axel didn’t have the propensity for pedophilia and domestic abuse that Luke had), Alabaster, Jack and Flynn, and, of course, Pax. By being close to Pax, he was close to Mercedes and all of Mercedes’ documents. He was one of the only souls aboard the ship not pledged to Kronos—incapable since he was full-blooded Maya.

There was no point in interviewing Flynn. Flynn could tell Mercedes that she was innocent; with her charmspeak, Mercedes would believe her. Any argument against Flynn would have to be cautiously researched, compiled, and brought to Lucille, Prometheus, and Luke in full secrecy.

For that matter, Lucille could be a good option, but there seemed no reason: she was happily courting Ethel and had taken Charlie on as her own daughter. She didn’t feel right… Although, Mercedes guessed Silena Beauregard wouldn’t feel right as a spy for Camp Half-Blood, and Silena had been cheating on Beckendorf and getting campers killed for at least two years now. Having children of Aphrodite around was always dicey. Thank god the Roman editions weren’t as powerful.

Although it was unwise to be too close to anyone with Mercedes’ job, she wouldn’t want to accuse Lucille without hard evidence. Lucille made sure no one bothered Mercedes about her hijab, just as Mercedes assured that no one bothered Lucille about her relationships with women.

Mercedes watched Pax’s gaze flicker over the symbols on the paper, pretending to read them.

She didn’t think Pax would accuse his half-brother or his surrogate mother, even if those were the most logical conclusions.

Pax set the paper down. His rounded cheeks puffed into a frown. Insecurity wrinkled the edges of his eyes as they gazed intently into hers.

Mercedes took in a deep breath. Would he?

���Mercedes,” he said, sounding grave, “I’m thinking about having my first kiss—well, my real first kiss.”

“Ya Allah, save us from the sins and hellfire,” Mercedes mumbled, exhaling. The tension eased out of her muscles as she restrained a laugh.

“I’m thinking about Alabaster, though Lou Ellen says he might not be ready yet. But, that’s like saying she shouldn’t try to make a move on my brother during our victory dance party, and she should totally make a move on my brother.”

As he spoke, Mercedes collected the list of suspicious names, tucked it into her flip notebook, and closed it. She rose, took her cup of cold coffee, and dumped it down a sink along one wall. As the brown liquid splattered against the white porcelain, she sent a mental prayer of safety for her mother, brothers, and friends back at home.

No one seemed to realize she eavesdropped on her comrades as much as she spied on her enemies. If there was one thing she knew, Alabaster was not ready for intimacy, with anyone, let alone with Pax. And Axel would certainly have a heart attack warding off Lou Ellen, who, she knew for a fact, Axel thought was too young for him.

“I want it to be perfect. Jack agrees and he’s been brainstorming with me. He said he doesn’t remember his first kiss and that makes him really sad and Flynn won’t tell me about hers. But, it has to have great atmosphere—music! And maybe outdoors—maybe with a garden—but what if something goes wrong? I’ve been practicing on my hand—You know, to make sure I’m not the worst while keeping the purity of the first kiss—and I’ve been asking for advice all around, from Lucille and Prometheus won’t tell me anything, he just laughs in his ‘I’m a titan who can predict the future’ kind of way. And what if it isn’t perfect?! Like, I want it to make Alabaster happy and make me happy and be a good story for future Pax generations like Jack wishes he had a good story for me!” Pax rose to his feet to follow her around the room.

From the frantic cadence of his tone, she knew, with relief, they were done for the day. The part of Pax’s brain capable of none-meandering thoughts had a clear timer and that alarm had gone off.

She walked back to the table, gathering her notebook and new hijab. The fabric felt so soft when she tucked both against her chest. “Too many expectations lead to inevitable disappointment. What if you’re a bad kisser?”

“What if I’m a bad kisser?” Pax’s eyes widened. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them.

“Planning isn’t in your nature. What if nothing goes according to plan?” She ushered her stunned friend towards the exit of the Spy Barracks.

Pax stumbled alongside her, eyes clearly visualizing the worst case scenario. “You’re right! What if nothing goes according to plan?!”

“What if you make a big fuss over something that won’t matter and you worry yourself needlessly?”

“What if I—hey!” Pax’s features scrunched up into a pout. He folded his arms.

Mercedes sighed. Like Alabaster, she didn’t have time for experience in this field and couldn’t offer much advice. As someone who ran spy operations, and someone with a cute, unpredictable parasite pouting in front of her, she knew things tended to fall apart in correlation with how hard you tried to keep them together. “You can’t control if something goes wrong, Ajax, and you can’t control how Alabaster will react. If things go wrong, then you’ll find someone else later, whose lip sensitivity is closer to that of your palm.” She pointed to his right hand, the one she assumed he’d been practicing on.  

“But what if—”

Pax went quiet.

Mercedes had, much to her own surprise and skipped heartbeat, leaned forward. His nose was cold when it pressed against hers; his lips, warm. There was a faint hint of something citrusy, like he had drunk orange juice for breakfast. Fortunately, no reek of bacon.  

Several jittery questions flashed through her brain: What constitutes as a “real” kiss? Was I supposed to close my eyes? It’s awkward if I keep them open, right? How long am I supposed to do this for?

The insecurity shook her nerves—it shouldn’t have. This was Pax. And they were just friends. Just two friends who spent 90% of their time together.

His eyes had gone wide with shock. His gasp sucked air from her before he gently exhaled.

Four seconds was plenty, plenty enough to make her face feel hot. Mercedes saw movement out of her peripheral—either he was about to push her away or pull her close. She didn’t wait to find out. She withdrew, absently fussing with her notebook and hijab like she’d finished another closing procedure. Both items had almost slipped from her grasp.

Pax looked lost. His mouth moved a few times, before remembering how to form words, “Why did you do that?” The question was quiet and uncertain. Not angry.  From his hesitant tension, she got the feeling there was more he wanted to ask, but was scared.

Mercedes quirked her lips into a smirk. “Because, no one will believe you when you tell the story later.”

His mouth moved a few times more times; Mercedes resisted the urge to remind him that they were no longer kissing.

In the most delayed startle she’d seen, he jumped. “But—wha—it—Mercedes!” he cried in protest. Mercedes ushered him outside the spy barrack’s door while he was still floundering for words. “I—but—” He huffed. “I wanted to share my first kiss with someone who hadn’t had theirs!”

Mercedes paused in the doorway, widening her grin. “You just did.” And, she shut the door on his face, locking it. Mercedes pressed against the wall, flipped out her dulled mirror, and tilted it to watch him through the window.

Pax paced back and forth across the entranceway, paused, raised a hand to open the door again, threw his hands up, and dropped them. After six seconds of standing there, he touched his lips and blushed. The blush remained as he walked, unsteadily, away from the Spy Barracks.

He’d be pouty with her for another week. To keep any ideas out of his head, she’d have to pretend she didn’t know why. She unfolded the hijab to admire the embroidery. This must have taken Pax weeks to make. She pressed the silk against her face, enjoying the smooth coolness. The slickness would be a pain—she’d have to wear an undercap to keep it in place.

She thought about how hard her mother would slap her if she ever found out Mercedes had kissed a boy. At home, she would have been forbidden to see Pax or, at least, be forbidden to spend time with him without a chaperon—no, it would be fully forbidden. Pax was raised Catholic. There was no potential for—

The elation in her chest crushed when she glanced down at her notebook. This was a botched job. There was no time for any daydreaming or—had she been flirting? Luke expected a report from her by the end of the day, and she needed to give him a name in that report. If she didn’t—

Mercedes tried not to think about the hunger in Luke when he stared at Annabeth, the way he’d smacked Phil across the room, the times she’d stumbled into Jack healing his own battered face with a hushed, “Don’t tell Flynn or the boys. They won’t understand that Luke has bad days the same way that I get confused.” The way Kronos’ darkness seemed to spread through the underlings like a contagion, through how Jack and Flynn had future plans to torture-heal-torture any new captives (for Jack, as some displaced revenge against Thalia for failing his friend; for Flynn, for fun) and the increased violence and spectacle of Axel’s now labyrinthine cage fights.

And here she was, holding a gift against her face like she could have a Catholic Maya boy as a sweetheart even if she were at home. People died and were seriously injured because of her lack of oversight—how dare she. What else had she clouded from her vision?

Pax is a good suspect. He has access to all your files. But, he had no reason to alert Axel and Alabaster to the ambush. Breath choked in Mercedes’ throat. And she couldn’t do that—she couldn’t do that to Pax or herself.

She knew this—suspecting friends—came with the job. But, that had been a distant thought when she—terrified and desperate for some good to come out of the inevitable slaughter of her Cohort—realized she would make the perfect spy for Camp Othrys. Before she knew the ease of Lucille’s smile, how special Pax could make her feel, how horrifying Flynn was.

Pain spread along her forearm. She dug her nails in. Underneath were the lines of her Roman tattoo, of Mercury’s symbol and her bars of service. The marks didn’t vanish when she pledged her soul to Kronos, when she forsook any chance of joining her real family after death. Was there a chance Allah would understand? To what extent could you step into the dark to stop tyrants and false idols before you were consumed?

When she inhaled sharply, she could almost taste the scent of her centurion’s perfume, a smell as comforting as her mother’s brewing coffee. She thought about that home—Rome. About her real home in Spain. About her real name, the one she had to abandon, and the one she took upon joining the legion, now reserved for her contacts in New Rome. She could never keep a name. If she did, and something went wrong, if she couldn’t do her job right, legionnaires or titans might find her real family and kill them.

Like not finding a satisfying suspect for this report.

Life seemed complicated when she lived in Granada, helping to raise her brothers while her mother worked. It seemed more complicated when she had to abandon them to keep the monsters away. Tiny Mercedes could have never predicted life would get worse.

Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.

But, she didn’t feel that right now. She’d been so careful not to feel anything. And then Pax gave her this stupid hijab and she was dumb enough to kiss him.

Her breath felt tight; legs, weak. She had to lean against the wall for support. How many homes can you have before none of them are a “home?” How many identities can you wear before all of them lose meaning? How many times could you pledge a soul before it shatters?

         There were no answers to these questions, and Mercedes still had to pick from one of her friends to throw to Luke as a scapegoat and sacrifice.

Mercedes slid to the floor, pressed her face completely into the hijab and sobbed.

 Authors note:

Thank you for reading! I’m sorry for the hiatus--I aim to get back to a bimonthly schedule.  Every time I edited this piece, it just didn’t feel right/good enough. I hope you enjoyed anyway! I also hope all of you are well and being gentle with yourselves! Stay tuned for one of my first (sorta?) fluff pieces, Alabaster’s Delicate Dance of Chance (hopefully during the month of October >>’‘)

[redvanillabee]

behold: aroace jack thompson

Since before the war, there’s always been talk that he would get the girl. His college friends could see it; girls would have their attention on him. He just turns a blind eye to them.

His family expects that of him too. ‘When are you bringing home a girl?’ Gam-gam would ask. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he’s not interested.

But then of course, war.

He...experimented, of course. He’s not stupid; he knew there were men who felt That Way about other men. And maybe if he didn’t feel anything for women, maybe he’s just been looking in the wrong places?

(Nope. He still didn’t feel anything.) (He’s not broken. He swears he’s not broken.) (Is he?)

The chatter only ratcheted up once he returns from the Pacific. A dashing young man and now a freshly minted war hero? Dames will be falling over themselves to be with you!!

He shrugs them off as best he can (and tries not to think too much about the Navy Cross). I just arrived home for God’s sake, let me take a breather first. Like you said, I’m a war hero. You think I can’t get any girl I want when I want to? (accompanied with an infuriating smirk that hides all the pain). Work comes first now; no girl’s gonna want to shack up with a fella who can’t afford anything better than a dingy apartment.

The bullpen banter was a good disguise. Is your missus being a nag again? Ahaha ball and chain amirite ahahahaha. If everyone thinks he’s a cynical bachelor who refuses to settle down...well, he has no reason to correct them. It gets people off his case.

Carter and Sousa. Right.

Here’s the thing. Just because he doesn’t understand those feelings at all, that doesn’t mean he can’t see it when it’s staring at him in the face.

(Well Carter’s better at hiding it. Sousa...bless his soul, they could probably see him pining all the way from the moon.)

Sending Carter to LA was as much a prank as it was him playing the sage, wise matchmaker. If anything, they click. The perfect balance of brain and brawn. Motivating while keeping each other in check. They make a formidable duo.

Sousa. Getting married.

He hopes he doesn’t look too disappointed. Marriage. Right. You congratulate people for that.

But he can see it all play out. No more after-work drinks and long talks into the night; the missus is waiting at home with dinner. Kids. Plural. School plays and weekend football games. Family trips in the summer. Taking multiple days off to be with the kids for Christmas.

Sousa is the closest thing he has to a friend in years. But right now he can see how it goes. Before long, he will be nothing but a figure in the past. A lone spectre peeking through the window into domestic bliss.

He’ll be damn lucky if he gets a Christmas card.

There was never any question about him flying back to New York. Why would there be? There’s work to return to. Any hiccups that has kept him longer than expected in this godforsaken state that can’t even make a decent slice of pizza are solved. There’s nothing here for him.

The phone rings. Carter says she is taking the rest of her vacation days. He bites his tongue so he won’t point out how breathless she sounds, or how the background noises on her end sounded exactly like Sousa’s office. Vacation my ass. Her reason for staying is clear as day.

Alright Carter. Just don’t forget you still work for me.

Have a safe flight, Jack. click. 

Don’t get him wrong, he is happy for them. This was what he wanted when he sent her out west, wasn’t it? But he can’t stop that pang in his heart. This little...he dared not use the word family, but squad, team, that he has found for himself in these baffling post-war years. Just like that, it’s all gone. And how like him that he had a hand in its undoing. No more tweedle dee, tweedle doo, and tweedle dum. No more three musketeers. When...if they ever hang out together again, it’ll be a sweet couple and their loner friend just tagging along.

You can all still hang out as friends, a voice suggested in his head, but even it did not sound entirely convinced. The same pictures flashed across his mind: wedding. Kids. Football games. Summer trips. Playing Santa. 

He threw the last of his shirts mindlessly into the open suitcase. Why should he be surprised? He always knew it would come to this, didn’t he?

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

hear me out: aroace Jack Thompson