#anyway um. freud class when

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 6

WC: 964

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: unexpected smut, spanking, a bit of dom!Laszlo, soft

🧠

You didn’t know how the hell you ended up in this situation but god you weren’t complaining. Bent over that stupid old desk in his stupidly beautiful office, skirt hiked around your waist and ass in the Doctor’s face.

You jolted as his palm made contact with your bare flesh. “You think you can speak to me like that?” The German lilt to his voice turns you on more than you ever could have imagined.

“No- no sir,” you whimper and bury your face into the stack of papers he had left in front of you.

“Let’s not forget who is in charge here,” he punctuates with another slap to your rear. The sting carries up your back and down your quivering thighs. You can feel the aching throb in your cunt, the slick leaking out of you.

“Please… doctor please…” you beg for relief.

His fingers finally trace up your slit, circling your engorged clit. He continues his ministrations against your heat. You can feel your release coming swiftly, quicker than you’ve ever experienced. The moans that leave you echo throughout his office. “Dr. Kreizler, please.”

“You beg, plead, so willingly. Tell me, is it of your own free will? Or are you chained to your desire? To want what you can never have?” His words begin your sinful fall into ecstasy-

You shoot up in bed, alarm blaring beside you. “What the actual fuck….” you pant. Sweat clings to your overheated skin and shirt. Your inner thighs are sticky with want. Dear god you just had a sex dream about Kreizler. You sit lost in your thoughts on what the hell that means. Eventually, you realize that if you don’t get out of bed you’re going to face the wrath of the real Dr. Kreizler.

_

As if today couldn’t get any worse. Here you sat in the back of his Introductory Psychology course as he started his first in a series of lectures on - you guessed it - dream interpretation. You felt hot and out of place as you listened in. So long as he didn’t notice you avoiding eye contact you would be fine. It’s not like the two of you said much after the incident in his office earlier in the week, anyway.

“One of the more beautiful theories that Freud constructed that we still use today is the belief that our dreams are the manifestation of our unconscious mind. While we do not know truly why it is that we experience dreaming during our sleeping state, we can be certain that more often than not our inner thoughts are realized at this time. This may be as simple as recalling what you ate for lunch that day. Or, it may delve deeper. Our desires, our needs, even the cravings we dare not speak aloud make their way into dreams. The things we want but can never have.”

You shift in your seat, overcome with a surge of shivers down your spine at his last words as they hit too close for comfort. If you didn’t know any better you would question if he could read your thoughts. His words cause you to glance up at him, only to see him already looking at you from across the lecture hall. You drop your face towards the desk and inhale a shaky breath.

Cravings we dare not speak aloud…. No. There is absolutely no way you want anything to do with this man, especially not like that. He repulses you. He pushes your buttons every day. Everything he does is like it was done with the sole purpose to annoy you. Sure, he may look like a sin-incarnate, but what good is that if he’s a pretentious ass?

After class you are working on his assigned tasks when he breaks the silence. “I am afraid I missed lunch today so I am planning to order take out. Would you like some?”

His question catches you off guard. “Oh. Um… no that’s okay I’ll just eat when I get home,” you try to decline his offer.

“Nonsense, it is the least I can do after my behavior earlier in the week. I admit that I had sensed your... distress… yet I still provoked you during our conversation. I would like to make it up to you.” He was apologizing for being an asshole? You search his face for some sign that this is all a trick. In the end you decide that he is being sincere.

The two of you eat quietly, occasionally making small talk. “I didn’t take you as the type to like cheap chinese food,” you comment around a mouth full of beef and broccoli.

“I developed an affinity for it while I studied at Harvard. Many late nights in the library and it was the only decent available food source.”

“Now that I do believe.” He cocks his head in question at your response. “I just mean that you’re very well read. If I’m being honest you don’t seem like you do much else besides read,” you chuckle softly, not wanting to stoke the man's ego.

“Reading is perhaps the most effective way to stimulate the mind and widen one’s understanding of the world in which we live. There is the book by Freud in which I assigned passages to read this week, The Interpretation of Dreams; it is one of the first works to be published within the realm of modern psychology on the topic of dream analysis. Without it, we might not have had the foundations to examine them in the scientific manner that we do. Of course, it is all speculation, but even so - where might we be without the curiosity of the human mind put into literature?”

For once you don’t have an argument.

Tag list

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[365days365movies]

February 24, 2021: Annie Hall (1977) (Part 1)

Well...Woody Allen.

I, uh...OK, look, I could get into the whole Woody Allen thing, but INSTEAD of me doing that, I’ll just say this: look into it. Because there is a LOT on this subject, and it’s controversial as HELL. At the end of the day, I’ll recommend this upcoming series on HBO, and just recommend that you look into it.

Because, uh...yeah, it’s not great. That’s all I’m gonna say, because I need to educate myself on it more as well. Instead, let’s talk for a few seconds about divorcing the art from the artist. But ONLY for a few seconds.

I understand why some of you might be surprised I’m doing this one. Because, again...Woody Allen. But, yeah, I always try to do my best to divorce the art from the artist. Because some people suck, but they still make nice things, or at the very least, things that should be open to interpretation and appreciation.

“Superfreak” is a classic song of 1981, and everybody’s heard at least some of it, but Rick James fuckin’ kidnapped two women and kept them in his basement, WHERE HE TORTURED THEM. Edgar Degas made beautiful paintings of ballet dancers, and was also A MASSIVE ANTI-SEMITE. And before he was (RIGHTFULLY AND JUSTIFIABLY) outed as a roofie-ing piece-o-shit...I grew up with - and genuinely enjoyed - this guy’s comedy.

And you can judge me for this, but...I still think his stand-up was and is genuinely funny, and I still appreciate the cultural impact that The Cosby Show had on society’s perception of African-American families, divorced from the stereotype of the ghetto. Fact of the matter is, works themselves deserve to be separated from the artist who made them. That’s my philosophy, and I’m sticking with it Entirely fine to disagree with me, by the way, I get it.

But in that spirit, I’m watching Annie Hall, despite its creators likely transgressions. After all, this is technically his magnum opus, and it’s a good look into the man himself. And so, with that in mind: Annie Hall! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) is talking directly to us about his outlook on life, and his view on the potential future. He tells half of a joke, then an amusing anecdote, and a bit more until telling us that he’s broke up with Annie, and he’s still thinking about it, trying to figure out exactly where things went wrong. He goes back to the beginning, which is punctuated with flashbacks.

He grew up in Brooklyn in World War II, and a young Alvy (Jonathan Munk) is with his mother (Joan Newman) at the doctor’s. He’s depressed after learning that the universe will one day end after a period of expansion, and is having his first real existential crisis. I had mine around the same age, actually, went I learned that the Earth will one day get swallowed by the sun. And THEN came the realization that I’d be dead by that point. AND THEN came the realization that I’d die one day, and that was a WHOLE NEW crisis to...anyway.

He grew up under the Coney Island rollercoaster according to him (although his analyst says that he exaggerates), and that’s what he blames for his “nervous personality. He’s also got an active imagination, often blurring fantasy and reality. His Dad ran the bumper cars on Coney Island (a place that I’ve never been, but desperately want to go).

He continues on talking about his former schoolmates, and not really that well. While in class, young Alvy kisses a...little girl...ahem. And then, when reprimanded by the teacher, current Alvy notes that he was always...like that...and he also says this to the little girl, and they talk about Freud’s latency period, and Alvy said he never...had...one...that’s uh...that’s fuckin’ SOMETHING, now isn’t it?

OK, well, shoving that forcefully aside as hard as I can, Alvy wonders aloud on where his classmates now, and one of them says this:

This also involves a little girl saying she’s “into leather,” which is...awkward as FUCK, but WE’RE GONNA MOVE THE FUCK ON. Alvy recounts his paranoia, and was so even after he became a famous comedian (which we say after a VERY good joke about qualifying for the army as a hostage). He speaks to a friend, Rob (Tony Roberts) about potential anti-Semitism from a person in a passersby meeting, then heads to meet Annie.

Annie Hall (Diane Keaton) arrives at a movie theater, late and in a bad mood. The two are late to their intended film, argue briefly, then head to another film that they’ve already seen, The Sorrow and the Pity. In line, they’re in front of a man loudly soliloquizing on film, much to Alvy’s annoyance.

Annie and Alvy continue to argue a bit, while Alvy openly berates the casual film critic. In the middle, he talks to the audience about it, only to be followed by the crtiic himself, who also acknowledges the audience! Huh! Anyway, he’s a professor at Columbia, and starts continuing his line speech, this time on the work of Marshall McLuhan, one of the most important early media theorists ever. And then, Alvy brings out Marshall McLuhan (Marshall McLuhan) to debate him on it, only for Alvy to turn to the audience and wish aloud that life could really be like this!

I’m beginning to understand why people like this film. It’s metacontextual before metacontextuality was really a thing in film. It’s a fourth-wall breaking movie in some fantastic ways. But will it still hold its muster after breaking the fourth wall’s become so commonplace? we’ll see, I guess.

After a showing of the film, the two return home, and Alvy tries to initiate sex. But Annie’s not really into it at the moment, and Alvy complains that they used to have sex all the time, and it’s been a while since. So, I guess that retroactively awkward scene at the school was meant to foreshadow Alvy’s high libido, that will probably cause some conflict in the film. Anyway, Annie notes that Alvy once went through something similar with Allison, his first wife. Who’s Allison? Flashback!

Allison Portchnik (Carol Kane) is a graduate student in political science, working for a campaign that Alvy’s about to perform for. He’s nervous, as he’s going on after another comedian. She comforts him by saying that she thought he was cute, and he does well. But we flash-forward to a night after they’re married, shortly after the death of JFK, which Alvy’s obsessing over, entertaining various conspiracy theories.

However, Allison rightly points out that his obsession is simply a way for him to avoid having sex with her, which mirrors the present-day situation him him and Annie. Flash forward TO Alvy and Annie, and there are just lobsters...everywhere, on the floor in their kitchen. After that commotion, they talk about Annie’s past romances.

And by talk about, I mean they LITERALLY WALK THROUGH her memories. And I gotta say...I fuckin’ love this method of storytelling. One of her previous boyfriends is an actor (John Glover), and his over-dramatic prose sickens Alvy. We see a second marriage of Alvy’s to New Yorker writer Robin (Janet Margolin), who’s dragged him to a stuffy high society party of intellectuals that he has no interest in going to. Same her, Alvy. I bet the caviar’s canned.

He tries to initiate sex with her - in the middle of the party, mind you - and she turns him down. later, when they get to it in their apartment, she’s unable to, uh...reach satisfaction. From there, we flash-forward after that marriage ends to a tennis match with Rob, where he meets one of his mutual friends: Annie Hall.

And for the record, Annie’s pretty obviously got a crush on him, and she’s adorable as fuck. Also, that outfit, real talk...that outfit rules. She offers to give Alvy a list, during which he’s quite worried about her driving, but the two still get along well enough. Annie’s an amateur photographer, during a time period where photography is considered a relatively new art form. The two go to her apartment, and share familial anecdotes and personal stories about themselves. And as they talk, we also see a set of subtitles on top of each of them that betray their inner feelings and thoughts.

I do genuinely like the stylings of the movie, goddamn. This conversation leads to Alvy asking her out on a date, although they end up scheduling it after Annie auditions at a nightclub as a singer. And while it doesn’t go great, Alvy tells her she was fantastic, and they share a kiss before they head to dinner. They head to her place afterwards, and we cut to later that night, post-coitus.

And then, we get a flash-forward back to the next day, where the two are at a bookstore, and Alvy speaks on his personal philosophy of life.

I'm obsessed with uh, with death, I think. Big - big subject with me, yeah. I have a very pessimistic view of life. You should know this about me if we're gonna go out. You know, I - I feel that life is - is divided up into the horrible and the miserable. Those are the two categories, you know. The - the horrible would be like, um, I don't know, terminal cases, you know, and blind people, crippled. I don't know how they get through life. It's amazing to me. You know, and the miserable is everyone else. That's - that's - so - so - when you go through life - you should be thankful that you're miserable because you're very lucky to be miserable.

Iiiiinteresting.

Shortly into their relationship, they admit they’re in love (or “lurve”, as Alvy says). She moves in with Alvy, which he initially isn’t the biggest fan of, having been burned in two previous marriages And already, their relationship is showing a few bumps. Alvy’s also always trying to push her to take college classes, while she uses mariuana whenever they have sex, which Alvy doesn’t agree with.

But as they have sex one night, without the marijuana at Alvy’s urging, Annie’s mind wanders - LITERALLY.

This film...this film has a VERY unique style of visual storytelling, and I am HERE for it! Seriously, I genuinely love this method of storytelling and comedy, it’s extremely engaging to me.

Soon enough, Alvy gets an interview to write for a talk show host, which he ABSOLUTELY despises. But in doing so, he decides to go into stand-up for himself, and is actually quite successful at it! But before we get to that, we’re at the halfway point! See you in Part 2!

[straycatsacademia]

Coffee Vs. Creamer

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Ship: Chuuatsu

Chapters: 1/?

Summary: Nakahara Chuuya has been working at Mori's Cafe since he was 16. His ex-coworker, Dazai Osamu, now mentors Nakajima Atsushi at a rivaling coffee shop. When Atsushi starts to come into Mori's Cafe to get away from the chaos, Chuuya starts to feel things for Atsushi he didn't think he was capable of feeling.

Read it on Ao3

Chuuya had been working for Mori’s Cafe since he was 16. Despite the rude customers and the lack of tips, he enjoyed his job. Especially the hours. Since Mori’s cafe was one of two 24 hour coffee shops in this small town, Chuuya was able to work nights, when it was usually quiet. Except tonight.

“Hi Chuuuyaaaa!” He heard his ex-coworker yell. Chuuya groaned.

“Dazai, you left our shop to work at another cafe, why do you always come here to get your coffee?”

“It gets boring at nights,” Dazai whined. “What better way to spend my time than annoy you?”

Chuuya grit his teeth, but took his money and started making his coffee. “Don’t you have to, I don’t know, actually work?”

“Nah, we hired someone else to help me with the night shift so I’m able to come here when it’s slow!”

“Give that poor soul my condolences for working with you,” Chuuya replied.

Dazai stuck out his tongue and walked out of the shop. Chuuya leaned back against the counter sighing.

“He forgot his coat,” his coworker, Akutagawa, mentioned behind him.

Looking over, sure enough Dazai’s coat was on the counter.

“Ugh, lazy bastard will just call me until I bring it over. Watch the shop for me for a few, yeah?”

Akutagawa nodded and went back to wiping the tables as Chuuya grabbed the coat and started heading to the ADA cafe. Since they lived in a small town, Chuuya only had to walk a few blocks.

Once he walked into the cafe, instead of Dazai he was met with a silver-haired man with a bright smile.

“Hello, can I help you today?”

Chuuya blinked. This dude was way too happy to be working at a coffee shop at 3 a.m..

“You must be Dazai’s new coworker,” he mused. “I work at the coffee shop he just went to and he left his coat, I’m just returning it,” he said.

“Ah, gotcha! Thank you! If you didn’t bring it back Dazai probably would have made me get it,” he laughed.

That was when Chuuya noticed that the man’s name-tag read “Atsushi.”

“Yeah, probably, knowing his lazy ass. You seem pretty nice, how on earth did you get stuck with him?”

“Oh, I’m a college student! I take night classes so this schedule actually worked out perfect for me,” he explained.

At that moment Dazai walked in. “Ewww what is that hat-rack doing here?”

“Returning your jacket, dumbass!”

“Awww chibi is so mean to me~ I wish he was nice to me like Atsushi,” Dazai pouted.

“Atsushi is too nice to be putting up with you,” Chuuya responded.

“Thanks, Chuuya,” Atsushi laughed. “I’ll deal with him, thank you again for dropping off his jacket,” he added.

Chuuya nodded and then left the shop, glaring at Dazai.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and Chuuya wasn’t really expecting to see Atsushi again, yet he was surprised when Atsushi walked into the shop a few days later.

“Is Dazai giving you too much trouble? I’ll beat him up for you,” Chuuya threatened.

Atsushi laughed. “No, but he’s working tonight with Kunikida and I needed to get some work done. I figured this would be a lot more peaceful than listening to Kunikida yell at Dazai to not be a lazy ass,” he added.

Chuuya chuckled and got him his drink. Atsushi sat down at a table and started working on his homework.

“Who is that?” Akutagawa asked him.

“He’s the new guy working with Dazai. Poor thing,” Chuuya answered.

Akutagawa snorted. “Anyone who works with Dazai willingly must be an idiot,” he muttered, before going back into the kitchen to do his own thing.

Chuuya rolls his eyes before heading back to the counter. He plays on his phone a while before looking up at Atsushi again, only to see he was frowning and sticking out his tongue in concentration.

Chuuya laughed. “Struggling?”

Atsushi jumped at hearing Chuuya’s voice. He smiled. “Was I making faces while studying again? Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

Chuuya waved off his apology. “What are you studying anyway?”

“My degree is in Social Work, but that’s only if I pass this psychology class,” Atsushi groaned.

Chuuya whistled. “That’s a selfless job. Good for you, though. What makes you think you can’t pass this class?”

“It’s so much memorization, my brain can’t process it all!”

Chuuya looked around the coffee shop, Atsushi was the only customer.

“How about I help you?”

Atsushi gaped at him. “N-No I can’t ask you to do that! I don’t want to distract you from your work!”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “See any other customers in here I need to assist?”

Atsushi looked around, then back at his book.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know me, why do you want to help me?”

Chuuya shrugged. “You’re a nice guy. Well, you’ve been nice to me, and I assume you’re nice to everyone else if you can deal with Dazai,” he answered.

Atsushi stared at him for a few seconds, and then nodded

“Thank you!” He told Chuuya, handing him his note cards.

Chuuya spent the rest of the night quizzing Atsushi, and laughing whenever he asked Atsushi to associate things with certain terms.

“What makes you think of Freud?”

Atsushi scrunched his face. “Um ... cocaine?”

Chuuya snorted. “Well, I guess if it helps you remember,” he said. Then he smirked, leaning towards Atsushi. “Do you do drugs, Atsushi?”

“Wha - No! Why would you think that?!”

“You willingly worked with Dazai, that seems like only someone on cocaine would do,” Chuuya joked.

Atsushi stuck his tongue out at him. “Didn’t Dazai used to work here?”

Chuuya groaned, leaning back into his chair dramatically. “Yes, and it was the worst! He always called me his stupid dog!”

This time, it was Atsushi’s turn to laugh. “Does that mean… you were Dazai’s bitch?”

He laughed again when Chuuya threw his note cards at him.

No more customers walked in that night, and when Atsushi mentioned it was time for him to leave, Chuuya was almost sad.

“Thanks again, for helping me. Let me know if I can ever repay you!”

Chuuya smiled. “No problem. Tell me what you get on your test!” He called out as Atsushi walked out of the shop.

“Well, you two seemed to be having fun,” Akutagawa smirked beside him.

For some reason, Chuuya felt the need to defend himself.

“He needed the help and there was nothing else to do!” He argued pathetically.

Akutagawa rolled his eyes. “Sure. Next time though, flirt at his coffee shop. I almost puked,” he gagged dramatically, and Chuuya threw an empty coffee cup at him.

Yet despite Akutagawa’s teasing, he couldn’t help but look back at the door and wonder when he would see Atsushi again.

[foreverbeingthunderbuddy]

Heya Cece! Saw those last asks you answered and ya know I'm actually thinking about studying psychology too, mainly so I have something to fall back on. I'm mainly interested in fine arts (from music to theater to film making, just a bit of everything), and I also like creative writing quite a bit. I was hoping for the insight of someone who does study psychology?? Hope you're having a nice day hun💕

Heyy Gen!! My day was nice so far thanks love, I hope you’re having a nice day as well!!💖 okay so I’m not sure what exactly you want to know about studying psychology but I can tell you about the classes I’ve had so far and stuff. 

Among others there are 

Social Psychology (how do individuals act in groups?, group phenomenons/peer pressure etc), 

Differential Psychology (individuals’ differences in behaviour and character, theory of learning etc), 

Clinical Psychology (very interesting, about disorders and illnesses you would treat in e.g. psychiatries, how to diagnose, how to treat etc), 

Developmental Psychology (what happens mentally and physically with a child from birth to hitting adulthood?), 

General Psychology (umm,, idk. general stuff. motivation, illusions, concentration, learning etc)

Media- and Advertising Psychology (interesting!! marketing strategies, what to do when you want to convince someone, what does social media and advanced media do to us in general etc)

Educational Psychology (um basically children. it’s about children, kinda similar to developmental psychology)

Business Administration (how to run a business in case you want to open your own office to treat patients)

Scientific Work (how to work scientifically valid when carrying out a study for example, how to research correctly when writing on a hypothesis etc)

Statistics (god shoot me pls it’s basically math but level 9000), 

Neuroanatomy-/physiology (medicine. basically medicine. arteries, nerves, reflexes, brain lobes, blood vessels everything. you have to memorize a million latin things. period)

I can’t remember the other classes I’m sorry!! i also haven’t taken all the courses you need yet so there are probably some missing here

It’s very interesting, especially when you get into the clinical parts, you talk a lot about depression, identity disorders, phobias and such, but it’s a lot to memorize, especially when you get to all the theorists and trust me there are a lot. It’s basically studying medicine, but for the soul (plus anatomy and the like). you learn symptoms, diagnosis, and treatment. also you will encounter Sigmund Freud and Jean Piaget a lot. but later on you can focus on media and advertising psychology if you want and go into marketing or business psychology. It sounds like a lot but it is manageable, easily even at times. And my professors always talk about cases they encountered during their time working in clinics and similar institutions and honestly? so interesting. anyway I hope this helped? xoxo

[sakshi-shraddha]

just my favorite sentences from Simon Spier's life so far

• You never really know what he’s thinking. But I have this theory that Bram’s probably really funny inside his own head. I don’t even know why I think that.

But seriously: whatever inside jokes he has with himself, I think I’d like to be in on them.

• And it was one of those days where I couldn’t wait until I was home on my laptop. I mean, I couldn’t even wait to check it on my phone in the parking lot.

Because I had written Blue from my secret account this morning. And it was sort of an important email. I just wanted to see if he had written back.

• “Well, I think my unconscious is trying to tell me something.” Nick can be pretty single-minded when he’s feeling intellectual. “Obviously, the theme of the dream is vision. What am I not seeing? What are my blind spots?”

“Your music collection,” I suggest.

Nick rocks backward in the video game chair and takes another swig of tea. “Did you know Freud interpreted his own dreams when he was developing his theory? And he believed that all dreams are a form of unconscious wish fulfillment?”

• You can’t imagine how much I hated middle school. Remember the way people would look at you blankly and say, “Um, okaaay,” after you finished talking? Everyone just had to make it so clear that, whatever you were thinking or feeling, you were totally alone. The worst part, of course, was that I did the same thing to other people. It makes me a little nauseated just remembering that.

So, basically, what I’m trying to say is that you should really give yourself a break. We were all awful then.

• That’s where I found Blue’s post. It just kind of spoke to me. And I don’t even think it was just the gay thing. I don’t know. It was seriously like five lines, but it was grammatically correct and strangely poetic, and just completely different from anything I’d ever read before.

I guess it was about loneliness. And it’s funny, because I don’t really think of myself as lonely. But there was something so familiar about the way Blue described the feeling. It was like he had pulled the ideas from my head. Like the way you can memorize someone’s gestures but never know their thoughts. And the feeling that people are like houses with vast rooms and tiny windows.

The way you can feel so exposed anyway.

The way he feels so hidden and so exposed about the fact that he’s gay.

I felt strangely panicked and self-conscious when I read that part, but there was also this quiet thrum of excitement.

He talked about the ocean between people. And how the whole point of everything is to find a shore worth swimming to.

I mean, I just had to know him.

• “It’s a dementor robe over my clothes. I think you’ll survive.”

“What’s a dementor?”

I mean, I can’t even. “Nora, you are no longer my sister.”

“So it’s some Harry Potter thing,” she says.

• Leah’s also into slash fanfiction, which got me curious enough to poke around the internet and find some last summer. I couldn’t believe how much there was to choose from: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy hooking up in thousands of ways in every broom closet at Hogwarts. I found the ones with decent grammar and stayed up reading all night.

• I take a sip of my beer, and it’s—I mean, it’s just astonishingly disgusting. I don’t think I was expecting it to taste like ice cream, but holy fucking hell.

People lie and get fake IDs and sneak into bars, and for this? I honestly think I’d rather make out with Bieber. The dog. Or Justin.

Anyway, it really makes you worry about all the hype surrounding sex.

• “Thanks, but I’m driving,” says Leah. But she wouldn’t be drinking even if she wasn’t driving. I know that. Because there’s this invisible line, and on one side are people like Garrett and Abby and Nick and every musician ever. People who go to parties and drink and don’t get wasted off of one beer. People who have had sex and don’t think it’s a huge deal.

On the other side of the line are people like Leah and me.

But the one thing that makes it weirdly better is knowing that Blue is one of us. I’m reading a little between the lines here, but I actually don’t think Blue has ever kissed anyone. It’s funny—I don’t even know if it counts that I have.

I’ve never kissed a guy. That’s something I think about all the time.

• Leah loves gay guys, so she’d probably be freaking thrilled.

• I’m tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change, but I keep changing, in all these tiny ways. I get a girlfriend. I have a beer. And every freaking time, I have to reintroduce myself to the universe all over again.

• “It’s the freaking Tumblr, okay. Half that shit is made up.” 

Laura’s voice is broken and sniffly. “But there’s … a little … bit of … truth … to … every—” 

• It shouldn’t bother me when Nick and Leah hang out without me. It just feels like I’m on the outside somehow.

Not all the time. Just sometimes.

But yeah. I feel irrelevant. I hate that.

• I’M IN history class, and apparently Ms. Dillinger just asked me a question, because everyone is looking at me like I owe them something. So now I’m blushing and trying to bullshit my way through it, and judging by her twisty, teacherly frown, I don’t think it’s going very well.

I mean, when you think about it, it’s a little fucked up that teachers think they get to dictate what you think about. It’s not enough if you just sit there quietly and let them teach. It’s like they think they have a right to control your mind.

I don’t want to think about the War of 1812. I don’t want to know what the hell was so impressive to a bunch of freaking sailors.

What I want is to sit here and think about Blue. 

• Jacques,

Just so you know, your being cute isn’t the reason you’re easy to talk to, because it really should be the opposite. In real life, I go totally silent around cute guys. I just freeze up. I can’t help it. But I know the real reason you were asking was because you wanted to hear me call you cute again, so I will. You’re cute, Jacques. And I guess you do have a thing about sentence fragments, but I sort of love it.

• Parents need to stop being so freaking awkward.

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 4

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 5,361 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Merry Christmas, everyone! Thanks for your patience, here's part 4~

See me here in the air Not holding on to anywhere But holding on so beware I have secrets I won't share

-t.A.T.u., "Clowns (Can You See Me Now?)"

Then.

“Psst.  Hey look over there, it’s that Brown girl.”

“The one hanging out with the freak in computer class?  You think they’re dating?”

“Ew, gross.”

“You know I heard she got knocked up by some loser in high school.  I bet she has like, no standards.”

“Wow, what a skank. So she’ll sleep with anyone, huh?”

Look who’s talking, Queen Jezebel.

Stephanie tried her best to ignore the snobby gathering of rich sorority girls as they gossiped and giggled loudly behind her back in the gymnasium locker room, mingling and clinging onto the clear alpha’s authority.  Hiding and huddling under a protective umbra, umbrella safety in numbers.  …So much for college being better than high school when it came to cliques and bullying.

As they passed by her change station – all the adulating acolytes swarming around their leader like an amoeba – one appendage broke away from the buzzing cluster just far enough to bump blatantly into her bare shoulder.

“Whoops.  Sorry.”

The drone drawled in an excessively sarcastic tone that didn’t sound sincere at all, to the observant master’s smug approval.

Really, just like high school.

As tempted as she was to make a snide remark on the obvious imbalanced power dynamics, Stephanie managed to swallow her pride and suppress retort.  Biting her tongue until they were out of sight, upon which she stuck it out in an equally mature gesture in their wake.

“So like anyway, I hear this new gym opened up on the outskirts downtown.  It’s kinda out of the way – like, by the boonies almost – but apparently the instructor there is really hot.”

Stephanie couldn’t catch the statement that ensued, as the distance between them had already advanced to the point their fading words were muffled by rows of metal.  There was a shrill burst of shrieking laughter before they exited though, harpy peals mixed with a round of half-appalled gasps, rebounding and resounding raucously off steel.  Odd, she could’ve sworn she heard something about pirates…?

She sighed and shrugged as she got dressed, wiping the workout sweat from her face with a towel and pulling her sweatshirt over her sports bra.  She didn’t much mind being lumped in with the outcast crowd; frankly she was used to being looked down upon by others by now, but the derisive comments still stung her self-esteem – especially when she was already having a bad day, due in part to being so bluntly turned down by the public pariah she was supposedly “associated” with.

Face it, girl, not even the “freak” is interested in you. What were you even thinking, blurting out something stupid like that.  It must’ve come off as totally desperate; someone as smart as him probably doesn’t want to bother spending time with some dumb blonde chick who can’t even find her way around campus anyway.

She had come here to blow off some steam after being grilled on her grades in addition to the above gaffe, but now thanks to those sickening sycophants she was sorely reminded of her own poor social – and subsequently intellectual – standing.  Missing culture and class (in all senses) often made her an easy scapegoat, much as she endeavored to rise above those who stooped to such low level of insult in order to make themselves appear somehow more “sophisticated”.  She couldn’t help being a bit ruffled though, bile riling spitefully in her stomach as self-doubt simultaneously rolled about her conscience.

I mean come on, who are you even kidding?  All you’re really good at is PE and pretending to be from a decent background instead of another broken dysfunctional family.  Doesn’t matter what his type is, he’s way out of your league.

While she normally tried to cover up lack of conviction with clever wit, this was just the newest in a long series of successive failures (though it certainly didn’t top the ultimate blunder she’d made once).  Chalk another one up to the slew of screw-ups and setbacks that plagued throughout her past, piling up to the point she may as well be called the Leaning Tower of “Please Kick Me”.   Despite exertions to deny at least one side of her upbringing, the dominoes were stacked against her since birth.  Any psychoanalyst worth his salt (assuming she could even afford one) would point to a mess of complications stemming from childhood, starting with “daddy dearest”. Freud would likely have a field day with her “father figure” fixation – in the more negative than positive association. While both parental “role models” had problems with neglect in the past, it was the paternal ones that particularly persisted.  Thanks to her poor excuse for a pop, she’d suffered her share of blows (both emotional and physical) that defeated and deflated a daughter’s dignity, culminating in a personal vendetta against crime and clueless adults who can’t even properly take care of their kids.  (Which in itself was one of the reasons she sadly but firmly determined in the end to give her own offspring up for adoption.)

Objectively, it was no wonder she had terrible luck – if not taste – with men, chasing endlessly after a string of doomed relationships (and consequently consecutive rejections), sought as a self-diagnosed surrogate to replace the male attention and affection she never received growing up.  …So she idly acknowledged the full irony of the situation when, in order to distract from her dejection, she considered the inadvertent advertisement mentioned earlier as a potential solace.

Maybe I’ll go ogle some eyecandy for peace of mind.

She had promised her mom she’d come home for the weekend after all.  She could stop by on her way, scope the – ahem – place out a bit.  From the sound of the discussion, it was located fairly close to the suburbs, and establishing affiliation with an exercise facility near her neighborhood would be pretty convenient during vacations, compared to commuting back and forth like she did in high school.  (Having a certified hunk for a fitness instructor as well would just be a nice bonus, icing on the cake.  Given her strict regimen, surely she deserved to treat herself to some confectionary “consolation” on the side.)

…When she stepped off the bus in the middle of Gotham’s busiest shopping district though, she realized she probably should’ve done more research into its exact whereabouts first.

Dear Diary, remind me to print out directions next time.  Or at least a map.

As she wandered hopelessly through the streets, now without the benefit of a guide or even a destination address to go by, eventually probing enough passersby bore fruit.  By the time she arrived there though (out of breath as if she had already run a marathon), the sun was starting to set.  Craning her neck to gaze up at the building sign towering above her, she snorted slightly at the lofty title.

“Out of the Nest Aerial” – what a weird name.

A bell chimed as she entered, alerting a man who was bent over some boxes in the back of the lobby (which smelled of fresh paint and renovation), apparently busy packing away some materials.  He must’ve been surprised by a customer at this late hour, as she caught a cursory lift of his (lean yet muscular) arm to glance at a wristwatch.  Still, he called pleasantly over his shoulder:

“Be right with you in a moment.”

Eyeing the robust frame of his behind, she assured:

“Ah, take your time.”

donotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbuttdonotstareathisbutt

Damn, those gals seriously weren’t kidding about the view.  …As the ass-umed target of their talk turned around though, she realized what they must have been chatting about that set off such a funny fit, following screeches with shushes.  Steph felt her own face flush as she admonished herself for inappropriately zoning in from one conspicuous feature to another.

donotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseyedonotstareathiseye

Despite the discernible… “deficiency” in the other’s visual department, the defect didn’t detract from his overall attractiveness, magnetic movie star looks unmarred by partial eclipse. One shining moon’s force of gravity was sufficient enough to draw her into its depths.  …If anything the shadow blocking the opposite sun’s reflection only enhanced his handsome appeal by augmenting an alluring air of mystique and intrigue – a Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious if she ever saw one.  Hell, the rest of his heavenly body’s figure was practically flawless, revealing the results of what must’ve amounted to years of intense physical training.  Aside from deducing self-discipline as part of his personality, he carried himself with the convivial charisma of a cheerful showman presenting some grand performance (which she vaguely recollected from her father’s former game show hosting days). A voguish comportment vaguely cobbled from the kinds of classy male caricatures generally seen strutting on red carpet catwalks, peacocks fanning their feathers for their – in this case – drabber female counterparts (fans who would squeal and fall over themselves with glee if given a chance to even get within vicinity, let alone dare to lay claim of victory).  Suave and stylish – if slightly synthetic.  All preened plumage and perfect poses, placid and practiced.  Like plastic roses, permanently planted for all to adore – parading proud and prominent down a promenade.  Whose upbeat character’s charm was hardly diminished as he grinned gregariously in greeting, the gorgeousness of such a stunning smile more than making up for any handicap.  …Although she noted the guy’s gait seemed somewhat rigid for somebody of his stature, walking with a minor limp towards her.  Her blush deepened as he approached, exuding a masculine musk as his powerful paw extended to shake.

“Welcome.  How can I help you, miss…?”

“Brown.  Stephanie Brown.”  She babbled rapidly, tongue tying again as she tripped over her response. “Nice booty- I mean, nice butt- I mean, nice to meet you.  …You know what, I’m so sorry, I’m just gonna go.”

Fortunately, he seemed to take the semi-suggestive (if perhaps politically incorrect) comment in stride, simply chuckling aloud with unalloyed aplomb.

“Trust me, I’ve heard it all.  Richard Grayson, at your service.”  The dreamboat flourished a forgiving bow, adding with a flirtatious smirk:  “You can call me Dick though, all the ladies do.”

ohmygod please stop

“Um, I was wondering if I could check you out-” She hastily checked herself again.  “Er, check out your equipment?”  God, why did that still sound so embarrassing to say.  “I was thinking of signing up to join if you’ve got memberships available.”

“Sure, although we usually close around this time.  Was just about to lock up soon actually.  I’ll make an exception for such a lovely little lady though.”

Red crept further onto her cheeks.  “Thanks, I’ll just take a quick peek.”

He nodded.  “Feel free to look around, most of our stuff’s upstairs. Would you like me to give you a special tour?”

“N-no, that’s okay.”

She squeaked, subduing an internal squee.

“All right.  Let me know if you need anything.”

She skipped swiftly up the steps, heart skipping beats.  Today was turning out to be a pretty good day after all.

When she reached the upper floor though, she stopped short to see someone was unexpectedly there before her: the very person she had intentionally come to forget about.

What’s he doing here?

He didn’t seem to notice her presence, focused intently on a pair of uneven horizontal bars before him. Muttering something to himself under his breath, clenching his fists and flexing a few times.  After the limbering stretch, he inhaled deeply before charging at his opponent, clearing the first hurdle with ease by using it as a springboard. He appeared to have some trouble latching onto the second, but managed to rectify his grip in time, righting himself as he swung up and over in a circle.  Adjusting his center of weight, he settled into a handstand, still facing away from her.  Gradually, he removed one palm from the pipe, impressively relying on a single limb’s strength to maintain balance.

A memory pricked in the back of her mind.  Gotham High. After dusk.  An empty gymnasium.  She had forgotten her homework at school after practice, so she hopped on her scooter and raced back.  As she neared the gym though, she heard a groaning crash within, followed by an angry curse. Poking her head cautiously through the door crack, she spotted someone lying prostrate on the floormat beneath the parallel beams (which were presumably set up again by said individual after having already been put away prior), alarmingly appearing unconscious.   At first she panicked, and was about to run and call for an ambulance when the comatose corpse stirred, sluggishly staggering to its feet.  Despite dragging them a little, he wobbled over to take previous position at the end of the pad.  Stabilizing himself, he waited a minute for dizziness to dwindle before tumbling and backflipping across the entire expanse, vaulting high into the air to land – almost, but not quite – on the mark.

While she winced in his place, he merely picked himself up and gave it another go, repeating the routine over and over, for what felt like hours.  She stood there and watched with silent marvel, gaping in spellbound, slackjawed awe at each graceful arc and twist, utterly mesmerized by this bizarre boy’s sheer determination to get it all precisely right – nearly bordering on desperate, if not suicidal.  No matter how many times he tried though (nevermind shocking disregard for the quantity of bruises gained in the process), each attempt produced little improvement.  Even if he managed to successfully pull off the whole maneuver, his hands shook so much upon descent that he still slipped off the perch – almost as if some part of his subconscious were involuntarily compelling himself to hold back.  Finally, he kicked the dual poles over in frustration, storming off towards the outlet.  She hurriedly ducked around a corner, but was able to get a good glimpse at his visage before he vanished.

She knew his name straightaway from face alone; everyone did.  She’d seen him around in the halls, heard the whispered rumors, but had never spoken to him before.  Most people strove to avoid interacting with the “world class weirdo” if they could help it, and his raging outburst at the end was admittedly a bit disturbing.  …But the bitter expression of disappointment he wore as he glumly gave up became burned into her brain, ingraining irritation on his behalf.  He evidently possessed extraordinary talent, yet still wasn’t satisfied with himself. (Her own signature moves paled in comparison, and not even the most senior members on the team could come close to the caliber of coordination and dexterity – let alone stamina – required to execute the intricacy of the initial sequence.)  No one else seemed to recognize his raw skills either; or rather, he didn’t allow anyone to witness them for whatever reason.  When he showed up to class the next day sporting so many injuries, everyone speculated how the infamous “delinquent” must have gotten into some kind of brawl outside of school, and steered clear even further.  He didn’t say anything in his defense, but she found herself privately lamenting the misunderstood look of loneliness in his eyes – that in a way felt so achingly familiar from when she’d spend her mornings carefully concealing her “loving” dad’s last night beatings with makeup in the mirror.

Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to openly express sympathetic sentiment.  She had her own pressing business to attend to, as shortly after that she discovered she was pregnant.  Her louse of a boyfriend had already long broken up with her, dumped and ditched to fend for herself as soon as the quake of ’09 hit, fleeing like a coward while she stayed to try and help other survivors.  Not only that, he completely skipped town in the aftermath – coincidentally for the entire duration of her gestation period – only coming back when chaos died down and the coast was clear, in all contexts.  After she gave birth, he actually had the gall to try and get back together with her, but she kicked him hard in a certain place and then punched him in the face – twice – when he wouldn’t stay down.  (Okay, so admittedly she was taking out more aggravation at herself; maybe he didn’t thoroughly deserve the brunt of such brutal treatment, but she hadn’t had the best experience with guys who refused to take “no” for an answer either.)

While the calamity exposed some awful realities about human nature, she wasn’t the only one who chose to remain behind to aid relief efforts.  Among the scattered, smattering handful of Samaritan citizens left, she had observed another teen around her age (maybe a little younger, if his size was anything to go by).  Although for an excruciating amount of time, he seemed frozen absolute, suspended animation amidst the burning wreckage.  Glazed pupils in a trance, as if unable to process surroundings – before snapping out of stunned stupor into action.  Festinating, fighting frantically through the frightened crowd, urgently racing to rescue as many as he could from the rubble.  At one point he even recklessly risked his own life to dive under a crumbling, unstable column, reacting on impulse in order to save a small child from the structure as it collapsed.  He almost looked more terrified than the toddler afterwards, whole mass trembling (and not just from the aftershock tremors), but he held the crying kid close and soothingly promised it would be okay, that they’d find his parents, that they were okay.  He was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t learn who he was until later, when she and the majority of the refugee student body were relocated to Gotham Heights High nearby, since their own cheap institution was devastated beyond immediate repair.  (Eventually it would be rebuilt and renamed, dedicated in honor of the late Mayor Hamilton Hill, who perished during the upheaval.)  The noble sacrifice that stranger demonstrated on that day seemed a stark contrast to his cold reputation, and she admired wonderingly from afar, confused as to how someone could portray two totally different impressions in such a short span.  Deep down, she was sure the brave hero she saw emerge back then was but a flicker of the real self buried underneath frigid fortress’s exterior, convinced that a closed off heart was far kinder and more courageous than the owner let on.

At any rate, she had enough concerns on her own plate for the time being, dealing with the “reminder” her ex had left her of their time spent together.  While she tried to keep the matter discreet, there was no way she could hide such a (literally) huge secret forever – from her mom or from faculty. When the truth came out, some of her (idiot) friends thought it was cool she was having a baby, envying the attention and constant excused absences.  Others displayed their disdainful opinions on the affair, albeit in a more “indirect” manner.  Maybe they were also jealous, or more likely her teammates were mad at her for having missed so many meetings under the pretense of “not feeling well” – only to announce she was officially taking an extended leave right before the big tournament, forcing them to scramble to redo the group floor routine.  (They were already reluctant to let a transfer “rival” join, even though she had easily wowed their coach during tryouts.)  Either way, she arrived one day to find her temp hallway locker coated in graffiti, resentful remarks ranging from “slacker” to “slut”. There were worse labels as the list went on, effectively exhausting the devil’s dictionary:

Bitch.

Bimbo.

Tramp.

Trollop.

Hussy.

Harlot.

Whore.

Dreg.

Some of the comments were so harsh and hurtful she couldn’t – didn’t want to believe they came from anybody she knew.  Given the setting’s free access and availability, anyone could’ve written (and read) those things.  So rather than instantly alert authority, she resolved to stake out between breaks to see if any vandals returned to the scene of the crime.  …By the end of the day though, no one had come forward to gloat or claim responsibility.  She was about to resign herself to letting the culprit(s) go when he of all people suddenly turned up in the vacant corridor – carrying a spraycan.  Crushed by the thought he could’ve been involved – that he was really no better than his hoodlum image – she nearly called him out then and there to give a piece of her mind… when she noticed he was also holding a rag in his other hand.

He had brought cleaning supplies.

Quickly and quietly, he set to work, applying solvent and scrubbing away all the abusive slurs, leaving the cubby sparkling new.  He promptly departed without a word, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She didn’t know quite what to make of this random act; lending assistance in a crisis was one thing, but for someone to go out of his way to do her a favor when they weren’t even acquaintances went well above and beyond altruism in its own merit.  (It was possible he was erasing evidence out of remorse, but somehow she doubted that.)

She never did get a chance to ask him about it – or to thank him – as her mother marched straight into the administration office upon hearing of the incident and pulled her out for the remainder of the semester, insisting on homeschooling – at least until the fetus finished its own term.  Steph had never seen her looking so strong as in that moment.  The scathing, scolding speech and matronly outline she sharply cut were striking, if somewhat startling.  Their relationship had always been rather rocky, what with the pill addiction and alcoholism and all-around abandonment, but almost losing one’s daughter in a nigh-apocalyptic event tends to put things in perspective.  Maybe she felt guilty for not fully being there for her up through adolescence, blaming herself for any shortcomings.  She took the catastrophe itself as a sign of self-punishment, almost as if it were own fault rather than Mother Nature’s.

Whatever the motive, she really tried after that to make up for lost contact, God bless her.  She got clean – for good this time – started working double shifts at the hospital to pay for damages to the house, all the while singly supporting Stephanie through the labor and adoption proceedings.  Even went on a diet and lost some weight, though they still made sure to set aside time to eat waffles together every morning. Steph wasn’t sure why the woman specifically chose something that only offered empty carbs as their “healthy” bonding agent (she supposed since it was a warm, go-to comfort food; personally she was partial to mashed potatoes herself), but it became tradition, and it stuck – as did their adherence to each other, nonartificial sweetness strengthened with syrup.

When she returned to school, she was mildly more anxious to face friends than foes; to that end, she wasn’t even sure where on the spectrum “that person” lay.  (Incidentally, she gathered he’d also spent some time “away” in the interim, which didn’t do much to dispel his shameful status.)  At this forgone stage, she was uncertain how to broach topics long past to someone she’d still never even had a conversation with.  Plus he always seemed so… difficult to approach, exuding an overwhelmingly daunting lone wolf aura. Finding courage or commonality to confront him was a bold challenge, and she always awkwardly lost her nerve whenever she came close.

Despite his history of misconduct, he was perceptibly bright – brilliant even – when it came to academics. His high exam scores earned him enrollment in accelerated classes in their senior year (although even then it seemed like he was still withholding some superior source of knowledge, moderating only enough surface energy to scrape by), and the advanced placement ahead of her only broadened the unattainable distance between them, no matter how hard she struggled to catch up…  Which made it all the more astonishing that, in the end, he’d willingly accepted a spot in the same local state college rather than a private university.  One might then cynically accuse her of seizing opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, but it was purely by chance she happened to secure a practical arrangement that put them in rough proximity.  Ostensibly though, the only other times their paths managed to fleetingly cross outside of lecture hall took place behind separate, if adjacent bookshelves – until today’s accidental encounter, that is.

As she retrospectively looked on, it seemed he couldn’t sustain the stance for long, dropping posture to hang upside-down for a moment before dismounting.  Again, some kind of subliminal instinct seemed to kick in before he hit the ground, and he stumbled with a heated swear.  She clapped politely in appreciation though, and he jolted at the noise.  Swerving, he snapped without warning:

“Damnit, will you quit bugging me?!”

Her hands halted, shocked by the sudden shout.  He blinked as he registered the spectator, growing more mortified as he became aware of his error.

“Shit.  Sorry, I- thought you were someone else.”

“It’s okay.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He gulped and shuffled uneasily, steadying respiration before attempting to start over.

“So.  It’s you again, huh.”

Hello to you too.

“Hey.  Fancy meeting you here.  We just keep running into each other today, don’t we?”  She ventured what she hoped came off as a friendly jibe to defuse tension, though there was some genuine suspicion behind it.  “You wouldn’t be secretly stalking me, would you?”

He didn’t fall for it. Rather than take the bait, he instead reached casually for a water bottle on the bench beside his bookbag, relatively unfazed by the half-serious allegation.

“That’s my line.”  His tone was almost eerily calm compared to before, as he unscrewed the cap and nonchalantly took a swig.  “I could inquire the same of you, I’ve got a legitimate reason to be here.”

“Oh really.  And what would that be?”

He jerked his head towards the staircase, jabbing a thumb for emphasis.  “The guy downstairs?  He’s my older brother.”

She squinted, distinguishing some physical resemblance now that he brought it up.   “You two are related?”

That… explains a lot actually.

“Not by blood,” he clarified.  “He was also adopted by Mr. Wayne at one point, so technically that makes us step-siblings.”

There was a pronounced privation of fondness in the terse, formal way he delicately articulated their former guardian’s designation, tongue tart and taut as a tightrope.  She hazily recalled reading about the second sensation in the tabloids at the time (alongside an exposé detailing the new ward’s scandalous criminal record).

“Oh right, I saw a, um, documentary on T.V. about that.  …Wait, you mean he’s Grayson as in ‘The Flying Graysons’?  The famous circus act?”

“You didn’t see all the posters in the lobby?”

He pointed over her shoulder at a giant flyer pasted over partition, the enormous wall scroll unambiguously inflating the centerpiece’s ego.

“…Ah.  Guess I must’ve been, er, distracted.”

Irises rolled in exasperation, as if expecting such a reply.  “He tends to have that effect on people.”

Curious concentration transferred from the glossy print back to him as he begrudgingly murmured this. Hard to think the two were connected to each other, if tangentially.  Like day and night, they were.  Tentatively, she tried to gear the dialogue in a different direction, nudging towards an encouraging compliment.

“So that’s how you picked up all the acrobatic stuff?”

“Uh- yeah.  Something like that.”  He winced and rubbed the back of his neck, still seeming uncomfortable with the subject.

“You’re really good at it. That was pretty amazing, what you did just now.  You should consider joining the gymnastics team, the males’ division could probably use some support.  I hear it’s in danger of being cut to provide more funding for contact sports.”  She scoffed inwardly.  Like those jocks need any more budget.

He simply shrugged. “I’m not that great.  My brother’s better.”  …It was pretty plain to see he had a heavily severe inferiority complex. Remarkably though, sourness seemed to subside as a reminiscent, reverent mist remotely shrouded his vision, looking longingly at the faded ruby and gold costume.  “You know he’s the only person in the world who can perform a quadruple somersault?”  There was a touch of envious excitement in his tenor as he placed a hand on the worn placard, smoothing over wrinkles in the parchment.  “…Or he used to be anyway, before the- accident.”

“…Is that also how he lost his eye?”

The clouded veil instantaneously evaporated.

“Sorry.  Was just wondering.”

A voice emanated from the stairwell:

“It’s all right.  I don’t mind you asking.”

The two turned to see the proprietor poised at the top of stairs, leaning over the railing as he took in the picture with an inscrutable countenance.

“It happened during the quake.   Was trying to help some victims trapped in a bus underneath the highway.  Got hit by falling debris in an aftershock.  …Pretty dumb, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that. That was really heroic of you.”

Meanwhile, her other company said nothing, but shot a peculiar look at his brother, who merely beamed benignly back.  There was a blank, stony sort of quality to both their semblances though. Impenetrable.  Stephanie had the inexplicable feeling she was intruding on some mute, confidential exchange between the two, and decided now would probably be a good time to excuse herself.

“…Anyway, would you look at the time.  Guess I should get going.  It’s getting late, and my mom’s expecting me.”

“Of course.  Thank you for stopping by, we hope to see you back again.”

“I’m sure you will.  …Oh, one more question before I go: How do I get to Widowstone Creek from here?”

A brief description of bearings later, Stephanie strolled out the door, now confidently armed with coordinates.  The manager waved with a sunny smile as she left – though it might’ve been her imagination, but the salutation seemed a tad subdued as opposed to earlier reception.

“Bye now!  Take care.”

He subtly elbowed his younger sibling, who sullenly put up a lethargic hand as well.

“Bye.”

Really, could those two be any more different.

The sky had grown grim, but she was still able to navigate her way around well enough as she approached an area she was accustomed to.  She had been right about the place being close to her house, it shouldn’t take her long to get there.  …Although now that she knew where she was headed, she opted at the last minute to cut through a back alley to get to her block without further delay – which turned out to be a colossal, costly mistake.

“Well well, what have we here?”

Stephanie stiffened as she heard the thrum of throaty sniggers and motorbikes, headlights peering through the gloom as they illuminated a score of whitewashed faces, arrayed in garish garb; bright polka dot and patchwork patterns that were even more blinding (like looking through a psychedelic kaleidoscope, or experiencing a bad trip on some of her mom’s pills).  She would’ve been amused by their gaudy guises, if not for the gleaming assortment of weapons they wielded: knives, chains, clubs, hammers, pipes, bats, and of all things – a spiked rubber chicken, which was the only thing that didn’t seem ridiculously out of place in this scenario.  (Scratch that, they still looked ridiculous.)  Brazenly brandishing rusted iron and brass to match their brash appearance, lurid and leering.  She’d seen reports of their mischievous miscreant behavior on the news, but had never directly run into them before.  Outlying residential regions weren’t typically their turf.  …But of course today had to be the day they chose to terrorize her territory instead.

Dear Diary, remind me never to try taking a shortcut again. …Assuming I even make it out of this mess alive, that is.

She thought as she backed up slowly, finding herself fenced in by whooping hyenas, sneering and snickering as they encircled their prey.  A gang of hellion hooligans, rebel riffraff risen up out of the ashes and anarchy following the cataclysm – even more enormous fashion disasters taking after their borrowed namesake:

Jokerz.

Clowns are here to let you know Where you let your senses go Clowns all around you It's a cross I need to bear

[wingsy-keeper-of-songs]

19. a clumsy kiss - a sassy stoph character getting all awkward and clumsy because of this girlll

Okay so I had a lot of help when it came to this prompt. I want to thank @makamu-a-tumbling for her assistance because holy crap I could not think of a character. Like at all. So, she suggested Stoph’s character from Man(n) Sucht Frau and I thought “what the hell” and went with him. She gave me all the ins and outs and generally was awesome about the whole thing, so this is kind of dedicated to her. Thank you so much for the prompt!

Honestly, the fact she’d called him caught him almostcompletely by surprise. After their little tryst at his flat, he half-expectedher to forget all about him and move on with her damn life. He’d apparentlyguessed wrong. His answering machine was beeping when he got home and as hetossed his keys onto a littered desk, he pressed the play button.

             “Um hey,”she said and she sounded a little shy. “So, I really enjoyed the other night,and I was kind of wondering maybe you’d like to get a coffee or something? Mywork is right next door to a café, we could go on my lunch break.” He pausedfor a moment. The hell? Had she really asked him out? Normally, the women hesaw just took what they wanted and never called him again. Was there somethingwrong with the sex? He hoped not, but he decided maybe he ought to call herback. He vaguely remembered her scrawling her number somewhere in his mess ofpapers and filed through them until he emerged victorious. He dialed the numberand waited patiently for her to pick up.

             “Hallo?”

             “Hey, it’sChris. You know, from the other night?” He said and wondered why he soundednervous. He wasn’t nervous. He was never nervous.

             “Ohright! Hi!” She said brightly.

             “Hi,” hereplied. “Um, so about that coffee thing…”

             “Was itweird? I didn’t want it to be weird.” She sounded nervous now and it wasactually all kinds of adorable. “I just, um, I really liked hanging out withyou, and I kind of wanted to get to know you a little better outside of theobvious I mean. I mean, the sex was fantastic, but I didn’t just want to useyou and toss you aside. You deserve better than that.” Praise the CatholicLord, he must have done something right this time. A girl actually wanted toget to know him. And he did deserve better than that, thanks.

             “It’s notweird, I just wanted to let you know that I’d be up to it.” He said, grinning. “Isthere a time that works out for you?”

             “Yeah,three works for me if it works for you.” She replied and she sounded somewhatexcited which made him a little buzzed as well.

             “Sure,three is fine. Tomorrow, then?”

             “Tomorrow,”she repeated. “At three, I’ll see you then. Bye!”

             “Bye,” hehung up and felt something thrum in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a while.So apparently he now had a date. Excellent, things were beginning to look upfor once.

```

He met her outside the coffee shop right at three. She’dgone a few lengths to make herself look extra cute which was a nice bonus, buthe wasn’t really paying attention to that. He smiled at her when he approachedher and she smiled back, shyly tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

             “Hi,” shegreeted.

             “Hi,” hereplied. “Um, this isn’t too awkward for you, is it?” He asked because the lastthing he wanted was an awkward date. Especially since they’d already slepttogether.

             “Oh no,not at all!” She replied quickly. “So, um…what do you want to talk about? Wehave the whole day.” And talk the entire day they did. She was a student of 19thcentury German and French literature which Chris was pretty keen on himself.They discussed favorite books and authors, talked shit about Freud, and termpapers. She was still in school, she told him, but fairly close to graduating.

             “I shouldget my degree this year,” she said over coffee. “At least, I’m hoping toanyways.”

             “Givenyour taste in books, I’m surprised you haven’t already.” He said with a genuinesmile. She blushed and tucked back her hair again. It was a nervous tic ofhers.

             “You giveme too much credit. I procrastinate so much.” She laughed and he shrugged.

             “Don’tall the clever ones do it, though? That’s what I’ve always heard, anyways.” Shesmiled until she noticed the time.

             “Crap, I’vegot class here in about thirty minutes!” She said as she stood up. Chris lookedup at her, tossed some change down for a tip and stood with her. “I’m so sorry,I don’t want to cut this short, but I’ve gotta go!” She told him. “Um, I had areally nice time. It was great talking to you. Please call me again sometime,okay? I need to run.” She said all this very quickly and Chris was about to askher if she wanted him to drive her, but apparently she thought he had somethingelse in mind. Quickly, she leaned over and gave him a bit of a clumsy kissbefore running off towards the direction of the university. He just stood therefor a moment and blinked in confusion before a slow smile spread across hisface. Yes, he’d definitely be seeing her again.

[lykanthropa]

Support Class

Chapter 10: Who is the coward here?

When Medic wakes up in the morning, the cold had penetrated his bones. Presumably, he had been woken up by that, even though he was embedded in thick hay. But the barn has cracks and holes in its wooden walls that let in the cold air. At night it’s unbearable. He looks around for his dove. Archimedes sits on a crossbeam above him and watches over his owner. He had fluffed up and looks like a big plush ball. “Guten Morgen, Archimedes.” Hans' voice draws the attention of his dove and it flutters down to him and settles on his shoulder to rub against his cheek. “I know it's cold. You're not used to that anymore, are you?” “Coo~” “Maybe we should move to a state where it's always warm. Or are we too soft? Years of desert sun probably spoiled us too much. Or what do you mean?” “Coo~” “Hahaha.” “Are you talking with your dove again?” Hans' homeless roommate is just climbing the ladder up to their sleeping place. He hadn't noticed that he was not there at all. “Ah, Ben. Good Morning. Are you always awake so early?” “Of course. I never sleep long during the winter. The risk of freezing is far too great.” “Well, I don't want to take your hay from you.” “You are my guest. So you get the most hay. Besides, you are driving again today. Then I have everything for myself again.” A smile flash over Hans' face. “Tell me, does your dove understand you? Or is that just a matter of habituation? When you live alone, you start to talk to all kinds of things.” “Alone I was only in my childhood. And yes... I think Archimedes understands me. More or less. I definitely understand him.” “Is that so?” “Oh yes.” “How does this work?” “Well, there is no particular trick behind it. I have him for so long. The more time you spend with someone, the better ... the better you understand him...” Hans has to swallow a big lump when he realizes how homesickness spreads in him. Homesick for his family, deep in the desert. In the other world… “Then you are something like a pigeon breeder? So hobby-wise? Heard that these people should have a very intimate relationship with their animals. I wish I had a pet. Then I wouldn't feel so alone.” “Are here no stray animals here?” “In this town? Not at all. As you already know, this city is not very animal-loving. Here live smaller animals, such as birds and squirrels. Maybe cats or goldfish are kept in some houses.” “…... would you like to have a house here?” “As I said, this is my home town. No matter how cold people are here. Not for all the money in the world I would want to live somewhere else.” “I see. Where have you been by the way?” “Just outside to do a few warm up exercises. I do that every morning. Warm me up in the fresh air after a cold night. This is life. You cannot understand that, eh? I didn't mean to mention that, but you've appear very affluent on me since the first moment. But now I know that you are a doctor.” “Well, now that I'm away from my old job, I don't earn any more money and so I'm more or less destitute.” “Such a comedown can happen very quickly.” “It wasn't a comedown. It's just... My past caught up with me. I made only one mistake, and that cost me my old life.” The only mistake I made was that I ignored Friedrich's thoroughness. I should have known he made a copy of Mann Co.'s letter. I would have had to turn his whole office upside down. I maneuvered myself into this situation. It's all my fault. “You seem depressed right now. I'm sorry if I said something wrong.” “It's not your fault. Only mine. I have to rearrange my life. But that's not easy when people treat me that way.” “Don't forget that you have many fellow sufferers. Like me, for example.” “Yes, thanks… Ach, I should go now.” “Do you really want to go now? Wait for the afternoon train.” “No, I want to go now. The sooner the better. You have helped me a lot. Thank you for this.” “The nearest town is one and a half days away. So you don't have to worry about a night place. But if you want to take the morning train, we should go now.” Hans rubs the grit out of his eyes. Without water, it's a bit difficult. “If you want to wash up, use the snow outside.” “………” “Don’t worry, it’s white.” “I'm not afraid of foreign body fluids. It's just ... That just reminded me of someone.” “Coo~” “What did he say?” “Oh, Archimedes just wants to comfort me.” Hans strokes his dove's head. “I don't know what I would do without him, now that I have no one left." “Times can change.” “The same goes for you.” “My life doesn’t have to change. I’m really happy as it is now.” Hans nods. “Let's go. In ten minutes the train arrives.” “Alright. Come on, get into your cage, Archimedes.” He opens the birdcage and the dove flies in. He notices the grin on Ben's face. “I still can't believe it” he says, shaking his head and climb down the ladder. “Throw down your suitcase. I will catch it.” Ben skilful catches it, so Hans has a free hand to hold the cage and climb down the ladder. “Hmm... For having to start a new life, you really have little luggage. The suitcase is not even half as heavy as it looks.” “Heavy… Well, I'm just not a big friend of weighing tons luggage.” “I can understand that.” Hans pulls his jacket closer around the body before he divest Ben the suitcase and they step out of the barn. It's snowing again. The whole sky is gray. Just like yesterday too. It's really time for Hans to move on before Archimedes is getting sick. Hans himself already feels a little sickly. His thoughts want to digress back to his old life. He can only prevent this with great difficulty. The time heals wounds. At some point he will not think about this Team anymore. Maybe every now and then. But then these memories will be nothing more than faded, meaningless images without any meaning. Hans can hardly wait for this time. But he is afraid of dreams. The last two nights were dreamless. But eventually they will come. Them, Hans fears the most.

The streets are dead. Silence lies over the city. The only thing that can be heard are the crunching sounds that Hans and his companion make when they walk across the snow. “Beautiful, isn't it? This silence, this white and the almost invisible fog. Almost like a dream. I love the winter.” “That's why you always get up so early?” “Yes. Then it is as if the city belongs to me alone. But that's only in winter. In spring and summer people are more active. Also in the early morning. I don't feel well in these seasons.” “What about autumn?” “Hmm... autumn is a mix between winter and summer. Warm and cold. This season, I use to adjust myself. What do you like?” “Rain. I like the rain. Therefore, autumn is my favorite season.” Especially with lightning and thunder to expedite certain experiments. But that's all past now... “And then you choose a life in the desert? As far as I know, it rarely rains there.” “There are several reasons for this. Anyway, it was not a wrong decision.” “Well, in life, something changes again and again. And now it's time again to start a new section. Be glad that you get the autumn back. Unless you want to live in a desert again. There are more than enough of them in this country.” “No... no, I think a desert as a place of residence is out of the question for me no more. Well, I guess, I'm already too old for my former job anyway.” “Do you think so? Doctors can still practice their profession in old age. That is, as long as they feel fit. And you still seem to be very fit.” “Haha... Thank you. And um... would you like to be treated by a doctor who doesn't have a license to practice?” “You mean a license to heal? I'm not picky.” “Nice to hear.” “Besides, I think that these people have a certain amount of knowledge about medicine, otherwise they wouldn't decide for that kind of job. License aside.” That's how Hans met Ben. Completely optimistic. And that for a homeless man. It's almost a shame he has to leave this good man behind in this stuffy little town.

When they pass the main square, some townspeople bustle in front of a large building. “What is that?” “This is the house of the mayor.” “Standing every day so many people in front of his house?” “No, not really. Only if there is something to complain about. And I have the unfair feeling that you are the reason.” “My presence got about quickly.” “In a town like this, everything spreads faster than wildfire, which scares people here.” “Do no harm…” “What?” “This is written on the bust of Hippocrates.” “I'm sorry. But I don't understand that much.” “No problem. What I'm trying to say is that I've become a doctor to help people. Of course, you have to make a few sacrifices now and then, but that happens after all for the good of humanity and in the name of science.” Hans sighs sadly. “I miss the good old days of lobotomy. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to do it once. Which of course doesn't mean that I cannot do it anyway, hehe.” “There he is!” “Hmm?!” The cluster of people is suddenly moving toward Hans and Ben. Led by a small, fat man with a walrus moustache and a small cylinder on his bald head. Two meters from Hans, he and his followers come to a halt. Apparently they don't dare get any closer. “Hello, Mr… German?” “…my name is Hans Ludwig Freud.” Hans knows that he has to be patient with these people, but that greeting is already giving him a bad mood. “Okay, Hantz Lutwik Fruit.” “………” “My name is Benjamin Loire. I am the mayor of this small town.” “And what can I do for you?” “I really do not want to be rude, but...” The man in his mid-forties tugs nervously at his sash. “I have to ask you to leave this town.” When the mayor said that, he takes half a step backwards, while trying to look Hans in the eye self-confidently. Hans stays silent. Of course he should tell them that he is on his way to the train station, but he has just come up with a devilish idea. The people here really seem to be afraid of him. Why not take advantage of it? Hans puts down his suitcase and cage on the floor and takes a step towards the townspeople, on his face forms a malicious smile. “Why should I oblige?” It's clear to see how the mayor has to swallow a big lump. “B-because, because err…” “Because what?” Loire winces. The people behind him, too. They seem to say and do everything the mayor says and does. And if he's afraid of someone, then they are also afraid. “Heh! Why should I go? I like it here. I want to settle here.” “But you can not stay here! You are a… German.” “Hmpf! I didn't know you need qualifications for an American town to live in. And I've never seen a sign that says I'm not welcome here.” “Our town is small and is hardly noticed. We never thought that just a German would get lost here. And that you would make common cause with a German I would have thought like never!” The words of the mayor addressed to Ben are sharp. But old Ben remains unimpressed. “You don't care what I do. But as soon as I welcome a stranger, you notice me again?” “He is not just any stranger! He is a-“ “Enough! Bad enough that there doesn't seem to be any hospitality in this town. But treating someone like that from your own ranks is disgusting! I come from a place where everyone treated the other with decency and respect. Well, at least that's how it was most of the time... You don't care that someone born in this city has no home. Did you ever offer shelter to him? Do you donate food to him every now and then? Do you share your clothes with him so that he doesn't have to freeze in the winter?” The people stay silent. “I anticipated as much. I always thought that people, especially in small towns, take care of each other. After all, these are the places where everyone knows everyone. This man…” Hans puts a hand on Ben's shoulder. “He was the only one who welcomed me. He shared his food with me, although it was not much. Despite his position, he always had a smile on his face. And although he keeps telling me that he is as happy with his life as it is, I still know that he, too, has certain desires that he, as a homeless person, cannot afford.” Oh mein Gott… What am I talking about? Is that me? Or am I losing my mind? I want back home! “Be that as it may. Anyway, I'll stay here. And I'm sure we'll all get along very well, hehe.” Hans' devilish grin returns and the people move together closer intimidated. The former mercenary doesn't feel well with it. He would have liked to leave finally. But after this fuss, I cannot just go now. But whatever. Then this is just my new home. It's not that bad either. The repellent behavior of the people is very annoying, but after a few weeks they have become used to me. Maybe I should run for a post as mayor, no, as a god! Then I can shape this town and the people to my will. Muhahahahaha!! But first I need a job and a roof over my head. Hans claps his hands. “So, which house is still empty?” People stare at him with wide eyes. Wondering, Hans turns to Ben. He, too, looks at him with almost as big eyes. “What’s wrong?” “A-OK! But... If you really want to live here and win the trust of people to be voted as mayor, you should keep your diabolical laugh for yourself. Well, nevertheless, you already have my vote.” Ben knocks him friendly on the back. “Wherefrom...? Oh... I probably spoke my thoughts aloud.” “Loud and clear.” How uncomfortable. “Pah! As if a German could carry the office of a mayor! And that in America.” The little mayor suddenly becomes very courageous. “This is my town! And I will not let a megalomaniac madman take control! And you will not get a house here either!” “I have money.” “We do not want your Nazi Gold!” “My… my what?!?” Hans takes another step towards the mayor and his community. Immediately they make two steps backwards. “I said money, not gold. So much is this city not worth it anyway. Apart from that, you are the only Nazis here!” A startled murmur goes through the crowds. The people are genuinely shocked. “You are trying my patience. You should beg me on knee to stay here with you. I have medical knowledge that you can only dream of. You could learn a lot from me. I could turn this dozily town into a medical metropolis. You need to deal it. You are too cut off from the outside world. I know exactly how it is...” Hans looks deeply into the mayor's eyes. Fear and insecurity are reflected in them. And Hans realizes one thing - no matter how great the fear of him is, the hatred for Germans is even greater. Only over his dead body he would let Hans live in this city, much less give up his office. The reencounter with Friedrich was probably inevitable. But couldn't that have lasted a few more years? At least until World War II is no longer so present in the world. 23 years doesn't seem to be long enough.

An engine howls and suddenly a vehicle is driven into the main square. A van. Hans recognizes it immediately. “Sniper…?!” The van drives through the crowd. The people are running and screaming, disperse. Hans' heart beats like a steam-hammer. But not because people were almost caught by the car, but because he hopes that Mundy came here to pick him up and bring him back home. But something is wrong... Mundy drives like a beginner. Suddenly, Archimedes is cooing loudly in his cage. “What the…?” The Van comes slithering in front of Hans to a halt. It's only a few centimeters between him and the vehicle. He stares in disbelief through the windshield, where a yellow eagle-eye pair is facing him. The driver's door flies open and a black dog jumps out, runs up to Hans and grabs his coat with its teeth to pull him into the van. It's one of Friedrich's Dobermann dogs. He doesn't have a good feeling “L-let me go!” The eagle and a macaw also leave the car and grab his suitcase and Archimedes' cage. “Hey!” Hans can't oppose against the forces of the Doberman and he already stands with one leg in the Van. He hardly finds words when he sees all the animals in the driver's cab. The predator bird, the robin, a... squirrel? How did these animals drive the van? Is that even real? Can he trust his eyes? Maybe he is still sleeping? Or is he in a coma? Did the train have an accident? Is he half frozen in the snow? Anyway. Sniper will blame him in all three cases. “You have already mentioned this sniper several times.” Hans grits his teeth. Did he always thought aloud? Anyway, the others in Base never mentioned it. “Um…” Hans turns to Ben. “Sniper… is just a nickname. For the eagle.” “Is this a traveling circus?” “No… They are here to bring me back home.” “Home? Back to the desert?” “Yes.” Hans can only suppress a jubilation with difficulty. He is so happy to see these animals. From today, he will look at them with completely different eyes. The mercenaries must miss him so much that they sent their animals to bring him home! But that's what makes him suspicious. Had not Mundy said that he would come in person and pick him up? Apart from that, he would never allow animals to drive his beloved Van. So maybe they are not here because they want him back, but because something happened! It was clear that there would be trouble with Friedrich… Hans looks at Ben startled. But this time, his thoughts don't seem to have left his mouth. “You lived with animals all these years?” “May I introduce? My family.” “………”Suddenly Ben starts to laugh. “No wonder you behave like a madman. If a person lives among with animals for years, you just has to lose your common sense.” “You think I'm a madman?” Ben puts a hand on Hans' shoulder. “I do. But that's what makes you so likeable. We are not so different. I'm not at my best anymore, too. I'll miss you. But tell me... was that really serious that you wanted to stay here?” “Yes, but I have to say that I was a bit worried that they would hunt me with torches and pitchforks. You know, in Germany I was born in a little old town. They are comparable to small towns like this one. I didn't live on the street, but I was a misfit anyway. And everywhere hung torches and pitchforks on the exterior walls. You have to know, my hometown has an interesting past.” “But it was never used, right?” “It was. Once. Because I had... Oh, never mind. Anyway, people were happy to rid of me. At least I suspect that.” “But this shouldn't be an advice to leave here?” “No no. But on the contrary. If people abhor you so much, you should stay more than ever. But you don't have to do that on the street.” “Hmm?” “Where is my suitcase?” The eagle had dropped the suitcase in the footwell of the passenger seat. Hans gets it out there and opens it. “That's for you, my friend. For your generosity and hospitality.” Hans fetches several thick bundles of money out and presses them into the hand of the speechless Ben. “That's $ 500,000. I know people like you think nothing of that, but I'd like you to accept it. Because that's my way to say thank you.” “………” Ben stares spellbound at the money in his hands. With a big smile, Hans slaps on his shoulder. “Buy a nice house and a pet. Decent clothes and shaving kit. And then run for mayor.” “W-what…?” “Yes, I relinquish this office to you. Me as mayor? Ha! I am glad that this is spared me. But you're a good guy. You could make something out of this town. You know, hospitable. Maybe you'll get tourists or something like that. I'll come visit you in a few years. Then I want to see something, alright? If not, I will demand my money back, understood?” “Err… wow. I… I just don’t know what to say.” “You don’t have to say anything. Just let action speak.” The Dobermann pulls on Hans’ jacket. “I have to leave now.” He climbs in the van to the animals, closes the door and leans slightly out of the open window. “Take care, my friend.” “So you return to the place where skin color and origin don't matter? How are these things play a role when it’s about animals?” “Haha! Well, animals are easier to handle than humans. Anyway. That's where I belong. For me as a German the outerworld is no place. Not yet.” “Good luck out there.” “I have to wish you good luck.” Suddenly the Van jumps forward when the Dobermann throws itself on the gas pedal and the small town rushes past Hans. He presses deep into the driver's seat. His eyes move from one animal to another. The dog operates the gas and the eagle the steering wheel. “What is going on here?” Hans feels like a kidnap victim... He looks to the side. The robin sits on Archimedes' cage and cheeps loudly. Archimedes looks at Hans with his black button eyes, asks him to open the cage door. He does it. The dove immediately jumps out and cuddles up to the robin. The macaw jumps towards them and greets Archimedes with a light touch of his beak to his dove's and they begin to chatter. Almost as if they were talking. “…………”

“There they are! There they are!” Robin shouts excitedly and points with his small wing to a small crowd on a large square. “Archimedes and Medic!” Dante accelerates the Van and Compatriot steers it directly into the crowd. “Do you want to run someone over, you crazy bird?” “They'll get out of the way if they want to live on” the bald eagle answers relaxed. The people jump screaming out of the way and run away in panic. Dante jumps on the brakes to prevent worse. Only a few inches, they come to a stand in front of Medic. “See? All went well.” “Stupid poultry…” “Let’s get them!” Compatriot and Dante leave the Van. Aberdeen notes that the snake has disappeared. “Hey, where are you, snake?” “I’m here.” The snake looks out from under the driver's seat. “What are you doing down there?” “I'm hiding.” “Why?” “I had already told you once that people, at the sssight of mine, ssstarting to kick, to beat or jussst run away ssscreaming.” “Yes, but not Medic. You've been hiding in vain all these years for nothing, lad. Our Mercs don't even fear death. So how should they be afraid of you?” “Maybe you are right. But for now I will ssstay down here.” “Whatever you say.” Compatriot carries the cage of Archimedes in the Van, after he had already stowed the suitcase in the footwell of the passenger seat. He drops the cage on the passenger seat. “Archimedes!” Robin squeezes his little head between the thin cage bars. “Robin, you’re here, too!” “Da! I thought I will never see you again. Sorry that I did not say goodbye to you. I was so desperate... You are my best friend.” “It’s okay, little friend.” “Are you going to stay with me forever now?” “I don’t know… Why are you here at all? Did something happen or did you just miss us?” “Yes! Something terrible has happened!” “I will tell her!” “…her?” Robin lays his head on the side. At the same moment, Dante tugs Medic into the Van. He closes the door and the animals hope he starts right now. But they wait in vain. Hans talks to an older, dirty man. “Who are those old geezers?” asks the squirrel. Only then does Archimedes notice the new member. “The handsome man is my owner and the other was our host. And you are?” “I'm your new teammate. I'm faster than the wind, smarter than any creature in the world and more beautiful than a snow-white wedding dove on a bouquet of red roses.” “...which one of you left the window open?” “I didn't sneak in! The feathered knuckleheads here have to make amend something! After all, they almost ran me over and even wanted to eat me!” “Who wanted to eat you? Compatriot or the dog?” “The snake!” “Snake?” At the same moment, the reptile stretches its head out of its hiding place. “Nice to sssee you, Archimedesss.” “You are here, too?” “Isss that a problem?” “Not at all. I’m glad to see you.” “Thank you very much. Sss….” “What amazes me is that this dog is with you.” “Dante is very nice. She came with us to help us.” “What happened?” “We don't have time for that now, Maggot! Stubby tail, step on the gas! The two don't even stop talking!” The Dobermann operates the gas and Compatriot swings back onto the steering wheel and with a loud squeak the Van races off. The Medic is pushed into the seat. He looks quite confused and skeptical as he watches Compatriot and the Dobermann driving. Archimedes feels sorry for him. She would like to tell him what's going on. But even she has no information yet. He looks in her direction as Robin begins to cheep. He had sat down on the cage to ask Hans to open the cage door. Archimedes helps with her gaze and he understands. He opens the door and Archimedes settles next to Robin, whereupon he immediately cuddles up to her. She raises her wing and puts it gently on the robin. Aberdeen sits down next to the cage and he and Archimedes greet each other with a touch of their beaks. “Good to have you back, lad.” “You look as good as always, Aberdeen.” “I like to return the compliment.”

After driving a short distance, Dante stops the Van and turns to Hans. He sits on the seat with legs apart, so that the dog has space in the footwell. You can see that he fears the Dobermann could bite him at any moment in the crotch. “Why have we stopped?” “Sir Hootsalot is injured! Medic has to help him!” “He is here, too? Where?” “Down here!” the snake hisses in alarm. Aberdeen, Archimedes, Robin and Compatriot fly into the footwell of the passenger seat and look under it. The owl lies motionless in the shadow of the seat. The healthy wing is firmly pressed against the body, while the injured wing hangs limp on the ground. “How did he come down there?” “He hasss to feel ssso badly that he hasss hid himssself away.” “But… animals with such injuries only hide themself away to… die...” the robin gasps. “What happened?” “His wing is broken. Do you think Medic can manage that?” “For sure! There's nothing my dad cannot do. Dante, right?” Archimedes turns to the Dobermann. The dog gives a good account of herself to prove the dove that she is peaceful. The last meeting of the two was not so peaceful. Dante is a little ashamed of that. “Yes.” “Do you think you could bring him out without hurting him?” “You want me to do that? Do you trust me?” “Well, everyone else seems to trust you, so you have my trust too.” “Thank you.” The big dog squash herself past Medic's leg, whereupon he squeezes his legs tight, glad, to have the Dobermann no longer between them. Dante puts her head under the seat and takes the tail feathers carefully between the teeth. Slowly she pulls out the big bird under the seat. Sir Hootsalot still doesn't move. Robin is scared. “Is…is he dead?” Now Dante takes the owl by the neck and lifts him up. Carefully, she puts him down on Medic’s lap. Petrified, he stares down at the bird. “What the…? This is Sniper's owl...” Carefully he takes the seemingly injured animal in the hands. Archimedes flutters on the knee of her owner. “Coo~ Coooo~” “What? The wing is broken? And it also has a fever? Oh no…” In the eyes of her dad blazes the hot-blooded fire of the Medic he has always been. He pushes the cage aside, takes off his coat, carefully wraps up the owl in it and places it on the passenger seat. Then he puts his hands on the steering wheel, depresses the gas pedal fully with his foot and they are racing through the city. “Where does he want to go now?” “Trust him” begs Archimedes. After a few meters they stop in front of a larger building. “Where are we?” “That’s the hospital.” Medic opens the car door, picks up the owl and gets out. “Dante, accompany him!” “Why?” “They will try to stop my Papa. You have to help him.” “Understood!” The Dobermann jumps out of the Van and follows Medic. “Why should they try to stop him?” “It's obvious! The patient is an animal, and they are not an animal hospital, Maggot!” “You always know everything better, or, lad?” “That's not it” Archimedes answers sadly. “These people here don't like my Papa. They think he is something, but what he isn't. I'm so glad we're leaving. But now explain to me what happened.” “I would like to know that too.” “Ssshut up, rodent. Thisss isss none of your businesss. When all thisss isss over, we'll cassst you adrift anyway.” The snake peeks out from under the seat and gazes with her yellow eyes at the squirrel, which has made himself comfortable on the headrest of the driver's seat. “Well, I want to see that. You will not get rid of me anymore.” “Listen, Archimedes. Sniper, Spy and the new Medic were kidnapped!”

Hans hurries towards the hospital. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices something black. He stops and looks down in wonderment. It's the Dobermann who follows him. The animal looks up to him, expecting. Hans feels uncomfortable with Friedrich's dog, but at the same time he feels as if it wants to help him. What is going on with these animals...? Despite all confusion, Hans bethinks of the essentials again. Namely, to treat this owl as soon as possible. And nothing and no one will stop him! Determined, he enters the building through the double door. The woman at the desk (Mrs. Kelly?) makes a startled face as she recognizes him. It was exactly the same scared face when she learned that Hans was actually a German. A face as if she must be terrified of him. At the beginning she was so nice...

Hans rushes past her. Somewhere in this building there must be a lab or a storeroom where he finds everything necessary to help the animal. Something to splint the broken wing and a homeopathic remedy for the fever. Maybe he even has to operate the owl. “S-stop! You just can’t…!” Kelly calls after him but Hans has already disappeared through the next double door. She doesn’t run after him but she will left no stone unturned for sure to stop him. With a quick step Hans hurries through the wide corridor, right and left doors with labels. Mundy's owl doesn't move. Hans is not sure if it's still alive... Is there a defibrillator in this wannabe hospital? What you use for a human cannot be bad for an animal. At the very end of the corridor, a sign points out to the lab. It has to be right around the next corner. “Freeze!” A doctor obstructs him. Hans recognizes him immediately. It's Mr. Burnsfield. The man who claimed that there is no place for Hans in this hospital. But he is not alone. Another man, presumably also a doctor, goes to his rescue. But that's no reason for the thoroughbred Medic to stop. And if he has to break through the two! He already holds a protective hand over the injured animal, but fortunately it doesn't have to come this far. The Dobermann sprints forward and growls and barks. Startled, Burnsfield and his colleague retreat. The dog pushes the two out of Hans' way and holds them in place. Watch out with bared teeth that they are not getting too close to Hans. It gives the impression of a wild beast. “A wrong move and my Dobermann will rip you apart. You know that a Dobermann is a German dog breed, right? And since you're such smart men, you know, of course, that everything that comes from Germany is dangerous. Therefore, you should take my warning seriously.” With a schadenfroh laugh Hans continues his way to the lab. Finally he can do his job.

The lab is behind a normal, white door. Usually such areas are strictly secured by titanium doors and a numeric code. But this door is not even locked. Once again Hans realizes how lucky he is not to have to work here. All this is below his level. Far, far below his level... I should stay fair. After all, this is a small town, cut off from civilization. These people probably knows Metropolitan crime only from books. The doors here don't have to be locked. Almost like in Rottenburg... The lab is small and lucid, but it contains everything Hans needs to handle the owl, and he sees it with just one glance. An operation on the bird would have been nice, but there isn't enough time for that, so a conservative method must be used. Hans places the owl on the counter and carefully palpates the injured wing. “Ah ja… Don’t worry, my winged friend. Soon you are as good as new.” Luckily Hans doesn't have to dig through the cupboards. Everything he needs is already at hand. The damaged bone must be returned to its proper anatomical position. Of course, since he cannot use human splints, Medic quickly grabs a wooden clipboard nearby and breaks it in half. The two halves are just the right size for the big wings of the owl. After that is done, he grabs a small bandage role and carries everything to the animal. He rolls off one meter of the bandages, puts the two wooden halves on the broken wing and fastens them with the white bandage. “So, that should hold. And now…” On the wall in the back of the laboratory hangs a small cupboard with a sliding glass window. The content - small, brown vials of various pharmaceuticals for injecting. Not even that is locked… Already through the glass window Hans discovers the vial with the inscription Metamizole. He takes it enthusiastically in the hand. “Metamizole. You can even use that with animals. Perfect! Hmm?” Shouting is heard in the corridor outside, but the Dobermann makes for loud barking and threatening growl for instant silence. I should hurry up. Hans hurries back to the bird, grabs a syringe lying loose around, fills it with the metamizole and injects it into the bird's neck. “Now we can only wait…” He picks up the owl wrapped in his jacket and leaves the lab. In the corridor are now three people who are guarded by the dog. Mrs. Kelly had arrived. Probably to check what happens here and was promptly taken hostage by the Dobermann. Just like her male colleagues. Presumably the screaming came from her, startled by the big and threatening-looking dog. All three are pressed close to each other against the wall and hardly dare to breathe. A picture that would normally make Hans burst out laughing, but the patient in his arms needs urgent rest. “Thank you for letting me use your laboratory. I found what I needed. Then I don't want to harass you any longer with my presence and that of my animals. Auf Wiedersehen~ Bei Fuß!” And indeed, the Dobermann reacts to his command and together they leave the hospital and return to the Van. Hans places the owl carefully on the passenger seat. The Dobermann finds its place in the footwell of the passenger seat. When Hans finally sits back in the car, a weight is lifted from his mind. But suddenly Archimedes lunges at him, clawing at his shirt as he beats his wings wildly. “Was ist los, Archimedes?” “Coo~! Cooo~!” “Hmm…!? What?!? Spy, Sniper and Friedrich were kidnapped? By Gray Mann? At least that's a guess?” “Coo~!” “My goodness. How could that happen? Well, that would explain this situation.” Hans looks at the animals. “Okay then! Off to Gray Mann's headquarter! Hehe! I cannot wait to see Friedrich's stupid face when I come to free him. Then he will owe me something.” He owes me my job as a mercenary of the class of the Medic and that he quickly goes back to Germany or anywhere else. But Hans knows better. Neither he, nor Friedrich can decide about it. Only the Administrator. And her words were more than clear. Whether mercenary or not. He feels responsible for his former colleagues. And he would always come to rescue them. Even if he have to travel to the end of the world for that. “Haha… Nun, that was very cheesy.” Hans notices the eyes of the animals on him. “Well. Here we go!”

Team Fortress 2

When Spy comes to himself, he feels absolutely whacked. Even before he opens his eyes, he feels that strong pain in his back, as if he had remained in one and the same position for hours. He automatically tries to push his back, but notices that he can barely move. His eyes open and a gray wall stares at him. “What the…?” slips out of his mouth and then he already feels the ropes, which are tightly wrapped around his wrists and upper body. Even at the ankles he was tied up. They are furthermore tied to the legs of the chair he was placed on. Double hedging. Somebody wanted to play it safe. And then, the memories come back. “Merde… I’m too old for this nonsense.” “Finally awake, Spook?” “What?” The voice behind him makes Spy turn his head. Like a lightning strike, the pain runs up from his back into his neck. “Damn it! Ahh…” “Rusty?” “Just shut up, Bushman! And after all, you were the first one to be overwhelmed. I kept up at least for so long that I could find out who we owe our kidnapping to.” “I would like to finally have an explanation, too!” “Our dear docteur is also awake.” Spy turns his head (carefully) in the other direction. As far as he can tell, their chairs are standing back to back. Then he starts to take a closer look at his surroundings. A small, colorless, empty room that probably has never been used. Till this day. “Hmph! Such a big headquarter, and our lounge is a shithole.” “Honhon! You are a Bushman. You should be used to that. Wait a moment. So you know where we are? Did they mention Gray Mann to you, too?” “Nah. But who else should be interested in kidnapping us?” “Pah! You seem to be awake in quite a spell. You ‘ad plenty of time to think about it. Because you're not quick-witted.” “Oh, make yourself invisible, Spook.” “Unfortunately, I lost my watch.” “Could someone finally explain to me what's going on here? We are tied up here, not knowing what is going to happen to us, and you have nothing better to do than to dis each other! What is wrong with you?” “Oh, right. You didn't ‘ad the pleasure with Gray Mann yet.” “Who is that?” “A phenomenon that does itself the ‘onor every now and then.” “So that has happened often?” “Well, he attacked us once or twice. But that he kidnaps one of us is new. That means the wanker is planning something new. Maybe he even kidnapped the whole team.” “I don't think so. There were three of them and one of them was a ‘ulk, but they would ‘ave a tough time with Heavy. No, no. I think, only we came into the firing line of Gray Mann. The support team.” “Why us?” “Just as I know Gray Mann, ‘e's already paying us a visit and telling us ‘is plan. We just ‘ave to wait.” “Wait? How about we try to free ourselves?” “Docteur, sometimes it's just better to stay calm and to let the opponent make their move.” “Apart from this, you're really the last person who should complain, Doc. After all, you absolutely wanted to take over Hans' job.” “It was planned from the beginning that I work as a Medic! I am your Medic! Still, it would have been helpful for me to have taught that we have more enemies than the BLU team! There was nothing in the contract about that!” “Why should it? As Spook had so well formulated, Gray Mann is a phenomenon. Also, the Mann Co. contract is from the time before Gray Mann showed up with his robots.” “Robots? What robots?” “Yess~ Robots built after our image.” “Our dead ringer.” “…what?!” “The robots look like us. They are designed to resemble us in everything, but are ten times stronger than we are.” “Maybe you're lucky and he's rebuilding the Medic robot in your own image. That's a certain honor.” “I ‘ardly believe that. I don't think Gray Mann knows we ‘ave a new medic right now. And even if, I don't think ‘e'll make that effort. ‘e's already old and building robots is a tough job now.” “I think I am losing my mind. Whenever I come in contact with Hans, something happens. This guy is a walking jinx. How much trouble have I had with him in the past? And now that!” “Sounds almost like you want to quit this job.” “I have to defeat your hope. I will stay.” “Don't blame Hans for all your failures, Docteur. If you are 'onest, you 'ave contributed a certain amount to it.” “What do you mean?” “’e told us everything before ‘e left. ‘e told us ‘ow you caught ‘im by doing one of his experiments. You threatened to report ‘im to the university administration. You both knew that would ‘ave meant the end for ‘im. If you ‘ad left it at that, Hans wouldn’t ‘ave ‘ad to take revenge on you.” “Leave it at that? He had removed the skeleton from a living person! It was my duty to report this! Hans is crazy and a danger to humanity! I would have never forgive me for letting this man set onto patients!” “You are very responsible. But Hans, too. Okay, his methods may be a bit stubborn. But he has always kept us alive. He even got me back from the dead once.” “And now you just sit in this mess because you thought you must taking what you deserved. If you stayed at ‘ome, it wouldn’t ‘appen to you now.” “There is even a word for it. Karma.” Friedrich sighs resignedly. “Apparently I am the only normal person in this damned desert. Nobody sees what a maniac Hans is. But on the contrary. He is even being protected. That is not normal here.” “You seem to forget that you are now a mercenary. We ‘ave different rules.” “Yes…” Aimeric had heard a certain tone in Friedrich's voice. This man is easily overwhelmed. But he tries not to show it. He is still cold and distant.

Suddenly, a deafening squeak echoes through the small room. Aimeric bites his teeth tightly, his eyes tight as he tries not to let the aching sound penetrate too deep into his pinna. Now even headaches are spreading. “I already imagined that you are already awake. Damned mercenaries…” Aimeric has the door in his back, but he doesn't have to see their visitor. He immediately recognizes the old, scratchy voice. Gray Mann comes with his wheelchair driven into the room. “Now comes the part in which the villain reveals his plans?” Mundy sneers. “Pfah... As disrespectful and loudmouthed as ever. I do not think I have to explain my plans to you.” “It's always the same. You're trying to kill us to get Mann Co. We know this. What we don't understand is why you let kidnaped us.” “I have changed my plans slightly.” While Gray Mann is talking to them, he drives slowly counterclockwise around his prisoners and stops by Friedrich. With a scrutinizing look at the new Medic, he answers monotonously: “And you too, apparently. What did you do with your old medic? Do you have two now? It would be annoying to have missed one of the support team.” “That sounds like you see us as the greatest danger.” “I do. Support... What would we humans be without it? Without support, our goals were unequaled. I need my robots to support me to destroy your brood. Helena needs the support of the mercenaries to defend Mann Co. And both the offensive and the defensive needs support. In other words - you.” “So you really think that we were the reason for your previous defeats?” “Not the only reason, but the main reason. You are hard to grasp during the fighting. But that's no wonder. Because you are cowards.” Again Gray Mann circles them, slowly, with a smug smile on his wrinkled face. “Snipers. You can safely attack from a distance while crouching safely and hidden in your hiding place, far away from the battlefield.” Mundy makes a puffing sound. “Spies. With your small, sophisticated toys, you could either make yourself invisible or imitate the enemy. You're sneaking from behind to stab your opponent in the back. You do everything to win. But woe, you have to face your enemy eye to eye. Then you also like to make yourself invisible. Hehe...” “…………” “Medics…” Again, Gray Mann comes to a stop in front of Friedrich. “You heal, you revive. You stand at the front, but you don't fight. You are doing everything to keep your allies alive. But also to stay alive yourself. And for that you hide behind your healing subjects. Use them as human shields. And should your healing target die, you're just looking for a new one to use it as a shield as well. Everyone should be hit by bullets and missiles, the main thing, you will be spared. You are like parasites. So, the question is... who of you is the biggest coward?” “I hide behind someone?” Friedrich replies suddenly. “Preferably behind this Russian, right? Pah! I am not hiding. Never.” “I don't care who you are or why you now the medic in this team. But you chose a bad time to ally with Helena. Because soon you will die. You all will die.” “Do you suffer from amnesia? We can't die just like that” Mundy growls. “Ahahaha! Of course, I haven't forgotten your respawn machine. How should I? It's after all an invention of my stupid brothers. They are long dead, but still I curse them for it. With the mercenaries now having to fight without their precious support team, it will be a lot easier to get to the core of the respawn and destroy it. And with it you too.” “I think you underestimate the offensive and defensive. Just because we are no longer, doesn't mean that they will lose.” “We will see about that. We'll see... My robots are already on the way to your base with the transport tank. When it's over, I'll personally give you a bullet in the head. I hope Helena will enjoy the show as much as I will. Farewell, mercenaries. Oh, and ... don't try to escape. Outside this door a nasty surprise would await. And you are unarmed. Please don't take the fun from me of killing you personally.” And so the old man leaves the room, the door behind him closes automatically (again with a deafening squeak). “How dare he call me a coward? The job as a sniper is noble and connected with concentration and responsibility!” “I understand you. I also didn't like ‘ow he vilified my profession.” “He was right about you, Spook. Your spies are really cowardly and devious. Bloody Spoies.” “…I will remember that.” “Could we focus on getting us out of here?” Friedrich spits. “You sound irritated, Docteur.” “I am! I am reluctant let me kill idly.” “We will get out of ‘ere.” “And how can you be so sure about that?” “Because we are the mercenaries of Mann Co.”

[shivatheoutlaw]

Over the very saturated, polluted and muddy expanse of the Ganga in Kolkata, runs the Howrah Bridge. Although hyped by many self - proclaimed “bridge historians” (you read that right) as a good example of fine engineering, the cantilever and the projected joints always looked to me to be comparable to cheap asbestos, or at the very least, the silver knock off hazy aluminum ring that my gardener would wear with a huge ass glass diamond, which he would shine every morning with toothpaste. I was just mentally getting accustomed to accepting that in life, when another realization hit me – it looked to me like it was the first prototype of the game “Mechanix”. Tough luck for someone from Kolkata. Most children my age were raised to be in awe of it as well. So was I, but this wouldn’t be interesting if I yielded now would it. Now that I think about it, I never did ooze loyalty to the city like so many others. Infact, I thought I was the best product to ever come out of it, which believe me, is saying a lot. But the food was undeniable. I scowled at my producer as the car approached the bridge. I’d been talked into coming into this confluence of pseudo philosophical dhoti wearing, weed smoking, know it all, so called artistic hippie culture. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a one hundred percent advocate of smoking the ol’ doobie. It’s this holier than thou attitude of today’s young Kolkataiites that irks me to no end. Moreover, I find the degradation of quite simply one of the most euphonious and saccharine cultures in India, plainly indigestible. The higher you rise, the harder you fall, I guess. Just wearing a loose saffron colored kurta, with Om written all over it in red, growing out the beard, and talking Freud and singing Tagore, along with protesting every now and then doesn’t make anyone anymore philosophical than the life expectancy of Schrodinger’s cat. I, myself being one of them hated the fact that they weren’t anything similar. The fact that I had to come here all smiles, and talk about the culture, the food and the people, just made my mind itch with the need to say all of the above on camera, which I couldn’t because, well, contract, so fuck logic. Also, it’s good money for just talking, travelling, eating and drinking, with an occasional whiff of Idukki Gold, just to keep things interesting for me and myself a role model for the kids at home. To those of you with moral spidey senses tingling, relax, I’m kidding. Why would I take an occasional whiff of the stuff when I can smoke it everyday? Don’t get me wrong, I love Bengalis. Hell, I am one. I have taken rather a liking that they call us “Bongs” for some reason, need I say more? The 2016 Durga Puja, as you will see later in the book, was one of the most exhilarating experiences in my life, second only to another one which we will discuss in a while. But of the long list of things I find chronically capable of producing the ever eluding itch, the holier than thou attitude of my fellow brethren was fighting for a strong second. Anyway, on to the more relevant stuff. Now for those of you still wondering, the spontaneity portrayed in travel and food shows is choreographed more than an Ocean’s Eleven heist. The presenter talks to the host/chef/owner of establishment, etc. and is given innumerable chances to fuck it all up. The essence, as I mentioned earlier, of a place, can be surely found in its households, for there is created the actual, sensationally authentic ambrosia, passed down by muscle memory and word of mouth mantras from one generation to the next. It was to exploit the exceedingly pleasant results of these near congenital hand-me-downs, that I was going, or rather, was talked into going, to a Bengali household to sample (gorge) on the edible forms of godliness. Bengali cuisine is seraphic. It is one of the seven cordon bleus on which I find myself not requiring a second take on camera to talk about. Not difficult to find words when there’s plenty to gush over. The generous use of haldi or turmeric, as we know it, along with a little red chilly mix, specially prepared in an old stone mortar, salt, pepper, lemon and a generous toss of finely chopped coriander was only the marination for the rather unusually large pieces of fresh water Rohu fish that was but a part of the seven course meal that was being prepared. While my producer smirked at my constant attempts to steal glances at the food being prepared, his expression bellowing “I told you so”, we set up our cameras and crew for an interview with the man of the house, and later, his wife. “Good food”, he said, “is man’s best attempt to worship the Almighty. But what often defines good food is not the spices, not the cook, not the quality of the produce, or the place that you eat it in. No, what makes food good? What makes the final fruition of anything most satisfying? The time taken to grow the produce, the effort put in to cook it, and the hunger.” As I feigned my best expression showing my pseudo interest in what he had to say, my mind automatically locked on to those words. Hunger, time, and effort. Between snippets and pauses of “State of the Art”, Jim James, my mind began to put those three words into perspective, with, mind you, the music also playing in my head alongside the cerebration. What did it mean to actually work for food, such that you enjoy it even more when you finally eat it? No no, not the going out, earning money kind of work… but actually going out on a limb to find food when all you want to do is eat, and given the circumstances, that is the last thing possible. Perspective. Between my urge to get away from the family and live alone and unencumbered for a few days, I’d bawled my parents’ brains out into letting me spend a week with friends in Chennai. It was here that the above three words found perspective. It was also the reason I wasn’t even pretending to pay attention to the task at hand, because well, who’d recollect and narrate this particularly beguiling turn of events in the intervals of generous puffs particularly potent weed. The year was 2015. It was the start of my examination leave from work (I was interning with one of the “Big Four” accounting firms at the time, as was the diktat by the ICAI. I feel compelled to write that particular abbreviation in italics. Keep in mind, I do not want the reader to in any way imagine that it is because I think that it is of some significance… I want, rather, the reader to envision a sneer, and superimpose that feeling of spine, cervical and facial muscles onto the above mentioned abbreviation representing this bureaucratic confluence of biasness.) But I digress. For the lack of a better, readily available and remotely satisfactory arrangement at hand, and the immediate, unceremonious and prosaic start to my rather infinite syllabus of the Chartered Accountancy examination being the only alternative, which was restlessly propagated by my father, who, for the lack of a better explanation, had pretty much settled on the conclusion that no man required rest; give him books and he will study; give him teaching and he will excel, I booked a two-way economy class ticket to Chennai, for a week with my school friend SD, whose transformation from the typical controllable, hair partitioned school boy to a transgressive weed guru and ace computer programmer had earned my respect. Now remember, the timeline is non-existent, but the incidents themselves are well…interesting. Keeping that in mind, let’s get on with Chennai. I will not bore the reader with too much about the journey, which was quite uneventful; well, there was the guy who pushed his wife aside and hugged me instead when the aircraft went through some routine turbulence but that’s about it. About twenty minutes after landing at the Kamraj airport, I was greeted by my friend, and a few other soon to be mutuals. After gorging at the nearest pizza diner ( which was by no means near), we went to his place for the night. The next day we left for Pondicherry. My first time visiting. Pondicherry is the very embodiment of a place that beckons you to get out; to not sit at home, or laze around, or sit in front of your laptop, binge streaming Netflix. No, it screams hope. Hope, that maybe if one gets out and takes a walk among the delightfully magnificent port town French colonial architecture, amid the smell of flowers out of season, not too strong, mixing with the faint whiff of sea breeze resulting in notoriously fantastic and romantic notions, one might actually walk into someone else, with hope. It mimics the same pertinacious results casinos achieve when players, reeling from artificial pheromones in the air conditioning, unintentionally draw unaffordable lines of credit. I’m talking about that kinda hope. Indefatigable. But look at the bright side. You do atleast, get some exercise in. Whether you meet your soulmate, cycling down the promenade, or not. I was on a similar solitary and introspective walk ( I didn’t know where to hire a cycle) myself, enjoying the sea breeze on the promenade while my friends slept off their alcohol induced high in the hotel; I had an incredibly high alcohol tolerance back then. While chatting with the owner of a street stall after sampling his fantastically delectable fresh prawns, marinated in chilly tandoori spices, grilled and served on a cut banana leaf to customers, I noticed a cycle for hire stand on the other side of the road, with only a cycle to spare. Seeing a long stretch of promenade ahead of me, I made my way to the billing counter to ask for a couple of hours’ rent for the cycle. “Combien pour 3 heures?”, a girl ran up to the counter ahead of me, just as I was about to finally get a cycle for rent. “Excuse me”, I began, “I was here first, and was just about to rent the cycle.” “Mais c'est urgent!!”, she exclaimed. “S'il vous plaît laissez-moi avoir le vélo!!” “Um…what? I’m sorry, my French is sketchy, at best.” “I am uh… really late for a party…?”, she seemed unsure of her English. Now before any of you, who are the quickest to judge, and I risk, most disinclined to empathize, I’d ended a quite intense relationship (oh trust me… we’ll come to that) and was on no account feeling charitable towards members of the opposite sex. “Well, since I got here first, and was about to rent it before you, I think I’m gonna take it.”, I said pretty coldly, coming off quite discourteous if I recollect correctly. “Oh come on uh…please!” “No.” I went over to the counter to pay. “You can atleast uh leave me?” “Hmph.” The girl was persistent, and well, there was a level beyond which I couldn’t feign anger. “Where to?” “The Du Parc Hotel, you have heard hm?” The ride was pretty much uneventful, and we arrived at the hotel in around twenty minutes. “Thank you for the ride uh…your name?” “Shivam. You’re welcome. Anyway, gotta get going.” “You have to go? It is a…um…open to all party…and we will get discount for couple!”, she sounded pretty spritely. I was thrown off track. I tend to get nervous when moments like these present themselves. I reminisced that my evening had begun with a simple walk, and here I was, in this um…situation. “Listen”, I began, but she was already talking to the concierge. “Come!” “What? Listen, I don’t even know your name!” “Ava. Now come, let’s go inside!” I think that in life, the truth about the end is not death. It is about the experiences that one goes through. The number of experiences, like Pokemon cards, determines the level of variety achieved in life. It is not about the paradigm of the experience, but rather the experience itself. It becomes essential, therefore, that one mustn’t be pinned to a particular paradigm of experiences. Take the good with the bad, or you might cloy; and above all remember, that nothing quite competes with simplicity. “Shivam! Get up man!” I was rather nonplussed at hearing SD’s voice. Still disoriented and with half my mind trying to recover from my inebriated stupor, I tried to make out what he was saying. “Hey man! You alright? I think you had a bit too much to smoke up.” “Whaa? Ava?” For someone who considers and takes pride in himself as a heavyweight in holding their drink, I was quite outdone by some exceedingly potent and undesirably good strain of marijuana. “Ava? Hahahahaha….dude get the fuck up hahahahaha…” The reader will not judge me, as I present in good faith that if you think you’ve done it all after trying the weed in Bombay, then you’ve got another thing coming. Well, atleast the dream was good while it lasted. But that is not what this is about. It is never about the eye of the storm. It is always about the aftermath. Aftermaths aren’t always bad. And when you get those ever worsening pangs of hunger after chimneying joints, a.k.a ze munchies, you know it gets better, because well, food right? “I’m hungry as fuck bro!” SD bellowed. “Let’s go out and get something to eat! Maybe we’ll also crash into some French chick called Ava hahahaha.” Did I exhort how I find my closest friends quite irksome? “Oh bite me.” “I’m hungry man let’s go and get something to eat!” “At four in the morning? Where do we get food?” It is here that I learned that good food is a matter of perspective. One might argue that there is nothing there is nothing contemporary about this particular observation. Of course, if you expend the better part of your reservoir on a few meals, they’re bound to be, they better be, few of the best meals you have sampled, because well, otherwise, what was the point? And ask yourself this, would you have spent so much on so little? On something that you don’t quite care for? And if you did, then wouldn’t you prefer that it wasn’t all for naught? It is this thinking that is often responsible for the jubilations on social media today. All the pictures of food uploaded, all the highly eulogized videos of nightlife experiences that viewers go into raptures about, and all the so called ‘vlogs’ about peoples’ highly publicized lives that all of us are so enamored with. But I ask the reader this: would you really pull out your camera and think about recording some occurrence, if it was really that frabjous? Or would you rather concentrate on the experience itself ? At this juncture, I quite fail to grasp whether social media has, in fact forced us to blur the line between the two possible explanations: did we forget to enjoy it because of social media or did we never really, in the first place? Or is it simply a case of priorities? That we infact, would rather have people think that we’re having a good time, at the cost of really having it? However, I digress. ​ Good food, is a matter of perspective. It is the hunger, time and effort that helps shape that perspective. “Finally!” said SD stopping the car at a dingy corner of the promenade at quarter to five in the morning. “Shiv, I’m effin hungry man.” The sea looked quite menacing to me at the early hours of the morning. It wasn’t particularly turbulent, but the view of the sea from behind the edge of the promenade, with a glimmering reflection of the moon and the gust of cold whiffs of wind almost gave me an impending feeling of vertigo. Aftermath of the weed, I guess. I looked away and concentrated on the place we’d just arrived at. In the distance, between the imposing sea-faced buildings and quaint little French colonial architectural bistros, souvenir and flower shops, all closed this early in the day, stood a vendor with his fare in a glass box street cart which stood on four wheels, and behind which a makeshift, gas powered stove along with a sandwich press grill, to which I noticed quite a number of people, including morning walkers, fishermen who wanted to grab a quick snack before heading out, and ourselves, were flocking. A closer inspection revealed he was selling anda bhurji (a miscellany of eggs, spring onions, lemon juice, sautéed with green chilies in mustard oil, to which water was added with a sprinkle of turmeric for color) with sliced bread, marinated in pudina chutney and dried, and then lathered with butter and grilled to a crisp, along with the usual assortment of cold drinks in a freezer box on the ground, coffee, and cigarettes. We ordered the works, two times over to go, and as I unwrapped the torn aqueous paper packing of the bhurji and the crispy bread in the car I could have sworn that I must have swallowed over a dozen times in anticipation. As I scooped up some of the bhurji onto a piece of the glisteningly fatty bread, covered in reduced chutney and fried in butter, I could not remember any other experience that rivaled this one in terms of anticipation. I mean sure, I do love food, but I care for it when I’m actually eating it. Here, the foreplay was almost unbearable, and as I greedily took as much of the bread wrapped egg mélange, as fast as my mouth could take it, it did not matter that it was quite hot and burned my palate, as the juices and marination from the egg, chutney, the melted butter which played with your tongue as you breathed in, but only felt the air strike against the thin, yet warm coating of fat around it, the chilies, and the distinctive crunch of the onions, harmonized perfectly with the perpetual gustation. I can tell you that it was the most gratifying meal that I’ve ever had in my life, and an impulse to ensure that it wasn’t the last. Perspective. See what I mean? It was here indeed that I realized that the line between gourmet and comfort was, but imaginary, a meridian, if you will. I stole a look at the Howrah bridge from the window as I returned to the conversation with the host and his wife. My producer looked on, as though everything was going as per plan, oblivious, with no modicum of an inkling, that I was relying solely on muscle memory and timing to have an ineffectual conversation at best, while sampling the best seven course meal in Bengali cuisine that I’d had in sometime, my mind relishing the simple bhurji from Pondicherry.