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all-hail-the-witcher · 5 years ago

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nobody likes a claggy bit of cheese

this idea came to me in mid november while i was watching an episode of the great british bakeoff and crocheting a scarf for my sister while eating a very very healthy college lunch of apple sauce and caramel corn. someone (maybe it was paul) said the word “claggy” and i was like Wow That’s British. and then someone else (probably paul again) said “stodgy” and i was like WoW ThAts BriTisH. and then i was like you know who would appreciate these Very British Words?? my dumb friend who likes to pretend he's british. and thEn i was like Oh Shit what if he hosted great british bakeoff that would be energy oh my god. and i was About to text him that when i was like No Wait! instead of a baking competition it would be a Mac And Cheese competition because that's like,,,his wholes pride and joy. and then i was about to text him that but then i was like wAIT! this has fic written all over it oh my god i can see it now. and now here we are.

also mikey in case you didn't realize, you are my dumb fake british friend and this is your present but i mean its more of your persona slapped on race and i called it a day. its not a mothman shirt but it'll have to do eye guess

anywaymst

enjoy this trash pile

_________

ship: eye guess its platonic ralbert

genre: pure ass crack

warnings: uhmmm, race is an idiot, poorly written british accents, paul hollywood stare, uhhh, albert is Annoyed, jack is an idiot who makes bad mac, spot get Angryyy, idk im writing there before the fic is finished, katherine definitely knows the mafia

editing: lol that's funny

words: enough to fill a few pages but not enough to bore you to death like the metamorphosis

_________

“CHEESE!”

Blankets tornadoed around the room as Race jumped off the bed in a half awake sleepy haze, barely landing on his feet in a fight stance, wielding his phone like a weapon in front of him. He glared into the dark corners (not that he could even tell where the corners were considering that it was pitch dark) of the room before stumbling out into the hallway, muttering madly about cheese.

“Cheese...blue cheese…..string cheese…...mozzarella cheese….” Race barely heard his own half-mad whispers as he opened all the cabinets, rummaging around in the same matter a hurricane floods a basement, in a mad search for pasta. When he came up empty handed he scowled, sat himself up on the counter and yelled for the next best thing:

“ALLLLLLLBBEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRT!”

CRASH! That would be Albert falling out of bed. Race kicked his feet against the cabinet impatiently.

WHOOSH! SLAM! And there was Albert’s door opening and closing at an alarming speed.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! The pictures in the living room began to shake, announcing his arrival.

“Race?! What’s going on? Are you okay??” And there was Albert, sliding into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of socks and boxers (despite the fact that it was probably 3 degrees out), weilding a single black converse high top. Race wasn’t quite sure how the shoe was supposed to help him, but he decided to ignore it. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by Albert’s weird antics when there was a legitimate crisis at hand.

“Race…?” Albert asked again, slowly lowering his shoe. “Is everything-” “We’re out of pasta.”

“We’re- what?” The shoe Albert had been holding banged to the floor. “You’re telling me that you woke me up at” he peered at the oven clock over Race’s shoulder, “three fifteen am to tell me that we’re out of pasta?”

“It’s horrible isn’t it?” Race slammed his head into the cabinet behind him. “Now I can’t make mac and cheese!” “W h y do you want to make mac and fucking cheese at three fifteen in the goddamn morning?!”

“BECAUSE ALBERT-” Race jumped down off the counter, “-I had a dream. A dream where I was competing on The Great British Bakeoff and I made my Famous mac and cheese. And Paul Hollywood, the man, the legend h i m s e l f, tasted my humble mac and said ‘Race. That is amazing.’ And gave me a handshake! And I was so honored that I awoke hungry for the wonderful, delicious, creamy taste of mac and cheese. So I wander into the kitchen and what do I find? A fridge full of cheese, but no pasta to be found!” He stepped closer to Albert, planting his hand firmly on his shoulder. “This is an emergency!”

Albert swatted away Race’s hand and rubbed his eyes, already turning back toward his room. “If Paul Hollywood deemed your mac and cheese so amazing then just hold a competition of your own and make other people make mac and cheese for you. That way I don’t have to go to Walgreens at three thirty.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m going back to bed. Don’t make us lose our security deposit.”

Race stood in stunned silence as Albert disappeared down the hall and his door closed.

“That sleep deprived idiot might actually be onto something,” he muttered, launching himself onto one of the bar stools and opening his laptop. He had work to do.

•••

“You know, when I told you to host your own mac and cheese competition I thought I dreamt that entire encounter, and, now that I realize that I definitely didn’t, I especially didn't expect you to make me host it, and I certainly didn’t expect you to make me wear this dumb costume.” He tugged uncomfortably at the dark blazer and black wig.

“Oi mate, if you’re gonna be Sue yew gotta start actin like ‘er!” Race glared.

“But Race-”

“Thas Paul Hollywood to you. I don want none uh this ‘Race’ business,” he crossed his arms and gave Al his best Steely Eyed, Paul Hollywood Glare.

Albert just rolled his eyes and stomped off.

Race sighed happily as he turned to survey the tent in front of him. He had called Katherine last night after his missing pasta crisis and asked if he could use her Dad’s Hampton’s estate to host a mock version of the Great British Bakeoff but for mac and cheese. Katherine, like any good rebellious daughter, had loved the idea and called several of her “contacts” that apparently “owed her favors.” (Race didn’t understand the life of rich people, it seemed very extravagant and two-faced) And that was how Race had come to be standing in a tent with what could very well be the set up of the Great British Bakeoff laid out in front of him with he himself dressed in his very best blue button down and jeans, a spitting image of Paul Hollywood. Well, maybe Paul Hollywood 30 years ago.

His friends that he had invited on to be the contestants of the show were setting up at their stations. There was Jack, Davey, Romeo, Mush, Blink, Finch, Buttons, Specs, JoJo, Spot, Crutchie, and Smalls. Katherine had opted not to participate and instead film everyone to make it seem more like the actual show.

Someone (probably Katherine) had forced Albert to stand next to him to announce the signature challenge that they had prepared.

“Alright bakers-”

Race shot him a side glance.

“-er, mac and cheese cookers?” he tried to amend. “Today Ra-uh, Paul would like you to make a nice, hefty batch of mac and cheese. You may use whatever ingredients you would like, but he would like it to be cheesy, delicious, and contain pasta. You have 45 minutes.” Race could practically hear the sigh in his voice. “On your marks, get set, ba-cOOK!”

Finally, Race thought as his friends scrambled around their respective stations, I’m going to get some good mac.

•••

It was becoming very clear very quickly that Race may not actually be getting any good mac.

He wandered from station to station, Albert following begrudgingly behind him, progressively becoming more and more disappointed in each and every one of his friends. Didn’t any of them know how to cook?

“Roight Jack.” He leaned on the one empty scrap of counter in front of him. “What are yew makin?”

“It’s a surprise.” Jack - well he assumed it was Jack, he couldn’t really be sure with all the flour flying everywhere - ran around his workspace, which was crowded with every ingredient imaginable, from shredded cheese to, was that maple syrup?

“Jack for the sake of the show yew gotta tell us what yew’re makin.” Jack must not have the braincell today.

From somewhere in the flour cloud a timer went off. Jack yelped and dropped what sounded like several pots with an amazingly loud clatter.

“If you really must know - ouch!! - I’m making - god fUCK! - baked mac and cheese with a - SHIT! - crispy top.”

“Alright well,” Albert dodged a flying blob of flaming cheese, “we’ll leave you to it. Hopefully we get to actually eat something edible.”

“Good luck,” Race turned away from Jack’s workstation and leaned towards Albert as they made their way to Mush’s station. “Do we ave a foire extinguishah here?”

“I think so?”

“Good cause we moight need it.” Albert looked at him knowingly for a long minute before the two of them snapped out of it and approached Mush.

“So Mush,” Race said, taking in the polar opposite of the mess of a station that had been Jack’s, “what ave yew got for us?”

Mush smiled, looking up from the block of cheese that he had been grating. “Today I’m going to be making my signature mac and cheese with three kinds of cheese.”

Race let out an audible sigh of relief. Finally something that sounded edible!

“Is that pleasing enough for you, Your Highness?” Mush winked mischievously and Albert giggled.

Race straightened up, checking his mouth for drool (there was none). “Yes, oim looking forward tew it.” He watched as the cheese mush was grating flaked satisfyingly into the bowl, his mouth watering at the very sight and thought of cheese. Oh cheese. Beautiful, rich, delicious cheese. “Oi would like tew sample some cheese if yew don't mind.”

Mush straightened up, putting his hands around his cheese protectively. “And I want someone to slap me so hard my eyes fall out. We can’t all get what we want, Susan B. Anthony.”

“Hollywood, moi name is Paul Hollywood.” Race glared at Mush, horrified that he would decline him the judge a cheese sample! Paul Hollywood always got ingredient samples when he asked for them! Maybe he should have put more effort into his hair today…

“I know very well who you are,” Mush went back to grating his cheese. It was as if he were mocking Race with every bit of shredded goodness that fell onto the glorious cheese mountain.

“I do believe you’ve upset Mr. Hollywood.” Albert smirked. Of course he had to join in on the make-Race-feel-like-hes-being-mocked party.

“I don’t particularly care about Mr. Hollywood’s feelings,” Mush put down the grater and reached under his counter for a pan. “What I do care about is the fate of my mac and cheese so,” he stared at the two of them, deadpan , “be gone Thots.”

“But-”

“I SAID BE GONE THOTS!” Mush pointed a wooden spoon at the two of them menacingly and Race half expected sparks to shoot out of the end like some kind of sorcery bullshit, but all he got was a cloud of flour to the face and twelve sets of confused eyes looking at him.

“Uhh,” he mustered every ounce of Paul Hollywood that he could, “thank yew Mush.” Quickly he turned away, brushing the flour out of his sharpied on beard and mustache while Albert stifled laughter next to him. “Shut up,” he muttered.

“But that was-”

“Oi said shut- oh hoi Smalls!” He tried desperately to regain his composure as they approached the final station.

“Gucci Prada my fuckin clown wig I- oh, uh, hi!” Smalls quickly put the spatula that she had been holding behind her back.

“What are yew makin for uh today?” Race took in Smalls’s station. There was a wide array of cheese on the counter, we well as spices and breadcrumbs and pasta. But something seemed...different.

Smalls looked down at her feet, suddenly very interested in the carpet.. “I’m making gluten free baked mac and cheese.”

“Why gluten free?”

“Because,” Smalls glanced behind her briefly before hissing, “because that was the only kind of pasta I could find in my cabinet that's why you feet fucker.”

Race’s toes tingled with happiness. He do it! He could say the trademark Paul Hollywood meme thing!

“Now, when yew make mac and cheese gluten free it tends to get stickey and lose some of its taiste. Ave yew tested this to make sure that wont appen?”

“Y e s,” Smalls rolled her eyes. “I put extra oil in it so the pasta wont get sticky a n d there’s lots of spices for added flavor.” She brought her spatula out from behind her back in a soldiers salute. “I won’t disappoint you, your Highness Mr. Paul Hollywwod Sir.”

“Yew bettah not,” Race laughed as he walked back to his very official looking director’s chair (he didn’t want to know how many people Katherine had had to kill to get this).

“Sue, how much toime is left?”

“TEN MINUTES COOKERS, TEN MINUTES!”

There were varying screams of frustration from around the room as his friends scrambled to get done. The smell of cooking cheese wafted from several ovens and stoves and Race smiled contentedly. Twas almost Mac Time.

•••

Ten minutes later, as promised, Race was standing behind a Very Official looking wooden table with a fork and a glass of water, ready to taste (or spit out, depending on whose it was), his friends’ mac and cheese.

“Oilright, Davey, why don’t yew bring up yewr mac.”

Davey strode up to the table confidently, somehow without a spec of food on his apron, and placed down a plate of gooey looking pasta. Man oh man he was excited! But no, today he was Paul Hollywood. No excitement. Only glares.

He picked up his fork and took a scoop of pasta, glaring at Davey for good measure as he tasted.

He chewed for far longer than actually necessary to give Davey just enough time to get nervous before giving his verdict. “Whot yew’ve actually done is quite noice, Oi rather loike the blend of the cheddar and the goat cheese, but what yew’ve done is create something that’s so soft that its lacking textah. It’s loike Oi need somethin crunchy to offset it.”

Davey nodded. “Okay.”

“But overall noice job.” He nodded, the silent cue for Davey to take his dish and return to his station.

Race surveyed the contestants and grimaced. “Jack bring yew’re flamin bomb up here.”

He thought he heard Jack mutter some half-decent curses under his breath, but not decent enough for him to repeat.

A few seconds later a lump of orange stuff with green (???) blobs on top on a plate was placed in front of him. “Roight,” he sighed. “What ave yew got there?”

“Well this is my baked mac and cheese with green goldfish topping!” Jack said proudly.

Race looked at the plate as if it were a flesh eating disease that could kill him at any second. And, knowing Jack’s track record with food, it just might. “Any reason why you chose green goldfish?”

“Adds a pop of color!” Jack bounced on his toes.

Good gosh. Race took the tiniest bite possible on his fork and lifted it to his mouth-

“Make sure you get a goldfish!” Jack insisted. “Really adds a burst of flavor!”

“Oh sure, sure.” Race picked one up before shoving the whole abomination into his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds before swallowing down as best as he could.

“Wow that is pitiful,” Race coughed. “The pasta is overcooked, and the cheese, yew’ve cooked it too much so that it’s become gummy, and all the moistah has gone into the goldfish and made them soggy.”

“Oh,” Jack sounded deflated.

“Overall the textah is a bit claggy, and no one loikes a claggy bit of cheese.”

“Right, right.” Jack stroked his invisible beard.

“Overall its dreadful and Oi’d loike it if you removed it from my sights, preferably to the bin. Next!”

•••

Almost a half hour later Race was practically done testing all of the mac and cheese, save for Mush’s and Smalls’s. Along with Jack’s trashpile, Spot’s had also been notably horrible, it was somehow burnt and undercooked at the same time? Race didn’t even want to know. Crutchie’s and JoJo’s though had been surprisingly decent, and both were in the running to win.

“Oilroight Smalls, bring up yewr mac why don’t yew.”

A few moments later a plate of mac and cheese was dumped in front of Race with no class whatsoever. “Here you go Mr. Paul Sir.”

Race stabbed his fork into the pile of noodles. “This was the gluten free baked mac and cheese, roight?” “Yes your highness.”

Race rolled the noodles around on his tongue for a few long moments while his taste buds analyzed the flavor combinations.

“Roight so, I warned yew about this bein tasteless roight?” Smalls quirked up her eyebrow. “It’s tasteless isn’t it.”

“Yes. Get it away from me at once.”

“Of course, your lordship.” Smalls snatched the plate from the table, even curtsying to Race before making her way back to her station, picking up a fork, and digging into her own mac and cheese.

“I don't know what you’re talking about Mister Colonel Hollywood Sir, this tastes great!”

Race bushed imaginary crumbs off of his table. “And Oi’m goin tew pretend Oi didn’t hear that.” He pointed to Mush. “Mush, bring up yewr creation, if yew pleathe.”

“But of course!” Mush placed down his plate of mac and cheese in front of Race, who dug in immediately. “What you have there is parmesan, cheddar, and american cheese with elbow pasta. Enjoy.”

Race let the glorious noodles glide over his tongue as his palate was enveloped in a wonderful cheese flavor. He was amazed. He was astounded. Hell he was even speechless! What did Paul Hollywood do when he was speechless? Oh right!

“Well done Mush,” he stuck out his hand for the famous Paul Hollywood Handshake. “That’s a really great plate you’ve made.”

“Oh, thank you sir!” Mush smiled joyfully as Albert tried to sneak a bite of the mac and cheese. Race swatted his hand away with his other hand.

“In fact, it’s the best that Oi’ve had today, and Oi announce yew as Star Cooker!”

The room erupted into cheers and everyone ran to hug Mush while Race quickly finished his mac and cheese. His plan had worked perfectly. The next time he was out of pasta at three am he knew exactly who to call.

•••

“Hello? Do you need help burying the body?” A tired voice answered the phone.

“Mush, it’s Race. I’m craving mac and cheese and I don't have any pasta. Can you-”

“NO!”

_________

so how bout that huh

anyway sappy boi hours heh i love mikey and im real happy that were friends cause he's the absolute best and i cant wait to meet him next week eeee

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

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#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #this is not a christmas fit its just a christmas present #*fic #heh #luv you my milky tot #;)#grandpapi #papi #suburban papi #oatmeal aesthetic dad #daddy #cricket feet #u make my feet tingle with happiness #SIX DAYS MAN

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marvel--for--life · 6 years ago

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Starker + Pregnancy

~ Peter has always been in love with babies. He always stops to wave at them in the grocery store. Sometimes, he even will stop in the middle of walking down the crowded streets of downtown or in a park, just to stop and coo at an adorable baby.

~ All babies are cute. There are absolutely no exceptions.

~ Truthfully, Peter never thought he’d have a baby as much as he liked them. He was always afraid he wouldn’t be a good mother.

~ The day he finds out he’s pregnant, he cries for at least two hours straight. He honestly doesn’t know if it’s stressed induced or pure happiness, but afterward, he sits on the kitchen floor and eats a pint of Ben & Jerry’s (one of those ones with the core of caramel because he just can’t resist).

~ Telling Tony is the scariest thing he’s ever done. Even climbing up the Washington Memorial and flipping over a moving helicopter blade couldn’t even remotely compare to how terrifying it had been to tell his partner.

~ Tony insists on Peter moving in with him because, while he loves May, he instantly becomes twice as protective of Peter and his unborn child because while Tony may not have ever said it out loud... he has always wanted a family.

~ Pregnancy isn’t nice to Peter. He’s hormonal anyways being a teenager still, but pregnancy adds a whole new level of hormonal hell he never thought about before.

~ He suffers all-day sickness. Peanut butter is a no-go when it used to basically be his major source of cheap and easy protein, but now the sight of a peanut butter anything is enough to send him running for the nearest trashcan. Olives, however, are now a go-to snack, so Tony makes sure to keep several jars and cans well within the boy’s reach.

~ When Peter starts to show, he breaks down. Taking one look at himself in the mirror and seeing that all his muscles are gone and have been replaced with fat, he begins to ball his eyes out. Tony comes in to see his partner curled up in the bathtub sobbing hysterically, and when he finally gets Peter to open up and talk to him, the teenager tells him how ugly he looks now that he’s getting fat. Tony quickly assures him that he is anything but.

~ Tony hates it when Peter puts himself down because yes, the boy is getting quite big and round, and he can’t fit into any clothes besides Tony’s old tee-shirts and loose sweatpants, but Peter is glowing. He’s the most beautiful thing Tony has ever seen (he always has been, but pregnancy really does bring out all of the beauty Peter has and adds to it), and he hates to see his little angel crying about how his body is changing. Tony always knows how to help change Peter’s mind though. He’s gotten really good at showing Peter exactly what he thinks of the lovely stretch marks that have spread across his stomach. He kisses every single one of them, nuzzling into the soft baby fat that clings to Peter’s hips as he takes him apart with his fingers until the boy is sobbing and begging for him.

~ On bad days though, when the baby won’t stop kicking and all the aches and pains can’t be relieved, Tony will take the day off and curl up with his partner in bed. He’ll massage at his tired and aching muscles. He’ll whisper to their unborn child, asking the little one to settle down and “be good for Mommy. He’s tired, little one, so why don’t we all take a nap?”

~ Peter always giggles like mad when Tony talks to their baby in Italian or any of the other languages he’s picked up over the years.

~ Their baby is happiest when Tony is singing, pressing tiny feet or hands against Peter’s belly to try and get close to their singing father. Tony will never deny giving the little reacher a kiss.

~When Tony is gone for more than twelve hours, their little bundle of joy will not stop kicking Peter and whacking him in the ribs until Peter sobs into the phone and begs his older partner to return home.

~ Right before his seventh-month ultrasound, Peter’s spidey-senses kick in and leave him more anxious than he’s ever been his entire pregnancy. When he confides in Tony his fear, Tony promises him that they’re in this together and no matter what happens, they’ll work with it. Peter’s anxiety turns out to be shocking but wonderful news: he’s having twins.

~ When they find out there’s two (apparently one of them was smaller and often times hid behind the other to avoid being seen in the other ultrasounds), the nursery goes under a dramatic change. There quickly becomes two of everything, and now it makes sense to Tony why Peter’s been eating enough for four instead of two.

~ They choose to be surprised by the babies’ gender, but Bucky convinces Peter to have a gender-reveal party. Natasha and Bucky plan everything and are in charge of the reveal, so when Peter and Tony open the card filled with blue glitter, the screams of joy are real. When the second card is opened to reveal even more blue glitter, no one says anything about the tears staining both soon-to-be-parents’ cheeks.

~ On a really cold and snowy day in the middle of January, Peter is rushed to the Avengers hospital bay while Tony is busy with a mission. He cries and screams for someone to call Tony because he’s scared. Tony barely makes it in time, but he shows up in the operating room still in his Iron Man suit of armor and immediately takes Peter’s shaking hand in his. The entire delivery goes extremely smoothly because Dr. Cho had been specifically handpicked by Tony years ago since she is the best and “only one qualified to be taking care of the Avengers”. At the end of the day, Peter is curled up in a bed resting with his two little bundles of joy: Anthony Richard Stark and Benjamin Howard Stark. (Tony does not cry over the fact that Peter insists that the firstborn be named Anthony; there was merely something in his eye from the mission.)

~ Tony doesn’t sleep the first night after the twins are born. He stays awake, watching over the love of his life wrapped around his brand new little loves all of them sleeping peacefully in his arms.

~ When the twins first meet the rest of the Avengers, it’s a bit of a mess. There is so much noise and so much going on since everyone wants a good look at the tiny little boys, but eventually, everyone gets a chance to hold them. There are a lot of pictures taken, but the favorite for everyone is the one of Fury holding a tiny blue bundle against his chest with a hint of a smile on his stoic face.

~ The twins are spoiled. Everyone spoils the two little boys, who are the apple of the Avengers’ eyes, but their Uncle Bucky and Uncle Steve are definitely the twins’ favorites.

~ After the twins’ second Christmas, Peter gets the news: he’s pregnant again.

~ The second pregnancy goes better than the first, but it’s still a surprise when they find out (a lot sooner than with the boys) that he’s having multiples again. Bruce thinks it has something to do with Peter’s spider bite, but Tony doesn’t really care. He’s always wanted a big family.

~ And so, instead of starting up a new batch of online college courses, Peter is holed up in the operating room again at the beginning of September, delivering their new little bundles of joy.

~ Maria, Mary, and May are very different than their older brothers. They tend to fuss a bit more, and they certainly favor Peter over Tony (but honestly, the twins do nothing but hang off of everything Tony says/does, so Peter thinks it’s only fair).

~ May Virginia Stark is the smallest of the girls, and she’s the only fraternal one of the three.

~ Maria Josephine and Mary Elizabeth along with May are all princesses in the eyes of their parents and therefore get treated as such.

~ It’s not until the girls are five and the boys are seven that the baby fever bites Peter hard again. Tony is more than happy to oblige.

~ Their last child is born in April on a very rainy morning. It’s also surprisingly the most difficult of Peter’s labors, but it’s also the most rewarding. Little James Harold Stark is finally a part of their giant family.

~ As the kids grow older and grow up with the other Avengers’ children, Peter and Tony watch over them fondly from their spot curled up together on the couch. They can’t help but think of how lucky they really are.

~ The stretch marks and c-section scars have never gone away even as the years pass, but Peter has given up on seeing them as ugly. Tony continues to trace them fondly and kiss over them every time they make love, and he refuses to allow Peter to see them as anything except fond reminders of their family.

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #tony x peter #tonyxpeter #peter x tony #peterxtony #peter parker x tony stark #babies #starker pregnancy #maybe i'll actually write the story i wanted to for this one day #ironspider

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californiadreaminghq · 5 years ago

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Oh good, you made it!

Did you guys know Ky was coming? They brought Anthony Doyle, The Stranded! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started – you have 24 hours to send in your account! We’re so glad you’re here!

I. OUT OF THE STUDIO

NAME/ALIAS: Ky

AGE: 28

PRONOUNS: they

II. ON STAGE

DESIRED SKELETON: The Stranded

NAME: Anthony Doyle (Antonino Azzara)

FACE CLAIM: Luke Pasqualino

AGE: 27

OCCUPATION: Bassist with Violent Vale

III. INTERVIEW

Answer the following questions in your character’s voice:

If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?

“What, if I didn’t have the band to look after?” That made him pause, it did. Shit. What would he do? Go back and help mum and dad with the shop? Even they didn’t want that. If they were being honest about it. “Fucked if I know,” Anthony flapped a hand, cigarette smoke curling after. He’d get on with it. Somehow. “Maybe a zoo?” He threw that out there, for the hell of it. “That’s what I went on about, when I was a kid. Working at the petting zoo, with the cockatoos and goats.” Not very rock and roll. But, then again - he’d got plenty of practice with wild animals, hadn’t he?

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

“New York was mint. Wouldn’t mind another stop off around there, sometime.” So long as he didn’t have to be running about keeping those muppets out of trouble. Those beloved muppets of his. Anthony took a thoughtful drag, considering his options. World was his oyster, innit? “Other than that, oh…those Galapagos Islands might do. See the big, fuck off tortoises. Darwin’s finches. And your cousins, mate,” he smirked at the iguana lazing down the chesterfield from him, dozy in the California heat. “Seems a relaxing sort of place.”

What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?

“Out of this lot? I can cook. Properly, mind, like, real food. Vitamins, minerals. And I can press clothes. Do up a tie. Fix a button, change a tire…” he counted off on his fingers, knowing he’d run out. Violent Vale had a lot going for it, but. When it came to just being able to get shit done, the little things that kept life rolling along in some semblance of order, Anthony was the one who had to step up, often as not. “Tell time.” He rapped his watch, snuffing his cigarette. Not the first interview where he’d been the only bastard of the bunch to show up when the calendar said so. Wouldn’t be the last. “Don’t you worry, they’ll be along.” He wouldn’t promise shortly. Knew better.

IV. BACKSTAGE

Anthony - as his teachers at school quickly got to calling him, because Antonino was just too much of a mouthful, apparently - didn’t remember Italy, but his neighbors around Bristol never let him, or his hard-working parents, forget it. The Azzaras had left their mother country, and generations of family history, behind when Anthony was just shy of his second birthday; the future had looked too grim, in wartorn, bombed out Naples. Better to try their chances elsewhere. They got as far as England, and set about becoming as Bristolian as they could. Which, according to the locals, was never really enough. Still, they got on with it - it being a little chippy down in Temple Meads. Nothing special, but cod and potatoes paid the bills. Mostly. When the shop didn’t cover rent and such, or needed new windows and paint after the odd smash-up, Ant found ways to make ends meet. His mum and dad might frown on it, and fret, but he’d learned plenty of tricks from hanging about on the fringes. Met all sorts of interesting people, there. Fences, for one. With his clever fingers and fast feet, Anthony could make himself some good money when he needed it, pawning things he snuck off drunk tourists.

But only when he needed it. When his family needed it, more rightly. Picking pockets and sneaking unattended handbags wasn’t fun. It was risky, and he knew that. Anthony played smart, and took honest work over a quick buck, when he could find it. Was a band, a rock band, honest work? He wasn’t too sure about that, but Violent Vale wasn’t just a rock band. They were family too, childhood friends. The type who’d start your fights for you. Loyal to a fault, because they’d earned it, Anthony let himself get drawn into the dream and put those troublesome hands to better use on the bass.

They weren’t bad, neither. Not bad at all. A few gigs around town became more, became daytripping to Bath, became playing at this little festival over in Glastonbury, became a weekend over in London. Became fame. Soon, he didn’t have time to bus tables for his parents - and he didn’t even need to feel guilty about it, because the money was good. Stupid good. It only got better as Violent Vale got big, and bigger. They were riding a trend, all the way to the top. All the way to America. Mad, wasn’t it? New York City was a good time, a breath of fresh air. Well, fresh-ish. Unfortunately, it was too good of a time for some members of the band. As in England, Ant found himself acting the collie dog, shepherding his little lunatic gang around the city, trying to keep them in line and on schedule. It was a hell of a job. And, frankly, he needed to cut loose himself now and then. Now and then became too often, quickly. Predictable, wasn’t it? Those ties that bound were tight, after all. Anthony found himself dragged off course more than he should’ve been, through the clubs and rooftops and streets of the Big Apple. The bills piled up. The tabloids loved it. Their managers didn’t. Soon, it was decided - forcefully - that they’d be packing up, shipping out west. To California. Beaches, bikinis, big record labels. Sounded wicked.

So long as they got their shit in line. Ant pulled the band together for their own meeting, after management left to arrange the details. Los Angeles had to be different. More music, less party. Please? He was, well. Worried about them. The Vale were more than a headline, more than letters in lights. They were his mates, the best he had. He wasn’t trying to be a killjoy, here. Just wanted to see them survive stardom. They seemed to be listening, but… he knows them, these people of his. Not at all mollified, he threw back his gin and tonic, reclined that big American airline seat, and hoped for the best. He’s not out to change his friends, to be clear. He just… wishes they weren’t such a bloody mess. Until that day comes, though, Ant’ll be there to scrape the Vale off the floor and into the studio, anytime, everytime.

V. ENCORE

Let’s try some HEADCANONS.

He’s not a Tony. Don’t call him Tony. At least one of his bandmates - if not the whole mangy crew - has known Anthony long enough to remember when he was a weedy little late-bloomer, last boy at school to shoot up and fill out; those days left him with the unenviable nickname of Ant. It’s stuck, but whether he finds it aggravating or endearing really depends on the moment. Don’t try it if you’re not a proper, close friend. You’ve got to earn the right, yeah?

While he couldn’t say much for the Bristol school system, Ant’s an avid self-educator. He’s particularly keen on environmental subjects and history, and his letterbox is often packed with magazines like National Geographic, Time, and The Ecologist.

Anthony’s loving the California sunshine, honestly. He’s often found on the beaches, taking a morning swim - in water that’s not too bloody cold for that, what a wonder - or an evening run.

Given his love of animals, it comes as no surprise to most that Anthony’s very vegetarian. Unless he’s at home, with mum and dad. Then he eats what he’s given, and likes it. Obviously.

Anthony can speak Italian, but not much. His parents discouraged their first language at home; faced with the prejudices of working class Bristol, the Azzaras tried very, very hard to fit the mould of respectable, urban, English family. Mum and dad were understanding when he first took up a blandly British stage name - it could only help his chances. It was sensible, but… difficult, in a way Anthony can’t quite articulate. He doesn’t have a mother country to miss, not the way his parents do. All the same, his name, his skin, his face, have been held against him for as long as he can remember. He’s sensitive to the tensions of race and culture, and even if America’s problems with all that haven’t smashed any of his windows in, Ant can see them pretty plainly.

His first fresh-to-fame personal indulgence was buying up an iguana that caught his eye in a shop window, back in London. They weren’t taking proper care of it, right - all cramped up, with sad, fake vines, wilted lettuce. Couldn’t have that. Said iguana, now known as Dennis, as in, the Menace, now travels alongside the band - frequently creating a bit of a stir in transit. Nobody’s too fond of the idea of transporting live reptiles, as it turns out. Anthony’s turned his apartment in Los Angeles into a free-range reptile habitat for Dennis’s sake, complete with some lovely lush plants he takes diligent care of.

Anthony tries - and largely succeeds - at being the reasonable, sensible, presentable face of the Vale. But if you hit the right buttons, he’ll show you just what sort of British culture he picked up along the Bristol docks. Ant breaks up more fights than he starts, and when he does, he tends to break some faces along the way. Got a mean headbutt, in true hooligan style.

And of course, a PLAYLIST! Here’s some period-rightish tunes that brought Ant to life for me. There’s some appropriately hot-blooded fling type tracks, a lot of British rock of all stripes, some rebel yelling, and bangers to blow the roof off, in truly Violent Vale style.

Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin

Baba O’Riley - The Who

Teenage Kicks - The Undertones

Jimmy Jazz - The Clash

Friends of Mine - Buzzcocks

Good Times Roll - The Cars

Hush - Deep Purple

Burning Down the House - Talking Heads

Demolition - The Kinks

Don’t Bring Me Down - Electric Light Orchestra

No More Heroes - The Stranglers

The Night Comes Down - Queen

God Save the Queen - Sex Pistols

Good Times Bad Times - Led Zeppelin

Don’t Mess Me Round - Buzzcocks

Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie

I Know a Girl - The Undertones

Just What I Needed - The Cars

Money - Pink Floyd

Rebel Rebel - David Bowie

My Generation - The Who

Lola - The Kinks

I Told You So - The Undertones

Diamond Dogs - David Bowie

Wasted Life - Stiff Little Fingers

Real Cool Time - The Stooges

You’re All I’ve Got Tonight - The Cars

Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve?) - Buzzcocks

Should I Stay Or Should I Go - The Clash

All Day and All of the Night - The Kinks

Keep Yourself Alive - Queen

#accepted

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orbemnews · 4 years ago

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Born to Be Lazy? What Bears Can Teach Us About Our Exercise Habits Grizzly bears move across landscapes in much the same way as most people do, favoring flat paths over slopes and gentle speeds over sprints, according to a remarkable new study of grizzlies and how their outdoor lives compare to ours. The study, which involved wild and captive bears, a specialized treadmill, apple slices and GPS trackers, expands our understanding of how a natural drive to save energy shapes animals’ behavior, including ours, and could have implications for health and weight management. The findings also help explain why, in the great outdoors, the paths of bears and people so often intersect, providing useful reminders about wilderness planning and everyone’s safety. Biologists and other scientists have become increasingly interested in recent years in how we and other creatures make our way through our surroundings. And while some preliminary answers have begun to emerge about why we choose to move and navigate as we do, the findings are not, on the whole, especially flattering. Accumulating research suggests that we humans, as a species, are apt to be physically lazy, with a hard-wired inclination to avoid activity. In a telling 2018 neurological study, for example, brain scans indicated that volunteers were far more attracted by images of people in chairs and hammocks than of people in motion. This apparently inborn preference for not moving made sense for us once, long ago, when hunting and gathering demanded hard effort and plentiful calories and resting under a tree did not. Being inactive is more problematic now, with food everywhere. But the extent to which we share this penchant for physical ease with other species and whether these predilections affect how we and they traverse the world has remained unclear. So, cue grizzlies, particularly those living at the Washington State University Bear Center, the nation’s primary grizzly bear conservation and research center. University biologists affiliated with the center study how the animals live, eat and interact with humans. Now, for the new study, which was published recently in the Journal of Experimental Biology, they decided to explore precisely how much energy grizzlies expend when they move in different ways and how those and comparable numbers might affect real-life behavior, not only of bears but of us and other animals. To start, they constructed a sturdy enclosure around a treadmill originally built for horses. With modifications, it could tip up or down by as much as 20 percent, while handling the size and weight of a grizzly. At the front of the enclosure, the scientists added a feeding box with a built-in rubber glove. Then they taught the center’s nine male and female grizzlies — most of them resident at the center since birth and sporting names like John, Peeka and Frank — to clamber onto the treadmill and walk, while sedately accepting slices of hot dogs and apples as a reward. “Grizzlies are very food driven,” says Anthony Carnahan, a doctoral candidate at Washington State University who led the new study. By measuring changes in the composition of the air in the enclosure, the researchers could track each bear’s energy expenditure at varying speeds as they walked uphill and down. (The bears never ran on the treadmills, because of concerns for their safety.) Using this data, the researchers determined that the most efficient pace for the bears, physiologically — the one at which they used the least oxygen — was about 2.6 miles per hour. Finally, the scientists gathered available information about the movements of wild bears, using GPS statistics from grizzlies in Yellowstone National Park, along with mapping data and comparable numbers from past studies of people and other animals wandering through natural landscapes. Comparing the data, the scientists found that wild grizzlies, like us, seem born to laze. The researchers had expected the wild bears to move at their most efficient speed whenever possible, Mr. Carnahan says. But in reality, their average pace traveling through Yellowstone was a pokey and physiologically inefficient 1.4 miles per hour. They also almost invariably chose the least-steep route to get anywhere, even when it required extra time. “They did a lot of side-hilling,” Mr. Carnahan says. Interestingly, these speeds and routes resembled those of people when picking routes through wildlands, the researchers noted. Taken as a whole, the findings suggest that the innate urge to avoid exertion plays a greater role in how all creatures, great and small, typically behave and navigate than we might imagine. The study does not rule out, however, that grizzlies, like other bears, can move with sudden, staggering speed and ferocity, when they decide to, Mr. Carnahan points out. “I’ve seen a bear run across a mountain meadow in six or seven minutes, when it took me all afternoon,” he says. The results likewise do not tell us that we humans are fated always to hike slowly, sticking to the flats, but only that it may require mental as well as physical effort and goal setting to avoid defaulting to the easiest routes. Finally, the study is a bracing reminder that we share the outdoors with large apex predators who may naturally pick the same pathways as us. You can find useful information about remaining safe in grizzly country at the website of the Interagency Grizzly Bear Committee. Source link Orbem News #bears #Born #Exercise #habits #Lazy #teach

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faecaribou · 4 years ago

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Thank you! <333

Favorite weird food habit: I’m pretty sure it’s weird that I’ll eat an entire can of black olives as a snack sometimes but I really love olives so...

If that’s not weird enough, I also like pineapple on pizza and I can NOT eat apples UNLESS they are cut into slices. You will never see me eat and apple whole. I can’t do it.

Favorite thing to do to relax: Probably snuggle with my cat or make a pillow fort because apparently small tight spaces are what relax me

Not sure how many people I should tag so I’ll just do five: @adrians-gay-blog @kraefandoms @the-bard-followed-the-witcher @anthony-e-stark-3000 @space-iplier

Sent with love and also the reminder to do things that make you happy

Hey @fairyscorpius wanted to be tagged, so this is for you! <3 (Anyone is free to join in, though)

Reblog with your favorite weird food habit, and your favorite thing you do to relax!

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kejserfrisk7-blog · 6 years ago

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threeorphanpilgrimage · 7 years ago

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Chapter 75 - Contingencies

"Can you see anything?" asked Jet as he pressed his flashlight up against the rain barrel.

"Not really." Clem moved in closer, hoping to see through the plastic just enough to know if there was any water inside or not. "I don't see anything, the plastic is too dark."

"Well, maybe if look in through the vent I can tell," reasoned Jet as he stood on the edge of the bench supporting the water barrels.

"Why did Sin use black barrels anyway?" asked Clem.

"He said he wanted to keep algae from growing inside, and blocking out the sun was the best way to do that," said Jet as he looked down one of the vent pipes. "But he said if he builds another collector on the other side of the field, then he'd include a couple of white barrels in the middle so we'd know how much water is in there."

As Jet tried to find out if there was water or not in the upper barrels of the collector, Clem stepped aside and approached the barn door. Heading inside, she looked up at the blue tarps Devlin and Sin had painstakingly rigged up to replace the missing roof. Sin had originally planned to create a water collector by stringing up tarps before they had found Ceres Acres, so using those to repair the barn wasn't too difficult. Still, Clem couldn't stop herself from noticing the bent and torn metal near the top of the walls and wonder what an even worse storm would do to their tiny farm.

"Okay, there's water in there," said Jet as Clem hurried back outside.

"You can see it?" asked Clem as she watched Jet hop off the bench.

"No, but I put my ear up to the barrel and slapped it, and I can hear water sloshing around. The top barrels definitely have water in them."

"Great, that means the new roof worked," concluded Clem. "And it rained all night, so we should have plenty of water."

"Yeah, now let's just hope there will be enough pressure for the whole field this time." Jet turned a large valve on the center of a pipe running in front of the collector, then hurried over to the small pipe running across the short side of the field, Clem following right behind him. They split up and started turning a series of smaller valves running under this pipe. Turning the last valve, Clem moved through the wooden fence and started following one of the soaker hoses across the field. Leaning down, Clem could already see where water was seeping through the hose and moistening the dirt the corn was planted in; it was working.

Moving down the row, checking to make sure the hose was still working, Clem was surprised by how tall the corn had gotten. Already it was coming up to about her stomach, and she suspected it wouldn't be too much longer before it was taller than her. She couldn't see any developing ears of corn yet, but she did notice the long vines twisting their way up the bean poles planted between the stalks. Clem concluded it wouldn't be long before they needed to wrap them around the corn stalks like Sarah originally planned.

Continuing to check the dirt as she moved, Clem's optimism dimmed as she noticed the soil grew steadily less damp until it was eventually just dry. Kneeling down for a better look, Clem could see there was still a tiny trickle of water seeping out of the hose a bit further back only to stop entirely just beyond that. Standing up, Clem could see Jet on the opposite end of the field, likely noticing the same thing. Carefully maneuvering past corn stalks and around cucumber cages, Clem met Jet in the center of the field, looking as disappointed as she felt.

"It stopped halfway, didn't it?" Clem nodded at Jet. "Dammit. I was hoping the first time it only went halfway because the tornado tore off the roof before the barrels could be filled, and so there wasn't enough pressure. But they're definitely almost full this time and—"

"It's not enough for the whole field."

Jet sighed. "Granddad said that probably was the problem. He also said if we parked the semitrailers on the other side of the field, he and Devlin could probably use tarps to rig up some kind of roof over there and build another rainwater collector if he gets some stuff from Tulsa at the beginning of May. If we had that then—"

"We wouldn't have to water half the field today," the pessimism in Clem's voice brought a weary frown to Jet's lips. Going to fill their watering cans, Clem could hear the backhoe off in the distance. Just looking over from the pond, she could see a long ditch leading off towards the lake. Clem wasn't sure how long it would take for Sin to finish the ditch, but it hardly seemed to matter since finishing it wouldn't stop them from having to hand water the rest of the field. It would assure they'd always have water for the crops, but right now that sounded more like a form of punishment in itself.

Lugging a couple of full watering cans across half the field, painstakingly watering each and every plant, stopping to pull up any loose weeds growing between them, then waking up and doing it again tomorrow was maddening. It also got a little worse every day as they inched towards summer. It was only mid-April so far and even with a hat keeping the sun off her face, Clem found herself working up a sweat shortly after starting this daily chore.

Checking the lettuce plants, Clem found a small slug resting in the shade of a leaf full of small holes. Sarah and Anthony had been routinely checking the crops for pests in the early morning, but apparently they had missed one. Clem grimaced, then squished the pest beneath her shoe. Pulling her foot back and looking at the mess of goo that used to be a slug, Clem felt a tinge of guilt. The slug just wanted something to eat, but then, so did Clem and the others, and there probably wasn't enough to share.

Worse than slugs had been birds. Looking at the trees surrounding the farm, Clem couldn't see them, but she knew they were out there. There was usually at least a few crows waiting for them every morning that needed to be chased off and it wasn't uncommon for them to show up in the middle of the day while everyone was away from the field during lunch. Sarah had assembled a crude scarecrow from a beanpole, an old shirt, and upside down bucket with a scary face drawn on it; the crows weren't afraid of it.

Hands throbbing, lungs aching for air, sweat pouring down her face, Clem finally reached the end of the last row full of wheat that she thought looked like tall grass. With the last plant watered, Clem dropped the watering can and collapsed onto the dirt while taking several deep breaths, something that was quickly becoming a tradition for her after watering the field.

Looking over, Clem could see Jet leaning against one of the fence posts, likely exhausted himself. She slowly stood up, planning to go over and talk to them, only for him to start moving back across the field. Following him, Clem watched as Jet returned to the pond and filled his watering can.

"You're not done yet?"

"Huh?" said Jet as he turned around. "No, well yeah, but I still gotta water the apple trees."

"Oh yeah, how are they doing?"

"Umm… okay."

"Only okay?"

"After the storm, one of them was… bent."

"I'm sorry." Noticing Jet looked worried, Clem decided to go with him to check the saplings. Heading down the driveway, the pair quickly returned to the trio of tiny trees planted far off to the side. Examining the saplings as Jet watered them, Clem noticed all three of them had fewer leaves on them then when they planted them, and the few leaves left on the far right tree were brown and shriveled. Looking closer, she also saw this tree had a large split running along its thin truck and a piece of rope tying it to a beanpole.

"It's dead," concluded Jet.

"Maybe—"

"It is. Its leaves have just kept shriveling since the tornado," explained Jet as he set the watering can down. "Sarah told me if I tied the trunk back together, it might be okay, but I guess it was too little too late."

"I'm sorry." Clem looked at the suffering little tree, then went to pick up the watering can.

"What are you doing? It's—"

"Are you sure it's dead?" asked Clem as she picked up the can.

"It looks like it's dying."

"But are you sure?"

"Well… no. But—"

"Then we should keep taking care of it until we are sure," said Clem as she watered the tree. "I mean, we're already out here."

"That makes sense. I'll make sure to put up beanpoles before a storm next time… if I had done that last time this tree would be okay right now."

"Did Sarah tell you that? That sounds like something she would say."

"No, it's just simple physics; reinforcing them would have protected them against the wind." Jet sighed, then looked over at Clem. "How is Sarah? I haven't seen her much lately."

"I haven't either," admitted Clem.

"Really?"

"Usually just in the morning, at lunch, and when we go to bed. Patty gave her this bottle of sleeping pills, different from the xanax, and Sarah said they help her at night, but she still spends all day working on stuff."

"Just like all of us…" concluded Jet as he looked out on the road as the Brave and Anthony's truck approached from the edge of the forest.

"I thought Patty and Anthony got back a while ago," said Clem. "Weren't they just going to get diesel and look for stuff to fix the roof?"

"Something must have gone wrong. Come on, let's get the gate." Jet sprinted for the fence and Clem followed. They each grabbed half the gate and pulled it open so the vehicles could drive inside. Shutting the gate behind them, Clem went with Jet as he raced up to the Brave's door.

"Patty," said Jet as the woman came stomping out, an irritated look on her face. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Power poles," she griped as she crossed her arms.

"Power poles?" repeated Clem.

"And your occasional tree, don't forget those," added Anthony as he hopped out of his truck. "All over the fucking road."

"That storm knocked over and blew around all kinds of stuff. I mean, you know how we found our barn's roof halfway between here and the lake?" Clem nodded at Patty. "Yeah, well, imagine crap like that all over the place."

"And since there's no post-apocalyptic road crews, me and her were stuck clearing the roads from here to the nearest gas station," griped Anthony.

"With a chainsaw and whatever tools we had on hand," added Patty. "And we could barely get that chainsaw to work, so it was mostly whatever non-gas powered tools we had."

"Our trash got to spend an extra couple hours stinking up my camper in the hot sun," moaned Anthony. "That's something they never cover in these end of the world stories: what the people who survive do with their garbage. Apparently, they get chumps like me to haul it off once every two weeks."

"I'm sorry," said Clem. "I didn't even think about how the roads could be blocked from the storm."

"Just item number six-hundred and twelve on the list of shit we've had to fix because of that damn tornado," grumbled Patty. "Oh, and speaking of which, I think I did manage to scrounge up enough stuff to fix the holes in the roof, and I could use a hand bringing them in."

"And kid, why don't you grab a couple of these," Anthony told Jet as he removed a pair of diesel cans from his camper. "Your old man has been burning through this stuff pretty fast trying to get that damn ditch finished."

"He's not my old man," argued Jet as he grabbed a couple of cans.

Clem helped Patty offload the supplies she found for the roof, which took longer than she anticipated because they had to dig through whatever was stuffed in the Brave's exterior bins just to reach them. Even after unpacking the food and other goods they had stored inside, the bins were still full of auto components and other items they hadn't needed yet. Pushing a battery aside, Clem noticed a big container of bright red liquid.

"This isn't fruit juice, is it?" Pulling the container closer, Clem unscrewed the cap and noticed it had a sweet, almost cherry like smell.

"Whoa, don't touch that!" Patty inserted herself between Clem and the container and hastily screwed the cap back on. "That's anti-freeze," she said as she turned the bottle around to reveal the label. "You drink that and it would kill you."

"Really?" asked Clem. "Why does it smell so good then?"

"Anti-freeze just smells good for some stupid reason, supposedly tastes good too," explained Patty as she pushed the container back into the bin. "We used to have a dog when I was a kid that got into a bottle anti-freeze, started puking and shitting everywhere and… by the time we thought to take him to a vet the next day, it was too late."

"It died?"

"Yeah." Patty grabbed a few tubes of caulk, then closed the compartment. "So, best just keep away from anti-freeze, okay?"

"Okay." Clem grabbed a couple of bags full of roof tiles while Patty toted caulk, a bucket full of nails, and a container of something called roofing cement. Moving into the yard, they met up with Devlin, who had recently finished building a short wall behind the storm shelter's hatch to keep the wind from blowing it shut like last time. Clem also met up with Omid, who had been 'helping' build the wall, according to Devlin.

Since it was close to noon already and the others would be back soon, the group set out everything they needed for lunch. Their grills had been broken in the storm and Clem didn't feel like fussing with the wood stove in the kitchen, so she and Patty put together a meal with things that didn't need to be heated. With all but one person arriving, Clem found herself once again going to fetch Sarah.

Heading around the side of the main house, Clem passed into the recently rebuilt greenhouse. Sin had patched the material the tent was made out of as best as he could while Devlin had cut and welded fence posts in a few places to replace broken legs and other parts of the frame. The whole thing looked rickety but was still standing. The potted plants Sarah had to replace herself, and she was still tending to them when Clem went to fetch her.

Returning to the group, they all ate their lunch quietly, except Omid who rarely did anything quietly. The last couple of weeks had been more taxing than usual and meals were usually more a source of quiet solidarity than conversation lately. But as the group finished eating and started cleaning up, Devlin and Patty exchanged glances then turned to the others.

"All right," started Patty. "Before we all get back to work, Devlin and I wanted to discuss a few things with everyone."

"What things?" asked Clem.

"Just some precautions we should have ready for the future," said Devlin.

"Like getting some of those little magnet boxes for car keys and put them all under the doors of our vehicles so we can make a fast getaway," said Jet. "We still need to get those."

"And some fire extinguishers," added Sin.

"We moved Patty's shotgun and a pistol into the downstairs closet," said Clem. "That way we can protect the house if something happens."

"Don't forget about the grenade," added an apprehensive Sarah. "I didn't like having them on the Brave, now I'm worried one will blow up the house too."

"I wouldn't," advised Sin. "Munitions aren't my field of expertise, but I know grenades are functionally the same as bullets in basic design, just with different trigger mechanisms. The odds of one exploding before pulling the pin are likely equivalent to that of a bullet going off without a gun."

"What are the odds of us getting blown away while living in tornado central?" asked an unsettled Anthony.

"This isn't tornado central," insisted Patty.

"How would you know?"

"Because if it was, we would have had to clean up the roads long before today," stated Patty. "Clearly there hasn't been a storm like that in the region since shit got bad or there would have been plenty of power poles and trees and shit lying in our way when we got here."

"Maybe whoever lived here last cleaned them up before they skipped town," suggested Anthony.

"Then we would have seen power poles and other stuff on the side of the road because that's where you and I left them," insisted Patty. "Clearly there hasn't been tornadoes tearing through here the whole time or we would have found some pretty big clues when we got here."

"Yeah, it'll be okay Anthony," urged a concerned Sarah. "We know to keep a lookout now if a storm happens."

"Don't remind me," mumbled Anthony. "I was up half last night watching the trees through the window of my camper, worried the wind would get bad the second I went to bed. I'm really not feeling too good about this place anymore."

"We talked about this," said Sin. "If we left now we'd lose all the work we've put into the farm and have nothing to show for it."

"And we've taken precautions in case another tornado happens," added Patty. "Devlin made sure we won't have to open a hatch against the wind again and we put some basic necessities in the shelter."

"That isn't what we wanted to discuss anyway," said Devlin. "Patty and I wanted to talk about what to do if something happened and we got separated from each other."

"Like what?" asked Jet, sounding worried. "What could happen?"

"And why wouldn't we just come back here?" asked a disturbed Sarah.

"Yeah, did you two see something?" asked Clem, frightened there was a new threat she hadn't anticipated.

"Wah-wah," ordered Omid from his high chair.

"Let's not get into the why right now," suggested a weary Patty as Clem got Omid some water. "We haven't seen anything you guys haven't, but after the tornado we realized we don't have a plan in place in case something ever happened to the farm and we had to leave."

"So we figured we should work one out," said Devlin. "While we're all still together."

Clem handled Omid his sippy cup and watched him take a drink before turning back to the group. "So what do we do?" asked Clem, nervous to the answer. "If something happens and we have to leave, where should we go?"

"Shouldn't we return to Tulsa?" reasoned Sin. "We left a lot of food there, probably enough to live a year off of."

"Actually we thought we should have a meeting place close by, in case we ever have to flee the farm, like if a herd came in and we got split up," said Devlin. "There's an old motel on the edge of Pawhuska. Going from here to town on the main road, it's the first thing you find after crossing a bridge to get into town. It has a big sign out front that says Economy Inn, you couldn't miss it. We figured if there's some kind of emergency, we could all meet there or at least leave a message for each other on where to go next."

"Which would probably just be Tulsa if Pawhuska is no good," said Patty. "Still plenty of food there after all."

"But, as I found out the hard way, a lot can change while you're away," said Devlin before taking a deep breath. "We need to have a plan now in case something happens to what's left of Tulsa while we're out here."

"So we need a plan in case our backup plan fails?" asked Anthony. "This is giving me a headache just thinking about this. Can we do this some other time, like when I'm not really tired?"

"This won't take long and it's not complicated," said Devlin. "None of us have any real leads or ideas left where to go, so if we can't stay here or in Tulsa we're gonna have to just pick a direction and hope for the best right?"

No one said anything but Clem noticed a look of resigned acceptance amongst the group; they truly were without any hopes beyond this one.

"Yeah, I didn't think anyone had any new ideas," said Patty with a sigh. "We haven't had any luck on the gulf or the parts of the east coast we've seen, so me and Devlin figured our best bet at this point is just to head west, and looking at a map, Interstate Eighty is the best way to get there."

"Interstate Eighty?" said Clem.

"It runs across the entire country, starting in New Jersey and ending in San Fransisco," explained Devlin. "From here, it's just a drive north across Kansas and into Nebraska to reach the interstate, then we can go west."

"But why would we want to go to this interstate at all?" asked Jet.

"The Eighty runs through eleven states and a lot of cities, big and small," said Patty. "At this point, finding anything worth finding is a numbers game, and the eighty will probably give us the most chances of success."

"And if we ever became separated, we might have a chance of finding each other again if we all stick to one road," added Devlin with a hint of concern. "Especially with the marking system me and Patty worked out."

"Marking system?" asked Jet.

"Well really it's more your idea," Patty told Jet. "I remembered when you told me you wrote your last name on the pavement and circled the N's to let your parents know you were going north."

"Wait, what?" Sin turned to Jet. "You left signs for people to follow us?"

"At a gas station in Louisiana… and a couple of times after that," stated a sheepish Jet. "I figured we had to do something in case mom and dad ever made it back here and came looking for us, but I didn't know which road we would take out of Texarkana before we left, so I stopped doing it, and I could only tell them we're going north or south with my last name."

"Well with us all knowing to stay on the eighty, that would take care of that first problem," said Patty. "And for the second one, Devlin was figuring if we did get separated, we could write 'Owens' on road signs along the eighty and mark letters to tell the others which direction we were going in.

"Like, if we're going to get off the interstate and go northwest, you could write Owens on the sign nearest a turnoff and make a little mark over the 'n' and 'w'. That way, if one of us ever gets split up and only catch up later, they at least got an idea of which way the rest of us went."

"I don't know about this," said Sin. "This isn't exactly a complicated code system; someone could easily figure it out and follow us if we did this."

"It's just an idea," said Patty. "If you can come up with something better just let us know, but Devlin and I wanted to bring it up now before anything else unexpected happened."

"This way we'd at least have a chance of finding each other again," added Devlin in a melancholy tone. "I can't speak for all of you, but personally I've lost enough people myself, and would hate to lose any of you."

A small hush briefly fell over the table before Patty opened her mouth to speak. "Any of you got any questions, or suggestions even?"

Everyone looked around at each other to see if anyone had anything to add, and Clem suddenly realized she had a question.

"I get that it has all the letters for all the different directions," said Clem. "But why are we using that name, Owens?"

"We figured we should use one of our names," said Patty. "Other's would look at it and not know what to think, but the rest of us would know what it means."

"I don't know what it means," said Sarah.

"Yeah, me either," added Jet.

"Who's Owens?" asked Clem.

"I am," answered a surprised Patty. "That's my last name."

"I never knew that," said Clem.

"Really? I swear I've mentioned it before." Most of the group gave Patty a look that made it clear they hadn't heard her last name before. "Well… now you all know."

"Wait, does that mean your full name is Patricia Owens?" Patty groaned and rolled her eyes in response to Sin's question. "Like—"

"Yes like the actor I never heard of but everyone over fifty always has. Ugh, this is why I never mentioned it, it was a subconscious attempt to avoid answering that question," rambled Patty. "Is there anything else?"

"Oh, this isn't about our plan." Clem turned to Sarah. "You wanted me to tell you if I ever found any pests; I found a slug on the lettuce today."

"There's just going to be more of them as it gets hotter, especially when it rains," groaned Sarah as turned to the rest of the group. "I need some beer."

"What?" exclaimed Clem as Patty raised an eyebrow.

"Sarah, I don't think slugs are bad enough to develop a drinking problem over."

"I'm not, I just need to make traps for slugs before they get out of control and eat everything," explained Sarah.

"And… you need beer to do that?" asked a confused Clem.

"Yes, I read slugs like beer, so if you pour some in the bottom of a cup and put the cup on the ground, they'll try to drink it but fall in and drown."

"Huh," said Anthony. "Who knew slugs were such hopeless alcoholics?"

"I'll dig you out some beer," assured Devlin. "I'll probably need one myself before I start working on the roof."

"I should get back to work on the irrigation ditch," said Sin as he picked up his yellow earmuffs from the table. "Now that we have more diesel, I can hopefully get the bulk of it dug out over the next few days, put in the floodgates the day after, then we can get started on another rainwater collector."

"You still want me and Anthony to put the pipe in the sections you've dug out, right?" asked Jet.

"You remember what I told you about placing them when Devlin got them out of the trailer yesterday evening?" Jet nodded at Sin. "Good, be sure to bring a couple of shovels in case you need to even out the trench to make them fit. With a little over half the ditch dug, you should have plenty of work to keep you busy today."

"That's a relief," mumbled Anthony. "And here I was worrying that we'd eventually run out of work someday."

"Speaking of which, I should get started on those traps," said Sarah as she stood up. "I should get some out before tonight to see if they work, and I've got a lot of stuff I need to get done in the greenhouse."

"Bree-bree," said Omid.

"Read," Clem told him. "You want me to read you something?"

"Ree-ree," said Omid.

"I guess that leaves me and you to fix the roof," Devlin told Patty.

"Ugh, just, give me a minute to catch my breath," pleaded Patty. "I'm still reeling from having to improvise solutions to all those damn power poles."

"That's fine, I gotta fetch that beer for Sarah anyway," said Devlin as he headed into the house.

Glancing over at Patty, Clem could tell she was tired, even more tired than usual around lunch time. Moving to pick up Omid, Clem paused, then turned back to Patty.

"I could help out with the roof," suggested Clem.

"Oh, would you?" asked a visibly relieved Patty. "That would—"

"If you do the watering tomorrow morning so I get to watch Omid."

"That sounds fair; you gotta deal." Patty groaned as she stood up and went to pick up Omid. "Come on little man, I'll give you all the story time you want."

"Ree-ree," said Omid as Patty toted him inside.

Clem waited for Devlin to return and informed him she would be his helper for fixing the roof. Like a lot of chores, repairing the roof of the house wasn't hard, just tedious. Even locating the leaks was a slow, dull process. Despite being incredibly familiar with every one of them last night as she had to put out buckets to catch the rain dripping in, Clem had trouble pinpointing those same locations while on top of the same roof.

Eventually, after some trial and error using a watering can while Clem watched from inside the house, the pair had located all the leaks, or at least all the ones Clem was aware of. Devlin handled the bulk of the repair work; scrapping up shingles, caulking gaps, hammering nails, spreading roofing cement. Clem did her best to be an ideal carpenter's assistant, giving Devlin everything he needed as he asked for, getting rid of broken shingles, and heading back down the ladder to fetch anything they needed.

With plenty of time to talk anytime Devlin wasn't using a hammer, Clem asked how he knew to do stuff like this and Devlin said he actually learned it all in Tulsa. There was always something that needed building or repairing and never enough hands to do it, so Devlin volunteered and after some bumbling, started to learn the basics of being a handyman. Clem told Devlin that was like cooking for her, she had gotten a lesson once and had to figure out the rest on her own. Devlin told Clem she was a great chef, and Clem told Devlin he was a great handyman.

The pair finished the roof of the main house in the late afternoon and moved onto Devlin's guest house next, hoping to fix the leaks in his roof before nightfall. While waiting for Devlin's next command, Clem noticed Sarah leaving the greenhouse and heading out past the fence. She assumed she was going to check something in the field, but went past the barn and kept going right into the forest beyond.

"Yo, Clem." Clem looked over at Devlin. "Caulk gun?"

"Oh, right," said Clem as she grabbed the caulk gun. "Sorry."

"It's a'ight," said Devlin as he took the tool. "You okay? You look like there's something on your mind."

"I was wondering where Sarah was going just now," said Clem.

"Why don't you go find out?" suggested Devlin.

"What about the roof?"

"I'm almost done and can handle the rest on my own," assured Devlin. "Why don't you go ahead and clock out early?"

Devlin smiled at Clem and she smiled back at him. "Thanks."

"No problem." Clem climbed down off the roof and headed across the field. She found Jet and Sin near the edge of the pond working on something attached to a thick black pipe, possibly its future floodgate. She asked if they had seen Sarah and they said they saw her heading towards the lake. Clem followed a path of destroyed trees through the forest, eventually passing the backhoe that destroyed them and emerging on the lake's shore.

She didn't see Sarah herself, but Clem quickly located her clothes neatly laid out on a towel resting by the water. Before she could investigate further, there was a loud splash and Clem looked over in time to see Sarah pop out of the lake like a fish leaping out of the water. She was wearing a bright blue and green swimsuit and had goggles covering her eyes instead glasses. She shook her head back and forth a few times, sending water flying from her hair, then looked over at the shore.

"Oh, hi Clem," she greeted with a friendly smile.

"Hey," said a slightly confused Clem. "What are you doing in the lake?"

"Swimming."

"Do you think that's safe?" asked a concerned Clem. "I mean, there could be a walker at the bottom of the lake. Devlin told us about how there were walkers in the river at Tulsa that people couldn't see before we lured a bunch more in there."

"I think it's okay," assured Sarah, not sounding worried. "Anthony told me there's always fish in the traps around here, and he said when he was in Gulf Port, the fish never went to spots where a walker was underwater."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he said he knew someone whose traps stopped catching fish for a week, and then one time while pulling up the cages, they felt something pull back and found out a walker was down there. Once they killed it and it got rid of its body, the fish came back."

"Really?" Clem looked down at the water. "And Anthony brought back fish yesterday."

"Yeah, so it's safe," said Sarah. "You should come swimming with me."

"I don't have a swimsuit."

"You don't?"

"No," said Clem. "Where did you get one?"

"Tulsa."

"You packed that when we were staying in Tulsa?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"In case I ever wanted to go swimming," explained Sarah with a shrug. "You never got a swimsuit in all those times you went clothes shopping?"

"No…"

"Well, I guess you can't come swimming then."

Watching Sarah turn around and dive back into the water, Clem found herself suddenly spellbound by her friend's every movement. The way she swam was graceful yet playful and Clem found herself envious of Sarah's strong legs so easily propelling her forward through the water. Stopping to catch her breath, Sarah was briefly surrounded by a heavenly orange glow as the sun reflected off of her slick skin and hair. Seeing this, Clem felt an inexplicable and overwhelming urge to join Sarah in the lake, right now.

"What are you doing?" asked Sarah as she noticing Clem kicking off her shoes.

"Going swimming." Clem yanked off her socks as fast as she could.

"You can't go swimming in your clothes," said Sarah as Clem tossed off her hat and pulled the tie out of her hair. "You'll wreck them and it's no fun swimming in—Clem!"

Clem dropped her pants, tossed off her shirt, and rushed right towards the lake. A gust of wind felt refreshing against her tender sunburnt skin and the cool water of the lake felt even better as it chased away the unforgiving heat. With mud between her toes and water rushing past her thighs, Clem closed her eyes and fell forward, letting the lake envelop her. A sense of tranquility briefly overcame Clem as she drifted weightlessly in the wet void for a few seconds, then she stood up and rejoined the world above the water.

"Clem!" spoke Sarah in an urgent whisper. "You're in your underwear."

"So?" retorted Clem with a devilish smirk.

"So, aren't you embarrassed?"

"It's just you here," shrugged Clem. "And you see me in my underwear all the time when we go to bed. This… this isn't bothering you, is it?"

"No, it's just if it was me, I'd be really embarrassed right now."

"It's too hot to be embarrassed today." Clem leaned back into the water, letting herself rest on the surface of the lake as it bobbed up and down below her; she briefly wondered if this is what it felt like to sleep on a waterbed.

"I know what you mean," said Sarah as she leaned back into the water herself. "It gets really hot in the greenhouse, and it's still only April."

"How is the greenhouse?"

"Okay, I think. Devlin did a good job putting it back up and fixing it, and now I know to bring everything inside if it storms, but…"

"You're worried about another storm anyway."

"And a million other things," admitted Sarah with a sigh. "I was boiling water earlier and was thinking about what'll happen when we run out of propane and can't use that handy burner thing anymore."

"We'll probably have to use that wood stove in the kitchen," said Clem. "We haven't had a chance to refill the Brave's propane tank, so I've been trying to use it to cook meals since the storm, but it's a lot different from the grills that got wrecked. It took forever to cook fish on it the other day. I was hoping Patty would bring back a new grill today but they were too busy just clearing out the roads."

"We're lucky the burner was inside when the storm hit. Still, once we're out of propane it'll be useless, and so will the Brave's stove and hot water heater."

"We can find more propane," said Clem as she stood up, struggling to find her footing on the slippery lakebed. "There was plenty of propane we didn't take back in Tulsa."

"Yeah, but eventually that'll run out too and there won't be any left," said Sarah as she stood up to look at Clem. "The same is true for salt and sugar. We got tons from Tulsa, but it'll run out one day and we can't make more."

"How did people make any of this stuff before?"

"Salt comes from mines or ocean water, neither of which are close by. Sugar is something people got from plants they grew."

"So, we can grow our own sugar at least?" asked Clem.

"Maybe…"

"Maybe?"

"Well, sugar cane is where most sugar came from, but all the books I read said it only grows in tropical areas and you need lots of water."

"How much water?"

"Tons, like enough to flood the land it grows on." Clem found her arms stinging just thinking about trying to carry that much water. "The other thing people grew were sugar beets."

"Beets?"

"There's a special beet that you can make sugar out of. I planted a few in the greenhouse so I can make fresh seeds for later, but I don't even know how you make beets into sugar." Sarah sighed.

"Let's not talk about this right now," insisted Clem. "We spend enough time worrying as it is. Let's do something fun, like play a game."

"Oh, how about Marco Polo?" suggested an eager Sarah.

"That sounds good," said Clem. "I get to be Marco first."

"Okay, close your eyes and count to ten."

Clem closed her eyes and started counting, leaving short pauses between the numbers so she could listen for Sarah moving across the water. Around ten, Clem could tell Sarah was somewhere behind her now and was ready to pounce.

"Marco!"

"Po-hey!" Clem didn't even wait for Sarah to finish saying polo before she spun around and leapt forward. She only managed to grab a handful of water, but she could hear Sarah scrambling away just in front of her and Clem rushed after her as fast as she could across the slick lakebed.

"Marco!"

"Polo!"

"Marco!"

"Polo!"

"Marco!"

"Not so fast—ah!" Clem felt her hands colliding with something soft and fleshy and wasted no time grabbing it as hard as she could. Opening her eyes, Clem found herself clinging to Sarah with both hands.

"I win," boasted Clem as she squeezed Sarah a little harder.

"Okay, my turn." Sarah closed her eyes and Clem started scrambling away as she started counting. By ten, Clem had put a safe distance between them and was eagerly awaiting Sarah's first move. She had a big grin on her face as she slowly turned in place, eyes closed but ears open for movement.

"Marco!"

"Poh—"

Clem watched as Sarah dove in her direction and swam towards her like a shark that had just smelled blood. Clem struggled to wade through the water as Sarah emerged dramatically from below, erupting onto the surface with a huge splash.

"Marco!" she gasped before taking a deep breath.

"Po-whoa!" Sarah's hands came swinging right towards Clem with all the precision of a hungry walker trying to grab someone. Clementine managed to back away just in time to feel the swishing of Sarah's arms generate a small draft that nipped at her wet skin.

Sarah was giggling uncontrollably, prompting Clem to giggle herself. As they both became silent, Clem watched as Sarah stood up straight while her arms remained out in front of her, hands shaped like claws ready to snag the first thing they touched. Clem should have been moving further away, but thinking about those strong arms suddenly grabbing her compelled Clem to inch closer to Sarah instead.

"Marco!"

"Polo." Sarah leapt forward and grappled Clem with ease. Clem started laughing as she felt Sarah's arms ensnaring her; one running up and around her back while the other firmly wrapped itself around her waist. As Sarah pulled Clem in close, pressing the fabric of her swimsuit up against Clem's skin, Clem hands moved without thinking and repaid the embrace with a firm hug as she closed her eyes. Standing there in each other's arms, Clem felt she would be content to simply remain like this forever.

"Hey, Sarah!" Anthony's voice cut through Clem like a knife. Opening her eyes and turning her head, she spotted the young man standing on the shore. "How's the water?"

"Hey Anthony," called Sarah. "The water is fine. Did—"

"Go away!" yelled Clem as she clung to Sarah, trying to pivot herself in a way where Sarah would block Anthony's view of her.

"Clem, don't—"

"Tell him to go away," insisted Clem.

"Is that Clem?" she heard Anthony ask.

"But—"

"Sarah!"

"Okay." Sarah shifted slightly while Clem clung to her for privacy. "Yeah, and she's kind of embarrassed right now. Would you mind—"

"I get it. I'll catch up with you later then." Clem stood there, shivering slightly as she clung to Sarah both for privacy and warmth. She could briefly hear footsteps moving away from her in the distance, then nothing.

"He's gone." Clem breathed a sigh of relief, then rushed back to the shore. She barely spent any time drying herself before putting her clothes back on, thinking she couldn't be dressed fast enough. Sarah however moved with less urgency, taking her time to towel off, during which Clem kept her eyes open for Anthony or anyone else approaching the lake. No one came, but while Clem kept watch, Sarah had started marching back to the farm without her.

"Hey, wait up," called Clem as she ran after Sarah. "Why are—"

"I really wish you hadn't yelled at him like that."

"What?" Clem was surprised by Sarah's hostile tone. "Sarah, I was in my underwear!"

"You told me you didn't care if people saw you in your underwear."

"I don't care if you do, but you're not Anthony." That declaration stopped Sarah in her tracks. Turning around, Clem could see Sarah wasn't angry now. "There's a lot of things I wouldn't do with anyone other than you."

"I'm… I'm sorry," said Sarah before she started walking again. "It's my fault, I should have warned you Anthony was coming to swim with me."

"Wait, you knew he was coming?" asked Clem as she followed Sarah.

"Yeah, it was his idea," said Sarah. "He said I had been working too hard and swimming would help me relax. He even said he'd finish my work in the greenhouse so I could go first, then he'd come join me."

"You two were going to go swimming together?" asked Clem. "Why didn't you invite me?"

"I did, just a minute ago."

"Only because I came looking for."

"And I wanted you to come swimming with me."

"But if I hadn't come by you would have just gone without me."

"Clem, I just grabbed my swimsuit and came right here the second Anthony said he'd finish up with the greenhouse. It was so hot in there I didn't even think about anything else but getting in the lake," explained Sarah, sounding tired. "Next time I'll be sure to invite you, okay?"

"It just bothers me you didn't tell me."

"He said you'd be like this…" Sarah mumbled under her breath, as if she didn't want Clem to hear it, but Clem had.

"What? What did he say?"

"Nothing," insisted Sarah.

"No, I want to know what Anthony said about me," asserted Clem as she ran in front of Sarah to block her path. "What'd he say?"

"He just said you'd probably get jealous if I spent time with someone other than you," explained an irritated Sarah.

"I'm not jealous," refuted Clem. "I'm just… worried about you spending time with Anthony."

"Why?"

"Because…"

"Because you don't like him," concluded Sarah.

"He makes it pretty easy," said Clem as she crossed her arms. "Nobody here likes him."

"I like him," refuted Sarah defiantly.

"Why?" challenged Clem.

"He's a big help."

"So is everyone else here, but none of them said things that made Patty feel like shit."

"I know, but—"

"Or call Devlin… that word," added Clem. "You remember what I told you about it right?"

"Yes, I remember. But—"

"It's one of the words Consuelo liked to say."

"Anthony's not Consuelo!"

"You don't know that. Maybe he's just like her and pretends not to be."

"That's not true and you know it!"

"Why do you always stick up for him?"

"Because he saved your life!" Clem found herself taken aback by that statement. Standing there in silence, she watched as the anger on Sarah's face morphed into a familiar look of worry. "I… I just kept thinking about what would have happened if Anthony hadn't been there, and those men decided to shoot you and Patty."

Clem wanted to say something to comfort Sarah, but nothing came to mind.

"I know it bothered you, him shooting that man; it bothered me too. But it bothered me more to think about… about you getting shot in the head," said Sarah in-between short, pained breaths. "If Anthony hadn't been there, I… I don't know if I could… I could do that… again, I…"

"It's okay," assured Clem as she hugged Sarah. "It's all right, I'm sorry, okay?"

"Yeah, me too," said Sarah as she hugged Clem back. "Look, I know Anthony's a jerk sometimes, but I think that's just because so many people have been bad to him before he just thinks that's how everyone is."

"Really?" asked a dubious Clem.

"Yes, really. I asked him why he got so afraid in the shelter, and he told me he hates being locked in dark rooms because once, the police arrested him and then locked him in a closet all night."

"Why'd they do that?"

"He said it was because he was homeless, and that when they let him out the next morning, they told him if he didn't leave town they wouldn't let him out next time."

"That's… terrible," realized Clem.

"Yeah. That doesn't make what he said right, but I really think he was just upset and said something terrible because he wasn't thinking right, kind of like that night we were trapped on the overhang and I… I…"

Hearing Sarah bite her lip to stop herself from crying felt like a stab to Clem's heart, and thinking back to some of the things she said to Sarah that night only made it worse. "I love you," professed Clementine.

"I love you too," said Sarah. "And I've haven't forgotten about the stuff Anthony has done, and he annoys me sometimes too, but you told me even when people do bad things, they don't have to be bad people, and I don't think Anthony wants to be a bad person."

Clem found a familiar anxiety gripping her chest as her own words started swirling around in her head. "Let's just go home already." Clem let go of Sarah and the pair started walking again, eventually coming out of the forest and returning to their farm. As they reached the edge of the field's fence, Clem noticed something small moving amongst the tomato plants.

"Is that—"

"Go away!" yelled Sarah as she jumped over the fence. "Shoo! Get out of here!" A small flock of crows went loudly flapping into the air as Sarah ran across the field. "Stupid birds."

"Why can't they just leave us alone?" asked Clem as she glared at the pests flying off towards the trees, no doubt to camp out there until they left. "Did the books say anything about getting rid of crows?"

"Use a scarecrow," recited an irritated Sarah as she examined one of the tomato plants. "Everything else, like covering our plants or putting up a mesh screen would take too much time for a whole farm."

"I'm still mad at those birds who kept eating all our stuff in Spokeston," said Clem. "Now it's happening again, like they followed us here."

"We're probably the only farm anywhere around here, or at least the only one growing anything," realized Sarah. "Which means we're the only food around here… this place is going to be a magnet for animals and pests as our crops start to come in."

"Hey!" Clem looked over to see the others approaching, Omid included as Patty carried him across the field. "We heard yelling, what's up?"

"It's fine, it's just the stupid birds again," assured Sarah.

"Kem-men, Sah-rah," spoke Omid, clearly desperate for attention.

"Come here Omid," said Clem as Patty set Omid on the dirt.

"Little bastards," griped Anthony as Omid came rushing into Clem's arms. "You people should just let me shoot 'em."

"We used up enough bullets getting into Tulsa," dismissed Sarah. "We don't need to waste what's left on birds, especially when there are probably hundreds of them."

"Mah-buh," Omid told Clem.

"You hungry?" asked Clem as she pointed at her own mouth. "Hun-gree?"

"Hum-bee," repeated Omid.

"I'll get you something in just a minute."

"Plus, we don't need to be shooting off our guns and letting anyone who might be passing by where we are," added Devlin.

"Hum-bee," Clem watched as Omid walked towards one of the tomato plants.

"We gotta do something, they're just gonna keep coming back," said Anthony.

"Granddad, did your family ever do anything to keep out birds?" asked Jet as Omid approached the tomato cage.

"My mother occasionally chased them off with a broom," said Sin. "My family was more worried about droughts than birds though."

"Mah-bah." Clem watched Omid reach into the cage to grab something. Inching in closer, she could see his hand trying to grab one of two equally tiny but red tomatoes hanging from a vine.

"Sarah," called Clem. "Look at this. Omid found some ripe tomatoes."

"He did?" asked Sarah in astonishment as she hurried over on her knees. "Oh wow, they are ripe."

"For reals?" asked Patty.

"Let me see," said Anthony as he knelt down, along with everyone else eager to see the literal fruits of their labor. Clem pulled back a few leaves while Omid kept struggling to reach the tomatoes.

"Mah-bah!" cried a hungry Omid.

"No Omid, we shouldn't eat these yet—"

"Oh come Sarah, surely we can eat those?" insisted Anthony.

"Yeah, just like as a sample or something," added Patty, sounding hungry herself. "I think we've earned that."

"And… it be useful to know if they taste right," reasoned Sin, trying to sound objective. "Make sure there's nothing wrong with our crop."

"It'd be nice just to taste anything at this point," admitted Devlin. "We've been at this farm thing for over a month now."

"Two if you count the couple of weeks in Tulsa getting ready," added Jet.

Sarah looked at Clem, and Clem didn't have to say anything to answer her; she wanted to taste fresh tomatoes too.

"Just give me a second to pick them," said Sarah as she reached into the cage. "Does anyone have a knife?"

Before Clem could reach for hers, Anthony held out an unsheathed knife towards Sarah. Sarah very carefully picked both tomatoes from the vine, washed them off with a dab of water from her canteen, then used Anthony's knife to slice one tomato in half, then the halves into quarter slices she handed out to Anthony, Jet, Sin and Devlin. As the four of them all savored the first fresh piece of produce any of them had seen in a long time, Clem watched impatiently as Sarah carefully cut the other tomato into pieces.

"Hum-bee!" complained Omid as Clem held him in place.

"Just a second OJ," said Clem. "This… this is gonna be worth it."

Sarah handed a couple of quarter-slices to Clem, and Clem had to close her hand around them before Omid grabbed them both.

"Mah-bah!" cried Omid.

"I'm gonna give you one," assured Clem as she picked a piece out with her free hand. "You're not the only one who wants to try it." Clem fed Omid the tomato slice and had to pull back her fingers to avoid getting bitten in the process. As Omid's crying morphed into a happy chewing, Clem carefully placed the other piece into her mouth.

The thick grassy smell of the tomato plants in the air and the juices of that slice of fruit hitting her tongue brought back a flood of memories of Clem and Sarah's first time sampling their own garden back in Spokeston. They couldn't wait then either and ate the first couple of tomatoes that turned red. Even thinking back on it, Clem couldn't believe they ever tasted so good; juicy, cool, and tart with a strong hint of sweetness.

It could have tasted like battery acid and Clem probably wouldn't have minded since just the sensation of eating anything with such strong flavor again was almost enough to make her cry. They had gotten to eat fresh meat and fish recently, but the only fresh fruit had been the oranges from Valkaria around half a year ago. Before that, Clem would have to think back to the summer of last year and whatever little fresh fruit and vegetables they managed to salvage from the various pests trying to consume them.

She had to remember all over again what fruit not sealed in a can for over a year tasted like. That it could be more than just vaguely sweet or salty mush. Thinking about how much she had learned from then, Clem wondered what she could cook with fresh tomatoes. Could she make a meal with tomatoes and fish? She'd certainly try if she had enough of both those things. Finally swallowing the savory morsel, Clem breathed out and found herself sitting in a field of still growing crops.

She instinctively looked for more red tomatoes, but couldn't see a single one no matter where she searched. Looking up at the others, Clem saw a familiar sense of bittersweet disappointment hanging off all their faces. Each and every one of them had experienced something wonderful. For Omid, it was something completely new, and for the others, something they thought had been lost to them with so much else that disappeared after the outbreak.

"Okay, fuck it," said Patty, breaking the silence. "I see those damn crows on our field again, and I'm shooting them."

"Like I said, that's a bad idea," said Sarah. "But… we'll figure something out, even if I have to camp out here to keep them away."

"I'd camp out here just to watch for the next tomato," offered Anthony.

"Me too," said Jet.

"Wind chimes," blurted out Sin. "I just remembered, birds don't like wind chimes, or anything that makes sudden noises."

"I could probably build something like a wind chime," offered Devlin. "I mean, it just has to make noise right?"

"Kem-men, hum-bee!" announced Omid as he tugged on Clem's shirt.

"It's okay Omid, I'll get you something else to eat," she assured as she picked up the toddler. "And don't worry, we're gonna have a lot more stuff like that soon," said Clem as she looked down at the tomato plants. "You're gonna get to eat good food like that for every meal, just like I promised."

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#Three Orphan Pilgrimage #TOP #Chapter 75

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