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iamwhelmed · 7 years ago

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Win One, Have Two: Chapter 12

Chapter 12 is completed! And with that, we’re are just about halfway to the final chapter! Special thanks to @themoogleexorcist and @le-petit-mafia for beta reading this chapter for me! It’s so much better than it would have been had Whelmed been left to her own devices xD Thank you guys so much for the help! <3 Be aware of a little bit of blood in this chapter.

Here’s the link on AO3

She’d never liked them, hospitals. They were cold, and they were lonely-- especially at night, in the dark, lights down low over empty reception desks. Catriona bit her thumb. She’d been stalking back and forth for the better part of an hour, waiting on a clock that trembled every painfully slow minute that passed. She breathed in, took one moment, two moments, then breathed out.

“My love, the children will be fine. They were young, that woman recognized that. She would have gone easy--”

“That isn’t the point!” She whipped on him-- shoulders, hands, back-- tensing as her nails dug into the skin of her palms. She never got mad at him, rarely raised her voice an octave, but this was different. She’d made this mistake. She’d messed up, and now her children had paid for it. “We were ahead of schedule, I thought we were ready and we weren’t. Far from it!”

He was right. Their injuries were minor, just some bruises and scratches, wounds they’d get playing in a backyard filled with trees and broken branches. But that didn’t matter, not to her, not right then. Emmerich approached her, raising one hand-- not the way one would in defense of an animal; he raised his hand not to silence her, but to demonstrate understanding. She didn’t have to say anything else, didn’t have to explain. Her cold hands, still shaking, wrapped around her upper arms, and the rest of her body shivered. She wasn’t cold, but he was always so warm. His eyes were thick with emotion, heavy and focused on her-- always, always, always. “They love you, Catriona,” his raised hand fell to her shoulder, squeezed her in one palm. “They followed you with no fear, and they will follow you now.”

“Does it matter?” Her brows furrowed as she shook her head, eyes somewhere behind him, staring at nothing but the melted hallways filled with stars, his world. Her kids were somewhere down that hallway, and her mind was with them. Lost. “Does their loyalty mean anything when I am all they have? What is their love worth when I am a lie?” He squeezed her, stepped closer, and her eyes met his, but she was still so far away. “They know other spectrals exist, now. Before, I was the only option. What is to stop them from joining her?”

“The truth, Catriona, the truth that those monsters are working to enslave and destroy every spirit, and we,” he took her hands in his own, raised them to his chest. “We are the only chance this world has at setting things right.”

Cold-blooded eyes, she could see them in the back of her mind, so different from her own, so different from Emmerich’s. She knew he could see it, and she felt him involuntarily flinch. “I doubt he shares your sentiments, my love. I fear his agenda reads far differently from ours.” He said nothing, and she set her hands at his chest, leaning her head on one of his broad shoulders. He grazed her back with his hand, rubbing her tense muscles under soothing circles. “This dagger… it can free these poor spirits, but it will kill them. Is such a fate worth all of this effort? I fear we are his pawns.”

“Perhaps, but this is all we know. Death is better than the shackle of a human body.”

“I suppose,” she hummed “I just wish it wasn’t a paradox.”

The muted sound of footsteps echoed in the darkness of his world, bouncing off the dying stars and stains of color, and she prepared for her love to melt from her fingers. It used to unsettle her, how quickly he was gone, but he was always there. She closed her eyes, took one deep breath, then two.

“Miss Barrett?”

The doctor was young, going by the small crease between his eyes, no older than thirty, and he approached her with one hand outstretched. There was a carefulness to the way he carried himself, and it carried over to his eyes as he glanced her shoulders-up. She shook his hand and he pulled away slowly, deliberately pulling the board, pen, and paper closer to himself. “Yes, how are the children?”

“They’re fine. Their injuries were all minor, though I would get the little one’s ears checked with her pediatrician. There was some damage, but I doubt it’s anything permanent.”

She knew it, they both had, but she could feel Emmerich sigh in relief within her, in tune to the hand she raised to her heart. “What rooms are they in?”

“Esen and Harlow are in room A14 and A15. Aderyn was transferred to room C16 of the Pediatric Ward, which should be” he pointed behind her, finger jutting to the side “right down that hall and to your left.”

“Thank you.” She took one step in the direction of room A14, and he raised one hand to stop her, not that he could do much if she so happened to push through, but she paused out of kindness. This man had taken care of her children, no matter the minor scrapes. Her eyes strayed from the room a mere tantalizing 5 feet away, glancing the good doctor up and down.

He smiled, and it was forced. “These children were in your care, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Mind telling me what happened?”

“They’re kids; they were playing.” She bit out the words, looking from A14 to the doctor again and again. The doctor nodded and absentmindedly stuck his tongue in his cheek. Catriona, she could hear Emmerich’s warning in the back of her mind. Stay calm, my love. There is nothing to gain from his suspicion.

“Have you notified their parents?”

No. “Yes.”

The doctor hummed, “We’ll be making a call to their guardians, what did you say your relation to these children?”

She breathed in, took one moment, two moments, then breathed out. “That won’t be necessary.”

“I’m sorry?”

His eyes were suddenly wide, full of emotion that was fading-- confusion, disbelief, and she could see the faintest twinkle of horror. His mouth open and closed like a stupid gaping fish, like a fool as his mind reeled. She tilted her chin up, and despite her best efforts, despite the quiet disagreeance echoing hollowly in the back of her mind, her lips twitched, inch by red inch, into a smile. She watched as his open lips gasped, as he coughed and they began dripping red as her nails. Her head tilted, and his brokenly followed suit as she gripped his heart in one clawed hand. “That’s my line, Doctor.” With one twist she pulled away, and he fell to the ground in a heap, spilling red across the pearly white tiled floor of the second wing; she never did like hospitals, and she liked doctors even less.

Max wrinkled his nose, flicking his wrist about the way one shakes a Christmas present from a grandparent who doesn’t particularly know them. The packet of text, stapled in the upper left hand corner, made the obvious wobbling paper noise as it waved to and fro. What was it, exactly? Max glanced to his side. Mister Spender was still busying himself passing out the packets to each row, arms readjusting every step he took up and down the stairs leading to each line of students; the packets were slipping from his arms, visibly too thick in a bunch for him to carry. Mister Spender passed another handful of packets to whoever was at the end of the next column, raising one leg to catch a slew of deviant papers slipping from his forearm.

Johnny was lifting his by the front page, looking positively puzzled in that special way only Johnny Jhonny could-- top teeth bare of his upper lip, eyes squinting precariously as he shook the packet around. Collin flipped through the pages with an almost uninterested skim, and when his eyes met Max’s, he shrugged and set his chin upon his palm. Max turned back to his own, taking a moment to read the front page. Training 101, of which the class syllabus was cheekily titled “Ghosts and Rules”.

Well, Mister Spender is the one who wrote this…

He flicked forward two pages. Training 101: Chapter 1

“These packets will be your guide-- and partially your study material-- from now until the end of the first semester.” Spender returned to the front of the classroom, setting the leftover packets in his desk before shutting the drawer and locking it up, stored safely away for absentee students. Or clumsy ones. Max turned to look at Johnny, who had lost interest in his packet in favor of the small flame he could set at the tips of his fingers, balancing the flame a mere inch or two away from his very paper-- very flammable-- textbook. “The good thing about this curriculum is that there is none set in place, hoo hoo! So I’ve taken it upon myself” Spender framed his face between his pointer fingers and thumbs “to work out the most time-efficient, digestible lesson-plan! Now, let’s get started with the syllabus!”

The classroom rattled with groans, some louder than others-- Max thought for sure he could hear kids in the next room over, who weren’t even in their class, groaning in empathy.

But, Max was good at nothing if not actively tuning out the world around him, so that’s exactly what he did. He probably already knew most of the material anyway, right? He snorted to himself and skipped a few more pages ahead, skimming the material over with the loose concentration of a man on Vicodin. Blah, blah spirits. Blah, blah spectrals--

Mediums. His thumb paused before he turned the next page. He ran his finger over it, eyed the yellow highlight around the text.

Look, you don’t need a tool to be powerful. Let me explain…

Something coiled in his stomach, not quite nostalgia, something worse, something that sat in him and spent its time twisting around. He dug his cheek into his fist. He could still smell the grass in his favorite sweatshirt from sliding down a huge grassy hill, hear Johnny’s maniacal laughter, feel the bruise on his chin in the shape of Suzy’s surprise phone.

But more than any of those things, he remembered rain. He remembered clouds and thunder despite the day’s clear sky.

Isaac’s smile was like a stain in his memory, combing through branches and old trees and stepping over small rivers and spirits. Among “Shut uuup Max”, there were smaller things, things that hit him with a familiarity, like a punch in the shoulder that didn’t even hurt, like shoes on hands and conversations that died too soon. Isaac was the one to explain mediums to him, something he wasn’t even sure crossed the mind of Isabel or Ed or-- heaven forbid-- their actual teacher. Isaac had explained things, tried (and failed) to tease him back, introduced him to Doorman--

"You wanna know what my problem is?" Max took a step back upon seeing Isaac's wide, wild eyes, watching his aura grow and flare each time he blinked. "My problem is you! It's been you this whole freaking time! Wanna know why? Because I was an idiot and I trusted you! I knew you for all of a week and I trusted you! Completely! Like some stupid little kid!” Isaac laughed to himself then, eyes falling from Max's to his hands- his trembling, open hands."It's my fault, okay? I screwed up. I wanted you all to care about me, and if you didn't like me, I thought maybe..."

Max grimaced. He could still see Doorman standing stock still in the unlit mansion. He could still see-- even with no eyes to read or brow to furrow or lips to curl-- he could still see the shadow looming over his tall stature. His hands were still raised, still closing the door to the other side of the barrier, and Doorman was sad.

It had taken forever, maybe a little longer, for either of them to utter so much as a word; when he did ask questions, Doorman had no answers. They both knew why and when and how but the “where”, well, the “where” was still taunting him, like a prize at the end of a stick. Isaac was with the Cousinhood, that’s what Isabel said…

“Hey!” Johnny stood up, one fist raised with a flare in his eyes and a small flame circling his knuckles. “When ‘re we gonna learn ‘bout those things that attacked us?”

The murmurs started, small and unsure, filtering through each row, from mouth to ear as kids turned to each other.

“We’ve been in this class for a few days now.”

“Haven’t really learned anything…”

“I don’t know what to tell my parents--”

“--mine tried calling the school--”

Some kid a few rows in front of Johnny stood up, not as intimidating, nowhere near as big, but he was twice as angry and just as determined. He climbed atop his desk, much to the surprise of the neighboring seats (who scattered to move their notebooks) and readied his lungs to scream: “Yeah! When are we gonna get to the important stuff?”

Spender tensed, eyebrows shooting up behind his sunglasses. “Well, you see--!”

It was all downhill from there. Other kids started clamoring for a word, standing on top of their desks, throwing their packets in the air, shouting about perceived injustices as loudly and as often as their lungs might let them.

Max bulked, watching as the kids around him, the few still seated, grew restless in their obedience. They did not stand on their packets or throw things, but they exchanged glances and cheered when they made out a point they could agree with in all the ruckus. Collin twisted around in his seat in a panic, jaw open as the classroom fell into a chaos even he wasn’t used to. Johnny had grown more vehement amidst the pandemonium and had taken to leaping up and down on the desk.

Spender swallowed hard and raised both hands. “Now, now! Children, please! Let’s all calm down! There are some things I have to teach you before you can understand what those creatures were! If you will all please sit down--!”

“Why do some of us have powers and some of us don’t?”

“Tell us who you work for! The government?”

“Why did those things talk?”

The questions grew more frantic and scattered, and Spender himself reflected that. What he could muster of his voice was stuck in his dry throat, and the late pale of his skin had somehow dulled another shade, though his cheeks had grown a fiery red. Max sighed and made the move to stand. Well, if anybody was going to be the voice of reason--

“Hey! Idiots! Maybe we should all--!”

-- and Mister Spender hasn’t told us anything about Isaac.

Max shut his mouth, eyed Spender down. He was still distraught, doing his best to calm the mass, to put of the fire that had ignited the classroom, the ember that was burning him the longer it went on. Max plopped back down into his seat and crossed his arms. The chaos of the classroom did little to settle, and every question spawned another ten heads to answer to. The classroom ruptured into a state of madness, more contained but no less civil than a riot. Spender’s voice was quickly fading in the mass of voices, and Max’s eyes followed him from beneath the shadow of his baseball cap.

“Open your textbooks to page 345.”

Isabel and Dimitri pulled their books apart until they hit the right page number, then promptly dropped them upon the table with disinterest. Zarei was busying herself with a marker and the whiteboard, sketching out what appeared to be the human organ system. Isabel’s lip curled downward. “Biology?”

“Spirit biology,” Zarei nipped back, “which you’ll need to know alongside human biology if you’re going to learn first aid.”

Dimitri set his chin in his upturned palm, eyes hazily glancing over the first two pages of Chapter 14. He looked like he was about to fall asleep, and that sentiment Isabel felt directly in her gut-- her bored, eye-rolling gut. “This is Advanced Training, right? What are we learning first aid for?”

“I dunno, Iz...” Dimitri smiled at her in that lazy way he always had, in a way that made her bristle involuntarily, like he’d taken a finger and ran it along her spine. He knew what he was doing, and she’d have been lying if she said it didn’t irritate her. “Doctor Z might--”

“Don’t call me that.”

“--have a point. First aid could save your life on the battlefield, y’know.”

Isabel huffed and slouched in her seat. “I don’t wrap bandages. I wrap heads!”

Zarei set lowered her marker and turned around, brows furrowed, eyes squinting. “What does that even mean.”

“I’m a fighter!” She sat up and punched the inside of her hand. “There’s no situation I can’t get out of if I just think fast and punch real hard!” That’s right. She didn’t need first aid; she’d been on the other end of a flying fist more times than she could count, from as early as seven years old no less. Sparring with an older kid, hunting down a poltergeist, facing toe-to-toe with a spirit decades older than her? It was all the same. She knew she had to be smarter, be quicker, and that was the key to winning. She wouldn’t need first aid if she knocked the other guy out first.

Zarei hummed and turned back to the board. “I see.”

Dimitri stifled a laugh with a snort into his hand. Isabel grinned to herself.

“So, what would you do in the event that somebody important to you, say… Ed?” Zarei finished the final line of the human liver before she trailed back up the the chest. “What would you do if his quick thinking meant taking a shot to the chest for you?”

Isabel frowned, fist uncurling. For a moment she remembered a library filled with books, and the white fade that it vanished into. Among the white fade there was a familiar, unsettling trace of dry blood that came hand-in-hand with a distress she equated with the picture of a blonde mess hanging limply over her grandfather's arm.

Zarei drew the red marker across bright white and light blue of the board and human outline, draw one last line before she moved onto the next organ. “Would you want to keep fighting without him?”

“No!”

She hadn't realized she'd stood up, much less slammed her hands upon the desk in front of her, but the sound echoed in the otherwise empty classroom. She blinked, taking a moment to gather herself. Dimitri wasn't smiling anymore.

Zarei turned around, revealing the completed heart for the both of them to see. She hardly seemed bothered by the noise, or the attitude. Her half lidded eyes examined Isabel, like there was something to scrutinize that hadn't already been on display. Isabel herself wondered what she might have been seeing. She raised an eyebrow with a restrained sarcasm.

“Then you'll want to know first aid.”

Isabel exhaled out of her nose, then plopped back down into her seat, propping up the book with one grudging hand.

Spender groaned and lounged back as far as his desk chair would allow of him. “Children…” he mumbled. “Children are terrifying in mobs of 200.”

“Will you ever stop being such a child?”

“I'm not being a child! I'm an underpaid, overworked guide to the future of our world and it is in my right to vent.”

Zarei grunted. “Your job is not so complex.”

“Perhaps, but it is strenuous!” He paused, grimaced, and threw his forearm over his covered eyes “...and most certainly demanding.”

“Teaching Isabel to heal and not to maime is no easy task, Richard, though you should know that as well as I.”

Spender sat up glancing purposely away as Zarei came to lean against his desk, cup of coffee to her pursed lips. She was laughing at him, and he supposed that was another facet of their relationshinship he’d have to deal with in their transition from night-job affiliates to day-job coworkers. It’d been a handful of years since they’d last interacted in anything other than passing, and though there certainly was still some semblance of a wall between the two of them, one he doubted would fall to anything other than time, he’d found himself quite enjoying her company. Even so, six classes of fifty students for both of them was overwhelming. He felt his own sanity slipping from his fingertips every other hour of a work-day, and he could tell despite her pretenses that Zarei was feeling strained by the workload same as him. “This is simply too much.” She eyed him from the side, hardly bothering to part from her coffee mug, of which he could now see The Doctor Will Be In Shortly painted in yellow cursive above what was clearly the picture of a doctor in the breakroom with her own, smaller coffee mug. “2500 students divided between twelve classes… we need another hand.”

“In case you’ve already forgotten, Richard, I am a temporary solution. As it is, the Consortium is pressed to find someone qualified enough within Mayview to fill my position. The most optimistic timetable suggests you’ll be handling classes of 200 for at least another year before they’re able to locate a third paranatural specialist.”

Spender deflated. Ah, yes. He’d forgotten. Or, more accurately, he might have hoped. She was right. Once they located a second instructor, Zarei would be relieved of this horribly cramped situation. It would be some time before another spectral would be eligible enough to take on a third of the student population, or until the train was recovered enough to widen their horizons outside of the city. Of course, there was the off chance BL would come up with an alternate strategy and this entire dilemma would sort itself out.

But he carried reasonable doubt the situation would happen to resolve in his favor, as things often did not.

He leaned forward and set his head into his folded arms. “I forgot about that.”

Zarei didn’t respond for a moment, though he heard her take another sip of her coffee. He couldn’t see her, but he felt her weight readjust against his desk as she shifted. “I suppose I could stick around awhile longer. I may as well if I’m stuck here until the train recharges.”

“You’re uneasy, I take it? It’s serious enough their safety is a concern?”

This spectral was young, fresh-faced, cheeks still chunky and full of youth, and the manner in which he shuffled in his suitsie before her was undeniably a sign of inexperience. Still, he cared enough to bring this to her, and one doesn’t barge into the head honcho’s office unless they’ve got a bone to pick. “I haven’t heard from her in days. I tried calling, I tried visiting her apartment. I even tried her favorite--” he choked “--favorite bar? She wasn’t there. A-and I know, I know that Doctor Zarei, her train isn’t-- isn’t charged enough t-to take us out of the city, right?”

BL hummed, crossing her legs in the weightless air, folding her hands in her lap and squeezing them. “I see… If she’s disappeared as you say, there are few explanations, and I’m afraid none of them are very good. Inform the rest of your sector, I’ll do my part outside the barrier.”

There was a relief on his face, also youthful-- naivety both refreshing and heart-wrenching. He had hope she’d be able to save his partner, because she was the boss, she had to have all the answers. But she feared she had only a few for the moment, and none of them meant his partner would return, at least not in the way he was hoping.

Walking home from school had been, er, odd lately. Dimitri took to walking her home after classes let out for the day, and on Fridays they’d stop somewhere and grab a milkshake or chat up some friendly (and lonely) ghosts. Conversation with Dimitri came easy, that’s just the kinda guy he was-- cool, always knew what to say. Where a conversation dwindled with other people, Dimitri always had a second-hand story in the arsenal that was his mind; he was in the journalism club so he heard all kinds of things. That was the explanation he’d give, anyway, not that she believed him. Walking home with Dimitri kept her warm in the chilly air of early winter, but Dimitri only walked with her so far. They’d eventually, after around fifteen minutes of walking, would come to a fork in the road, one of which would lead her home to the dojo, the other that would lead to Dimitri’s house. They would wave goodbye, part ways, and she would be alone for another twenty minutes. That was twenty minutes alone for the first time since kindergarten, to be in-step with nothing but a silence that dulled the world around her, to remember that those stupid minutes used to be loud, and wild, and so full of giggles that the absence of it made her lungs squeeze for a howling laughter that wouldn’t come.

So, in part, it was a blessing that Agent Day approached her as the fork divulged in two separate roads; in other-- bigger, pressing-- part, it was uncomfortable, because there was literally nothing to talk about. Alas, there was nothing to be done. Agent Day had “something of great importance” to discuss with her grandfather, and she’d been so nice as to say “We could walk together, if you’d like?”

To which Isabel had responded with astounding neutralness, with maybe just the smallest hint of wariness and a sprinkle of perplexion.

“Is something on your mind?”

“Huh?” Isabel blinked, unsettled at how deep in thought she’d fallen. Agent Day was looking ahead, small smile on her lips same as any other time they’d had the pleasure of seeing each other. Which was, like, one other time. Honestly, Isabel had never been so inclined to rummage old memories for lessons about polite conversation, because something felt off about this woman and the defaning quiet sure wasn’t helping. Wait… quiet… she hadn’t been thinking aloud, had she? “Oh, uh, I’m just, y’know, thinking.”

“About?”

One of Isabel’s eyes squinted, hands clenching around the straps of her backpack. “Um…” Well, there wasn’t any harm in stating the very small, basic facts, right? Not like she was spilling out her whole life story to a complete stranger. Besides, she didn’t exactly have anybody else to talk about this with. Dimitri was hardly concerned, Ed was off training hard-- not that she was thinking about why he was doing that, per say-- Mister Spender was distant and not one for advice, and Max would sooner share a chewed piece of gum with Johnny Jhonny before he’d ever actually listen to her thoughts on this particular subject. Usually Eightfold was there, a safe friend who, though very tiny, had a lot of wisdom and big ideas. But Eightfold was her safety blanket, and she wasn’t there anymore. These days it felt like nobody really was, not that she’d ever voice that. “Ed said some things to me that made some sense, but I’m not sure I wanna believe him.”

“Why not?”

Isabel shrugged. “It’s personal.”

Day’s smile widened just the smallest margin. “Well don’t you trust him?”

“Of course I do!” Isabel liked to think of herself as somebody who was average on the emotional vulnerability scale, not quite a closed off stone of person (like her grandfather), but notably not a heart-on-sleeve emotional wreck. It was just something about today was trying her patience, and if one more person questioned her trust and loyalty to her friends-- so help her, she’d shave her head and make wigs out of the hair of everyone around her. She clicked her tongue and gave Agent Day a glare that she knew she couldn’t see. “That has nothing to do with it! It’d just… be better if he was wrong.”

Day turned to her then with a small frown, almost as if she’d touched a nerve. Nothing that would upset her, really, so much as cause whatever unnervingly strong empathy was radiating off her big bubbly eyes in waves. Isabel’s top lip coiled, revealing a small patch of white teeth, both a sign of disgust and a show of potential biting ability that she was sure was lost on Agent Day. “Oh no, did he turn you down?”

“W-what?”

The small frown that’d been there before turned to a look of absolute sorrow, tears welling in her eyes like pearly blue waterfalls cascading down reddening cheeks. “I’m so sorry to hear that! I know it must hurt! You poor thing, your best friend too! This must have been tearing you up inside!” Her eyes glowed a pure, heavenly white, and Isabel had the sneaking suspicion she somehow saw the rising horror in her wide, panicked eyes, because she immediately flew into hysterics. Her hands spun in defensive circles, like she was trying to block a very determined bee drawn to her face for some inexplicable reason, and her voice hit a new, frenzied pitch. “I-I’m sure this doesn’t mean he doesn’t still love you! Maybe it’s just not in the way you wanted him to! I’ve been on his side of things times a-plenty! I’m willing to wager you he’s just as torn to bits and pieces as you! Oh, I bet you it would mean the world to him if you two could stay friends!”

Isabel had never known her face to get as hot as it was right then. It was as if somebody had taken a ball of fire, the hottest, bluest part, and lit her skin aflame with it. Every inch of her face felt like it’d boiled under the sun for hours with oil or citrus all over her cheeks. Before she knew what she was even doing, she was mimicking Agent Day’s theatrics, hands waving about in quick, frantic circles. “N-n-no! No! Y-you’ve got it all wrong! That’s not--! That’s not what I’m thinking about! Ed didn’t r-reject me! Where did you even get that from? You’re crazy, lady!”

Agent Day desisited, hands falling into tiny balls at her now unguarded chest. She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Oh, but you do like him, don’t you?”

“I-I mean--! That’s--! You’re--!” Isabel swallowed hard and braced herself to yell: “That’s not the point!”

“Am I wrong? Is there another?” Somebody kill her now. Heaven help her, she’d never felt more humiliated than she had right then, and in the entirety of her life, with a grandfather as proud as hers, there was plenty room for embarrassment, and somehow she’d surpassed every level she’d ever come to reach before. “That’s so strange! I thought for sure that night I came into town--?”

“That’s really not the point!”

“I’m sorry, dear! I don’t know where my mind was! What was it he said to you, then?”

Oh no, she was not putting any more of her emotions out on a platter for a complete stranger, not when whatever just happened would be the result. She’d been exposed enough for the day. Quite frankly, a quiet walk home to her thoughts probably would have been loads favorable compared to being the first guest on Agent Day’s Love Advice premiere. “I told you! It’s personal! A-and it has n-nothing to do with h-how I f-feel about--!” The dojo came into clear view, and for the first time in literal months, she was physically relieved to be within twenty steps (ten, if she ran, which she was definitely about to) of the front stairs. “Ugh! Let’s just drop it, okay?”

They continued to the front door in total silence, not companionable, but certainly mutual. Isabel opened the front door with one expressive hand, hardly stopping to hear the huge BANG that erupted through the front room. “GRANDPA!” She didn’t even bother to wave to Agent Day, not that Agent Day could actually see it… probably… before she was bolting up the staircase to her bedroom, where she slammed the door shut with so much force, it woke one of the students lounging on the living room couch to the floor with a start.

Agent Day stood at the front door, folding her hands in front of her as she glanced around the dojo. So many amazing smells-- sweat, deodorants, perfumes, foods-- it was all so very warm and comfy. It was a little bit of home away from home. She’d always wanted to visit Mayview, of that she was certain, but she wasn’t invincible to the occasional homesick feeling, and sometimes even a good bowl of chicken noodle soup can’t do home justice. Master Guerra took his time making his way to the front room, and when he appeared, it was with a scowl, one so deep it’d scare any old spectral off.

Good thing she wasn’t any old spectral. Agent Day smiled, and waved one dainty hand in greeting.

#Paranatural #Isabel Guerra #Maxwell Puckett #Dimitri Danger #Richard Spender #Mina Zarei #Agent Day #Johnny Jhonny #Collin Paranatural #Boss Leader #Catriona Barrett #Emmerich #WOHT #The Monster Trilogy #edsabel #Dimitri x Isabel #maxaac #imaax

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