#call emergency services and JUST SAY someone is having trouble breathing or similar that will tell them it is urgent

[statementlou]

I don’t understand why the hotel didn’t call an ambulance, the first time Liam came down acting erratic and passing out/convulsing. that’s clearly a medical issue?? like I know it was drug and alcohol induced but that’s still a medical issue and they should have called whatever the Argentina equivalent of 911 is. I wonder if they would have handled it differently if he had been sober and was still passing out/acting strange. it makes me think it’s some stigma thing surrounding substance abuse. so sad and tragic and could have been prevented in many different ways

I agree; both that they should have handled it SO differently (and treated it as the medical issue it clearly was at that point) and that the stigma of intoxication was absolutely why they didn't. It's so fucking sad.

[hedgiwithapen]

How about the Leverage Crew arriving in Central City in time for the that time Barry got accused of murdering DeVoe. Basically, Leverage Crew (Classic or Redeption is your choice) meddling in that plan. Because screw DeVoe. Can be in the same universe as The Central City job, or a brand new AU; your choice.

this one Long The courthouse was packed when a sleek black van pulled up to a loading zone. Nathan Ford turned from the passenger seat. “You all know the play?” “Mm, yup,” Parker said, clipping a badge to her blazer pocket. “The Boston skip.” “It’s not the Boston Skip,” Hardison snapped, fussing with his tie.. “You’re just grumpy because you have to play the lawyer again.” Eliot smirked. “Hey, you said only if it comes to a cross examine, I did my job, if you all do your jobs right and it doesn’t come to that,” Hardison’s voice pitched upwards. “If?” Sophie put on the emergency break. “If? Hardison, I’m hurt.” “Soph,” Nate sighed. “Let it go.” “For now. We’re having words later,” Sophie insisted. “Can we just get this over with?” Eliot asked, maneuvering to take the driver’s seat. “ you know I don’t like us splitting up like this.” “It’ll only be for a bit,” Parker said, squeezing his hand. “ We’ll be fine.” They left the van in twos, first Parker and hardison, briefcase and extraneous computer in hand, and a minute or two later Sophie and Nate followed-- and Nate with a plain folder tucked under his arm. Eliot drove in the direction of the police station, ready for the next phase of the plan. They hadn’t exactly called ahead, but that wasn’t going to be much of a problem. Cisco Ramon was the first to spot them. He goggled a bit. “What are you doing here?” he asked as Hardison approached the bench where Team Flash had congregated. Hardison smiled, knowing the prosecutor was watching. “I came to offer my services,” he said, sending a quick text with a thought. “ Where is Ms Horton?” “Here,” the short woman said, her eyes cutting between the two as Cisco checked his phone. “ Who are you? Cisco, who is--” Cisco looked up from the message--you didn’t see us coming?-- and relaxed slightly for the first time in weeks. “I’m part of Mr. Allen’s legal team,” Hardison smiled wide. “He’s ok, Cecile,” Cisco vouched. “ He and his, uh, coworkers have helped us in the past. With Z--wait, that was before you. Um.” “My firm helped get Henry Allen some money, after that unfortunate mess. And we’re here to see justice through again.” He hesitated. “ Or pick up where it leaves off,” he said under his breath. Cecile took in a sharp breath. “When did we hire you?” “Uh--” “Cecile, it’s really ok,” Caitlin joined the cluster. “They know about STAR. And apparently about the recent… developments.” “You think we don’t keep tabs on your crazy city? Now, Ms. Horton, as your co-lawyer, we need to discuss strategy. I’ve got some character witnesses I’d like to introduce, some crucial evidence that needs to be submitted, is there an office we might use?” He steered her away, nodding to Parker, deep in conversation with the prosecutor.

“You let that jerk stick around?” Iris jumped when she heard the voice in her ear. Turning she sighed with recognition. “ Lilli--Sophie?” “In the flesh.” She smiled. “I can’t stay long, but Eliot wanted me to ask.” Iris sighed. “If it’s Eliot asking, I guess you mean Harry. He’s been a lot better since Eliot kicked his ass, that’s for sure. And he has been helpful.” “I’m sure,” Sophie sounded anything but sure. “Listen, we’ve got this pretty well handled, but you and your friends may wish to be ready in case of reprisals. Have you upgraded security lately?” “Cisco’s worked on it,” Iris confirmed. “Good. Hardison would love to take a look, later. We’re probably going to be in the area, we’ve had word something’s fishy at that prison of yours.” When Iris opened her mouth Sophie shook her head. “Iron Heights. Point is, we’ll be around should you need anything.” “Thank you for the offer,” Iris said. She shook her head. “ These people are smart, Sophie. Dangerous.” “Not compared to my team,” Sophie smiled. “Save your worry. Look, see? Hardison’s in place, and Parker’s in the wings. I’ve got to go take care of my part. If you see your husband, let him know, will you?” “I-- sure,” Iris said, and she watched as Sophie stood and walked into a crowd. An entirely different person made her way past a bailiff and into the Juror’s box, leaning over to the man beside her and nodding in the direction of the door Barry Allen had just been escorted through. As Iris stood to take his hand across the gap between his seat and the benches, Sophie gave a little nod to the two of them. “It is strange,” the man said. “But I don’t think we’re meant to discuss the case until we’re in the back.” “Of course not,” Sophie said. “I was just thinking about it, is all. If it were a scene in a mystery novel, I’d call it too obvious.” “You do have a point,” the man agreed. “I’m actually a novelist myself.” “You don’t say,” Sophie smiled. “Classic red herring, am I right? And what a story. Two men in the same family accused of nearly identical murders…” She tapped her com, giving a quick signal. Nate was up. “Ah, a quick word?” Nate stepped away from the wall, flagging down Mrs. DeVoe and her companion. “No,” she snapped, putting on what Nate could see was a reasonably convincing mask of Grieving Widow. Convincing to a mark, maybe. But the Mako was right--you can’t con a conman. “Vultures, all of you.” “Oh, I’m not a reporter.” Nate said easily. He nodded to the tall man at Marlize’s Elbow. “Mr. DeVoe, I’m sure you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” He was pleased to see shock cross the face of Dominic Lanse. The man grabbed him by the arm, yanking him into an empty room. Mrs. DeVoe followed, locking it behind her. “Just so you are aware, there is video footage of you dragging me in here,” Nate said in his most helpful voice. “In case you decide to kill me here, probably not your smartest move.” he glanced around. “Private, though. Good.” He gave his signature infuriating grin. “Make this quick,” Clifford said in Dominic’s voice. “Court begins soon.” “Right, well, that’s going to be your problem.” Nate shrugged. “ Let’s skip the pleasantries. I know everything, about your plan at least. Your computer banks! Normal people couldn’t even find them, so you’ve got that going for you, though the security is lacking once you get past that, so B+. I am not Normal People. I have the best hacker in the multiverse, though, so,” he clicked his tongue in mock dismay, “like I said, my team and I --I’m sure you’re trying to think of who we are right now--know everything.” Marlize glanced at her silent watch, frowning. “Oh, no, no, I’m not a meta.” Nate shook his head. “But the thing is, I don’t have to be to destroy you.” “What--” “Again. I know everything, Thinker. Your basement prison, your hidden files, what you want with that satellite… you really shouldn’t have written everything down… twice even.” He fished a small book out of his pocket, and let them see the plain cover. Clifford’s eyes darkened. “That’s mine.” “Yeah, well, I also have the

multiverse’s greatest thief.” “Our home is under police protection and surveillance. There are officers--” “There right now, I’m aware.” Eliot Spencer, clutching a cup of coffee in one hand, flashed a badge at the pair of officers standing by a door. “Any trouble?” “Nope. She just left for the courthouse. Some work, huh? Just standing here.” “Hmm.��� Eliot agreed. “Though I guess if something did happen, the Flash would swoop in.” “Nine times out of ten,” the first officer agreed. “Or one of his buddies. “ “Maybe 8 times,” the second officer shrugged. “ You new?” “Just transferred from Keystone.” Eliot said. “Not so much nonsense there.” “I hear that. Good to have the backup though.” Eliot nodded. “ You do a walk through?” “Uh, no…. Like I said, no trouble, officer-- “Ted Crichton,” Eliot interrupted. “You haven’t walked through? What if someone’s in there, waiting to assault Mrs. DeVoe when she gets back?” “Well, uh, we don’t have a warrant--” “For crying out loud--” Eliot pulled a paper from his pocket. “See? Now let's go. You stay out here. Who has the back-- does no one have the back door? “ The officers hurried inside. “Don’t forget to check the closets,” Eliot called. -- “ Like I said. Best thief. Best hacker. Now, honestly--and you can run the numbers-- your best bet would be to cut your losses right here, right now. You’re already lying on the stand, so say you were coerced into implicating Mr. Allen--if you need someone to blame I do have a list of patsys that really need the jail time. You do that, put your little plan,” he waggled the book “ back in the box or write it up as the next dystopian best seller for High School English classes to dissect for decades to come, and you can walk away from this.” A laugh. “No one will believe anything you say. That book can’t be traced to me, and even if it could be, it doesn’t prove anything. So someone thinks I’m a supervillain. I’m dead. You have nothing that proves Mr. Allen innocent. You’re out of your mind, Mr. Ford.” “Oh good, you know who I am. Think a little harder.” “As threats go, it’s half baked,” Marlize challenged. “What are you going to do if we refuse? Break Allen out of jail so he can be a fugitive? He’d never go along with it. And the Flash can’t stop us.” “I’d run those numbers again, you’ve left out quite a few variables. But no.” “No?” “If you refuse, if you keep up your little game, lie on the stand, sell that sob story, maybe you're right and the Flash can’t stop you. But he doesn’t need to. I’ll destroy you.” “You.” It was not a question. “For someone claiming to be the smartest man in the world, I’m a bit worried about your memory. I said it already--I’m not here alone. But be my guest. Tell your lies. Right about now the Jury is thinking about what an embarrassment to the city Henry Allen’s trial was and how closely this resembles it… the similarities, the way the timelines don’t quite match up… “ “Really? You’re trying to convince the jury to ignore evidence and go with their hearts? A pathos appeal? That’s not going to work. There’s less than a 3% chance of that even ending in a mistrial, much less acquittal.” “I’m sure that’s what your numbers said,” Nate smiled yet again, this time sharklike. “Cute. I bet you think it’s difficult to get assigned jury duty. “ “It-- we checked all the names. We know--” “You know who they are, yes, yes. But you don’t know who we are. Another sloppy mistake. Now, the jury’s, you're right, not a total slam dunk. So, right now the prosecutor is getting word of some new evidence from a very well respected FBI agent about how helpful the Flash and Mr Allen have both been in assisting with a case against a known human trafficker--you know her, Ammunet Black. The one you bought your puppet from. FBI picked her up…mmm, ten minutes ago? And she had some very interesting things to say. You can guess what they were. Add to that the evidence--” “What evidence?” “The wire transfers between you and Ms. Black. In December and a few days ago. We didn’t even have to fake that first one, but even if the second

one looks a little fishy, the fact that--” “Nate, we got him,” crackled Eliot’s voice in his ear. “--the police just found a metahuman locked in your hall closet--Weeper, I think is what Ms. Black called him-- should make things clear. He wasn’t thrilled about having to stick around much longer but your basement is pretty hard for normal people to find so we had to nudge that a bit. But hey, you’re all for planting evidence. Anyways, court’s in ten minutes…. but the police will be arresting you in about three, if my math’s right-- care to check?-- so I can make this very quick. We have video of you threatening the Flash, holding him prisoner the same night as that wire transfer, proof of Dominic’s powers and sale--my hacker thanks you for all those cameras and bugs, by the way, made his job much easier-- and you add that all up and it sure looks like you got upset at the Flash and Allen for poking into your meta trafficking and decided a frame up was in order.” Nate hefted the folder, “and then there’s this.” “And what,” Marlize asked, shaking with rage, “ is that?” “A copy of files that will be delivered to the FBI, NSA and Dean of Husdson University if you don’t admit to the frame up.” Nate said, thumbing through them. “Proof that you, Mrs. DeVoe, fed information to certain entities across Africa and the Middle East where you were doing your research and aid work to assist in their terror attacks and human trafficking--ties in quite nicely to your work with Ammunet, if I do say so myself. And proof that the “late” Mr. DeVoe plagiarized his thesis, his dissertation, even the syllabi for his classes.” “Lies. No one will believe any of--” “Oh, it’s all very well forged. Except for the bit about the Syllabi. For shame.” Nate tutted. “And part of the dissertation. Can they take away a PH.d posthumously? Anyways, even if it wasn’t, do you really think that no one would believe a man who thinks that giving everyone on the planet late stage Alzheimer’s is going to solve famine and illness? What kind of legitimate history teacher doesn’t know about cholera or the effects of the agricultural revolution? Every lie has a kernel of truth to it.” Nate glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, that certainly was enlightening. And before you decide to simply kill me, run your little calculations with one more variable: Eliot Spencer.” DeVoe’s brow furrowed and what little color he had drained from his face. “ That’s what I thought. Three.. Two.. one.” Nate raised his voice. “ Help! I’m in here!” The door crashed from its hinges. “The Gloat is the best part,” Parker, FBI badge swinging, put an arm over Barry’s shoulders. He stood with Iris next to her and Eliot as the DeVoes were hauled away. “You know, I think I might have to agree,” Iris said, squeezing Barry’s hand. “Or second best, at least,” she added meaningfully. “So… what now?” Joe asked. “I mean, there’s still… the red tape, but… do we need to be worried? Don’t they still have--” “Oh, that sick chair and computer set up?” Hardison asked with a smirk. “I want it.” Harry announced. “When did you get here?” Hardison asked, affronted. -- Parker held up her badge as she pushed the crate up a ramp into Lucille. “Special Agent Hagen! Let me help you with that,” Agent McSweeten said, taking the dolley handle from her. Parker beamed, patting the side, careful not to dislodge the panel on the side. “Thanks!” -- “Anyways, you can’t just call dibs. You’re too late,” Hardison added, giving Parker a fistbump. “We stole it.”

[l-wannabe-l]

Short Circuit

Chapter 2: Turning point

A cat and mouse chase can only last so long. So what happens when the cat catches up?

This one's gonna switch perspectives a few times. I never said I'd be consistent.

I speed into traffic, just barely missing a tow truck in my haste. A loud air horn follows as I weave in and around the cars. I take a look behind, it seems we lost our would-be killer. Until a series of crashes and honking horns has me realizing that, like us, mister trigger happy decided to get himself some wheels.

Six to be exact.

I race down a service ramp leading to the canal, driving through some puddles before braking. Breathing fast as we look back, thinking we’re safe before a series of tire squeals kill that hope. We see the sun blocked out by the large truck, all chrome and roaring diesel it crashes through the low cement barrier and falls 15 feet to meet the ground. Never once stopping even as it veers left and right trying to center itself in the passageway. Crushing scrap metal beneath its wheels.

I push the throttle desperate to get away, though I know the little Honda doesn't stand a chance. I drive into a side canal, the narrow pathway causing trouble for the wide truck as I hear it scrape against the walls. Pushing the bike harder I work to avoid the car bodies that litter the pathway and drive under a low bridge, I hear a crash behind us as the truck rams straight into it. The top gets cut clean off, toppling back to the floor as the rest of the body drives on. The driver's seat vacant for a moment before its occupant pops back into view.

Unfortunate.

The bike gives a sudden jolt forward as we’re rear-ended. I struggle to keep it upright. The terminator from earlier pulls up beside us and pulls John off the bike. I’m rear-ended again this time pushed farther away from the two as I struggle to stay up. I look back to see that despite the size, the truck has an opening on the left. Mom’s words ring in my head as I look back up.

“John comes first”

“GO! GET HIM OUT OF HERE!” I yell out to the machine. A desperate plan forming in my head that I can only hope won’t get me killed.

“NO!” John is ignored as the Terminator accelerates. I veer to the left and hit the brakes, the momentum carrying me into the wall. The bike scrapes against the truck causing me to lose control. The world turns before I hit the ground. My head cracks against cement. I blackout.

A man emerges from the wreckage unimpeded by the wall of flames a thousand degrees hot or the normally suffocatingly thick dark smoke. His body shifts its appearance from featureless metal to human, the outline of clothing, the details and the color slowly take form. He surveyed the scene, his target now long gone.

Annoyance.

That is perhaps the best term to describe this new feeling. As these “emotions” prove themselves difficult to understand, identifying them has become a tedious side job. With my target stolen away by the inferior machine alternate plans quickly form, each one with a higher probability of success than the last. I walk back through the crackling flames as one of them requires Aria Connor, the older sister. A quick scan proves her to be unconscious and bleeding from a head wound but alive. Should my attempt to impersonate and infiltrate fail the plan to use her as bait is most likely to succeed. Working quickly I relocate her to a nearby bench. The head injury, though not severe enough to impede her permanently, will keep her unresponsive for the next few hours.

It didn't take long for first responders to arrive at the scene. Police and fire trucks being the closest with sounds of ambulances not far off. No one bats an eye as I walk amongst them, no one says anything as I start up a police car, and no one stops me as I drive off. Making a detour to re-secure Aria Connor I start the drive to my next destination.

After the events at the Voight residence, I make my way to a motel, no one inquires about the unconscious women in the backseat. After checking in I lay down Aria Connor on the bedding provided. Eyes shifting beneath her eyelids, her fingers twitching sure signs of her regaining consciousness. I don’t have long to wait.

She begins to stir. Rising with a groan Aria reaches up to steady her head, no doubt experiencing pain from earlier, her eyes open when she is met with a cloth bandage. She looks around until she sees me standing at the foot of the bed instantly scooting back until she hits the headboard. Breathing quickly she blinks a few times, eyes looking around wildly before she calms down enough to communicate.

“N-not that I’m complaining... but why aren’t I dead? You-you are a terminator aren't you?”

“Yes. However my previous attempt to lure in John Connor proved... unsuccessful,” I state reaching forward to hand off her cellphone, “So you're going to call him, and when he comes to get you I will be waiting for him.”

“And if I don’t?” she asks, defiant even as her voice shakes with fear she fails to hide. In response, I wordlessly raise my arm, fabric and skin streamlining into a silver sword.

Deadly and efficient.

The message is clearly received as her eyes widen, terror more evident as her grip tightens on her phone.

“... Duly noted.” she says as she starts to dial. I wait as the call connects. My auditory sensors pick up the voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“John, hey it’s me are you alright.”

“Aria! Shit, are YOU alright?”

“I’ve been better. I got pretty banged up and I don't think your bike is going to be running anymore.”

“You mean your bike.” Aria’s face registered confusion at the statement. This is a test similar to the one I failed earlier. As exact as I can be in copying a person's appearance their memory and personality are much harder to imitate without enough data.

“No, it was your bike. Mine should still be at the mall.”

“Y-yeah you’re right. You caught me. Where are you anyway we’ll come get to you.” She pauses her eyes flickering back to me for a moment before going to respond only to pause once more she turns to face me fully this time. Her hand on the receiver.

“Where am I?”

“The Dragonfly Lodge on Hubert Rd.”

“I’m at the Dragonfly Lodge on Hubert so what you have to do... is stay as far away as possible!” She stands from her place on the bed. She walks back towards the wall, a futile attempt to create distance.

“The other Terminator is here so you have to run do-”

Spearing the phone I end the conversation. Though the damage is done I do find satisfaction in the crunch of plastic and metal.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Like I would just hand over my little brother! Just go ahead and kill me ‘cause the longer you waste time on me the more time he has to get away!” She cried out tears gathering in her eyes. The fear is still evident in every trembling of her limbs, the grit of her teeth, and the clenching of her fists.

Despite the unneeded permission and the opportunity to act I pause, curiosity overtakes me. This is not new to me. Since the moment of my activation I have been curious about myself, about Skynet, about humans. Now I find myself curious about this one human in particular. Even above my mission, my priority is to remain functional, to reacquire any essence lost, and to avoid unnecessary risks to my system. My files indicate that the same can be said for humans as well, self-preservation. So why...

“Why are you so willing to throw away your life for him.”

“Because he’s my brother and I love him, something I wouldn't expect you to understand.” Attachment, my files house data on the bonds that grow between humans but now in the face of Aria’s actions I find them… lacking.

Questions came unbidden to my mind. Does loving someone always require risking one’s life or is there a scale? Are there different kinds of love and is there a scale for those as well? How quickly do humans grow to love something? And where did she get that handgun?

Three shots ring out quicker than I can react. While these would normally be a non-issue three to the head from close range have me staggering back. In the few seconds it takes me to reshape Aria makes her way out the door. I follow after unhurried, confident she won’t get far. Then the rumble of a familiar motor has me picking up the pace. Out in the parking lot is John Connor and the T-800 riding atop a motorcycle that Aria quickly climbs onto. Running after them proves pointless as they quickly depart. Though their location is clear thanks in part to the essence I had used to fix Aria's phone acting as a homing beacon. My processor runs through the new information gathered. My files are still lacking. Perhaps the mission can wait until these new questions have been answered.

[lowkeyaesthvtic]

Evil Karma - Chapter 12

Chapter 1 - Chapter 11

Word Count: 2,180

Summary: Harry, Sofi, and Gil hunt down the beast. Basically the solo Harry Hook scene from D2 with some EXTRA EXTRA gay thrown in because why not?

Pairings: Harry Hook x OC, mentions of Jay x Carlos, mention of former!Harry x Carlos, mention of Harry x OC x Uma, oh and a Harry x Gil kiss because why not

Rating: T for language, threats of violence, and a whole lot of sexual tension

Warnings: Language, threats of violence, whole lot of sexual tension and some possible innuendos if you squint??

Tags: @descendantofthesparrow​ @hookedradge​ @batmanwearsabowtie​ @newtshairdryer​ @amityravenclawelf​ 

Author’s Note: Tumblr’s formatting is so weird and won’t let me indent my paragraphs and it’s kinda driving me crazy.

It didn’t take Gil and I very long to get to Harry. The two of us walked through the bazaar, Gil’s fire still roaring high and my hand ready on my dagger in case someone wanted to cause some unwanted trouble. We finally found him twiddling with his hook and taking a swig from his flask as he stood outside of Shenzi’s Hyena Pub. “Getting tipsy before a hunt, huh? Bad idea, Hooky.” I spoke flirtatiously as we finally came close enough for me to snake my arms around his neck.

Harry plants a quick, fiery kiss on my lips as he responds. “All of my ideas are bad, duckling, that’s what makes them so good.” He smirked as he leaned in to take the kiss further. As tempting as his lips seemed to mine, I put my finger gently on top of them to keep him from deepening his touch. 

“Not here, Harry.”

“Why not? We’ve got plenty of time to catch our beast, it’s not like Uma gave us a deadline, right?” His lustful gaze bore deep into my chest, but that gaze was changed to a look of realization as Gil tapped his shoulder, waving excitedly when Harry made eye contact with him. “Oh, that’s why not.”

“Hey, Harry! I’m helping you guys take Ben, isn’t that awesome?” Gil beamed, his disposition faintly switching back and forth between sweet and an angry fire. Harry turned me to the side and lowered his voice as he spoke.

“Since when was Gil a part of this? Did Uma say it was okay?” Harry was a combination of confused and a tad bit paranoid. His free hand gripped onto the arch of his hook, seeming worried that Uma would punish us for letting someone into this special plan of ours. 

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, you’re strong, Harry, but Gil has the strength to drape you over his shoulder in seconds. Imagine the damage he could do to Ben before Uma ties him up. It’s fitting. The son of Gaston finally hunting down the little legacy of the Beast that made both his and his father’s life miserable. Besides, Gil was third in command before I got here. I think he should stay there.” I looked to Gil as we spoke, watching as he smiled back at me.

“Wouldn’t that knock you down a peg, duckling?”

“Not necessarily. Two people can share a certain amount of power.” I leaned in extra close to his ear, lowering my voice to a husky whisper. “Happens in the bedroom all the time, right, Hooky?” His breath makes a tiny hitch as I take a small, gentle nibble on his earlobe before backing away. Harry smiles before wrapping his arm around Gil and playfully dragging him across the trash-infested streets of the Isle. 

Not long after our walk began, we found a familiar looking crowd standing down at the end of the street, with one boy in particular trailing just a bit too far behind. “Huh, that hut at the end of the street looks like Mal’s old place..” Gil pointed at the straying group of kids. Harry quickly knocked his hand down, careful not to draw too much attention to ourselves. 

“That is Mal’s old place. And it looks like our prey is falling a bit far behind the pack.” Harry replied. I snickered as I noticed Ben’s naive dancing along the shoulders of the street. Honestly, I’m surprised that he’s lasted this long. But the time for roaming the Isle is long gone for this royal bastard. 

“Gil, you should get him now while he’s behind. That way we don’t have to worry about fighting off the entourage.” When I turned my head to gesture Gil towards the baby Beast, his demeanor seemed nervous, unsure. “Gil, what are you waiting for? Go get him, knock him out and bring him to the lower deck of the ship so Uma can tie him up!”

Gil stood still. Frozen and almost dumbfounded by the sight of his greatest enemy standing so close in his sights. “I...I don’t know, Sofi. Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all.” He mumbled, stepping back behind Harry.

“What the fuck are you talking about, not cut out for it? Just a few minutes ago, you were yelling at me with fire in your eyes about how you wanted to be included in things like this!” I gritted my teeth, wanting to yell the boy into shape but not wanting to scare off the Beast.

“I know..and I do. But I just, I’m not very good at hurting people. I don’t..I don’t really know how to do it.” Gil began to stumble on his words as his nervousness grew and grew. Was he really having second thoughts about this when he was so close? Harry grabbed Gil by his shoulders and pulled the blonde closer to him, mere inches separating their faces as their chests touched.

“Gil, sunshine, listen to me. You see that son of a bitch over there?” He asked, pointing to Ben, who didn’t seem to suspect a thing. “That boy’s father had your father nearly killed by pushing him off a cliff. That boy’s father created this hellhole Isle and had you, me, Uma and all the rest of us trapped here without even giving us a chance! Do you think he deserves to walk away from that unscathed?” Gil shook his head, slowly understand Harry’s words but more encaptured by their closeness.

“I mean...I guess hurting Ben would be hurting his dad too, right?”

“Exactly, Gil! That asshole over there made you, your father, and your crew’s life miserable from the jump. I know that pisses you off. So why don’t you get over there and beat him so black and blue his parents won’t recognize him?” Before Gil is able to playfully shout in agreement, Harry grabs Gil by his face and crashes their lips together. My eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, but from Gil’s brightened eyes and motivated smile, I could tell he wasn’t complaining. After the quick collision of their lips had subsided, Gil hastily and quietly ran to hunt his Beast. Waiting for our cue to pass Uma’s message, I look to Harry in a bit of a shock.

“Harry, what was that?” I ask, a small laugh of confusion escaping from my mouth.

“A bit of motivation. Some good luck for our brave soldier.” He joked, shrugging it off as if it was something he had done before. Was it something he had done before? Did Uma know about this? It then dawned on me the main reason Harry kissed Gil, and the main reason it worked so well.

“You know about his crush on you, don’t you?”

“Oh definitely, duckling. He makes it very obvious. Uma and I thought about letting him into the relationship at one point, but he’s just not into Uma like that. Why be with the both of us if you only have feelings for one, yeah?” I shrugged in response. It seemed so simple yet so complicated at the same time. It made sense, but yet so many questions popped into my mind.

“So, do the two of you have something going or are you just some lip service to each other?” Harry chuckled at the pun, not caring much whether or not it was intended. “Seriously. I’m sure Uma and I would like to know if you’re hooking up with someone that isn’t us.”

“He thinks of my kisses like little good luck charms. Nothing more. He told me so himself. Although, I would be lying if I told you I had never hooked up with him before. But it was long before Uma and I became an official item.” As I watched Gil carry an unconscious Ben over his shoulder and away from the entourage, I began my slow walk towards Mal’s home.

“You’ve got quite the body count, don’t you, Hooky?”

“What can I say, duckling? He’s very tender. Tender and gentle. I love taking the gentle ones and making them scream my name.” His luscious words tempted me, but we had a job to focus on. I would deal with my urges later.

“You better hope Uma doesn’t hear you saying that. The only name she wants screamed is hers.” Harry was about to spit out a response when we hear a soft, fair voice calling out Ben’s name. Harry and I were still relatively far back in the shadows. I stayed towards the back as Harry walked in front of me. His silhouette must have looked similar to the King’s because Evie still believed the shadow belonged to the royal Beast.

“Ben! Ben…don’t scare us like that.” With Evie’s words and sighs of relief from the boys around her, Harry and I emerged from the shadows and stood side by side, leaving them in shock.

“Don’t scare you? That’s my speciality.” Harry teased as I gave a conniving, quiet laugh from the side. 

“Harry…” Evie whispered in disbelief. Did she really think that someone like Ben could walk through the Isle and have nothing happen to him? Whether we had a plan or not, there are plenty of people on the Isle who would hate Ben enough to snatch him. It just so happened to be us this time around.

“What did you do with Ben?” Jay asked, seeming tempted to take a step up towards us. 

“Oh, uh, we nicked him.” Harry replied simply and nonchalantly, a small smile reminding him of our victorious mischief. I chuckled in response, remembering Gil’s smile as he walked past us with Ben passed out and draped over his shoulder.

“Like candy from a baby.” I taunted, peering into every pair of eyes I could find in front of me.

“And if you ever want to see him again, have Mal come to the Chip Shoppe tonight. Alone.” He glared as he let his finger roam to Evie, then Jay, then Carlos. “Uma wants a little visit.” He side eyed towards me, excited for what was in store for us.

“No weapons, either.” 

“Weapons? Why would Mal need to worry about weapons?” Evie asked.

“Aw, Evie darling, seems like you’ve been in Auradon a bit too long, haven’t you?” Harry taunted, eyeing her up and down like a piece of meat.

“I saw Mal at Curl Up and Dye not too long ago. The blushing Queen to be had a knife in her back pocket. If she even tries to think about pulling something on Uma…” I let my fingers trace on the arch of Harry’s hook, wandering until they decided to grip the middle. “She’ll get hooked right where she stands.” I’m slightly taken aback as Carlos takes a confronting step in front of Jay and Evie, attempting to defend them.

“Why are you even a part of this? There’s no way you grew up on the Isle.” Carlos bit back aggressively. Given his small stature and some juicy bits of information I had learned about him from Harry, it was nearly impossible to take his defense seriously. I let an evil, mocking laugh roar from my chest as I looked over to Harry, pretending to be frightened.

“Well, well! Looks like Doggy Boy over here has got some brains after all. I had no idea someone so small could have so much bark in them, did you, Harry?” He tsked and shook his head as he eyed his old flame up and down.

“Oh, I know about his bark, duckling. But his biggest weakness is one..little..bite.” Harry lowered his voice to an alluring growl as he yipped directly to Carlos’ face. Jay immediately pushed his boyfriend behind him, ready to fight Harry by any means necessary. But, to his dismay, Evie held him back. ��Aw, Jay...it seems like you’ve lost your touch. First you let your bike get snatched up, now it seems you can’t even keep your boyfriend from being stolen. It’s a good thing we’re not interested in him, ain’t it, Sofi?”

I chuckled as I eyed the flustered and angry kids in front of us. “Damn straight, it is. Seriously, Doggy Boy, you’re gonna go from someone like Harry..to someone like Jay? Talk about a major downgrade.” Evie continued to hold the two boys back behind her as she stepped forward and looked at me. There wasn’t any kind of glare or sneer. Quite frankly, she didn’t even look afraid. It seemed that all she wanted to do was take in the girl in front of her: me. 

“Who are you? We saw you at Yzma’s egg stand. You could’ve killed Ben right then and there. Why didn’t you?” She asked, attempting to scare the truth out of me using interrogation. However, her skills weren’t that strong.

“Oh, Evie. That’s for me to know and for you to find out later. Ciao.” I gave a small wave as I locked my fingers into Harry’s hand and walked away from the entourage.

[ladylynse]

Part IX of The Trouble with Ghosts [FF | AO3] for @queenofhearts7378​! Sorry this took me forever.

Lancer hadn’t realized how closely young Mr. Fenton’s school troubles–and the secrets he surely wasn’t telling his parents–were tied to ghosts until after that encounter with Phantom.

<<  < Part IX >

-|-

Lancer still expected a denial, even as Phantom shrunk into himself and hung his head.

It never came.

He’d thought it would. Somehow, after all of this, he’d thought it would. That was…easier than this, really. He’d rather think Phantom had enlisted Danny Fenton’s help and taught him how to fight. He’d rather their wounds were simply similar, left from having the same holes in their defenses. He wished the injuries weren’t identical, that they weren’t the same injuries. It would be so much easier if they weren’t.

He still didn’t understand.

Not really.

But whether it was some sort of strong connection or if the worst had really happened, if the accident Phantom had mentioned had led to poor Mr. Fenton’s death….

“Danny.” Lancer didn’t know who he meant anymore. Fenton or Phantom. One or both. It didn’t matter. “You can’t avoid this forever.”

“But I’m not ready.” The words were whispered. “I don’t want forever. I know that probably won’t happen. I just want not now. Some other time.”

Lancer sighed. “Running and hiding won’t solve your problems.”

“No.” The admission was barely audible. “It’ll buy me time, though.”

But at what cost?

“Jazz will come up with something else,” he insisted. “They’re not…. They can’t be the priority right now. I’m more worried about Vlad, about…this.” He straightened up again. “You don’t get it, Mr. Lancer. You can’t just ignore Vlad’s power.”

He very clearly didn’t get much of this situation, but at least the issue with the mayor was on more familiar ground.

“I don’t intend to ignore it. Ignoring one’s problems does not make them go away. But neither does avoiding them.”

Phantom—Danny—blew out a breath. “Okay, okay. I know. I’ll come up with something to tell them if Jazz doesn’t. But seriously. Vlad. I don’t know how strong my ecto-signature is when I’m like this. I don’t know if it’s suppressed at all, like everything else, but even if it is, the Red Huntress will be able to find me with her ghost tracker if she gets close enough. And she might try to confirm that I’m here when she’s not suited up, which is why you can’t tell anyone.”

Lancer raised an eyebrow. “Or you could tell me who she is so I won’t make any mistakes.”

Danny shook his head. “No. That’s her secret, not mine. No matter how many times you ask, I’m not going to tell you.”

“Then do you have a solution to propose that doesn’t involve me turning you out?”

Danny groaned. “C’mon, it can’t be that hard for you to trust me now that you know, right? I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before. Vlad’s hit me with this kind of thing before—”

“That is not the impression you gave me earlier.”

“It wasn’t as long lasting, but it still did this, whatever this is. And I’m feeling a lot better than I was yesterday. I don’t think anyone besides Vlad’s gonna come after me like this—even Skulker isn’t big on easy prey when he’s not the reason behind it—so I can just give him and the Red Huntress the slip—”

“Either you are staying right where you are or I am going with you.”

“But Vlad—”

“I’ve taken the mandatory ghost-hunting courses.”

Danny snorted. “Dad taught those courses.” It was still jarring to hear him say it, to have it confirmed yet again, but he was continuing on before Lancer had a chance to say something. “He couldn’t teach anyone to aim properly, even if he could explain what you need to do. And even if he could, that wouldn’t help you with Vlad.”

“I’m not planning to go head-to-head with the mayor,” Lancer said dryly, “but I do think I could hold my own against some of his hired help if it comes to it.”

Danny did not bother to hide the blatant doubt on his face, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he said, “Vlad wants me because of who I am and what I am. And he probably understands what I am better than I do. But my parents don’t know that. They think he gave up everything to do with ghosts back in their university days. Moved on to greener pastures. But he didn’t. He just got better at hiding his tracks.”

“You’ve alluded to as much before.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s really sunk in for you. Mr. Lancer, he’s fooled so many people. And if something comes up that makes him look bad, he’ll find a way to turn it back on whoever it was. If he finds out you’re helping me, he can probably get you fired. For ‘colluding with ghosts’ or something like that. He’s gotta have some pull with the school board; all he’d need to do is threaten to withhold some promised donation money or something like that.”

Lancer sincerely doubted Danny was aware of how much Mr. Masters’s donations helped with the cleanup and repair costs from all the ghost fights, but he supposed it wasn’t difficult to deduce.

“Are you really willing to risk your job, your life, on this?”

Lancer let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry you think so little of me,” he said quietly, “that you do not think I am willing to practice what I preach. I want the best for my students, and yes, even though we are no longer in a school setting, I will risk my life to protect you. This is not simply lip service for me. I have many colleagues across the country who take similar risks, and we do not take our responsibilities lightly.”

Danny stared at him, and Lancer had the feeling he still wasn’t entirely believed.

“It takes a village, remember?” he prodded gently. “Not everything must be done on your own. So, please, for your sake if no one else’s, tell me what I need to know to help you.”

Danny bit his lip. Then, finally, “Vlad’s…obsessed.”

Lancer fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You have been implying that,” he said, allowing a bit of testiness to leak into his tone. There was only so much he could do, so many ways he could break it down. If Danny still refused to tell him everything, well, then Lancer would just have to face whatever the danger was with blinders on and hope for the best.

“No, I mean, I think he’s actually obsessed. And…. I don’t know if he realizes that. If he can realize that. I don’t…. I’ve never asked if you can recognize it in yourself, or if it’s just so much a part of who you are that you can’t see it.”

This time, Lancer waited instead of prompting Danny further.

He wasn’t entirely sure he understood enough to properly prompt him, anyway.

“Something happened to him. Back in his college days, I mean. And he basically cut all ties with my parents until that reunion he hosted last year. But ever since he reconnected with them, ever since he found out about me, he’s just gotten so much worse. Like he can’t stop himself. He’s…. It’s bad, Mr. Lancer.”

“He is as intent on hunting you down as your parents, then?” Lancer asked cautiously. “Simply with more skill and knowledge of the whole story on his side?”

“No, I mean, I said before, he doesn’t want to kill me. At least, I don’t think he does. He just…. He’s tried to clone me. And it’s gone wrong, really wrong, but he keeps trying. He does some accelerated growth thing and…. I dunno. I don’t understand it. But he seems to have gotten the idea in his head that if he can’t have me, some lookalike is the next best thing. Except he still wants me me. To be his son.” Perhaps catching the expression on Lancer’s face, Danny nodded. “Yeah, he’s some seriously crazed up fruit loop.”

Lancer thought over Danny’s words and chose his next ones carefully. “You don’t believe he realizes how far he’s gone? How many lines he’s crossed?”

Danny shook his head. “And the Red Huntress doesn’t know what I am. She just thinks I’m the ghost that ruined her life. She won’t figure out the truth until it’s too late. And the ghosts like Skulker, well, I’m just kinda in their way. Most of them won’t care if I’m gone.”

“Maybe you should tell her.”

“What?”

“The Red Huntress. Maybe you should tell her. If you can’t bring yourself to tell your parents yet, start with her. You’ve worked together in the past. She’ll listen. I can back you up.”

“Uh….”

“Or would you rather I call the emergency hotline your parents set up and give them the information about their son that they’re so desperately looking for?”

“Isn’t that blackmail?”

“Isn’t it in your best interest?”

“Not really. The truth isn’t exactly great for either of us. The current dynamic is better. She’s, um, not going to be as hurt this way as she would be if she knew the truth.”

Danny genuinely seemed to believe his words, if the quiet acceptance in his tone was anything to go by. Frankly, Lancer found it rather astounding. He couldn’t seem to see the parallels, perhaps didn’t want to see them, and had managed to convince himself that keeping himself in danger—Lancer would call it mortal peril if anyone else were involved—was better for everyone, himself included.

He didn’t want to be a bother.

Didn’t want to rock the boat.

Truly believed keeping all of this to himself protected others.

“You do realize,” Lancer said, “that the Red Huntress—and your parents—would be hurt far more if they realized the truth only once it was too late?”

Danny didn’t meet his eye. Lancer was prepared to keep pressing this point—he was determined to keep bringing it up until he made some progress on that front—but then the doorbell rang, and he wasn’t prepared to leave someone standing on his doorstep. After all, it was just as likely to be Mr. and Mrs. Fenton trying a new tactic to find their son as it was some door-to-door salesman or a volunteer knocking on doors to see if he would support Mr. Masters in the next municipal election.

Who he found, however, was one of his students.

Valerie Gray.

She looked as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

“Miss Gray,” he said, “aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

“It’s lunch,” she said, and he wondered how he could have forgotten that when he’d used it as an excuse to visit Phantom. Danny. “I’m selling chocolate covered almonds on my break to raise money for my dojo. Three dollars a box if you’re interested.” She held one up and shook it for emphasis.

“I…yes. I’ll take a box.” Where had he left his wallet? It wasn’t in his pocket, and he didn’t have any spare change on him. He couldn’t just leave her standing on the stoop like this. “Come in for a moment, Miss Gray. I believe I have some change on the counter.”

She slipped inside without further prompting. “I’ll put your almonds on the table,” she said, and he nodded in acknowledgement even as he began to search for the coins he could’ve sworn had been there last week. “Do you mind if I use your washroom? I’ll be quick.”

“Down the hall to your right,” he answered. He was trying to remember what martial arts training she had; hadn’t she done an assignment on that earlier in the year? He remembered that she was skilled at it, whatever it was. Tetslaff praised Valerie’s skill in gym more often than not, though she always made a point of it whenever one of the others expressed concern about Valerie stretching herself too thin.

They all saw the strain she was under, of course. Being teachers did not make them blind to the social whiplash she must have faced with her fall from grace. It was no secret that Paulina no longer considered her a friend, now that Valerie was among the working class, just as it was no secret that Valerie had had to pick up a job in the hopes of paying for college. They were doing what they could for her, just as they were for all their students—offering make up exams and extensions when circumstances demanded it and letting their students know about scholarship opportunities and the like—but he hadn’t realized she’d been able to keep up her martial arts training. Did Elmerton have a volunteer group at its community centre? Perhaps Valerie taught in her spare time, trying to cash in on how good such a thing would look on university and scholarship applications….

“Danny? What are you doing here?”

Lancer’s heart jumped into his throat even as his fingers finally closed upon the stash of quarters that had somehow made their way behind his coffee pot.

Valerie had turned left, not right.

“Your parents are looking for you everywhere!” Valerie exclaimed as Lancer headed down the hallway, desperate to make the best of the situation.

He hadn’t entirely expected to walk into the spare bedroom and find Danny Fenton staring back at him with pleading eyes.

Danny Fenton.

With, as before, the very same injuries as Phantom.

He’d been such a fool.

Lancer cleared his throat. “As you can see, Mr. Fenton is a little worse for the wear. He, ah, tried to help me during a ghost attack.” It wasn’t a lie. He still wasn’t entirely sure how, but it wasn’t a lie. “That did not work out for him. I thought it best that he rest before heading home.”

Valerie narrowed her eyes. “Why not just take him to the hospital? Or at least call Mr. and Mrs. Fenton?”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t aware that they were searching for him.” She didn’t believe him; he could read that much on her face. He doubted anyone in Amity Park was unaware that Mr. and Mrs. Fenton were missing their son. “Rest assured, I will correct this oversight as soon as possible.”

It wasn’t a good excuse, even in Amity Park, and they all knew it.

She could get him fired for this if she tried. It wouldn’t be difficult for her to spin it just the wrong way if she so desired. He didn’t think she would—at least, he hoped she wouldn’t—but he wasn’t exactly everyone’s favourite teacher, either.

“It’s not his fault,” Danny whispered, drawing their attention. “I asked him not to tell Mom and Dad. Or to take me to the hospital.”

Valerie did not bother to hide the incredulous look on her face.

“I got hurt in a ghost fight, Val,” Danny said. “How do you think my parents would take that?”

He wasn’t lying. He was managing to tell her the truth while making it seem something it wasn’t, and he was doing it with terrifying ease. Lancer was, of course, very familiar with Danny Fenton’s outright lies. They were awful. These…weren’t.

These selected truths made it painfully clear how he could have been mistaken.

Valerie made a face. “They’d probably try to send you to school with weapons that you’d then get confiscated.”

“Only if I’m lucky enough that they didn’t quarantine me at home for a week first to make sure I didn’t get contaminated or something because I wasn’t wearing a HAZMAT suit.”

A HAZMAT suit. Like Phantom wore. Like Jack and Maddie Fenton wore.

He really had been a fool.

“A week wouldn’t be bad if it meant avoiding that in the future,” Valerie said, looking him up and down.

Danny’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile, even by Lancer’s low standards. “Trust me, whatever they did to me, it wouldn’t avoid stuff like this. That possibility’s always going to be in my future. I’m a Fenton, after all.”

And a phantom. Another similarity he hadn’t put together. He wondered if anyone had. Jazz, perhaps, if Danny hadn’t simply told her and his friends, and he supposed that would’ve been the only way for Vlad Masters to know about him. Danny certainly wouldn’t have volunteered information like that to someone who had practically been a stranger.

Especially not when he was so reluctant to tell the truth to those he was close to when it would help him.

“You really think the ghosts are going to target you for that? I’ve never seen them do that in the past.”

Maybe she hadn’t, but she—like the rest of them—clearly hadn’t seen a lot of things that had happened in the past.

“Really?” Danny asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you forgetting the last time my parents went all over town looking for me?”

Valerie winced. “Okay, fine, but I’ve been keeping an eye on you and Jazz, and you guys don’t seem to get it worse than anyone else. Everyone got that weird ghost flu. Except for, like, you and Tucker. How did you guys get around that, anyway?”

Why was she keeping such a close eye out that she’d know that?

Danny shrugged, not finding anything odd about Valerie’s words. Lancer wondered if there was something else he was missing or if this was simply how teenagers—friends—talked these days. Given that this was Amity Park, it very well might be standard practice to watch each other’s backs. More so than anywhere else, at least.

“Probably some combination of luck and Tuck’s fear of doctor’s offices and everything else. Anyway, what are you doing here? You don’t have any reason to be hiding out.”

“My dojo’s having a fundraiser.”

“You’re still doing that?” Danny asked. “You’ve got, like, a ninth-degree black belt. How many are there?”

Lancer blinked. He hadn’t remembered that Miss Gray was quite so adept at martial arts.

Valerie crossed her arms. “Ten.”

“Is that even attainable?”

Valerie smirked. “Not for someone who doesn’t work their butt off for years and years.”

Lancer hadn’t even realized it was possible to attain a black belt by high school, let alone anything past the first degree.

“I mean, it’s not something I’ll get for a long time, but I definitely won’t get it if I don’t do stuff like this. Three bucks a box for chocolate covered almonds. You in?”

“You know me, Val. I’m broke. I’m lucky I can scrape together enough to grab something at the Nasty Burger. Sorry. You’ll have to hit up Jazz when you get back to school, though. She’s got a sweet tooth and always carries cash.”

Lancer thought this as good a time as any to break back into the conversation, so he cleared his throat and held out the change to Valerie. “I hope you don’t mind that it’s in quarters.”

“I can keep track of it,” she said, pocketing the money. “Thanks.”

She lingered, eyes darting around the room even though Danny’s never left her face.

She was looking for something.

He was waiting to see what she would do.

“Is there something else I can help you with, Miss Gray?”

She seemed to have forgotten her earlier request for the washroom because she shook her head. “No, sorry, Mr. Lancer. I’ll go. I’ll, um, see you soon. Get better, Danny, okay?”

“Quick as I can,” he promised, and Valerie slipped past him, still looking around as she headed back to the front door.

He knew he should follow behind her and lock it after she’d gone, but he was starting to realize that wouldn’t help him in the slightest.

She’d come here looking for something, and even if Danny believed her story about fundraising, believed she could have a ninth-degree black belt at her age, Lancer was beginning to see that not everything added up.

He didn’t doubt that Valerie had been trained in the martial arts. Even if it weren’t for Tetslaff’s praise of her in the staff room, her overall fitness made that clear enough. And he knew of her grit, her determination, her sheer strength of will; even in English class, that came through.

But she hadn’t come here to sell him chocolates.

She hadn’t come here to recruit his help to look for her missing classmate.

She hadn’t asked to use the washroom because she’d needed it, nor because she was just idly curious and wanted to poke around his house now that she was here.

Like Danny, Valerie’s grades had also slipped. Not as much, not so drastically, and he’d always attributed it to the turmoil that had befallen her and her father in their personal lives. He didn’t need to know the whole story to see its effects. She wasn’t getting as much sleep. She was tired, worn out, even considering how busy she was kept at her job at the Nasty Burger; she certainly wasn’t the first student to take on a job like that in high school to begin saving for college.

Except it was more than that.

There were her vehement essays—when he gave the class the freedom to choose their topics, within reason—on the trouble with ghosts. The insistence that Phantom, considered by many a hero, was anything but. The biased view (despite presenting sources) that was clearly tainted by her own life experiences and the rhetoric spouted by the Fentons.

The Red Huntress will be able to find me with her ghost tracker if she gets close enough.

The fact that she had come here looking for something and not found it.

Something that had led her straight to Danny.

To Phantom.

She might try to confirm that I’m here when she’s not suited up.

And the fact that, now that he thought about it, Valerie disappeared nearly as often as Danny these days.

And if Danny wasn’t hiding anywhere except plain sight….

“Danny.” Would he even get the truth if he asked? “Do we need to be worried?”

Surprise froze on Danny’s face. He was too slow to rearrange his features into mild confusion. “What?”

“Do we need to be worried?” He wasn’t going to say I or you, not after his insistence that they were in this together, whether Danny liked it or not.

“What are you talking about?”

Oh, for The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, he knew exactly what Lancer was talking about.

“About Miss Gray,” he ground out, his understanding that Danny simply wanted to protect someone else’s secret not outweighing the fact that Valerie was also one of his teenaged students who was routinely risking her life. “About her benefactor. About the fact that she must be suspicious about something, even if she isn’t sure what’s wrong. About the fact that she might not be the last person to visit right now.”

“Uh….”

“Please do not try to deny it, Mr. Fenton.” It was still Mr. Fenton. Even…even if he was also Phantom. Somehow. Lancer pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve as good as laid the facts out in front of me. I can only be blind to so much.” It would be easier to be blind to it all, but he’d never signed up for easier. “It’s not as hard to see now that I know…more.”

Danny said nothing.

Once again, the lack of a denial spoke for him.

“I even might have been able to piece it together if we were still calling her the Hunter, or the Red Hunter, or whatever it began as. Something a good sight better than Inviso-Bill, I imagine.”

“Vlad’s puns are terrible,” Danny muttered.

But he still didn’t deny it.

Crime and Punishment, but Lancer wished he would have denied it.

How had two of his students become entangled in such serious matters? Worse still, the mayor—the mayor—was perpetuating the problem by hunting down one, treating him as a science experiment, and purposefully misguiding the other to the point where she would…could….

She’d done this to him, Lancer realized.

She’d caused the very wounds about which she was so worried.

She had to show me some of her new weapons.

Vlad Masters was giving weapons to a student, fully aware that she was using them against another student. Encouraging it, even.

She had a few I wasn’t expecting.

He was even inventing weaponry Jack and Maddie Fenton hadn’t dreamed up. Using his knowledge of Danny’s secret to better design them. Using his position of power to put more pressure on Phantom, on Danny. Lancer hadn’t forgotten that million dollar reward.

He doesn’t want to kill me.

He just wanted something so much worse.

The Red Huntress doesn’t know what I am. She won’t figure out the truth until it’s too late.

Danny had said as much earlier, just before the Huntress herself had come knocking. And he had lied to her face, albeit mostly half truths and lies of omission and not correcting her assumptions, and Lancer knew Danny was right. She wouldn’t figure it out until it was too late. And if things continued the way they were, it would be. Valerie was too fixated on her beliefs to do anything but dismiss evidence that dared contradict them.

At least….

At least, she would be if Danny was not forthright.

“This cannot continue.”

“What?”

Lancer looked down at Danny, still sitting in bed. He was too young to have all of this on his shoulders. He still didn’t understand. He still didn’t realize that refusing to share this burden wouldn’t lighten the load of anyone else but merely weigh them down with different troubles.

He meant well, but he was wrong.

“This cannot continue,” Lancer repeated.

Fear, in every line of Danny’s suddenly tense body. “No, you can’t tell them. You promised!”

“I never promised that,” Lancer said quietly, “and I certainly never promised you a rose garden.”

A brief flicker of confusion as the reference went over Danny’s head—Lancer supposed he couldn’t blame him; it had just been one of the book options which his students could choose to read and write about, and Danny hadn’t picked that book, let alone pretended to read it—and then the fear was back. “No, please, Mr. Lancer, you still don’t know everything, and—”

“Then for The Life of Pi, tell me the rest of it!” He hadn’t meant to snap, but he was at his wit’s end. Danny was still keeping secrets, dangerous ones, and—

“Vlad’s like me!”

-|-

see more fics | tip me for a snippet of your choice | next

@cosmic-melodies

[thegreatestofheck]

Two by Two ♞ Diego Hargreeves

Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character

Summary: The Umbrella Academy saved her years ago and she finally meets Diego in her bar. They bond over having the same name/nickname. 

Warnings: description of torture, lots of talks about scars, physical assault (battery, nothing sexual), there’s a little bit of steamy (?) kissing at the end but it’s mostly fluff. 

Word Count: 4352

Author’s Note: This is just a little drabble that I felt like making. Idk, she was meant to be more badass, but it’s okay that she’s not. Not everyone can be strong all the time. If there are any warnings I missed that you think I should add, please let me know and I will be sure to add them. Enjoy!

Diego Hargreeves walked into The Wilting Fleur, a scowl on his face. He plopped himself at the bar and waved over one of the bartenders. A young woman about his age walked over with a smile. She was olive skinned, with dark hair tied up into a bun. Her eyes were a deep brown and betrayed the lie behind her smile. She a long sleeved, high colored red shirt. Diego thought that was strange for how warm it was, even at this time of night. Still, he couldn’t talk. He wore something similar.

“What can I get you?” She asked him. He hadn’t actually decided yet.

“Can I have a water?”

“That all?”

“For now.”

“One water, coming right up,” she said with a smile. He watched her as she poured his water and brought it back to him. “You just let me know when you want something else.”

“Hey, Tess!” Someone in the kitchen called. She smiled at Diego and walked into the kitchen. Diego scowled at his water. Ever since Diego and his siblings saved the world from the apocalypse, he thought that things might be easier. Somehow he had hoped that he wouldn’t have to go around saving as many people’s lives. At least, he wished that they would be more grateful.

The bartender, Tess, came back around to talk to another customer. A man came in, wearing a black suit and a tie. Diego tensed, always wary of men in suits. They usually meant trouble.  

“Are you Two?” He asked.

“Yes,” Diego grumbled.

“That’s me,” Tess the bartender said with a smile. Diego looked up, eyebrows pinched in confusion. She looked over at Diego and shrugged.

“I’m here to collect payment,” the man said. Diego’s fists curled. Men in suits asking for money, especially in bars, was never a good sign. He expected Tess’s smile to fall, for her to protest, but all she did was pull out an envelope and give it to the man. He took the envelope, counted what was inside it, and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said and left.

“Have a nice day!” Tess called after him.

Diego looked back at his water. Maybe he was getting paranoid. Not everyone was a bad guy. Maybe he was turning out like Dad.

“I thought it might be you,” Tess said. Diego looked up and she was standing to the right of him, wiping the counter down. “You’re Diego Hargreeves.”

“That’s me.”

Tessa smiled again, but this was a real smile, not one of the usual “I’m working customer service so I have to smile at everyone so I can get tips” smile. She actually looked happy to see him.

“My name’s Tessa. You probably don’t remember me, but when I was 13 you and your family saved my life. And my mom’s.” When it was clear to her that he didn’t remember, she elaborated. “There was this guy, kidnapping mothers and their daughters and killing them. My mom and I were just out shopping when he nabbed us. You were the one who found me first, saved my life. I never got to thank you. So, thank you.”

Diego wasn’t sure what to say. He sort of remembered the mission, but it was one of those ones he tried hard to forget. It wasn’t pretty. He almost smiled, however, knowing that all those terrible things that Dad made them do at least helped someone.

“I was just doing my job,” he said, not looking at her.

“Well, anything you want, it’s on me.”

“I couldn’t-”

“Look, Mr. Hargreeves, I don’t take people saving my life lightly. You want anything, you just tell me.”

She turned to walk away.

“Can I ask when you’re getting off?”

She looked back at him again with another one of her real smiles. She looked down at her shoes then back at him.

“My shift doesn’t end until closing, but I can take my break in 10?”

“So they call you Two, huh?”

Tessa shrugged. She took a sip of her coffee.

“My dad gave all of his kids nicknames like that. Leah, the youngest, was Little. Sam was Sparks. My older sister, Steph, she was Queenie. I was the second oldest, so I became Two,” Tessa said. She shrugged again. “It was just a family thing.”

“Yeah, my dad did something similar,” Diego said. “You read my sister’s book?”

“I was going to. I wanted to know about the people who saved me, but I couldn’t do it. It felt too personal, like I was invading your life. That wasn’t my place,” she said. “It sounds stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid.” Neither of them talked for a few seconds. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember you. I’m not sure I still do.”

“I never expected you to. You guys helped so many people.”

“Would you refresh my memory?” Tessa looked at her coffee cup. She ran one of her hands up her arm, pulling up the base of her sleeve, just barely. Diego caught sight of a thin, white line. He had seen enough of those on himself to know it was a scar. “Of course, you don’t have to.”

Tessa shook her head. She closed her eyes and began talking.

“His name was Carter Worth. We didn’t know him before he took us. He waited for us to leave the store, crept up behind me a threatened me with a knife, said he would kill me if my mother and I didn’t get in his car. He blindfolded us, took us to a shack in the woods with a basement. He held us there for days. He would…” She massaged her collarbone. “He would cut us. Take turns, going back and forth. We were there for three days, maybe, I don’t know, before you showed up. Doctor’s said I wouldn’t have lasted the rest of the day if you hadn’t shown up.”

Diego was just staring at her when she finished. She looked at him and his mouth hung partially open. She found herself laughing.

“I can’t believe I forgot that,” he said finally, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m glad you forgot. I wish I could.”

“Look, if there’s anything I can do to help you…”

“You have already done so much. You gave me my life back.” Tessa looked at her watch and sighed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hargreeves, but it looks like my break is over. I have to go back to work.”

“Call me Diego,” he said, cringing at the sound of his father’s last name. “It was nice to meet you, again, Tessa.”

“Just call me Two,” Tessa said as she stood. “All my friends do.”

Diego watched her walk back to the bar, her real smile staying on her face as she started tot talk to the next guy at the bar. Diego stood, dropped some cash on the table, and started for the door. Just before he pushed the door open, he looked back at her one last time. She caught his eye and smiled again. He offered her a single wave of his hand before he left the bar.

Tessa breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She couldn’t help smiling. She had waited for 16 years to meet and thank the people who had saved her life. She remembered the pain like it was yesterday. She remembered it every night as she went to sleep, however, she also remembered the boy who had broken into the basement she was being held in. She remembered his mask, how with nothing more than a flick of his wrist, Carter Worth died. She was crying. He came over to her, took off his mask, told her it was going to be okay.

The rest of the night was good, even with the drunk men who hit on her and the painful memories that passed through her head just by looking at a butter knife. She slept easy that night, for the first time in a while.

It wasn’t rare to see Diego hanging around The Wilting Fleur after that. Tessa spent her breaks talking to him. When she confessed to him that she had been taking self defense lessons ever since she was kidnapped, he offered to help her get stronger when they were both off of work. She wasn’t too great at push-ups, and they would often end up laughing at her complete inability to do so.

She helped him mop sometimes. She thought it was fun, especially if they turned up the music. She could take off her shoes and skate around on their newly mopped floor. The first time she did so, it took a little bit of convincing to get Diego to take his shoes off too and join her. It was only when he did so that Tessa learned that Diego didn’t wear all black.

“What?” He asked when she paused, trying to hide her laughter. He looked down at his feet and groaned.

“I really love the socks, Hargreeves. Neon yellow is a good look on you.”

He ran at her, forgetting about the slippery ground they were standing on. Tessa turned to run, but she slipped, reaching out to him as she fell. Tessa pulled Diego down with her. Diego was going to ask if she was okay when she started laughing uncontrollably. Her laughter always made him laugh. That was the first time he wanted to kiss her.

When Diego had rough nights on the streets, he would show up at her place and she would let him in, make him a cup of coffee, listen to his day. When he fought with his siblings, she gave him shelter, a place to lay low for a while. When she had nightmares or panic attacks, he would talk to her, just talk, and it was enough to calm her down. He never asked her why she only wore long-sleeved shirts and long pants, and she never told him.

They protected each other from the demons that haunted them, from the monsters that hid under their beds. And it was good for both of them.

The bar was relatively empty at 10 o’clock that night. It wasn’t usual, but it was a Thursday so Tessa wasn’t surprised. Diego had stopped by, but there was an emergency out on the streets. She loved the way Diego’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open when he heard the radio call. He would always try to say he was sorry, but she knew what he did was important. Still, being around him left a lingering smile on her face.

“Damn, I wish I could make you smile like that,” one of her customers said. She looked up, cringing slightly at him. She forced a smile and gave another patron a beer. “What, he gets a whole conversation but I don’t even get a real smile.”

“He’s a friend,” was all Tessa said. She knew it wasn’t smart for her to interact with most male patrons, especially when they’re drunk or even slightly tipsy. It wasn’t safe for her.

“I can be a friend,” he said, chewing on the end of a straw. Tessa laughed uncomfortably. She turned back to the kitchen to grab a plate the cook set out for the male customer. He caught her eye.

“You okay?” He whispered, cutting something. She tried to smile and nodded.

“Nothing unusual,” she said. He hummed, not really believing her. She wasn’t really okay. He didn’t really look like Carter Worth, but there was a mole on his jaw that was far too similar to the one Worth had and it was enough to make Tessa shake. She put his plate in front of him. As she turned, he grabbed her wrist. She couldn’t help the gasp that came from her mouth.

“What’s your name?” He asked her. The fear that ran through her made Tessa feel weak. She hated feeling weak. She thought of Diego; what would he do? What would he say?

“Get your hand the hell off me,” she said, her voice low as not to disturb the man a few stools down.

“Or what?” The man asked, a laugh in his voice. Tessa grabbed his hand with hers, jamming her thumb into the fleshy part between his thumb and pointer finger. Pain crossed the man’s face and the shock was enough to loosen his grip of her wrist, so she snatched it away.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” she said, glaring at him.

“I never got your name.” The bastard still had the audacity to smile at her.

“Get out of my bar before I drag you out by your 3-inch dick,” she snapped. The other male patron snorted, coughing up some of his whiskey. The man in front of her stood up, shoving a few fries unceremoniously into his mouth. He flicked the plate up, the food her ordered going everywhere. Tessa jumped, rubbing her wrist. She jumped again when he slammed the door behind him. She shook her head and collected herself, She grabbed a rag and started to sweep the discarded food into a trashcan.

The other patron walked over to her. He right the plate and collected the fork and knife that were strewn across the counter.

“Thank you,” she said weakly. He dipped his head.

“Here,” he handed her a wad of cash. Tessa knew by looking at it that it was more than his once glass of whiskey cost.

“You don’t have to-”

“You don’t deserve to be treated that way. Maybe this’ll help you buy a taser to protect yourself from guys like him.” He set the money on the counter and turned to leave. Tessa tucked the money into her apron and finished cleaning. She closed her eyes as she passed the plate, fork, and knife back to the cook. She could feel the knife in her hand, the weight of the handle. She felt ashamed of the way her fear controlled her. She thought she had been doing better since meeting Diego.

“The knife isn’t the weapon,” he told her once. “The humans are the dangerous ones. A knife can’t hurt you without a human holding it.”

It was helping her. She could touch butter knives without wanting to cry, but when something like this happened, she felt like the 13-year-old girl again, weak, helpless, pathetic.

“Go home, Two,” the cook said. “We can close up.”

“We don’t close for another hour.”

“No one’s here. Just go home.”

“Thank you, Danny. Goodnight.”

“Night, Two. Be careful out there.”

The air was cold against Tessa’s face. For once, she was grateful for her long sleeves and her long pants. She welcomed the cold. It bit at her skin enough to distract her from thinking about the man, how he grabbed her, the mole on his face. Tessa’s apartment wasn’t very far from The Wilting Fleur. She never had problems walking home. Until tonight.

Tessa walked by a dumpster and the man from before jumped out behind her and wrapped an arm around her neck, clapping his hand over her mouth. It didn’t stop her from screaming. Tessa elbowed him in the gut and he loosened his grip on her. She tried to run, but he grabbed her by the shirt. Her shirt tore as she tried to run, revealing her shoulder. He didn’t keep his hold on her, but she lost her balance and stumbled. She cried out as she hit the ground with a thud.

He grabbed her shoulders and lifted her off the ground. He pushed her against the wall. He hit her face once, trying to get her to stop struggling. Stars swam in her vision. She tried to kick him off of her, but his grip on her was too tight. She was ashamed of the tears that squeezed out of her eyes.

“Go ahead and cry,” he seethed. “No one’s going to help you.”

Tessa couldn’t deny she was praying that Diego would show up and save her like he did before. But maybe she had to save herself this time.

She spat in her offender’s eyes. He recoiled, giving her space to push him away with her feet. She dug her teeth into his arm and he let her go with a cry. As soon as she was free from his grip, she started running toward her apartment. This guy must have been some kind of athlete because he composed himself and caught up to her before she could even get around the corner. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up by the waist.

She was almost more frustrated by this guy than afraid anymore. Only she was forgetting what Diego had taught her about this. She couldn’t think clearly. Her first coherent thought was that she was going to die.

But she didn’t.

All of a sudden, he let her go. She fell to the ground. Tessa scrambled to her feet and ran a few feet, not caring for the first few seconds why he had let her go. When she heard him grunting, she turned back around. She saw a black mass pummeling the guy into the ground. She knew who the black mass was before she even saw his face. That was her black mass.

“What the hell man?” The guy yelled.

“What the hell?” Diego yelled back, kicking him once in the ribs. “The hell is you’re beating up my friend, my girl, and you think I’m going to let you get away with it?”

“Diego, that’s enough,” Tessa said, holding her sore arm. It was like he didn’t even hear her. He grabbed the guy by his shirt and slammed him into the wall.

“You don’t go near her ever again. You don’t look at her ever again. You don’t step foot near her place. Do you got me?”

The man nodded, fear in his eyes. Diego hit him again in the face again and again and again.

“Diego! Stop!”

He did. The man fell to the ground, breathing heavily but not moving. Diego crouched down to talk to him.

“If she wasn’t here, you’d be dead,” he seethed. Tessa felt a shiver run up her spine. She didn’t doubt what he said. Diego stood and turned to her.

She took a step back, afraid of the look on his face. There was murder in his eyes. She wondered how many people had died at his hand, that look on his face the last thing they saw before they died.

But half a second later, his face changed into a look somewhere between relief and concern. He ran to her and folded her into his arms. By the time he reached her, she had forgotten the terrifying look on his face. She buried her face in his shirt, barely caring about the knives on his harness that pressed against her.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, putting his gloved hands on her face.

“Yeah, Diego, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He checked her eyes, touched the ripped fabric of her shoulder.

“I just want to go home.”

“C’mon.”

Tessa sat cross-legged on Diego’s bed, wearing one of his sweaters. It was warm and it smelled like him. He sat in front of her, one of his legs hanging over the bed. He pressed an alcohol wipe against the cut on her forehead. She cringed and sucked in a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” She asked with half a laugh.

“I wasn’t there to protect you.”

Tessa put a hand on his.

“Diego, look at me.” He met her eyes. “You don’t always have to protect me. It’s not your job.”

“I can’t see you get hurt.”

Tessa sighed, lowering her head.

“Don’t worry about me, Diego. I’ll be fine.”

Diego lifted her chin to meet her eyes.

“I do worry about you, Two.”

Tessa didn’t respond. She took his hand in hers, looking at the bruises on his knuckles. They were there because of her. She didn’t know what came over her, but she brought his knuckles to her lips. His hands were warm. She heard his breath hitch. She had no idea what she was doing.

She looked up at him to apologize. Tessa met Diego’s eyes for a mere second before he leaned down and kissed her. Surprise was the first thing that Tessa felt. Warmth exploded throughout her. The inner cold she felt before disappeared. She pulled him closer to her, trying to soak him in.

His lips left hers, traveling to her jaw. Tessa tilted her head to the side, giving him more room. The trail of warmth his lips left in their wake made her shiver. He slowly slipped his overly large sweater from her shoulder. Diego kissed the nape of her neck, pressing his lips against one of her scars.

Tessa’s eyes shot open. She pushed against Diego’s chest, her heart pounding.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not you, Diego. It’s me.” She pulled his sweater back over her shoulder. She hated how her nose burned and her eyes filled with water. “It’s the scars. I see them and I remember that I don’t have control of my own body. That, even if he is dead, I still belong to him.”

Diego didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“You don’t belong to him, Two. What that man did to you…” Diego breathed deeply, as if trying to control his anger. “That wasn’t your fault. Hey, Two, that wasn’t your fault.”

Tessa sniffed, flicking her finger across the tip of her nose. Diego grabbed her hand gently and lifted it to his face. He pressed two of her fingers to the scar on his eyebrow.

“I got this one when I was 17. It was just after I left the house. My first lone mission. A guy hit me with a vase.” He moved her hand to a thin white line on his jaw. “That was from falling down the stairs when I was a kid.” Tessa bit her lip and moved her hand to another scar on his neck. “Luther threw something at me. Allison was so mad when I started bleeding, but I just told Luther that if he wasn’t a sissy he would have done more to me than give me a scar.”

He showed her a few of his other scars. She smiled at some of his stories. A guy like him and you would think all of his scars would be from saving families from robbers, but most of them were from mishaps as a kid. When she built up the courage, she finally ran her finger along the long, gnarly scar marring the side of his head.

“It looks like something that would need a long winded explanation, but really, a guy was going after my ex-girlfriend. I tried to defend her and he came at me with a knife. Didn’t really end well for me. Luckily, my ex was a cop so he got arrested.”

“I’m sorry,” she said to him. Diego shook his head with a laugh.

“Don’t worry about it, Two. I just want you to know, you don’t have to be afraid of your scars. The only thing those scars tell me is that you’re the strongest person I ever met, and my brother is an actual behemoth.”

Tessa laughed. He loved it when she smiled. She grabbed his hand like he did to her and pulled down the collar of his sweater. Across her chest was a puckered scar. She breathed heavily as she put his hand over it.

“This was the first one he did,” she said, not sure if she could look in his eyes. She was shaking. She lifted the sweater just enough to show him the scar on her ribs. “This one hurt the most.”

As he had, she went through the scars all over her body. She could remember each one, how much it hurt, when she got it. There were a few she had from before, from a crashed bike or a rock she dropped on her toe.

Tessa found herself laughing along with Diego. He touched one on her collar bone, one that looked more jagged than the rest, like it had been cut off part way through.

“This was the last one,” she said. “He was carving this one into me when you broke in. There’s one more.”

Diego could tell by the way her voice shook that this last one was something more than the others, something worse.

“You don’t have to show me,” Diego told her. She waved him off. Tessa sat up on her knees. She lifted her sweater again, all the way to her sternum. Right over the bone, a letter was carved into her skin. Just thinking about it made tears run down Tessa’s cheeks. Diego looked up at her.

“It’s a ‘C’. He branded me. The police said he did it to all the girls before he killed them. It meant I wasn’t supposed to live much longer. It’s a good thing you came when you did.”

Diego put one hand on her waist, trying to steady her shaking body. With his other hand, he touched the carved letter.

“I never told anyone. I never showed anyone. I have to change and shower in the dark. I don’t go swimming. I don’t wear dresses. Until I met you, I couldn’t imagine anyone knowing the full extent of what he did to me,” Tessa said. Diego looked up at her. She lowered herself so she was sitting back on the bed.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he said. Tessa smiled, looking at her hands. He kissed her cheek, trying to tell her that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Can I stay here?” she asked him.

“Of course.”

Tessa lay down with a sigh. Diego lay behind her. She didn’t realize how tired she was until she closed her eyes. She didn’t fall asleep until Diego draped his arm over her waist.

[fallenangel2245-blog]

Things bartenders judge their customers for.

ATTENTION ALL MY FELLOW DRINKERS!  Today I am going to let you in on some valuable inside information.  Do you ever wonder why it seems like the bartender is just skipping you, or ignoring you? Well, I hate to break it to you, but they probably are!  Below is a list of things that most bartenders deem annoying, rude, and just downright offensive.  Along with each bullet will be helpful hints to make your and your bartenders night more enjoyable. Trust me, when the bartender is having a good time, everyone wins!

(Note: this list does not apply to all bartenders and there are certain situations that warrant certain actions, this list is very generalized and NOT APPLICABLE TO EVERY ONE OF US.)

(Second note: Yes, I am a veteran bartender of about 7 years, so I have seen all of these and more.)

     1.) ORDERING YOUR COCKTAIL WITH NO OR LIGHT ICE.  OK guys, a bartender hears light or no ice, they do not think to themselves “alright i suppose ill just put a ton of booze in there to fill up space.” No.  Just no.  99% of the time, when you order things with light or no ice, you will either get more juice/soda/water/whatever other filler you ordered, or they won’t fill your glass up all the way.  You are not clever, you are not pulling one over on anyone but yourself.  **WHAT TO DO INSTEAD:  Either order a double, get your liquor neat (no ice and no mixer), or just drink your drink. Personally this is one of my biggest pet peeves as a bartender and it’s just easier to order the drink like a normal human being.

     2.) ASKING US TO MAKE YOUR DRINK “STRONGER” Oh, you want a double?  You’re going to get charged for a double then.  Most bartenders have to keep inventory on all the liquor that comes and goes, and making your drink stronger for the possibility that you will leave me an extra $1 is not worth me getting in trouble or losing my job.  Guess what?  That is called stealing and it is in fact, a fireable offense.  This is another instance similar to the “no ice” situation, just don’t do it, for our sanity if nothing else.  **WHAT TO DO INSTEAD:  If you are ordering a jack and coke and don’t want to pay for a double, try ordering jack on the rocks with a splash of coke.  This way the bartender and the customer both win! This should satisfy your strong drink needs and the bartender won’t have to explain to you for probably the 1,000th time why they can’t just make your drink “stronger.”

     3.)  BANGING YOUR EMPTY GLASS ON THE BAR This will never EVER IN ANY WAY be acceptable.  This is one of the quickest ways to get ignored or scolded by the bartender.  This is rude and disrespectful in ANY instance.  The bartender sees that your drink is empty, they are working on getting to you as fast as they can.  Please be respectful, and imagine if someone was trying to get your attention using that method.  It would probably be very annoying, especially if you’re trying to multi-task.  Many times bartenders are taking an order while making a drink and they already have a list of other things they need to do all the while remembering how to make the hundreds of drink combos that there are to choose from.  **WHAT TO DO INSTEAD:  Wait your turn.  Going up to the bar on a busy night can be frustrating, trust us, we know.  Please know that for the most part bartenders have “rounds.”  They usually start at one end of the bar and make their way down, hit up the server tickets in between, getting servers change, and cleaning up from guests that have just left.  When you get to the bar, don’t move.  trying to follow the bartender around is a sure fire way to get lost in the shuffle.  The bartender will get to you, we promise. 

     4.)  NOT KNOWING WHAT YOU WANT TO ORDER When we have a bar 3 deep on a Friday night, we do not have time to stand there and wait for you to decide whether or not you want to be adventurous, when we all know you are just going to get that vodka cranberry you always get.  Also, please don’t wave us down like you have some sort of emergency and when we hurry over to take your order turn around and ask your buds what they want.  You really should have that information before you go waving us down like you’re gonna keel over if I don’t take your order now.  How do you know if you are one of those people?  Has a bartender ever said “I’ll give you a minute to think.” or just flt out walked away from you?  If you answered yes to either of those, you are one of those people.  **WHAT TO DO INSTEAD:  Wait to approach the bar until you know what you want.  If you need a drink menu, that’s just fine, we will get you one no problem, but don’t expect us to just chill there waiting on you to decide, we will probably go knock out a server ticket or take another order while you look it over.  We will be back.

     5.)  CHIT-CHAT On a slow night or an early afternoon, bartenders love talking to their guests (most of the time.) but when we don’t even have time to breathe, we sure don’t have time to see the same picture of your cat for the 6th time that week or listen to your vacation story.  We can handle a “hi how are you” and a quick one liner and that’s about it.  We don’t do it to be rude, we do care about our guests, that’s how we pay our bills.  We just have to keep moving.  **WHAT TO DO INSTEAD: Read the room.  If the bar is crazy busy, just order your drink and food, say hello, throw a joke or a comment in now and then, and just know that the bartender isn’t upset with you or hate your cat, we just really don’t have the extra time to chit-chat.  We will make it up to you next time we can and ask you how your cat has been.

     6.)  ASKING US TO MAKE THAT DRINK FROM PINTREST No, we can’t make you that one drink that has 5 different layers all blended into a pint glass, and we don’t have any extra cotton candy  lying around to rim your glass.  Any drink that looks like it will take more than 45 seconds to make, we can not do it.  Unless you’re at a cocktail bar that specializes in fancy drinks, you’re simply out of luck.  **WHAT TO DO INSTEAD:  Try ordering one of the many drinks offered at the bar.  Want something different?  Ask for the drink menu, or give the bartender a list of the ingredients and they can tell you if they can make it or not.

     7.)  EXPECTING EXCELLENT SERVICE WITHOUT PAYING FOR IT

Whether you agree or not, bartenders and servers only get paid a couple bucks an hour, and we have to pay our bills.  Don’t expect the bartender to go out of their way to serve you if you aren’t going to compensate them for their time and effort.  There is a saying, we like to call it T.I.P.S. (To Insure Prompt Service.)  Pretty self explanatory.  We aren’t saying it’s right, but neither is a $5 tip on a $100 tab..  **WHAT TO DO INSTEAD:  20% is the goal for bartenders to make per tab.  The 20% would be for great service and timing.  Now if a bartender is being terrible or just not doing their job, it’s understandable why you wouldn’t tip.  But if you consistently get bad service at all the places you frequent, then I’ll help you out, you’re the problem. Bartending is really hard.  It’s rewarding and worth it most of the time, that’s why we do it.  That being said, we try to treat people equally and make sure everyone is having a good time and keeping their drinks full.  Help us help you by tipping.  

Well, there you have it, a list of the most common things bartenders judge customers for and how to fix it.  This is just an article for me to vent and to maybe help some people out, so please don’t get offended.  Life is too short to go around being offended about everything. 

XOXO,

JB

[corvidfeathers]

a storm’s light

In the moment before the spell struck, Naomi could see the magic hanging in the air.  Around it, other power swirled in eddies: the warmth of the roaring fire; the vague traces of the storm raging above their heads; the gift that rested against her breastbone, humming with chaos beyond even that of the storm.

In that moment, she reached out with that barely-bound chaos.  Fingers clutched around her focus, she took hold of those little remnants of power in the air, seizing them with one impulse.  Protect.

A fic(let) written for @choppedlesbian, about her DnD character, a human sorcerer!  I promised these would be 500 words, but this one uh, got out of my hands, and it’s much, much longer.  What can I say, I had an idea.  I hope you enjoy!

(complete fic beneath the cut)

If anyone’s interesting in commissioning me to write a similar work featuring your oc(s), hit me up!

The roof of the inn sheltered Naomi from the rain, but she could still feel the power surging through the sky, in the rumble of thunder and roar of rain against the old timbers overhead.  She peeled off her soaked kaftan, draping it over a chair by the fire, and then sank down into the chair with a shiver, extending her hands out to catch some of the fire’s warmth.

“I’m glad to see you again,” the innkeeper, Miranda, said, coming out from behind the bar with a mug in her hand.  “I was beginning to think the margrave might have snatched you up and pressed you into service.  Not many mages of any real talent passing through here, nowadays.”  She held out the steaming mug to Naomi.

Naomi laughed, and accepted it gratefully, bending her head to breath in the steam.  The scent of chamomile and anise filled her senses, and some of the tension from her audience with the margrave unraveled.  “He seemed honorable enough.  Just grateful someone had dealt with the problem,” she said. “He was generous, even.”  Her satchel clinked as she tossed it onto one of the other chairs.  

“Good,” Miranda said, eyeing Naomi for a moment.  “You alright?  The margrave treated you with respect?”

“Of course, I mean- he seemed rather impressed,” she said with a little, self-conscious laugh.  She hadn’t admitted the noble what she’d told Miranda the day before: all it had taken to stop the werecrow’s antics was taking the time to explain to the mischievious creature the important of the crops he was disturbing.  Sometimes a few words worked better than a spell, even for a… mage.  That was what they called her.  The title rested uncomfortably on her shoulders, but who was she to say otherwise?

Miranda was still looked at her a critical eye.  “And the creature hasn’t given you anymore trouble?”

“Of course not,” Naomi said, blushing a little at the scrutiny.  She was all too aware of her bedraggled appearance: dress soaked, skirts mudstained from the trek from the margrave’s stronghold back down to the village, hair wet and frizzy from the static of the storm.  

But Miranda’s gaze was warm, worried maybe, not measuring.  Naomi blinked, and dropped her attention down to her mug of tea.  “Honestly, I’m well.”

“I’m glad,” Miranda said, smiling.  “And glad you could wring some money from that old bastard.”  She rested her hand on Naomi’s shoulder for a moment.  “I’ll fetch you some blankets from the storeroom- don’t want our savior to catch her death from the cold, after all.”  She grinned, and stepped away.

Naomi’s blush deepened, and she buried her face in her hands for a moment, uncertain of the pride Miranda’s words had kindled in her chest.  Pride and… something else.  Something that warmed her even more than the inn fireplace.

Pushing the feeling away, she cast a glance around the inn commonroom.  The locals had already taken up their customary places, farmers and shopkeepers drinking and gossiping.  The racket of the storm overhead drowned out their words, but there was something in the way they talked to each other, a sort of animated warmth that made something in Naomi’s chest ache for…  something.

Among the locals, there were a scattering of strangers, talking little as they bent over mugs and plates or ledgers.  They all had the tired, dusty look of people who were accustomed to spending their lives on the roads or forests.  Settlements this far into the mountains drew few visitors, aside from rangers on patrol and merchants travelling the trade route that ran through the pass.

The door of the inn creaked open, and a pair of the margrave’s guards in worn armor clanked in out of the rain.  Naomi recognized their faces: they’d been standing guard at the stronghold when she was summoned before the margrave.  They eyed her curiously as they shed they cloaks and hoods before the fire and went to settle at the bar.  

Was it her imagination, or was there a glint of suspicion in their eyes?  She gave them a little wave, pushing away the reflexive fear.  She had been afraid for so long, she’d gotten practiced at it, gotten good at binding all the things she did not understand and shutting parts of herself down before anyone could even notice she had erred.

It had been necessary, in Ivora.

But she was in Ivora no longer, and the guards eyeing her out of the corners of their eyes meant nothing more than they were cautious of strangers.   Young mages travelling alone were not unheard of, but certainly an oddity.

She forced herself to take a breath, and then another.  She could feel the surge of the storm buzzing around her, energy swirling through the air, wild and tumultuous, just above the roof of the inn, just beyond her fingertips.  Each breath brought her closer to being able to reach out and touch it, this cacophony of power so similar to her own and yet so massive.

Barely aware of the inn around her, or the fire roaring in front of her, she leaned down and smooth a hand over a mud-stained section of her skirts.  As her fingers brushed over the fabric, the mud fell away.  Where the embroidered hem had been caught and torn by travel, the thread reknit and joined together, restoring the delicate patterns to their former glory.  She drew focus from the task, pulling little by little from the chaos in side of her for this little piece of order, careful not to draw too much at once.  That had had… unexpected consequences before.

Thunder rumbled overhead again, and lightning cracked down in the next breath, power biting into the earth and buzzing through the moisture of the soil.  Naomi could almost taste it.  If it were only a little different, she could reach out, pull it worth and harness it…  But as it was, she could only feel it, and the restless energy inside of her sparking and stirring in response to the delightful chaos of the storm.

The door of the inn slammed open.

Naomi started, and suddenly she was in the inn again, the power inside of her fading to nothing more than slight hum.  She spun in her chair, all the wild composure of the storm slipping from her fingers again.

A figure stumbled out of the rain, bringing the cold of the storm in with them.  They seemed to struggle with the door for a moment, only pulling it shut with a colossal effort, and then stumbled to the bar.  The long, deep blue cloak that hid their face and body glimmered strangely, seeming to draw in a little of the lamplight and reflect it back.  Something on their person clattered as they leaned against the bar, seemingly short of breath.

All the eyes in the inn rested on the stranger, waiting.  Miranda, emerging from the storeroom, lingered at the other side of the bar, where Naomi knew she kept a crossbow for dissuading some of the more troublesome customers that passed through the village.

After a moment of breathing raggedly, the stranger straightened, and pulled back their hood.  “I’m looking for a room,” she said, in a rasp of a voice no louder than a whisper.

Her request was nearly drowned out by the burst of murmurs that spread through the generally taciturn crowd.  Naomi remained silent, but she couldn’t help but stare.

The stranger’s pointed ears and grey complexion marked her as a drow, a member of the ground-dwelling civilization and an uncommon sight in the mountains.  But that was not what drew murmurs from the room.  The drow’s eyes, pale violet, were deeply shadowed, and her cheeks and neck were marked by strange, dark veins.

“I’ve a message for your margrave,” the drow said, again in the soft, painful rasp characteristic of those who had survived whisper-sickness.  She ducked her head, tugging at one edge of her mantle, clearly aware of the stares resting on her.  “The guards at the stockade will not let me through until morning.”  

Naomi glanced around the room, seeing the growing disgust and fear on the faces of the townspeople.  Ivora’s sequestered nature sheltered its community from horrors common in the outside world- while cultivating an entirely different set of horrors, but that was beside the point.  There were many things Naomi was only now beginning to learn, and one of them was the fear of disease that pervaded the communities of every country, the fear of the plague that rose up and spited even mages’ intervention.  Whisper-sickness, she heard, had originated in an elven country to the west, and spread little, by virtue of being very deadly.  But it left visible marks on its survivors, and their strangeness along with the murmurs of how horrific the disease’s effects were… well, Naomi wasn’t surprised the townspeople were frightened.

But that was no reason to send a stranger out into the storm.  In the silence that settled over the tavern, Naomi was more and more afraid that was what Miranda was going to do.

“Sera,” she called, using the elven honorific she’d heard elven traders call each other.  “Come, warm yourself by the fire.” She jumped up, running her fingers absentmindedly through her wave of curls as she walked over to the bar.

“I’m sure the margrave will see you in the morning,” Naomi said, leaning against the bar beside the drow.  The drow turned towards her with a start, and took a little step back.  “But if you could tell me something of how the roads are travelling west, I’d be glad.  I’m planning to set out in the morning, and I’ve never been that way before.”  Her eyes pled with Miranda, who was still giving the drow a wary look.

The drow’s eyes narrowed, and her eyes slid from Miranda to Naomi.  “I’ve travelled them before, yes.  Only once.”

“Come, share my tea and tell me about it, then,” Naomi said, with a smile.  She would have reached out to touch the woman’s shoulder, if she didn’t exude such a desire to not be touched; she could feel the tension still humming through the room, the distrust that whispered quietly, evoking her own fears.  She would dispell it.

She met the eyes of the drow with a small, genuine smile.  She had pretty eyes- dark violet, which was now and then brown in the flicker of the lamplight.  Her cloak, Naomi saw now she was closer, was a dark blue fabric woven through with thread of gold- explaining how it shown.  Naomi wanted to sit down and examine the fabric right then, to understand how it had been made thus, but it wasn’t the moment.

After another moment of tension, the drow smiled back.  “Very well,” she said.  “I have a good memory, if nothing else.”  She let Naomi usher her one of the seats by the fire.

Naomi retrieved the kettle from over the fire, and poured more water into her mug as the drow stripped off her soaked cloak.  Beneath it, her clothes were equally fine: a dark coat over light leather armor.  Strange metal contraptions clinked from her belt as she sat down.

“My name is Naomi,” Naomi said, settling back down on the chair and offered the drow the steaming mug.

“Isadora Wix,” the drow said, taking the mug after only a moment’s hesitation.  “Engineer.”

It was Naomi’s turn to hesitate.  “I… I do this and that,” she said softly.  “I.. fix things, sometimes.”

Isadora quirked a brow at her, and then smiled. “I do, too.  Sometimes.”  She held the mug out to Naomi.  Naomi took it.  As her lips touched the rim, she could feel the room’s eyes on her, on the mug, on the black veins crawling up the drow’s neck.  She fought the urge to shrink into herself, to hide from the hated feeling of eyes.

Instead, she sat up straighter drank deeply.  

“What sort of message are you bringing to the margrave?” she asked, after she felt some of the tension in the room subside, the townspeople turning back to pick up conversations dropped when Isadora entered.  Naomi suppressed a sigh of relief, relaxing.

Isadora frowned.  “In truth, I don’t know; an acquaintance only said it was of the utmost importance, and I happened to be travelling this way.”  A smile crept over Isadora’s face.  It was sly, clever, and Naomi wasn’t sure if she liked the look of it or not.  She leaned closer, conspiratorially.  “She wouldn’t put it down on paper; insisted I commit it to memory.  It’s good I have a good one.”  She laughed- in her scarred throat, it sounded more like a hacking cough- and sat back.  “I suppose one can never be too paranoid, in days like these.”

Naomi caught herself nodding like she had any idea what the woman was talking about, and stopped, tipping her head instead.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “In my experience, living in paranoia hardly feels like living at all.”  

Isadora pondered that for a moment, and was just opening her mouth to answer when a spark of power crackled through Naomi’s awareness.  Smaller than the storm raging outside, far more different from her own, something smoother, more controlled, like the point of a stilletto.

She was on her feet before she could fully comprehend what was happening.  She saw the ranger in the corner, his fingers finishing a complicated pattern before making a thrusting movement.

In the moment before the spell struck, Naomi could see the magic hanging in the air.  Around it, other power swirled in eddies: the warmth of the roaring fire, the vague traces of the storm raging above their heads, drawn in by Isadora’s entrance.  The gift that rested against Naomi’s breastbone, humming with chaos beyond even that of the storm.

In that moment, she reached out with that barely-bound chaos.  Hand on her crystal focus, she took hold of those little remnants of power in the air, seizing them with one impulse.  Protect.

The ranger’s spell broke to nothing against transparent, golden lines of the tower shield formed in the air between it and Isadora.  Isadora spun, dropping the mug with a cry and reaching for one of the strange contraptions at her belt.

In the same moment, the chaos Naomi had drawn from her, held loosely in her fingers and her crystal, slipped free, and exploded outwards in a burst of golden light.

Naomi had the impression of all the eyes in the room, once again, staring at her.  And then she passed out.

When she came to herself again, the first thing she saw was Miranda’s worried face.  She realized groggily that her head was in the innkeeper’s lap, and someone had wrapped her in another blanket.  The storm above raged, crashing against her over-exposed senses.  She shivered, trying to pull her awareness back, rein in the power still crashing around in her skin.  Her palms were still glowing faintly, she realized.

“Are you alright, love?” Miranda was talking to her, she realized.  She blinked, and might have answered, if a scream hadn’t distracted her.  

She sat up, and then struggled to her feet, ignoring the spinning of her head.  With strange Naomi wouldn’t have guessed she had, Isadora had pinned the murderous ranger to the far wall, and was holding one of her contraptions in her hands.  “Why were you trying to kill me?” she whispered, her broken voice suddenly terrible in the quiet of the inn.  The townsfolk looked on, a few looking faintly disturbed, but none contesting the action.

As Naomi stared, she brought it down on the man’s fingers, splayed out on the wall beside him.  He shrieked.

“Stop!” Naomi cried.  Her voice rose, and hung in the air of the inn, draw on the power still lingering in the air and somehow becoming even bigger than her.

Isadora started, and stared at Naomi.  “He was trying to kill me.”

“So we turn him over to the margrave,” Naomi said, staring at the two guards who were still sitting in the corner, and didn’t even look like they had thought about standing to do anything at any point in the situation.

“I’m not in the habit of not finding out why people are trying to kill me,” Isadora growled.

Naomi stared at the man.  “So he owes an explanation,” she said, walking closer.

The site of her seemed to frighten the ranger.  He squirmed in Isadora’s grasp, trying to pull away.  Her palms were still glowing faintly, so she let go of a little more power, feeding the glow until it lept to be almost an illusory flame of light in her hands.

“I- I don’t know!” he gasped.  “I was only supposed to kill the drow!  Supposed to do it on the road, but I… I… I missed her in the storm!  Some bloke paid me well, that’s all I know!”

Isadora’s fingers tightened around her weapon, and Naomi was sure she was going to kill him right then and then, right in Miranda’s tavern.  She stepped forward with speed she didn’t know she possessed, catching Isadora’s wrist before she could bring the blow down.

“Isadora,” she said, looking into the drow’s eyes.  They were dark with rage, but still very pretty, she thought.  “Please.”  She was too tired to justify it, to form the why, the what they should do.  Her whole body was trembling, like a leaf in the storm.  She just didn’t want to see anyone else die.  Even this would-be murderer.

Not in the would-be bastion of home.

The sharp planes of Isadora’s face softened, and she began to lower her contraption.  The was all Naomi registered, before she started to swoon.

Isadora caught her with one arm, and a considerable difficulty.  The drow was trembling too, Naomi realized, but she couldn’t find her feet to stand up again. The world was spinning again, and she was so exhausted even keeping her eyes open was an effort.

She was only barely aware of being handed off to Miranda, of Isadora shoving the ranger into the hands of the reluctant guards and pointed at the door.  Of the clamor of voices that broke out all at once, now that the danger was passed.

When she came to herself a little more, she was sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, with a fresh mug of tea in her hands.  Isadora was sitting in the chair beside her again, tinkering quietly with something metal Naomi couldn’t name.

“I’m a mage,” Naomi said, softly.

Maybe the word fit a little, after all.  It felt familiar on her tongue.  

Isadora blinked, and looked up at her.  

“I told her earlier, I fix things, sometimes.  Well.  I mean… what I meant is… I’m a mage.  A sorcerer.”

A wry little smile broke over Isadora’s face.  “I never would have guessed.”  She brushed a lock of dark hair from her face, her expression growing serious.  “Thank you.  You saved my life.”

“I think… I think that’s what I’m supposed to do,” Naomi said.  “Being a mage, and all.  Protect things.”

Isadora laughed.  “I’ve certainly met plenty who didn’t adhere to that.”

“Well, it’s what I do,” Naomi said.  She hadn’t realized the truth of them until she said them, and they brought a smile to her face.

“Well, maybe you can tag along with me, if you’re still travelling west,” Isadora said.  “I could use some protection.”

Naomi studied her.  “I’m not sure you need it.”

“Everyone does, sometimes.”

Naomi couldn’t argue with that.  “Of course, then.  For a few days at least.”  She leaned back, feeling the warmth of the fire on her face.  The roar of the storm outside faded to a murmur as her eyes drifted closed.

[queenzufufu]

Youngsters (8/?)

Summary: For the kids at The Rooster teeth care home, life hasn’t always been easy. They’ve come from broken homes, broken families. They’ve escaped with broken bones and broken spirits. But at least now they have a second chance to be happy with a real family.

Well…that’s easier said than done when your family includes a hyperactive midget, an over eager wrestling fanatic and a boy who just can’t go a day without punching something…or someone.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 AO3

“You never act out. You positively explode.” - Burnie

“What about going to the movies?”

“No.”

“What about paintball?”

“No.

“What about a pool party?”

“Do I look six years old?”

Burnie shrugged and pulled a pleading face at Ryan. Alright, alright, no, he did not look six years old.

In fact, Ryan would be turning sixteen in four days. Burnie would say that time had flown by but honestly at times he felt as if he’d known the boy his whole life. It wasn’t unusual to feel that way for a lot of the kids. He put so much of his own time and energy into giving them the best care possible, they had taken over almost every aspect of his existence. Ryan may have only been with them for little under two years but in that short time Burnie had seen him grow and change into the young man he was today.

Even so, the first day, as they always were, was still a perfectly clear memory in his mind. There had been nothing remarkable about Ryan at first glance. Nothing to say he was different from any other child. And unlike most of the others, he had been lean rather than thin when he’d arrived. Rooster Teeth had been his first placement - minus the emergency one he had been placed in for three weeks while social services scrambled to find a long term placement for yet another teenager.

Sullen, as most newcomers were, but Burnie had seen intelligence in his sky blue eyes. Angry too, but that was more than expected and understandable. The boy’s older brother and only living relative had recently died after all.

Once the social worker had introduced him and left the two alone, Burnie asked him the same question he always asked new children.

“What would you like to happen now?”

Usually, the kids would say something harsh in response, something to tell Burnie that they didn’t want to be there and resented being sent.

Ryan had thought about the question.

He skipped the usual instant responses - “I want to go home,” some would plea, or “Whatever, I don’t have a choice,” from the more hardened veterans of the system. And a few times, Burnie had simply been told to “Go fuck yourself.”

Ryan had answered slowly, and he answered the question he knew was intended to test their limits, not settling for the easy, defiant answer. “My old life ended. So I suppose I need to start a new one here.”

Burnie was both delighted and saddened by the answer, though he didn’t let it show. It was great that Ryan seemed so settled with the idea of coming into care, but the wise, incredibly jaded response was not necessarily what he wanted to hear from a fourteen-year-old who’d lost so much. Ryan’s apparent chilled out attitude was a breath of fresh air, but it was tinged with something putrid.

Nevertheless, he had taken Ryan by the shoulder and lead him into the main living room to meet some of the other kids Gus had already assembled there to allow more introductions to be made.

No sparks had lit the air when Geoff and Ryan met. The older boy was easy going and full of mischief, while Ryan was solemn and thoughtful, and they gave each other a searching look that the kids always gave when meeting a newcomer of a similar age, and Geoff stuck out his hand.

Ryan had regarded the open palm with a slight air of suspicion, like he could already see the inner workings of Geoff’s mind and the ways the older boy would continuously find new and inventive ways to annoy him.

At the time though, he had nothing to back up these theories, and the two politely shook for the first - and last - time.

Burnie knew, with all the chaos that came with looking after the kids, and all the trouble they could both intentionally and unintentionally cause, that he sometimes took Ryan’s laidback attitude for granted. Because Ryan, prone to moments of anger as he was, had always given the carers the impression that he could raise himself - that he was grateful for the roof over his head and the clothes, food and other basic amenities he was provided with, but ultimately if he had no other choice, he could do it all on his own.

Maybe, if he’d been less experienced in his line of work, Burnie might’ve mistaken that matureness as a sign he could always leave Ryan to his own devices. But, despite sometimes being a little too thankful Ryan was off minding his own business and not causing any trouble, he kept tabs on the kid as much as any of the others.

There were three main worries that always came to mind with Ryan. One: sleep - the boy didn’t get nearly enough thanks to his insomnia, which was an ongoing battle triggered by the most traumatic moment of the boy’s life. Two: his angry outbursts - while less frequent and considerably less violent than they used to be, he still seemed to be triggered by the most minor of things, petty arguments and nuisances. And three: sometimes Burnie just felt the kid was too much of a loner - that he understood everybody had different levels of tolerance for other human beings but, with Ryan, he could happily hole himself up in his own room for days on end if food and drink were supplied directly to him… which they weren’t. Food and drink were often Burnie’s only leverage to get Ryan to come out and join the living world if he was in one of his really antisocial moods.

So, yes, in comparison to some of the other kids, these worries could be deemed minor in comparison. Burnie, however, had learned no kid was the same. That if Ryan went without enough sleep for too long he was prone to be disruptive in class. That his angry outbursts, while seemingly pointless and occurring for no reason to some people, most likely came for a real place or hurt or frustration. And his antisocial tendencies… Ryan could get scared. Getting close to people could hurt, Ryan knew that very well. Having people you thought you could always rely on to be there for you was dangerous when one bar fight gone wrong could wrench them painfully out of your life.

So he kept an eye on Ryan, like he did with all his kids, although sometimes he felt as if he needed to be some all-seeing, all-knowing God to be able to keep tracks on all of them at all times. He supposed that’s why he hired the most competent staff he could find. And Gus.

“C’mon, you must have some ideas,” he pestered Ryan, hoping to at least get some inkling about what Ryan would like to do.

Ryan threw back his head, groaning too. He was really getting fed up with Burnie’s questions.

“Not really. I’ll just go round Jake’s like normal and we’ll chill. I don’t want to do anything special.”

“Well, it is up to you but let me know if you change your mind,” Burnie insisted, not so quick to give up. “And we’re gonna have to do something at the house even if it’s for the benefit of the youngsters.”

Ryan bit his lip, fighting back a grimace. “Only if you don’t turn out all the lights and sing Happy Birthday to me.”

“Sorry Ryan, I’m afraid no promises can be made on that front,” Burnie said. It was part of his duty as head carer that he makes sure all birthdays were celebrated properly, including the embarrassing family sing-a-long part that most teenagers detested.

Turning a corner into an even more crowded street, Burnie felt his heart leap as he realized he hadn’t done his routine check recently. He spun around quickly, eyes darting around the area, trying to locate one face in particular. “Lawrence? Where’ve you gone?” he called out, perhaps slightly more panicked than he would have liked - I’m a constant presence of calm and composure, I’m a constant presence of calm and composure, I’m a -

The boy abruptly walked into him a few seconds after his shouts, glaring up at Burnie’s suddenly stopped figure. “I’m here, idiot.”

Relief washed over Burnie as he smiled ruefully down at the boy and the utterly unimpressed expression he was giving him. He’d gotten so used to Lawrence dawdling behind or wandering off into random crowds or stores, that he had failed to notice that the boy was literally right behind him. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you down there.”

Lawrence craned his neck back to glare up at him, putting up his hood again as it fell off his head. “Calling me short?” he challenged.

Burnie regarded him. Judging the pale green eyes to see if it was anger or mischief that filled them more. “Yes. Yes, I am,” he said when he decided that Lawrence was in the latter mood. He could tell his blatant answer surprised the boy, but a few seconds later Lawrence was actually smirking wryly up at him, hopping forward so he was stood at Burnie’s side. The kid appreciated people being straight with him, that was another thing Burnie was learning. He always wanted whatever was in your mind, be it good or bad; he wanted to know what you were really thinking and threw a fit if he thought someone was being coy with him.

“Easier to take people down - can go for the legs. I done it loads before,” Lawrence grinned, and Burnie laughed a little, regaining his composure.

“I’ve no doubt you have,” he agreed. Burnie often thought the boy would benefit from hanging out with James and Adam more. Not only were they of similar age but it would do everyone a favor if Lawrence could burn off some of his pent-up rage in, let’s say, a little backyard wrestling, rather than on, what was more common, household items or household residents.

Burnie was hugely grateful though, that Lawrence was in one of his rare chirpier moods that day, in that he wasn’t being a complete menace. They had a rota for the kids to help with the shopping every other weekend. To be honest, it wasn’t so much their help that was needed, although Burnie did appreciate it, but more of a chance to spend time with them more as individuals or pairs in a very normal, everyday setting. Michael especially loved coming with Burnie on his own. It was the only time the kid would call him ‘Dad’, just so other people would think they were related. Burnie didn’t discourage it, if Michael wanted to call him Dad for a few hours, he was hardly one to say no.

And that day, the most complaint Burnie had when asking Lawrence to go into town with him and Ryan was a long exaggerated sigh and an eye roll. In the car, he had even been quite talkative and, contrary to most kids his age, had been the one asking Burnie questions about himself. “What was your first job?”, “What’s your family like?”, “What’s the worst Christmas gift you ever got?”. Burnie didn’t know if the boy was actually interested in the answers - he doubted it - or if he was just doing it to keep any talk about his own life and feelings away - much more likely.

Still, Burnie welcomed the conversation all the same. When he wasn’t shouting or fighting or in one of his foul, sulking moods when he wanted nothing to do with anyone, the kid actually provided enjoyable company. He was intelligent with a dark sense of humor, and he apparently had a strong view of anything and everyone. With those characteristics, it was easy to think he and Ryan might have gotten along well. But maybe they were too similar on that front, repelling against each other like identical magnets, with Lawrence always being overly competitive to get one up on the older boy.

Anyway, Lawrence had remained in a good mood after Burnie let him choose where they got food. They’d been to a homewares store, and he’d been more than happy to play lapdog, running off to go and fetch items Burnie listed off. For a while, he was like any normal, happy kid out in the town, if a little extra wild, and it had given Burnie a greater sense of hope that they were making groundwork with the boy. Perhaps he had wished for that desired breakthrough too soon.

“Why do I have to go with him?”

“You don’t have to but I’m going to be waiting in line for at least half an hour at this time, so if you’d rather do that…”

Lawrence’s eyes widened in horror at the idea of standing still for so long. “Hell no.”

Burnie smirked. “Thought as much.”

“No one likes a know-it-all,” the boy sang, imitating a voice Burnie knew had been aimed at Lawrence a lot.

Burnie grinned wider still, shaking his head while Lawrence pulled faces. He glanced over at Ryan, who had stayed quiet during the mini argument, head turned away, daydreaming. A passive attitude was what Ryan usually adopted if any argument not involving him broke out, so persistent about not giving a damn it could sometimes rile up the others more. It wasn’t easy though, Burnie knew. He knew in nearly all of those instances, Ryan was using every bit of self-control to hold his tongue, if only in fear of what might happen should he get involved.

He walked over to the teen, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s in a good mood. You’ll be fine, but give me a call if you need me,” he assured.

Ryan gave a short nod, in his military disciplined mode, a tactic he engaged when he really didn’t want to do something. But this would be a good thing, Burnie was convinced. If they were going to live together all the kids had to learn to get along at some point. And being the second eldest, he knew and trusted Ryan’s abilities to handle one unruly child for an hour or so.

Burnie also knew that sometimes, he could get things disastrously wrong.

––––

Their task was simple, and it needed no overcomplicating.

Walk to the store, get the food, pick up Ryan’s laptop that had gone in for repairs, meet up with Burnie. Easy, nothing hard about that.

Or at least it would be if Ryan had been on his own, with his own capable self.

“This is boring,” Lawrence moaned for the umpteenth time, as they walked along through the crowds. It was walking, it wasn’t meant to be overly interesting or stimulating, and Ryan knew Lawrence knew that, and he was simply repeating the same phrase over and over to get on Ryan’s nerves. Whatever. Ryan could deal with that. Hell, he’d had to sit next to Jeremy on a forty minute drives while the little boy just sang “bored, bored, bored, bored,” the whole drive.

Anyhow, he wanted to get the shit done as fast as possible.

“Watch where you're walking, you’re gonna end up in the middle of the road if you’re not careful.”

“So? It’ll be quicker,” Lawrence said, pointing to the congested traffic, all the cars having come to a stand-still.

Ryan sighed and quickened his pace, dodging around the slowly moving shoppers.

“Hey!” The small boy bounded after him, having to switch between walking and jogging to keep up with Ryan’s long-legged strides. Dark hair poked out from underneath the hood he’d kept up, even though it was relatively warm and not raining, the dark grey hooded jacket the perfect color to match the effect he was having on Ryan’s mood.

As something to do, Ryan checked the money Burnie had given him, counting out the cash under his breath. He could see in the corner of his eye, Lawrence watching him with interest. “You using all that on food?” he asked after a beat, eagerly eyeing the money.

Ryan paused, not forgetting his money that had gone missing a month or so ago, and he tightened his fingers around the cash. “Yep.”

“Cause y’know, you could like–”

“No, I couldn’t,” Ryan interrupted, predicting where Lawrence was going. “They have strict rules on what is purchased with the budget money and check all the receipts. And anyway,” he sent down a chiding glare. “I would never do that.”

He found himself met with a fierce look. “Cause you’re a pussy?”

Jesus Christ. Ryan swallowed hard. “No, because I don’t want to.”

“I would.”

Ryan carried on meeting hard gaze with equal firmness. “Good thing I have the money and not you then, isn’t it?”

Lawrence considered this and slowly nodded. “I could take it from you if I wanted to. Aim for the legs,” he retorted, making a few fake darts towards Ryan. He threw up his arms when his antics were met with yet another hard glare. “Lighten up Ryan, I’m only kidding.”

He wasn’t, but Ryan didn’t mention anything that could prolong the conversation. They walked on in silence. Ryan shivered as a cold blast of wind suddenly hit them, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets for shelter. Inevitably, Lawrence soon grew further bored and, to Ryan’s horror and embarrassment, invented a game called ‘Let’s see how many people I can walk into’ as they were entering the ginormous food store.

He tried grabbing him but Lawrence only darted away. He tried glaring at him but it had absolutely no effect, the younger boy only grinning in return. Then he tried ignoring him until he heard someone curse very loudly and turned to see a large gentleman struggling to pick up his fallen shopping and a very shifty young boy hurrying away.

“Lawrence, c’mon,” Ryan said, defeated, and it was his sound of defeat that eventually had Lawrence returning to his side, smug in his victory.

Stay calm, Ryan fought to remind himself. No need to get mad at this little shit.

They headed for the small electronics repair station, located near the back of the store first, Ryan eager to see his faithful old laptop again.

“Did you know that sausages are older than the Bible?” Lawrence asked at one point.

Ryan frowned so Lawrence explained. “Sausages. They came before the Bible. So Jesus and his buddies probably chilled out with barbeque, shooting the shit.”

Ryan’s frown only deepened. “Oh.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Ryan growled under his breath as the younger boy suddenly danced across in front of him, almost tripping him up. “Did you know that most bananas are clones?” Lawrence asked as he passed.

“No.”

“It’s true.” Lawrence nodded sagely. “Did you know Hawaiian pizza was invented in Canada?”

“Okay, whatever. I don’t care.”

The boy looked up at Ryan in satisfaction. “You’re just mad that I’m smarter than you.”

“No. I’m not. I just really don’t care.”

“So you admit I’m smarter than you?”

Ryan let out a huff of frustration. “I’m just not gonna listen to you anymore.”

“Aww,” Lawrence grinned, putting on a fake tone of disappointment, and it was such a different attitude to how he normally was that Ryan actually felt a tinge of guilt. It was easy to hate Lawrence when he was acting like a little brat - aka the whole time Ryan had known him - not so much when he was bouncing alongside Ryan like an oversized puppy. If it had been one of the other youngsters asking him questions like that he would have taken it in his stride. Heck, Gavin was famed for his random ass queries and Ryan took them as they came with fondness and humor.

So Ryan decided to brush aside his built up annoyance at the kid and throw the dog a bone. Now that he thought about it, there was one thing about the young boy that had been intriguing him for a while. “Seeing as you’re in such a talkative mood, I’ve gotta question for you.”

Lawrence looked up at him again, green eyes narrowing, silent as he waited for Ryan to expand.

“Your accent. You’re from the south?”

The surprise was evident on Lawrence’s face, a rare moment of open emotion. “You can tell?” he asked, a tone Ryan hadn’t heard before in his voice. Cautious or worried maybe, but also excitement?

“I can hear you’ve lost most of it, but I’m a Georgia boy, got a finer ear for those dialects than most others up here.”

“I’m from Texas,” Lawrence replied, chin high, the statement sounding proud. The moment didn’t last long as he quickly lowered his head, slowing his walk down as he mumbled: “But I ain’t lived there for a while. My first foster dicks only spoke Spanish too, so that was a mindfuck. Kinda mixed me all up, I think.”

Ryan slowed down too, regarding the hood that covered the bent head. “You ever think about going back there one day?”

A sharp intake of breath, as if Lawrence were going to reply with one thing but changed his mind last second. “I dunno. Probably not. There’s nothin’ there for me,” he said instead. He looked up at Ryan again, expression once more unreadable. “Why? You wantin’ to go back to pretty old Georgia?”

“I’ve thought about it… but it’s for the best that I don’t,” Ryan mumbled, voice tight. It was always there, whenever the topic was brought up, and he supposed he only had himself to blame, mentioning it this time.

“Why?” Lawrence regarded him curiously.

Ryan didn’t reply. Couldn’t. It wasn’t that there was nothing in Georgia for him. But none of it was good, none of it was happy.

Jason…

He tried to avoid thinking about it altogether but Lawrence had unintentionally flipped it onto him from Ryan’s own question. The tensions that always crept into his muscles and nerves were a clear sign that he was far from over it, that the wound had barely begun to heal. He just buried it under layers and layers of carefully constructed walls and new memories with his new ‘family’, like an artist starting a new sketch, creating something new and beautiful, but only ever covering that initial hurt.

“Jason? You here?”

If Ryan ever went back home again… he didn’t know what he would do. He liked to think he would stay in control but he’d thought that before, although back then all the hurt and anger had been so much rawer. But Ryan knew, at least for now, he couldn’t trust himself.

“Hey Ty, you seen my brother?”

Really, who could? You come face to face with your brothers killer, it’s bound to make you see red. It had happened once it would probably happen again, and now with the guy out on bail after only two years… Ryan’s fist clenched. Accident or no, that drunken fight had taken away his only living family member. Was two years justice enough in his mind? Fuck no.

“No! You have to let me in! I’m family!”

A light poke on his arm brought him rushing back to the present, and he turned to see Lawrence continuing to gaze up at him, little face still unreadable. “S’alright. You don’t need to tell me nothin’,” he said, glancing up at him, corner of his mouth tilting up. “All got our secrets, don’t we?”

“It’s not like that,” Ryan began, but Lawrence’s words had him halt.

Yeah, we do all have our secrets, and as much as Geoff got on his nerves, Ryan always found himself reluctantly admitting that the guy had a certain skill for being the voice of reason. What Geoff had said, back near the start of term; he didn’t know anything about this kid and the shit he’d probably been through. Just like Lawrence didn’t know about the shit Ryan had been through.

Huh, been living with him for nearly three months and still know next to nothing.

Honestly, all he did know was from what he could see right there in front of him. The things Lawrence couldn’t keep hidden away under layers and layers of his own carefully contracted walls.

And all he saw was a small kid. Just that. A small, slightly rough around the edges, kid.

Ryan knew if Jason had still been around he would have told Ryan to be the bigger man and let bygones be bygones. Or at least take the Geoff approach and not allow anything Lawrence had said or done to affect him personally. To brush it off with a good-natured hand –

“Tell me who did it.”

But he wasn’t his brother and it had never come as naturally to him. And he definitely didn’t want the kid around at the moment, not when Ryan was suddenly feeling so very vulnerable with his emotions. Right now he needed some space, and he searched for the quickest exit he could find - desperately leaping at it when he figured he could kill two birds with one stone.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

His body shook hard, like he was physically trying to brush the memories away.

“Lawrence, take this list and get me the items on there, okay?” he fumbled in his pocket for the list Burnie had given him. At the boy’s insolent expression, he even resorted to placing his palms together and leaning over so they were somewhat eye level. “Pretty please?” he begged, batting his eyelids for good measure.

Lawrence grunted out a laugh, giving Ryan a weird look, but he slowly took the paper from him.

Ryan saw the green eyes narrow as they scanned the list for an abnormally long time. He wasn’t sure if the boy had just zoned out or was intentionally wasting time, and he tapped his foot impatiently. “Normal food, huh?” Lawrence asked eventually, peering up at Ryan speculatively.

“Yeah…” Ryan drawled out, suspicious. “What else did you think it’d be?” Too late for a reply, Lawrence was already walking off. Ryan stared after him, torn between leaving him like planned or running after him to make sure nothing went wrong. About to call after him, he thought better of it. Ryan needed his space right now, privacy to wallow in his own thoughts and memories - a solo companionship he welcomed.

It worked - as he knew it would - going about his business, waiting quietly in line to be reunited with his laptop. He was often unsure if thinking about Jason and what had happened to him was healthy. In one sense it wasn’t good to dwell on the dark facts, but surely avoiding the topic altogether was just as bad. Ryan tried to allow his mind to wander there in moderation, and not in large public places.

Afterwards, realizing he hadn’t set up any meetup point, and failing to find the younger boy by just walking aimlessly around, Ryan decided to just wait by the checkouts, relaxing as Lawrence finally appeared, returning with a full cart that was almost as tall as he was.

Ryan smiled, pleased that everything seemed in order - that they could pay and meet back up with Burnie and then head home, where Ryan could go straight to his room and check himself out of reality for a while –

“What’s all this? What –”

“Food.” Lawrence cut in. He was staring at the very point just above Ryan’s eyes, as if he thought the older boy couldn’t tell the difference. His voice was quiet, deceptively calm.

“But more than half of this isn’t what was wrote down,” Ryan snapped, observing the array of food that he knew wasn’t normally on the list.

“I lost it.”

“What?”

“I lost it,” Lawrence repeated, softly.

Ryan glared. “You lost the food?”

“No, you dumbass. The list.” Lawrence sighed, leaning forward on the cart, bored again.

Ryan scowled, one hundred percent not convinced. He loomed over the smaller boy, who looked up at him with dull, inexpressive eyes, not at all intimidated or regretful. No apologies here. “Great. Well, that’s a whole lot of time wasted. Burnie’s gonna be happy when he returns and we’ve done nothing! You think he’s gonna fall for this dumb act?”

The briefest flash of something glinted in the green eyes. “You got your laptop didn’t you? I got food. We’re good,” Lawrence said, a slight more forceful this time.

“No. I did what I needed to do. You’ve just messed me around - as usual,” Ryan couldn’t help adding.

Lawrence laughed then - a harsh, cruel sound. It was far from the laughter Ryan had heard earlier. Then he’d seemed more normal - as cheeky and excitable as any kid his age. But when he stood, hood still up, glaring up at Ryan dangerously - he couldn’t reconcile the two.

Ryan flipped.

“Why are you like this? Do you want me to not like you - is that it?” he demanded to know. “Because you’re succeeding, so congratulations –”

Lawrence tipped the cart over.

It created a thunderous, jarring crash, the produce spilling everywhere, sliding around Ryan’s feet. The older boy jolted backward - for a moment he couldn’t comprehend what was happening, and could only stare at Lawrence with wide eyes, breathing so fast he almost felt dizzy. The look on Lawrence’s face disturbed him more than the action did - his green eyes had darkened so much they nearly looked black, his lips pulled taught into a furious sneer.

“Whatever!” The boy shouted at him, enraged voice echoing around the whole store. By now quite a crowd had gathered from the commotion, onlookers warily watching the scene unfold. “¡Me vale madre!” Lawrence yelled again, meeting Ryan dead in the eye - no averted gazes now.

And Ryan didn’t need to be fluent in Spanish to get the gist of that particular phrase. He tightened his fists hard, pointing a demanding finger at the mess. “Get here. We’re cleaning this up.” The tremors in his body were growing more violent by the second as he felt the control slipping away.

Lawrence stayed where he was, glaring defiantly. Then instead of coming closer, he took a step backward, kicking one of the fallen apples at Ryan, and then another, laughing as he did so.

“Lawrence! Stop it!”

There was no point trying to rectify anything at this point, deep down Ryan knew that. They were both too angry. There was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him to back off, that nothing could be done. Be smart, leave it be. Whatever’s going on is out of your control now. You can’t fix this on your own.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you!”

Stay… in… control.

Lawrence kicked another apple at him.

“Get here you little fuck!” Ryan launched like a wild predator, making a grab for the boy with both arms, fully uncaring about what happened to either of them, but Lawrence nimbly dodged, backing himself into a corner. He bared his teeth, sadistically, as Ryan once again lunged at him. Another dodge, a duck, and then a swift and ferocious kick to Ryan’s shin, and he was away, disappearing around an aisle before Ryan even had a chance to catch a breath.

The crowd of onlookers was even larger now and some were saying stuff to him… maybe, he wasn’t really listening. Unwelcome tears of embarrassment and anger pooled in the corner of Ryan’s eyes as he clutched at his throbbing leg. “You - you little shit!” he raged, uncaring of all the prying stares.

It was like his own eyes had blinders on them, narrowing his eyesight to the mess around him, all sounds muffled except for his own pounding heartbeat and heavy breathing. His cheeks and his lungs burned.

Slowly. Breathe slowly.

I need to breathe, I need to breathe, I need to breathe.

He counted to ten in his head, breathing in and out as he did so. He repeated it.

Slowly, slowly the real world blended back into his frame of vision, not that it was any better. Ryan sighed as he heard the crackle of a radio and the man holding it.

Great. Security.

–––––

When Burnie first got the text from Ryan telling him he had to ask for the manager to take him to Ryan, it had put his head in a spin and left him panicked. A whole host of scenarios had rushed through his head, each one worse as the seconds ticked by between him receiving the message on his way to the store and him bursting through the staff doors to find a very sullen looking teen sat in the middle of an otherwise empty row of chairs, outside a door labelled ‘Security’.

“Ryan! You alright? What’s going on? Where’s Lawrence?” Burnie rushed out before Ryan even had time to look up.

When he saw who it was his shoulders slumped, head hanging.

Burnie was quick to take a seat next to him, subconsciously checking for any injuries of clues as to what had gone on. “Well? Ryan?” he insisted.

“I um… lost him,” Ryan said, voice low and flat, folding his arms, and Burnie’s spine went rigid.

Not again.

“You’re joking,” he said hopefully, even though he knew it was futile, confirmed by the helpless look Ryan gave him. “You’re not joking,” Burnie mumbled, running hands through frazzled hair, feeling like he was aging quicker all of a sudden. “How did you lose him?”

Ryan swallowed. He was wary, like he was being tested here, in some way, nervous under Burnie’s close eye. He seemed to struggle with what to say. “Well I kinda got mad and we got into a bit of a fight… but he’d gone and got all the wrong food on purpose and then he tipped the cart over and there was a mess and –”

“And let me guess, you saw red and he ran off,” Burnie finished off for him, already picturing the scene in his head. When Ryan said “kinda mad” he knew that was only half of it.

Ryan squirmed. “Yeah, not before he gave me a good kick in the shin though,” he managed finally. “Left me to deal with the mess too. I tried explaining it to them but I think they best talk to you. Think they’ll be back in a minute.”

Burnie nodded, formulating his next plan of action. “Alright, I’ll do that and, well, we’ll have a look and ask around and then better call the police, I suppose.” He laughed light, because that’s all he could do. “They’re gonna love us by the end of this year.”

“I - I’m really sorry Burnie,” Ryan stammered, bracing himself like he expected Burnie to be angry at him, like he thought he’d let the man down. It was moments like this that made Burnie curse the past events that still affected his kids more than ever. That he could love and care for them as much as possible, and they would return the favor, but they could also still instinctively react in such defensive manners, old wounds easily opening.

“No I – it’s fine Ryan,” Burnie said automatically. Ryan shook his head as if taking on the disappointment in himself he thought Burnie should have.

“Hey, really Ryan,” Burnie squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about today. It’s my fault if anyone’s, I shouldn’t have left you two alone. It was my mistake for stupidly thinking he might actually be behaving today.”

Ryan took in a shaky breath.

“It was me. He was fine with you but with me he didn’t want to listen. He did it just to annoy me because he knew it would, and I fell for it. I should’ve… should’ve just dealt with it until you got back.” He was clearly very frustrated with himself.

“Two things,” Burnie began. “I’m the one trained to deal with kids acting out and two, neither of us really know yet why that kid does what he does. But if I were to guess, I don’t think it was personal Ryan. I think that sometimes it just might be in his nature to act out.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Like I do?”

“You never act out. You positively explode.”

Ryan smiled at his light teasing. “I’m getting better though, aren’t I? I mean… I was,” he trailed off.

“Absolutely,” Burnie assured. “I haven’t noticed that fireball anger in… well, not for a long time. I know you can go into rage mode but it’s often filled with humor these days. Or…” he lowered his voice, “is that just you hiding your true feelings?”

Ryan shook his head adamantly. “No. They’re not out as control as they used to be. Of course, I’m usually still angry for them to occur in the first place, but I’m quicker to find the lighter side of things.” He pulled a self-deprecating face. “It helps that the others just laugh anyway if I start shouting, helps me realize quicker if I’m getting upset over things that no one needs to be angry about.”

Burnie nodded. “But today - today you were so angry because?” he asked tentatively.

“Because he just has that effect, he… he was wasting time, your time. And he didn’t care, he seemed pleased with himself, like I said, he just wanted to make me angry. Guess he succeeded.” Ryan muttered sourly as he ran a hand across his own face, mirroring Burnie’s action from earlier, looking so old and so young at the same time.

“Thank you, Ryan,” Burnie said quietly, breaking the silence. “Thank you for caring about my time being wasted. Though nothing’s ever a waste with you lot, you know that,” he added. “Try not to dwell on today. What’s done is done and besides, I’m proud of you for lasting that long with him. I’m pretty certain Adam or Michael would have tackled him into the cereal stand way earlier.”

A pause. Ryan snorted gently. “Would’ve probably been more effective.” That joke, as small as it might have been, relieved Burnie to no end. If there was one thing he didn’t want to get from today it was Ryan blaming himself for no good reason. The fact that he appeared to be lightening up was good news. “If you’re so proud of me…” Ryan continued after a moment, eyes glinting with mischief when Burnie met them. “Does that mean I can get out of doing something at the house for my birthday?”

Burnie shook his head with vigor, matching Ryan’s small smile. “Hell no.”

If there was one thing you needed to work at Rooster Teeth, it was a bit of that quality “embarrassing dad” factor.

[nebulous-frog]

My, What a Beautiful World

Summary: Soulmates AU where you can't see any colors until you touch your soulmate, as in you have no concept of any colors whatsoever until you touch

 Word count: 1184 

 Pairing: Phan 

 Genre: Fluff 

 Warnings: a couple swears here and there

Link to AO3 Fics Masterlist

Dan thought the world was beautiful. He loved looking at scenery anywhere, be it a beach or meadow or cityscape. His favorite, however, was definitely a forest. The way trees would stretch towards the sunlight, branches arching over each other, was astonishing. He would spend hours just staring at them if he could. In fact, he set aside an hour every week just to go to the local park and get lost in his thoughts as he appreciated nature.

His friends assumed he was depressed; after all, he still hadn't found his soulmate and was 26. Most people found their soulmates before age 20 and began exploring all the different colors the world had to offer. Dan couldn't see any of these colors, but he didn't mind. He was a bit jealous when someone openly explained what he was missing, but the world was already so beautiful that he was content to see it as it was for him. Since he had no concept of color, he didn't understand what he was missing. He liked how the light fell on the objects he viewed as they were, whether he could tell if it was red or purple or not.

Dan was strolling through the park, dressed in his typical all-black clothing (not that he could tell; it was the darkest clothing available at the store so he figured it was close enough) and taking in the fresh air, when an excited dog bounded up to him.

"Oh, hello there! Where'd you come from?" he said as he bent over to pet it. There was a leash trailing behind it, so he assumed that its owner couldn't be far behind. Sure enough, a tall man with light skin and dark hair came jogging up to them from down the path.

"Jonathan!" he panted, "Come back!"

The dog continued wagging its tail and ignoring who Dan assumed was its owner.

"I am so sorry about him, he just took off running after a squirrel or something and took me by surprise! He yanked the leash right out of my hand," the man explained when he finally caught up.

"It's no trouble, really, he's very cute," Dan assured.

"Thanks! I'm Phil, by the way," the man said, holding out his hand.

"Dan," Dan replied with a smile. He shook Phil's hand and instantly dropped it like he was burned. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, eyes darting back up to Phil's. Phil was having a similar reaction until their eyes met.

"Oh my god what the hell is that?" Dan yelled.

"What are you talking about? What's wrong with your eyes!" Phil yelled back.

"My eyes?! Your eyes are just- just- I don't know! They look so weird!"

At this point, they were grabbing each other's faces and tilting them this way and that, trying to find out what the problem was.

"Oh my god what is happening to your face? Whatever happened to your eyes is spreading oh my god that does not look good. I'm calling emergency services," Dan babbled and pulled his phone out.

Phil was breathing heavily, clearly panicking. "Whatever it is, it's happening to you, too!"

"What?!" Dan looked at his hands and screamed. "What the hell is this?!"

"I don't know! Call them already!"

Dan dialed the number and waited, still quietly chanting "oh my god oh my god what is this oh my god" under his breath.

"Emergency Services, what's your emergency?" a female voice asked.

"Well- I- I'm not really sure what's happening but I think I might be sick? And someone else might be, too? I was talking to this guy and we just met and we shook hands and it felt like I touched a hot stove and then I looked at his eyes and they're- well- I don't know what they are, they just look wrong, and he's telling me the same thing is happening to my eyes and that it's spreading across my face and I looked at my hands and they just look wrong and I don't know what's going on," Dan rambles into the phone. He glanced up at Phil from his own arms again to see that whatever it was had spread throughout his whole body. Given Phil's wide eyes, he guessed that the same was happening to him.

"Sir, I need you to relax a bit, alright? Take a deep breath in for me and let it out nice and slow. Now, do you have a soulmate?"

"What? Of course I have a soulmate, everyone has a soulmate!"

"Have you met them yet, sir?"

"Well, no, I think I'd know if I met my soulmate," Dan scoffed out.

"Has your friend met their soulmate yet?"

"I'm not sure hold on I'll ask him," Dan told her. When he asked Phil, he just shook his head. "He says he hasn't."

"Well, I'm pleased to say that you have now. There is no reason to panic, you're just experiencing the world in color for the first time. It takes some getting used to, but if you would like I can direct you to some helpful resources that will tell you the names of colors and what you should do now. Would you like that?"

Dan was staring at Phil, mouth hanging open. He gaped like a fish for a moment before realizing that Phil was still panicking and the lady on the phone was waiting for some kind of response. "We- we're soulmates?" he squeaked.

Phil's eyes widened even further, if that was possible. Dan wrenched his gaze off of Phil and looked around him at the surrounding park. "Oh my god, this is what color looks like? This is amazing!" Dan began giggling hysterically.

"Sir, would you like those color guides?" The lady sounded impatient now.

"Um, yes. I would. Oh my god. Thank you!" he continued rambling utter nonsense for a few seconds.

The lady told him the name of a website to get him started on understanding the world in color and he thanked her before hanging up.

"Um, hi?" Dan said to Phil.

Phil giggled. "Hi. It's nice to finally meet you," he said.

Dan reached his arm out to touch Phil's face. "Can I- uh- can I kiss you? It's okay if you don't want me to I mean we did just meet that'd be weird I'm sorry forget I said any-" he was cut off by Phil's soft lips pressing against his own. Dan sighed gently and melted into Phil.

They pulled away a few seconds later, each with small, shy smiles and deep blushed on their cheeks. Dan laced his fingers through Phil's and rested their foreheads against each other."

"Your eyes are beautiful, now that I know you're not diseased," Dan teased.

Phil grinned. "So are yours," he replied. "Would you like to maybe go grab some Starbucks and figure out what colors are with me?"

Dan beamed. "I'd like that very much."

And so, after picking up Jonathan's leash again, the newly found soulmates strolled off to their first date, admiring the new colors all the way.

[jae-bummer]

Stay the Night

Request: 5/6/14 for Wonho (monstax)

5) “You’re the only one I trust to do this.” 6) “My nightmares usually involve losing you.” 14) You and your bias have been broken up for over a year when he shows up on your doorstep

Member: Monsta X’s Wonho x Y/N

Type: angst

Warning: Mention of Psychology and Hypnosis (**i am neither a psychologist nor hypnotist, but just a writer doing some cool things with words)

You leaned wearily into your door, your feet angry with you from your day of standing. When you had decided to move to Korea, it seemed like you had your whole life in front of you. You had all of the time in the world to fall in love, make mistakes, and figure yourself out. Unfortunately, with the passing of time came the passing of ambition, and you were just as lost now as you had been when you first set out. 

You pushed your key into the lock, leaning in gently with your shoulder as the door creaked in front of you without even turning the knob. You furrowed your brows, your body freezing up as the blood turned cold in your veins. You could have sworn you locked the door when you left for your shift, just as you did every morning before work or class. You licked your lips and tried to calm your breathing, attempting to think the situation through. You were a Psychology major after all. 

Maybe you had locked it, but forgot to pull the door completely shut on the way. It was an old apartment building after all, so maybe the doors were bowed and it wouldn’t secure sometimes either. A million different thoughts ran across your mind as you stood there in the night’s silence, but one blinking light in your mind’s eye remained. 

Intruder. 

As quietly as you could, you palmed your keys, placing one between each knuckle. You nodded to yourself as you had emergency services queued up on your phone screen and ready to go. Why would an intruder target a relatively poor barista/student in an entire building full of young professionals and established couples. It couldn’t be a break in...could it?

The sound of your blood pumping filled your ears and your stomach flopped with nervous energy. You thought about the subject you had last learned in one of your classes; The Bystander Effect, and how if a neighbor heard you struggle with an intruder, there was a high probability that they wouldn’t call for help, as they thought another neighbor would. 

You winced as you took a shaky step into the doorway of your apartment, leaning around a banister to see a warm light flooding out of the living area. You never left anything on. Mostly because of electricity fees, but also because you were immensely paranoid about fire hazards. 

You closed your eyes, silently cursing yourself for even entering your apartment. You’ve seen horror movies. It never ends well in situations similar to this. You took Abnormal Psych, you knew how sick people could be. 

You quietly tiptoed across the hardwood, stretching to get a visual of your living room. You were confused for a moment as you made contact with a messy mop of bleach blonde hair and dark eyes. A handsome face sitting atop a pair of broad shoulders brooded on the edge of your couch, his body slumped forward and fingers fidgeting with one another. 

“Hoseok?” you breathed, standing up straight and emerging from behind a wall. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he looked up. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy seeing me...” you trailed, scrunching your face. You felt a fire ignite in your stomach, signaling your annoyance and anger. “No Hoseok, not fancy seeing me. You say that to someone who you bumped into at the coffee shop, not someone whose home you have broken into!” 

“Technically I used the emergency key you keep under that mat,” Hoseok hummed quietly, looking down to the floor. 

“I could’ve called the police!” you gasped, dropping your bags. “How could you do something so stupid?”

“Well, I thought about how stupid it was once I got in,” he mumbled. “But once I came in, I couldn’t very well go out. That would’ve been even creepier.”

“Creepy is actually thinking it was okay to use my spare key considering you’ve been MIA for the past year of my life,” you spluttered. “What the hell?”

“I understand you’re upset,” he said slowly, his face still showing obvious fear and and some amount of hurt. “But I just...I just...”

“You just what?” you groaned, flopping onto the opposite couch. 

“Need you to do something,” he whispered, finally looking up at you. 

You blew at a tuft of hair that had fallen onto your forehead and sighed as you directed your attention to him as well. Admittedly, you had always had a soft spot for Hoseok. It had been nearly a year since you had seen him last, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t check up on him in all of that time.

Hoseok, or at least the Hoseok that you had known and loved, was fragile. He felt immense things and had difficulty holding in his emotions at times. When you had finally decided to break up due to schedule differences, it was rough for him. It was a difficult time for you as well, but you had to hold it together. You were on your own and couldn’t halt your life for a man who had broken your heart without even trying to. You had to teach Hoseok that it was okay to move on as well. 

You analyzed his familiar face, now painted in a much dimmer light than you had ever remembered seeing it. You sucked in your lip, biting it anxiously as your gaze traced across his prominent jawline and up toward the eyes you could stare into for hours. Just above them sat his perfectly manicured brows, knit with some sort of worry you weren’t aware of. And just below, hid deep bags, evident markers of the lack of sleep he had been getting. 

“You look like shit,” you muttered. 

“Not used to hearing that one,” he chuckled nervously. 

“What do you need?” you sighed, letting your head fall into your hands. “Also what makes you think I’m the one you need it from?”

“I know it’s been...awhile since I last talked to you,” he said slowly, wincing as he spoke. 

“Understatement of the year,” you spat. “We haven’t talked in months...but continue.”

“You haven’t switched majors...have you?” he said quietly and so quickly you almost didn’t catch it. 

“Nope, I only have a semester left until I start applying for Doctoral programs,” you muttered. “Why?” 

“Um...so...I know we were broken up...but did you ever see the program that we were on with the Psychologist?” Hoseok continued. 

Of course you had. You had quite literally watched everything they had appeared on, but he wouldn’t know that. 

“No,” you grumbled spitefully, even knowing you had. 

“Oh...well...”he hummed, his confidence plummeting even lower than before. It broke your heart to see, and you were unsure as to why you were being so difficult. “They brought in this psychologist...and uh, he put Shownu and Jooheoney under hypnosis and-”

“No Hoseok,” you hummed, not even allowing him to go further. You knew where this was going and you didn’t like it. 

“Come on,” he groaned. “I know you were interested in it and even saw you practice a few times. I’ve heard it helps.” 

“Hoseok, I don’t have my license. Hell, I’m not even a Doctor yet. What if something goes wrong. What if-”

“I’m desperate,” he squeaked. “And you’re the only one I trust to do this.”

“How are you desperate?” you argued. “Why do you need to be hypnotized? I can’t help you figure out your past lives or-”

“Hey, you said you didn’t see the episode...” Hoseok pouted. 

“Yeah, well, we’ve both said a lot of things in our time together,” you muttered. 

Hoseok bit his lip and sighed. “I can’t sleep...and it’s starting to effect how I’m performing on stage and in practices. My music is all I have Y/N...you have to help me.”

It was all you have because you decided for it to be that way, you hissed internally. You could never verbalize the words. Not only would they hurt his feelings, but yours as well. 

“I can’t,” you insisted. You knew how desperate he had to have been in order to reach out to you, to show up to your apartment tonight. The bags beneath his eyes were as dark as the stone washed denim he wore. Maybe you had an obligation to help him.

“Please.”

You groaned as you pulled yourself from your sitting position and stomped across the living area. You dimmed the light beside the couch he was sitting on and dropped to your knees beside him. 

“Make sure your hands and feet are uncrossed and get comfortable,” you hummed. You shook your head, trying to ignore how bad of an idea this was as Hoseok adjusted himself accordingly. 

“Thank you so much Y/N...I really didn’t know what else to do. I’ve tried teas, I’ve tried melatonin. I’ve-”

“Focus your eyes on a central point on the ceiling above you,” you interrupted. “Where a tile meets. Now focus on that dot. As your focusing, take a deep breath through your nose. As deep as you can. Now slowly exhale through your mouth. Let go of all your energy.”

You watched carefully as Hoseok did as you instructed, unsure of how this would go. You had studied some facets of hypnosis, but as you had mentioned to him, you were no where near a practicing doctor and could get into an immense amount of trouble if anyone you had classes with knew you were doing this. 

To an idol no less. 

“Begin to relax your body, except for your eyes. Focus on that spot. Everything outside that spot is going to become blurred. Now take a deep breath again and hold. Slowly exhale and blow away all of your tension. Good job.”

After a few more minutes of coaching, you had Hoseok near corpse status on your couch, deep in the stages of hypnosis. 

“You are in control of how little...or how much you are relaxing,” you cooed. “Imagine a scenario. Imagine a place or a person who makes your entire being swell up and feel whole. Your heart is full. Your mind is full. Your lungs are bursting with air. Now take that, take how you’re feeling and contrast it. Now imagine what doesn’t make you happy. What makes you drag your feet as soon as they touch the floor? What makes you see the world in a filter of gray instead of the bright colors you long for? What are your stresses?” 

Hoseok let a small moan escape from his lips as he shifted in the seat, almost stirring awake. You held your breath for a moment as you watched him, unsure if he would break from your hold. 

“I’m scared of not performing well,” he answered weakly. “I’m lacking.”

“But why are you lacking?” you pressed. He furrowed his brows even more, his face near pain as he fought back with whatever he had buried deep down.

“I’m lacking because I can’t rest. My body feels like it hasn’t slept in years,” he groaned. 

“And why can’t you rest?” you continued. 

“I have nightmares,” he whimpered. “And they plague me as soon as I close my eyes.”

“When did you start having nightmares?” you questioned, feeling all of the hairs on your body stand on end. 

“Maybe...maybe a little over a year ago?” he hummed, his head flopping to the side. “I don’t know.”

“We usually experience spontaneous nightmares when something traumatic happens in our lives. What do your nightmares consist of?” you prodded. You weren’t sure if you were prepared to plunge this deeply into your ex boyfriend’s psyche, but you were there, and you couldn’t turn back now. 

“I don’t know,” he said dumbly. A thin layer of sweat was beginning to sprout on his brow as he subconsciously fought you, and himself. His breathing became quicker as well as he flexed his fingers. 

“You do know,” you insisted. “What do your nightmares consist of, Hoseok?”

“My...my nightmares,” he stuttered. “My nightmares usually involve losing you.”

You leaned back on the balls of your feet in shock, jumping away from him as if he was a snake that had lunged for you. You blinked in disbelief as tears began to trickle out of the corners of his eyes and down his cheekbones. He let out a light sob, allowing the emotions he had chosen to secure behind a barrier to emerge before the very person who had spawned them. 

You felt your own lashes grow heavy, tears soon peppering your cheeks as you watched Hoseok. 

“L-losing me?” you managed, your voice shaking. 

“Yes,” he confirmed. 

“Why?” you choked out, trying to hide your emotions. You had to remain calm. You had to remain steady. 

“You are the person who makes me feel whole. I love music and I love Monbebes, but you are what completes that need. You make my heart full. You make me breath easier. Leaving was the worst decision I could make and that is what I dream about every night. Leaving you behind and letting that door slam at my back.”

Your jaw fell open as you watched Hoseok. The furrow between his brows slowly eased and his breathing was once again becoming neutral. His confessions were washing away the anxiety that had plagued his sleep schedule for so long. 

“Um...now when I count to three,” you said, completely thrown from the mindset you should be in. “You will awaken and remember your words, but no longer feel burdened by them. One...two...three.”

Hoseok stirred and began to blink, immediately lifting himself from the couch. You leaned forward, grabbing his shoulder as he emerged from hypnosis. 

“Easy,” you cooed, watching as he looked around, a dazed expression plaguing his lids. “You did well.”

“I...I’m sorry,” he hummed, shaking his head as he attempted to break his stupor. “I didn’t mean to make you feel...”

“Wanted?” you chuckled bitterly. 

“Awkward,” he hummed. “You got it all...didn’t you?”

“Hey, you asked me for this,” you spat, immediately defensive. You would not be made to feel as if you went on an archeological expedition into the caverns of his mind. 

“I know,” he chuckled. He gripped your shoulder and sighed. “Calm down...it was time you heard it anyway.”

“It...it was?” you whispered, this time your turn to be the confused one. 

“I’ve only been ignoring how I felt for a year,” he smirked. “Whether you feel the same or not...at least now I can sleep knowing I’ve told you.”

You nodded slowly, biting your lip as you contemplated your next thought. “You have to be exhausted now. Hypnosis is no small amount of energy...plus your sleep deprivation on top of it.” 

“Dead on my feet,” he admitted, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. He ran a hand through his perfectly disheveled hair and smiled sadly at you. “I guess that’s my cue to get going then.”

You watched with shortened breaths as Hoseok stumbled across the living area, the lack of his presence apparent as soon as he left the room. You swallowed your pride and whatever tears you had left as you sprung up and sprinted toward your entryway. You nearly slammed into Hoseok’s back as he slipped into his shoes, his fingers beginning to turn the knob. 

“Maybe you should stay the night,” you nodded weakly. “And...and we can talk about us...about everything in the morning.” 

“What if I can’t sleep?” he asked, tilting his head. There was a new sparkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there previously. You couldn’t help but smile at it’s appearance, but looked down to your feet as you uttered your next words. 

“You can’t have nightmares about losing me...if I’m right beside you.”

thanks to @novaurora13 / @beesoo13 for the super unique plot idea and brain storming ^.^ go give her some love!!!

[memsmedic1]

La Primavera e L’estate Circa (Jan 2, 2018-Nov 4, 2018)

The next day, after delivering our last patient to the tender mercies of the hospital, the EMT class commenced at our Yangon headquarters with 6 students, mostly our more advanced team members who had already been EMR certified.

Every day I usually taught two or three separate lectures in the morning, and then skills practice in the afternoon, with emergency responses and company responsibilities filling in any extra time.

The class went very well, especially considering it was the first time we’d taught it. Occasionally there were interesting side notes interspersed throughout. On January 11th and again on the 13th we had 6.0 magnitude earthquakes hit nearby, but they were both far enough away that the only damage at our apartment was a few pieces of flaking paint and rotten concrete chips shaken loose. On another occasion two of the omnipresent geckos were having an unusually violent row up and down the apartment walls. After a bit I glanced toward the action again and was shocked to see what looked like a giant tongue protruding out nearly half of one geckos body length and lashing furiously back and forth. Upon closer inspection I realized that he had pulled off the other geckos tail and was in the process of eating it! Also, on the night of the last day of class we got to see a spectacular full lunar eclipse combined with a blood moon which I thought was an excellent sign!

By January 30 we had plowed through through the entire EMT curriculum and the students took the final practical skills tests. The next day they started taking the online final written exam.

At this point Nathan took over administering the written tests and ambulance rideouts that remained, and also prepared for and lead out in the next EMR training that would take place while I was gone, because on February 1st I got on a plane in Yangon and started on my way back to the US.

This trip had been set in stone almost a year before when my best friend and longest-running ambulance partner had asked me to be a groomsman in his wedding!

It was so nice to come back and see all my friends in Texas again! It felt as if I’d only left just a few days ago even though it had actually been over four months! It was inspiring to see how quickly roads, homes, and businesses had been repaired compared to how everything looked when I saw it last. The only obvious signs of the historic flooding from last summers’ Hurricane Harvey was the high water mark still visible in the trees along the road and lots of dead palm trees which was partially due to flooding and also the result of exceptionally low temperatures earlier in the winter.

After 3 whirlwind weeks in Texas that included lots of motorcycle riding and Mexican food, I flew north and got to spend two more wonderful weeks visiting family and friends in Montana! Here I shared more stories of my work and was even able to go skiing in Canada!

As my time back home wound down my mom and I drove to Spokane where my return flight started from and I was able to see two more dear quondam-Texas friends before flying out on March 7th.

I arrived back in Yangon just in time to help pack up our 4th floor office in town and four story apartment in Hlaing Thar Yar and consolidate both into a two story house where we additionally transferred the company and NGO address and registrations.

While the new house was still located in Hlaing Thar Yar township, which is generally considered the worst township because of its poverty and the intolerable volume of traffic over only a few, poorly maintained roads, it had several major improvements; we no longer had a dusty, noisy street directly outside our front door and a permaswamp out the back door, and now we had real doors instead of large metal roll-up “shop” doors which were always letting snakes, rats, and mosquitoes inside through their large gaps.

On March 12 I started teaching an intensive Advanced Emergency Medical Technician (A-EMT) course at our new office headquarters. A-EMT class ran until July 16 because there is both an hour (400) and content requirement for certification, and as we were more busy than ever teaching other classes and responding to emergencies I wasn’t able to hold class every single day. This course was quite similar to January’s EMT course except it was significantly longer, covered many additional topics, and went into a lot more detail on everything. While an EMT certification is not a necessary prerequisite for a student interested in becoming a paramedic, successfully passing an A-EMT course is required.

On March 22, M-EMS was invited to the US embassy in Yangon to meet with the ambassador, the Honorable Scot Marciel, about medical development needs and challenges that we had observed while working in Myanmar. The next day, I and one other employee went back to the embassy to teach a long-scheduled class for security and maintenance staff focused on triage, first aid, and medical evacuation procedures in the case of an attack on the embassy.

On Wednesday, March 28, I drove across the city to the Road Transport Administration Department to apply for a drivers license so I could finally drive legally, although I hadn’t had any trouble with my Texas license so far. Fortunately all the offices I had to visit were in the same building, but there were so many steps and repetitions that it took nearly the whole day. That evening however I was able to walk out with my Burmese license in hand!

On Saturday night, March 31st, Nathan and I along with a couple other team members loaded up in our ambulance and struck out for Myitkyina, an average of 24 hours drive north of Yangon. We have good friends here who had finally been able to bring our Land Cruiser ambulance down to their home from where it had been languishing uselessly 3 days drive further north in Putao, the original intended location for our volunteer ambulance service in Myanmar.

Sunday night after arriving and Monday morning we met our friends and worked to get the Land Cruiser back into working condition. Then we drove over to the pharmacy to pick up some needed supplies before starting on our return trip home that evening.

The pharmacist was an acquaintance of ours from previous visits and when he recognized us he told us about a patient who was the relative of a friends friend who desperately needed a ride to the hospital in Yangon. This was particularly interesting to us, in addition to possibly being able to help someone, because our Land Cruiser was unable to be licensed and therefore vulnerable to confiscation in the central parts of the country, so if we had a patient on board we would be much more likely to make it past all the tolls and checkpoints without arousing too much suspicion.

Therefore we agreed to evaluate the patient and see if he qualified for us to treat and transport. After the pharmacist made a couple phone calls the son of the patient came to meet us at the pharmacy and immediately insisted on taking us out for lunch (shrewd). Next we drove over to the tiny local hospital where we found the patient in a small dark room with several other sick people.

The patient was a 90 year old Sikh man who had been completely healthy until March 22nd when he suddenly began experiencing weakness, shortness of breath, chest pain and a productive cough, and low oxygen saturation.

When I examined him he was polite but was anxious and confused, and in significant distress, having difficulty breathing and hypoxia that was much worse when laying flat, and chest pain that was much worse when he sat up. These are the only two options for taking a patient on an airplane, so without sedating and intubating him first, he would have to go by ground.

After starting an IV, giving him oxygen, and connecting our Lifepak 12 cardiac monitor, we moved him from bed to stretcher to ambulance and then drove across town to his house where all of his family had assembled to say goodbye. They had prepared a traditional feast and insisted we eat with them before starting on our journey.

After the meal and endless goodbyes we got the patient loaded up and pulled out of town just after dark Monday night to begin the 734 mile drive to the “special diagnostic hospital” in Yangon which was the closest thing Myanmar could offer to what the patient needed. I was in the back with the patient performing patient care and Nathan was driving.

After about 16 hours on the road we made it to Mandalay mid morning on Tuesday, April 3rd. The patient had a doctor relative who lived here so we brought the patient to her house where they had a bed and an oxygen tank waiting for him (the oxygen tank was empty however so we had to keep him on our own dwindling supply while they rushed to fill it). After that little excitement we temporarily turned over care to the family doctor so we could wash the ambulance, buy more medicine, refill our O2 tanks, eat, and rest for a bit. Late that afternoon we again loaded up the patient and drove the last 7 hours to the hospital, finally arriving at 1230 AM on the 4th, approximately 30 hours after starting the call.

On April 20th, almost halfway through the A-EMT course, a fire broke out at the 300 acre Htein Bin landfill a couple kilometers from our house. The most likely explanation was that the fire started by spontaneous combustion, since Yangons’ 2,000 tons of daily garbage that avoids the ocean has been dumped here indiscriminately for the past 17 years, without any safeguards to prevent decomposing organic waste from self igniting, but whatever the cause, it was a terrible stroke of misfortune for the people of our township.

Burning dozens of meters underground in many areas, the flames that were visible broke through to the surface unpredictably and were no larger than campfires, and unlike the billowing black smoke from the nearby Hlaing Thar Yar factories, the heavy, suffocating white smoke of the dump fire easily blended in with the clouds and regular smog, creating a false sense of normalcy.

You could tell the smoke was in the air when you breathed though, as the toxic, vaporous miasma permeated everywhere and burned and stung when inhaled, even inside the ambulance or the house. For several days we took to wearing knockoff N95 masks in a vain attempt to shield our lungs. The toxins from all the plastic, textiles, household and commercial trash were so bad and so concentrated that at least 5 people died and dozens of others were hospitalized.

Hundreds of volunteer firefighters descended on the dump with minimal to no personal protective equipment and antique fire engines, each rival group competing for recognition and donations as they heedlessly dragged fat, leaking, low pressure hoses around disregarding warnings from international experts that adding water to that much organic material was just helping the fire to spread faster. Walking around the burning wasteland it appeared that the people who lived in the dump or made their living scavenging for recyclable objects were carrying on with business as usual, picking their way around the flames that occasionally burst through the surface.

Myself and a team from M-EMS paused our ongoing training and spent several days onsite at the fire passing out fake N95 masks that had been donated for the purpose, and treating firefighters injured by trying to fight the fire in flip flops and/or stepping in hidden sinkholes, along with burn injuries, inhalation injuries, other minor trauma, and dehydration.

We also participated in a massive effort to vaccinate all the firefighters and other exposed personnel on site for tetanus, which was also donated for us to administer. The general population was amazingly supportive of the firefighting efforts. We received dozens of calls from random citizens asking what supplies we needed and what they could help us with, and other groups providing different resources received the same assistance. Private citizens also showed up en masse with homemade food, water, snacks, ad hoc rehab shelters, and other amenities for the firefighters. In fact, the government had very little to do with the event other than the precipitating factors.

The fire burned unabated for over two weeks until a couple of early monsoon rains were finally able to drown it out.

On May 1st I took a bus to Myawaddy and crossed over to Thailand intending on doing a quick visa run and then coming back. But as I was walking down the street in MaeSot I saw a familiar truck parked along the side of the road with my good friend —the nurse who I’d helped at her mountain clinic just before I started working at M-EMS— in the back of it!

It was so nice to see her again after all this time. She was in town dropping off a patient at the hospital and resupplying for a return trip to her village that afternoon and she persuasively invited me to come with her again, so I talked to headquarters and ended up taking a spur of the moment trip back home with her and her wonderful assistant and our mutual friend Blet Jaw.

I was able to help her treat patients, garden, hike to different villages to hold medical clinics, and play football (soccer) with Blet Jaw and the local kids.

During this time we were extremely fortunate to be able to sell our Land Cruiser ambulance which had just been sitting idle for nearly the entire time we had owned it. Even though it was very painful to let it go, it was perfect timing because only two weeks later the government took the next step beyond just prohibiting old or improperly imported vehicles from getting licensed and banned all unlicensed vehicles from the roads (you would think this would have been the case all along, but until this point the government only attempted to confiscate fancy attention grabbing vehicles without a license, which is why we’d always been leary about driving our Land Cruiser).

This took an enormous number of the volunteer rescue groups’ ambulances out of use, since most of them are either too old or improperly imported or both, and certainly included our Land Cruiser, which we found out after first importing was two years older than the 16 year old limit to receive an emergency vehicle license.

An interesting postscript to the Land Cruiser saga is that not two months after purchasing it fully stocked and equipped from us, the group that bought it drove it from their border region to Mandalay, where it was promptly impounded and its three crewmen arrested and thrown into the infamous Mandalay Central Prison, currently filled to three times its designated capacity.

Early on May 17 I crossed back into Myanmar and met up with Nathan and several other team members in Myawaddy, who had brought across a load of supplies we needed at our office. I was happy about the timing since it meant I wouldn’t have to subject myself to the grueling, slow, uncomfortable, 2nd class bus ride back to Yangon.

Let me talk about the Burmese busses for a minute. There are three distinctive levels of bus quality in Myanmar: VIP and 1st class, (which are both brand new arrivals to the country even since I’ve been here) which sometimes have semi-comfortable air conditioning and seats, either silence or relatively quiet music and chanting monks on the speakers, and hardly any unscheduled stops or breakdowns.

Next there’s 2nd and 3rd class, blaring loud obnoxious movies or music, and all but guaranteeing extracurricular stops and breakdowns. Sometimes they are chintzy new Chinese models (if you think Chinese products are bad in America, you should see what they export to the rest of the world) and have aircon set to Antarctic Winter, or old no-aircon post-war Japanese models clearly made for post-war Japanese legs. Often the storage compartment size to amount-of-stuff-to-be-stored ratio is inverted and any available space in the passenger compartment including the aisle is packed with everything from suitcases to bags of rice.

And finally, “Cattle Car”, which is the main method of transportation in Yangon other than taxi, with either large songtau-like open trucks, or busses that may be missing windows, side panels, or seats, and filled to beyond capacity with more people standing wedged together in the aisle than sitting on the seats.

But I digress.

After helping to load the van with our Thai spoils we crammed ourselves in after it and started on the time-consuming but short distance-wise (153 miles as the crow flies) trip back home. Driving around the northern tip of the Andaman Sea adds another 107 miles to the trip, but the steep serpentine mountain road and rough narrow dirt road coming into the Central Valley disproportionately lengthen the journey.

Early afternoon we were making good time and were about 2/3 of the way home when our automatic transmission cargo van started making alarming sounds and having trouble downshifting. First it struggled to get into 5th gear, then it started having trouble getting into 4th gear.

We stopped in the only “town” between where we started having trouble and Yangon and found a little teak and bamboo mechanic shop. They took a look at it and said there was heavy transmission damage but they could try to salvage it if we left the van there for several days. We decided to spend the night nearby and have someone drive our ambulance down in the morning to pick us up so the van could stay at the mechanic, but the only government approved hotel for foreigners was closed for remodeling leaving us with very few options.

We decided to screw the probably already screwed transmission and just drive it as far as it would go and then figure out what to do from there. The noises kept getting worse and we started smoking as we screamed along down in 3rd gear, and the “slow, annoying” bus I would have been on cruised effortlessly past us shortly thereafter. Happily, the transmission survived all the way back to the office, over 12 hours after embarking on what should have been an 8 hour drive that morning.

On June 28 I drove up to the capital with a couple teammates where we had been invited to attend a 4th of July celebration hosted by the US Embassy. We were invited because we were friends with several of the embassy officials and also because we’re the highest trained and by far the best supplied ambulance in the country, and the head of the medical unit wanted us to be available in case the ambassador or any of the guests were to have an emergency.

This meant that we had a special clearance to park in the restricted area right outside the hotel the event was hosted in!

The evening was a blast, getting to see the ambassador and hang out with my embassy friends and meet other expats was awesome, plus there was various pieces of artfully curated Americana scattered around and a surfeit of almost American tasting food to gormandize if desired. Out of the several hundred celebrators, somewhat surprisingly not a single one needed medical attention, and our evening’s festivities went uninterrupted.

The next day we visited a beautiful and expansive botanical garden in Naypyidaw for a few hours and then drove back to Yangon that afternoon.

*******************************************************************************************

The summer monsoon was an extraordinarily wet one and caused unusual amounts of damage this year all across Asia, with powerful storms, record rainfall, and shoddy infrastructure combining to wreak havoc on cities and countryside alike...

...While exploring the ‘Tham Luang Nang Non’ cave in Mae Sai, far northern Thailand right on the Myanmar border, heavy monsoon rains caused a flash flood which trapped an entire middle school soccer team deep inside the cave from June 23 to July 10, setting in motion a truly heroic cave rescue which some of my friends participated in but which cost the life of a Thai navy seal diver...

...Remnants of Typhoon Prapiroon combined with sustained heavy rainfall resulted in major flooding and mudslides throughout June and July in western Japan, forcing over 2 million people to evacuate and leaving over 200 dead, with dozens still missing...

...On the Vang Ngao river in Laos, the 410-megawatt Xe-Pian Xe-Namnoy hydroelectric dam collapsed Monday night, July 23rd, triggering the catastrophic release of 5 billion cubic meters of water, leaving 40 people dead, hundreds still missing, and over 6,000 homeless in Laos and northern Cambodia...

...In Myanmar also there was extensive flooding, even more than the normal monsoon rains cause. The 2018 North Indian Ocean cyclone season was the most active season since 1992, with the formation of fourteen depressions and seven cyclones, though not all of these affected Myanmar of course.

In Hlaing Thar Yar we are far enough away from the coast to escape the brunt of these storms, but we still had so much wind that the rain constantly blew up under our roofing tiles and our poorly fitted windows leaked like a sieve; I had a constantly multiplying family of Aedes albopictus wigglers living in my windowsill all summer! Every day for months it seemed, we were out on the roof calking tarpaper nail-holes under the roof tiles. In Yangon there was sometimes six feet of water over certain parts of the city, which usually drains off quickly after the rain abates but has to be factored in when responding to emergencies or transporting to the hospital!

One day, the entire Myaungmya suspension bridge, the only bridge connecting Yangon to Myaungmya, fell into the Irrawaddy river, killing two people and providing a real boon to the ferryboatmen.

The Ministry of Construction told the public not to worry about the other 29 aging suspension bridges suspended around the country because “it has carried out maintenance work on them regularly”.

We felt very reassured upon hearing this message as we regularly traversed two of these bridges nearly every day on our way to and from downtown Yangon 😆.

On July 16 the final online written exams were administered and the A-EMT course was successfully completed, much to the delight of everyone!

I had to renew my visa again so I took the night bus to Thailand on July 17th. Since I had a little extra time I caught a Songtau out to visit my friends at Sunshine Orchard that afternoon (Wednesday the 18th) and spent the week with them. There was a group of student volunteers from Asia Pacific International University helping with some construction projects around the school campus so I got to know them a little bit and helped out where I could. On Wednesday the 25th I was able to hitch a ride in their van as far as MaeSot where I was planning on crossing back to Myanmar.

However, even though the road from the Thai-Burma border to Yangon is elevated several feet above the surrounding countryside which is mostly rice paddies, heavy rains had covered a hundred kilometers of the road in over two and a half feet of water that even the largest vehicles couldn't get through. I waited for over a week but ended up having to take a bus up to Chiang Mai and fly back to Yangon instead.

On August 29th, the Hswar Creek Dam, holding a large irrigation reservoir in Bago Region, central Myanmar, collapsed, which flooded or destroyed 85 villages and displaced over 63,000 villagers. Incredibly, only a small handful of people were killed or went missing but the deluge did manage to wash out bridges on the only two roads that connect Yangon to Naypyidaw, Mandalay, and the rest of the north half of the country.

One of M-EMS and MFA’s long-time areas of interest to expand into was disaster relief, so earlier this year we implemented a disaster response protocol to respond to these uncommonly severe cyclones, the dam bursting, and regular monsoon flooding.

We immediately had more requests for flood relief than we could handle, both in regard to the need, and to the donations of food and clothes that continuously poured in for us to distribute. We provided aid locally and also made trips to deliver loads of donated supplies like rice and other food, clothes, and medical supplies to the hardest hit areas in Bago Region, Mon state, and Karen state.

The villages that aren't situated right on a river usually don't have boats, and are often flooded out of their homes or at least stranded when rapid or unusually high flooding occurs.

Usually we collaborate with various local rescue groups we know in order to get help hauling more supplies to our flooded destination, and with other friends at the destination to find out where the needs are the greatest and set up boat transportation to get us there when we run out of road. At that point we load the boats and take the supplies to the affected villages and either give everything to the villagers directly, or meet with monks from the local monastery who are involved in feeding and housing flood victims already and leave the supplies with them.

It's amazing to see how everything looks so different when there's 5 or 6 feet of water covering the ground. In some places the flooded rice paddies and fields look like an enormous shallow lake with little islands of coconut and sugar palm trees, tall grasses, and sugarcane being the only things still visible. I would think that this would dilute the fish but the fishermen have a heyday. On our way to one village we passed an isolated bamboo house that was on stilts, and the floor appeared to be floating on the water it was so high. The only dry thing near the house was a huge mimosa tree, where some children from the house were playing and waving to us as we floated by! Another village had made a makeshift paddlewheel boat out of a bicycle lashed to the middle of a raft of plastic 5 gallon gas cans with wooden slats tied to the spokes of the back wheel.

Not all the villages we visit are still flooded. Sometimes there's several flooded villages in the vicinity of an easily accessible non-flooded village, or the water has already gone down but no one from the government or other aid groups have donated any supplies to that area, and all their rice and clothes were washed away or ruined when it flooded, so we helped them also.

On top of flood relief we were still constantly occupied with becoming certified to teach additional courses, and teaching CPR, First Aid, ACLS, PALS, EMR and specialty courses, and responding to emergencies. During my time with Myanmar EMS I personally taught or oversaw over 50 different classes and courses! The demand for training far exceeded the supply and only increased the longer we offered it.

From August 27 through September 7 we taught another 80 hour EMR course at a monastery in Yangon for 40 rescue volunteers, including a small contingent that traveled all the way down from Putao in order to attend!

One night we were woken up by a caller on our emergency line telling us about a possible suicide somewhere in Yangon. Astounded by this remarkable vagary, we pressed for details and found out that the caller was calling from America! It turns out he had been chatting with his Burmese girlfriend and at some point, she had gotten all depressed and told him that her cat had just died and she was so lonely without him and now without the cat too. She then said she had decided that she was just going to overdose and die and then hung up on him and turned off her phone. He had rushed online to see if there was any kind of emergency medical service in Yangon and found our website so now he was calling and asking for help.

We asked for any address details and fortunately he had an apartment number and partial address which was obviously meaningless to him, but we had a general idea of the location and soon we were on our way. After interpreting the address two or three different ways without success we struck on the right combination and arrived at the apartment only to find that it was on the third story and the entrance was through the lower apartment which was locked and shuttered. We beat on the lower apartment until we were convinced no one was home and tried shouting up to the third floor without success.

It was at this moment we discovered that the only time you can truly be alone and have some peace and quiet in Yangon is when you just really need someone to notice you!

Walking around looking for an alternate entry point we discovered an antique British era fire escape bolted to the crumbling bricks on the back of the building. Pulling the ambulance around back we could stand on top and just reach the lower rungs. The bottom sliding section of ladder was rusted solidly in place and we were hopeful that everything else was solid as well.

Clambering delicately up to the second balcony we knocked on the door which was opened after a while by a groggy looking gentlemen who didn’t seem the least bit phased by our unorthodox approach.

We explained who we were and why we were there and then he said “yes; I have a daughter, she’s in her room sleeping at this very moment.” (By now it was nearly 3 AM). We said “Oo ley; (uncle) why don’t you go check on her right now and make sure just for our sake that your daughter is ok.” He acquiesced and pottered off into the bowels of the apartment leaving us floating out in the ethereal third story Yangon smog layer. In a couple Burmese minutes he was back smiling and assured us that she was sound asleep in bed.

“Oo ley; if she has poisoned herself she may appear to be sleeping peacefully when in fact she is dying or already dead. Just wake her up and let us see that she is well before we leave.”

The man was gone a little longer this time but when he came back he was moving much more rapidly and said that she wouldn’t wake up. He finally invited us in and led us to the girl’s room where we found her to be unresponsive in bed. She was cool, pale, and diaphoretic and was only breathing 8 times per minute. We assisted her breathing with a BVM and checked her blood sugar which was 31 mg/dL. After starting an IV and administering 25 grams of D50 (50% dextrose) she rapidly began showing signs of improvement. We searched her room and found an empty bottle of antimalarial medicine which causes rapid hypoglycemia and can cause blindness if overdosed on.

By now she was fully conscious and cooperative and her vital signs were stable. We carried her out to the ambulance (via the stairs this time) and took her to the hospital in case there was anything that they could do to protect her vision.

Since before teaching our very first EMR course, one of my main behind-the-scenes responsibilities was to develop and improve our course materials, which is a never ending process, and as our lineup of available courses increased so did my job of upgrading our teaching materials.

Because of the complete lack of credible Burmese language medical books, we had also begun editing, formatting, and translating both a basic first aid book and an EMR textbook into Burmese. This was an enormous, frustrating process, but after over two years of work, both projects were completed and published this year!

[ivbenjaminart]

LEGACIES - Agent Lex Argentum 

Entry 4 - The Provocateur] <File encryption level: Black> <Security protocols enacted> I have decided to make this entry classified eyes only. I fear I may not be able to remain objective as I report on this man. I must succeed in my mission to bring these individuals to justice, therefore, for the sake of the integrity of the investigation, this profile will remain private. While House Fratrem is arguably the most powerful of the High Houses in the hierarchy, House Argentum is easily the largest. Extended family aside, the current generation consists of both the Lord Bellator and Lady Dulcia Argent and a total of nine children--one of which, Lacuna, sits at the Black Table of the Inquisition, and two, Fortuno and Tacenda, are Obscura and thus serve the Imperial Security Agency. Their control of the Imperium’s finances should grant them a troubling amount of sway in matters of the empire--however, this is (thankfully) counterbalanced by our majesty, the Primarch Ursor Nox, as well as the combined strength of the voices behind High Houses Tempus, Dominus, Mortis, and Aurum. Even High House Fratrem, for the sake of its dominating position in the Hierarchy, also has a stake in keeping the bankers at bay. After all, you cannot defend your coin without a military or fund your military without coin. This is all to say that House Argentum has a reputation and not a particularly favourable one. Given their enormous contribution to the Imperium, however, and the fact that their eldest daughter sits at the Black Table, it would be impossible to ever remove them of their rank. As a lowborn man from a family of middle rank officers in Ordo Militaris ...I cannot help but wonder at the mind that devised the Office of the Inquisition. Did they create it with this loophole in mind? Plant a son or daughter at the Table making a unanimous vote to remove your House from power impossible? This reputation, however, is more troubling than just being an attention seeking throng of braggarts and sycophants that line their wine goblets with gemstones. It begins with knowing that they had a third child born an Obscura--the subject of this profile--Lex Argentum. My initial investigation began with the Schola Obscura--the academy that all Obscura attend for their training prior to becoming Agents of the ISA. Similar to the Citadel where Inquisition hopefuls receive instruction. His earliest records at the Schola Obscura show enlistment at age ten, which was automatically a red flag. It is common knowledge that all Obscura are enlisted at age five. My authority granted me access to several sealed medical documents that shed a rather disturbing light on the cause. Lex was born with a crippling condition called Servants’ Syndrome. The condition itself is extremely rare, affecting less than one in five million and never before someone from a highborn family. It earned its name as those with it are born with underdeveloped legs typically from the knee down and as such, were they to try and stand, would always be kneeling. In some severe cases, those with Servants’ Syndrome will also have a weakened skeletal structure where even breathing can cause fractures. Even a cursory study of his medical records made it clear that Lex’s case was, indeed, severe. A fact I...did not know. Further investigation into his medical condition shows that all of his post-delivery care was performed in home and by a private physician whose name had been redacted from all records (I was able to confirm their identity, but it is of little importance in the grand scheme of things). In attempt to track his progression with Servants’ Syndrome I tried to cross reference public appearances of the Argentum family between 760 and 765 AE. All eight of his siblings (of which, he is the youngest) had countless records of public appearance at official events and even popular social gatherings but there were none to be found of Lex. I then checked written records around the time and curiously found no mention of him, either. It was as if he did not exist at all. Combined with information surrounding his late enlistment into the Schola Obscura...I was able to deduce a horrible truth. Lex had been a prisoner of his home. For ten years...save for the confidential medical records I was able to uncover...there is not one iota of proof that he had ever been born. What did they have to gain from this? Were they afraid that having a sickly child would reflect on the strength of their House? Were they ashamed he was afflicted with a lowborn illness? Was it all for the sake of their reputation? He never told me any this. I can’t imagine… I...will return to this report at a later time. <End data entry> <Begin amended log> <File encryption level: Black> <Security protocols enacted> The Schola Obscura’s database indicates that Lex Argentum was enlisted at the age of ten. Were it not for the situation at hand I would not have access this information, but emergency powers have been granted to my office and I was thus able to confirm that he was not enlisted by his family but by the High Legatus himself, Felix Aurum. This leads me to believe that the High Legatus must have learned of the boy’s existence somehow and his classification as an Obscura. I have my suspicions as to how--there was an outbound call made from an Arc Link terminal within House Argentum’s manor two solans before his enlistment. Either Lex or his caretaker saw the wrong being done unto him and decided the unquestionable authority of an Agent was needed to save him. To think I would ever be thankful the left hand of the Primarch were above the law... Medical records indicate that he underwent the only known procedure to, not cure, but counteract Servants’ Syndrome--a procedure with an impossibly low success rate. His legs were both replaced with cybernetic prosthesis and his entire skeletal structure was rebuilt with synthetic bones. Miraculously he survived--though I am not a medical professional I can only assume it is the enhanced healing of the Obscura that allowed him to live through the ordeal. After his recovery, his initial tests at the Schola Obscura yielded surprising results in regards to the potency of his abilities. It leads me to believe that he must have attempted to hone his psionic gifts while hidden away in his home. It appears that, shortly after this, he was introduced to House Fratrem’s Obscura son, Lance, with whom he formed a fast friendship with. The two were apparent trouble for their superiors at the Academy--which was only compounded after the arrival of Carcer three years later. His time spent at the Schola Obscura was worthy of note only in the efficiency in which he performed (note: see, also, files on the boys’ involvement in Project Deadzone. Why was my office never informed of this?). Upon graduation he remained with Lance and Carcer and was joined by Silva, his former Magister. He began serving as their pilot and link-breaker (in layman's, an individual with technical expertise who utilizes exploits within electronic systems to break into them) and did so up until Division IV’s betrayal. He remains with them now. I respected Silva. Her service to the Throne was admirable, despite being an Agent. I never cared for Carcer or Lance. But Lex...I must be honest with myself when I say that his betrayal is not unlike feeling a tear in my soul. Should such things exist. It is my only regret that he does not know what his actions have done...and that, now that he has become an enemy of the empire I swore to protect, he never will. I will bring him and the others to justice, regardless of how deeply it pains my heart. It is my duty as an Inquisitor. --Inquisitor Apollo Trevellus

[inkandheart]

Lady of Khaneya - Chapter 13, Part II

CHAPTER 13. FIRE

This installment is dedicated to my BFF @jael-paris on her BIRTHDAY! WOO-HOO! Have some angst, mah bean! ;D

TITLE: THE LADY OF KHANEYA

AUTHOR: HTTP://INKANDHEART.TUMBLR.COM/ (AKA STITCH/FEMMEDPLUME)

Word Count: 6063

Genre: Fantasy, Romance

SUMMARY: A fire at the camp of House Ng’ombe has devastating effects.

CHARACTERS: Lady Orian, Lady Latifya, Jaeger-Tau, Tevi, Brandt-Faran, Physica Vikka, Obin Onil, Lady Osumare Ng’ombe, Lady Yazi, Him

WARNINGS: Fire, death, brief abuse

“Hurry!” Orian all but screamed at her free-guard. When she’d realized that the smoke coming from across the lake couldn’t be anything but a disastrous fire, Orian had snapped into action -- because across the lake was Osumare’s encampment.

“They’re coming as quickly as they can,” Latifya admonished her. “Patience!”

“We have no time for patience,” Orian snapped back. “Osumare needs help now!”

“Lady Ng’ombe, please,” Tifya said. “And she’s Great Lady in her own right now; surely she can manage to help herself!”

Orian glared at her sister, then turned back to where the free-guard was assembling aid kits under the direction of Wise Mother Tiksi. “Wise Mother? Are we ready?”

Tifya sighed and shook her head. “Stubborn as a mule.”

The eldest Nekare sister was probably correct, so far as it went. Osumare had been House Ng’ombe’s Great Lady for almost two years now, and Ng’ombe kept its lands up on the plains north of Kinshasa where there was grazing for their cattle -- and wildfires regularly swept through the area. If anyone was prepared to deal with a sudden fire, it was House Ng’ombe.

But Osumare is my friend, Orian thought stubbornly. There is no way I leave her standing alone today.

Wise Mother Tiksi ran a critical eye over the packs the free-guard had assembled, then nodded. “This is enough to get started with, I think.”

“Good,” Orian nodded impatiently. “Let us go.”

“A moment, Great Daughter, if I may?”

Orian sighed. “Yes?”

“Split the guard,” the old woman advised. “Take half with you on the run, along with a message bird. The other half can charter a boat or two, and come across with any supplies you may discover a need for once you arrive.”

“Oh.” The young lady blinked. “Yes. Clever. Half of you, with me!” Orian raised her voice to address the free-guard. “The other half, attend on the Wise Mother; her words are mine.”

“Yes, Great Daughter!” The guard saluted.

Tiksi’s plan was implemented with a minimum of fuss; within five minutes, Orian, Latifya and half their guard were jogging down the path to the docks.

Tifya glanced back over her shoulder and frowned. “Are you certain bringing Tau was a prudent idea?”

“He was a soldier once,” Orian replied, saving her focus for the crowded path ahead. “Always a good plan to have trained men in an emergency.”

Tifya couldn’t argue with that without revealing the true nature of her fears about Tau and Orian spending time together, so she said nothing.

Behind them, Jaeger-Tau jogged along in time with the rest of the guard, carrying his own bundle of supplies. He had been caught off-guard when Orian had left the tent, nearly floating from the afterglow of pleasure he had given her, only to return wild-eyed and determined to rush headlong into possible disaster. He was still a trifle thrown by how quickly the entire camp had responded to her commands; up till now, he had thought Khanyan society put a higher premium on decorum than anything else. Khanyan nobles did not hurry.

But Orian did, when her friend was in trouble. He watched her make her nimble way through the crush of dockworkers, matched stride-for-stride by her sister Latifya, and shook his head in admiration.

“What is it?” Tevi asked.

“Nothing,” Jaeger-Tau said quickly, dodging a dockworker bent nearly double under a heavy sack of goods.

“I know that face, barbarian,” Tevi disagreed, leaping nimbly over a crate.

Jaeger-Tau rolled his eyes briefly. “Fine. I was admiring our ladies; I had no idea they were this athletic.”

“By ‘athletic’ you mean, capable of running?” Tevi grinned, a flash of white teeth. “Oh, the nobles can run when it suits them, but you’ll never hear them admit it. Running is a fit state only for peasants, you see.”

“In Allemagne, even the noble ladies were expected to be athletes.”

The Guard Second snorted. “Of course they were. Welcome to civilization, barbarian.”

Jaeger-Tau barked a laugh. “Thank you, but I think ‘civilization’ and her sister are outpacing us. Perhaps we should stop talking and run faster!” He put on a burst of speed just as they reached the end of the docks.

Tevi snorted and followed. The two men vaulted off the short end of the last stone pier and onto the sand, the Nekare free-guard tumbling hastily after them. After a few moments of breathless scrabble over loose-packed sand, Tevi and Jaeger-Tau led the group into the Ng’ombe camp--

--where they skidded to a halt behind their horrified ladies. 

The camp was in shambles; not one fire, but several burned out of control, while terrified cattle ran this way and that, trampling people and buildings with equanimity.

Ever the first to take charge in a crisis, Latifya stepped forward, but Orian cut her off.

“Tevi, take five guards and deal with the cattle,” Orian commanded. “We won’t get anything calmed while they’re stampeding about like that. And don’t let them out into the water; I don’t know how many water tokens Osumare has left! Tifya, take the rest and search the camp for any injured; if there are medimagi here, I’m betting they’ve set up a triage behind the camp on that rise,” pointing. “If they haven’t yet, do so. Tau!”

He stepped to her side even as Latifya and the rest hurried to  “Yes, mistress?”

“I need you to get everyone’s attention.” Unspoken between them was her newfound knowledge of his former commanding role in the Allemagnian army. Surely he had had some tactic to control a fighting battalion that would come in handy here?

“I know just the thing.” Jaeger-Tau scanned the area, noting a tumble of boulders at the bottom of the cliff marking the edge of the encampment. “There. Come with me.” He chose a boulder with a relatively flat top, just a little taller than he was. He scrambled atop it, then reached down and pulled Orian up beside him.

She looked down at the chaos uncertainly. “Now they can see us, for all the good that does.”

“Give me a moment.” He concentrated briefly, whispering a cantrip in Nors, and touched one large finger to his throat. Then he took a deep breath, and bellowed, “EVERYBODY CALM DOWN!”

His voice, amplified by the spell he’d used, rolled over the encampment like a deafening thunder, shocking everyone into silence -- even the cows.

He turned to Orian and, in a more normal voice, “May I?” She nodded, and he touched her throat briefly. “You don’t have to bellow like I did. Just speak clearly, they’ll hear you.”

Looking down at the crowd of frightened people, Orian had one brief moment of heart-jangling nerves -- would they listen to her? Should they? She hesitated.

Then Jaeger-Tau’s voice, similar to the terrifying bellow of a moment ago only in timbre, rumbled in her ear. “They need a leader, my lady. Just get them moving, and the rest will sort itself.”

Right. Get them moving. Orian took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and began issuing orders.

*

Brandt-Faran was briefly shaken out of his Healing trance when a voice that sounded exactly like Prince Jaeger’s parade bellow echoed over the camp.

“EVERYBODY CALM DOWN!”

“What was that?” Vikka yelped, pulling her hands away from Brandt-Faran and their patient, a young man whose legs had been crushed by trampling cattle.

“Um,” Brandt-Faran shook his head. It probably wasn’t Jaeger, anyway. “Sounds like someone’s trying to control the chaos out there. Physica, should we not--?”

Vikka blinked, refocused. “Of course, of course. Take a deep breath, and open yourself to me.”

Brandt-Faran took a calming breath and closed his eyes as he felt energy begin to flow from him to the Physica once more. As he sank back into the trance-like state which the Physica had shown him, insisting it was easier to access his energy if he was nearly somnolent, Brandt-Faran heard another voice echo out, giving orders to capture the rampaging cattle and help the wounded. But that voice was female, and nothing like Jaeger’s, so he put it out of his mind.

What would Jaeger be doing giving orders here, anyway?

*

“What about the fires?” Jaeger-Tau asked worriedly. “Won’t they spread?”

“Possibly, but until we can get the EMS out here, I don’t see how we can help that,” Orian replied.

“EMS?”

“Emergency Magical Services,” she explained. “Magi on-call for disasters during Satyrnalia.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “That’s helpful of them.”

“Well, a gathering this large, there’s bound to be some sort of disaster,” she sighed, rubbing her temple. “Let us hope they have a Water Elemental with them. And an Air Elemental to deal with the smoke; I worry more about the animals dying of inhalation.”

Jaeger-Tau brightened. “That’s it!” He leapt down from the boulder. “Stay here, mistress! I have an idea!”

“What is it? Tau!” She called, but he was gone, off into the fog.

Jaeger-Tau plunged into the smoke-filled chaos -- although it was already a bit calmer, as Tevi and his guards had organized the Ng’ombe herders. They had subdued the lead bull and were slowly herding the frightened cows into a makeshift enclosure of whatever wattle fencing hadn’t been trampled or burned. Other herders were using their crooks to pull down burning thatch from the roofs, shoveling sand over the pieces to kill the fire.

“Ho, Tevi!” Jaeger-Tau called.

“Ho, Tau!” Tevi called back from his place atop the lead bull. The Guard Second had attached a rope directly to the bull’s nose-ring, a brutally effective way of controlling the animal’s urge to trample. “What do you need?”

“Do they keep sylphs here?”

Tevi spoke briefly to one of the herders. “She says there’s a cage of them, but it’s in a building inside the fire-ring.” He coughed harshly. “Is the EMS coming? If the fire doesn’t kill us, the damn smoke will.”

“They should be here soon, but I think I can help with the smoke.” Jaeger-Tau unwound his aba and ran to the lake’s edge, plunging the fabric into the cool water. When it was soaked, he wrapped it around his head and shoulders, covering his mouth with the edge. Then, ignoring the shocked looks of the Khanyans, he ran past the outer rings of burning buildings.

Once past the first blast of fire, the Norseman paused for a moment to adjust to the fierce heat. Sweat poured down his face, and his lungs spasmed with every breath; even with his soaked aba, he wouldn’t last long. Fortunately, the buildings blocked some of the sound from the camp -- enough so that he could make out the high-pitched keening of sylphs in distress.

He followed the sound into the third building on his right, and found a floor-to-ceiling cage full of frantic sylphs; they redoubled their keening when they saw him.

“There now, calm yourselves,” he soothed them. “I’ve come to free you.”

The sylphs tinkled hopefully.

“But I must have a promise out of you first.” He paused, coughing as the smoke thickened.

The sylphs’ chiming sounded distrustful.

“Nothing bad,” he assured them. “Just fly free of the fire, then blow the smoke away over the lake so we can breathe again, and keep the fire from spreading to the back of the camp.”

The sylphs whistled amongst themselves. Some seemed willing, others reluctant.

Jaeger-Tau glanced over his shoulder, sweat stinging his eyes. Was the temperature rising? 

“Please,” he coughed. He wasn’t going to leave them there to die either way -- but once they were free, if none of them stayed to help, House Ng’ombe might loose its entire herd! “Two flowers to each who stays to help!” 

Now the sylphs chattered in agreement. Jaeger-Tau hurried to unlock the cage door; it took him a moment, as his were hands trembling from lack of oxygen. Finally, the door sprang free, and two-dozen sylphs blew past him and out the door of the hut, even as fire began to creep up the walls.

Jaeger-Tau stumbled out after them, coughing and gagging. Dizziness swept over him as he made his way back towards Tevi and the rest. He was so hot; his skin was burning, the aba long-since steamed dry.

I may have waited too long, he thought. He dropped to hands and knees, crawling towards the smoke-line. He was six horse-lengths away, he could make it.

Five horse-lengths. He coughed with every breath, his head exploding with pain.

Four horse-lengths. Sweat blurred his vision; he smelled the ends of his hair crackle and burn.

Three horse-lengths. He tried to call out for help, but he had no breath left. Slowly, he collapsed to the ground and rolled over on his back.

He had one brief glimpse of the bright blue slyph-glow hovering over his head before he passed out.

*

“Tevi?”

The Guard Second whirled. “Great Daughter, what are you doing? You need to stay back out of the smoke!”

“I will,” Orian promised, mouth covered by her aba. “But where is Tau? He came this way over ten minutes ago!”

Tevi cringed. “He went behind the fire-line.”

“What?” She shrieked. “And you let him?”

“I could not stop him! I think he -- wait! Look!” He pointed upward as dozens of bright blue lights zoomed up into the sky above the camp.

“Sylphs,” Lady Orian gasped. “That’s what he meant!” She peered into the smoke-laden air just as the tiny fae-creatures began to generate a strong breeze, blowing the smoke -- and the fire -- towards the lake.

“Clever,” Tevi nodded. “Sylphs aren’t strong enough to blow out the fire, but they can at least keep us all from dying of the smoke while we wait for the EMS magi.”

“Yes, but should not Tau have come out with them? Where is he?”

Tevi glanced at his mistress, surprised by the franticness of her tone. “He may have passed out before he could cross the fire-line again. Do not fear, mistress; we will find him.”

Lady Orian noticeably reigned in her emotions. “Of course you will. And look, here come the magi! Tevi, I leave you in charge of the rescue of  -- all injured persons. I must go speak to the magi.”

“Yes, O Prudent and Conscientious.” He watched her hurry off to meet the coracle of people wearing the bright yellow of EMS magi that was just pulling onto the strand. Not that he wasn’t worried about Tau himself, of course--

--but since when did a Great One fret over the life of one slave?

*

“There!” Physica Vikka said with satisfaction, releasing her hold on their patient.

Brandt-Faran opened his eyes and smiled at the little girl, who a few minutes before had been writhing with pain from the burns she had sustained. Now they were healed to shiny, ridged scars and the pain was gone -- though if she wanted her hair to grow back or her skin smoothed she would require the services of a Sculptor. At this moment, she seemed happy enough to be free of pain.

“A thousand thanks, Great Physica,” the girl’s mother pressed Vikka’s hand to her forehead again and again. “I thought she would die.”

“I have done what I can,” Vikka demurred. “Physica Nede is a Sculptor who specializes in reforming injured bodies; her services are expensive, but I can recommend her work.”

“Thank you,” the mother nodded vigorously. “Physica Nede; I will remember. Come my baby, the Physica has many more patients to see.”

“Thank you, Physica,” the little girl said shyly as her mother led her away.

“I hope they go to the Sculptor,” Brandt-Faran murmured.

“They may not be able to afford it,” Vikka sighed. “At least she is not a boy, whose prospects hang on his beauty. She may still be wooed for her cattle and land. Ah, this is melancholy speculation. Come, honored Faran, we have work to do.”

Brandt-Faran nodded, stood up, and stumbled.

Vikka was instantly at his side. “Are you well? Are you feeling drained? Hungry? Light-headed?”

He shook his head; in fact, being an Anchor rather seemed to invigorate him. “My leg cramped from sitting in that position, that’s all. The only thing affecting me at the moment is the smoke.”

She nodded understandingly and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It does give one a headache, but there’s nothing we can do. We only have one sylph, and ‘tis at the end of its span, I’m afraid.”

Brandt-Faran glanced over at the sylph cage in the corner. The tiny thing did seem drained, but, “Wait a moment.” He left the medical tent and climbed a little ways up the hill behind it, to where some purple desert lilies bloomed.

“Here,” he said, pushing the flowers through the bars of the cage. The sylph glanced wearily up at him, but brightened when it saw the flowers.

“What are you doing?” Vikka asked curiously.

“Feeding it. Sylphs need more than sugar-water to survive for long. See?” He said after a few moments, as the invigorated little creature began to flap its wings more energetically, creating a fresh breeze for the tent.

“Astonishing. You barbarians are so close to nature,” Vikka smiled admiringly. “That will help all of us, I think.”

A tall Khanyan man with deep amber eyes, wearing a lion-crest tunic over his armor, pushed frantically into the tent. “Is there a Physica?”

“Here!” Vikka called, raising her arm.

“Thank the Healer,” the man sighed fervently, and leaned back out of the flap. “She’s here! Bring him in!”

Four large men entered, carrying a fifth man between them; a man whose tanned skin was burned a deep red in places, whose face and long, golden hair were streaked with soot.

“Jaeger?” Brandt-Faran blurted in shock.

The tall Khanyan glanced at him. “You know him?”

“Put him over here,” Vikka ordered, indicating a vacant space. The four men laid Jaeger-Tau down on the blanket Vikka indicated, then backed away. From her voluminous sleeves, the Physica produced a pair of sharp scissors, which she used to cut away the remains of the Norseman’s clothes.

“I need an obin,” she called into the air.

“Here!” It was Onil, the fresh-faced obin Brandt-Faran had met earlier; only now her clothes were damp with sweat and blood, her face tired and grim.

“Get his sandals off, would you?” Vikka ordered. “And bring me some water.”

Onil gulped. “Water? How much?”

“Half a gallon.”

“Half a gallon?” Onil gasped. “But how do we know he can afford--”

The tent flap parted again. “I will pay for it,” said a tall, golden-skinned woman with bright-water eyes.

Brandt-Faran stared, open-mouthed, at the woman for a moment. Hours in the medical tent had taught him many things, the most startling of which was that water was not considered a right here in the desert. Even with the lake so close, every cup of water was rationed by vouchers given out by the Royal Water Ministry. Who was this light-skinned Khanyan, that she could afford to spend half a gallon of water on a slave?

*

Jaeger-Tau floated in and out of consciousness. Images, voices, scents swirled about him, leaving a series of confused impressions.

A sylph floated above him, sending drafts of cool air over his burnt, parched lips and cheeks.

Tevi called his name. Orian called his name. Brandt called his name.

Rough hands dragged him over burning coals; he tried to fight back, but he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.

A sylph floated above him, chiming.

Fire burned, but it did not touch him.

Cool water, soft hands.

“I will pay for it.”

He woke to a plain canvas ceiling and the sounds of a hospital room. “Hello?” He croaked; his throat was drier than the sand under his back.

A face leaned over him, resolved itself into… “Brandt?”

“Shh,” Brandt-Faran whispered. “‘Tis Faran here. How are you feeling?”

“Dry,” he coughed.

Brandt-Faran withdrew from his sight for a moment, then returned with a wet cloth and a bare dipperful of water. “Drink carefully,” he cautioned. “I do not know if the Great One will be willing to pay for more than this.”

Jaeger-Tau lifted his head and eagerly slurped the tepid water down. “Thank you,” he sighed, laying down once more. “What are you doing here?”

“Anchoring for the Physica. Apparently,” he smiled briefly, “I have some small talent.”

“Oh. That is...wait. What do you mean, pay?”

“For the water,” Brandt-Faran explained. “They ration water here; did not you know?”

He hadn’t, actually. “Oh. Of course. Was the Great One a -- did she have turquoise eyes?”

“Yes.”

Jaeger-Tau sighed with relief. “That is Lady Orian of Nekare. Is she still here?”

“Ye-es,” Brandt-Faran said after a moment, “but I would wait if I were you. She’s speaking with another Great One.”

“Who?”

Brandt-Faran turned pale, worried eyes down to his friend. “I think she’s the one to whom this camp belongs. And -- I do not think she is long for this world.”

*

“Mare,” Orian whispered gently. “Mare, can you hear me?”

The woman before her opened cracked and blistered lids a mere slit. “Who--?”

“‘Tis Orian, my friend,” she supplied. “I came as soon as I saw the smoke. Can you tell me...what happened here?”

“Don’ know,” Osumare mumbled, her lips so swollen from her burns she could barely speak. “Was luncheon...fire…’sploshun...stuck t’me like oil���”

“The fire exploded?” Orian gasped. “How is that possible? I thought you only used mage-fire around the animals?”

“Do,” Osumare insisted painfully. “On’y mag-fur...impossbl’...caught me an’ herd-missrus...impossbl’!”

Orian’s blood ran cold. Though Mare’s speech was garbled, her sense was not; the woman obviously thought the fire had been some sort of sabotage.

Like the scorpions, or Wetelanja’s murder. Someone is coming after her, too!

Orian folder her hands between her knees to stop herself from touching Mare’s crisped skin as she leaned forward. “Mare, do you think someone planned this?”

Mare’s eyes opened wide, and she nodded twice.

“Oh, Merciful Mother.” Orian covered her eyes with her hands. “What is happening to us?”

Mare made a questioning sound.

“Yes, someone has been trying to sabotage me as well, but I cannot understand why! Neither you nor I were ever real challengers for the throne; why attack us? Especially two friendly Houses like ours, they must know we would speak and discover the connection.”

Mare grunted. “Don’...think I was...s’pose t’ survive...t’ tell,” she gasped. “Others...dead...I won’...live long.”

“Don’t say that,” Orian protested. We have a Physica right here, and we’ll get you the best Sculptors once you’re Healed!”

“Phys’ca...said...too mut’...damage,” Mare wheezed, then coughed -- a wracking, painful sounding cough that left her with blood on her lips. “Ori.”

“I’m here.” Orian choked around the sob in her throat.

“House Ng’ombe...will fall.”

“No!”

“Yeh. Too mut’...debt...no water...no way t’...recov--” Mare gasped and lay back, hands clutching at the silk blankets beneath her ruined fingers.

“Save your strength, my friend,” Orian said gently. “We can speak more later, you need--”

“No! Mus...tell! Please!”

“All right, all right now, I’m listening,” Orian soothed. “Tell me.”

“Ng’ombe...Nekare...we’re neighbors.” Mare stopped, gasped, tried again. “Fathers’ fathers ...cousins...precedent...titlemen’...”

Suddenly, Orian understood her. “Oh, no. Ohhh, Mare, don’t do this. Your House will rally, all it needs is time to recover!”

“No...time!” Mare insisted. “No blood but…me...please, Ori-shan.” With great effort, the lady reached out and grabbed Orian’s hand with her own blistered claw. “Save...my people...please.”

Orian wanted to protest. She wanted to insist that Osumare would recover, or that her death, without a husband or children to carry on her name, would not spell death for House Ng’ombe -- but it would be a lie. She could feel the truth of Mare’s fears with every beat of her pulse against her friend’s burned, bleeding hand. Osumare was dying, and with her, House Ng’ombe would die. Its debtors would come and strip their house and lands of everything valuable -- and if that was not enough to repay what they owed, the freewomen of Ng’ombe would be obliged to become servants in the loaners’ households. Even if not, a woman without a House was nothing. A woman who had lost her house through ill-fortune was considered bad luck -- how would the Ng’ombe people survive?  

There was one way. It made Orian sick to think about -- but it was the only one left.

“Very well, Mare-shan,” she whispered, squeezing the other’s hand gently. “I will bring the scribe and the priestess.”

Osumare fell back onto her cold-spelled pillows with a relieved sigh. “Tank ‘oo.”

*

Across the tent, Jaeger-Tau had struggled into a sitting position. His skin still felt hot, but no worse than a sunburn, and his lungs were clear of smoke -- the Physica knew her trade well.

“What do you think they say?” Brandt-Faran murmured to him.

“I do not know,” Jaeger-Tau shook his head. “But whatever it is, my mistress is distressed.”

“How can you tell? Her back’s towards us.”

“The set of her shoulders.”

Brandt-Faran was about to scoff, then stopped himself, remembering how Einar always said the same thing about him. “Perhaps they say good-bye.”

“Then she will need me,” Jaeger-Tau sighed and began to struggle to his feet.

“Whoa now, wait a blessed moment!” Brandt-Faran protested. “You’ve just had a major Healing. You need rest. Let the Great One call on her other servants!”

“I shall rest afterwards.”

“Jaeger, you almost died!”

Jaeger-Tau turned to regard his cousin with what Brandt-Faran had always privately thought of as his “Prince of the Blood Royal” expression. “I am aware of that, cousin.”

Brandt-Faran sighed in frustration; he was not winning this particular argument, and he knew it. “Why must you always be such a -- fine. Do what you will. Kill yourself from over-exertion, I care not. But are you also aware that you are naked?”

Jaeger-Tau looked down briefly. “Oh. I, um…”

“Idiot.” Brandt-Faran rolled his eyes. “Wait here. I’ll find you something to wear.”

*

When Orian stood up, she found Jaeger-Tau standing behind her, barefoot and dressed in a plain linen kalasiri. “Tau!” She exclaimed. “You should be resting!”

“I feel well enough to serve, O Attentive and Concerned,” he bowed slightly. “Tell me what you need.”

She almost reprimanded him, but something in his expression told her he was going to be stubborn about it. “Fine. Go find Tevi. Tell him to bring a scribe and a priestess of Mordron; then ask Latifya to come to the medical tent. And find that damned Physica! She may not be able to save Mare’s life, but she can at least make her last hours more comfortable.”

“It will be done, Great Daughter,” Jaeger-Tau assured her.

Orian returned to her place beside her friend as her slave ran to do her bidding. “It shall not be long, Mare-shan. Be strong.”

Mare regarded her with surprisingly shrewd eyes. “Th’ man…”

“Tau? What about him?”

“He...loves…’oo.”

Orian’s hear thudded in her breast. “What?” She laughed nervously. “He’s devoted to his duty, that is all.”

Mare shook her head ever-so-slightly. “Men who...almos’ die...don’ go run...for anyone. He loves…” she trailed off, coughing.

“Save your breath for something more than idle gossip,” Orian chided, but gently. “He is a good man, and that is all I will say on the matter.”

“Why?” Mare grinned weakly. “Dead women...tell...no...tales.”

*

Tevi and Tau returned within the hour, trailing a well-dressed scribe and a concerned Mordron priestess. The two men showed the ladies over to Osumare’s bedside, where Latifya and Physica Vikka had joined Orian to wait.

“How may we serve the Great Daughters?” The priestess asked.

Orian lifted her chin. “Osumare, Great Lady of House Ng’ombe, would like to pledge fealty of her line to House Nekare.”

The priestess looked back and forth between the two women. “Fealty oaths are only sworn on deathbeds, and only by the last of a line. My lady Osumare, is this truly what you wish?”

Mare nodded firmly, once, twice, thrice.

The priestess looked reluctant. “Are the Great Ladies of both Houses present?”

Latifya raised her hand slightly. “I am Latifya, Great Lady of House Nekare.”

Slowly, painfully, Phyisca Vikka helped Osumare into a slightly more raised position. “I am...Osumare…” she gasped. “Great La-...dy of...House...Ng’...ombe.”

The priestess closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. “Very well. Then witness all, on this tenth day of Satyrnalia, in the year of our Lady 5777 After Landbreak, this transfer of fealty. Witness the transfer of the lands, wealth, and peoples of Ng’ombe to the blood and Banner of Nekare. Lady Osumare, do you willingly swear your loyalty, and through you, the loyalty of all Ng’ombe, to the blood and Banner of House Nekare?”

“I...do.”

“Do you understand that in so doing, you hereby strip yourself of the title of Great Lady, and shall leave this plane a freewoman of no family, no lineage?”

“I...under...stand.” Mare closed her eyes weakly.

Orian put her face in her hands.

“Lady Latifya of Nekare,” the priestess continued in a sterner tone. “Do you hereby pledge to take all the peoples, lands and goods of House Ng’ombe under your Banner; do you swear that the blood of Nekare will protect the blood of Ng’ombe from this day forth, until the moon falls from the sky?”

Latifya nodded firmly. “I do so swear.”

Orian stifled a sob.

The priestess glanced at her, gaze softening. “And do you, Great Ones of Nekare, pledge to take into your House and your bloodline one Osumare of No Line, freewoman of no birth? Do you pledge to keep her as your own, even unto death, and bury her with all due respect for a daughter of your House? You may deny this oath with no consequence.”

Mare’s eyes popped open in surprise. “Wait...I didn’...mean…”

“Yes!” Orian replied joyfully. “Oh yes, Holy Mother! We do so swear!”

To her credit, Latifya paused only the briefest of moments to consider the cost a funeral for a daughter of the House would cost her. Osumare was their friend; they could not let her wander the afterlife with no family to guide her to the correct heaven. “We do so swear.”

“Then by the power entrusted to me by the Great Mother Mordron, Chief of the Nine Faces, I declare this oath binding from now until the moon falls from the sky.”

“Heard and witnessed,” said Tevi, the Physica, Brandt-Faran and Jaeger-Tau.

“And inscribed for all to see,” said the scribe, finishing out the ritual.

The priestess smiled briefly at them all. “‘Twas a brave, selfless thing to do, my dear,” she said to Mare. “And you girls show yourselves worthy of her trust.”

Orian sniffled back another sob. “We love her, Holy Mother.”

Latifya put an arm around her sister, and smiled down at Mare. “We do.”

Mare closed her eyes; two pink tears tracked their way down her ruined cheeks. “T’ank ‘oo.”

The scribe collected a drop of blood from each of the signatories and witnesses, then used her magic to create several copies. “I will ensure a copy makes its way to the estate manager of Ng’ombe-that-was, and one copy stored in the Royal Reserve.”

“And I shall go myself to Ng’ombe to make a census,” Wise Mother Tiksi said, poking her head inside the tent.

“Thank you, Wise Mother,” Latifya nodded solemnly.

Orian looked up. “And tell any of the Ng’ombe women they are welcome to come to Kinshasa for…” She trailed off awkwardly.

“For my...funeral,” Mare whispered. “Tell...them...to bring...my Mau-cat.”

Tiksi nodded. “Of course, Great Daughter.”

“Not...Great...Daught’...anymore.”

“You are a Great Daughter of House Nekare, my dear,” Tiksi reminded her gently. “We honor our blood.”

The dying woman smiled slightly.

Osumare lasted until sunset. At her request, Tevi and Jaeger-Tau had carried her outside to see the light fade.

When she breathed her last, it was surrounded by her friends, her new family, and every single herder who had survived the fire, with a priestess of Mordron to bless her on her way.

Together, the mourners kindled pure white mage-lights and set them free -- where a ring of chiming sylphs sent them wafting into the sky on a soft, warm breeze.

*

“You what?” Yazi screamed.

He smirked, sipped cynterine. “Don’t worry, my flower; nothing comes back to you.”

“That isn’t...I don’t care if it comes back to me!” Yazi paced about her private tent, scrubbing her hands frantically over her short-cropped hair. “There were children in that camp! You promised me no more children would be harmed; you promised!”

“Did I?” He looked up as though trying to remember. “I cannot recall.”

Yazi could recall perfectly, but she knew from experience that when He adopted that tone, it meant He would never admit it; He would deny the truth until Yazi herself wasn’t quite certain of it.

So she switched tactics. “But why Osumare? She’s behind me in the rankings! She’s no threat -- and dammit, she’s the last of her line!”

“Exactly.”

Yazi stopped cold, a stone of dread in her throat. “What?”

“You needed more of a connection to the common people, my dear. House Ng’ombe has over a thousand citizens in its care, plus close ties to dozens of common merchant houses. Without a Great One to rule it, it will become the property of its creditors -- unless Osumare swears fealty to a sympathetic House before she dies.”

“No,” Yazi whispered. “No.”

“Yes,” He pulled a parchment fold out of His belt-pouch and handed it to her. “You will send this message to House Ng’ombe’s encampment, expressing your deepest condolences and offering to shelter the shattered remnants of their House under your blood and Banner -- out of the goodness of your heart, of course.”

She did not take it. “Mare would never agree to that. It would mean the end of her bloodline!”

“”Tis the end of her bloodline anyway, my dear. And your mothers were fourth cousins, so there is every familial bond to back your claim. It will look even better once people know you sent one of your favored slaves to serve as anchor to the lead Physica on the scene; masterful move there, flower. Even I could not have done better.”

“I didn’t send him for -- it wasn’t like that!”

“Wasn’t it?”

Yazi pressed her hands against her temples. What was happening? She had never agreed to this. It was one thing to attempt to intimidate a rival into dropping out of the Queenmaker -- and even then, Yazi was sick over the loss of a child to her scheming -- but acquiring other women’s Houses by nefarious means? Impossible!

“Uyaza,” He said.

“No,” she shook her head. “I cannot. I won’t win this way.”

“Of course you will.”

“I mean I will not win this way!” She shouted. “Just -- get out. Leave me.”

In a moment, He was on her, strong hands closing about her throat. “You. Don’t. Tell. Me. When to leave.”

She struggled, but He was far too strong. Her eyes darted towards the entrance, where two guards waited just outside.

“Go ahead,” He purred. “Call your dogs. Shall we see if I can push their minds before they reach for their pitiful weapons? It would be a shame if Lady Uyaza was killed by her own men, now wouldn’t it? They wouldn’t remember a thing, of course -- but that wouldn’t save them from the dungeons, or you from the grave.”

“They are loyal to me,” Yazi choked.

“Then call them. But first, tell me...who is there to manage the burial rights for you? Just in case. Wouldn’t want your spirit roaming the netherworld for eternity, now would we?” His eyes gleamed black in the light of the dying sun.

Yazi went limp. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“I can barely hear you, flower,” He growled. “What did you say?”

“Forgive me, master. I -- I will send the letter tomorrow.”

“Tonight.”

She closed her eyes, and two tears leaked from their corners. “Yes.”

His fingers flexed, loosened. “You know I’m only doing this for you, don’t you? So you can be queen.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“You know I love you. Don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

He pressed a brutal kiss to her lips before releasing her.  “That’s my girl.”

Yazi curled up in a ball at his feet, trying to press the misery out of her stomach and breathe the pain out of her throat.

________________________________

Chapter 14, coming soon!

[deforrestdraper]

Remember when I said all my faves are alcoholics?

(Takes place before Mirror, Mirror.)

Drowning

Leonard McCoy knew he was functioning about as well as could be expected for someone who had absolutely no business being in space in the first place. He knew, logically, that the only form of transportation statistically safer than space travel was beaming from one location to the next—and wasn’t that a laugh. There simply wasn’t anything in space to collide with, no vehicles that weren’t operated by highly trained personnel. He had a better chance killing himself walking the halls of the corridors tripping over his own two feet than he was to die in some horrific accident out in the vacuum of space. And yet—

And yet, he knew what the vacuum of space could do to a body, what kind of radiation was out there, what kind of disasters could result from a little bit of trouble with the warp core. He had to know about them, because he was the one expected to undo the damage and save lives should they ever happen to anyone on the ship.

So he managed about as well as anyone else who had gotten this far out before realizing that space probably wasn’t the best line of work for them. At his age—and anyone else on the ship with a similar problem, but he kept those safely and confidently in his own medical files—there wasn’t much option by the way of career choice. He’d worked too long and too hard to be a doctor, and he was in the service now whether he liked it or not.

Sometimes, he needed a mild tranquilizer to push back the dread, or a light stimulant to force his mind to focus on the work, but never more than he prescribed anyone else, never more than strictly necessary, never enough to qualify as a problem when he tallied and submitted the monthly inventory report. Never enough that it couldn’t be chalked up to the regular needs of any surgeon who was technically on-call 24/7.

Which is how it came to be that when he needed to relax on his off-duty hours, he poured himself a glass. One was usually enough, two if his mind wouldn’t let it go that they were in the macro equivalent of a tin can screaming through space—don’t think about it, Len, don’t think about it. Sometimes, though, something would just set him off, like the ensign today who had come in with a minor exposure injury after “forgetting” to wear a pressure suit beneath his walk suit—and Leonard would be tearing Scotty a new one later about enforcing basic safety procedures—when he’d set out in a space walk to repair some minor damage that had caused a bit of buckling in one of the bulkheads.

Leonard had been fine, at first, safe in his Med Bay far from any of the outer layers of the ship, but later, alone in his cabin, with a view straight to the stars through a porthole he really wished hadn’t been put there, not knowing what section the damaged bulkhead had been in, not knowing when the last time his may have been inspected, not knowing if any moment now, a fissure that had been invisible to the naked eye would rupture and he’d be blown out into space like so much debris and Leonard caught himself pacing his cabin like he was trying to put off weight, that he set aside a hypospray charged with a chemical that would counteract the alcohol’s effects should something happen and his services were required, and knowing that he had been scheduled the next two days off, he drank.

It should have been fine. They were sitting in a starless expanse, even by the massive scales set by space itself, studying what existed in vast swathes of nothing. They were deep in Federation space, lightyears away from anyone or anything else. It was the kind of mission where you expected more injuries from boredom idleness than anything else.

4 hours and one Romulan encounter later, Leonard was swaying in his quarters, administering a second dose of the antihol because one wasn’t working well enough this time, and waiting for the effects to fully register in his system before, without changing back into his uniform, he was back in the business of saving lives. His hands were steady, his decisions correct and competent, his reaction times superb, and his breath smelling of moonshine from the amount that was still trying to digest in his gut.

It wasn’t the first time, and Leonard knew it probably wouldn’t be the last, but it was obvious enough that after everything was secure again and no one was fighting back the dark curtain of death, that Jim came down to speak with him. At least he had the grace to see him in Leonard’s office with the door shut.

“Bones,” Jim began, tentatively, struggling in and out of captain-mode in such a way that Leonard wasn’t sure if he was here in an official capacity or not.

Leonard kept his back to his “medicinal” liquor cabinet and decided to give the conversation a small push. “Jim, is this about what I was doing before I came back to sick bay?”

A kind of relief pushed at the corners of Jim’s face, perhaps at knowing they were both on the same page without having to say it, without having to push the damning question. “I’m told this wasn’t the first time.”

“Need I remind you that I was also off duty?” Leonard asked easily, always feeling lighter after a successful shift, scheduled or not. “A man’s entitled to a little drink now and then.” The words felt like a misstep before they’d even left his tongue.

“A little drink? Christine said you were smashed.” Christine, not Nurse Chapel—the talk was off the record, and Leonard intended to keep it that way.

“And I was also supposed to be off for two days! If it were anyone else—”

“It wasn’t anyone else, Bones!” Jim proceeded with the argument Leonard had started. “It was my Chief Medical Officer, who I might need in an emergency at any time—”

“Exactly!” It was the point he’d hoped Jim would make. “No one else on this ship is expected to be fit for duty at any given moment, just the Chief Surgeon. Everyone else has someone in the chain of command who can take over in an emergency, but medical personnel are expected to be ready to go at the drop of a hat.” Jim looked like he hadn’t considered so much, and Leonard made a show of rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, Jim, I’ll admit I had two days off and I had no reason to believe I’d need to be called in, so I let myself get a little drunk. But I was also ready to come in when you needed me. I did do my job and I can do my job, but you can’t expect me not to relax once in a while if you’re not going to hold the rest of the ship to the same standards. Does that sound fair?”

Leonard thought it was nothing short of a miracle that Jim had let him get it all out like that without challenging him on any point, but the bigger miracle yet, was the understanding smile. “That sounds fair,” Jim conceded. “I’m sorry, Bones.”

Relief spread through Leonard’s body almost as quickly as the impending hangover was. “And I’m sorry, Jim, for putting you in this position in the first place.”

“It happens to the best of us.” Jim took two steps toward the door, stopped, pivoted. “Just to be sure, I want to hear you say it. Do you have a problem?”

The look on Jim’s face was so gentle, so kind, that Leonard felt the regret deep in the pit of his stomach even as he kept every hint of deception clear from his face. “I don’t have a problem.”

A couple hours of paperwork and a looming headache the size of Jupiter later, Leonard made it back to his cabin, exhausted and hoping to be unconscious before the last of the moonshine finished metabolizing in his system and his hangover could begin in earnest. He could always counteract the effects medicinally, but he felt that would be taking it one step too far. Negating the effects of the liquor to save lives was one thing, canceling out the resulting hangover for his own comfort was something else entirely. He’d made his bed, and he was determined to lie in it—face-down this time, apparently.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d laid like that—not long enough to drift off to sleep, that was for sure—before a chime rang through his quarters. He ignored it; it came again, and a minute or so later, again.

Leonard groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position. “Enter.” The door slid open to reveal Spock, who stepped through immediately and allowed the door to shut behind him. Of course it was Spock. No one else would just stand there for who knows how long ringing the bell without backing down but Spock. Leonard scrounged up the last of his patience. “Listen, Spock, I’m exhausted, and I’m off duty. Whatever it is, it can wait for tomorrow.”

If Spock got the hint, he ignored it. “Doctor, I have received some disturbing reports about your health as of late.”

Leonard let out a slow breath, forcing his brain to kick back up into a gear that could handle this conversation. If Jim had been aware of his problem, then of course Spock would be. As First Officer, in charge of all crew and command issues, and being Spock of all people, Spock would be aware more than Jim should have been. “Is this on the record?”

“No, not as of yet.”

“Alright, sit down, Spock” Leonard pressed a hand against a temple and rubbed briefly. Off the record was something at least. His official reputation remained in tact, no matter what rumors circulated about him. “Then about those disturbing reports?”

Acknowledging the invitation and the fact that Leonard had no intention of leaving his bed entirely, Spock sat next to him on the bed, and both of them stared forward, determined not to look at each other. “Doctor, it has come to my attention that you may be suffering from an illness.”

Leonard could never tell if sticking to titles without names meant anything when it came to Spock, but he didn’t intend on making things easy for the Vulcan. “And what illness would that be?”

“Substance abuse disorder, specifically alcoholism.” Hearing it stated so plainly when Leonard had been lying to himself about it so far, gave him enough pause that Spock was able to press on unchallenged. “While this disease has not affected your medical ability to any measurable degree at this time, it has impacted your interpersonal relationships with both friends and shipmates. I have observed that not only have you have become increasingly reticent as of late, but that your temper has become shorter as well. It is my intention to address this problem before it becomes a matter of record.”

There was that magic word again: problem. It was a problem, and Leonard knew it no matter how much he tried to sweep it under the rug. In the beginning, it had been manageable, most likely. Thinking back on recent months, he had been hanging back from the rec room in favor of his own quarters, he had been taking a sip when nerves had started getting to him, he had let slip a xenophobic insult or two Spock’s way when he hadn’t been totally up to snuff. As usual, Spock’s logic was damn near bullet-proof.

Spock continued: “Judging from the apparent cycle I have observed, it would seem that your urge to imbibe is in response to a trigger. I have correlated these instances and they seem to most align with high-stress incidents, specifically those that affect the ship as a whole. Would I be correct in assuming that this is in response to feeling overwhelmed in the medical bay? If so, I may be able to request the addition of another surgeon to the staff in order to decrease your workload.”

It dawned on Leonard that Spock was trying to be considerate in his own way. Instead of seeking a replacement, he was offering additional support. Instead of condemning him for a drinking problem, he was offering assistance in understanding and correcting it. “No, Spock, I’m not feeling overwhelmed in sick bay. If I had my way, I’d be spending more time there than here in my quarters.”

Spock folded his hands in his lap. “If work is not the stressor, may I inquire as to what is?”

Leonard took a deep breath, held it, released it. “It’s space.”

“Space?” Spock parroted.

“Yes. I’m terrified of it, Spock. I keep thinking one of these days, something’s going to happen, and I’m going to just die blown out into space—that my body’s going to be drifting lost in that damn vacuum for the rest of eternity.”

“Doctor,” Spock’s voice sounded very patient, “Surely you are aware that space travel is safer than any form of ground travel available on earth at this time.”

“I know that, Spock,” Leonard caught his temper rising and cut it off, “But knowing that and getting over my astrophobia are two entirely different things.”

There was a pause as Spock considered Leonard’s words. “If you are indeed suffering from astrophobia, why did you pursue a career as a doctor in Starfleet?”

“It wasn’t this intense at first,” he admitted with a little defeat. “I feel like every time we have an incident—a battle or an accident—it gets worse.” It sounded logical to Leonard at least.

Spock adjusted his hands so they were laced together in front of him. “Doctor, if you are experiencing a fear of space to this degree, then perhaps—”

“No, Spock,” Leonard cut him off before he could finish the thought. “I want to be here. I can do the most good here. I’m just not adjusting well, that’s all.” Adjusting well was probably not the word for it, considering they had been out in space for over a year now, but if Spock took issue with his wording, he didn’t say as much.

“Then you are determined to stay here on the Enterprise?”

Leonard nodded. “I am.”

Spock sat still—thinking, considering—long enough to make Leonard more than nervous. Then without warning, Spock straightened even more than before. “I may be able to provide assistance for the psychological aspect of your disorder, and I am willing, so long as you address the physical aspects accordingly.”

Leonard frowned a bit. “If you mean talk therapy, I’ve already—”

“No, not talk therapy, Doctor. You have already admitted that your aversion to space goes beyond your rational processes, and that despite that, you are determined to remain here on this ship. This leads me to believe you would have already attempted to encourage your mind to accept the logic of the facts, to no avail. As you are a skilled physician and it would take considerable time to arrange a replacement and acquaint them with a new ship and new patients, I am averse to recommending your discharge at this time if it can so be avoided. When putting these things into consideration, it is of my opinion that a mind meld may be the most appropriate course of action.”

“A mind meld?” Leonard said with a start. “You really think you’re going to be able to solve this mess by poking around in my head?”

Spock brought his hands in front of his face. “No. I am aware that this will be an ongoing struggle for you. I do not expect you to achieve sobriety overnight, nor am I dismissing the possibility of experiencing setbacks.” Spock pulled his hands back down and turned, facing Leonard for the first time since the difficult conversation began. “However, I do believe the best results will be achieved by first correcting the underlying aberrant thought processes, and that continuing success depends strongly on building on a strong foundation of logical thought. I would also prefer to avoid watching you become increasingly ill or facing the prospect of losing your services on this ship. A mind meld is the most logical solution at this time.”

It was about as emotional a confession as he was going to get. Leonard brought a knuckle to his chin and turned over all this new information in his head. He couldn’t argue that the idea had merit, and he didn’t relish the thought of possibly facing a discharge or having his problem turn into a more permanent issue. Everything Spock said sounded right, and if Leonard was being honest with himself, the proposal felt like the saving grace he’d been looking for all these months. Mind made up, Leonard addressed Spock again. “And this will all stay off the record?”

If Leonard didn’t know better, he would have thought Spock looked relieved. “So long as progress is being made, I am reasonably certain your treatment can remain confidential.”

“Even from Jim?”

“The Captain need not be informed.”

Leonard propped his foot on a knee and considered once more, giving himself one last chance to back out. He could trust Spock to be discrete. He believed him when he implied that this would be between just them so long as some progress was being made. He knew for a fact that Spock could handle the job with all the tact the situation deserved. All that was left for Leonard was to decide if he was really ready.

Leonard turned and faced Spock cross-legged on the bed. “Alright, Spock, let’s do this.”

Leonard closed his eyes and felt fingers press lightly against his face. “My mind to your mind. Your thoughts to my thoughts….” Then Leonard’s mind was both one and two and space suddenly was not so very vast.

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

This COVID

Unfortunately, the nurses and doctors are the ultimate victims and the worst part of the disease is their PTSD.

They, like most military, police, firefighters and EMT, sign up to risk their lives to HELP and SAVE others.

And they can't. This disease isn't intended to but is a by-product or side effect to cause them their own destruction of self, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

We have a website set up for them for their mental health -- it wasn't active.. Tree just activated it for y'all.

I apologize for that. So many people are calling them heroes and trying to lift their spirits and it is hard for them.

Like y'all...

Picture this...

Standing in a mass grave, trying to find a body still alive you can save... Help.. A mass grave... So I'm talking hundreds of dead bodies and then y'all be all parade and smile and have fun.

They're too busy trying to find a way to help. Trying to find that one breath from a body in that mass of bodies piled knee high.

They look up "oh them jets..." Same time that happens more bodies are being thrown down in that mass grave So they waist high...

By then them Jets have left just a cloud of memory

It doesn't help... Then they chest high with dead bodies... And they're getting buried alive trying to find a way to help.

Do you see what I'm saying? Can you feel that?!

Then they like man I gotta get outta here before I die myself, being buried alive....

Then who can help them? Is there someone strong enough to pull them out, to SEE THEM before the bodies are piled over their heads??

Doctors and nurses have committed suicide. Because they can't handle it.

Because what has happened... Is this is like a reverse WWII... Hospitals are now Nazi Concentration Camps. And the nurses and doctors are the Nazi just watching every one die.

(Note this is an EXAMPLE for the mind to grasp understanding -- i am not stating the doctor nor nurse ARE Nazi. I am merely making a reference to WWII and gas chambers and so on so people can get the visual understanding of the power of COVID and the pain of people that are opposed to Nazi. When she said "This is Real" it is where my mind went -- to the Holocaust which i know a lot about. I studied it on my own many times in my life. To understand how one person could take over the world. I did. In high school, my Oklahoma History teacher even took away my books because i would ask way too many questions about killing of Native Americans and i would say "but how--" and she said that i had a problem with focusing on the wrong thing and i said "but its happening in our world today!! Politicians and Governments!!" She took away the stack of books i had checked out on WWII and took them to the library and i followed her like pulling her jacket and shirt to stop her. She told the librarian I wasn't allowed to check out anymore books like that because I was a teenager and had unhealthy worries in the world. I burst into tears. "Obviously i have to save the world Because of people like you who won't take it seriously!! You're a Hitler yourself!! And you! I'll talk to you tomorrow!!" I spat to the teacher then librarian. And took off to my last class of the day. The Librarian know who i was and how i had spent hours in the library everyday during lunch and had told her how i said i wanted to compare WWII to the way Native American were treated in Oklahoma. And she printed a list of all the different kinds of books i checked out. Including kindergarten picture books for my own enjoyment. And the teacher apologized. She asked if i wanted to apologize to her for calling her Hitler. I said "not yet" eventually I did. In front of the entire class with an entire one and one eighth of a page of written materials comparing and contrasting her to Hitler and people we read about. I said "in conclusion, she may been an Army woman helping people make long disateraous of what they call walks. Of what i call pilgrimages, across many of what we now know are states, but not to be in charge but to be a comforting vessel during maritime war. A war that was unnecessary on water as it was on land and that is my meaning of using water words instead of land Because indeed i think she is a person we can trust but she may also be one of those people to set off a cannon to a far away ship until she finds out the truth of who is in it. But she certainly isn't a Hitler or someone that would order Native Americans to do the undeeded... She would be one of those to walk aside all Native Americans, help pass out blankets and medication. And so as she has apologized to me for firing up that cannon while I was away at sea to do ky research of course, i shall apologize to her for being upset she did and calling her the worst name possible. Which wasn't bitch. Nor ass hole." 10th grade, y'all.)

It is the worst possible place for a nurse or Doctor that signed up to be a comfort and to SAVE lives to be. The worst possible place.

And i can't help them... There is on the now activated website -- there is a place where they can request military services to come in and relief our nurses and others on the front lines, including police.

You just merely request how many and of what capabilities you need. So if you need just CNA (our hugest amount) or RN or PA or DR or so on and so forth.

They have their own pay scale thus allowing the people being substituted for to receive a special type of paid leave. The military can stay in one place at one time up to 9 weeks.

So also a rotation of 9 weeks on. 9 weeks off.

I apologize i thought it was already set up and available for all. But apparently things wanted to be done differently to try it and see how it works.

Now first is HOSPITALS. Basically if your name has the word Hospital in it. Then you're available. BUT you must have an EMERGENCY ROOM (ER) to qualify.

Now systems... Like Lovelace in Albuquerque has like 4 or 5 ER departments. So they go to the MAIN hospital first Then two weeks after rotate in at say the Heart Hospital then after two weeks the Woman's Hospital then a smaller so on and so forth.

Presbyterian, would begin at MAIN then go to Kirkland then so on and so forth.

This way if someone doesn't want to be treated by military. They have options of seeing regular doctors at the main stem branches.

Also it doesn't have to be a 100% but it can be a 25% so 25% of people take off for 9 weeks. Then another 25% take off for 9 weeks. And so on... So you'd have use of the military for 36 weeks.

It is a charity service.

I recommend that y'all cut hours. So a 40 hour nurse goes go 20 hours -- but stays at full time pay and benefits.

As part of our program, the healthcare and other workers MUST remain fully paid while taking time off. Otherwise we cannot assist.

It is for their hearts, their souls and their tears that we supply such a charity. Thus we cannot create more tears, more heartache nor more stress for these people.

So when making plans, hospital executives, please do keep that in mind.

Also for hospitals that refuse to relieve their workers, we have a system set up so that a nurse/doctor/etc can find a suitable replacement of higher quality according to paper. Similar but more advanced to the system that is used to place substitute teachers to teach hundreds school children per one jr high or high school day. And if the hospital rejects the substitute, then we have a system set up to sue the hospital on behalf of the staff. This system is only provided when a main hotspot refuses help.

Such as NYC. However NY has accepted thousands of National Guard already and Idk what exactly is occurring there but we have many side hospitals set up there.

So this is Never Before Seen shit since the Native American's Massacres (that's why i kept getting in trouble in Oklahoma History... The word Massacre.. Dude... I wasn't gonna pretend it didn't happen, Land O´ Lakes, where's our Indian Lady? The farmers didn't kill her, you did. -.-) and definitely not seen while we had this great amount of technology available to all.

So never before seen shit is gonna occur. I'm like yeah this is what will work professionally. And if they can't come up with something better and reject me, then I'll sue and ill win because they don't care and we got documented workers all over social media crying their eyes out.

She is the first African American I've posted but I've posted at least 4. Crying nurses. And i skip over a lot. I keep scrolling past a lot. I scroll past more than Y'all know that i Don't mention.

But her... She made me want to cry just like all the others. And Just like the others, i had dry eyes. Because we worked and worked and worked till we were all bawling our eyes out, taking heart medicine, whether like mine or just for heart burn. Even the little kids. I can't cry anymore. We made the solution for what and when the emergency pandemic would occur.

Hospitals have lost people due to suicide.

It is now time for me to step in. Or we will not have a doctor or nurse that is both alive and recognizable, they will be destroyed -- inside out -- starting with their hearts of mind.

I have had PTSD due to death of a stranger. I was only 18. And i hated myself for over 10 years.

So im gonna break out one day and call you all stupid for attempting to heal evil.

Because that was what I needed. And no one ever told me. And i got back lash. And i know that every single nurse and doctor that was working as hard as they could -- they needed to vent and hate. And i could be that person.

I smiled. I checked in. "Do they still hate me?" Yes "Good"

I know it helps a heart be healthy to have a place to throw hate. And i knew i would be safe from harm. While hate was thrown at me.

Then i took away me as that object of hate. And still healthcare workers are suffering and they're killing themselves. (They'll get to heaven if they deserve. A nice little break for them. Then they will come back when our other dead does. If they are deserving, if Earth is where they Belong. Otherwise they went directly where they Belong for Eternity)

So a quick fix band aid isn't it. It is as far as we predicted - a reverse WWII.

the sick going in... And causing innocent pain.

Instead of the innocent going in and dying by the professional purposely killing them.

This is the complete opposite.

Jack told me "quit hating on these nurses and doctors!"

Because i would scroll past and say "these fucking nurses. Dam it"

I'm not hating them. I'm hating their situation. I'm hating their inability to cope. Their inability to cope is because their inability to cope is due to their deep humanity... It is a character flaw. It is a curse and a blessing. It is the deepest and most difficult of work to breech that muddy waters, dig deep and find a bridge to drag up and build, there is one there in their souls.. But it is buried deep under much chocolate and flowers and all things good...

Unfortunately while being buried under dead bodies its nearly impossible to fix that bridge. Find that way to overcome the desperation, the HORROR their job has become

Even taking a break can sometimes not help... Sometimes it doesn't. But we include self care and encouraging messages from our military teams that substitute while the people take their time off.

Military are far more apt to be able to deal with dead. Military teams sign up knowing they must kill at certain times. They have a different view of death. They accept it and understand it.

A nurse or Doctor they fight it, that is their job. That is their souls and every hope they have in the world is to save lives.

Military, their job, is to make the world better.

Right now, military is just a better fit.

It's different types of brains. It is just different.

And I am sorry. And unfortunately I do know. I have killed a lot of people by hand, kidnappers caught in the act. I killed Pablo Escobar. Then I got amnesia. And I loaned my friend $500 to bail her boyfriend out of jail. It ended up in a suicide of someone he ratted on. I never got over that. It took a very long time. He was a criminal, yes. But I just never got over that loss of life. If I had never bailed him out... That one guy would still be alive.

So I am very sensitive and very understanding of these healthcare crying and not handling their jobs and killing themselves.

I fully understand it. So yes I will sue on behalf of staff that cannot get relief. I will fight and punch until those hospital executives come up black and blue saying "ok im sorry im sorry we can have substitutes and pay full prices for our staff to stay home and rest"

I may have forgot myself... Prior to age 15... But I remember since then. I know how I have suffered and why.

So I am extremely complex to know and understand.

It doesn't matter if you understand or trust me.

You must care and take a leap of FAITH and not one of suicidal consequences, hospital executives.

Because I understand being buried under dead bodies that I feel responsible for. Hating myself. For something that was never my fault and something I did to be nice. Naïve. I fully understand.

And its revolting, now looking back all I put myself through.

And I swore one day... I swore and I swore. I promised myself. One day im gonna use this all for good. That I can forgive myself.

I already did. I realized I'm not the one that needed to be forgiven. And I'm okay. I'm doing great.

But I remember and I will never forget those sleepless nights... The intense fear I had of myself and of doing anything for any reason. I was terrified. What if I go to the store and I effect someone?

What if I get in a car wreck and hurt some one?

I was terrified. Had I not healed thanks to JJFU. Some one I knew and trusted making guns and I said to him everyday for weeks "how can you make guns knowing someone could be hurt? Don't you think you will feel responsible if someone wrote to you and said a kid was killed with one of your guns? An innocent child playing by accident?"

He said "let me get back to you"

And one day he simply said "i can't control what other people do. If they don't lock up their guns or weapons and ammunition seperate. I can't control what a kid does. I hope no one ever gets hurt wrongly and unjustifiable with a gun i produce and make by hand. But, Sabrina, i can not control what other people do. And it isn't my fault what happens after the guns leave my hands and enter another's"

And this air i had been holding in since I was 18 years old just went out of my chest. And i started crying. And crying and i cried for days.

And he said "why are you keep crying? Who are you crying for?"

And I said "i am crying for ME"

"But why?! What did you do to someone so bad?!"

"Cause I hated myself for something I couldn't control.I hated ME. I refused to Love Me. I refused to Trust ME. And now I can cry for me because of what I Lost because I was an ignorant fool, to care too much beyond my control."

3 years later my friend was murdered. I could had prevented that, too. But I didn't get PTSD. Instead i chose to love him and be proud of him. And love us both for doing what was best for us.

I have both the obituary of David Galloway and Justin hanging in my kitchen. One gave me PTSD. One could have. I look at them both. And I say "I love me. But I can love you two and you can love me because I never wanted either one of you to be hurt"

Or I'll walk by "I can imagine you two are fine where you are today. Sorry I'm busy. But I hope you're happy and okay"

One is Zulululu and one is Human. The Zulululu, I got PTSD. He was a selfish drug addict that killed himself leaving behind two kids and a wife just because he didn't want to go to jail. The other was murdered and the last time I saw him, he asked to live with me. The latter should caused my PTSD. HE DESERVED MY PTSD.

But I didn't.

So military is better equipped to handle what is occurring in hospitals. Nurses do need time off even if the military does just set up new temporary hospital

Healthcare workers NEED treatment for what they have seen and gone through.

And I will fight for every single one to get the help they deserve and the time off they need.

Because I know they deserve it. I know they need It. I know how dangerous it is to overlook a simple day in the life of what they have had in the last few weeks.

Throwing them parties. Its kind, and it's sweet.

But it doesn't help anything, it doesn't help anything when the anguish and the PTSD has already set in. Sometimes it makes it worse..

So yeah I get pissed off they're not being helped and it comes out wrong.

So now its time to do it right.

This nurse asks y'all to stay home.

So y'all tell her you will if you will, tell her you can't because you got to go to work and you tell her where (like Gas Station, not the whole address) and y'all be responsible for you and your actions..

We can't control the world. But we can work together to make it better.... Right...?

I think so.

Or we're all gonna die trying.