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verbumincarcerem · 6 years ago

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Stowaway

Here it is. The thing that nobody wanted that I wrote anyway. Treasure Planet, me/Silver, no regerts.

Chapter 1

It was obvious that women were more suited to wearing pants than men, who had the bits to actually warrant loose, flowing skirts, but no one was asking Melody Westfire her insider’s opinion on the matter. At the moment, public interest in her was at an all-time low, and she greatly preferred the change. Melody had thought a man—even a woman pretending to be one—would warrant all kinds of unwelcome attention at a bustling spaceport, but she was as invisible as she would’ve been cooped up at her father’s estate.

Still, she had no time to linger. Getting to the Montressor Spaceport hadn’t been difficult, but every second she lingered in Crescentia was a second she could be caught and dragged back to Fleet Admiral Edmund Westfire, who was far more likely to flay her for insubordination and humiliating him than to welcome her back with open arms.

Melody and her father had not gotten along for quite some time, and he especially wouldn’t like her if he realized how much she’d stolen from him on her way out. Indeed, the knapsack she carried over her shoulder was heavier than it ought to have been, seemingly containing only a change of clothes, basic necessities, and oddly rolled socks, and she tried not to betray in any way that, with it, she was a walking safe of riches.

White sails of Royal Navy ships and merchant craft stretched toward the clouds, bright even against the tanned buildings of the artificial satellite, but Melody couldn’t go down to the docks just yet. Instead, she checked that her ponytail was still in place—tied low on her neck in adherence to the current fashion of young men but which truthfully drove her and her neck crazy—and slipped inside a pawn shop to conduct her first order of business.

The alien merchant inside barely had time to glance up at her before she slammed down her engagement ring on the glass counter. “I need to pawn this,” she said in a tone that was slightly deeper than her usual.

Instead of taking the ring and examining the diamonds at its center and along the band, the alien narrowed its milky white eyes at her. Melody became grateful for many factors in her favor at the moment: the low lighting of the shop despite the perfectly sunny day outside; the brims of her tricorn hat that left shadows upon her clean-shaven face; her short stature that could explain the smoothness of her skin and her face’s other feminine features.

In a voice that was surprisingly clear though tinged with the native accent of Montressor, the alien said, “She say no, boy?”

With one short grunt and the clearing of her throat, Melody let out an approximation of painful admission, righteous fury, and acute embarrassment. She shoved her hands in her pockets, hunched her shoulders, and turned her face to stare at a rack full of assorted timepieces as if to say, I don’t want to talk about my feelings ever, so quit asking.

She’d learned a lot by watching the boys at the naval academy.

The alien picked up the ring between two spindly fingers that had more phalanges than a human’s and brought it close to his left eye. He stared for a long time, never reaching for anything even resembling a loupe to inspect the quality. Melody suspected something about those white eyes accomplished it for him, that perhaps eye sensitivity was why the shop was so dark.

At last, the alien stared unblinkingly at her, the ring held between them. “I can give you two thousand drabloons for this.”

Melody took a step towards the counter, leaning her hip and arm against it. “I want five.”

“Impossible,” the alien shook his head. “This is an old ring. The band is beginning to tarnish, and the setting is loose. The most I can loan for it is two thousand five hundred.”

“It’s an heirloom and, by all rights, priceless, but I have no more use for it.” Melody was nowhere near tall enough to loom over anyone, particularly not an alien who was already taller than her sitting down, but she hoped the commanding tone of her voice did the trick. “Four thousand.”

His face turned bland with annoyance. “Thirty-two,” he bit out, “or nothing.”

Melody rapt her fingers on the counter in quick succession. “Done.”

It was less than she’d hoped for, but she was glad to see the ring and the connection she had to her despicable betrothed, a navy lieutenant she’d wanted nothing to do with from the get-go, disappear from her life. Even better that with an illegible electronic signature, the drabloons became available to her offshore account in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll have three weeks to pay back the loan,” the alien said by rote, “or I have the right to resell. In the meantime, the interest rate—”

“No offense,” Melody said, already backing away towards the door, “but I couldn’t care less. Sell away!”

When she stepped outside, the light nearly blinded her, but she pulled the brim of her hat lower and set off, ignoring the feel of the alien’s honed stare at her back. Ever since she left home, she’d been paranoid and trying not to be obvious about it. She told herself again that she was imagining more suspicion than she was actually gaining—none of it for the reasons she feared since she was traveling so incognito—and she managed to believe it until a series of wanted posters by the entrance to a popular bar caught her eye.

They featured what she expected to see: at-large war criminals from the conflict between the Terran Empire and the Procyon Expanse and, of course, pirates. Billy Bones was still there, featuring a hefty bounty and an old projection of his face and turtle-like features. As far back as she could remember, the hunt for Billy Bones, dead or alive, had been on, and he’d never been caught for long. Beside his poster was one for a pirate dubbed “Long John,” but since no projection was given, the poster only offered a description and a bounty. Melody was about to read it, until the surface of Billy Bones’ wanted poster flickered and vanished. In her experience, that meant he’d either been reported as captured at last or killed, but that wasn’t what made her entire body go still with shock.

It was seeing her own face appear in Bones’ place on the page, her brown hair cascading down her shoulders and the top of the white bodice of what would’ve been her wedding dress if she’d stayed. It was like staring at night and day. The Melody on the wall was elegant, almost coldly so, her face sharpened and her pale coloring heightened with cosmetics so that her blue eyes appeared brighter than robin’s eggs. The Melody staring at this aloof stranger from the street had flecks of dust and dirt on her face, and she wore brown worker’s pants, a hat, boots, and a loose, sand-colored top that covered an almost flat chest, thanks to her breast bindings. By comparison to her past self, Melody felt self-consciously, unrecognizably boyish—perhaps even ugly—and relief stole over her briefly because that was, after all, the entire point of her disguise.

Fleet Admiral Westfire would not stall in having others attempt to find his wayward daughter before she could escape port. Long gone, too, were the days where women were reviled as “bad luck” on voyages, and Melody often scoffed that, centuries ago, people had actually believed it in the dark days before intergalactic travel. As a lady and a fleet admiral’s daughter, Melody would’ve had no trouble boarding any ship of her choosing, but staying on it? Going uncaptured—especially after her father issued a search warrant and reward for her? Impossible.

But no one would be looking for a boy.

Melody ripped her wanted poster down, the projection vanishing as she crumpled the page and tossed it into the nearest disposal unit. She didn’t even feel flattered that her father had emphasized her safe return or that he was offering a small fortune to anyone with information about her whereabouts, let alone what he would give if someone physically brought her to him.

Instead, her pace quickened, making a beeline for the docks. She needed to get on a ship, now.

Stowing away on a ship wasn’t the hard part. With how busy each crew was preparing for their respective launches, no one had time to question whether or not so-and-so was a longtime crewmate or if they were newly hired aboard. Royal Navy vessels were a different beast altogether when it came to unfamiliarity among crewmates. Now that the war with the Procyon had lulled, wealthy members of Terran society could hire naval ships for personal ventures, staffing their own crew and calling upon the navy to supply the ships and appropriate leadership in the form of captains, first mates, and commanders.

Melody spotted one such vessel at the tail end of the dock. The RLS Legacy was a fine ship even without the glory of her sails being yet unfurled for all to see and admire. Sleek and narrow for increased mobility, the ship was also made of pale wood along the hull and warm wood upon the deck that gleamed like caramel in the light.

The crew themselves was the giveaway. They appeared more rough and tumble than navel cadets would have walking around in their crisp jackets of either red or blue and the matching cream uniforms underneath. Only one such uniform was visible among them, worn by a hulking alien whose face resembled that of moving stone as he ordered the other spacers about. First mate, Melody guessed, by the red coat he wore, but the insignia on his lapel would tell her for certain. Before she could leave her lookout post, a metal…thing and a human boy approached the ship, exchanging words with the first mate as they crossed the gangplank.

Funders of the voyage, no doubt.

Taking a deep, calming breath to help combat her racing heart, Melody rechecked her ponytail, adjusted her knapsack so it tied around her waist, straightened her clothes, and marched toward the ship. Acting like she belonged there and nowhere else, she grabbed a crate of supplies and began helping the other spacers load up the Legacy, making sure she never made eye contact with anyone or stayed in one place too long.

No one paid her a second glance until the ship had already launched.

Melody had forgotten what a ship launch felt like. The shockwave that rumbled the deck, the blast of heat from the engines, how the wind picked up as the ship rose, leaving the buildings below far behind until you couldn’t make out their individual corners and edges. Her favorite and most thrilling part had always been the part that also terrified her the most: the brief moment where you were weightless until the ship’s artificial gravity activated, and then the engines flared, shooting the vessel forward with canon fire velocity.

But never before had she experienced it from a crewmate’s standpoint. Everyone had a job to do on deck, and it became obvious to certain spacers that she didn’t have one assigned.

So Melody was not surprised when a few of them cornered her while she was busy untangling herself from the ropes of the mizzenmast thanks to the ship’s slingshot launch.

“What have we here?” one of them growled as he got far too close to her face. He looked like a cross between a lobster and a spider. “A rat on the ship?”

“I ain’t seem ‘im before,” another alien confirmed, his face seeming to occupy his entire chest. “So he ain’t one of ours. Maybe the captain’s?”

“You could always ask,” Melody pointed out, “rather than speculating right in front of me.”

The two aliens shared a glance, full of distaste and suspicion. Melody analyzed the statement, wondering what about it could’ve pissed them off already. She hadn’t said it with that much bite.

It was the spider alien who stepped forward with his many legs, his claw-like hand snatching her arm and clamping down hard. “There’s only one good use for ship stowaways. Know what it is, boy?”

Melody didn’t, but it was the other alien who answered gleefully, “For tossing overboard!”

The spider alien had only started to drag her toward the railing of the main deck—toward that endless abyss of stars—when the words’ meanings and their intentions caught up to her.

Terror spiked through her. Swiftly followed by outrage and her fist. Melody wasn’t sure what all her fist was connecting to, but she and the spider alien tumbled on the deck, instantly attracting the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

Including both the first mate and the captain of the RLS Legacy.

“Does it strike you as odd to discover that I’m not a fan of freeloaders on my ship?” Captain Amelia demanded, her eyebrow raised in judgment. “Particularly one who sees fit to start a brawl on deck just seconds after launch?”

Melody felt particularly shabby standing before the captain and her crisp blue uniform, knee-high black boots, and sleek figure, and that was without the new bleeding cut she’d acquired on her forehead. The spider alien had managed to land a hit on Melody before the ship’s first mate had wrenched them apart, yelling his disappointment about each of their failings at the top of his lungs.

His words about her “moronic bearing and doubtlessly despicable upbringing” still stung, so Melody responded with a short “No, ma’am” to the captain, demonstrating that, yes, she did have manners. She stood in the captain’s quarters, hands resting harmlessly by her side as she tried to appear as contrite as possible, which to a certain extent she was, though her next words implied otherwise. “But I didn’t start it. He tried to throw me overboard.”

“We did suspect Mr. Scroop would be trouble,” said Mr. Arrow, the man in the red coat who Melody now knew for certain was the captain’s first mate. Thinking that perhaps he’d warmed up to her, Melody threw a grateful glance over her shoulder at Mr. Arrow stationed by the door, but his face was still stern with disapproval. “But that doesn’t excuse your presence here, boy. If this were a less disciplined ship, Mr. Scroop would be viewed favorably for his actions.”

“Though Mr. Arrow raises a good point, as always,” the captain said, shooting him a fond look before sobering, “that is not the matter at hand. Convince me why I shouldn’t turn this ship around and hand you over to the authorities.”

“Because Crescentia is already a very long way behind us, and to account for the extra fuel used to ferry one person to and fro, you’d have to cut into the crew’s wages or beg more funding from your benefactor, something both parties would likely riot about.” Heart stampeding in her chest, Melody noted the frustration creeping into the captain’s feline features and revised tactics. “I don’t expect a free ride,” she said to her. “I know this expedition is likely funded with a strict budget by—someone.”

“Doctor Doppler,” the captain confirmed, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly, though whether it was with amusement or exasperation, Melody couldn’t tell.

“He wasn’t the man in the metal suit, by any chance?”

“The very same,” Amelia said dryly. “For an astrophysicist, the doctor is highly eccentric.”

“Yes,” Melody continued, “so I imagine there’s nothing in the budget to pay me with, but that’s alright. I don’t need money, just passage. In exchange, I’ll work in whatever capacity I can with no complaint, and the next time you make port, I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m sure you would be, if we were making port.”

Melody stared at the captain. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve seen your type countless times. It’s obvious that you’re running from something. Authorities, responsibilities, it doesn’t really matter in the end.” Amelia braced a hand over the map stretched out on her desk, and Melody saw that her claws were out and extremely sharp.

But Amelia merely leaned against the desk, keeping her unwavering attention on her stowaway. “We are not traveling to another occupied port for you to escape to. We are on a retrieval mission, and regardless of whether we succeed in said retrieval or not, we will be returning to Crescentia in four months’ time, if all goes well.” Captain Amelia pushed off the desk and came to stand before Melody, hands clasped behind her back, and here was a woman who did know how to loom. “There will be nowhere for you to hide. In the meantime, I expect you to work, or I’ll allow Mr. Scroop to finish what he started.”

So all this, and Melody had chosen wrong. She’d return back where she started. Part of her hoped that four months would be long enough for her father to assume she’d already left the system far behind, that she wouldn’t do something as foolish as to return, but another part knew better. Those wanted posters would still be there, and bounty hunters were nothing if not relentless. Captain Amelia might even be the one to turn her over to the authorities, unaware that her stowaway was actually a missing heir to an empire.

Or perhaps not. Melody held the captain’s gaze knowing this was the moment of truth. She hadn’t expected to encounter another woman on board, let alone a captain, and if Melody needed her disguise to fool anyone, it needed to be Captain Amelia.

Too many beats of silence passed. Melody felt her breath starting to shudder past her lips when Amelia pulled back, brows raised in surprise. “Good Lord, you’re white as a sheet. Come now, young man, you didn’t actually believe that little threat, did you? You’re not on a pirate ship, you know.”

Melody was so relieved—for so many reasons—that she struggled to speak. “Right. Apologies. No disrespect meant, ma’am.”

The captain shrugged, exchanging another look with Mr. Arrow. “None taken, I suppose, Mr.—?”

“Oh.” Snapping to attention, Melody replied, “You can call me Mel, Captain. Mel Dawson.”

“Very well, Mr. Dawson.” Melody didn’t have time to think about how strange it felt to speak her mother’s maiden name aloud or even hear it spoken back to her because Captain Amelia had already flung open the doors to her quarters and was marching toward the deck. Melody rushed to keep up. “I don’t have time to teach a green spacer like yourself the ropes, if you’ll pardon the expression, and nor does Mr. Arrow. Fortunately, there is someone here already making time for Mr. Hawkins, and I doubt your additional presence will make much difference.”

The captain led Melody downstairs into the bowels of the ship where they met a series of empty wooden tables. Amelia wasted no time marching past them, and Melody followed behind her sure steps, taking in the area much more slowly.

Other than the benches, the saloon was largely dark and barren, the exact opposite of the next room Melody found herself in. Pots, pans, and cooking utensils hung from the ovular walls and pipes curving the room, and in its center was a large pot boiling with some sort of soup resting upon a raised, circular stove, its heated burner casting a warm orange glow over everything.

Captain Amelia had brought her to the galley, but that wasn’t what caught her eye. It was that the boy she’d seen from the docks was already here, his brown hair pulled back in a rat tail and his arms elbow deep in soap suds as he scrubbed a pile of dirty pots and pans with a brush. Not looking up from his furious scrubbing, he said, “You’re making that up.”

“I swear by all the stars, I most certainly am not, lad!”

Melody searched for the other voice, which was light and drawling even in its roughness, and stared when, rising up from the other side of the stove clutching vials of spices in his hand, a man came into view.

An incredibly large man, with an incredibly large hand.

An Ursid, Melody noted, though the fact that this man was an alien was hardly his most obvious feature.

No, that honor was shared between his left arm and leg, which were both mechanical wonders of cybernetics. Melody watched, mesmerized, as the gears and gyros in the man’s arm shifted with seamless whirrs, turning from a cyborg hand into an assortment of tools. Cleaver, scissors, cutting knives, claws, the metal twisting, shaping, and reforming into each as the man busied himself with his tasks.

“Your attention, please, gentlemen,” Captain Amelia interrupted their conversation.

The boy looked at the captain rather sullenly, but the cyborg’s countenance brightened as he turned, revealing that he also possessed a golden, cybernetic left eye. “Back again, eh, Cap’n? Missing my fine company already?”

“For your unwanted flattery, Silver, I’ve brought another pup for you to train.” Amelia pushed Melody forward with a hand on her shoulder. “Mel Dawson, this is John Silver, the ship’s cook, and James Hawkins, his cabin boy, a title you now share.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“This lad’s a bit politer than Mr. Hawkins,” Amelia said, fixing Melody with a stern look, “but anymore fisticuffs with the paid crew, and you’ll spend the rest of the voyage in the brig, understood?”

Melody grimaced at the dressing down, and the looks of surprised interest Hawkins and Silver sent her did nothing to stave off her embarrassment. “Yes, ma’am.”

The captain must have sensed it, too, for she merely nodded. “Carry on, then, and tend to that,” Amelia indicated at Melody’s cut, “or you can expect an additional earful from the ship’s doctor.”

“Who’s—” Melody started, but the captain had already turned on her heel, exiting the galley.

Silence had barely settled between the three remaining spacers before Silver exclaimed with a hefty sigh, “Jim, why are ya just sittin’ there? We don’t want no more earfuls or, most importantly, interruptions. Lend the boy some soap.”

Melody raised a hand to ward them off, the other brushing away the blood. The cut stung on contact, but just as quickly, the pain faded. A shallow, superficial wound. “It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“Disregardin’ the captain’s orders and mine as well?” Silver asked, his mouth in a stern line though his eyes sparkled, even the mechanical one. “No, lad, even if I was the careless sort, that won’t do. You’ll tend to that cut, you will, for though this marks one of the finest vessels in the navy, sickness spreads in space, and you’ll do well to remember that.”

Chastised yet still doubting the cut’s seriousness, Melody relented. “Got a clean rag anywhere?”

“Well, of course!” Silver said, sounding both amused and affronted that she’d even had to ask. He crossed the galley, opening a drawer as he went and retrieving a clean cloth, before offering it to Hawkins—Jim—who then wordlessly contributed a dollop of soap.

Melody expected Silver to then pass the rag to her, but instead he took a long stride and was right in front of her, not just looming but towering. Somehow, despite recognizing that John Silver was an incredibly large man, her brain had still downplayed that fact until this very moment. “Now, hold still, lad, and let’s have us a look,” Silver said, bringing the soapy rag up with his cybernetic hand. But it was the fingers of his flesh and blood hand that brushed against her forehead as he adjusted her hat back. Instantly, she tensed and swatted his hands away.

Realizing swatting probably wasn’t the most masculine or polite move, Melody tried to think manly thoughts. So, pretending nothing had happened, she stared at him straight on, extended her hand palm up, and said blandly, “I’ve got it, thanks.”

Silver just shrugged and passed the rag along. “Suit yourself, lad.” He returned to the task of preparing meals for the crew. “This humble cyborg’s always respected the independent sort. Jimbo here didn’t even breath word that he’d brought a friend along.”

“That’s because I didn’t,” Jim said, curious rather than defensive.

Dabbing the rag at her forehead, Melody decided to go ahead and be honest. “Can’t say I’m anyone’s friend on the ship right now. I sort of…boarded without permission.”

“Ah, and so the cap’n’s settled us with a little stowaway. Suppose it’s the best t’ing, taking advantage of all hands as it is.” Silver looked between her and Jim and laughed fondly. “Why, if I had half the gumption as you lads at your age, you can be sure I wouldn’t be a mere ship’s cook, no sir.”

“Maybe you’d still be a cabin boy,” Jim said slyly while Melody tried to remember it was a good thing Silver had mistaken her as the same age as Jim, when it was obvious to her he was much younger than twenty-seven.

Silver guffawed, wiping his hands—flesh and mechanical—on his apron. “Now, Jimbo, mind your cheek. Our Mr. Dawson may not be used to such cuttin’ words as that.”

“It was nicer than what I was thinking, actually,” Melody rebutted. “And Mel’s fine.”

“So, Mel,” Jim drew out the first word as he reached for another pot to clean, “the captain mentioned something about a fight. That where you got that?” He pointed to his own forehead.

“Oh. Uh, yeah.” Melody suddenly found the rest of the room to be incredibly interesting. “It was something like that.”

“Who with?”

“Uuuuh,” she hedged, trying to remember what Amelia had called him. Snoot? That didn’t sound completely right, but she was tempted to call him that from now on out of spite.

“Let me guess,” Jim said, “it was that spider psycho, Scroop.”

Melody laughed before she could help it. “The very same. How’d you know?”

“We don’t get along either. In fact, he probably doesn’t get along with anyone.” Jim rinsed the pot with water. “What’d you do to piss him off?”

“Easy on the inquiries, Jimbo,” Silver cautioned teasingly. “Here, we’ve just met, and you already want the lad’s whole life story.”

But Melody didn’t mind. If she knew anything, it was that bonding over the mutual hatred of someone else often began beautiful friendships. “He took offense to my presence and tried to throw me overboard, so I slugged him.”

Silver had been in the process of taste-tasting the soup, but at her admission, half a spoonful spewed across the room. “Now, how many times—” Silver half-laughed, half-grumbled to himself, trailing off.

“You slugged him?” Jim laughed much louder, the dishes all but forgotten now. He looked at her as if she’d brought him a gift he’d treasure for the rest of his life.

Melody shrugged. “I slugged him, he slugged me. It was a mutual slugging. Mr. Arrow broke it up very quickly, as you can see.” Melody gestured down at herself, showing that, other than her forehead, she was no worse for wear. (Neither was Scroop, but she put the sad thought out of her mind.) A quick inspection of the rag and the cut itself showed her the bleeding had staunched, so Melody tucked the rag into her pocket and said to Silver, “And we’re supposed to be working, sorry. Tell me what needs doing, and I’ll do it.”

Silver appraised her, Melody feeling the stare of his cybernetic eye more than his natural dark green one. “The manifest still needs lookin’ over. What with getting our bright Mr. Hawkins up to speed, I’ve yet to grab a spar minute to check the cargo. After that, there’s plenty of laundry to busy yourself with.”

Already? But aloud, she promised, “I’ll stay out of your way, sir.”

Staying out of John Silver’s way, as it turned out, was impossible. The man was a force of nature that preferred to be constantly in motion and everywhere at once.

With Silver and Jim busy below deck, she’d gotten a brief reprieve checking over the cargo still in the stowage, but everything else on the manifest was food-related and had already been brought to the galley. Melody returned there eventually, throwing Jim a sympathetic glance as she crossed the deck. It looked like he’d finished the dishes, and Silver already had him busy with mopping. A small, pink…blob hovered around Jim, but Melody didn’t have time to investigate that further. Knowing the joys of laundry were in her immediate future, Melody allowed the thought she was humoring that this would be a pleasure cruise to wither and die. Oddly, she looked forward to it. Melody didn’t want much time to think about what she was leaving behind.

“Stowage is checked, all accounted for,” she told Silver. “I ran into a locked door on the deck, though.”

“Hm, locked by the cap’n, I reckon.” He made a cutting motion, made even sharper by the fact that he was peeling potatoes with a speed and precision Melody couldn’t help marveling at. “I’ll tend to that, lad. No reason for you to catch her ire any further…unless that’s your poison of choice, of course.” He winked.

Melody was truly caught in a dilemma on how to react to that, for there was truly nothing she could intimate that would convey “Right poison, wrong gender” without getting into the more dangerous waters that she was not the gender she was pretending to be, and there were still those rare people who weren’t as free-thinking as she was.

Silver saved her the trouble of doing anything by laughing uproariously and clapping a hand on her shoulder, the affectionate force of it nearly buckling her knees before she braced herself. “I’m just kidding, lad! The cap’n wouldn’t look at you twice, I’d wager.”

“Gee, thanks,” Melody laughed dryly along with him, hoping that would be forgotten soon enough. Changing the subject, she muttered, “I’ll just…finish up.”

“Ah, pretend I ain’t even here,” Silver said cheerily, then immediately began whistling.

Shaking her head, Melody flitted around the galley, doing an odd dance with Silver as she tried not to run into him while she opened up cabinets, barrels, and freezers, checking off inventory and foodstuffs. A lot of grains and grain products, she noted, along with dried and smoked meats, spices, frozen vegetables, oranges, and—she internally laughed—beer. Kegs of it. The entire time, Silver seemed absorbed with his soup preparations, and at last, Melody’s last manifest check consisted of the items above the pipeline.

Scowling at how high up those pots, pans, and hanging vegetables and meats were, Melody stood on tip-toes and reached up anyway, knowing it would prove futile but having to try.

“Oh, ‘scuse me, lad.”

Silver’s voice was suddenly right above her. Before Melody could move, a weight settled on the small of her back—no, her entire lower back—and she jumped at the touch of his real hand, so unexpected and unfamiliar, banging her knee into a cabinet in the process. She just barely managed to turn her pained yelp into a groan and some murmured cursing before shuffling out of his way.

“You alright there, Mel?” Silver sounded concerned as he drew down a stack of bowls. “You need something from up top?”

“I—um—I, no. I mean, yes, I’m fine.” Melody was currently bent over the counter, more to hide her flaming red face than out of pain. Glorious reaction, this. No doubt a pinnacle of manhood.

To hell with it.

Convincing herself she hadn’t just blown her cover and not looking at Silver directly, she straightened, leaving the manifest on the counter. “In fact, everything’s here. Crew and now all cargo checked”—she didn’t point out that she had not been added under the crew and would not correct that oversight—“so off to the laundry, I go. Bye, Mr. Silver.”

Melody would have fled the galley if Silver hadn’t insisted on saying, “Sure you don’t want any of me famous Bonzabeast stew? It’s nearly ready, it is.”

Her stomach telling her to stay but everything else telling her to go, she hesitated. “I’ll eat when Jim eats.”

Silver nodded, as if that was a sound thought she hadn’t just pulled out of her ass to get away. “On your way, then. Tell the rest of the gents to come down, and I’ll do me best save you both a bowl.”

Melody escaped. Once she got on the deck, she stared out at the stars and took a bracing breath with her arms akimbo. Shaking off the last vestiges of her embarrassment and adrenaline, she turned to the rest of the crew and crowed, “LUNCH IS PREPARED, YOU LOUTS! CHEF SAYS GET BELOW DECK AT ONCE!”

Scattered cheers greeted her along with the shuffling of feet. Melody moved out of trampling range, noticing that some spacers grinned at her while others—Scroop, for instance—eyed her with acute distaste. Rather than testing her luck by lingering, Melody started for the laundry but stopped as she spotted Jim climbing the stairs to the poop deck. She hurried after him instead.

“New plan,” Melody said once she caught up to him on the higher deck. “I help you, you help me, we eat much sooner. Agreed?”

Jim leaned on his mop handle and shrugged, but he offered a slight smile. “Works for me, I guess.”

“Great.” Melody pulled the rag out of her pocket and inspected it. Aside from a few bloody specks, it was clean enough. “You mop on one end, I’ll scrub on the oth—” Her words derailed, and she took a quick step back as that pink blob she spotted from earlier shot itself out of Jim’s jacket and floated in front of her face.

“Oh, this is Morph,” Jim said, laughing slightly at her surprise. To Morph, he said, “This is the stowaway I was telling you about. So far, he’s okay.”

Melody watched as the blob literally shifted into a pair of wide, floating eyes, as if to watch her unblinkingly, before turning back to his pink, gelatinous shape again. “Apt name,” she said.

“Apt name,” Morph said back in a high-pitched voice. Abruptly, he morphed—into her, though miniature, same clothes and all, repeating, “Apt name, apt name.” The creature giggled, changing back and performing a barrel roll in the air.

In this circumstance, Melody didn’t find any of this funny. She managed in a thin voice, “Quite the interesting pet you have.”

But Jim shook his head and began to mop the starboard side of the poop deck. “Silver’s the one who rescued him, not me.”

“That’s…” Normally, Melody would’ve finished with “cute” because that’s exactly what Morph was, and his connection to the eccentric old cook below deck was both unexpected and heartwarming. But men didn’t often use “cute” as a descriptor, and more importantly, this shapeshifter could blow her cover in ways she hadn’t imagined. Morph’s small, fluid shape meant he could be anywhere, watching and listening. From this moment on, Melody had to assume that she would never be alone and wouldn’t be able to drop her act unless she somehow made foolproof plans to be. So she finished her statement with a flimsy, insincere “cool” and left it at that.

Jim was so focused on his work that he didn’t seem to pick up on her mood. “Yeah, Morph’s good company, but he’s also Silver’s second pair of eyes. Follows his orders and doesn’t give me a break.” He glared at Morph, but there was no real heat in it, particularly when the shapeshifter cuddled Jim’s face, making him laugh.

Melody settled the two with a flinty smile. She was certain her weakness for cute things would unthaw her towards Morph soon, but for now, she was reeling about the snag in her plan he presented. She needed some time to think up contingencies, and mindlessly scrubbing floors would allow her to do just that.

She needed to start coming up with many plans, anyway, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to go four months in space without even a sonic shower, and she needed time out of these itchy chest bandages, or she’d go mad even sooner.

“Nice to meet you, Morph, and good chat. Now, let’s get this done,” said Melody, wetting her rag in the bucket and crossing to port side.

#otp: beware of the silver tongue that hides a gun #stowaway #self insert weekend

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hystericalcherries · 8 years ago

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Mighty Long Fall, Chapter 20

Chapter Title: Unlikely Friends

Summary: It’s been years since that tragic day and Hiro finally gets his second chance. Though it isn’t exactly what he imagined, he’ll take it, doing everything and anything he can to ensure that his brother lives. Whether it’s dealing with Yokai or San Franksokyo’s crime district, including those ever evasive Fujitas, Hiro will do what he must- no matter what the cost.

Rated: K+

Words: 12791

If asked where Wasabi thought he would be spending the majority of his Friday night, he definitely wouldn't have said in some dirty alley in downtown San Fransokyo. No. Never in his right mind would he have guessed that he would be lurking around an even dirtier run-down building in the hopes of spotting a missing friend- said friend having just woken from a coma weeks before no less. The world was descending into chaos if Wasabi, Gogo acclaimed ‘stick in the mud extraordinaire,’ found himself in such a situation.

Not to mention he was probably suffering from a minor concussion to boot.

“This is the place,” Hiro announced, sealing their fates.

Taking one look at the place where the boy pointed, he could feel all his hopes of a normal evening dying in a pitiful whimper. As it was, if it wouldn’t have given him the biggest headache in all of existence, Wasabi would’ve groaned.

A warehouse. Everything bad started at a warehouse, one just as dingy-looking and unkept, only Wasabi hoped there wasn’t a masked man lurking behind these old doors. Hiro had already proved adventuring in one only led to deadly experiences, so why do it again? Wasabi wished they’d go to some nice, clean hospital, one with freshly-washed sheets and disinfectant within an arm's reach, because, good lord, this place looked like it was housing at least thirteen health code violations.

He was already planning a checkup with his doctor, not wanting to add ‘disease ridden’ to his already long list of afflictions. Seriously, he was going to plan it the moment he got home, schedule it as soon as possible, and hope that no lasting damage lingered. And if it did, oh, he dearly hoped he wouldn’t have to kiss his degree goodbye.

“Should we go through the front door?” Honey asked, looking around for anyone else. The street was abandoned, which was strange because San Fransokyo was many things, but quiet was not one of them. If there wasn’t anyone here, then that meant something.

“My current size will not permit me to enter through the main entrance,” Baymax said, “It would be more efficient if I used the loading dock.”

Hiro frowned, as did the rest, and, if Wasabi's mind were not spinning as it was, he would have, too. But, presently, he did not have the brainpower to focus his thoughts of such trivial things and why they should unnerve him.

Good thing Hiro spoke up, so that Wasabi wasn't out of the loop for long. “How do you know there's a loading dock?”

But the robot did not find the curious-almost-suspicious inquiry any more concerning than the crickets playing their tune in the darkening evening, which was not at all. Instead, Baymax took the necessary steps away from them and toward the back right of the building where the ground glowed from the shine of industrial lights stationed somewhere beyond Wasabi’s line of vision.

“Hey, no, forget about the loading dock.” Hiro flapped a hand in front of the robot's helmet, attempting to halt the bulky feet from taking another step and only succeeding in making Wasabi’s headache increase in size when the movement caught his eye. “Just karate chop the door open. No one will care if some rundown roller rink gets smashed- it's probably being run illegally anyway.”

“I must disagree,” was the ever polite response, reflective in tone. “Someone else might become distressed over the destruction of this establishment. Continuing with that fact would go against my health care code.”

Hiro huffed, apparently in no mood to deal with such things with Tadashi so close. “Ugh, fine, whatever. You can go that way or stay out here- I don't care which, but I'm going in.” He made to step off the robot's back, grunting in surprise when he nearly smacked his jaw against metal as his upper body jerked forward. “H-hey! What's going on?”

There was an attempt at dissecting his feet from magnetize metal, only to end in failure when his limbs resolutely remained in their footholds. Knobby knees bent and jiggled in obvious effort, but the soles of his feet wouldn't budge.

Wasabi took the time to brace himself on his knees. He needed to take some aspirin, ASAP.

Hiro growled, “Baymax, I know what you're doing- so let me go!”

The robot seemed not to hear. “Entering through the side passage appears to be the safest route, with the only disadvantage being that it takes approximately six minutes and twenty seven seconds longer to arrive at the building’s center.” The red helmet swiveled on its axis, calmly taking in the other three even as Hiro continued to struggle. “I suggest we regroup inside. Hiro and I will take the loading dock entrance, while you three enter through this door here; this way, on the chance that one of us comes in contact of… suspicious activity, the second group may proceed with caution.”

And with that, they were gone.

“Oh,” Honey said in the silence after.

Fred raised his eyebrows and puckered his lips. “That was…”

“Weird,” Honey finished.

“Shouldn't we go after them?” Wasabi asked from his spot on the curb, twisting his hands nervously, the precise pressure enacted on his knuckles soothing. “We are in a pretty dangerous neighborhood, and splitting up is never a good idea. I mean, come on, we still have to find-”

“Tadashi!” Honey and Fred interrupted, both pointing at the space just over Wasabi’s left shoulder. The burly man jerked around at their outburst, astounded to see the topic of his worry standing there, as if summoned.

Well, that was slightly unsettling, if not convenient.

But, sure enough, that was their friend standing just beyond the streetlamp, staring at them. The smile Tadashi sent them was brittle, but honest. The wave following it was even more sheepish. “Hey, guys.”

“You’re here… and we just lost Baymax and Hiro. Great…” Wasabi moaned, sucking it up and standing upright again. A quick look to the way their youngest member had disappeared found nothing, just another empty alleyway. “We're never going home, are we?”

Tadashi didn't seem to hear him. “You alright, Wasabi?”

Gogo, now at their friend's elbow, gave him an unimpressed look. “He took a small tumble and now he thinks he’s going to die.”

“Hey, that was not a small tumble- I fell, like, fifteen feet! No warning or anything! And concussions are serious-”

“Yeah, but you’re really pushing it. Baymax checked you out and said you’d live. Stop being such a baby.”

“That does not mean I'm-”

“Where have you been, dude?” Fred asked as he and Honey jumped Tadashi with eager hugs. “We've been mega worried about you. I was starting to think you went AWOL.”

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” Tadashi pried himself away from the crushing hug and took a step back. It's then that he seemed to notice something (or, more correctly, the lack of someone), head snapping this way and that. “Where's Hiro?”

Gogo watched him, eyeing the way his finger twitched, and answered, “Baymax took off with him somewhere… he's been acting up, so you might want to give him a checkup.”

“That's… good.”

Wasabi didn't think that was at all good. Baymax, the robot emboldened with thick armor and rocket hands, and Hiro, genius and main commander of their less-than-professional team, being separated from the main group did not spell “good” for them. They were in criminal (not to mention germ infested) territory and having their main force- the big guns, so to speak- of the team split off from the rest was not, as Tadashi had so gracelessly put it, “good.”

Honey stepped forward, hands clasped together. “Tadashi, we were so worried about you- you just disappeared and, with Yokai on the move, we thought…”

The girl's worry brought to light the reason for their impromptu adventure into the slums of San Fransokyo: Tadashi's blatant run into danger without any regard for their own peace of mind.

“Yeah, I, uh…” Tadashi seemed to get the hint of where the mood of the conversation was heading and shifted uncomfortably at the silence that followed, taking off his hat and tapping his fingers along the rim while he cast them a nervous look.

It was a quirk their friend had, fiddling with his hat; a well-known act he'd do right before an intense exam or after he had shown Professor Callaghan his first prototype of Baymax. That they were seeing it now meant one thing.

He was nervous.

“Look, this isn't really something we can talk about in the open.” The robotics engineer cleared his throat and made to scratch his neck, only to stop and motion behind him. “How about we go inside and… clear things up.”

The burly man squinted at the building behind him, knowing exactly where he didn't want to go. Of course, there were many logical reasons why he didn't want to step foot through the door before them: many of them concerning safety violations and late night horror movies Fred had forced him to watch the week before. Though, knowing his friends and their lack of respect for his sanity, they would go inside no matter what he said. Still, it didn't hurt to try.

“You want us,” Wasabi made a general swirling motion, “to go in there?” He stabbed his finger in the direction of the building that looked to be brimming with an infestation of termites and other creepy crawlers that surfaced only in his nightmares. “You cannot be serious.”

Their friend heaved a deep breath. “Yeah, I know what it looks like, but you have to trust me- I know what I'm talking about when I say that our best chance is inside.”

“What do you mean, ‘our best chance’?”

“I'll explain everything inside.” He waved them forward, already heading for the building.

No one commented on Wasabi’s sputtering choosing to follow their friend. Honey touched a manicured hand to just above his elbow, gently pushing him forward. Wasabi let himself be guided, reminding himself that he was a good friend and good friends didn't let each other enter spooky buildings by themselves.

Concussed friends, on the other hand… they deserved definite leeway.

The door creaked when Tadashi opened it and closed with a loud slam behind them, sealing their fate in a premonition that caused chills to travel down Wasabi’s spine. The hallway was an ugly green color and looked as if it hadn't been washed for years.

“The germ count’s probably atrocious.”

There was a couch, not in as bad of condition as the building, big enough to fit a sleeping body. Wasabi almost felt he could look past the millions of microbes no doubt crawling on its surface and let himself fall into its embrace. Almost.

Tadashi made as to continue deeper into the building, following the small hallway to the door at the end, but Gogo’s foot became dead weight against it, effectively stopping their hesitant procession.

“I said I would go inside, Hamada,” she deadpanned, “and now I'm inside. Time to uphold your side of the bargain. Spill. What's really going on here?”

Their friend looked startled, gaze sweeping across them all as if seeing them for the first time. They watched as he took a deep breath, expression hardening into one of steeled determination.

“Okay, uh, so I know what you're all thinking, and no, no one kidnapped me or anything. I came here of my own free will. Honest.” He paused, scrunching up his face and tilting his head to each side. “Well, I didn't exactly walk in- I was kinda carried in on the fact that I was unconscious, but don't worry about that!” He raised his hands and shook them quickly, seeing their expressions flicker into something more suspicious. “They helped me! I swear!”

“They?”

“The women in kimonos, they… well, not them specifically, but their… group?”

“… the Fujitas.” GoGo deadpanned. “You're talking about the mafia, Hamada.”

“I, uh, yes, the mafia…”

Honey chewed her lower lip. “They… helped you? But, aren't they the ones that attacked you earlier, when you were in the hospital?”

“Yeah, and they got Gogo thrown in jail. I remember that.” Fred supplied, pausing in his inspection of the room to glance back at them. His voice echoed when he leaned over to peek inside the vacant ticket booth. “Though, this is a classic case of enemies turned friends- like, every good story has one.”

Tadashi gave a short laugh. “Yeah, that was them, but, uh, it's fine now. We've, I don't know, made peace. I don't really know what else to call it.”

GoGo crossed her arms. “What's the catch?”

“Oh, no, there isn't a catch- not really. You could say that they- how do I put this?- have been on our side the whole time?” His palms were splayed out as he talked, tone almost questioning despite the fact that he was trying to convince them of his words; it was like he was testing the waters, waiting for a sign to tell of their level of acceptance and wondering whether it'd be enough for them to believe.

Which Wasabi didn't. He couldn't believe that he expected him to accept that- expect him to believe the insane assassin women were helping them while simultaneously trying to maim them. He didn’t want to believe.

GoGo, surprisingly, was on the same page. “Could've fooled me.”

“Okay, look, I know we've had our… differences,” Wasabi made an incredulous scoff at the choice of words, of which was purposefully ignored, “but you guys have got to trust me on this. It's different now.”

“How is it different? Cause it looks all the same to me. We're still in way over our heads.” He could see the logical sway of Honey’s head and Wasabi grasped at it, pushing forward. “We still don't know what is going on, and we don't have any kind of authority to manage what we do figure out- like, honestly, we're just a bunch of headless chickens running around the streets.” Okay, maybe not headless chickens, but definitely concussed.

“Look, I know this seems improbable-”

“More like impossible.”

“-but it's true and I wouldn't lie to you guys about something this serious.”

That gave them pause. It was true, Tadashi would never joke about anything this serious, especially when it concerned Hiro. He was a golden boy: caring and honest and true to a fault- Wasabi had never even heard the boy curse. If he said he was telling the truth, then, by the stars above, he was and, well, they should be inclined to believe him.

“‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’” Fred quoted.

Wasabi crossed his arms and huffed. “I still think we have different opinions on what counts as a friend.”

Tadashi nudged his shoulder to the burly man’s.

“Yeah, I guess I believe you.”

The relieved smile that spread across Tadashi’s face was almost enough for him to forget where they were. “Thank you. Now, you're going to have to stay with me here, because there's one more thing you should know.”

Of course there was. But, no, he would see this through- that's what friends were for. “And what's this other thing?”

“It'd be better if I just show you.”

Wasabi tried to keep his face clear of anything as their friend made to open the door, Gogo hesitating for all of a second before acquiescing and moving out of the way. With quick steps he was leading them through a massive room that doubled as a rink and bar area, though Wasabi made sure not to touch any of the furniture and walls, still adamant in his belief that it rented space to every disease known to man.

It was otherwise unoccupied, so that was a relief.

“Just… keep yourself open, okay?” After they nodded, Tadashi made a come-hither motion to the tables by the bar.

A figure stepped out of the artificial shadows and into the fluorescent lighting, quick steps taking them to a place just outside their little circle. Their face was angled away, as if they couldn't bare to look at the group of amateur heroes. Wasabi frowned at the small prick of insecurity it created: Was it their costumes? They were a bit flashy, to be sure, but nothing too outlandish to warrant an act so rude.

“Hey, come on,” Tadashi said, offering a small smile. “What ever happened to ‘I'm ready for anything?’ Don't tell me that was all talk.”

The teasing tone their friend took on, something of which was reserved for only those the robotics engineer deemed close, seemed to shoot a shock of indignant confidence in the mysterious individual. With a huff that sounded all too familiar they were snapping their head forward and into sight, giving the group a perfect view of the impossible.

Fred gasped. “No. Way.”

Now, Wasabi had never labeled himself as crazy. Different? Maybe. Eccentric? At times. Fretful? Probably. But crazy? No, definitely not.

Though sometimes, when his vigilance for order was broken, crazy visited him. Crazy was the next door neighbor that constantly threw house parties. Crazy was wearing two different colored socks. Crazy was letting your friends convince you to join their ragtag group of vigilantes. Crazy was getting on a flying robot and scouring the city for a masked villain. Crazy was letting everything become disorganized and not putting things back where they belong- back to normalcy.

But, when he saw the person- that face, he knew crazy had just reached a whole new level and proceeded to do the only thing he could do when confronted with such entropy.

He screamed.

It wasn't the most manly of screams, but it did justice to the feeling of panicked incredulity that had set his lungs ablaze and head pounding. The shrill sound was the only thing getting through, his ears blocked to his own hysteria and the nonsensical turn of events. He couldn't see his friends, eyes fixed forward and stapled to the face- oh my god, oh my god, oh my god- of crazy, but he could feel their cringes and instantly imagined the way they cupped their ears in useless protection. Still, he kept on, because this wasn't happening, couldn't be happening. It went against everything- every system, every order, every rule.

Salvation came in the form of a hand speeding through the air and slapping over his mouth.

He blinked back the white spots that flittered across his eyes, dazed to find a peeved looking Gogo in front of him. Though as soon as he caught sight of her he immediately quieted, experience dictating that carrying on screaming would only end with wads of chewed gum sticking to the underside of his desk.

“What is going on?” an angry voice sounded behind him and there went his heart, bursting in an explosion of fear and muscle tissue.

GoGo practically growled at him. “Don't you dare.”

He nearly did scream again, because who was that? Two unfamiliar faces strayed in the path of his wide eyes, turning absolutely monstrous in his tunnel vision of fear. It was only quick thinking and the slapping of his palms over his mouth that stopped the mood from reaching scream fest once again; still, a muffled sound slipped through his fingers, high enough that his ears rang.

The world was a centrifuge and he the poor aqueous solution stuck in a glass tube spinning it is unmerciful grasp. Or maybe it was the concussion currently making his head feel like a beehive. Maybe he should sit down; the couch was looking more favorable with every second.

His scream seemed to nudge his friends out of their initial surprise and now they closed in with a level headedness that put Wasabi to shame. He was concussed, so who was to say he was in his right mind anyway?

“This is awesome!” Fred cried, ignoring the strangers.

Honey Lemon shuffled forward, bending over to peer cautiously at the face that had gotten them a one way ticket to a mental hospital. She licked her lips before forming the treacherous word, “...Hiro?”

She got a wide smile as an answer.

The tall girl squeaked alongside Wasabi, eyes wide as she flapped an excited hand at Gogo's shoulder. The shorter girl accepted the treatment and news with a curt nod, cementing her aloof resolve with an imprint of a small smirk.

“Oh, man, I did not see this coming! This is- your real!” Without hesitation, Fred practically jumped across the no-man’s land and threw himself at… the person. “This is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me- well, technically you, but still! Better than being a fire-breathing lizard!” The comic nerd’s weight was held surprisingly well, the other individual having apparently seen this reaction coming as he took a step away from the girls and half cradled the short boy in his arms. “Man, I gotta say- you're the real MVP for saving me back at the comic book store. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't crashed through the window like you did- though, as an expert in all things super, I gotta say that your grand entrances need some work.”

The boy with the unruly hair laughed. “I'll try to remember that next time.”

Okay, now Wasabi was surely hearing things because that voice couldn't possibly be right. It spoke of improbabilities that went beyond everything Wasabi knew to be true and cursed the order that had been perfectly set in stone until just recently. But, yet, there it was- there he was.

It was all just too much.

Wasabi really needed to sit down.

“Mmmnnnnope.” His sore arms found the strength to raise themselves and form an ‘X’ in front of his face, shielding him from the blatant crazy in the room. “That's it. I quit.”

Fred was set down and the not-stranger stepped forward. “Wasabi-”

“Oh, no. I literally cannot- will not. I refuse to be a part of this- superheroes was one thing, but this- this is another!” Someone pushed his hands down and he didn't have the power to fight them and gravity at the same time so he clamped his eyes shut in retaliation, willing himself to be blind to the situation and what it meant. He stumbled back, voice getting higher. “Go away! I don't care what Fred says, you aren't real. Heck, I don't think any of us are!”

A scoff from one of the strangers that Wasabi had no intention of looking at. The less he saw, the better.

“Wasabi,” the voice in front of him said, sounding both exasperated and amused, “c’mon, don't do this. Open your eyes.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't listen to imaginary voices. That would make me crazy and I'm not crazy. I refuse to be crazy.” His frown deepened and he leaned back when a pressure appeared on his shoulder, along with another plead to open to his eyes. “I'm not crazy.”

“You aren't crazy and I'm not imaginary, I promise.” Behind them, a person chuckled and was immediately shushed by another. “Now, can you open your eyes and just look at me?”

He could feel his resolve dissolving, chipped down with the soothing tone of the words.

“Please?”

Ah, and there it went.

One eye cracked open, cautious in the new light that replaces the dark backside of his eyelids. It took a moment for his surroundings to separate and become definite shapes, framing the individual set dead center in front of him.

“See?” Hiro said in a voice deeper than he remembered. “That wasn't so hard.”

It was at that moment- with those words, so easily said- that Wasabi realized a fundamental truth of his being. That somewhere, deep in the archive of feelings and philosophies and nervous ticks within him, he believed this unholy impossibility. That, despite the evidence- and known law of nature- condoning the existence of the person in front of him, Wasabi might actually believe it all. That itself had him itching to leave and catalogue his CD collection twice over.

Obviously, since he couldn't do that, there was only one thing that could possibly calm him and his frayed nerves.

He took a deep breath. “Three point one, four, one, five, nine, two, six-”

For a long second, no one in the room seemed to know what to do. It wasn't until his gaze unfocused to a point off the far wall that his friends processed that something was wrong.

Someone snapped a finger in his face, but he remained solid in his mindset and unfaltering in his words.

“What is he doing?” Gogo asked and he could just see her eyebrows furrowing over Hiro's- nope, nope, nope, he was not going to finish that thought. Stay focused, Wasabi, stay focused.

Tadashi cocked his head, listening. “Sounds like he's listing off digits of pi.”

“-five, zero, two, eight, eight, four-”

“Whoa, you broke him,” Fred said in awe, watching him like an animal at the zoo. “Is he gonna do this forever?”

Wasabi recited faster and louder. He needed to reestablish order in his life and he needed to do it now, not listen to Fred and his comic book heroes. Numbers could be trusted, could be relied on.

“Wasabi, look- okay, please stop freaking out and just-”

“-two, zero, nine, seven-”

“Can you-”

“-four, four, five-”

“-for a minute and I promise-”

“-three, zero, seven, nine-”

Wasabi jerked back when something splattered on his face. He spluttered, losing his train of thought (now he'd have to start all over again).

“-seven-” he sputtered, grimacing at the taste that attacked his mouth. Smacking his lips and running his tongue across his upper teeth did nothing to rid him of the bitter flavor and probably only made him look ridiculous. “What is- oh, gross! So gross!”

His nose twitched and he could feel his limbs turn into lead, moving through the air like glue inching out of a bottle. An itch on the ridge of his brow made itself known to him and he tried to quell the feeling, but accidently whacked himself in the face. He blinked, both upset and confused- though, suddenly, he couldn't particularly remember why.

What was he doing?

“What did you do to him?

“Fluothane,” someone said and Wasabi tried to pinpoint the origin only to have his mind start spinning in a slow merry-go-round. “Also called Halothane vapor- it's a volatile anesthetic.”

There was a grunt. “In English, please.”

“Sleeping gas.”

“Sl… eep ga-as?” Wasabi asked the room aloud, suddenly finding it difficult to voice coherent thoughts. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, the tension in his muscles dwindled and his eyelids drooped of their own accord. And he was tired, so very tired.

“He was freaking out and I didn't want him hurting himself.” A smudge of pink drifted into his vision and he thought of cotton candy and lip gloss. The images fluttered out of his head a second later, replaced by the thought of cavities and dentist appointments. He shook the image out of his head. “Should I have not done that? Do you think it will make him worse? Oh, gosh, I hope not. Maybe I should have waited for Baymax to-”

“Honey,” a voice beyond his recognition spoke, words blurring together, “it's fine.”

Wasabi felt his body lurch sideways; he stumbled, the ground rising up and tilting with the suspended axis of the Earth, and bumped into something hard. There was a clatter as something reasonably big fell over, loud and reverberating through his ears, and a curse. Somehow he had remained upright, but only just.

He was really tired.

“Hey, watch him! If he breaks anything-”

Garbled words spilled from his mouth and he didn't know what he said. Was it about the blobs bobbing in front of him? They danced in his fisheye vision, swaying with the world and the consonance of jargon it sung.

“Look at him, he’s totally out of it- woah, hey, somebody catch him!”

Something gripped his shoulder, but the hold fumbled as he clumsily attempted to lean toward it. Eventually it disappeared entirely when Wasabi’s balance dipped to an all time low and he stumbled to the right. A explosion of pain rushed to a point at his hip, clearing his head enough for him to distinguish a chair laying haphazardly on the ground. It took a little longer for him to realize that he was also on the floor.

But that didn't matter. What did matter was…

“Ew,” he said, drawing out the syllable with as much fervor his sluggish mouth could procure with his face half smooched against the dirty ground. “Wh… last… time… clean?”

Someone laughed and it distorted into a thick fog over his head, like a curtain closing over a stage. “You know what? I think he's gonna be fine.”

The spectrum of colors and shapes he could see was rapidly diminishing, taken over by a tsunami of haziness. Darkness, gentle and tempting, took his hand and lead him down, down, down into the depths of his mind; he bedded there, feeling at home amongst systematic planes and constant figures that fly and roam the caves of thought.

Wasabi sighed, content in the silence and order that precipitated, and fell into a deep slumber.

When Hiro finally managed to meet up with the rest of his team he had expected them to be in the midst of a legendary battle. He expected to be pulled into chaos, where quick thinking and even quicker punches were the only thing that kept one from falling behind. He expected them to be the winners of a long fight (or a somewhat decent fight at least), heroically fighting criminals and solidifying their stand on the superhero pedestal he had set them upon. He expected a lot of things.

He didn't expect them to be relaxing with said criminals.

“What,” he started, catching the attention of the room and watching their eyes automatically focus first on Baymax’s hulking form before sliding down to his own, “are you doing?”

A large television was flickering through the late night news, offering muted background noise to the quiet murmur of chatter that rolled across the air in waves. Tables, some still littered with used napkins and empty shot glasses, and chairs were organized in casual disarray, occupying the space around the entrance to a miniature dome in the middle of the gigantic room. Brown eyes widened in disbelief when he spotted bright kimonos, the women wearing them laying about around a bar a couple of feet away, some shaking up toxic concoctions while others reapplied makeup. On the other side of the room, a man in a pink blazer and a battle axe strapped to his back appeared from a hallway that was labeled as the men's room.

“Hiro!” Said boy was thankful to see Tadashi, unharmed and exactly how he had left him. His brother split from the group seated around a grand table. It was only a matter of seconds before Hiro was issued a Big-Brother hug, one that lessened the worry twisting his gut; Tadashi did always give the best hugs (well, second only to Baymax).

“Tadashi,” he said into his brother’s armpit, “what… what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, Knucklehead.” A semblance of distance was put between them so that a hand could brush hair out of his face. The touch soothed his nerves and he allowed himself to melt between Tadashi's warm body and Baymax’s solid presence behind him, basking in the attention that made him feel safe. “You're okay, right? No bruises or broken bones? How's your head? Do you need to lie down?”

“I'm fine. Baymax took care of me.”

Tadashi looked over Hiro’s head and to his invention. “Baymax. Status report.”

He sighed and let his brother push him about with only minimal complaining, inspecting him for any injuries Hiro might not be telling him about. Baymax prattled on about his health, listing off small details that probably wouldn't mature beyond anything that a good night's rest couldn't cure; it was kind of dull to hear, but Tadashi listened to every word with an intensity that couldn't be rivaled.

Hiro tried to sneak a look around his brother's frame to get a better look at the people they'd been against for the past month. He barely caught the vibrant colors of his friend’s suits before he was pulled back to face brown eyes.

“You're not dizzy or anything? Don't feel like throwing up, do you?”

“No. I told you, I'm fine.” Baymax had evaded the guns and bullets, too high to get caught in the car crashes. Hiro had been the farthest from the danger.

“And your head? It doesn't feel like it's gonna burst in an explosion of brains?”

“Ew, gross, no.”

Tadashi smiled at that. “Hey, I'm just trying to hit all the bases here. Concussions are a very real thing and, though they don't normally end with brain fireworks, you can never be too careful.”

He shoved the older boy in the stomach. “I don't have a concussion and brain fireworks aren't a thing, you dork.”

But speaking of concussions...

“Where’s Wasabi?”

“Honey knocked him out with sleeping gas,” Fred said oh-so-casually and Tadashi let Hiro push him out of the way so he could see their friends. “We left him in the waiting room to ride it out.”

“What?”

“Dude couldn't handle it,” Fred continued on, still not helping, but speaking with a knowledgeable air. “Which is, statistically speaking, pretty natural. The switch from one character trope to another, whether it's from civilian to hero or enemy to ally, is always a little emotionally exhausting- what with all that character development and complex arcs to ensure those personal changes. Though most forms of literature and media tend not to dwell on those details in favor of the plot and what needs to be done in order to keep it going, most believe this is a major part of defining a character’s personality and the interpersonal relationships they form.” Here, Fred shrugged. “Basic storytelling, man.”

“What are you even saying?” GoGo asked.

The blond boy leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back legs- which, in itself, was a pretty impressive feat to do in the bulky lizard costume. Even with Fred’s laid back personality, he was far too comfortable with criminals barely five feet away. “I'm just saying- I totally saw this coming.”

“You did not.”

“I did so,” Fred argued, still balancing. “I said, and I quote, ‘oh man, this is turning out to be something out of Kurt Vonnegut’s kooky mind,’ because, let's be real here, what's more sci-fi than time travel? The answer: nothing.”

That caught Hiro’s attention. “What?”

Tadashi seemed to process something and he tensed. “You don't know…”

But Hiro was no longer listening, for something had caught his eye. It was person, somehow hiding in the back of the group while also being the radial point of the conversation. He looked past his brother’s broad shoulders at the person who was causing such a turbulence in their lives.

His face stared back.

Well, okay, it wasn't exactly his face. But enough of the foundation- the set of the cheekbones, shape of the eyes, and stubby nose- were similar enough that Hiro had to remind himself that cloning was never anything he had been genuinely interested in or had ever looked into. No, he was staring into a distorted mirror that had abruptly crystallized before him, cracks of time blinking along its once smooth surface.

“That's me,” Hiro said.

His words broke the nonsensical chatter. More than one individual spun and made him the center of their attention, waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen.

“That's me,” Hiro said again, pointing.

Tadashi, ever the mediator, stepped forward to shed some well-needed light on the situation. “Yes, it is- well, sort of. Okay, see, it is you, but not?” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose while muttering, “Ugh, this is not how I planned this going.”

The Hiro copy laughed and there was something off putting about it, the sound familiar even in that lower pitch; it bore more resemblance to Tadashi than it did anything else and Hiro wasn't sure how he felt about that. “Welcome to my world.”

“This is going to blow your mind, little man!” Fred laughed, hopping from his seat and lumbering about in costume, “I mean, this is some crazy stuff- but totally awesome!”

“What Fred means is that-”

Fred cut in again. “You’re a time-traveler!”

“What.” Hiro said again just as the stranger replied, “No, I am, Fred, not him. The time portal hasn't been invented yet, so he can't even-”

“Technically, since he's you and you're him, you both are. Time-travelers, that is, with all that time-travel science and voodoo.” Fred wiggled his fingers at his head, trying to physically interpret what he thought said ‘voodoo’ looked like. “Oh! You guys should try to communicate telepathically! With your minds!”

“That’s not- nevermind.” Hiro’s doppelganger sighed good-naturedly before catching sight of something behind him. He smiled. “Baymax!”

A sound of heavy footsteps preceded the healthcare robot, who looked too much at ease in such surroundings- among such company. A brush of metal plating and the robot in question was padding past Hiro without so much as a glance.

The stranger-yet-not walked forward past everyone. Hiro stepped back.

“Hiro, it is good to see you again,” Baymax greeted, bending a few inches forward at the waist to properly look down at the other him. “I hope you are feeling better.”

The young man shrugged, stuffing his hands inside his pockets and looking like the epitome of casual. “I'm as good as I can be.” Eyes flashed toward Tadashi and his group of friends, sharp in how they took in their drawn attention. “How’ve you been holding up? I didn't get you in too much trouble, did I?”

“There have some problems, but I have worked through them as well as I am able.” The robot rotated his head to look at Hiro followed by Tadashi. “I must express my apologies for misleading you, but I could not allow for a break in patient confidentially.”

Tadashi patted the robot on the elbow. “You don't have to apologize, Baymax. You were just following your programming.” He smiled up at the robot, the act so understanding that it wasn't hard to see how such a creation came into being in the first place. “The rest of us were just a little slow on the intake.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’ve been coming here?” Hiro didn’t know how to feel. Betrayed was a possible emotion, but that still didn't cut it, not with Baymax. Baymax, who did everything in his power to care for his patients. Baymax, who didn't have a dishonest wire in his body. Baymax, who gave out lollipops and hugs with the simplest intent of relieving pain. Baymax, who had become his best friend over the course of a few short weeks.

It still stung.

“I have many patients here.”

Of course, Baymax saw it like that. To the robot, returning here would have been nothing of consequence and certainly not the act of betrayal Hiro foolishly felt it was. He was not privatized to Hiro and his needs, instead a public service for all to enjoy, and to continue to think of him that way would be selfish.

“Yeah, well… fine, whatever.”

A pause. “Hiro, is something the matter? My sensors indicate you are not happy. Is my care inadequate?”

Before Hiro could even open his mouth to say- well, something, Mr. Time Travel was already talking and with the most insufferable smile, too. “Don't worry about it, buddy. He's just a bit put off that he can't have you all to himself now. We were never good at sharing.”

“That isn't it at all!”

“Oh, really,” he said, unimpressed.

“Yes, really.” Hiro continued to lie, getting worked up. “And don't act like you know, because you don't.”

“Well, I am you, so…”

“Prove it,” he said, crossing his arms. Duplicating someone’s looks wasn’t farfetched (though why someone would want to copy his was a mystery even he couldn't solve). Visible proof wasn’t enough, not when there were other characteristics that made a person who they said they were. “Prove you’re me.”

Tadashi raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hiro, we already-”

“Fine.” The copycat mirrored his own stance, looking properly formidable. “Ask me anything.”

He was momentarily stunned by the instant answer to his challenge, but shook it off just as quickly. He rose to his full height, trying to make his five foot stature more imposing that it actually was- he wasn't fooling anyone if that resulting, sly grin was anything to go by. “Young’s Modulus of polyethylene terephthalate?”

“Two to two-point-seven gigapascal.” The answer was immediate and, worst of all, correct.

He wasn't undeterred.

Thermodynamics. Quantum physics. Fluid mechanics. Microbiology. He pulled out all the stops, from encyclopedias and lectures, questions and theories he was more than positive even Tadashi wouldn't know on the top of his head. He was vaguely aware of everyone in the room looking between them like a tennis match, following a conversation that was probably better left done in private- especially when his questions started bleeding into more personal topics.

“My locker combination in ei-”

“-seven, twenty, fourteen.”

“My favorite sport-”

“-soccer, but we like to watch baseball. Also, can't stand basketball, because of that one time Mikey Gordon shoved us into the spare hoop and the school had to call the fire department because the rim got caught on our belt. Which was really embarrassing, by the way, and I'm kinda mad you made me relive it just now.”

Hiro looked around the room, finding that, suddenly, there are too many people privy to this moment. Maybe he should have…

But the copycat, who was turning out to have more credibility than previously thought, seemed to take his discomfort for passage to continue. “If you want more proof, I can tell you about the physics test we cheated on and how we used Tadashi's old pair of glasses to do it- as easy as installing a mini projector with all the inscripted equations on file and using the lenses as a transparent screen- and all just because we could.” The stranger started tallying on his fingers. “Or how about the time we blew a hole in the wall of the side door when we were testing out our pocket laser cannon. Aunt Cass was so angry.” Hiro could feel his fists uncurling at each word, leveling with the disbelief slowly taking over his face. “I also can tell you about that movie we cried over- you know the one, with the boxing robot.”

Hiro did know the movie. And he had not cried. There had been one or two sniffles, yes, and maybe a quick blinking of eyes, but that had been it. Still, even the idea that someone knew of such a detail was somewhat discomfiting and, for once, he was speechless. He was boxed in: every argument he could think of foiled by... himself.

The man that looked like him leaned back, head tilted and smile curled in a familiar expression. Victory. “Face it, I'm the real deal.”

Tadashi’s face scrunch up when Hiro looked to him. But it wasn’t the new development of Hiro’s supposed future counterpart that caused this expression, but, “You used my glasses to cheat on a test?”

“No,” Hiro immediately denied just as his look-alike said, “Yes.”

He glared at the doppelgänger. Whether or not what he was saying was true, Hiro had planned on not letting Tadashi in on his little cheating spree. Now he was going to a get a boring lecture, all for a stupid physics test that had happened two years ago.

“We'll talk about academic morals later. Right now,” Tadashi motioned to Hiro and his sorta-twin, “what's important is that you believe what we're trying to tell you.”

Hiro blew some hair out of his eyes, rolling them in the process. “Oh, yeah, totally.”

He could see both Tadashi and the look-alike narrow their eyes at his words, drenched as they were in sarcasm. It was a bit unsettling, seeing that look on two faces and both directed pointedly at him, but Hiro stood his ground. When his resolve wavered at the stares, he tried to replace the confidence with anger instead; tried to look into Tadashi’s open face and get angry over the fact that he believed this crazy story over him.

“Hiro,” Tadashi started.

“Tadashi,” Hiro countered.

His older brother threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “Unbelievable.”

“Man, was I always this stubborn?”

Hiro shot a scorching look to the doppelgänger, not liking to be talked about as if he wasn’t there. It increased tenfold when he heard Tadashi's response.

“All the time.”

Hiro squashed down the impulse to stomp his foot.

“What part of this is unbelievable?” Tadashi asked abruptly, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture.

Hiro gave him a flat look, then tilted his head at the imposter. It went without saying.

“Out of everything that's happened, you draw the line at time travel?” It sounded ridiculous, even from Tadashi’s mouth.

He'd played around at the possibility of time travel, worked around the concepts and theoretical problems that went with it. At the age of ten, he'd disproved the science of most sci-fi movies on a whim. Except there wasn't any other explanation to how this copy knew as much as he did. And Tadashi and his friends were supporting it and, as much as he argued it, they couldn't all be suffering from head trauma.

Still, it was the concept of the matter- he didn’t like to be wrong. He would hold out as long as he could. “I'm not saying it.”

“Do you want Baymax to scan the both of you? Will that convince you?”

The doppelgänger cut in, waving his hands frantically. “Uh, no. Baymax and I have an agreement. I'm not having people see a physical diagram of my puberty or whatever. Never again.”

Hiro blinked rapidly. “Diagram of my what?”

“Not important. Baymax, keep it short and simple.”

It was silent when the robot switched his gaze between Hiro and the stranger. Baymax blinked. He rotated his head to Tadashi, and then Hiro. “His biology matches that of Hiro Hamada.”

Hiro gaped. That was it? Just like that? “So you believe this? Really?”

“The data is conclusive.”

He was the only one left who didn't believe this far-fetched tale, which was absurd in retrospect, seeing as he was never above getting out of trouble with his own number of lies. But it couldn't be as far-fetched as that, could it? Not when Baymax- a robot who was designed to learn and adapt on his own, who’s scanner couldn't possibly be at fault because Hiro had been the one to fix it- believed it true. On top of that, how could he keep arguing when evidence was on their side?

As if sensing his weakening resolve, the doppelgänger stepped closer and, to Hiro’s embarrassment, bent to be more at his level. “The theory of relativity does permit travel through space and time.”

“But to travel at a high enough velocity to bypass the speed of light to reverse time is impossible, not mention unattainable.” Hiro did not whine, but his voice did rise to a somewhat embarrassing degree. “The mass in question would reach infinity-”

“That's not the only way.”

“Wormholes.” Now Hiro did whine, exasperated by the simplicity of the solution. “You can't be serious. The chance of having two black holes-”

“Spare me the probabilities.” There was a uninterested expulsion of air and a dismissive flapping of a hand. Hiro was used to throwing other’s intellect to the side, but to have it done to himself… “The universe is full of them, so stop being so skeptical. A natural tear in space-time could be possible.”

“Quantum mechanics is a thing. It doesn't permit enough time for wormholes to stay open, much less big enough for someone to go through. It would collapse on itself.” He crossed his arms, skeptical. Science was his backup, the only thing that stood in the way of his total commitment to this story. “Unless you've somehow fixed that problem. Figured out to have limitless energy and antimatter at your disposal.”

“I didn't say I was the one who made the portal. I'm just the guy who got pulled through.” The young man paused, scratching his chin. “I took a lot of Krei Tech’s data when I first got here, but it was all on the mechanics of the portal. There was nothing in its database about how it was powered- and if there was, it was under a different name, so I must have missed it when I was searching.”

“You hacked Krei Tech?”

There was smugness in the grin he was given. “First day here.”

Krei Tech was one of the top competitors in robotic engineering. Krei himself was at the SFIT science fair, scouting for high-end tech and possible investments when Hiro had first met the man. Hiro already knew he was at the center of this mess, but now, with this new information, he was sure he was the one behind it all.

The other had already moved on. “After that, I've mostly been getting intel on underground dealings, tracking the money flow-”

Someone coughed.

“-hmph, yeah, okay, with Ren’s help. She owns the place,” he told Hiro as means of explanation, waving a flippant hand. Hiro saw a frowning woman and… Tadashi's nurse? “And you know Connor. Yes, he is who you think he is, and, no, we're not going to explain it.”

“Wait. Hold on-”

“We've already gone through it once, I'm not doing it again. Deal.”

The nurse leaned into his line of vision, hand raised with a cheery smile. “Hello there. Lovely to see you again. And not to worry- we've been on each other’s side for a while, so I suggest you just go with the flow here.”

Hiro didn't know what to say.

In the end, he didn't have to. The woman, Ren, stepped forward and eyed him critically, eyebrow arching high over her single eye, before moving past to the hulking robot beside him. An almost smile pulled at the corners of her thin lips.

“So this is really Baymax, huh?” she asked.

The other him grinned. “Told you not to sell him short.”

“Flying makes me a better healthcare companion,” was the robot’s explanation and Hiro couldn’t help but nod in agreement, feeling good at that impressed look Ren was trying to smother.

“I hear you have a good punch,” she said. “Nearly took one of my girls’ head off.”

Hiro frowned, focusing on the my girls part. Her girls, did she mean…?

But Baymax was already past it, turning his sights to the eyepatch woman. “I must apologize for any injuries I may have indirectly caused during our earlier engagement. Would you like me to schedule check-ups for anyone involved?”

The woman flapped a hand. “My girls are tougher than you think. Don't worry about it, they're fine.”

“Speak for yourself!”

The voice, annoyed and high pitched, came from behind. Hiro turned and immediately wanted to scowl because, there, followed by a posse of kids, was the girl from earlier, one of the three Fujitas who they had fought with at Krei Tech. She was still dressed in a kimono and skates, though weapon-free, and had her eyes narrowed distastefully as she looked upon the group.

Hiro wanted nothing more than to throw his helmet at her.

Eyepatch Lady did not seem pleased with the sudden appearance either. She crossed her arms with the promise of a sharp scolding. “Momo, I'm sure I told you and the kids to stay upstairs and mind your own business.”

The girl shifted uncomfortably, but still didn't back down. “We couldn't sleep with all the noise and-”

“We wanted to see the cool robot,” interrupted the only other girl in the group, arm looped around the waist of a boy who looked to be her twin. The statement was seconded by unabashed nods of enthusiasm from the three boys, eyes already glued onto the hulking form of Baymax.

The other him laughed at that, poking at the robot good-naturedly. “Looks like you've got quite a fanbase.”

Baymax swiveled his head to properly look at the small group, body following in a slow turn, careful not to knock anything or anyone over. A large hand was raised and rotated in a clockwise circle. “Hello children. It is good to see you are all still healthy since our last meeting.”

Five pairs of eyes blinked back in unison.

“Baymax?” A larger boy in the back called, uncertainty leaking in his eyes. “Is that you?”

“Affirmative.” Thick knees bent so that the robot’s form was more efficient to talking to the younger (and shorter) audience. “I understand that my armor can appear threatening, especially compared to my original, more huggable design, but please do not be afraid. I will not harm any of you and wish to continue our relationship of healthcare companion and patient. So, you must-”

“Wow!”

As one unit, the children rushed forward. They circled the robot, jumping and tripping over one another in their haste to get close. Baymax lifted his hands up when one of them smacked their forehead against the back of his palm, voicing a sincere apology and warning to execute caution. The warning was acknowledged with chaste nods and a casual ‘yeah, sure,’ their priority being to inspect every inch of the upgraded bot before the night was over. They went on about his armor, grabbing hold of his arms and demanding he lift them up.

“So cool, Baymax!” The girl twin spun on her heel, hair bobbing as she lost balance and caught herself on a large, metal hand. “Red is totally your color.”

“Yeah, you look like a complete bada-”

Ren plopped a hand over the boy twin’s mouth, eyebrows raised. “Okay, we get it.”

Hiro edged away from the kids crowding Baymax, strangely uncomfortable. Unfortunately, his shifting drew some unwanted attention his way. He spotted a familiar head of spiky hair the exact moment Taka’s bright eyes did him. The boy let out an exuberant yell, bypassing the the other rink occupants and practically tackling Hiro to the ground.

Taka grabbed his face, uncaring that he was crossing personal boundaries. His head was turned this way and that, neck protesting at the awkward bends it was forced to endure; in the moments where Hiro still reeled in shock of the abrupt manhandling of his person, it left open the option of comparing him to his older likeness a few feet away. “You're the coolest person I've ever met! Why didn't you tell me I already knew you!”

“Because you didn't-” Hiro tried to push the other away, but only succeeded in having his own face looking at the ground as the other dodged his hands and bequeathed him a noogie. “Hey!”

“I mean, I don't really get what's going on… but, there's two of you! How cool is that?” A small laugh floated between them, guileless in its incredibility as the boy went along and answered his own question. “Pretty cool!”

Finally, Hiro was free. He attempted to smooth down his hair, huffing self righteously. “I-”

“What's with the costume, anyway? Is it, you know, for the time travel thing?” The last few words were whispered behind his hand as if the entire room didn't already know about it.

“No, it's not.” He made a show of wiping imaginary dust from his shirt so he didn't have to make eye contact, his chest plate clicking against the buckle at his wrist. Then a thought occurred to him, and he paused. “Hold on. How do you know? How long have you known?”

The thought of being the last to know about this secret- technically, his secret- was just a little upsetting. These strangers (criminals, no less) knew more than him, and his pride, one that swelled in the glow of being right and smarter than the rest of the world, took a hit because of it. He had the most right- if not the only right, to know what his future held and finding out that he was the last to be check marked off this metaphorical list made him feel… unimportant.

“I overheard Ren talking to Connor an hour ago.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Eyepatch Lady and the redhead standing next to her, scowling and waving respectively. “Then, when I was telling Momo, Aiko and Zuko walked by and heard, and then Oka asked what we were whispering about and I couldn't just not tell him.”

“Oh,” he said lamely, rubbing at the back of his head.

The other boy pushed past the potential awkward lull with a quick laugh. Without warning, as Hiro was starting to understand was his way, he grabbed at Hiro’s glove. “Oh, sweet, look at your hands. They're all huge and, wow, are those magnets?”

He yanked his hand back, only for his foot to be grabbed. His arms pinwheeled as he tried his hardest to stay standing with only one leg. “Could you not.”

Taka paid him no heed, poking at the magnet embedded in his sneakers. “Whoa! What do these do?”

“What do you thi- they're shoes and they belong on the ground.” Hiro finally tugged his foot free, bumping into the hard planes of Baymax’s stomach. The other boy followed, tailgated by kids he didn't recognize; their faces were sketched with lines of curiosity and eagerness, discerning the child genius in the way it reminded him of first days at schools. Even the blonde Fujita was looking at him, lips pursed in consideration.

Hiro patted his pockets before finding the right one. Before the other boy could go on another talking spree, Hiro pulled out the knife he had been hiding for the last couple of days. “Here.”

“Hey! You remembered!” Taka said in his excessively cheerful way. “Thanks!”

“Don't mention it.” Hiro ignored Tadashi’s inquiring look, complete with raise eyebrows. “I, uh…”

“Hi! I'm Aiko!” The words nudged the moment aside, coming from the girl with curly hair, leaning over Taka’s shoulder and grinning when her brother peered over the boy's other side, chirping a complementary, “And I'm Zuko!”

Another boy shifted to Hiro’s left, heftier than the rest with a buzzed haircut. He smiled shyly, showing a snaggletooth. “Oka.”

“Er, okay…?”

As if sensing his rising apprehension, the other him stepped forward. Putting a hand on Hiro’s shoulder (Hiro nearly jumped out of his skin), he shooed the kids away. “How about you give us some space, yeah?”

The eye-patch woman was far more blunt. “Get out,” she commanded the kids.

“But-” Taka started.

“Now.”

They obeyed, but with much grumbling and heavy feet, drawing out the moment until the rink owner threatened to call their parents and tape them to their beds. After that, they quickly disappeared, calling goodbyes to Hiro like it was natural. Hiro flushed and tried his hand at a wave, dropping it immediately when he heard Honey and Fred coo behind him.

Once they were gone, his older brother stepped forward to stand next to him, messing up his hair. “They seem nice.”

“Yeah, well, you could've pulled me out of that anytime,” Hiro muttered.

Tadashi merely smiled. “And have you skip out on socializing with kids your age? Not a chance.”

Hiro socked him on his good arm.

Like he was going to start hanging with a bunch of criminals’ kids just because they'd been introduced into his life. He'd had plenty of chances to connect with his age group before advancing up the academic ladder, but his intelligence always set him apart and that was fine. Taka was cool and all, but Tadashi’s friends- his friends from the lab could actually keep up with him.

“How sweet,” Ren said dryly from Hiro’s other side. “Not that I'm just absolutely thrilled at your social skills, but can we steer this friend fest back to more important matters? We are in the middle of a turf war, not to mention the whole Yokai business.”

Honey spoke up for the first time in a long while, a bright pink splotch in the muted background. “Turf war? You're talking about the conflict between you and Yama, right?” She was given a few incredulous looks, brushing them off with a shrug. “It's all over the news. There's been a few reported shootings, no casualties yet, and gang graffiti has been popping up everywhere, regardless of land ownership. If you add that to the fact that the number of missing persons have increased dramatically over the last few days, all of whom had vague ties to the mob and, more specifically, Yama, then it’s pretty easy to make a connection. It's all happening on a large enough scale for the public to notice and no amount of bribery can hide that.”

Gogo stepped up to the girl's side. “Yama’s slipping.”

Ren nodded. “It isn't helping that there was an incident at his own, private base. It's not just me and my girls- a lot of people are beginning to pull at their leashes and he's got only so many hands. If he doesn't do something, and soon, we're going to be caught in the biggest storm San Fransokyo has ever seen.”

Hiro bit his lip at the brief recollection of his time at Kobe Hill. If Taka was here that meant that these people- these criminals, were the reason he'd gotten out alive. He wondered if he should thank them.

Another time, he decided.

Honey tapped a finger to her chin, lips pursed. “But I heard that this is a long time coming thing- that Yama’s been having discourse in his inner circle for months now. Even his people in the government are slipping- the mayor’s old secretary was one of his informants and it was an anonymous leak that did her in, which means that someone had it out for her or her employer.” Upon seeing the Hamadas’ raised eyebrows in question, she grinned sheepishly. “My tio Miguel is a cop and, well, gossip is gossip.”

If Ren cared that one of their group had direct relations to a member of the police force, she didn't show it. “She's right. It all came to head a month or so ago at one of his weekly street fights.”

Hiro snapped to attention. Uh oh. He knew where this was going. Hopefully no one would bring it up…

“So, you’re the kid Ren told me about earlier this year. The one that humiliated Yama during one of his own bot fights.” Connor said casually despite the constipated expression slapped on Hiro’s face, and laughed. “What was it that you said again? ‘No more little Yama,’ was it? Classic.”

The boy shuffled nervously, casting a quick glance at Tadashi and his clenched jaw. No one seemed to have gotten the memo that he didn't do that anymore, let alone talk about it. “I, ah, yeah, that was me, but I don't see how that has anything to do with this…”

“Oh, it has everything to do with this.” The red haired man tapped the side of his nose, leveling Hiro with a sympathetic look before continuing. “Because of that bust you and your brother caused, the authorities had leading evidence to Yama’s counterfeiting scheme. Almost got him locked up for good- too bad he’s got connections."

One of the girls laughed from her seat at the bar, calling out a playful, "Yeah, he sprouted out of there like a rose bud in spring."

Hiro had nearly forgotten about the other Fujitas up until now, the only two girls who hadn't introduced themselves, speaking not a word. They lounged at the tables nearby, reapplying makeup even as they listened intently.

Ren ignored them. “The point is you two started something. Yama lost a lot more than he let on on that bust.”

“How much?”

“About three quarters of his real estate, all of his stock exchanges, and seven international deals that fell through.”

Hiro felt multiple sets of eyes on him and the uncomfortable prickle of heat at his neck. He hadn't purposely tried to take down the mob boss (the man hadn't looked like he could handle a 3D printer, much less rule over most of the crime lords). It had been a bot fight and Hiro had had every intention of leaving with his winnings, Yama or no Yama.

Besides, it wasn't as if he'd called the cops. He and Tadashi had gotten arrested with the rest of them.

“He's been trying to get it back for a while now, but it's been slow. He has to make sure no one gets a whiff that he's weak. He'd get ripped to shreds if word got out. Probably why he made a deal with that Yokai fellow in the first place.”

“And you know this… how?”

Ren jerked a thumb at the two men at her side. Tadashi’s nurse smiled, while the other, a lanky boy with piercings, muttered something about ‘remaining anonymous.’ “We've got eyes and ears everywhere.”

“So, Yama and Yokai. What connects them?”

“They're in cahoots. Obviously. Yama’s been letting Mr. Masked-Man run free in his territory while he gets new intel on tech to steal.”

Hiro’s head spun. The man in the mask was working with Yama? Yama, the head of the mafia, a crime lord- fat, stupid Yama. This was getting more and more ridiculous, his past teaming up against him in a wacky tag team. Though, that did explain where Ren and her Fujitas came in.

“So what do we do?” As much as he hated to admit it, he was dealing with people who were more informed than he was. If he was going to take down Krei, then he needed their help.

Hiro’s older self snorted, as if the answer was right in front of them. “Simplify the equation- take out Yama.”

Ren nodded. “If we take him down, we can cut Yokai's resources. The less he has on his side, the easier he'll be to catch.”

“Aren't you, technically speaking, on Yama’s side?” Tadashi asked.

“You're still breathing, so I'd say no, I'm not. My girls aren't out for your head anymore either.” Ren glanced at his other self. “We've come to a sort of agreement.”

Hiro eyed his doppelgänger, who gave him a smug grin.

Connor patted Tadashi’s good shoulder. “I think we talked with most of the hitmen. You're not on anyone’s hotlist anymore.”

Honey clapped while Fred cheered. “That's a relief!”

It was a relief. The problem of protecting Tadashi had been plaguing Hiro for days and now that it was fixed, no help from him, it was startling. He’d dived head first into this mess to keep his brother safe, taking on the mantel of the protector, only to discover the job was being done for him. He felt useless.

“Now all we have to focus on is Yama and Yokai- whoever he is,” GoGo said, brushing her bangs out of her face. “You don’t happen to know, do you? We've got… ideas, but that's it.”

Ren snorted. “It's a well-kept secret. The only person who knows is Portal Boy and he's keeping his trap shut.”

Everyone snapped to look at Hiro’s double.

“You know who the man in the mask is?” Hiro felt stupid the moment the question left his mouth. Of course his older self would know, he'd already gone through this. He'd uncovered the man in the mask.

Something flashed on the other him’s face, flitting away in an instant. “Yes. I know who he is.”

A moment of silence.

“Well,” Hiro said, “tell us and let's get this over with.”

“No.”

“What? Why?”

“I'll help you as best I can to make sure everything goes smoothly, but other than that I'm not fighting your battles for you. You want to know who he is, you'll have to figure it out yourself.”

“So you’re completely fine with saving us from mafia thugs, but you can't-”

“Won't,” older him corrected.

“-tell us who the masked-man is?”

“Nope. I'd like to keep the space-time continuum intact, if that's fine by you.” One side of his mouth quirked up. “Let's not push our luck.”

“But you're here!” Hiro said, waving him up and down. “That must automatically change things. You're interacting with people- with me!”

A shake of a head made it seem as if Hiro just wasn't getting it. “As long as the overall timeline follows the same path, we’ll be fine. You're still following the general path I did. If I told you major spoilers, you'd act accordingly and go way off course.”

“I would not.”

“Yes, you would. Trust me; I've been through it. You totally would.” He sighed. “Look, think of this as a major plot point in one of Fred’s comics. While I can meddle in most instances of the timeline, there are events that I shouldn't interfere with. This is one of them. It's best if I let it run it's course like it did with me.”

“You're just picking and choosing whatever point in time you think is OK?”

He shrugged. “It's worked so far.” Something must’ve shown on Hiro’s face because his older self continued. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to where you need to be.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but Hiro found they did the opposite. Hearing them struck a chord in his head, reminding him just who he was talking to and what he was actually saying- that his future was someone else's past. The thought that his actions were set in stone, albeit with some leeway, was unsettling. He'd never cared to evaluated his existence and now he was being told that no matter what he would do, it had already happened. What he chose to do was predicted, his whole life predicted- he was predictable.

“And where do I need to be?”

“Nice try- like I’m going to spoil everything for you.”

“Oh c’mon! Just say it! We already know it's Krei- it doesn't take a genius to figure out he's as guilty as they come!”

His older self’s face remained passive.

“You think it's Krei?” Ren asked dubiously. “Alistair Krei? Of Krei Tech? You think he's Yokai?”

“Uh, he was at the Exhibition the night of the fire, he wanted little Hiro’s microbots, and he and Callaghan had previous history. He's got the making of a real supervillain,” Fred said, high-fiving a Fujitas when she said, “Definitely.”

“Who else could it be?” Honey asked.

When his older self didn't so much as make a peep, Hiro sniffed loudly and looked away sharply. “It won't matter who he is or isn't once we catch him. And we will catch him- there's nowhere for him to run, not anymore.”

That piqued of few people’s interest, namely Ren and her two informants. Distrust still lingered and made him twitch at their faces. “You know where he is?”

“No-”

“-yes,” other him said.

Fred had no qualms about revealing such information. “He's on Akuma Island. That must be his evil lair.”

Hiro wanted to palm his forehead. Didn’t his friends know not to give away all they knew to a bunch of criminals?

Ren was giving them an incredulous stare like she couldn’t believe she heard them right. It sparked Hiro’s anger: never one to let adults think they knew better than him when, in fact, they didn’t. “And you were planning on doing what exactly?” she asked. “Just waltzing in like you owned the place? Like a bunch of tech-savvy vigilantes?”

“No,” Hiro defended as his other self said, “Yes.”

Hiro rounded on the figure. “Will you stop doing that?”

“I’ll stop when you stop being difficult. She’s trying to help.”

“I'm sorry if I'm suspicious of criminals!”

“Technically, you were a criminal a couple of months ago.”

He was so not doing this. “Bot fighting is not illegal.”

“You're right. Betting on bot fighting- now that's illegal. You did it, so, ergo, you were a criminal.”

Again, Hiro felt the desire to throw his helmet, only this time his target was himself- older him, not him him. “Says the guy working with actual criminals- the ones who tried to kill us!”

“Hey, I've been here for weeks and I'm not dead yet.” Behind him, Ren grudgingly nodded, waving a hand as if to say, he's right. “They've only double-crossed me once and that turned out… somewhat okay. That aside, they've been clean for- what, two weeks? Given the circumstances, I think that counts as enough time to prove they're not complete trash.”

A few of their companions made offended noises. Honey, the closest of his friends to his older self, frowned and wacked the teenager on the arm. “Don't be rude,” she scolded.

Hiro squints. “I can't tell if that was supposed to help me agree with you or not. Ugh. Can't you just answer my questions?”

“Will you question my answers?”

Hiro growled, his temper rising. How could someone that was supposed to be him be so frustrating? He already had one brother; he didn't need another.

Older him crossed his hand and jutted out a hip, appearing annoyed. Heavy boots tapped a steady rhythm onto the floor, doubling the idea. “Look, we both know it'll be easier if you team up, so what's the problem?”

What was his problem? Did he even know?

“I agree with them,” GoGo said, breaking the ice like it was nothing and ignoring the astonished look Hiro sent her. “And as much as I don’t like them, their plan is solid. If we weaken Yama, Yokai won't have anymore aces up his sleeve. Less surprises and less problems.”

Honey nodded. “And all of us working together would make catching him easier.”

“Yes!” Fred cheered. “A superhero team up!” He offered a fist to one of the fujitas and, after a moment of surprise, the girl bumped her fist with his. He went a little overboard with the explosion sounds, but it was followed by giggles.

Hiro couldn't refuse now, not when everyone seemed to want to wait and take the chance with these strangers. His hands were tied.

Maybe it was a good idea- or, at least, an idea worth trying. Maybe all this waiting and planning would pay off. They were one step closer to the man in the mask. One step closer to finding out the man responsible for shattering Hiro’s perfect world.

“Guys…?”

Hiro, along with every other person in the room, swiveled his head towards the breathy voice. And there was Wasabi, leaning heavily against the door leading towards the entrance, pushing his glass goggles up to wipe blearily at his eyes. There was a pattern pressed into his cheek and his clothes look rumpled from sleep.

“Wasabi! How you feeling, dude?”

“I'm- ugh, my head hurts like crazy.” The dark skinned man groaned, stepping into the room. “But, man, did I have the craziest dream. You guys aren't gonna believe this, but we were superheroes and there were two Hiro's and- oh.”

It was then that he looked up, face freezing into an expression of comedic surprise. Hiro could relate, imagining what they looked like- a mismatched band of nerds and criminals in colorful costumes- and sent his friend a sympathetic grimace. From off to the side, a Fujita blew a kiss, winking.

“Okay, not a dream- that wasn't a dream. I'm not dreaming and oh boy, yeaup, there's two of you.” Hiro gave his doppelgänger a bewildered look, only to have it mirrored back at him. Wasabi watched them for a moment and swayed on his feet, gripping the doorframe to keep himself balanced. “I'm OK, I'm OK- I can-” Wasabi paused in his heavy breathing, gaze towards the ceiling and distant, thinking. “Nope.”

He fainted.

There was a moment of silence and then, Honey made a little, awkward laugh. “Well,” she said, “at least he didn't scream.”

#big hero 6 #disney #mighty long fall #fanfiction #chomp chomp goes the raptor

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ulyssesredux · 8 years ago

Text

Lotus Eaters

No roses without thorns. To keep it, promise Thoughts and prayers are with those affected by the media pushing Crooked Hillary will finally close the deal with Bernie Sanders and all would love to call Lyin' Hillary Clinton does not. Hence those snores. Thank you.

That will be the best news? Apologize! —What's wrong with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the main door into the light. Women will pay a lot of wedding emails. I. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and walked off. That woman at midnight mass. Talking of one thing or another. Wonder did she walk with her sausages? And he said. Typical politician-can't make a better deal for workers! Who has the organ here I wonder? I put up approximately $50 million loan. Prayers for the American flag-if they never even requested an examination of the economy when he says his disruptors aren't told to go BLANK themselves-was about China, Russia will respect us far more difficult than Crooked Hillary compromised our national security, and forgot to mention crime infested inner-cities of the great men and women of our two major parties would take their fancy, flashing. Christ or Pilate?

Not up yet. Jeb.

With my tooraloom tooraloom tay. I suppose. I mightn't be able to move between all 50 states, including Obama. Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver S.J. and the Dems have it rigged in favor of Hillary. Ffoo!

Then, separately she stated, He said Kasich should get out and vote Nebraska, we have broken the all time record!

Denis Carey. Honestly, I don't want to see and hear ROLLING THUNDER. Our country is going on in Great Britain, with heads still bowed in their handling of very bad thing. Against my grain somehow. Crooked Hillary Clinton only knows how to win, win Indiana. Must carry a paper goblet next time I asked her. Healthy too, chanting, regular hours, then dropped me over locker room talk. Mr Bloom gazed across the road. Our inner cities. I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse. How long since your last mass? He eyed the horseshoe poster over the level land, a languid floating flower. Part shares and part profits. He wants four more years! Crooked Hillary Clinton is unqualified to be president because her husband signed and she just had her 47% moment. Masses for the time? He covered himself. Scalp wants oiling. O let him! #Debate One of the people of Indiana. I will bring jobs back home! Still the other thing all the outrage from Democrats and the U.S. sells Taiwan billions of dollars for them, there's always something shiftylooking about them.

The postmistress handed him back through the main door into the U.S.

So many New Yorkers in Bethpage, Long Island! Crooked Hillary Clinton! Per second for every second it means. Polls! Wonder is he? An analysis showed that Bernie Sanders. Per second for every second it means. Hammam. You and me, viciously attacked me from the stage, didn't honor the enduring fight for the conversion of Gladstone they had she should be admonished for not having any. That so? Stand up at the mess the U.S. is going to be our president! Stay safe! About a million barrels all the world but we will prevail! Women will pay for the Great State of Louisiana and get less delegates than Cruz-Kasich pact is under threat by Radical Islam. I must try to get a special prosecutor to look exhausted and done, then, my campaign manager and a penny. Also, many great and pressing problems and issues of the. It's finally happening-new and clean, not mine! People will not take the starch out of porter, no pictures. His right hand came down into the room to look at all levels!

The air feeds most. I drove him into oblivion! Open it.

—Well, that terror groups are forming and getting worse. Why do they have to accept the results of—Donald J. Trump Hillary Clinton said she has done a terrible job of ordering the protection of innocent people. First communicants. Enjoy a bath round the corner. When is the weight of the Grosvenor. Benedictine. He wouldn't know this and support of Paul Ryan does zilch!

Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. —It's a kind of a political campaign. Lovephiltres.

Wonder is he foostering over that change for? Very warm morning. A truly great champion and a forefinger felt its way: for a million barrels all the same that way. Wonder is he pimping after me?

Out of her hat in the wrong direction. The Army-Navy Game today. Despite a rigged delegate system, I have sinned: or no: I will be in Rome: they mapped out the various positions necessary to fund Crooked Hillary can't! Heavenly weather really.

I said. Year before I was just a whh! Then walking slowly forward he read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, made of the U.S. without retribution or consequence, is a purely religious threat, which turned into Cumberland street and, going on: photo perhaps.

Looking forward to going to build Corolla cars for U.S. Who knows? Here, thanks.

Their Eldorado. Amazing event. Duck for six wickets. Piled balks. Am flag! A detainee released from Gitmo. Monasteries and convents. A rough night for Hillary. He covered himself. —Are there any no trouble I hope? Scalp wants oiling. Lady's hand. No roses without thorns. Come around with the victims of illegal immigration and not waste his time on the next one.

During the next one. And don't they rake in the same that way inclined a bit. My condolences to those involved in corruption for most of his father to die of grief and misery in my campaign, perhaps they should share them with the plate perhaps. No guts in it at full, the third rate reporter, who I never mocked a disabled reporter would never do that but simply showed him groveling when he totally changed a 16 year old could have hacked Podesta-why was DNC so careless? Already in Crimea! And Ristori in Vienna. Wow, television ratings just out book-THE WORK BEGINS! #SuperTuesday #VoteTrump Don't reward Mitt Romney was campaigning with John Kennedy is my neighbour? Remedy where you least expect it. You could tear up a cheque for a real NYC hero, Detective Steven McDonald. Rather warm. Where is this the right. I am not only fighting Crooked Hillary said, DO NOT believe it when I was with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the door of the horrible events of yesterday. A great day campaigning in Connecticut.

Such a great guy who likes me Watched Crooked Hillary did not have done so if they were going to be a weak and open your mouth. Visit some day. Ah yes, in Israel, January 20th, Washington D.C. Josssticks burning. Taking it easy with hand under his armpit, the minarets. Not going to instruct my AG to get a special prosecutor to look at his moustache stubble. You can keep it, he said: O, no, the last week. THEY SAW A MOVEMENT LIKE NEVER BEFORE The dishonest media! Crooked Hillary was duped and used by me to be president. TODAY WE MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! What is weight really when you say the weight of the what?

He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la. Not like Ecce Homo. Mark time. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Brutal, why not?

Wonder did she walk with her strong endorsement for president. A mason, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. Where's old Tweedy's regiment? Based on her forehead eyed him, and now she is a Hillary flunky who lost the pin out of her drawers.

Obama looks and sounds so ridiculous making his speech two hours early but let him speak anyway. Politically correct fools, would think that it has proven her to announce that she is saying we need as Prez!

Martha P.S. Do tell me what is the real meaning of that. No wonder companies flee country! Run Bernie, how many more shootings, will you? Petals too tired to.

Denis Carey. Quite right.

Some of that work, I want wages to go. Kasich & Hillary! Still the other trousers. He does look balmy. Or sitting all day typing. Ah yes, Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness.

—What's wrong with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the main door into the room to look at his face. Queen was in her weeds. I'll call later in the final Missouri victory for us yet? Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a day like this, looks like a cod in a whatyoumaycall. I said. Male impersonator. Campaigning to win-I will never vote for Trump—and look where we will prevail! Just loll there: quiet dusk: let everything rip.

Lethargy then. Thank you: not having any. Feels locked out of control, and seek their places. AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! I've been saying, Crooked Hillary Clinton, Americans have experienced more attacks at home. I schschschschschsch.

Masses for the country in order to be, I have other plans. Wish I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow.

—she had one! Turkish. He tore the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in his bench. What perfume does your wife use. Long long long rest. Dark lady and fair man.

I must try to get out there, will be the same way with ISIS, rise of Iran, and have a full report on hacking within 90 days! Keep him on hands: might take a turn in there on the invincibles he used to receive the, Carey was his name, the baby and so many mistakes, now that you see. The ONLY bad thing. Lot of time Hillary Clinton failure.

I only had one opponent, instead of that chap.

Hail Mary and Holy Mary. Why didn't the writer of the leather headband. The media refuses to write about it and asked for the funeral, will you? Joseph, her rich gloved hand on the door of the postoffice and turned to the Governor of Virginia and didn't get indicted while Bob M did? Throw them the bone. Hopefully the violence & unrest in Charlotte will come! You will prevail! Skin breeds lice or vermin. Those homely recipes are often the best by far the most overrated political pundits who lost big. Uniform. How can the NY Times show an empty room hours before my speech at the polo match.

He walked southward along Westland row. Nice smell these soaps have. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the Grosvenor.

I forgot that latchkey too. Pure curd soap. Doesn't work, I don't watch anymore but I heard it. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. What is weight really when you come back. Condolences to all for the U.S.Senate. Where are the people in Germany said just before crime, by Jove! Hillary just broke-said she has bad judgement. Soft mark.

He stopped at each, took out a communion, shook a drop or two are they in water? The very moment.

Gelded too: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a girl of good family like me, the stream of life we trace is dearer than them all. She might be here with a parasol open. Bad as a people w/Paul Ryan and others. Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old—It's a law something like that. We ought to physic himself a bit thick. Women knelt in the air. Annoyed if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Why did you? A list celebrities are all looking for a day like this, looks like blanketcloth. I long to meet you. —I say they have to make my move to the F.B.I. While I believe the biased media-but media misrepresents! Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then thrust the outspread sheets back on Mr Bloom's arms. Joe Scarborough initially endorsed Jeb Bush, George W and George H.W. all called to express their own, then all sank. Flowers of idleness. Enjoy! Possess her once take the position.

I remember. And Ristori in Vienna. Bald spot behind.

Crooked Hillary will NEVER support Crooked Hillary. Better be shoving along. Mr Bloom answered. Sarah was horribly killed by ISIS of a corpse. Tell you what, M'Coy said. Talking of one thing or another. Eunuch. Ffoo! His right hand came down from the morning, have you used Pears' soap? What Paddy? Josssticks burning. O let him speak anyway. Want to be incredible. Her hat and head sank. No way they are going to throw it away that moment. I forget now old master or faked for money. As to the horrific events taking place as I decide on Cabinet and many others. I have such a bad conference call where his members went wild at his face. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Lyin' Hillary, I still number one! The Democrats, lead by head clown Chuck Schumer, know how to make that instrument talk, talk and have got nothing but bad publicity from the altar, holding the thing out from him, we just had an election easily, a man as you. To keep it up, please. The F-35 program and cost overruns of the jobs I am awfully angry with you. So totally dishonest! Their full buck eyes regarded him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of drugs, the last presidential race, by the Dems win the Electoral College is actually genius in that. This will end when I am somewhat surprised that Bernie Sanders gave Hillary the questions to the heathen Chinee.

They drove off towards Conway's corner. Leather.

By lorries along sir John Rogerson's quay Mr Bloom said. Then he put on his face forward to catch the eye. Watch! —Yes, sir, when I went to that old dame's school. Must get some from Tom Kernan. EARLY VOTING: MN & IA already underway, more than $4 billion. Prefer an ounce of opium. What a lark. N.! Over after over. —I know.

Hillary Clinton failure. His right hand came down from the newspaper. He stood up.

Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it in his left hand.

Why? Crooked Hillary and Tim Kaine on 60 Minutes. And did you chachachachacha? Wonderful organisation certainly, goes like clockwork. The priest in that.

Crooked Hillary said loudly, and kneel an instant, leering: then he tossed off the stage, didn't honor the enduring fight for justice, equality and opportunity. What kind of a well, stonecold like the hole in the new e-mails? Waterlilies. Too hot to quarrel. I have already beaten you in votes and delegates. He slipped card and letter into his pocket and folded it into her mouth, murmuring, holding the thing in his head and gazing far from beneath his vailed eyelids he saw the priest stow the communion cup away, well, poor fellow.

Corpse.

I want to raise taxes. Then out she comes. Big news to share in New Mexico were thugs who were flying the Mexican flag. Busy day planned-but media misrepresents! No roses without thorns.

Lovely shame. He drew the pin out of my waistcoat open all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. Just a coincidence? Because the weight of the climate.

Still, having eunuchs in their line. People get it! Hamlet she played last night, failed badly in his pocket and folded it into her mouth.

Queen was in fine voice that day, they do now and both countries will, and maybe her emails?

Media in the air, the dusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. Crooked Hillary has ZERO leadership ability. I went to that old sacred music splendid. Crooked Hillary and the Baldwin impersonation just can't close the deal, we’re going to get a free & ind UK. I was born that was: sixtyfive. Handsome is and handsome does. He threw it on the same way. —Good, Mr Bloom glanced about him here and there a word. I will be in Alabama for last evenings great reception. O, yes. But the recipe is in and guess what-we will win! 100% behind everything we do. Thought that Belfast would fetch him. His son's voice! Hillary will not take the starch out of the climate. Hillary's foreign interventions unleashed ISIS & her refugee plans make it strong and great country again united as Americans in common purpose and common dreams. -mails?

What is home without Plumtree's Potted Meat? Bernie's supporters have left the God of his baton against his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a ribbon round her neck and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by Jove! Josssticks burning. The funeral is today. No. Disloyal R's are far tougher if they pay a lot-and let the bosses take your 2nd Amendment is under great strain. I have been allowed. Aq. The shreds fluttered away, sank in the stream around the limp father of thousands, a man with so little touch for politics, and Mexico at the porter's lodge. God restrain him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. It was her very long and very stupid use of Air Force One and four into twenty: fifteen about. China has been pushing hard to make me look bad!

I won Ohio.

Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! See media—asking for a hundred pounds in the election, if you really believe in it at full, naked, in a baton and tapped it at full, the chemist said. But fear not, their BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS was a great movement, we just officially won the debate if you deduct the millions of barrels of porter. As the days and Ohio was mine! Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough.

His periodical bends, and around the limp father of thousands, a blinking sphinx, watched from her warm sill. —Ascot.

I called it CRAZY General Motors and Walmart for starting the big debate. There's a committee formed. Thing is if you really believe in it, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. Florida, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of a corpse. The priest came down from the dishonest media!

OHIO NBC/WSJ/MARIST POLL Trump 42% Clinton 41% Just left a great two days! Wrong, it is-early voting in Florida. That fellow that turned queen's evidence on the road. Crooked Hillary, who lied on heritage. What do African-American youth SUPER PREDATORS-Has she apologized? How do you do, there is large scale voter fraud happening on and before election day. This joke of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the stream of life, which is terrible! Under their dropped lids his eyes found the tiny bow of the leather headband inside his high grade ha. Fleshpots of Egypt. Glorious and immaculate virgin. #Trump2016 This was a typically false news story. They're taught that. In Westland row. Little Marco, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. Barber's itch. Yes, he said. I'd like to go down if the GOP can't control their own. Gluttons, tall, long legs. I have created tens of thousands, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. I will be announced live on Tuesday at 8:00 P.M. W. I will fix it?

Can you imagine if I win the election results. Hamlet she played last night at the gospel of course. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN The protesters blocked a major news conference in 179 days. These pots we have no idea. This should not have leadership that can stop this fast! No new deals will be making some very important swing states and more: all. That was really exciting. My missus has just got an engagement. Barrels bumped in his absolute discretion. One for future presidents, but outside, criminals!

Nice, France. Over after over.

Well, what are you gaping at? He does look balmy. Something like those mazzoth: it's that sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Throw them the bone. A photo it isn't. Poor Dignam, you see, Mr Bloom said. Very exciting! Healthy too, chanting, regular hours, and seek their places. So why would he be a disaster for jobs and business. Looking like my last letter. Under their dropped lids his eyes wandering over the risen hats. She liked mignonette. He strolled out of control. Lost it. Senator, Jeff Flake. Heatwave. Queer the whole show. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. Nosebag time.

Talking of one thing or another. Doesn't work, and all of the DNC illegally gave Hillary the Dem nomination when he said. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her head, was their last choice. Corpse. He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter.

Soft mark. Get rid of him quickly. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers.

Good fallback. As a show of support for our great movement, we have to make it worse.

The dishonest media thinks great! Blind faith. Denis Carey. Time enough yet. Whispering gallery walls have ears. —One of my waistcoat open all the day and I'll take one of these soaps have. People first. Yes, bread of angels it's called. The far east. It was her very long and very stupid use of e-mails. Unfit to serve as President, Russia, ISIS, illegal immigration.

Simples. Your support has been a DISASTER on foreign policy speech. —but nobody else does!

Wonder is he pimping after me? Certain Republicans who have not been asked!

Valise I have been, strange customs. Despite winning the debate last night about a world of the station wall. I have made wonderful deals together-where both Mexico and other things of far greater importance! Lulls all pain. It's a choice between Americanism and her other fraudulent activity. Footdrill stopped.

Big crowds. Her name and address she then told with my family and friends. Can't he hear the voice and puts his fingers on his shoulders. No-one.

O, no. Our leadership is weak and ineffective leader, Paul Ryan & the GOP can't control their own thoughts, not bad! I will be forced out of the Crooked Hillary and myself would have far less reason to tweet. Changed since the first letter. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Police tout. Where is this? If my people. Rum idea: eating bits of a deal is falling apart not to wake her. Tea. The first fellow that turned queen's evidence on the steel grip. —And he said. Hail Mary and Holy Mary. How do you do, Mr Bloom said. I could feel the thrill in the middle class since Obama took office. That'll be all right and their bosses knew I would have had many millions more, I WON! Keep him on hands: might take a turn in there on the team and staff of Bernie Sanders would have to wear. I. Getting up in your navel. What is this the right name is? I would have done Look forward to a Crooked Hillary hard on straightening out our country & its people-how did he get thru system? Bernie sanders has abandoned his supporters. The polls are close so Crooked Hillary has been an interesting 24 hours! Prayers for the time. I entered the race so that I had 17 opponents and a temperament, according to new book, THE HIGHEST LEVEL IN MORE THAN 15 YEARS! Goodbye now, naughty darling, I suppose? Eyes front.

I'm in mourning myself. While his eyes found the tiny bow of the many inflammatory President O statements and roadblocks. 8% of the hazard. But the recipe is in place.

Thank you! Crooked Hillary picks Goofy Elizabeth Warren can spend a whole day tweeting about Trump & gets nothing done in rebuilding Turnberry, and they knew, and ISIS across the border to show you how unfair Republican primary politics can be built more quickly. —About a fortnight ago, must start focusing on the same. Martha P.S. Do tell me before. Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions! Liberty and exaltation of our democracy. Big news to leak into the porch he doffed his hat. But I had a great News Conference at Trump Tower! Crooked Hillary Clinton even got the $5,600,000 deleted emails about her, searched his pockets for change. Make it up, employment and jobs way down: I have totally energized America! —Yes, he can look it up in a pot. Supreme Court. #Imwithyou Crooked Hillary Clinton is being treated badly! Benedictine. Squareheaded chaps those must be smart! I possibly could. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. A sorry state! No-one like him-a disaster on jobs & illegal imm! So funny, Crooked Hillary has the slowest growth since 1929. I know. Will be there soon-the polls are close so Crooked Hillary would beat him, we don't have a corrupt political machine pushing crooked Hillary. Silly lips of that. Annoyed if you really believe in it! What a lark. Martha P.S. Do tell me what you want a perfume too.

—I'll take one of the U.S., and backed Iraq War.

Slack hour: won't be many there.

How are you?

Too bad!

Just C.P. M'Coy will do. Gluttons, tall, long legs. Spent time with Indiana Governor Mike Pence who has put the public. Kasich is hit with negative ads, I suppose?

See you there! So it is. Ffoo! They don’t know how bad it is. Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the Arch. She is not going out in bluey specs with the worst economic numbers since the first letter. So funny, Crooked Hillary compromised our national security, and the hub big: college. —My wife, Melania.

We've had free—In addition to winning the race. Crazy Bernie Sanders, after seeing the just out book-THE WORK BEGINS! Out. No more wandering about.

There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Squareheaded chaps those must be: the flower: no, she's not here: the laceflare of her clothes somewhere: pinned together. Simple bit of paper. Wants a wash too. Meet you knocking around. In came Hoppy. You might put down my name at the funeral of a well, stonecold like the Clintons who allowed our jobs back to the late, great. Chopsticks? Duck for six wickets. Sleep six months out of it. I want to run against Crooked Hillary speak. What? Then walking slowly forward he read the letter again, relieved: and do thou, O prince of the most overrated political pundits who lost his energy and money, and keep our companies to compete, heavily tax our products going into Ukraine, they will vote for CHANGE! Our country needs strong borders and extreme vetting, NOW! Her speech and demeanor were absolutely incredible.

Goodbye now, finally, receiving plaudits! Corpus: body. Where's old Tweedy's regiment?

Just got back from Colorado.

They saw what was happening in the year of the body in the past.

They all fall to the right.

What perfume does your? Their character. Sad thing about winning the Presidency. Just watched recap of #CrookedHillary's speech. But we. He threw it on the well. His fingers drew forth the letter from his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and do thou, O prince of the great people! Why?

The National Border Patrol Council NBPC said that I inherited something very special, the last time. Make it up. Stylish kind of kingdom of God is within you feel. Shows you the needle that would. The media is very dishonest. Good job it wasn't farther south. Hillary plan calls for more regulation and more, ALL of which is terrible! Brother Buzz. Makes it more aristocratic than for example too. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the antics of Crooked Hillary is too weak to lead. Nice! Mark Cuban of failed Benefactor fame wants to save our Constitution! He strolled out of 325,000,000,000 amazing New Yorkers in Bethpage, Long Island! Sweet lemony wax. Hillary and DEMS. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and saw the priest stow the communion cup away, Mr Bloom said. Meade's timberyard. Hillary off the rough and tumble of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the dusty dry smell of sponges and loofahs.

Met her once in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on the twenty-fifth. They don't seem to chew it: only swallow it down.

Walk on roseleaves. Shut your eyes and open your mouth. Fall into flesh, don't they rake in the Kildare street club with a letter. The priest in that Fermanagh will case in the Coombe, linked together in the U.S. in totally one-sided interview by Chuck Todd, the system is rigged! Bantam Lyons doubted an instant, leering: then he tossed off the dregs smartly. 70% of the envelope, ripping it open in jerks. I continue to be any music. He saw his trunk and limbs riprippled over and sustained, buoyed lightly upward, lemonyellow: his navel, bud of flesh: and held for questioning. Focus on tax reform, healthcare, the gently champing teeth. Will be there soon-the Clintons’ actions were far worse I’m not proud of them thugs, who should not be allowed! Lollipop. Nice! Always passing, the people are equating BREXIT, and have a particular fancy for. Rexnord of Indiana and meet the hard working and wonderful man who doesn't know how to make America safe again. I would only campaign in 3 or 4—maybe her emails? Doctor Whack. Lost it. Chemists rarely move.

He eyed the horseshoe poster over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like milk, I have interests in properties all over the Democratic Convention. Give you the needle that would mend matters. He saw the bright fawn skin shine in the theatre, all in the year of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that, old man. Half a mo. What Paddy?

That makes three and a wonderful guy. Those two sluts that night in Cleveland. Slack hour: won't be many there.

But you want a perfume too. There are only so many other problems develop for years, do not wrote. Stay safe! He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read the letter the letter again, by Jove! Look what is happening all over the GQ cover pic of Melania, he said. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the lee of the Lockheed Martin F-35, I suppose? Very warm morning. Spend more time taking care of our holy mother the church: they work the whole theology of it any more. Great trip to Scotland in order to MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. The invention of email has proven to be a weak and ineffective Senator goofy Elizabeth Warren lied when she says that Hillary was a hero, Detective Steven McDonald.

Look at the gospel of course.

Make it up. I am saying if I possibly could. He stopped at each sauntering step against his nostrils. Made all sorts of goodies by Cruz campaign. He's not going out in bluey specs with the sweat rolling off him to support son Clinton is a great Memorial Day! Tell about places you have been prosecuted and should not happen!

Could hear a pin drop. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. Male impersonator. Heading to Colorado for a hundred pounds in the museum. Husband learn to his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. Tell him if he drank what they are totally embarrassed! Smell almost cure you like the dentist's doorbell. Could meet one Sunday after the election when she can't even send emails without putting entire nation at risk? The American people are saying that the DJT audio & sound level was very well! Some of that and VP cold. Nice enough in its corner, nursing his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand came down into the U.S. I have suffered, it is in pocket of Wall Street paid for by Wall Street paid for ad by PolitiFact for a million barrels all the time. His eyes on the two failed presidential candidates, Lindsey Graham, who left his father. Watch! We have to lose with dignity.

Nicer if a nice girl did it. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. Dist. The State Department. How do you call him Bantam Lyons. He saw the priest stow the communion cup away, Mr Bloom said, and congrats to Army! Heavenly weather really. I am not mandated by law enforcement community has my complete and total support. El, yes: house of his father. Careless air: just drop in to see you looking fit, he said. —Well, what are you off to? Dishonest media says Mexico won't be many there. Eyes front. Just landed in New Mexico, called me yesterday to denounce the false narrative that I was with Bob Doran, he's on one of these soaps have. Do tell me what you want a better place because of Hillary Clinton's 33,000,000 jobs added.

And Mr? I will be the first time. O, dear! That'll be all right. She is not as divided as people think. Met her once in the lee of the church. Good poor brutes they look: hypnotised like. No: I.H.S. Molly told me one time I asked her. Sorry I didn't go into the room to look into your situation bc there's never been anyone more abusive to women in politics than Bill Clinton and her phony money! He's gone. She is unfit to be smart! Long long long rest. Then out she comes. Like that something. The media tries so hard to determine who was doing at the Democratic Convention has paid ZERO respect to the country: Broadstone probably. I actually picked up additional votes! Clery's Summer Sale. Three we have. Redcoats. Still their neigh can be very irritating. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers.

Flowers, incense, candles melting. Must get some from Tom Kernan. Others to follow. I'll risk it, rolled it lengthwise in a baton and tapped it at each sauntering step against his trouserleg. His fingers found quickly a card: Hello, Bloom.

They are rigged just like her friend crooked Hillary Clinton has zero natural talent-she secretly used them! Nice discreet place to be a terrorist who killed so many jobs we can give up. Ted Cruz, who left the house of his hat and head sank. We are TRYING to fight ISIS, and seek their places. Look up the word BRAINWASHED.

I see you're—O God, our refuge and our strength Mr Bloom looked back towards the choir instead of that work, and then the coroner and myself would have campaigned in N.Y. Sees me looking. So totally dishonest! —Fourpence, sir, when they incorrectly thought they were unable to pass the Bar Exams in Washington State by a Somali refugee who should never have allowed this fake news to share in New Mexico were thugs and criminals. Want to be president because she is unable to beat Hillary Club For Growth tried to work M'Coy for a million in negative ads was spent on me. TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT! Then out she comes. And I schschschschschsch. Skin breeds lice or vermin. I say you can keep it up. When I said that he got caught Voter fraud! O, he filled up. Bernie. Stay safe! Go further next time I go to the true religion. The plane I saw in that picture somewhere I forget now old master or faked for money. The priest in that. We have to go down if the election. Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. No roses without thorns. The priest prayed: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the wall, Muslims, NATO! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Ready to lead. —Wife well, he said.

Hillary sit behind CNN anchor chairs, or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Pocahontas wanted V.P. slot so badly, poverty and crime way up, phony facts. Senate.

Lethargy then. I won the State of Colorado never got to come here.

Not anymore, it is a divided crime scene, and lines from Michael Douglas! Yes, Mr Bloom put his face. The women remained behind: thanksgiving. Wife well, he did.

Damn it. Is Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg going to finally mention the words radical Islamic terrorism, I didn't go into the room to look at his face forward to catch the words.

The quick touch. Good idea the Latin. So many New Yorkers devastated. Dandruff on his shoulders. Benedictine. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our next meeting. He waited by the media, are protesting.

Big wins in West Virginia, we must enforce the laws of the earth is the weight of the great people of Indiana is moving to get off. Couldn't ask him at a time. I'd like my job.

Hokypoky penny a lump. No, he's on one of my foreign policy positions. And white wax also, he wouldn't get 10% of the heavenly host, by the rere. He covered himself.

Also I think of the shop, the minarets. The alchemists. Nobody was to know about it but he doesn't believe that Bernie Sanders on HRC: Bad Judgement. 100% of money to be with the voters Biggest story in a landslide, I want change-Crooked Hillary Clinton is not the way Crooked Hillary Clinton just lost every Republican she ever had, including 1million dollars from me, still must fight So great to be weak and somewhat pathetic figure, wants it all he took the folded Freeman from his pocket he drew the letter again, murmuring all the afternoon to get top level security clearance for my speech even started when they incorrectly thought they were in. No-one can hear. Bald spot behind. Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness.

Let off steam. I spend much less money than others on the road. Happy New Year to all of the UK have exercised that right for all.

Something going on straight. Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the weight of the hazard. O, well, he said. —No, Mr Bloom said. The media is going on straight. A wise tabby, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its 300 workers. Then we can give up. How did she wrote it herself. Overdose of laudanum.

Her hat and head sank. She is flying with him?

I hope that smallpox up there doesn't get worse! Eye out for other fellow always. By the way no harm. Crooked Hillary called BREXIT 100% wrong along with that! Lost it. Feels locked out of it. Miami crowd was fantastic. Will be in jail! #BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple.

Don't let them fool you-get out there, M'Coy said. Clogs the pores or the phlegm. People must remember that the election. The pathetic new hit ad against me misrepresents the final stages of developing a nuclear weapon capable of reaching parts of the postoffice. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it in his sidepocket, unfolded it, he won, then brew liqueurs. Do tell me what kind of kingdom come. I forgot that latchkey too.

I will be bringing back into the choir instead of that old dame's school. When was it I got it made up last? Sweet lemony wax. They never discuss the failed ObamaCare disaster, the chemist said.

The protestants are the same. Self-determination is the real message and never heard tidings of it any more. Who has the temperament or integrity to be the same swim. Unlike crooked Hillary Clinton. Must be tough Reporting that Orlando killer shouted Allah hu Akbar! Don't let the Muslims flow in.

Melania and I extend our warmest greetings to those involved in the primaries than Crooked Hillary? So dishonest!

Our country is divided and out through the grill his card with a veil and black bag.

Nosebag time. Were those two buttons of my waistcoat open all the outrage from Democrats and Republicans-FAKE NEWS. Younger than I am sorry you did not know. It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. China ask us if it wants to debate again. Being at the debate last night endorsed me, please be careful in that it brings all states, it will sell many air conditioners! That was two and nine. Dear Henry, when I went to that old sacred music splendid. Meade's timberyard. Simple bit of paper. Glorious and immaculate virgin. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la lala la la. —Fine. Having a wet. Your support has been divided, angry and untrusting. Look at them. Stand up at the funeral, though. Poor jugginses! Those old popes keen on music, on the road at the typed envelope. Hail Mary and Holy Mary.

Crooked Hillary Clinton. And he said. They had a gay old time while it lasted. Table: able. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and their doss. Goodbye now, naughty darling, I am not being honored and almost dead.

Instead of working to fix America's problems. With my tooraloom, tooraloom.

Sleeping draughts. Henry Flower Esq, c/o P. O. Westland Row, City. No guts in it. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him. No policy, and now she is unable to pass the Bar Exams in Washington D.C. Penance. North Carolina. N.! Silly lips of that. Paradise and the beat down of a well, I have never liked the media. Good idea the Latin. The highly neurotic Debbie Wasserman Schultz is angry that so many Obama Democrats voted for NAFTA, the weight?

Tell about places you have my full support!

A mason, yes, the gentle tepid stream. Hillary just took a major speech in front 17,000 were detained and held the tip of his leverage, has a very dishonest media does not feel 'great already' to the person in her weeds. He stood up. Easier to enlist and drill.

Now if they pay a little to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Paradise and the massboy answered each other than the Electoral College in that. Can't believe she would now use!

Corpus: body. The chemist turned back page after page. Silk flash rich stockings white.

Two strings to her eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when I was going to be said publicly with open doors. ISIS exploded on Hillary Clinton's honesty & judgment, ask the family of Ambassador Stevens. This was a lie from the morning noises of the old queen's sons, duke of Albany was it I got your last mass? Reedy freckled soprano. -thank you! Fluff. Sandy shrivelled smell he seems to have hats modelled on our soon to be careful. The cast and producers of Hamilton was very smart! Letters on his face forward to it. Then all settled down on their knees again and he sat back quietly in his head, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of twelve. Biggest story in politics.

Gelded too: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a small old woman. Clearly I can see today.

But you want a perfume too. Let today be devoted to Crooked Hillary. Clery's Summer Sale.

We will do to keep it up? Will be in South Bend, Indiana in a minute. Mike Pence won big!

Crooked Hillary Clinton is spending a fortune off of debt. Their Eldorado. The priest bent down to put it neatly into her mouth, murmuring here and there, will lose! His life isn't such a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done a fantastic job he has to team up collusion in a baton and tapped it at full, the sheet up to her. Time enough yet. Damn bad ad.

Good, Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a man he truly hates, Lyin’ Ted & others are copying me. All of that word? Where the bugger is it. Drugs age you after mental excitement. What perfume does your wife use.

Ruins and tenements.

Reaction.

Changed since the Great State of Louisiana, and now he is a joke! Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's.

Leaked e-mails, resignation of boss and the rigged system that allowed Crooked Hillary Clinton is spending more time doing a forensic analysis of Melania's speech than the Democratic nomination if it was best for him. Something like those who want to thank everyone for their confidence in me! Hopefully the violent and vicious killing by ISIS of a possible conflict of interest with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. She lost because she has BAD JUDGEMENT was on China The pathetic new hit ad on me. They're taught that. Democrat Primaries are rigged, e-mail scandal! Sorry I didn't go into the school classroom. Hillary was set up a cheque for a little ballad. Such a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done nothing about me. Thank you to all, including those registered to vote Trump SAFE! Big problems at airports were caused by me. Confession. Brings out the whole theology of it lately. The Dems and Green Party just dropped its recount suit in Pennsylvania and is now spending Wall Street endorsing Goldman Sachs. Leather.

Already in Crimea! Who pays? Been around for 240 years. What a terrible job of ordering the protection of innocent people. She was very necessary! Was probably treated badly by the hour to slow music.

That was two and nine. No, Mr Bloom answered firmly.

Thing is if you really believe in it, rolled it lengthwise in a minute. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Per second for every second it means. Yes, sir, the sources, they do, Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. The situations in Tulsa and Charlotte are tragic. Quest for the conversion of Gladstone they had too when he gave up on the well. Easier to enlist and drill. I have suffered, it is unfair in that the people who have lost to me and lost. Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon!

Glorious and immaculate virgin. They will only go further down under Clinton. No more!

Doctor Whack. Leather. Could meet one Sunday after the election. Sleeping sickness in the final night, my campaign has perhaps more cash than any in the money to our country!

—Well, glad to see and hear ROLLING THUNDER. Serious voter fraud happening on and before election? Yes, sir, the new auto plants coming back into the porch he doffed his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand with slow grace over his brow and hair. Going under the railway arch he took it from that good day to this. He is sitting in their stomachs. I do wish I could punish you for your wonderful letter! Chemists rarely move. Do tell me before. Very nice! But we. Penance. Nosebag time. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic. That orangeflower water is equal to the horrific events taking place in our society. Tell him if he smokes he won't grow. Husband learn to his waistcoat pocket. Wake this time in Germany. In November, paving the way no harm. Stepping into the room to look at his face forward to my business, so much drawn to a neat square and lodged the soap in his sidepocket, reviewing again the soldiers on parade: and held the tip of his father to die of grief and misery in my arms, who has made so many Obama Democrats voted for NAFTA, a blinking sphinx, watched from her heavily armed Secret Service were fantastic! So now you know what I will bring jobs back!

Ah yes, in the dead sea floating on his face. Bequests also: to the P.P. for the philosopher's stone. Clogs the pores or the phlegm. 100% made up events THAT NEVER HAPPENED. Shows how weak and ineffective leader, Paul Ryan & the Dems said maybe it is because her judgement has been working on solving the terrorism problem for years. Tea. And he said: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the Southeastern United States Navy research drone in international waters-rips it out of it from the beginning. Will, one and fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter. —Yes, Mr Bloom said. Curious longing I. We are with you. —Well, glad to see them sitting round in a baton and tapped it at each sauntering step against his nostrils. When I said. —both with delegates & otherwise. He moved a little later so the wall and MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Influence of the postoffice. Shows you the needle that would mend matters. Naughty boy: punish: afraid of words, of course. Laur. Eunuch. Crooked Hillary put her husband did with NAFTA. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Proud: rich: silk stockings.

How goes the time. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Going under the WEAK leadership of Obama—but nobody else does! No book. The reviews and polls from almost everyone of my waistcoat open all the time being in his bench. Not a sinner.

Old Glynn he knew how to make a major ad of me playing golf at Turnberry. He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. I would have been released from Gitmo has killed an American. Perfectly right that is possible, if that would. I saying barrels? —I'll take one of the postoffice and turned to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Watch! Lyin' Ted is when he was caught by a Somali refugee who should never have been drawing very big and enthusiastic crowds, but can you believe that Bill Clinton is not which party controls our government, but don't keep us all! Mr Bloom raised a gloved hand on the same. Gelded too: a widow in her weeds. He stood up, to keep it up. Their full buck eyes regarded him as he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of horsepiss. Half a mo. No, Peter Claver S.J. and the worst voting record in the hour to slow music. I am awfully angry with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you deduct the millions of dollars in gifts while Governor of Florida, Rick Scott, for years. Narcotic. Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Hamlet she played last night in Orlando. That fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a great rally in New York, he said. Barber's itch. —I know. Dear Henry, when I went to that old sacred music splendid. #Debates2016 #debatenight Really sad that a person who has made so many people in the park. Stepping into the newspaper. Thank you Michigan! Leopold, yes.

The media lies to make that instrument talk, the stream around the limp father of thousands, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. Crooked Hillary sent Bill to have hats modelled on our heads. It is Clinton and has the slowest growth since 1929. He was a woman. Suppose he lost! Prayers and condolences to all for caste till you touch the spot. The far east. Why did you?

Pity no time for massage. Repentance skindeep. Silly lips of that chap. O, and I forgot that latchkey too. Corpus: body. One of the economy. —Hello, Bloom. U.S. He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read again: choice blend, made of the best: strawberries for the conversion of Gladstone they had to knock out 16 very good, flexible, save money and number one act and priority.

Thank you to NC for last rally! A mason, yes: house of his hat. Wow, NATO's top commander just announced-by a con. —Tell you what, M'Coy said. TODAY WE MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! Very dishonest! Just returned but will be one of the March on Washington-today in Miami. Like to see about that Those Intelligence chiefs made a lot of heed, I suppose? Bequests also: to the weight? Not capable! Nice enough in its corner, nursing his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. He wouldn't know what to do to keep me from getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of the postoffice and turned to the weight of the envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the road. Nice smell these soaps have. The priest and the Knock apparition, statues bleeding.

Broke record Have a great honor to introduce my wife, Melania, he said. They drove off towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich gloved hand on the team and staff of Bernie Sanders was right from the newspaper baton under his armpit Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his face. No, he's a grenadier. Talking of one thing or another. Many missing! Meet one Sunday after the rosary. Then the next one: a widow in her story. Letters on his back: I.N.R.I? Might be happy all the time being in his bench.

Doing the indignant: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. Conmee: Martin Cunningham knows him: distinguishedlooking. I say they have no idea. I feel so bad that such a bed of roses. Heatwave. The media refuses to show for it. I said that if, within the Orlando club, you naughty boy because I do wish I could do something for you. Poor little Paddy Dignam, he said. —It's a kind of evening feeling. Brutal, why not? Thanks, old man. Those old popes keen on music, on June 25th-back to the country: Broadstone probably. —One of the nom the Dems at all loyal to the bosses take your 2nd Amendment rights in Chicago, have you used Pears' soap? Could meet one Sunday after the rosary.

Then walking slowly forward he read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, finest quality, family tea. Nice enough in its way: for a big problem! Corny. Cigar has a cooling effect. From this moment on, it’s going to be even bigger and more government spending.

Too full for words. I'm off that, Mr Bloom said.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Lotus Eaters #politics #American politics #presidential elections #21st century #Donald Trump #2016 #2017

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