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get-a-new-lease-on-life · 6 years ago

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A New Lease on Life - 10: Mercy

----------------- 10: Mercy -----------------

Reader challenge: During this chapter, Mercy teases Amber about Donnie, and their dialogue is inspired by a quote from a particular movie; name that movie! This chapter dedicated to best friends, making life miserable AND worth living.

Warnings: the usual, bizarre humor, some sensitive topics dealt with in a less-than-sensitive manner

Suggested listening: RUSH, "Madrigal"

Central Park, February 16th, 2016, evening

Tearful reunions are always awkward to witness. This one, Donatello realized almost squirming in place, was no exception.

What began as a simple walk through the park on their way back to the lair was interrupted by the appearance of a well-known panhandler—a panhandler Amber knew and was effectively drenching in frustrated tears. 'Does she always cry this much?' he wondered in concern. If she was being extra teary from trauma, that would be understandable, but if she was just naturally a crier…He shook off the thought. What did it matter if she was a crier? Even if she were to cry less when she got her issues under control, there was a 99.9% chance he'd still be drowning in the Friend Zone.

"Mercy," Amber croaked into the woman's saturated and filthy shirt. "How? When? Why?!" Finally, Mercy Ross shoved Amber back for some space.

"Hey," she chastised. "Get a'hold'a- yourself!" Amber settled back onto her heels, hurt. "First off, why should I believe ya? How can you be Amber O'Brien? Ya look nothin' like'er!" By the time Amber had an answer, her cheeks were dry.

"Dark of the Moon," she answered seriously. "My favorite poetry book, the book I never could convince you to read, an' the book I died protecting." Sure enough, Mercy's denim blue eyes widened in shock; point proven. "What proof do you have?" Mercy glared back.

"Tri-county Cancer Survivors' Support Group," she deadpanned. "A certain stubborn Scot wouldn't admit she was goin' grey at nineteen, let the whole town think she got cancer, then flipped me off when I tried to help." Sure enough, Amber gave a sheepish grin, and Donatello winced at the blonde's words. Amber told him early on that she went grey early - at nineteen - but if this Mercy person was the friend who tried to help...this was going to be messy.

"Yup, it's you a'right,- attitude intact," Amber laughed lowly, clearly unsurprised by the other woman's attitude or harsh words. "So, any idea how ya got here?" Mercy shook her head, her filthy ratty hair barely even shifting.

"Not really." She glared a hole through the dirt before her. "Las' thing I knew, I was drivin' home after…" She trailed off, avoiding Amber's eyes. "…after yer…funeral. I…I lost control'a the truck." Of course, she lost control of the truck because she was crying too hard to see a damned thing, but Amber didn't need to know that. "I woke up in the fuckin' Twilight Zone, an' next thing I knew, I was under a bridge pukin' my guts out. Lil' while after I heard a big ruckus nearby—Turns out it was New Year's."

"Wait, wait," Amber interrupted in disbelief. "Back up—you've been in this world since New Year's Eve?!" Mercy nodded, puzzled. "Donnie, when'd y'all find me in the underground?"

"January 27th," he answered without hesitation. The date was as good as branded into his memory—the date he arrived too late—the date Kimber died. "You died first…but Mercy arrived first…How's it possible?" With every word, he digressed more and more into a constant stream of half-mumbled jargon that neither woman fully understood. Every once in a while a familiar word or two would catch their attention, but for the most part, both were hopelessly left behind.

Amber wrenched her attention away from the brainstorming ninja, sure she was blushing. He had yet to lose himself in this sort of behavior around her, and the sudden occurrence made a small girly part of herself want to squee and glomp- him. It was only natural, she reasoned with an aloofness she didn't really feel, intelligent men always made her weak at the knees. Donatello was beyond intelligent—he was so far beyond intelligent that even 'genius' seemed an understatement.

"Yer kiddin' me, right?" Mercy deadpanned. Sure enough, Amber blushed hotly, forcefully avoiding eye contact with the pacing turtle. "Jeez, I'm'onna hork."-

About an hour after they first discovered Mercy in the park, the trio crept through the sewers guided by Donatello's flashlight, one blindfolded with a handkerchief and supported by another. Mercy was even weaker than he first believed, and after a much more thorough health scan, it was obvious that she was going through some majorly dangerous withdrawal symptoms. The blonde never said a word about it, though, so he held his tongue…for the meantime, at least. It could wait until later…for now, he still had to figure out how he would explain the extra guest to Leo…and Splinter.

A barely noticeable rustling at their backs was his only warning that time was up. Before he could even push the two women behind him, their pursuers cornered Mercy up against the nearest wall. A flash of red, blue, and orange in the otherwise dark tunnel was enough to calm his protective instincts; it was only his brothers, but Raphael seemed intent on getting in Mercy's face now that the blindfold was yanked down. There went all his attempts at keeping the lair's location a secret, Don thought with a mental grumble.

"Donnie," he rumbled at him, eyeing the tall blonde in open contempt. "Ya gotta tag along."

"Yeah," Don answered weakly, rubbing his neck. "It's okay, she's—"

"Mercy," the blonde answered simply, her eyes wide. Right on cue, Raph came unglued.

"The Hell?!" he snapped at her, one arm flung wide in disbelief. "Why the heck's everyone always assume we're gonna hurt'em?! We ain't done nothin' wrong, an' ya still think we' da bad guys!" Even as he practically bellowed in her face, though, Mercy showed no fear. Instead, she grew visibly annoyed.

"I ain't assumin' nothin'," she retorted, her tone almost frigid. "Mercy's my name, Dickwad."

What? Stunned, Raph found he could do nothing but stare at her. Surely he misunderstood her—surely he didn't just hear her as good as deny any fear of them? His hackles visibly lowering, he backed away, staring at her every step. Just as he seemed about to back right off the ledge into the stream of running wastewater, he turned to stalk toward the lair without another word. Every step of the way his brothers and Amber watched him in disbelief, unable to believe what they knew they just saw.

"You just…totally…" Mikey was lost for words and instead tried to communicate his thoughts with vague but animated hand gestures randomly uttered mumbles and whimpers. Mercy was unimpressed.

"Asshole assumes too much," she retorted gruffly as she shoved the blindfold back into place. "'sides, my Mama's cookin's scarier'n he is." Despite the tension, Amber cracked up at the comment; she knew exactly what Mercy was referring to. As the two women tossed friendly insults and 'remember whens' back and forth, the remaining three brothers led the way to the lair. Clearly, there would be a lot of inside jokes on the outside for quite a while—terms like 'the noodle incident,' 'gooseberry gastritis,' 'straw-pie,' and 'hedge-apple tag' were already being lobbed about like sports plays with no real explanation. While the women were distracted, Donnie filled Leo and Mikey in on why Mercy was with them. Leo was clearly concerned. Mikey, however…

"Dude!" he chirped excitedly, nudging Don in the side. "If you're gonna be bringin' back babes every time you go out, you need'a go out more often!" This time, the brain-duster didn't come from one of his brothers, but Amber. "Ow! Sis?!" Though she was surprised at the nickname, Amber forced on a disapproving glare she didn't really feel.

"Mercy's a friend of mine—keep your hands, lips, feet—you know what, just keep everything off'er." Beneath the purple paisley kerchief over her eyes, Mercy flushed slightly, slouching in her steps. Before Donnie could get a word in edgewise between Mikey's whines and Amber's repeated insistences, they arrived at the Lair. Though he reacted with suspicion and anger when they brought Amber home unannounced, Master Splinter just sighed and waved them into his room. As the two women dropped to sit at his table and his sons excused themselves from the room, Donatello caught a sharp, reprimanding glare aimed at Amber and a clipped, terse voice demanding explanations.

When the door finally slid open again, Mercy seemed ready to bite her tongue in two and Amber bore a defeated air about her. As she led Mercy to the bathroom she ducked into the lab for her comb and a pair of scissors, pausing only long enough for a brief explanation.

Splinter was not happy with her, especially after her first attempt at 'desensitizing' herself, and was concerned that she was forgetting her place. She was there because he invited her to be there, not because she had any God-given right to being there. Her near-constant swearing was setting a bad example for his sons, too. Of everything he mentioned, she was surprised he never brought up her revenge prank on Raph and Mikey. Of course, she couldn't find the heart to argue or even disagree—he made very good points. She was getting too comfortable, too casual.

Once the lecture was over, he agreed to let her friend stay with them as well until a better situation could be found, on one condition. Thus was her prior contract with Splinter nullified; she had to seek professional help. As before, she agreed to his terms and promised to abide by them, furthermore promising to try to reign in her language and focus on setting a better example. Before Donatello could object, she collected her basket of toiletries and ducked out the door to the bathroom.

He wasn't sure how long he sat at his desk picking apart her words for hidden meanings. Repeatedly he resolved himself to go discuss the issue with Splinter, to defend her, but something always held him back. Perhaps, he wondered as he listlessly stared at the bare concrete ceiling, it was how she seemed in agreement with their sensei's words? Perhaps she agreed with him and had taken the deal because she felt it was best, not simply so her friend would have a roof over her head? Finally, his decision was made: he trusted his father and he'd trust her.

As he made at least a passable effort at clearing out another corner of the lab for another cot from the Needle Room, he knocked over a small plastic tote sticking out from under Amber's bunk. Hair it read in blocky black writing. It took but a moment to realize its purpose, and he rushed back to his computer. Amber may feel that Splinter's ire was deserved, but he knew having her own hair color back would go a long way toward cheering her up.

"I can't believe ya jus' sat there an' took that!" Mercy snapped from the locked shower stall. "He jus' railed ya out, an' ya agreed with'im!" Over by the long trough sink, Amber stood sharpening a knife she retrieved from Kimber's belongings; fortunately, no one saw her retrieve it earlier and the whetstone made practically no sound.

"He's right, Merse," she answered even as her skin crawled from the sound of the water. "I've gotten careless, an' I ain't been on my best behavior...missed you an' Aaron so much I've been cussin' almost constantly. Jus' leave it be, okay?" For a time, the only sound came from the faucet and Mercy's soft grumbling. Ever more disturbed by the trigger—the sound of rain—Amber finally broke down and started to sing under her breath. "When the dragons grow too mighty to slay with pen or sword, I grow weary of the battle and the storm I walk toward..."

"Don't quitcher day job," Mercy snarked as the water shut off. "Yer still completely tone-deaf."

Mid-snip, a knock sounded at the bathroom door. Mercy turned a hairy eyeball to Amber. "The toilets're walled-in an' the showers're in stalls - why's'e bother knockin?" Amber impatiently yanked her friend's head back to the front and called out,

"It's safe!" Despite her assurances, Donatello inched around the door, visibly relaxing at the sight of Mercy up on a stool with Amber at her back, armed with shears and a comb. "'s goin' on, Dee?" He hovered in the doorway a moment, shifting from one massive foot to the other, but finally approached her.

"I figured you're tired of red hair," he explained nervously, holding out the tote. As though mystefied, she slowly accepted the box from him, never breaking eye contact; Mercy rolled her eyes at some inner realization. "The combination and instructions are inside." It took Amber a moment to fill in the blanks, but when she did, she beamed. Donnie sputtered and blushed as she tackled him, repeatedly thanking him, but it was the peck on the cheek that blew his breakers.

Red alert! Red alert! System overload, countdown to cerebral meltdown beginning in five, four, three, two…

Delirious and red as a beet, he stumbled out the door, drifting vaguely toward the empty lab mumbling unintelligibly under his breath. Amber and Mercy watched his retreat, one amused, one bewildered.

"Was it something I said?" Amber asked Mercy, finally turning to meet the blonde's grey-blue eyes. Mercy shot her a 'we are not amused' deadpan and jabbed her thumb at the space behind her; taking the hint, Amber set down the tote and returned to her place, taking up the comb and scissors again.

"Nope," Mercy answered dryly as chunks of matted blonde hair fell all around her; good riddance, she thought. "You just blew his mind, that's all…an' if his brain's as big as you say it is, you may'a just triggered another Chernobyl."

"Hey!" Amber retorted, shaking the comb at her. "I was nowhere near Chernobyl when the meltdown happened, thank ya very much!"

"Only 'cuz ya weren't born yet," Mercy teased back. Amber couldn't help but grin; she'd missed the playful banter with Aaron and Mercy so much it was ridiculous. She couldn't have Aaron, but maybe with Mercy, at least, her new life would be a little easier. Should the words cross her lips, though, she knew her friend would become uncomfortable, so she settled for a more accepted response: insulting her.

"Face forward," she ordered with a smirk and a light slap to the back of the blonde's head. "or I swear ta bog, I will give you the world's saddest mullet." For a while, the only sounds came from the scissors and their breathing. Finally, Mercy broke the near-silence.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "Fer what ya said earlier." It took Amber a moment, but finally, it dawned on her.

"It's nothing, Merse," the redhead answered quietly, trying not to make a big deal of Mercy's words. "He's a bit of a flirt but he means no harm—he jus' don't get 'back off' signals an' he's too pushy. I jus' didn't want you to be uncomfortable here's all." Silence spanned a while longer. "Ya know, your mother's not here…she can't run your life anymore. Maybe you should, ya know, give it a shot…?" Mercy snorted, her eyes dark with anger.

"No," she almost spat. "I don't do relationships—you know I don't, an' ya know why. Dyin' an' comin' back ain't changed that. It's got nuthin' to do with him, an' you know it." Finally, the snicker-snack of the scissors went silent behind her. Amber crept around to face her, gently brushing chunks of hair off of her shoulders onto the floor; sweeping it up could wait a few minutes.

"Yeah, but he doesn't." She anchored the blonde's sunken cheeks in her palms, forcing her to meet her eyes. "Mercy, you know me—you've known me almost our whole lives, and I know where you're coming from. Your mother was a controlling cow—she had no right to force that life on you, no right to keep you all to herself for yer whole life—an' she's gone!" She cracked a wry smile. "Ya got a second chance—a chance at life without the Mother from Hades. She's not here! You can live a different life if ya want…ya deserve a different life, no matter who it's with." She finally smirked. "I gotta warn ya, though, I take my 'best friend' duties very, very seriously. They wanna hurt you, they gotta go through me." Mercy smirked.

"Yeah…like a fist through a paper bag."

"Oi! I resemble that remark!" The two friends laughed a while, relishing the carefree moment. After a few more cursory snips at what was left of Mercy's bangs, Amber turned her toward the mirror over the sink. At first, Mercy's face fell seeing so little hair left, but she stiffened her upper lip. Amber probably would've had an easier time if she'd just shaved her bald, but she knew how picky Mercy always was about her hair. Even so, there was practically none left. The matted blonde locks were shorn away, leaving behind an uneven, poorly executed pixie cut with numerous thin spots…but she didn't look like a hippie reject anymore.

The thought triggered a sad smile. She'd lived in the body of a homeless woman for almost a month, and finally, she simply looked sick and underfed. "Thanks," she muttered, avoiding Amber's eyes. With a gentle smile, the other woman swiped the last of the hair off onto the floor and ducked out to snag the broom. "I got this—get that dye out'a yer hair a'ready. Ya make a shitty redhead."

"NO!" Donatello startled awake, almost falling from his desk chair. When did he doze off, he wondered? And why was Amber SHRIEKING? "Why, why, WHY?! Oh, for the love'a God, WHY?!"

"Oh, Lordy!" Mercy yelped back, clearly startled. "You' gotta be kiddin' me?!" Certain that something horrible had happened—or was happening!—or about to happen!—Don bolted toward the source of the raised voices: the bathroom. On the way there, he almost ran over Mikey, barely missed Leo and Master Splinter, and knocked Raph's plate of leftover pizza from his very hands.

"'ey!" Raph barked, but the genius paid him no heed; he snarled under his breath, shaking his head. "She screams, he comes runnin'—pathetic!" Behind the door of the bathroom, Mercy frantically tried to calm Amber.

"I-It ain't that bad, really!" she insisted to the horrified brunette. "We'll just get some—" Her words fell silent as the bathroom door burst inward, the handle cracking into the wall behind like a fist to a jaw. Too ashamed to look, Amber, stood before the trough sink, cringing and shivering; Donatello stood stock still just inside the doorway, unable to believe what he was seeing. The heavy door swung shut behind him, even as the bathroom's occupants sat still as statues.

Words from a conversation of theirs came back to them as he stared at his friend, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. It always hit the redheads worst. I wasn't a redhead, but there was enough red in my hair to turn me into a…

"…brown…skunk…" he breathed in disbelief, unaware his own filter finally failed. Not half an hour ago, he handed Amber the key to removing the dye from her vivid red hair. Now, her still-wet locks were a rich, warm brown with obvious streaks of early grey—grey tinted slightly pink from the last remnants of dye still clinging for dear life. Even as she choked before the sink, humiliated and fighting tears, he couldn't speak. How could something as simple as removing a false hair color change her appearance so drastically, he wondered almost wistfully? Before, she was beautiful to him—so lovely and so, so out of reach. Now, with grey streaking her hair, she didn't seem quite so far away. He always knew Amber was far from perfect, but this obvious physical flaw made her more approachable in his mind—she was more vulnerable, and thus, more relatable...and if he was honest with himself, it felt familiar.

Finally, he realized that Mercy was railing at him, one step away from decking him, even, though he didn't know why. Never even acknowledging her, he padded over to stand before Amber; sure enough, her cheeks were stained with tears, her eyes red-rimmed and wet. It was already habit to dig out his purple handkerchief and dab her cheeks dry, but as every time before, she was completely surprised. Had no one ever dried her cheeks before, he wondered? "Hey," he smiled, tucking his knuckle under her chin and lifting her eyes to his. She forced a noisy swallow, physically pulling away and staring down the drain of the sink.

"H…Hey, ye…yerself," she choked out, trying to put on some semblance of a happy face. For a moment, he wracked his brain for a way to work this out—a way to convince her that her 'stripes' as she called them weren't a mark of shame to be hidden. How could he tell her that he wasn't horrified, but stunned? Finally, the words came to him, and they left him in a hushed, gentle voice.

"Amber…your hair's like starlight." 'Mission accomplished,' he thought with no small sense of accomplishment as everything was wiped from her face but astonishment. Wide-eyed, she stared through the sink; finally, she turned to stare at him, her head cocked to one side as though doubting his sanity. "You're beautiful as you are, Braids," he added just before slipping back out the door. "and don't you forget it."

The door swung shut on a silent, still bathroom; Amber and Mercy stood staring at the steel panel door, questioning what had just happened. Finally, Amber broke the silence.

"Did he just…" Mercy nodded.

"Yup," she answered blankly. "He did."

"Donatello just Howl's Moving Castle'd me?" Amber squeaked at her friend, her normally low voice painfully shrill. "For real?!" Finally getting a hold of herself, Mercy smirked back.

"Leave it to you to turn a movie title into a verb," she teased, then added in a sing-song tone, "He thinks yer gorgeous,"

"ACK!" Amber flinched, swatting at her friend.

"He's got a turtle crush!"

"Mercy!"

"You wanna kiss'im" Mercy taunted as Amber chased her around the bathroom with the scissors. "You wanna hug'im, you wanna love'im—"

"Ya wanna DIE, DON'T YOU?!"

In the living room, Michelangelo and Leonardo exchanged a nervous glance as various oaths, crashes, and unintelligible shrieks echoed from the bathroom. Not twenty-four hours under their roof, and already they could tell Mercy was going to be trouble.

"Seriously, though," Mercy asked Amber over the dinner dishes they were washing. Despite Donatello's vote of confidence on her greying hair, Amber still piled her hair up in a braid and covered it in a slightly ratty headscarf she found in Kimber's locker. Later she'd do some research on less-obvious ways of covering the grey…maybe. Maybe not.

"Seriously what?" Amber mumbled back. Mercy glanced at her with nervous eyes before focusing too hard on the plate she was drying.

"Ya haven't told'im, have ya? Donnie, I mean." Amber blushed furiously but refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room. "Amber, how long've you dreamed 'bout him? How long've you wished for a chance to do more than dream? You spent your whole life jus' waitin' fer—"

"Angela Mercy Ross," Amber warned; Mercy flinched. God, she hated her first name. "Leave it be. He doesn't need to know, he can't know, and so long as I can prevent it, he won't know, capiche? He just met me—I've known him for most of my life, but he's known me all of twenty days, one of which I was unconscious! He—"

As though the universe were conspiring against her, a subway rumbled past. ‘Nine o'clock a’ready?’ she thought between gasped breaths. Despite the soapy water dripping down her arms, she found her way to the floor in one piece, curled up against the cabinets, and buried her face in her arms, shaking as though she were freezing to death again. Panic attacks, she'd decided, were far worse than having your puppy kicked.

For a time, Mercy just stared, recalling the world they left behind; what she was seeing was nothing new, not since half their town was destroyed. She saw this same thing every day it seemed, from almost everyone—the town vet, the owner of the gas station, the junkies next door, even the chief of police showed the same reactions every time the sirens rang. Children wailed when the skies grew dark, the elderly spoke of 'going home,' even pets and livestock had become thunder-shy. After the first tornado, not one of the cattle on her family's ranch would go out in the rain without being forcibly driven, and her father's old dog Trigger took off during the storm Amber died in…he never returned home. Without a word Mercy dropped down to sit beside Amber, pulling her shivering friend into a protective hug, only a little surprised when the shaking woman clamped on like she was about to be torn away.

Sirens scream. Winds howl. Storms squall and wail, debris pelting the walls like gunshots. Pipes burst overhead as the fractured ceiling rains fragments of bleached tile, peppering the sodden floors with white and grey. A twisted grin mocks from—

"Amber." Mercy's sudden speech startled her; grey-green eyes met hers, pupils mere pinpoints from fear and adrenaline. "It's okay…you're safe. I've got you." Time dragged on as Mercy walked her through slowing her breaths and focusing on one single floor tile to center herself, and rubbed calming patterns into her friend's back. By the time the last car was long gone, Amber was calmed—exhausted, but calmed.

"Thanks, Hon," she muttered into her knees, embarrassed. "Now ya know…I'm—"

"Reacting the very same way almost half our hometown is." Amber's eyes shot to Mercy's, wide in disbelief. "As of my last day there, the local counselor was so bogged down she had to call in reinforcements; Oakville Hospital recruited and sent volunteers. Statistics suggested that anywhere from a third to half the survivors have been experiencing post-traumatic stress and that at least half of those will develop PTSD over it." Amber shook her head in denial, unable to believe it. Mercy gave a sad smile. "You're not broken and you're not alone…back home, no one would ever judge you for it."

"My…" Amber choked, trying to force out the words. "Mercy, I didn't—didn't want to ask…but I have to know. What happened to my family? Are they—are they safe? Is Aaron safe? How's he handling…all this?" Not for the first time, Mercy avoided her eyes, held back what she should have spoken. After all, she reasoned as usual, it would only hurt Amber more to hear it. They could never return to Willsdale, and if Amber was anything like most of their neighbors, she was suffering from a heaping dose of survivor's guilt.

"Yer whole family made it," she answered; there was no need to hide it. "My father was injured when he tried to save the cattle—the shed caved in." Fingers clenched in the jersey covering her thighs, and Amber covered one with her own. "I wasn't there…he died of'is injuries before they could dig him out. Ma broke down—insisted we sell the livestock an' the ranch, or what was left of it, and move away. We were living in a hotel when…you know, happened. She didn't come."

"Of course not," Amber retorted, trying to lighten the mood. "I was the big bad bestie who stole away her baby Angie and corrupted her with my Scotch an' humor."

"Yer Scotch is shit."

"Yer face is shite. What about Aaron?" Mercy took a deep, steadying breath, reminding herself what she had to do. She laughed, grinning at Amber though the smile burned with falseness.

"He's great, actually," she almost chirped. "Moved in with Ma Willis, adopted every stray in the neighborhood, spends his days workin' in the fields an' his nights annoyin' the old folks…nothin' new, really. He bounces back pretty quick, ya know."

With that one smile, any thoughts Amber had about Aaron contentedly living on without her were proven false; Mercy was always a horrible, horrible liar. Though she now knew for certain that Aaron was in trouble and not handling her death well at all, she gave no sign of it, returning Mercy's smile. As the two returned to their chore, she elbowed the blonde with a mischievous grin. "So," she stage-whispered. "Did I tell ya he got drunk an' tried to milk the wrong cow?"

"Amber!" Aaron mourned in the brunette's dreams as she was forced to witness, present but voiceless, heartbroken but helpless. "Why'd you have to leave? Why couldn't it have been ME?!" When he finally left her dreams, they were invaded by Donatello; sometime during the witching hour, he confronted her, perching on her bed with a glint in his hazel eyes.

"How long, Amber?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "How long have you hidden this from me?"

Sleep, it seemed, would always be a rare commodity in this new life.

Words

- A'hold'a - A'hold of. Basically she's saying 'chill out already. - A'right - Alright' - I'm'onna hork - a favorite saying of Mercy's. Basically means something's so 'disgusting' read 'mushy' that it makes her nauseated. "I'm gonna hork" usually means the same thing as "I'm gonna puke." - Quitcher - Quit your - Squee and glomp - basically means 'emit a high-pitched girly squeal and tackle-hug him.' It's a fan thing. - Why's'e - Why does he

NOTES

* 'the noodle incident' - a running joke from "Calvin and Hobbes."

* Gooseberries are a variety of small berry that grows somewhat wild in this area. They reportedly make good pies and jellies, but if you eat an under-ripe one, you'll feel about ready to puke.

* 'Straw-pie' - this is a humorous reference to a RL family member's complete inability to cook. IRL, Granny Chance made my hubby Cold a coconut cream pie but forgot to bake the 'cook and serve' pudding in the filling. It refused to solidify beyond 'runny mess,' took a week to freeze, and Cold wound up eating it with a straw because 'ya don't waste pie.' It didn't make him sick even though it would given normal folks food poisoning - Granny Chance has poisoned us with her cooking for years but he's got a cast-iron gut and we should patent his immune system. :P

*'Hedge-apple tag' - Basically those three idiots were throwing Hedge Apples (fallen fruits from an Osage Orange tree) at each other and calling it a game. Amber, Mercy, and Aaron were a little nuts...

Notes:

Just a few fun facts regarding greying hair: most women start seeing their first grey hairs between their mid-twenties and early forties, while those with highly stressful lifestyles and chronic illness greying earlier than predominantly healthy, happy women. Some individuals also possess a genetic predisposition to early greying or white, like Amber and her uncle Bart Devon, and may go grey as early as high school. Bart, specifically, is very loosely based on an uncle of mine by marriage whose hair was always very pale blonde but faded to white in his late teens - Art's been 'white' longer than he's been married.

In both genders, red hair and pale blond hair fade to grey earliest; the connection is uncertain. Even if a person isn't technically a 'redhead,' they may have red 'tints' in their hair. The best way to find out is by studying your hair in strong, direct sunlight and twisting a section to catch the light; if present, you'll see small traces of reddish shine when the hairs are shifted. Even if you aren't a redhead, if you have a lot of red tints, you may find grey early.

Lastly, grey hair isn't a scarlet letter, a mark of shame - it's proof that you can take what the world throws at you and dish it back in spades!

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