#guess what is charles doing behind the ipad! what does charles shows?

[vsyrworld]

challenge : describe a moment in situation with domestic conversation but privates meaning

so here i go. charlos private moments ft team 55

//

the warm lights illuminating the white brown marble countertop where carlos made a mess with his dirty of shreddered coffee beans. The smell is nice as the hot water steamed into thin air, it's coffee (of course), but that does not mean Charles has to start liking one.

He curled up on his dining chair, pen in the right finger sketching on a fake paper he holds with his folded knee (ipad, lando laugh at him and said 'it's an ipad'. but for him, any surfaces for drawing beside paper and canvas, it's consider as a fake).

He might focus on his sketch, but he could feel Caco' eyes trailing down his finger movement. He brushed up and down, change a pen brush to a pencil, rounding his wrist, scribble then add some shadding, Caco moves the same.

After all, carlos' cousin is sitting across of him in the dining table. His palm around his mug, twirling it in the air as if a mocktail. Well, is Charles care enough, he could start building some trust or affiliation or just chitchatting since they are sitting facing each other. But, he saved it for next time.

Meanwhile, a slurping coffee sounds came from rupert, just one chair away from charles' left side. He had the perfect pairing, cookies on the plate. Eyes on Carlos movement in front of him.

The gaze Rupert gives to carlos versus caco to him is certainly had different intesity, different meaning, different question and thoughts (actually charles is 100% sure. rupert eyes on carlos doesn't mean anything, he just sometimes zoned out. like a trainer like an athlete).

Charles didn't care enough though. Even with Caco takes another sip of his handmade coffee, still observing Charles hands movement.

Instead, his mind wanders into some past event. Because of his brain is too full, too cramped with memories, nightmares, bad race, good race, bad days, charles is drawing and calls his teammate.

"Carlos"

"Yess?"

Rupert still munchin his cookies, Caco stays the same like before.

Charles takes his time to finished some pencil strikes, just a little strand of black hair he is drawing. Carlos doesn' pushed him either, busy dealing with something at back of kitchen counter.

When he finished the hair, he changes into a brush pen and start picking up some ferrari colors,

"Honestly," Charles starts truthfully, like he always did to Calros. Then he start talking at the same time he is painting his paper red.

"I don't know what to answer Ollie' questions."

Carlos let a hum behind the counter top, "Really? But you answered him pretty well"

This time Caco and Rupert head turned at him (and Carlos). He knows, even when he doesn't truly see them.

Another paint streaks down, "Now the more I think about it" he cracked his neck to the left and continue to drawing,

"Why do I continue racing while it always giving me, this, same loss over the years?"

Caco raises his eyebrows. Of course he is. He is an outsider.

But Carlos understand. What loss meaning for Charles. Only him, because Charles let him see, let him know, let him in. To his private life.

"Love is ironic no? To say that I keep going because I love racing. At the same time..." Charles realized he fucked up the color

He wriggles a bit on his chair, fixing his hoddies sleves then erased some of error, "At the same time, racing fucked my life. They took away... my loves one" Charles' already on his second color, it's a warm honey bee yellow.

"My problem is always the same, though" He sighed. Tired of hugging his knee, he put his ipad on dining table.

"Is that I love people. And people that I Iove is leaving me. Then it goes alll around like that again and again..." he strokes a couple of shading, "and again." adding some highlights.

"And I wished I am heartless"

"I certainly wish you doesn't" Carlos speaks up, with a sudden presence of a warm mug beside his ipad.

Charles smelled and a smile peaking up his dimples to rise. He brought the mug closer to his noser, "Seriously, Honey milk?"

Carlos body warming his back. His hand placed firmly against Charles wooden chair.

"Your all the time favorite" he grins wide

"It is" Charles takes a sip with Carlos watching him (And certainly 180 degree different feeling when it's Carlos rather than Caco or Rupert. Even they do exactly the same; looking at him)

"Like it?" Carlos gives him an eyebrow raised

"Love it" A white milk line up on his upper lips and Charles happily lick them clean with his own tougue.

"This is why i don't think you shouldn't be heartless. I don't think you could be either." Carlos squeeze his shoulder, before taking a sit beside him

Of course. Charles also knows, he is a love person. He couldn't and probably wouldn't ever stop loving. Even though it's stupid and hurting

"What do you know about me?" he groans, eyes completely off the ipad now as the device locked and turn into black pitch

Caco squeked on his chair (Charles smiles, knowing that he is triggered), Rupert take a glance to both of them worried (he always be), while Carlos...

he just on his goofy mood today.

"I don't know you very much actually" white lies escape smooth like a butter as they're both smiling.

"what do you want me to know something about you?" Carlos asked, tilting his head. Eyes never leaving him

Charles squirm under his gaze. "my..." dimples showing as he giggles, he fake his thinking gesture, "what do i want for dinner?"

Carlos rolled his eyes.

"I know, Carbonara it is. Your liking"

Charles smiled and nodded as he watches Carlos arise from his chair, Taking sip from Charles' honey milk cups, on the same place charles lips settled. Carlos is still standing beside him, hands hanging loose in the air.

"I love it" He simply agree to whatever Carlos choose for dinner. Not minding a blush start spreading over his cheek. love you, he want to said. Caco gaze burning on him.

"Yes and I think that is what makes you still here" Carlos smiled at him. Warm like a sun.

That is what, Carlos means love. And here, means settling down in Carlos' Maranello apartemen. After hours and hours, they're spending their time to re learn and re analize this season. What went good and bad, what to do for next year. Until moon rises and Charles realized it is too late for him to go back Monaco then Carlos tugs his arm,

come home with me

and he follows, and he is here. Explained why charles here with Caco and Rupert scrutinizing him. Explained why, Carlos cooks him a dinner.

Charles hides his emotion pretty well, he thought. But when he pick up his ipad again, the dimples reflected through the screen, mocking him with three words (you loves him)

"What do you draws?" Carlos breaths softly against his crown head. Almost like a feather light kisses. Charles purrs

He blinks slowly and finally look across the table. Giving Caco a brief eye contact before craning his neck to meet Carlos behind him.

Carlos cheek is tan, smooth and clean. Smells good, citrus aftershave. Perfect, Charles thinks. So, he brings his ipad up, covering his whole face and half of Carlos' profile. He leans into Carlos' space and making sure Caco' trailing gaze fails him.

Rupert swallowed his last cookie, Caco drinks his empty coffee mug. Not that Charles can sees them anyway from behind his ipad. He doesn't care then closes the gap in.

After an utter silence, Charles cringe at the way how Carlos' high pitched dolphin laughter filled the apartement. That sounds so weird. It so stupid, he shakes his head. Then, he is putting down his ipad, making him visible again in Caco' vision.

"Pasta un lunga?" Charles pushed Carlos's arse towards to kitchen. That bastard still laughing.

"It's penne, mon bebe" Carlos mocking him while preparing a pan of boiling water.

Charles groans in annoyance. Of course , Carlos' carbonara is always lunga and Charles is always complaint.

"Do we have penne?" Rupert asks out of curious. Charles back busying himself with another sketch, secretly smiling as Carlos answered his trainer by "No, come on. Carbonara is lunga!"

But later then, when Carlos is plating the carbonaras in the dining table, three plates serves the lunga. And one penne, still sizzling warm in the pan.

>>>

Rupert ask him on the next day,

"What did Charles draws?" He asked while Carlos is driving three of them to airport. Rupert just so eager to back home and grinding down Carlos again with lots and lots of winter training.

But Carlos drives in his unusual calmness, like he doesn't want to leave Maranello fast, like his body, his souls lingering at his apartement. Somehow didn't match with Rupert and Caco excitement.

"Uhm, no. He didn't show anything" Carlos took some time to answered him.

Rupert takes a glance and find fondness in Carlos eyes. He hummed, but Caco interrups in,

"Did he truly is?"

"Yes. Does he ever shows anything?"

Rupert raised his eyebrows at Carlos immediate answer. Later on he realized his athlete is smiling.

>>

later,, carlos said to charles at the dawn. the monegaque bid him a quick farewell before went inside his own car.

it's already midnight when they touched down Spain but Carlos cheek is still warm from Charles' lips.

[page-doctor-bekker]

Human Error (transfemme!sarah)

(A/N) this really doesn’t actually have anything to do with sarah being trans, it just takes place in the same universe. this is literally just an event that happened in this au written out so i can write about effects surrounding it without people being confused lol.

-

-

“Reese, we’re slammed, any chance you can take treatment four?” Maggie pointed at Sarah Reese, and then at the fourth treatment room. Sarah looked up from the computer, before grabbing her tablet and heading to the treatment room.

“Hi, Mr. Nearling? I’m Dr. Reese, what seems to be the issue today?” Sarah pushed for hand sanitizer, rubbing her already-dry hands together until the gel had absorbed.

“Trouble breathing…” The man took a few labored breaths, “Cold sweat… I’m shaking, I can’t breathe-”

“Okay, I see, when did this start? Does your chest hurt at all?”

“I… I had a big meeting today and it just happened suddenly. I guess it hurts a little bit.”

“Can I take a listen to your heart?” Sarah asked, already taking her stethoscope off of her neck. The man nodded, and she pressed the drum to his chest. His heart was racing.

He started talking fast, “Are you going to be able to give me a doctor’s note? I’m going to lose my job…” He started breathing faster.

“Has this ever happened before?” Sarah asked, lifting the stethoscope from the man’s chest, “Any history of anxiety or panic disorders?”

“Never like this,” He choked up and coughed a bit, “But, I had social anxiety as a kid.”

“Do you have any family history of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, or high blood pressure? Do you smoke, drink?”

“No, none of that,” The man waved his hands, “I’m a healthy guy. A vegetarian, everything- everything is fine! I’m perfect, I can’t-”

“Mr. Nearling-” He was hyperventilating, and Sarah grabbed one of his hands, “Mr. Nearling, I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Dr. Reese let go of his hand, and hung her stethoscope back around her neck, and tapped on her iPad, “I’m going to give you something to calm you down, then we can talk about coping strategies and I will refer you to outpatient psychiatry to continue care. April, push 1.5 milligrams of Ativan.”

April pushed the medication through the patient’s IV line, and Dr. Reese pulled up a round, spinning stool to the bed and sat down. April nodded at the doctor, and left the room, pulling the curtain shut.

Mr. Nearling calmed down noticeably, which Dr. Reese took as a success - Panic attack subsided. Dr. Reese smiled, “It’s normal to have some residual physical symptoms, mild tightness, shortness of breath, but as the medication works you’ll calm down more and more. Have you ever had a panic attack before?”

Mr. Nearling shrugged, “Maybe? I’ve never gone to the hospital for it.”

“After a severe panic attack you may have more panic attacks in the coming days or weeks, so I’m going to call in a mild benzodiazepine in case you need a bit of help,” Dr. Reese typed that into the tablet, “When you feel the anxiety and panic start up, you definitely want to try coping mechanisms before you take medication for it. The medication is just for if those coping mechanisms don’t work, which sometimes happens and is to be expected every once in a while.”

Mr. Nearling nodded, taking a deep breath. It was shaky going out, but residual anxiety can do that.

“So, a good first step, whenever you’re having a panic attack, is to recognize that you’re having a panic attack. If it doesn’t work to say it in your head, say it out loud,” Dr. Reese tapped the tablet against her leg with each coming syllable for emphasis, “I am having a panic attack.”

“I am having a panic attack.”

And just like that, it was no longer a panic attack. Mr. Nearling went limp, and the monitors started going crazy. Dr. Reese held two fingers to the man’s neck, and yelled out, “I need a crash cart!”

Everything moved fast after that. Sarah was pushed out of the way by two ED doctors, who started barking out orders.

“He’s in cardiac arrest, page CT. Reese, get on his chest-”

Sarah could feel blood pounding in her ears, and she clasped one hand over the other and started humming. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive. Stayin’ alive. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive… No matter how much CPR she performed, she still needed the song to keep her on beat.

“-Milligram of Epi.”

Ah, ha, ha, ha…

“Hold compressions,” Dr. Choi barked, holding two fingers to the man’s neck, “Clear!”

The man’s chest lurched as he was shocked, and Sarah’s heart jumped into her throat. Dr. Choi held his fingers back to the man’s neck, “Another milligram of Epi. Charge to 200.”

Sarah resumed compressions. Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’...

“Clear!”

Sarah held her hands up, shaking. This never got easier.

“Asystole,” April sighed out, preparing another milligram of Epi. She knew exactly what Dr. Choi was going to ask for next.

“Another milligram of Epi.”

Sarah reached to resume compressions, but Dr. Choi swatted her hands out of the way and did CPR himself. Dr. Choi did it slightly faster than Sarah did. He knew the man was dead.

Sarah squeezed her clammy hands together, shaking like a leaf.

Dr. Bekker rushed in almost immediately after Dr. Choi stopped compressions, and was floored when Choi called time of death.

“Alright, why wasn’t this patient taken to the cath lab as soon as his heart attack was diagnosed?” Ava’s tone was stone cold.

Everyone looked at Sarah.

“He uh… He presented with…” She cleared her throat, “With shortness of breath, mild chest pain, cold sweat, shakiness, and extreme anxiety as well as a positive history for social anxiety. He did not-” She cracked her knuckles, “Um… He also displayed signs of work-related stress and no- Uh, no risk factors for heart attack. I determined he was having a panic attack and ordered 1.5 milligrams of Ativan and started talking about coping strategies with him.”

“Whenever a patient shows up with chest pains they should receive a FULL cardiac workup REGARDLESS of history and risk factors,” Dr. Bekker took a step towards Sarah, and grew louder, “If YOU were in the emergency room with CHEST PAIN, would you be anxious?!”

“I- uh-”

“You did NOTHING you should have. ANXIETY is NOT a contraindication for a heart attack, and now this man is dead. Leaving him to die in the waiting room would be more effective,” She spat out, her tone venomous, “Psych residents, I swear. God, isn’t anyone in this hospital competent?”

Sarah was out of the room before she even knew she was moving. Her feet dragged her away and her heart was practically leaping out of her chest. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she started chewing on her tongue to avoid letting them go. She clenched her fists as Dr. Charles called her name.

“Dr. Reese! I was paged to the ED, something about you?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” She pushed past him, and he grabbed her arm.

“Sarah,” He whispered, “Go sit in my office when you’re done. I’m going to finish rounds. We’ll talk when I’m done,” He started to walk away, before turning around, “You’re not in trouble, Sarah, I just want to understand what happened.”

Sarah pushed open the swinging door to the women’s bathroom, bolted into the nearest stall and slammed the door shut. She sat down and started sobbing.

I’m in love with her.

She choked on her own snot, and ripped off a piece of toilet paper to blow her nose.

I’m in love with her, and she hates me.

She let out a wail.

i’m in love with her, she hates me, and I failed her.

The bathroom door opened.

“Sarah?”

Sarah held her breath, pulled her knees up to her chest to avoid making any noise.

“I don’t think she’s in here,” Sarah heard April, a gentle voice amongst the madness.

Sarah heard a pager beep.

“Ugh, I have a heart transplant. Whatever, send a note to Dr. Charles and let him know I was looking for her.”

She wants to yell at me some more. She wants to hurt me. She somehow knows about me and I’m going to get fired. I’m going to get fired and be all alone. She knows about me and she’s going to hurt me and I’m going to get fired.

They left, and Sarah let out her breath and let her feet fall to the floor. She blew her nose again, and took a deep, shaking breath. She stood up, and leaned her forehead against the stall door. She took her hair down from it’s low ponytail, and shook it out. She grabbed a piece of her hair and started absentmindedly braiding it - an old anxious habit.

A few minutes and three braids later, she opened the stall door and stared into the mirror in front of her. She wiped away her tears, approached the sink, and splashed water on her face, soaking one of her messy braids in the process. She dried with a thin paper towel, took another shaky, deep breath. She grabbed a helping of hand sanitizer on her way out of the bathroom. Force of habit. Even leaving her bedroom at home she sometimes tries to push the sanitizer button, even though it isn’t there.

Sarah practically ran to Dr. Charles’s office, hurriedly taking her braids out and running her hands through her tangled hair.

She unlocked Dr. Charles’s office door with her key, and closed the door behind her. She did not turn the lights on. Instead, she made a beeline for the couch. There was a throw blanket stored under one of the cushions, and she pulled it over her after grabbing it. She covered her face with a pillow, and screamed into it.

“Sarah?”

She forcefully uncovered her face, before relaxing once she saw it was just Daniel.

“Sarah,” He inquired, sitting down at his desk, “What happened today?”

Sarah sniffled, “I misdiagnosed a heart attack as a panic attack,” She choked out, “Mid-30s male presenting with shortness of breath, mild chest pain, cold sweat, anxiety, healthy weight, vegetarian, panicking with a history of social anxiety, currently experiencing work-related stress, no family history of heart disease, nothing.”

Dr. Charles sighed, “Common mistake. Hardly something to have a-”

“He died, Dr. Charles,” She cried, “He’s dead.”

Dr. Charles’s face hardened, “I see,” He faltered.

“And- And Ava, God, Ava…” She pressed her hand to her forehead, “She yelled at me in the middle of the ED, and she said I was incompetent and-” She choked out a sob, “She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you, Sarah,” Dr. Charles’s tone softened, “She’s just… She’s just angry. She won’t be angry forever.”

“I just really messed up today,” Sarah swiped her tears away with trembling hands.

“You did,” Dr. Charles agreed, “You did mess up today, but-”

“I’m going to get sued-”

“Sarah.”

“I’m going to lose my residency and I don’t have a fallback plan, I’m in so much debt and so much trouble-”

“Sarah, you’re not going to lose your residency,” Dr. Charles yelled, and Sarah fell silent. He took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for yelling at you, but you’re not going to lose your residency. Every single doctor has a misdiagnosis in their career, it’s just part of the job.”

“But he died. And it’s my fault.”

“Sarah, you are going to lose patients. And sometimes it’s going to be your fault,” He reasoned, “You’re a good doctor, Sarah, you’re a good doctor who made a mistake. You want to know what happened during my residency? I diagnosed a teenage girl experiencing vomiting and lack of appetite with bulimia,” He raised his eyebrows at Sarah, “She died of malnutrition. Autopsy showed she had ulcers all along her digestive tract,” He shrugged, “She was in too much pain to eat! But all I saw was a sickly thin teenage girl that was vomiting and couldn’t eat.”

Sarah stayed quiet.

“The point is, things happen. Death happens. Sometimes, conditions disguise as one another. Medicine is hardly ever an exact science,” Dr. Charles pointed out, “Human error is expected, you’re not going to get fired, and you’re probably not going to get sued. Mr. Nearling presented with no typical risk factors of a heart attack, and all the typical risk factors and symptoms of a panic attack. Did you purposefully ignore Mr. Nearling’s heart attack?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Boom,” Dr. Charles threw his hands up in front of him, “You had no malicious intent. You made a mistake, a common mistake, on a patient that didn’t present typically, and it had consequences.”

Sarah nodded.

Dr. Charles sighed, and looked at Sarah with a look of sympathy, “And now it will never happen again, right?”

She nodded.

“You’re going to take complaints with these symptoms more seriously?”

She nodded.

“You’re not a bad doctor, Sarah, you’re just a human,” He said, “In med school they always teach you what someone who has a heart attack looks like, just like they taught me what someone who has an eating disorder looks like. You just have to learn to get past that phenotype and look deeper.”

Sarah stayed quiet.

“Look... This is hard. I get it,” Dr. Charles sighed, “Just... go home, Sarah. Take a breather.”

“What?”

“Go home. Come back in a few days. Take a break.”

“Yes sir,” She said, quietly, before standing up to leave.

-

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(A/N) thanks for reading :) i’m going to build on this at some point and write a follow-up to this one shot. hope you enjoyed! this is a foundation for the parts i want to write, so it doesn’t have too much about sarah’s actual transition. i am so sorry for making ava be mean :(( EDIT: If you liked this, check this out bc I am continuing it!

[mercy-thompson-fanfiction]

Previews Galore

Not really a preview in the traditional sense because it’s already been posted.  Part 2 of my little fan fiction on AO3 has been started.  There were only supposed to be 2 parts to begin with but now there’s a third because this story wiggled its way in between parts 1 and 2. So here’s the first chap for “Whispered Promise” as it appears on the archive.  Love getting the comments and such.

Full Story (or as much is actually posted) here

“Who else is there?”  Dad asked skeptically.  I covered the receiver and glanced at the only other person in the apartment with me desperately.  He stopped moving.  

“No one, dad.”  I responded, trying to sound casual.

He sighed and chose to ignore it.

“I’m not paying for an apartment for you to mess around.”  He reminded sternly.  The man with me had since relocated to the kitchen but threw me a grin.  “How was class today?”

“It was incredible, dad.”  And it had been.  We had dissected pigs in lab today and I had been anxious going into it.  Something about my family, we tend to only face blood when we’re hurt or when we’ve hurt the thing bleeding.  “The professor really likes me and he suggested I try and apply for a summer study with him.”

“That’s great to hear.”  He sounded relieved.  I knew that he had been anxious leading up to today as well.  “So you think you’re starting to adjust a little better now? …Porsche?  I told you, if you need us to come get you, we can.  It’s not a problem.”


“I…I have to go.”  The man beside me looked at me confused.  

“Porsche…” Dad trailed off.  “You need to talk to someone if you’re not feeling well about this.  Your mother would probably like to hear from you?  Maybe Sam, he’s in a closer field of study.  Maybe he could help—“

“Dad it’s not about my studies.”  I groaned.

“Your grandfather has tried calling you and says you ignore his calls.”  He continued.  “Maybe answer him?  He can help you.”

“Dad, I don’t even know what’s wrong.  I’m sure I’ll be fine.”  I shivered and nodded towards the window.  It was quickly shut.  “It’s just a big adjustment, New York City and college.”

“How is the pack?”

“They’re fine.  Oleksiy is very sweet, helpful.  He’s taken Bran’s words to heart.”

“Everyone does.”  Oleksiy was an old wolf, Ukrainian and probably from the Byzantine era.  He never divulged just how old he was.  The only reason I doubted my assessment was because Bran had implied he was younger than I’d assumed.   “No one is bothering you?  You’re eating?”

“I’ve still felt nauseous.”  I admitted.  “I’ve been eating though.”  Truth be told, whatever was cooking in the kitchen was making me feel like throwing up.  

“You’re too young to behave like this.”  I knew he was worried, it didn’t even need to show in his voice.  Wolves needed to eat, a lot.  We metabolize much faster than the average person.  Mix that with the general idea that we’re predators and not eating could mean someone goes missing somewhere.

Self control is especially tough in a city like New York.

“Tell mom and Bran that I’m fine.”  I sat down on the couch and laid my head back.  “I don’t need a visit.  I’m just trying to make myself at home here.”

“It’s already the end of September.”  Dad said cautiously.  “Maybe you need to transfer?”

“I’m really ok.”  I promised.  “I’ll call you if I need something, ok?”

“I love you.”  My dad said his goodbye.

“I love you, too.”  And I hung up.  I stretched up and again laid my head back, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.  The only visitor I had made his way over to me slowly, a little too quietly.

“Ready for dinner?”  It was Bohdan’s voice from behind me.

“Mmmm,”  I yawned.  

“Maybe for bed?”  He chuckled.  I opened my eyes to be met with green ones.  “I won’t stay tonight.  I know you have to wake up early for class.”

“Thanks.”  I closed my eyes again and felt lips press against my forehead.  Bo was second in the East Hudson pack based out of Ukrainian Village.  He was a little older than my father in that Slava was in WWII, I think.  He wasn’t old, then, but he wasn’t young either and he was more than aware that what we were doing was a little too dangerous.

It was probably my fault, I’d not stopped it.

“What’s wrong, Vasilisochka?”  He hadn’t moved from the spot behind the couch.  

“I have a headache.”  I sighed,  “And I still feel very nauseated.”

He made a discontent noise.  I knew my answer had been upsetting him over the past few days.  

“Have you talked to a doctor?”

“Everyone is so quick to say I’m not ok.”  I groaned and looked up to watch him walk into the kitchen and grab plates.  Charles had helped find me a nice apartment, I found out that there had been some arguments about where I was going to live before I came here.  Bran and my father had disputed who would pay for my housing, Bran’s argument being that he could just buy me the whole building and then I can make money for the rest of my life off of it.  My father’s argument had been that, while that was very nice of him, I was still his daughter and I really only needed an apartment. 
Charles had played the double agent, hunting for an apartment for both of them.  He stealthily—I really think this was Anna and my mother’s doing—used both of their money to buy the whole building and the rest to furnish my apartment.  In the end, both had met halfway rather begrudgingly but the deed had already been done.

Bohdan just shrugged at my overly-aggressive response and stirred the pot.  The kitchen itself was a cliche, everything was white and it had a window to the fire escape where I’d placed a few potted flowers.  They were dying, but they were there.

His dirty-blonde hair looked much more red in the sunlight that was disappearing behind him when he turned his head to look at something.  

“Who’s Ben?”  My iPad was charging in the kitchen and the message must have reached it before reaching the phone beside me.

Bran had texted and he’d asked if I had spoken to the blonde-haired man back home.  The man that had actively sought to avoid me the majority of my senior year.  

“He’s a wolf from my father’s pack and a friend.”  I shrugged, trying not to come off in any way as being hurt by Bran’s message.  Bo’s eyes searched mine for a moment and I obediently looked away after a few seconds.  

The problem with werewolves was that you were dealing with two separate sets of instincts. Bohdan’s wolf was much less likely to be jealous, we weren’t mates and it was a complicated situation I was trying not to overthink.  Bohdan himself was more likely to be jealous.

I hadn’t seen how these relationships ended, but I knew they were often difficult and they would more often than not end.  My guess was they end badly.  

“Is there a reason you need to reach him?”  

“What’s for dinner?”  I got up, ignoring Bran’s text and pushing past him in the small kitchen.

I almost threw up, I couldn’t even think about eating.  Maybe I would have to call Sam, much to my distaste.  I hadn’t even responded to texts from his daughter and she would be hurt to know I reached out to her dad.

“Porsche,”  I wanted to tell him to just go away, but he had cooked so I couldn’t complain.  “Porsche Vasilisa Hauptman.”  I froze.  “What is wrong?”

“Can we just eat?”  I whispered.  I tried not to jump at the feeling of his hand on my shoulder.  “And you know you don’t get to try that with me.”

“My apologies, I forget.”  I didn’t like when he tried that.  This pack was a little too eager to pull rank and quick to forget it wouldn’t work unless I let it.  It make me feel sticky when the magic ran over me.

I ignored him and sat at the table.  Besides dad, the only other person from home I had spoken to had been my half-sister, Jesse.  I had already known what I was doing was stupid and I obviously hadn’t changed the situation at all, but I needed to hear it from someone else.  She would keep a secret unless she absolutely couldn’t.

“Do you want chamomile?”  Bo reached for a mug.  I hadn’t even heard the teapot go, my senses were getting dull from restlessness.  “To settle your stomach?”

“Yes, please.”  I sighed, taking a seat at the tiny kitchen table.  I took the mug as it was slid to me and blew on it before taking a sip.  “You put sugar in this?”

“You need to keep up your blood sugar somehow.”  He reminded gently, taking the only other seat across from me.  “The full moon is soon, little Vasya.”

This pack often chose to call me by my middle name, which surprised me at first.  Much of the pack was of Ukrainian descent and my middle name was Russian.  Vasilisa Mikulichna was a bogatyr and a woman.  My understanding was that my mother had wanted to give me something of my father’s heritage since he chose Porsche.  Vasilisa came to the court of Prince Vladimir dressed as a man in order to save her husband.  The other option had been to name me after Princess Nastasya of Lithuania.  My mother’s first problem had been the “of Lithuania” but an afterthought was the fact she was killed by her own husband in some sort of accident.

My mother didn’t want to name me with a fate, she isn’t superstitious to my knowledge but someone seemed to have pushed her into that one.

“You didn’t need ‘little,’”  I mumbled, taking another sip.  He looked up at me from his cup and I knew he was smiling from his dimples.  “It’s already a diminutive, you didn’t need to double that.”

“You are little.”

“And Vasilisa was a warrior.”  I reminded with a raised eyebrow.

“And your father is fourth in the country, your grandfather is the Marrok, you call his sons by uncle.  You were raised to be a warrior.”  It was then I realized he had slipped a plate in front of me as he had sat down.  “But you don’t eat like one.”

“You speak like you are far older than you are.”  I rolled my eyes.  To appease him and everyone else, I picked up my fork and moved things around.  

He just laughed.

[myworkexperience-blog2]

Gabi’s Show at Charles Street

I managed to capture that event by filming Gabriella performing on stage to see and understand how she acts, sings and most importantly what she does in order to have connection between her and the audience. After the performance I interviewed her and asked a few questions:

1. Me - “How was tonight for you? I mean the crowd was on fire, such an outstanding performance, well done!”

Gabi - “Ohh, thank you, it was amazing and the audience gave me a lot of energy.”

2. Me - “So is it hard to communicate with the audience at that moment when you are on stage, how do you usually behave?”

Gabi - “Personally it’s hard for me cause I have a big fear of the stage, especially when there’s a lot of people. Every time when I get on stage it’s like a competition for me where I compete with myself and my fear. That’s why I often order my favorite drink just to relax and get into this position when this fear just dessolves in one glass of rum and coke, haha.”

Me - “Haha, alright, but it doesn’t work for anybody right?”

Gabi - “Oh no, of course not.”

3. Me - “Alright, so what do you like the most about this job and how did you get on this music business?”

Gabi - “Nearly 5 years ago when one of the guys saw me and quite liked how I was singing with a lot of attitude, well that’s what he said, haha. Since then, I started to sing in different pubs of Brighton and later on people from this music industry started to invite me performing in London as well as in many different events. What do I like about this job? Hmm, let me think….well I don’t even need to think about it, haha, I can tell straight away I love seeing people enjoying themselves and I mean that’s what music is all about, joy and happiness, right?

4. Me - “You’re absolutely right Gabi. So you said that you performed in many different events, like what?”

Gabi - “Like weddings and birthday parties. Not that long ago I was invited in Hove for a wedding party to perform in there.”

Me - “And how did it go? Was it good?”

Gabi - “Not really. I mean it was okay but I would stay away from these kind of events, haha.”

Me - “Haha, why? Was it that bad?”

Gabi - “No it’s just that feeling that you can’t be that relaxed as if you would be in a pub, cause performing in front of big families and children - it’s a big responsibility to not screw up and make sure that everything goes fine.”

Me - “Okay, so I guess it’s just that pressure which is hard to deal with.”

Gabi - “Yeah.”

5. Me - “So, tell me about your favorite artists/musicians maybe and how do they inspire you?”

Gabi - “As you can tell I got inspiration from Adele. I sing a lot of her covers I mean she’s my queen. She’s the one with the powerful voice, I can listen to her for hours and hours and I won’t be bored.”

Me - “What is your favourite cover of her? Mine is Rolling In The Deep.”

Gabi - “Mine is Someone Like You although I love singing Hello and Rolling In The Deep as well. It just gets very high in the chorus part so it’s a bit tough to sing but if you practice you can beat it.”

6. Me - “Do you have your own songs cause I would like to hear them as well!”

Gabi - “No, I don’t. To be honest, I think I don’t have this talent of composing something like you have.”

Me - “Aww thank you, but have you ever tried?”

Gabi - “Yes I have, and it didn’t go well. I think people that are good with composition should at least play one instrument and I don’t play anything, I just sing. So you should be thankful for your skills girl, haha.”

Me “Haha, yes I am. Maybe next time I can get you involved in my song or at least sing something together.”

Gabi - “Sure, it would be nice.”

7. Me - “We’re pretty finished. My last question would be about the equipment that you use. Do you have your own mic with the mixing desk or a soundcard that you bring every time you have a gig or you just use the one they have in there?”

Gabi - “It depends on your preference. I know people that bring all their equipment with them but it takes time to set it up. I just have my speakers and the playlist on my iPad with my songs ready to go and perform. Everything else I get there, like mic, mixing desk and so on.

Me - “And who does the soundcheck for you?”

Gabi - “There’s always Patti standing behind the mixing desk, he’s my personal manager and the owner of a few pubs in Brighton. He helps me getting the best sound. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”