#i am broke and i doubt i can find a hugh paying job soon after graduation…

[helios1]

it's now important than ever that i move after graduation but where the hell can i go…

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 5/7 Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel Summary:

Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev make a good team. But when a bank job goes horribly wrong, the injured pair are forced to lay low and hope the Carte Blanche can make it back to them in time.

(Note: Bold Italic script indicates Nureyev speaking Brahmese) 

Chapter 5

“God Damnit Thief!  Pick up your damned coms when the bloody doctor calls!"

"Again, apologies Vespa, I-" he coughed weakly into his hand, tripoding over his knees.

"Do you know how many times I had to call you?  Do you?"  

Nureyev sighed "Afraid not-"

"Seven !  Seven goddamn times!  Thought you were dead !  Or Steel!  Or captured or whatever!  We're in enough crap as it is without you two adding to the pile!"

“Vespa, I-”

“If you say you’re sorry one more time, Thief; I swear to god I’ll snap your scrawny neck!"

"I'm-" he caught himself mid apology, "Understood-"

"I haven't heard Steel's voice, where is he?"

"Juno's- sleeping." Which is what he himself had been doing up to the moment Vespa rang. Stupid- a rookie mistake-

"Oh?  And how sure are you of that thief?"

Nureyev wiped the sweat off of his face, "I'm sure-" it had been the first thing he checked when the beeping of the comms woke him.  Even from here he could see the frantic rise and fall of Juno's chest.  The lady wasn't doing well.  

"Completely."  He coughed harder into an elbow.

Vespa sniff on the other end of the line.  Plainly suspicious, but that was nothing new.

"Fine, now you're on, we can get back to business…."  There was a clatter outside, his head snapped towards it ".... temperature down, or it can cause…." and another- "gotta make sure he's in the recovery…" and another and confound it all Nureyev, focus!  He shook himself back to the conversation just in time for Vespa to say "Did you get that Thief?"

"Hmm?  I ugh-" he floundered.  No, no he had not gotten it, and was just about to say so when he heard voices-

Lord, not now, please not now-

"Thief?"

Nureyev limped to a window.  Even in the dim light of the street lamps, he could make out the security uniforms of Galactic Stars First Bank.  

No-

Anxiety spiked his chest, making him queasy- or perhaps he already was-

Juno was in danger.  That much, he was certain of.  To say nothing about himself.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping lady.  Even with his features pinched and weary, he was beautiful-  

And vulnerable-

Plans began to formulate in his mind.  His first impulse was to find some crevice to hide in, to disappear.  But even with Juno’s help, he only just managed to get him to the sofa last time-  If they were found- well, he didn’t want to find out what they’d do to him.  

“Thief?!”

He could lure the guards inside, dispatch them quickly and save his leg the trouble-  But no, that would be too messy.  To say nothing of Juno’s sensibilities, inviting guards into their hiding spot introduced more blind variables than he’d care to gamble with.

Which left luring them away- Sharp teeth worried away at his bottom lip.  The injury would make things- challenging.  But he didn’t have to be fast.  After all, it was a fool who thought the best getaway vehicle was the fastest-  

What he needed now was a strategy; and to know how many employees he’d have to contend with.  

“God Damnit Ransom, the hell-”

“Apologies Vespa, I need Rita.”

“What?!”

“Ha-How many guards, am I dealing with- Rita?” Nureyev grimaced, pressing his back tight to the apartment's tinker toy brickwork.  Rita’s voice was going fuzzy around the edges, as though muffled.

It had been harder than anticipated to pick his way past the patrolling guards, yet alone work his way out of the safe house.

“Two, maybe four in your sector Mista Ransom.”

“Which is it? ”

“Hugh?”

“Which is it?  The- er- two, or the four?” there was a throb of pain that made his breath hitch.  Along with that ever present burning, biting its way deep.  

“Not sure but- are- are you alright Mista Ransom?”

“I- am a tad worse for wear.  Which is why I’d like to resolve this matter quickly.”

“Ohhh, ohh right!  Well Rita can help with that!”

“Thank you Rita.  Now- which way to the two or four individuals?”

He allowed Rita to guide him through the quiet streets.  She informed him that a dome wide lockdown had been initiated while the intruders were at large.  Sure enough, when he tried a few doors in passing, they refused to yield under his touch.  The citizens took the lockdown seriously.  

Nureyev made sure to make plenty of noise. He needed a show if he wanted this plan to work.  What worried him was that he was only half acting as he stumbled his way over the cobbles on a stiff leg.  He allowed himself to knock into bins and topple items into cars.  The noise he raised wasn’t loud, per say, but it was conspicuous on the quiet streets.  

“Where are these guards Rita?”

“They’ll be coming up any minute Mista Ransom, you just keep your eyes Peeled!  Make a right up here-” she directed “Peeled, hugh, ever consider what a weird thing it is to say.  That you should keep your eyes peeled?   I mean you do that and your eyes ain't gonna be good no more, least of all you.  Oh!  But there was this one stream where the monster worked its way out of a beautiful man!  Which was such a waist but what do I know about streams?  And its eyes were doing this crazy-”

“Any- minute?” he was starting to have doubts about using his own injured self as bait. He filed that deep in his mind.

“What?  Oh!  Yeah!  You got some baddies commin’ up right behind you.”

“Behind- Are you sure?” he panted.  

“Yeah of course I’m sure Mista Ransom!”

A quick turn confirmed Rita’s intel.  He was indeed being followed.  

They shouted something at his back, and Nureyev picked up his pace to a skip-hop, while his pursuers broke into a run.   A plasma bolt shot past his ear, sending a jolt of adrenaline through.  In answer he flipped over several barrels.  They cascaded into the small space, messing the ally nicely.  That should slow them down some.  It had to.

There was no time to pay attention to the ache of his lungs or the fire coursing through his leg.  Even as each step pushed him that much closer to being physically ill.  

File it away, Damn you- just file it away-

He screwed his eyes shut and pushed forward.  Forcing himself to keep moving, to keep breathing, to keep-

He plowed headlong into an old chain link fence with enough force to knock him to the ground with a strangled cry.  The traitorous links rattled and clinked all the way up to their restraints.  As if to add insult to injury, they stretched maybe ten, fifteen feet in the air.  There wasn’t a hope of making it over before his acquaintances caught up.  

“Mista Ransom?!” Rita sounded scared, she’d even stopped typing.  “What happened?”

“There’s-” he coughed “There’s a- barrier- ” There was another word, a better word, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of it.  It was taking all his effort to push upright on shaking arms, threading his fingers into the wire mesh to haul himself to his feet.  

“A barrier?  Like a wall or a buildin’ or somethin?  None of that is showing up on my schema-”

“A fence- Is there another way round?”  He took a moment to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry but, there isn’t anythin’ on the map.  Ya gotta get to the other side before ya have options.  Can’t you like, break through or somethin?”

Break through, of course, Nureyev could kick himself; it was so simple.  He extracted one of his plasma cutters from a pocket, heat humming through the blade.  In the end, it wasn’t even a good fence.  The blade made quick work of the links, slicing through them as one might margarine.  

Another blaster shot forced him through the cherry red ruin of a hole before it had a chance to cool.  He brought his arm up, shielding his face even as the sharp edges racked along his coat, hitting his leg- he hissed, nausea threatening to overtake him.  

“Mista Ransom?”

He scrambled to the other side, barely keeping upright.  

“Mista Ransom!  You’ve got more company comin’ straight at you!”

“What-” his voice cracked in exhaustion.  Through the gloom, he could just make out the second pair barreling down the narrow passage.  He could hear them barking orders at him now, probably instructing him to surrender or other such nonsense that he had no intention of following.  

“They’ve brought reinforcements!  They’re gonna’ block your escape roots!”

“Reinforcements?”

“There’s at least four more heading straight at you!”

Nureyev glanced back and spotted the first pair shoving through the debris.  Then that would make six-  Six on one, he didn’t like those odds.  A wrong step sent a jolt through him, his weakened leg nearly buckling under his weight sending him into a wall.  Again the world went fuzzy, blood rushing to his ears.

He wondered if the Carte Blanche really would come back for him if he’d got captured.  Something made him doubt it even as he shoved the ugly thought deep into a file.  

Think Nureyev.

Time, he needed time.  A had drifted to the modest arsenal on his chest.  There were a few smoke bombs he hadn’t touched, but the situation called for something more dire-

He plucked a pepper grenade from the clip, lobbing it over the fence with the practiced ease of one who’d spent hours on throwing knives.  Smoke tracked it’s flight through the air.  It struck the ground at the guard’s feet.  They yelled, scrambling back just as it erupted.  The choking fumes swallowed them in seconds.  

Nureyev was no longer paying mind to them, attention bent entirely at the remaining guards.  Four on one were more....manageable.  

He rushed the closest set, drawing a twin to his first blade wheeling them in tandem.  The man was no fighter, as soon as he got into their space, the man shrank back, his blaster forgotten.  

A tingling burn flushed across exposed skin making his heart plummet.  He’d made a mistake.  Nureyev hadn't accounted for the wind-

Spurred by the change in fortune, Nureyev dispatched the man quickly; maneuvering out of the way as he crumpled.  Life’s blood spilled over the cobbles soon obscured by smoke.

Smoke?  

Twisting and contorting, the smoke seemed to grow till it engulfed everything in its path.  Pouring down the cramped space.  The remaining guards tried to run, but were soon overtaken, same as the Thief.

Nureyev's throat closed against the onslaught.  He gagged and coughed over the very air, vision hopelessly obscured by tears.  The only good news was that he could hear his attackers do the same.  Panic began to fog his reason.  

He no longer noticed the burning of his skin or eyes, or the way his nose was running; no longer could feel the pain in his leg.  He couldn’t breathe, he couldn't breathe .  The single thought spun round and round in his brain, desperately trying to figure a way around it.  He clung to the wall with every ounce of strength he possessed.  The coughing picked up even harder now till his chest crushed in like a deflated balloon.

Try as he will, his lungs would not expand.  There was simply no more air.

“Mista Ransom?” Rita, in the coms!  Rita who was still very much with him.  There was hope!  

Just then a hand clenched around a fistful of his hair, dragging Nureyev lower still.  He’d been found, even in a place like this, they’d still found him.  The employees of Galactic Stars First Bank were more like his creditors than Nureyev liked.  Even now she was growling at him in anger.  

Though he couldn’t understand the language, he knew she was asking questions.  Her breaths were short and forced yet still she managed to talk.  Had he not been in the grips of fear, he would have found her admirable.  

“Mista Ransom?!”

Through his bleary eyes, he could make out the cyan glow of a blaster pointed down under his nose.  She meant to shoot him, but was hesitating.  At any other time, he'd wonder why-  Instead he reached up to claw, to cling at her wrist, still with a grip on his knives.  She twisted and he bowed lower, leg quaking, his hand slipped and-

“Ah!” she squealed as his plasma blade bit into her arm, flinging  him back to a wall.  The impact miraculously forced air back into his lungs.  Though as soon as he got it, his body started to cough it back up.  Furiously he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold it in.

It didn't work.

“Mista Ransom!” If Rita had sounded scared before, that was nothing compared to now.  Her voice was small and tentative in a way that would break any heart.  Even so, he latched onto her voice with everything he was worth.  

The light of the guard's weapon danced before him.  She may have been hurt, but she wasn’t down yet.  What’s worse was that she seemed to be calling for backup.  

The blade sang out of his fingers, digging itself into her thigh. This time she screamed and hacked, scrambling for the off switch while Nureyev made his escape.  It hadn't been where he'd been aiming, but close enough.  With any luck, she'd have trouble moving for a time.  

“R-ita-” he choked out, managing tiny gasps, every one a massive effort.

“What’s going on!  Have you been Gassed!!!!!” thank stars he would not have to explain.

“Y-yes-” he gave into a violent coughing fit.

“Oh-Okay, you need me to show you the way out!”

“Yes-” the fight had turned him around, making it impossible to tell which way to go.  He wanted to be free of the smoke as soon as possible.

“Can Do!  Oh!  This is just like one of those Spy streams like- well, never mind that right now.  Alright Mista Ransom, I’m gonna need you to move forwards about a hundred meters.” She instructed conspiratorially.  He obliged, thankful to leave the thinking to her.  Using the wall to keep him straight.  “Be careful when you reach the fork!” she cautioned “The passage on your left has a few baddies, the one on your right is clear!”  

On his right- he could just make out two voids stretching before him.  Stealing his resolve he propelled himself right and mercifully broke through the miasma.  He crashed into a dumpster, nearly running smack into the center of another set of guards.  

It had been the wrong way.  

There would be no time to recover, no time for rest.  Furiously he wiped his eyes and gulped down recycled air.  

Rita shrieked in his ear, “Not your right, my right!” but he had no choice but to tune her out.  

The fresh opponent rushed him, their partner charging their blaster.  Nureyev stumbled back towards the smoke, just managing to use his attacker’s momentum to spin them round into their partner.  Their partner roared, firing shots off at random as they fell.  Blaster spun out of their grip on impact.  A stray bolt savaged one of Nureyev’s coat pockets, scattering it’s contents on the stones.  Hopefully there wouldn’t have been anything important in there.  

Nureyev readjusted his knife grip and threw at the tangle of limbs.  One of the figures stilled.  He hobbled towards them as fast as he could, retrieving the blade.  He’d already lost one and that was one too many.  

It was a mistake.

Pain shot through his leg making him cry out.  He fell hard separated anew from his weapon.  He’d been struck down by the spare guard.  They spat words that were sure to be insults as they disentangled themselves from the motionless body.

Nureyev gasped, twisting away towards the fallen blaster.  It had landed some distance away, but one advantage of long limbs was reach-  The guard growled and caught his foot, drawing him backwards.  He kicked out and the hands clawed higher.  It seemed they both were trying for the same weapon.

"Let go- " Nureyev bit out attempting to dislodge the guard.

"Never, scum- " they shot back in perfect Brahmese.  Before that could sink in, fingers jammed into his bandages, into the wound-  Nureyev keened, paralyzed by the shock of it.  

First rule of thriving Pete, you can't afford to be loud.

Rita shrieked all the louder.  Nureyev was at once hot and cold and utterly overwhelmed..  He knew he was hurt, thank you, he knew it!  He could do without the constant reminders.  

The guard made use of their opportunity by clambering over Nureyev.  Hand planted on his spine, pushing him down.  The thief refused to let it be that easy; scanning for something, anything he could use-

There!

His pocket knife!  

Nureyev’s arm shot out, scooping up the tool and flicking it open.  He twisted, simultaneously throwing them off and swiping upwards.  The blade bit into cloth and flesh.  They reared back startled, leaving Nureyev to wriggle free.  On hands and knees he scrambled to the blaster.  

Nureyev may not have the skills of a certain lovely sharp shooter, but at a distance like this, he couldn't miss.  

The stunner went straight to their chest and all went quiet.  He folded over, resting his forehead on the damp of the grimy street, forcing down bile once more.

"Mista Ransom!!!  Oh Mista Ransom!  Are you there?  Please say you're there, cuz I'm not sure how I could face the boss if I…."

"Rita-"

"....got you blown up or somethin, cuz know I'd miss you oh so much but Boss- oh I couldn't imagine-"

"I'm- ha- I'm fine- Rita-" he tried again, louder this time.  His voice was thick and rough, entirely unlike the persona he’d been so careful to maintain around the crew.

There was a loud clatter from the other end and a sharp intake of breath.  It sounded as though Rita knocked something over "Mista Ransom!  You ought to feel ashamed!  Scaring a girl like that!  Don’t you know that-" she cut off abruptly “Ugh oh, Mista Ransom!  You gotta get out of there, stat!  There are reinforcements on the way and I don't think they are too happy!”

Nureyev groaned and thanked Rita.  He supposed it was a lucky thing that he was so averse to capture.  It had been a long time since cold stone had been so welcoming.  

“What are you waiting’ for Mista Ransom?”

“N-nothing- Rita.  Merely -becoming acquainted with the cobble work.” he murmured.  In truth, he was drained to his core.  His head was spinning, body aching, leg burning and he was just so- thirsty.  There was at least something he could do about the last one, but not for a while, and not without getting up.  The entire distraction had taken far more out of him than anticipated.  

“Mista Ransom, you know I don’t speak nothin but Solar-” she started, but he wasn’t listening.  

Distraction.  His mind snagged on the word.

That was right, he was luring Galactic Star’s First Bank away from Juno.  Juno, gorgeous, wonderful Juno who’d taken a poison dart for him, who needed him right now.  

Nureyev had to get back to him, no matter what.  

In the end, Nureyev had trusted Rita to guide him back to the safe house.  She’d insisted after he nearly ran into another set of guards.  He was too tired to fight.  More than once considering folding himself up into a corner and waiting for the excitement to die down.  Moving in the open like this- didn't sit well with him.  

It took a lot longer to return to the grubby street of the safe house, and longer still to check and recheck he hadn’t been followed or bugged.  

“Thank you again- Rita-”  Privately he vowed to do something nice for her if and when they’d return to the ship.

“Oh and Mista Ransom?”

“Hm?”

“Take care of yourself, alright?  Ya make Mista Steel real happy- and- and I want ya both back in one piece okay?”

Nureyev was taken aback for a moment, mind blanking over the words.  It was- touching, and he had no idea what to do with that.  

He cleared his throat.  “I will do everything in my power to make that happen.” and he meant it.  

[Special thanks to Scarlet_Trust who got me excited about this again.  Please, Please go over and read their wonderful works!]

[jessicaptain]

I started racing because I wanted a challenge. I thought I could take my endurance rides to the field and compete. I was humbled faster than I thought I could race. The longer I race my bike, the more I realize how it transfers to Life.

1. If you give up, someone else wins.

As soon as you back off, your competition will blow past you. There have been numerous occasions where I was neck-and-neck with another athlete, only to give in to the painful burning in my legs. As soon as I sought relief, two wheels spun by. And my legs would still hurt as they disappeared in the distance. Most races this past season, I listened to my legs instead of my heart. Or hell, maybe it was the fact that my heart wasn’t in it.

More than once, I lined up at the start, already given up, as I looked at my competition. Unceasing self-doubt plagued my thoughts before the whistle blew.

Outside of cycling, I’ve given up on projects and people alike, convincing myself it wasn’t going to work, only to be proven wrong by someone else.

2. There will always be someone better than you.

No matter how much you train or study, someone will outdo you. And that’s okay. You don’t grow if you’re not challenged. Knowing this doesn’t mean you stop trying because one day you will beat that person.

Then you will find someone better than you again. And again.

I remember passing cyclists during organized rides before I started racing. I thought I was super fast. Surely, I could race with the speed I was going I thought. Then I started racing and more often than not, someone was always passing me. I train plenty and there will always be a faster woman than me.

3. It’s okay to ask for help.

When I was younger, I thought it showed a sign of weakness if I asked for help, so I never did. I learned a lot alone, but it was probably more efficient to ask someone who knew what they were doing.

When I started racing, again, I was figuring it all out alone. I couldn’t find resources nor did I know what to even research. Racing was entirely new to me. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.

I created my own training plan my first year and luckily, it was enough to beat my competition. My first season as a Cat 3 was tough. I knew it would be. I thought I could replicate my training from the season prior, but it was a mistake. Undertrained and frustrated, I only landed on the podium twice out of the whole season.

I finally asked a friend to look over my plan. I knew if I didn’t change something, I’d get the same results. He ripped my plan to shreds, but that’s what I paid him for. I don’t have enough money for a coach, but I could pay for a consultation.

As amateur as I felt asking for help, I realized I didn’t know as much as I thought, and it was worth getting a different pair of eyes on it.

I’ve asked for help in other areas of my life as well. I’ve asked for career advice, life advice, and love advice. Most people are grateful to be asked and will typically help if they can.

4. We all pretend to have it figured out.

When I line up for a race, I try to look like I know what I’m doing. I joke around out of anxiety. Truth be told, I have no plan. I assume the rest of the women do, especially if there are team members. I joke more.

I remember Guanella Pass Hill Climb. A sizable group shot off from the front. I assumed they’d be racing like that the whole time up the mountain and there was no way I could keep up. I pulled off from the group. Once at the top, at a measly 7th or so place, one of my competitors told me her team’s plan: “we wanted to hold a high pace for the first five minutes to drop as many women as we could. We didn’t know if it’d work or not.”

It worked.

Other times, I’ll chat with winners and they’ll admit they weren’t expecting a win.

We like to look like we know what we’re doing. Social media is the worst (or best?) for this: people post their best sides; their “I-know-what-I’m-doing” pose. Rare is it to see vulnerable posts that reveal how lost we all are. We don’t want people to know that we’re 30 years old and haven’t a clue where to go. Oh, is that just me?

I think we fear being vulnerable because of all the stereotypes that come with that title. Vulnerable in society means weak, easily manipulated, less-than. No one wants to be perceived as that. We want to feel like we belong. And that means pretending we know what we’re doing.

5. Pain is temporary.

Whether it be physical or mental, pain isn’t forever. I know there have been numerous occasions where my legs and lungs were burning. I assumed it’d go on like this the whole race, longer than the race, so I gave up. I pulled back for relief. I couldn’t hack it.

I forgot that the pain was temporary. It wasn’t going to last forever. It’d eventually subside. When I get tattoos, I breathe through it. That sharp mini stab against my skin. I remember to relax my body and remind myself it’s temporary. I forget the pain at my next tattoo session.

When I had my first serious break-up, I didn’t think life could get much worse. I cried and swore off men at the ripe age of 16. I remember the sting in my chest whenever I had to drive by his parents’ house, flipping the bird as I zoomed past. I never thought I’d love again.

I loved and broke again and again and again. Each time growing harder, swearing off dating, convincing myself I only needed me; that I’d never break my own heart. Then another beard would walk into my life and the process began again.

When I lost a job because of the owner’s pride, I thought that was the end of my career. I fully believed that status was everything. If I didn’t have a job, I was nothing. After a few sorrowful days, I felt light. I was no longer burdened by a manager’s ego who crushed my will to live. I was no longer in an emotionally abusive and toxic environment. When I thought I couldn’t survive, I flourished. The pain eventually subsided.

When we’re in a moment (or several) of pain, we tell ourselves we’re not going to get through it. We forget all the times we told ourselves that and survived.

6. Attitude & perseverance is everything.

Bad attitudes give bad results. If you believe you’ll fail, you will. If you think a situation will suck, it will. If you tell yourself that so-and-so isn’t a good person, they’ll prove you right because that’s what you’ll look for.

Throughout the race season, I have to remind myself to have fun. I tend to take it too seriously (okay, I take most things too seriously). When I take racing too seriously, I place too much of my self-worth on results. When I tie my self-worth to mid-pack finishes, I get depressed and start thinking less of myself. I don’t want to race at that point and then I start questioning why I race. It’s a shitty spiral.

In the same vein, perseverance will get you to the end. If you cannot persevere, you won’t go far in racing or in life. You need to be able to handle all the bullshit that’s thrown your way. You have to be able to handle it again and again and again. Like Hugh Glass in the Revenant. He kept getting his ass handed to him, and yet, he continued. After getting mauled by a bear, left for dead, shot at, starved, and falling off cliffs, Hugh persevered.

Unless I am physically unable to finish a race, I will always cross the finish line. Death before DNF.

7. Suffering is all part of the game.

You need to learn to suffer because suffering is a part of life. When you can accept that, it’s easier to endure.

You will learn to endure mental anguish and physical pain throughout your life. Whether that is losing a job, losing a loved one, suffering a bodily injury, or racing your bike. Hell, it will even be those tiny, nagging pains – the ones you wake up with in the morning, sore shoulders from hunching over your computer, or low back pain from holding up your gut.

You suffer insanely on the bike. You can’t have a weak mind if you want to race. Your mind will want to give up before your legs if it isn’t trained. Too many times I wanted to give up before the finish line.

I remember my first 40K Time Trial Race. It sucked. As I took off from the starting line I watched the woman in front of me disappear. It was clear I wasn’t gaining on her, which meant my time was slower than hers. I was a solid five miles in before anyone passed me, but when they did, boy was I passed. Mentally, I was over it. I already convinced myself that I came in last. At that point, I just wanted to finish.

My body was wiped too.

My legs felt like they were filled with lead. No matter how hard I pushed on the pedals, nothing came out. It felt like I was maxing out my FTP, but really, I was pushing out half those watts. I crossed the finish line, totally defeated. When I saw my first last place, I cried.

I sulked the whole way back home. Then I became determined to never finish last place again. And when I did finish last another time, I didn’t cry, I didn’t sulk. I’m learning to suffer and accept results as they come.

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