#i recently stumbled upon a serious character named Listening and it sent me

[orcboxer]

what's the worst name you've ever seen given to a fictional character?

[xoxo-teddybear]

Cheater? - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: fake cheating, cursing, angst, fluff, crack

Summary: PRANK WARS!! After coming to the conclusion that his own girlfriend pulls better pranks than him and has been one up-ing a lot recently, Katsuki decided to break their unspoken rule and pull a cheating prank

A/N: I recommend reading this fic as a continuation of this fic. It’s about Y/N’s revenge.

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

“I don’t know who the fuck is listening right now, but I, Katsuki fucking Bakugou, am begging whatever heavenly body, god, spiritual being, whatever the fuck it could be, to ensure that my girlfriend does not leave my dumbass for pulling this prank. Thank you, bless.”

Bakugou kept his eyes shut with his palms pressed together in a praying motion for the longest time while he spoke to something to protect his relationship. When he was done, he took a breather and got up from the shared bed. He took out the camera and set it up behind Y/N’s makeup stuff to hide it and began to put his prank into action.

A few hours ago he had Kirishima pretend to be a girl and had his best friend flirt with him through text. This went on for some time to make sure that if you were to scroll through his conversation, you’d find a lot of messages. At the end of the texts, Bakugou had Kirishima find a random pic online of some random girl’s ass and had the red head sent it. Bakugou answered it with a very flirtatious text, which had Kirishima send a very cutesy, appreciated reply in a very girly matter, which ended the conversation. Bakugou changed his friend’s name to some random name, Kiyoko, and finished the job. Yes, the two friends were very uncomfortable doing this whole thing.

With the camera now recording, all Bakugou needed to begin his prank was his prized possession. You.

—

Bakugou and you were cuddling on the king sized bed. You both were just talking about whatever while Katsuki remained on his phone. You didn’t see it yet, but Katsuki was “texting” his friend. In reality, he was just waiting for you to look up at his screen to notice the scandalous texts he and this “Kiyoko” were having.

“Baby?” You asked while looking at your pretty acrylics.

“Yes baby?” Bakugou said while still looking at his phone. He had his arm wrapped around you while you layed on him with your cheek on his chest.

“Ion know...I love you baby,” you said in the cutest voice. Bakugou could only make a face of extreme awe to appreciate his precious girlfriend.

“I love you too Teddy Bear,” he said. You lifted your head to smile at him but you took notice of how he was still staring at his phone.

You pouted before smirking and climbing up to come face to face with him. You got in between him and his phone and grabbed his face with both hands. He smiled at you before you leaned down to peck his lips multiple times. Once you were done you tucked your head under his chin and looked to the side, just enjoying the moment. He kissed the crown of your head before going back to “texting.”

At the sound of him pressing random things on the keyboard, your pout returned. “Baby~ Pay attention to me!!” You whined.

You removed your head out from under his chin and layed your head next to his. You looked at his phone and saw a ‘thank you’ with a kissy face emoji from a “Kiyoko” before Katsuki switched the screen to some random game. “Who’s Kiyoko?”

“Hm?” Katsuki asked, pretending to be oblivious.

“Who’s Kiyoko? You were just on a text chat with her, why is she sending you a kissy face?” You asked with a little more attitude. You tried to take the phone out of his hand but he pulled it away.

“She’s just a friend, babe.” Bakugou said.

“Okay, well if she’s just a friend then why can’t I see?” You questioned.

“Because there’s nothing to see.”

“She sent you a kissy face. That’s something I’d like to see.” You said while easily taking his phone out of his hand.

“Babe, no.” He said and took the phone back. “Shes just a friend.” You took the phone back and he tried to grab it again before you held the phone away at a distance to make sure he couldn’t grab it. “Babe. Noo, stooppp.”

“If she’s just a friend then why’re you trying to hide it?” You asked with the phone still far away and him attempting to reach for it.

“Cuz we’re about to go out and-“

“What the fuck?!” You said as you looked to the texts. You froze in your position as you brought the phone closed and scrolled through the texts, stumbling upon the picture. Bakugou tried to take the phone away from you but failed (on purpose.)

“She just wanted an opinion,” he tried explaining.

“An opinion?!” You asked while sitting up and pushing him off of you. “She sent you a booty pic with you complimenting her and shit. And you’re over here calling her babe!”

“It’s not like that-“

“Then what the fuck is it like Katsuki?!” You asked. You went back to the text and reread some of the messages out loud. “‘Bet you enjoyed it when I wrecked you last night, Relax Princess Y/N’s never gonna find out, I love you Kiyoko-‘ Are you fucking serious?!” You said with a cracked voice as you looked at him.

He put on a small smile for the act but on the inside it hurt him to see you like this, but the prank would prevail. “Baby, calm down.”

“I’m not gonna calm down Katsuki, you’re cheating on me!” You continued to go on and on about how pissed you were and Katsuki was struggling to hold back his laughs. He eventually got up to run to the downstairs bathroom so he could let out his chuckles. “Where the fuck are you going?! We’re not done with this conversation!”

Bakugou said nothing as he ran to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He bursted out in laughter as he crouched over due to all the excitement. He looked in the mirror and ruffled his hair a bit as he remembered the way you looked. The sad you would’ve made his heart ached but the angry you just made him laugh and kind of turned him on in a way.

After getting all his giggles out, he calmed down and got back into character. He opened the door to the bathroom only to see you walking down the stairs with your jacket and shoes on, carrying a small bag. “Baby?”

At the sound of his voice you only looked his way with a mean glare as you continued your walk to the front door. Bakugou ran to you as fast as he could as worry spilled through his body. “Baby, stop. Where are you going?”

“Get the fuck away from me. I’m done, we’re done. I’m going.” You said with a cold voice. Bakugou ran in front of you and held onto your arms as he pushed you back further into the house but you fought against his hold.

“Y/N, stop. It was just a prank.” Bakugou whined.

“Like I fucking believe that.” You said while trying to pry his hands off of you. Bakugou whimpered as he grew worried and felt himself getting choked up. He could feel the tears approaching but held them back. He could still save himself.

“Baby please. Come back upstairs, I’ll show you the camera!” He begged but you finally got his hands off of you as you ran to the door. You ran out the door and Bakugou grew frantic as he ran to the room to get the camera. When he came back down and ran out to the front to show you, you had already backed out of the driveway and were driving down the street. “Y/N!”

Bakugou ran back upstairs and into the bedroom to find his phone on the bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He was quick to find your number and call you but you declined it. He called again a few more times and like before, you declined them. He called you so much that eventually, you stopped declining them and just began to straight up ignore them. This led to Bakugou leaving voicemails.

“Baby? Please pick up it was just a prank.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I swear it was a prank! Please come back home!”

“Please come back Y/N! It was just a joke, none of it was real! Please answer me.”

“Baby, please come back. I love you.”

When he realized you weren’t going to answer, he opened up the messages with Kirishima and changed his name back before calling him.

“Hello?”

“Kirishima!” Bakugou said and his friend could practically hear the tears. “Prank went wrong! Went so wrong! Y/N fucking left! She didn’t even give me a chance to explain!”

Bakugou began hyperventilating as he tugged at his hair and looked around. He didn��t even focus on what Kirishima was saying as he looked around the once shared bedroom. He went through the closet and saw some of your clothes and shoes missing. Some of your makeup was off the vanity and when Bakugou looked to the nightstand to see the smashed picture frame that held the image of you both on your third year anniversary, he began sobbing.

“Please! Just fucking call her to explain! That’s all!”

“Alright, I’ll do it. Don’t worry, okay?” His friend replied to which Bakugou only hung up. He had every right to worry. His dumbass was about to lose you. Bakugou sat back down on the bed as he cried into his hands some more. He looked at himself in the large mirror hanging on the wall before scrunching his face and screaming.

“FUCK!” He shouted and threw something at the wall. He didn’t know what he grabbed, he just knew it broke. Bakugou flopped onto the large bed and cried some more as he waited for something, anything, to happen. But that night, nothing did.

—

3 days had passed and for 3 days Bakugou had constantly been calling you, your friends, your family, anybody he could do that he could reach you. He had constantly been crying and regretting pulling that stupid, stupid prank. It wasn’t worth losing you.

For the past few days, Kirishima had been checking up on Katsuki. He had been coming over a few times a day by using the hidden house key you both left under a rock on at the house entrance. On the third day, Bakugou told him to stop coming by and that he wanted to be by himself.

—

Bakugou had been hallowing in sadness on the bed until he heard the door open. He sighed again and walked to this bedroom door. On his way there he took notice of his appearance in the mirror and even though he was in the dark, he still saw his red, puffy eyes and tired face. He finally opened the door and walked to the living room so he could ward off his pesky friend.

“Shitty Hair, I told you that I didn’t wa-“ his eyes popped open at the sight he saw in the living room. He froze on the spot but felt immediate relief. “Y/N!”

“...Hi Katsuki,” you said in a soft voice. Bakugou smiled and instantly ran to you to pull you in for a tight hug. He squeezed you tight and grew joyous when he felt you softly hug him back.

“I missed you so much! I’m so fucking sorry, it was just a prank I swe-“

“Katsuki! I know, okay? Kirishima told Mina and she told me everything.” You explained and pushed him off slightly so you could face him. He nodded in understanding and you took note of his red eyes and nose. You sighed before speaking. “This is why we don’t pull pranks like this Katsuki!”

He sadly chuckled at you reprimanding him but nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah...I’m so sorry, Baby.”

“You should be! I almost actually left you!” You said with a little pout. Bakugou sadly laughed with relieved tears in his eyes as he held you.

“I know. I swear I won’t do anything like this again.” He promised.

“You better not.” You said, squished against his chest. You leaned up and kissed his cheek before you dragged him to the couch. You and Bakugou spent the rest of the day making up and cuddling. Everything felt so right again and Bakugou definitely learned his lesson.

A/N: not spell checked, sorry! Ummm…THIS KINDA SUCKED😭🤣

Tag list : @sxcker4you @aomi04 @tessabrown101 @ebiharachan @is-this-ash @iris-shihabi @sxturn-stars @isolight

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Children

My brain is mush again, thanks

Anyway The Wayhaven Chronicles is my current obsession, still, and writing Adam is absolutely one of the most difficult things I’ve done. Sorry if what I post comes out a little OOC, I just really wanted to see Adam and Rory’s children interacting. It ended up being mostly just one of them, but I really hope you all enjoy. 

I love getting to write for people.

Very mild spoilers for Book Two. This is mostly time ambiguous, happening sometime after the events of book one, in the future. Also points to pronoun-fluid characters. You’ll see what I mean.

*blows kisses to the sky* Thank you Seraphine for writing this masterful CoG and giving me inspiration. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It wasn’t like the detective to not pick up their phone. Adam knew this, knew it like he knew the back of his hand, or when Felix was about to cause a whole hell of a lot of mischief. Rory should have responded by now. His fingers twitched as he paced the living room, ignoring the knowing grin on Nate’s face. They have their own life, they won’t be attached to their phone all the time, another part of him argued. It wasn’t like he needed to see them. It was a small matter, confirming that Rory was still showing up tonight for more combat training. Still…. “Adam.” His head snapped up at the mention of his name, his hands releasing their destructive grip on the dining room table. There would have to be another order to replace it. He’d left a mark. “My child hasn’t responded to any of my calls,” Rebecca Argent said, walking up to the living room. “Would you mind doing me a favor and checking up on them? I would, but I have a conference call in fifteen minutes.” She gave him a thankful smile as he nodded, the motion curt, and watched him stride out of the room. “Thank you, Agent Argent. I was afraid he was going to wear a hole in the floor.” Adam heard Rebecca chuckle softly as he walked away. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Sewell. I was just concerned about the table.” As the front door closed behind him, he missed Nate’s laughter in response.

-

A cool breeze swirled around the Wayhaven PD parking lot, kicking up a small dust storm that swirled and crumpled as it hit Adam's feet. It was a chilly afternoon, almost too cold for his liking, and he quietly relished the burst of warmth as he walked through the precinct doors. That strange, melancholy peace was immediately disrupted as a small form collided into his legs. "Oops! Sorry!" Looking down, he saw a young girl with a mass of wild curly blond hair, maybe six at the most. She rubbed her nose, pouting, before looking up. And up, and up. He watched as her eyes went round, noting bemusedly that they were same shade of green as Rory's. The same color as Detective Argent's. "Sorry mister!" She chirped, clearly unapologetic is the way children often are. Watching as he kneeled down to her level. "Be careful next time. You could hurt somebody, you know." He internally winced at the gruffness in his voice- his job didn't allow for much experience with children, and now was no exception. But the little girl simply giggled. "I don't think I could hurt you, you're buge!" Someone sighed, exasperated. "'Huge', Sage. The word you're looking for is 'huge'." The girl whirled around, and Adam had a brief second to meet Detective Rory Argent's eyes before they were being climbed like a tree, the small child quickly making her way to hang off their side. Rory seemed used to this, their eyebrow quirked in dry amusement. "Good morning, Adam. Glad to see you've already met one of my daughters." "Good-" rising to his feet, he stumbled over his words. …. Daughters? "Good morning, Detective. I was...unaware you had children." Thinking back, he tried to remember whether Agent Argent had mentioned any grandchildren, whether he'd seen any family photos in Rory's home. Not that he should have remembered it so well. The Detective's style was too much like his own. Too much like feeling like he belonged. Rory chuckled, adjusting Sage to their hip. Seemingly reading his mind, they tilted their head and said, "My mother was unaware of my children until recently if that's what you're trying to figure out. Our tumultuous relationship included a bone of contention- I sent her an invitation to the baby shower while I was pregnant with the twins, and she never responded. I assumed she wouldn't visit, I was living in Germany at the time. I didn't realize she wouldn't respond *at all*." He nodded, watching as an identical version of Sage moved to cling against Rory's leg. The other girl seemed to barely notice him at all, her nose stuck in a book. Unlike her sister, her hair was neatly braided back, a few curls wriggling free of their bonds to fall around her face. "Adam du Mortain," he snapped to attention the moment Rory said his name, unable to ignore the detective. Never able to ignore them. "This is Sage and Rosemary Dietrich. They're my twin daughters. Rosie girl, Sage, say hello to Agent Du Mortain." The child reading a book glanced up at him, seeming to shrink back a little more behind her father when she realized there was a very big person in front of her. "H-hello," she mumbled quietly, "it's nice to-" "It's nice to meet you! Hello! I'm Sage!" Her sister immediately interrupted, her voice loud and cheerful. She wiggled in Rory's arms. "Daddyyyyyy, I want down!” The detective sighed, giving Adam an exasperated look before they knelt down, setting their daughter on her feet. “Pumpkin, we’ve talked about this, you have to ask nicely…” The words they said seemed to fade for Adam as he watched, feeling his heart twist at seeing the softer side of Rory. The way they patted their daughter’s arm gently, tucking an errant lock away from her face, lovingly tugging away wrinkles and folds in her shirt, despite the fact that it was most likely a futile attempt. As the detective glanced up, their more excitable daughter slipping out of their arms and running off somewhere, they met Adam’s gaze. The world around them became almost nonexistent. Rory smiled, almost tenderly, and the Vampire felt his heart twist in his chest. “Adam,” the detective said softly, his name precious and treasured upon their lips, “Would you like to join me and the girls for-” The phone rang sharply, cutting through the air, and Rory made a face. “Hold on. I’ve got to get that. Rosie my girl, would you mind accompanying Agent Du Mortain to the round table?” The shyer daughter nodded, looking up at him and slipping her tiny hand into his. It seemed he had been vetted as a trusted person, at least for now. “This way,” she said solemnly, watching as her father ducked into their office. She tugged gently at his hand. He followed. Normally he would politely but firmly refuse, but he doubted the little girl would listen. And when large green eyes glanced back at him, checking to make sure he was still there, all of his resolve crumbled away. She looked too much like a miniature Rory, even with a big book tucked underneath her arm. Would he and the detective…? He immediately crushed that whisper in the back of his mind. No. He refused to even entertain that line of thought. The detective deserved better. It wouldn’t happen. Rosemary let go of his hand only to reach up and twist the doorknob, before swiftly reclaiming it once more. "This is the round table," she said solemnly. "Daddy and his knights meet here." Adam practically choked on a breath as she said that, leading him into the room. He was very familiar with it, seeing as it was where Unit Bravo and the Detective had met many times before. Rosemary tugged him over to the table, pushing herself onto one of the chairs and opening her book. Adam glanced down. Should he attempt to reclaim his fingers? He hesitated. The little girl likely had no idea what he was, what he had done. He felt so much animosity towards humans, and yet… She was so fragile. Rosemary settled easily, her eyes flicking across the words on the page. He could hear her heartbeat, the rush of her blood, the slow breaths in and out. The detective’s daughter was as confident and brave as they were, it seemed. Both of their daughters, although in seemingly different ways. Rosemary held onto his fingers, completely relaxed in his presence, and he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t deserve it. “Daddy’s going to be right back.” He glanced down at the girl in surprise, so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized she’d begun watching him in return. “He’s just got some phone calls. He’s important, you know. Daddy’s the king.” Adam quirked a brow, kneeling down. Even in the chair, she was small for a child. Now that they were at eye level, he responded in kind. “What is he the king of?” She shrugged, lifting up her book, struggling a bit with the weight of holding it one-handed. *Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and Other Tales*. “Daddy’s the king of Camelot,” she informed him loftily, as if he should be ashamed for not knowing such information. He bit back a smile at her tone. “My uncles and Z are his knights. Sage thinks that Verda’s Daddy’s grumpy jester, but I think it’s Douglas. His hair is silly.” She made a motion with her hand as if to show Douglas’s hair flipping up. “But Daddy added new knights to the story.” “Oh?” He felt the smile on his face try and widen, breaking through his serious demeanor. Rosemary’s solemn nod was too much like Rory’s, all business, direct and to the point. It made his heart ache sweetly, a melancholy that almost left him breathless. He understood now why the Detective hadn’t mentioned their daughters beforehand- all he wanted to do was wrap Rosemary up and hide her from the world. Hide her from people who would be looking for her father’s blood. “Yeah. He calls them the Knights of Bravo. Grandma, the old Queen, sent them to help protect Daddy.” She shrugged. “But Daddy can beat anyone, so I don’t get it. Daddy says even a King needs help sometimes. He says they meet at the round table sometimes, but usually at the Knights’ house, or Grandma’s castle. He says it’s why he’s away so often, and why he can’t call Sage and me like he used to.” She huffed, and squeezed his hand a little harder. It was barely anything to him, barely any pressure on his skin. He tilted his head. “Does Da- er. Does your father,” he said, correcting himself quickly, feeling his cheeks heat, “live with you? Why does he need to call you?” “Daddy lives in his castle,” she replied simply. “Papa and Daddy used to be happy together, but they started to make each other sad, so they live apart so they don’t make each other cry. But Papa cries anyway…” she glanced down, sighing. “He tries to hide it so Sage and I don’t hear. But he also used to yell at Daddy, and we heard that, too. Daddy moved away because Papa was being mean to him, and Sage and I make them both laugh so that they don’t think we’re being mean to them, and they won’t move away from us, too.” Adam took her hands in his, swallowing hard. He was the wrong person for this. *Why isn’t Nate here when I need him?! This is not…I am not equipped to handle this.* He took a deep breath in, and then out. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Rosemary,” he began softly. “I think you’re a sweet girl, and that your father loves you very much. Er, both of them. I’ve known your father for a while now. He’s kind, and caring, and devoted. I don’t know your other father, but I do know Rory. Trust me when I say the detect- er, Rory, probably loves you very much. I think you’d have to be very, very mean to hurt his feelings, and even then he still wouldn’t leave you.” She sniffled. “You mean it?” “Yes.” He surprised himself with the vehemence of his response, although he knew he meant it, the feeling resonating through his bones, through his soul. The detective already considered Unit Bravo their family, reluctant as they were to work with their mother. From the very beginning, from their first meeting here in this very room, Rory hadn’t once stopped caring. Often at the risk of losing their own life. Remembering the feel of their touch against his cheek, covered in their own blood after Murphy’s fight, their words of reassurance. Remembering how they made Mason laugh with a snide remark, hugged Felix tightly after a tender moment, chatted excitedly about books with Nate. The detective loved them. And in return, Unit Bravo, Adam included, loved- Oh. Oh.  He felt a tiny hand slip out of his own, touching his cheek and coming away wet. “You’re sad,” Rosemary stated matter-of-factly. “Did I make you sad?” He shook his head, surprised at the slight coolness from his tears. He hadn’t even realized they were happening. “No. I just thought something that made me hurt. I’ll be okay.” She frowned, her brow furrowing in the way her father’s often did, a tiny mirror image of the detective. “But you’re still crying.” Rosemary suddenly perked up. “Do you want me to read you a story? Daddy reads them when Sage and me go to sleep every night. Sometimes he sings, but I’m not very good at it. Daddy says Grandma wanted him to be an op-er-a singer.” She made a face. “I don’t like op-er-a. The girls and guys’ faces are always weird and scary. Sage thinks they’re funny, and she always wants Daddy to play it on the TV.” Adam chuckled, rising up to pull a chair next to the little girl. “Well, if you think the faces are scary, perhaps we should stick to the books. I like your idea. Tell me your favorite story.” Rosemary gave him a bright grin, front teeth gap-toothed, and flipped through the book. She stabbed a finger at the page. “It’s Morgana Le Fay! She’s a witch, and Z always does her voices when they’re around. She’s their favorite. I like Daddy’s version of the story. I think Morgana just wants a friend.” She glanced at him, making sure he was paying attention, before starting up. “Okay. Once upon a time, there was a little girl living in a big castle with her mama and sisters…” Later Rory picked up Sage, hauling her over their shoulder, grinning at her squeals of laughter. “Okay, Sagey bean! Let’s stop bothering uncle Verda, he’s got work to do! Should we find your sister, little princess?” The little girl burst into laughter, wriggling in her father’s arms. “Noooo, Daddy! Rosemary is the princess, I wanna be a knight!” Rory rolled their eyes, glancing over to a grinning Verda, who shrugged cheerfully. Kids. Whatcha gonna do?  They blew a raspberry into the fat of their daughter’s chubby cheek, smiling wide as more laughter burst from her. “A knight, huh? A knight should be able to find a princess, no matter what! Are you prepared for the journey, brave warrior?” Sage wriggled some more, like the worm she secretly was. “Yeeeeees!” The moment her father set her down, she took off like a shot, scrambling up the stairs of the basement, heading up into the precinct proper. “I can’t believe you let Rosemary just hang out with Agent Du Mortain, Rory,” Verda teased softly. “I’ve seen you growl at the mayor before when he even brought them up in conversation. You must trust him, huh?” His expression danced with light humor, even as his tone grew serious. Verda alone knew the sheer lengths Rory went to, keeping their home life separate from their work. Even if he didn’t know how strange Rory’s work life truly was. The detective nodded. “Yes. I trust him with my life.” They smiled softly. “So now that that’s out of the way, it means I can trust him with my children, too.” Rory looked up at the sound of little feet descending the stairs, quickly reaching out and catching Sage as she stumbled down the last few steps. “Sage, did you find your sister?” The little girl nodded. “She’s speeping, Daddy.” “Sleeping, Sage. Wait. What do you mean, she’s sleeping? Where?” They sighed as Sage wriggled out of their hold, grabbing their hand. “I’ll talk to you later, Verda.” Verda nodded. “Good luck, Detective.” Being led through the precinct, Sage took them to the meeting room door. Inside, they could hear a mellow voice, familiar and smooth, like liquid smoke. “‘I am the rightful king’, Arthur proclaimed. ’With Caliburn in hand, I shall reunite Camelot as one, and the kingdom shall once again be brought to prosperity!’ And the people rejoiced as a single ray of sunshine lit upon the boy, illuminating the golden hair of their new king like a crown gifted from the heavens themselves, and knew that they were saved.” Rory heard a book close softly, the old bindings creak shut. “And they lived happily after.” Opening the door, they watched as Adam reached out a hand to Rosemary, settling it on the thick curls on her head. Her eyes were closed, her head upon her crossed arms, and her chest rose and fell slowly. Rosemary was deep in slumber. “The end,” Adam whispered. There was something tender and sad in his expression, a longing and heartbreak Rory ached to see. They wondered if vampires could have children. If Adam had ever wanted any, before his life would be changed forever. The idea of Adam and children gave them a funny feeling in their chest, fluttering and quick, too fleeting to be recognizable. As if hearing the very stutter of their pulse, Adam sharply glanced up, his hand jerking back to his side. His expression closed off, becoming professional as he stood. “Detective. I didn’t realize-” he stopped himself, then started again. “Your daughter wanted an audience for her storytelling, and she was having trouble getting through some of the words. So I assisted her.” Rory smiled softly. They raised a hand soothingly. “It’s okay, Adam. I’m hardly upset. It’s about time I get these little ones back to my place anyway. Z’s plane landed a few hours ago, and they should be back home from their police training.” They nodded to Rosemary’s sleeping form. “Would you like to help me? I didn’t bring the car today, the girls wanted to walk.” They watched as Adam glanced at the sleeping girl, and nodded. “I would be honored, Detective.” “Why do you call Daddy ‘Detective’?” Sage asked bluntly, staring up at the tall man. “He’s Daddy, and ‘Rory’ to everyone.” Rory rolled their eyes, nudging their daughter. “Because it’s polite, baby. He’s being respectful. It’s okay.” The little girl seemed to chew on this information for a second before shrugging, seemingly no longer interested. “Okay!” She grabbed her father’s hand. “Can we go see Z now, Daddy? I want goldfishies. Ooh! Or fruit snackies!” She wrinkled her nose as Rory reached down and tugged her ear gently. “Sagey bean, your sister is asleep. Please keep your voice down. But yes. Adam and I will be taking you two home.” They glanced at Adam, giving a half-smile. It brightened at the amused expression he returned. Gingerly, Adam walked over to Rosemary, picking up her book, and then picking up her. The little girl barely even stirred. If anything, she snuggled closer in his arms, and Rory wished they could have taken a picture of Adam’s expression. It screamed Oh god, repeating over and over. Rosemary’s cuteness tended to have that effect on people. Rory was so proud. Their daughter could conquer a kingdom. “Shall we head home?” They asked softly. Adam nodded. “Yes. Let’s go home. To your home.” He flushed slightly as he corrected himself. Sage ran off with an excited yell, and the detective and agent shared an exasperated smile before following close behind.

[hurricane-hufflepuff]

Surprises and Realizations

Platonic MC and Merula interaction. Not sure what this qualifies as, but the thought has been bouncing around in my head for a couple days and I decided to do something with it.

I’ve always been a firm believer in people’s ability to surprise you. Of course, it always comes when you least expect it. Wouldn’t be much of a surprise otherwise, would it? As it happens I encountered one such surprise recently.

It was roughly three days ago I found myself discovering a new side to someone I’ve known since I was eleven years old. It was past curfew, but I couldn’t sleep. So obviously I decided to go and explore the castle in the hopes that I might be able to stumble across a clue that would lead me closer to the next vault and therefore to my brother. The only real problem with that, you see, is that Filch was lurking around nearby, praying for a rule breaker such as myself to stumble upon him. In case you weren’t aware, in order to avoid getting caught by Filch you’ll find yourself doing some pretty stupid things. In my case that meant closing a door that locks from the outside without seeing the girl who’s dedicated her life to making mine harder was in there too.

As I imagine you’ve guessed by now, she wasn’t very pleased with my decision. I’ll admit that she had every right to be mad. She probably wouldn’t have gotten caught if Mrs. Norris hadn’t spotted me and sent me into a panic to find myself a hiding spot. I mean hell, I didn’t even realize she was in there until after I’d locked us in. There was no way Filch would’ve had a reason to be suspicious of the room. Unfortunately for Merula and I, we now had no way of knowing when it would be safe to leave the room. We are witches after all, it’s not as though the lock would prove to be a problem. What would prove to be a problem, however, is the fact that the door was too thick for us to hear anything coming through from the other side. Meaning that we couldn’t know for sure how close to us Filch was. We’d just have to check at some point and pray with everything we are that he’d be gone. After all neither of us had any desire to be hung from a wall by our wrists.

Of course neither of us was daft enough to try and check immediately. Even if Filch didn’t hear us open the door his damned cat would. This of course meant that we needed to find something to do to pass the time. Merula suggested using me as a target to practice all of the hexes she’d been learning. I, on the other hand, suggested we play a game. She wasn’t exactly sold on the idea until I specified that we could play a question game. I assume she agreed because she thought she could get some useful information about the vaults out of me this way. Which, I’ll admit had she asked I would’ve followed the rules of the game and told her what I knew. I’m many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You know, unless lying is obviously the best course of action at the time. I highly doubt telling Merula anything about the vaults would’ve gotten me in trouble though, especially considering she was searching for them too. She couldn’t tell anyone about the search without making things harder on herself. As for her decision to play the game, it’s not as though she could deny that it would pass the time so she went with it.

I asked her if she’d like to ask first and was thoroughly surprised when she told me I could go first instead. I didn’t want to piss her off by asking her anything too personal right off the bat. After all, I’m positive she wouldn’t have minded hexing me if I did. So I asked what her favorite color was. As it turns out the answer was purple. Evidently she had the same train of thought I did. Either that or she couldn’t think of anything to ask me because she just asked me the same thing. She seemed rather surprised to find that my answer was forest green. Our little game remained happy and simple for quite a while. She asked me what my favorite candy was her next turn, and was pleased to discover that apparently I wasn’t “as daft as I seemed.” This of course was because we apparently share a love for jelly slugs. I asked her what her favorite magical creature was and she said it was a tie between runespores and kneazles. The runespore because she likes it’s color scheme and kneazles because she appreciates knowing whether or not she can trust someone before she goes telling them anything important. Plus apparently in addition to a unicorn her mother used to have a kneazle. A fact she seemed to believe I was going to judge her for because before I could say anything on the matter she said, “Surprising, I know. A death eater worried about judging other people’s character.” She honestly seemed quite relieved when instead of providing the quip she’d set me up for I simply told her that my favorite magical creature was the hippogriff, largely because I’d grown up near a breeder. She also seemed fascinated by the fact that I owned one myself. We talked about Crypt Kicker for a while after that, his beautiful black and purple coat, his bright orange eyes, and even his unusual love of muggle music. She even seemed amused when she found out that his name came from a muggle song about Halloween. Evidently she’d never heard “Monster Mash” before. A tragedy I decided it was my duty to correct. I don’t think I’d ever seen her laugh quite as hard as she did listening to my dramatic rendition of the holiday jam.

Unfortunately for us things couldn’t stay light forever it seemed. Sure learning a bunch of silly inconsequential things about each other had been fun, but truthfully there are only so many questions like that you can ask somebody. She was the first to ask a serious question. She wanted to know what I see when I encounter a boggart. So I asked her which answer she was looking for; what I see when I’m around other people or what I see when I’m alone.? She told me she’d like to have my answer to both. I told her that when I encounter one around my friends it transforms into Voldemort. I also told her that I think it takes that form when I’m around them because I’m terrified that he’ll come back someday and start another war. I know myself and I know my friends, there’s no way any of us would be able to just sit back and let it happen. Which of course means that there’d be a very real possibility that I could lose all of them. Then I told her that when I’m alone I see Jacob, bloody and dead with glassy eyes staring off into space. The worst part, of course, is the feeling that if I had just been a little faster to open the next vault I could’ve saved him.

As it turns out the two of us have similar fears. When she encounters a boggart it takes the form of one of her parents. Trouble is these versions of her parents have experienced the dementor’s kiss. So while they may appear to be alive and in front of her for the first time in years, they’re not really themselves anymore and they never will be again. Without their souls they may as well be dead. She sort of curled in on herself after that. I could tell that this was something she was very genuinely afraid of. Personally I couldn’t imagine what that feels like. After all, my mums might’ve gotten rather overprotective after Jacob disappeared, but at least they’re still around. At least I never have to question that they love me or that I’ll have someone in my corner should I need them. I’d never really thought about how not having her parents around must’ve effected Merula. Looking at her then though I’d have to say it couldn’t have had a positive impact, death eaters or not they were still her parents, it couldn’t have been easy to have them taken away. Since she’d gotten to ask me a serious question I decided to test my luck and ask her one as well. I asked her if she was ever afraid of what the future holds. She responded quietly that of course she was. Evidently she was worried that if she ever did get to see her parents again it’d be because she’d managed to get herself thrown in Azkaban as well. She’s well aware that most people seem to think that’s where she’s going to wind up anyway. She told me she’d tried to fight that belief when she was younger, but eventually it just got to be too much. She decided that if they all knew her so well she might as well just let them believe that they were right and that meanness and a belief in blood purity was all there was to her. Truth be told she didn’t really give a damn about blood purity. Her take on the matter was something along the lines of, “Even if I did, ‘s not like there’s a way you could ever actually create a world of only wizards and witches. We’re a major minority in the world. You’d have to get rid of every muggle on the planet, it just wouldn’t work. Another thing people can’t seem to understand is why the bloody hell would I want to join up with the arseholes who got my parents thrown in Azkaban anyway?”

She asked me the same question, and while I know I should’ve seen it coming it still took me a minute before I was really ready to answer. Once I’d pulled myself together I told her that I was afraid sometimes too. Sometimes I really worry that maybe Jacob really did go bad and that’s why he ran away. I worry that when I find him he won’t be my brother anymore. Instead he’ll be this stranger obsessed with blood purity and willing to betray everything we were raised to believe in. That he’d become a man who’d kill me at the first sign I didn’t agree with that insane philosophy. There’s also the possibility that maybe he’d have gone mad by the time I find him. He might still look like my brother, but without his mind I don’t know what I’d do. The brother I remember was kind, and sweet, and so undeniably curious about the world around him. We might’ve grown up surrounded by magic, but that doesn’t mean we knew everything about the world around us. Jacob had always been determined to find as many answers to our questions as he could. I can’t help but worry sometimes that his inability to answer everything on his own might’ve driven him crazy in the end. After all, everybody seems to think he’s mad anyway. Who am I to say for certain that he isn’t? After all I haven’t seen the bastard in years after he ran off.

She seemed surprised that I might hold any negative feelings about my brother, but ultimately decided not to comment about it. A decision I am immensely grateful for. I might’ve been willing to divulge my feelings about some things because of the rules of the game, but my feelings about my brother are beyond complicated and I have no idea where I’d even begin to explain them. We just sat quietly for a while after that whole ordeal. It’s kind of amazing in a sad sort of way how two questions can feel like so much. In the end I think both of us needed time to process not only what we’d just revealed about ourselves, but what we’d learned about each other as well. On the bright side, during this time I was able to work up the courage to check the door. Before I opened it I told her that if by some chance I did get caught I’d do my best to keep Filch from coming in. Thankfully it didn’t come to that. Filch had apparently given up on finding whatever had set Mrs. Norris off and had moved on while we’d been playing our game.

I eased the door to without closing it entirely before turning to tell Merula that it was safe for us to leave now. Once I had I turned away from her to leave. No point in waiting around after all. That’d just increase our chances of getting caught and I was in no mood to deal with whatever sick punishment he’d think up for me, or all the bitching about the house points I’d lost I’d have to endure afterwards. I hadn’t moved more than a step forward before I felt a hand on my wrist. I turned once again to face Merula and ask why she’d stopped me. She didn’t give me the chance to before telling me that nothing either of us had said was to leave this room. She also told me that I shouldn’t expect us to be friends now. Just because we happen to have a few things in common doesn’t mean we could ever really get along. Funny thing is she wouldn’t look at me while she was saying it. Almost seemed like she was sad we were leaving. It makes me wonder how often she ever has people actually acknowledge her feelings. Merula might be a right pain in the ass sometimes, but she doesn’t deserve to feel alone in the world. It’s shit like that that causes the fucked up situations we’ve both found ourselves in.

Anyways, that was that. We left the room and parted ways. I still don’t understand why she’s so against being my friend. Truth be told I don’t think I’d mind much if she ever changed her mind on the matter. I don’t really think that she’s all that she tries to appear to be. If what she said in the room holds true then I’m right in my assumption. I think that she was raised to behave a certain way and she doesn’t know how to handle the fact that who she really is conflicts with that. So, since trying to combat people’s preconceived notions about who she is didn’t work out for her, she lashes out and puts on this facade of superiority to try and convince others that she is exactly who they think she is instead. I think she believes if she can convince enough other people to believe that then maybe one day she’ll manage to convince herself as well. Trouble is we both know that isn’t how the world works. You can fight who you are all you want, but in the end there are some things you just can’t change.

[felicereviews]

The China Syndrome

B

My summer with Jack Lemmon has been revived.  After the dip into bad taste of The Out of Towners, Jack’s winning streak rebounds in The China Syndrome. 

I had only ever seen the ending of this movie.  In it, Jack (also called Jack in the movie) locks himself in the control room of a nuclear power plant in protest as Jane Fonda’s character tries to broadcast his explanation on the television news.  After seeing the ending a couple of times I didn’t think I would enjoy The China Syndrome.  Growing up in the 80′s with nuclear everything from Silkwood to The Terminator to The Simpsons the threat of nuclear meltdown seemed blase´.  But, I recently listened to a podcast series titled “Jean and Jane” on You Must Remember This.  In the series Karina Longworth describes, among other things, Jane’s journey from Barbarella to Kimberly Wells, newscaster.  Jane Fonda’s journey was so profound that I realized this move must be included in my Jack Lemmon series.  He’s like the side piece for me, in this case.

From 1979, The China Syndrome is a story about corporate greed at the expense of public safety.  Jack Lemmon plays a very meticulous plant manager whose desire to follow the rules has to be balanced with his duty to his fellow man.  He feels responsible as things go wrong.  It was so good to see Jack in a serious role.  He still displays his usual neuroses but in this film they work to his advantage as he is required to be very exacting and specific in his job duties. 

Another thing I liked about this movie was the not-so-subtle layer of feminism that Jane Fonda brought to the screen.  As her character is sent to report on whale migrations and births at the zoo, she yearns for something more.  When she stumbles upon a hard news story of a possible corporate cover up at a nuclear power plant - her male boss tells her, “Don’t try to be anything more than you are.”�� And says, “I like your hair like that.”  I think this dimension in the film speaks to Jane’s personal journey.  As she veered away from sex symbol to activist and re-invented herself, not always gracefully, as a woman of substance.  A woman who has something to say and whose voice, emitting from her pretty face, can make a difference.  She does share lettuce with a tortoise in this movie - so she is not flawless.  GERMS JANE - GERMS!

The only real problem with The China Syndrome is the kind of crazy lighting they put on Jane.  She was 42 at the time this film was in production and sometimes it appears she is in a beautiful silver cloud.  

What I did like, from a production standpoint, is that there is no soundtrack or music in the film.  The producer, Michael Douglas, insisted that music would detract from the serious nature of the narrative.  I appreciate a quiet movie but may not have noticed there is no music at all in this one - so thank you IMDB!

Lastly - since you may or may not watch it.  The China Syndrome is a name for a hypothetical case of a nuclear reactor leaking through the earth’s core all the way to China.  The laws of physics would not allow this and the phrase has become obscure or even obsolete.  But the movie is good.  It holds up from a narrative standpoint as well as a production standpoint.  It’s almost 30 years old for christ sake and I really didn’t even notice.  Solid B.

[beatnikwerewolf]

Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Joanie-9, Tommy-14, Maxie-62 In those first few tenuous years after Tommy came into his care Maxie hated to deny Tommy anything. He’d already taken so much from the boy. He held his ground on this though. The girl stayed. She would not go back to whoever put those burns on her too skinny arms. She wouldn’t tell them her name. So Maxie called her Joan. After Joan Vollmer, an old flame from a different time. When he called people like Gloria Schmitt and Neal Cassaday friends. Joan watched the man and boy carefully, but without much fear. Years later she told Max that her mother constantly had new people over. Boyfriends, dealers, bodyguards, free-loaders, and handymen. She’d been with Maxie and Tommy just under a month. She didn’t leave Maxie’s home in the woods. People were searching for her. Even her methhead mother was capable of calling the police once she noticed she was gone. Max was a bit appalled by how long it took for missing posters to go up. He finally learned her real name, Princess O’Callaghan, but when he tried to call her by it she refused to answer. He’d never met a girl with a less fitting name, so he stuck to Joan and she seemed to like it. For the first month he couldn’t go out and buy her clothes because he didn’t want to arouse suspicion. So she wore Tommy’s hand-me-downs. Baggy jeans rolled up, basketball shorts triple knotted so they would stay up, and t-shirts with band logos for Molly Hatchet, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Marshall Tucker Band. After a few weeks, when the missing posters were faded and splattered with rain Maxie began spreading word that his (fictional) daughter had adopted a little nine year old girl and he was going to be a grandfather! He talked at length about how he planned on spoiling her rotten, so no one thought it strange when he started purchasing books, toys, clothes, and candy. Joanie loved candy. For the first two weeks Tommy kept his distance from Joanie. He was a serious kind of kid, but not so serious that he couldn’t loosen up and enjoy the company of another kid. He took it upon himself to teach Joanie about “good” music before Max turned her into an unmitigated snob. Max would probably turn her into a snob anyway, but Tommy would make sure there was at least some mitigation courtesy of Creedence Clearwater Revival, Guy Clark, and the Allman Brothers Band. There was only one place where Tommy and Maxie’s tastes aligned. Johnny Cash. The man in black was playing basically anytime Tommy and Maxie were both in the house. Neither could function without music nor could either stand the other’s taste so Cash was the true soundtrack of Tommy and Joanie’s childhood. Maxie took it upon himself to teach Joanie about good books before Tommy got his hooks into her. Before Max had bitten Tommy he’d been well on his way to becoming another Lorraine redneck. At the age of fourteen he’d already flipped a four-wheeler and broken his leg while hunting, come up with several recipes for squirrel, and refused to wear any shoes besides cowboy boots. He listened almost exclusively to swamp rock and held a general disdain for reading, preferring instead to watch those nasty horror movies. Max would not let Joanie suffer the same fate. He read to her constantly and made her read to him as well. Hemingway’s ideas were grand but his words were simple. Thoreau instilled in her the same war that raged in himself, the love of company and the sharing of ideas constantly battling with a desire for isolation and peace. He read her Shakespeare and did voices for every character. She didn’t understand a single individual word but knew every story by its end. The beauty of Shakespeare lied in its performance. You didn’t need to understand the words, the story came through anyway if the teller was committed and the audience was awake. At the beginning of every play there would be a moment of disorientation but once a performer lands the first joke and the audience finds itself laughing, they have fallen into the story and won’t leave until it spits them back out with a wedding or a funeral in the final scene. Joanie may end up a redneck like her brother, but she’d be a well-read one. He didn’t read her the works of his friends. Not then. Not yet. Only when she was older would she stumble onto her burning desire for a life on the road through the works of Kerouac, Burroughs, and Delphinium. It would be cruel to show her this world when the hard and simple truth of it was this: she wasn’t going anywhere. Not for a long time. *** Joanie-Not yet born, Tommy-Not yet born, Maxie-19 Max and Happy Delphinium were fast friends. They were fast friends in the way only 19 year olds can be, when they make their first friend based not on physical proximity, but mental proximity. They met in Reno Nevada. Despite being from opposite sides of the country they had come to the seemingly simultaneous decision to ditch college and come to Nevada. Happy went straight to Reno. Maxie took a brief pit stop in Vegas. He realized he hated Las Vegas nearly as much as it hated him and left fairly quickly for the biggest little city on earth. They’d each spent almost all their money on the journey and didn’t have much left over for fun. So they found themselves at the Shy Clown, a very suspect bar with a low buy-in poker game running 24/7 in the back corner. Max thought he might try to get in on the game after he’d had a few drinks. Happy just liked suspect places. Happy had been in the Clown for several hours when Max walked in. The first thing he noticed was that Max was very tall. The second thing he noticed was that Max had the absolutely lethal combination of blonde hair and brown eyes. Happy knew from experience these boys were always big trouble, but dynamite in the sack. The third thing he noticed was that Max looked beaten all to shit, with double black eyes and splinted fingers. Max didn’t notice Happy. Not at first. Anytime Happy was in public he was surrounded by two or three girls, their faces were subtly different but their desperation for his attention was the same whether he was in New York, San Francisco, or Reno. Happy’s green eyes, black curls, and easy smile attracted brassy dames who patronized places like the Shy Clown unescorted. The ones who saw past his horn rimmed glasses and crooked incisors to see how handsome he was. Their lipstick was dark and their laughs were loud. Happy liked the girls, they were beautiful and fun but sometimes he longed to go somewhere for a drink and not catch battering eyelashes everywhere he turned, but he and the girls were the same breed. They’d feel out of place anywhere else. So they were stuck together. Happy was half-mexican half-irish. He waged a constant war with his hair. His parents had been migrant workers. When he was 5 his father had died when an improperly latched hay wagon exploded open sending tons of hay tumbling on top of him, crushing him. His Mhamo told him his mother died of a broken heart not long after. After that he went to live with his Mhamo in Brooklyn, spending a disastrous year with his abuela in California when he was 14. His Mhamo was big and irish and kind. She slapped him on the head whenever her love for him seemed too big to contain any longer. She taught him to sing and how to cook. He adored her. He was superstitious, poetic, and hardscrabble. Despite his tough beginning he had a deep abiding love for beauty and a sense of whimsy that clashed against his hustler existence. What he lacked in charm he made up for with sincerity. Max sat down at the opposite end of the bar from Happy. He ordered a well gin and tonic. Happy dug around for his last two dollars. He signalled the bartender and sent Max a bombay sapphire martini. Once Max finished his gin and tonic the bartender presented Max with the martini. Happy couldn’t hear Max ask who sent it, but he knew that’s what he’d said when the bartender pointed him out. Max raised his glass to Happy. Happy mirrored him. After twenty minutes Happy was able to convey to the girls that their energies would be better expended elsewhere and they dispersed. Maxie took the recently vacated stool beside Happy. “Thanks for the drink pal,” Max said. “Don’t mention it,” Happy said. “Looked like you could use it.” Max pressed the pads of his fingers onto one of his black eyes, exploring the edges, gently prodding. He winced. “Vegas didn’t agree with me.” “About what?” “Just about anything. Apparently card counting is frowned upon,” Max said. “Jesus,” Happy said. “I heard they’re all mobbed up down there. That where you got the shiner?” “No, that’s where this happened,” Max held up his hands. He had three broken fingers on each one. “I think I made ‘em mad. I was piss drunk and didn’t really feel the first couple. So they held onto me until I sobered up a bit.” “Shit oh dear,” Happy said. “Well, what’s the shiner from?” “I was walking to my motel from the hospital and some asshole rolled me. I couldn’t fight back too good with these.” He wiggled his splinted fingers and winced. “Let’s get you another drink.” “Nope, nope, my turn to buy.” Maxie said. “I thought you were broke,” Happy said. “I’m never broke for long,” Max said. He pulled several wallets from his jacket. “Me neither,” Happy said. He produced a pocket book and a coin purse he’d lifted from a member of his harem. They grinned at each other. “So what do you do?” Maxie asked. He stretched out on top of a pool table like it was a lounger by a pool. It was late. Casino’s never really close, but around two or three in the morning they seem to grow muted and personal. The lights seem lower, the cigarette smoke smells like home. Dealers feel like comrades instead of opponents. No one is going to win anything. It’s just enough to be part of that crowd. The hardcases, the three time losers, the cigarette mamas, and the trucker hat daddies. Conversation ebbs and flows easily depending on who’s conscious enough to make it. It’s still hours until the neon spits the losers onto the sidewalk squinting in the sunlight with a bloody mary in one hand and a fifty cent bacon and egg breakfast in the other. For now the lights hold them close. Happy rested his head on one arm. With the other he sent an eightball bouncing off a wall of the table, each time the ball came within millimeters of smacking Max in the head. He was either too drunk or too trusting to care. “I go to Columbia, went-went to Columbia. For poetry,” Happy said. “No shit?” You’re a writer?” Max said. “Hopefully.” “Man, I knew there was a reason I came over here.” “Yeah. I sent you a drink,” Happy said. “Asshole. I’m a writer too.” “Do you go to school?” Happy asked. “I was invited to discontinue my attendance of Boise State...recently,” Max said. “Like last year?” “Three days ago.” “Well, you’ve gotta come back to New York with me,” Happy said. “To Columbia?” “I’m taking a leave of absence, but the city’s great. You can stay with me and my Mhamo.” At that point Maxie was forced to vacate the pool table as someone actually wanted to play. Max and Happy exited the clown and walked down Freemont Street. They stopped and asked some cowboys in beautiful fringed paisley shirts and dirt-stained hats where they could find a good time. Happy envied Max’s easy casual manner with the cowboys, born of growing up in the west. They told him there was a “helluva good concert” at the Nugget. The guy was an animal, been playing for six hours. “Alright, don’t get too fucked up you goddamn brushpoppers.” Max said by way of farewell. His voice kicked into a twang Happy hadn’t noticed before. Maxie seemed to be able to pick it up and put it down at will. Happy thought if he tried to call any of those boys a brushpopper he’d get punched in the face. He had no idea what a brushpopper was, nor a jordan valley loop, nor what it meant to turn your toes out. This was a secret language he’d never be privy to. He hoped maybe someday he and Max might have their own secret language. Mac caught his eye and smirked at him. Once he was sure he was out of earshot he told Happy, “I got a few cousin’s who rodeo so I run into guys like that a lot. They love it when you start talking about people from different regions like you’re some sort of goddamn expert. I don’t know a fucking thing about Jordan Valley or how they throw their ropes, but all those cowboys seem to like it.” A knit between Happy’s eyebrows that he hadn’t realized was there melted away. Maxie clapped a hand on Happy’s shoulder. “Let’s go watch the shitkicker messiah.” They walked toward the Nugget. Maxie left Happy’s side for a moment. He darted into a tiny liquor store and exited minutes later with a bottle in a brown paper bag. He pressed it into Happy’s hands. Happy took a sip and gagged. Canadian whiskey. Max tipped the bottle to Happy’s lips again. “Drink. It’ll put hair on your chest,” Max said. “I don’t want hair on my chest.” Happy replied. “Drink anyway. It builds strong bones and stronger character.” “I want a base and low character.” “Even better. Drink, it’s what men of low character do.” Happy drank. They entered the Diamond Showroom at the Nugget. They’d been let in for free since technically the concert had ended three hours ago. Most of the audience members who remained were passed out on the carpeted floor, empty drink glasses filling again with watery ice scattered on every table. Those still awake swayed in a trancelike state to the rhythm of the performer’s guitar. Sweat poured off the performer. He sat on a folding chair with his guitar, he was alone. He was lost somewhere in a haze of whiskey and narcotics only country rock prophets can seem to find any beauty in. A place Hank Williams, Johnny Cash, and Waylon Jennings all inhabited, making music as stunning as their decisions were terrible. One of the performer’s fingers was bleeding. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Crimson streaked the e-string on his guitar. Happy and Max leaned against one another. Nodding in time to the music. They could feel it in their chests. An hour passed. Then two. Happy wasn’t surprised to find he was crying. He turned and saw Max was as well. The last plaintive note issued from the speakers and the song was over. It hung in the air as the performer huffed and drew his thumb over his lip. He was awakening, disoriented. Maxie walked up to the stage and reverentially offered the performer his whiskey. The performer took a heavy pull off the bottle. It had a stabilizing effect on him. He gratefully wandered back into the haze and started another song. At around 6 AM they stumbled into Happy’s room at Fitzgeralds. Neither made it into the bed. Happy slept on the floor. He sat crosslegged, leaned against the wall. Passed out while he waited for Max. Max fell asleep in the bathtub. He’d had a notion to take a cold shower and sober himself up a bit, but he’d fallen asleep while taking off his shoes. He didn’t remember crawling into the tub. A few hours later Happy was awakened by a crisp knock on the door and a polite voice discreetly calling “housekeeping.” Happy hauled himself to his feet. He lost his balance several times but eventually was able to open the door. The maid was a beautiful plump mexican woman. “Hola,” Happy said. At the sight of her stricken face he hastened to add “Esta bien, entra. Lo siento.” The maid pushed her cart into the room. Happy yawned and said “Saldre de tu camino. Buenos dias.” He grabbed his rucksack and left the room. He was halfway to the elevator when he heard a feminine scream. Followed by a masculine yell. He ran back towards his room. The door was propped open by the brass loop of the swing lock. Happy entered the room and found the maid throwing complimentary bottles of shampoo at Max. He ducked and cowered in the tub. A bottle struck him in the ear. “Senora. El esta bien. Es mi amigo,” Happy said. “El es tu amigo?” She said, hand cocked behind her ear to huck another bottle. “Si, si, es mi amigo.” Happy said. She threw the bottle at Happy. “Bastardo. Me asusto hasta la muerte.” She said. “Lo siento, lo siento. Ay!” A bottle smacked him in the stomach. “Chingao! Para! Lo siento!” Max grabbed Happy’s hand and dragged him out of the room. One last bottle hurtled through the door before they closed it. It smacked Happy in the forehead. They looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Let’s get a drink,” Maxie said. *** Joanie-13, Tommy-18, Maxie-66 There came a time when Joanie stopped calling. Tommy left Max’s home in the woods when he was eighteen, which was to say he left Max’s home the very instant he could. Joanie badgered him while he packed and he finally disclosed he was going to New Orleans. He’d decided he would stay at the Babineaux Motor Lodge. His father stayed there during his rodeo days.It held a romantic place in his mind. For his gruff exterior Tommy was very susceptible to nostalgia. A week later he dropped his bags on the floor and flopped onto the bed. He wondered if this was the room his father had stayed in. He wondered if the oyster house down the street was any good. He wondered if Joanie was all right. He didn’t have to wonder long on that count. Joanie called him every day he stayed at the Babineaux. She never really seemed to grasp the concept of long distance charges. He never picked up. She didn’t care. She left lengthy messages on the answering machine in his room.. She would tell him about the book she was reading,the album she was listening to, how good she was getting at rolling cigarettes. At those points she would pause and wait for him to register his disapproval then plow onward. She talked more on those messages than she had in the previous four years combined. He wondered what that meant. There was a forced casualness to her voice that seemed ominous to him. After a couple weeks in New Orleans he left for Memphis Tennessee. After he left she bullied a clerk into admitting they were forwarding a package to him at the Seven Spoke Inn in Memphis. She called him every day. There was no message machine in his room and so she would leave messages with the desk clerk to pass along to him. She’d shot a squirrel the other day. She’d made eggs benedict and didn’t break the hollandaise. She’d done the dishes without anyone reminding her to. After a few months in Memphis he left for Dallas. He didn’t leave a forwarding address. He had no idea how she tracked him to the Bluebird Motel, but she did. He didn’t answer the phone. She left messages like she was picking up the thread of a conversation they’d had five minutes ago. After a few days at the Bluebird he knew to expect a call from her at 9 PM his time. When 9 hit he glanced at the phone, expecting to spend a few minutes agonizing over whether he should or could answer it. Then it was 9:01. No call. 9:02. No call. Joanie always called at the same time. Tommy called the front desk. “Have there been any calls for me?” “No, sir. Are you expecting a call?” “No. Thank you.” “If you need to place a call hit 4 to dial out.” “Thank you.” He hung up. The phone rang. Tommy snatched it out of the cradle. “Joanie?” “I’m sorry sir, it’s Michelle at the front desk. It’s actually 9 to dial out. Not 4.” “Thank you.” Disappointment gnawed at his stomach. That was the last time the phone rang for Tommy in Dallas. Tommy liked living in motels. He liked the neon. He liked how impersonal they were. He liked the smell of chlorine and cigarette smoke. He liked that there was maid service every day. After living with Max and Joanie, neither of whom would ever be renowned for their hygiene, he really liked the maid service. The Bluebird felt like a place he could stay, but it wasn’t exactly how his father had described it. His father had told him about a cooler of beer that held a place of prominence near the cracked concrete pool. Anybody could toss a few quarters into the red solo cup that sat next to the cooler and take a beer. His father had told him about the grubby algae encrusted fish tank that sat behind the clerk’s desk in the lobby. One albino goldfish swimming through the murk. About the owner, a cranky old bastard who told stories from Korea if you knew the right questions to ask. The cooler was a liability. The fish was dead. The owner was dead. He didn’t know why this should make him feel like he’d lost his parents all over again, but it did. Maybe the Bluebird didn’t feel like a place he could stay. He decided he’d try Colorado next, someplace small. He’d had enough of this big city stuff. When he left Dallas he figured his trail would go cold. After he’d been in Coyote Den Colorado for a few weeks the phone rang in the middle of the night. Three times. Then it was gone. When he got his room charges he saw it was the old 541 number. Oregon area code. He didn’t receive any calls from that number for four years.