#i want to steal road signs but unfortunately for me they are necessary for drivers to stay safe

[hurricane-vaporeon]

the “everyone but me can get fucked” side of me vs the “I care about other’s wellbeing” side of me battle got me googling how to ethically source road signs without buying them (cause fuck capitalism) (also I’m poor)

[allyvampirelass29]

Princess of Parnassus

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

The night was uncommonly warm, for a Christmasland Eve, Charlie thought, even as he looked at his own personified Summertime, in her fluttery blue sky dress with its white blooms, and those evergreen eyes that winter itself was loathe to kill. She smiled softly at him, catching him looking at her, noticing the opal specks on the glistening wings of her gold butterfly necklace. He'd picked it up at an antique shop in Hartford, after following her to the library one day. I caught you, My Butterfly, now didn't I?

She had just reached for the passenger side door of the Wraith, yanking him out of his reveries of watching her read alone in the park, laying in the grass as green and proliferous as her eyes, snapping up her hand just in time, smiling sheepishly. He had made a few small, shall we say, adjustments to The Wraith where her touch was concerned....... Women really shouldn't drive.

"Forgive me, My Dear, but you won't be going anywhere, not without these......" He chortled, slipping her long white silk gloves from inside his coat pocket, and she shivered, as she eyed them nervously.

She shook her curls, shaking loose her suspicions with them, and gracefully extended her long, pale arm out to him, forcing a smile. Don't ask if he intends to laud you as authoress tonight, don't draw attention to the pen, or else your grave is like to be where you stand.......

"My Charles, I would be so delighted to exchange those ghastly cuffs, for these far lovelier accessories. Would you, Sir, be so kind?"

Charlie smiled to himself, and then at her, grazing his fingertips down the soft part of her arm, noticing the bloom in her cheek, and the eye circles faded, leaving faintly a trace. Someone's rather excited to be going out, adorning her husband's arm. You, yourself, are the far lovelier accessory...... he thought with a sneaky grin, sliding one glove on and then the next, before kissing her covered fingertips.

"Together now," he whispered gently, moving swiftly to the driver's side, as her gloved hand hovered over the door handle. He tested the mirroring, raising his own gloved hand with flourish, and she gasped as hers followed suit, the puppeteer and his brunette marionette. They touched the doors on each side, in the same breath, at the same time, and both sprung open, much to Charlie's open mouthed relief. Had she attempted to so much as touch the car without him there, his own leather gloves, the second key, as it were, not unlike a deposit box, the results would have been much less stellar. I do not care to be a widower again, in fact..... I rather like being the doting husband. I know how to do it now....... keep a woman from leaving me.

She grinned at him graciously from across the shiny black hood of the Wraith, and moved to lower herself into the car, when he flew like a flash to her, taking her in his arms. "Charles! Whatever are you doing!?" She giggled, out of breath, as he held fast to her, his obsidian eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"I almost forgot......." He whispered softly, tipping her head gently back, resting his palm against her cheek, and he lowered his lips to hers, in a open-mouthed kiss, waiting for it.

Ally parted her lips too, as Charlie's eclipsed hers, letting his mouth intrude, excitedly aching for the warm taste, the flooding tenderness, and the heat to rise between them, but instead, she felt herself choke hard, struck to the center of her soul by a peculiar cold, and if darkness itself had a taste, it lingered in her mouth even now, bitter and full of smoke. She coughed and coughed, as he held her, stroking the back of her head to soothe her. "I know, I know....... that's it, poor thing, swallow, and you'll be just fine."

"Ch-Charles," She coughed, again and again, barely able to speak, and then swallowed her fear, feeling the cold sensation intensify, and then dissolve all at once. "What-What was that? What did you just do?"

"The Night Road, as it is called, requires a certain...... quality to access," He mused, and he knew she'd never forgive him if she knew what he'd done. No matter....... The effect would wear off in time, and she'd be no worse for it. "A quality, I possess, that you did not, that is, until I shared it between us."

"Wh-? What is this quality?" She breathed, and shivered, touching her throat, as he kissed her cheek.

"Believe me, My Dear....... I am doing you a kindness in keeping that secret."

She nodded, averting her eyes, gulping the frosty air. "Say no more, Charles, please......."

Smart Girl. He smirked, tucking his arm under hers, wrapping it around her back, and gingerly slid her into the car, shutting the door, before climbing in on his side, smoothly turning the key. The engine roared to life, making him grin wickedly, sitting tall in the driver's seat. He missed this....... being here, with her. Remembering how she'd delighted in the Wraith, calling it his ebony sleigh, slumbering peacefully in the back seat, wearing her tiara of sparkling snowflakes. The last time they rode together in his Wraith, things had been much less ideal. He wanted that back, that sublime magic. Her looking at him like he was a miracle, named Manx.......

The silence lingered between them, as they rolled slowly through the twin candy cane gates, the coloured lights reflecting off the window.

"Static," She mumbled, and he looked at her curiously, both hands on the wheel.

"What static, My Love, is something wrong?"

"Oh Charlie, I am afraid! What if it happens again? I was swallowed by The White once, the static, what if I cannot get back in?" Ally looked at him fearfully, even as he fought to hide his own cloying guilt. Tying her soul to his inscape, making her a living part of Christmasland, so that she could never leave it again, had inspired a few....... unfortunate side effects. True, last time he'd had to fight his way through the static, yank her with tremendous effort through an unyielding, snow-blinding, white noise forcefield, but he had prevailed, and if necessary, he would do so again. He had hoped however, that his newest failsafe would kick in, and they'd be spared that whole awful business.

"My Darling Girl, never you fret. Inscapes are tricky avenues of the mind, and can be prone to their own quirks and glitches. I am sorry if my own Lost Paradise was less than welcoming upon your last return......."

"It's not your fault, Charles," She whispered gently, and he smiled to himself, as she drew closer, nestling her curly head atop his shoulder, as he drove, tucking her legs underneath her. That's it, My Dove, come closer....... his mind ached, not wanting to think about how wrong it was, a perversion of the creative process, stealing away one's own reality. It's for your own good, Allyssa Jolene. I'm not just keeping you in, I'm keeping her out.......

"I am sorry....... Charles, for stealing your car, commandeering, and crashing your beloved Wraith," She whispered sadly into his shoulder, hiding her face in his woolen, royal blue chauffer's coat. He smiled fondly, brushing his cheek against her soft hair as he pulled out onto the St. Nick Parkway, not a snowflake in the evening sky, which was filled with even more diamond stars than usual.

He could feel the Wraith hum around them, listening in to her heartfelt apology. See...... I told you she didn't mean it, he insisted telepathically, and his smile widened, impressed, as the snowflakes fell in a dazzling array inside the car. Ally perked up immediately, looking up with wonder at the snowfall, reaching her hand to touch the sparkling flakes.

"There now, see for yourself........ No need to apologize, My Sweet, The Wraith, while it never forgets, does forgive...... and it's always had a soft spot for you."

Ally beamed, with a slight blush, snuggling Charles' shoulder. "And I, for it....... What a beautiful car, and its debonair driver, come to whisk me away to a place made of dreams." The glove compartment popped open, making Ally jump, and her heart melted as she picked up the gingerbread girl cookie, with green eyes, wearing a blue icing dress.

"Awwww, now isn't that sweet?" Charles simpered, his heart feeling light, as she held the cookie, adoringly, looking all around her, mystified. "Thank you! Thank you very much, it's so pretty, and looks delicious!"

"As do you," Charles whispered softly, rubbing her shoulder, as she took a bite, and then sighed happy. I know, I know...... She's a hard one not to love, isn't she? Believe me, I’ve tried. Now, aren't you glad you didn't kill her, you finicky automobile?

**********

They drove for a while, the night descending darker and darker, Ally fast asleep on his shoulder, her cookie eagerly eaten, as The Wraith's wheels found its way onto The Night Road. The snow inside the cab stopped, the air frigid, and biting, and she moved closer to Charlie, to keep warm. The purple neon ushered them into its eerie glow, catching in his wife's hair, glinting on the windshield, illuminating his dark irises, until they too glowed a fantastic purple. The old buildings came into view, along with the famed bar, and the neon formed the curved writing of the sign, glowing freeform in the night sky. Parnassus.

Ally stirred in the purple glow, as he pulled smoothly into the gravel parking lot, turning off the ignition. "What is this place...... ?" She marveled, sitting up slowly, and she could feel it so strong, both a draw to the intrigue of the purple iridescence, and the power of a darker creative force, warding her away.

"Welcome to Parnassus."

Charlie moved to open her door, but the Wraith was all too quick to accommodate her, springing open of its own accord, letting her out into the transcendent light. No one likes a show off, he remarked in his mind, frowning slightly, with a raise of his intense brow. He exited too, and the Wraith went dark, leaving only the glow of the sign, and she stopped in front of it, looking curiously at the purple neon diamond glowing in the glass window of the door, drawn to it, transfixed, by something she didn't understand.

Charlie reached his arm around her possessively, taking a deep breath, as he pulled open the door, and followed her inside. The bar room was mostly empty, and very dark, save for a few huddled patrons and some low hanging lights, not to mention the bar itself and its taps, awash in green neon. The blacklights and neon glow flickered with each step the Manxs’ took, and the rainbow jukebox, that had been spilling a slow rock ballad into the room, burst with the proud symphony of Once Upon a December.

Ally gasped, her fingers flying to her lips, looking curiously at the odd collection of Dark Creatives that had turned in their stools to see the new arrivals. A murderous looking clown with red paint dripping in trails from his eyes on his white face, clutching a red balloon looking back with a withering glare. A man with a scaly face, and arms, rolling a pair of red dice over and over always getting the same result. A tall, spindly black woman with wild white hair, and blank white eyes, drinking with another young woman with heavy eye make-up, leather clad and covered head to boot in tattoos. There was also a shadowy figure sprawled out in the corner booth, a sharp looking man in a devil red suit, with every strand of his jet black hair in place, and Ally shook her head, stunned as his shadow on the opposite wall revealed pointed horns.

Ally felt the eyes on her, lurking from every dark corner of the room, as she fluttered past, woefully out of place, like a butterfly that had wandered into a bat cave. She held fast to Charlie's arm, clutching it tight, as they made their way through the funny little pub, and she cast her eyes down, trying not to stare at the ominous collection.

"Damn it, Chuck, if I have to listen to this festive racket every time you come breezing through that door, I'm going to start charging you a cover!"

Ally stopped short, and so did the wild-eyed mechanic in his brown, grease-covered smock, staring back at her incredulous behind his magnified glasses.

"Hot damn."

"Come now, Abraham, we both know, you'd give the devil himself a floor show, audience be damned." Charlie taunted, with his slow poured drawl, his eyes dark and dancing, as he shot a glance to the horned figure in the corner booth.

"Don't give him any ideas," Abe shot back, with his accusing finger, his gaze drifting back to the beautiful young thing that had no business in a place like this.

"So the rumours are true," He smiled crooked, and Charlie shifted his feet uncomfortably, as Abe extended his arm, not so subtly searching the loose folds of Ally's dress with his roving eyes, despite its flowing fit.

"Mrs. Manx, I presume?" He whistled low, looking her over. "Wow, Honey, Charlie told me you were beautiful, but I'd be lying if I said I believed him this much. The bastard's nothing without his grandstanding."

"Allyssa Manx needs no embellishment, she is everything I promised, and more," Charlie cut in, shooting Abe a warning glance as the vulgarian took her snow white hand. "Darling, I'd like you to meet Honest Abe, the proprietor of this fine establishment, and sometimes my friend."

"A pleasure to meet you, Abraham," Ally smiled brightly, shrugging off the ill at ease way this peculiar, leering man made her feel. "A friend of Charlie's is surely a friend of mine, and I thank you for the compliment, though I am undeserving of it. Charlie's the pretty one in this marriage,"

She giggled shyly, making him laugh too, and Charlie rubbed his thin lips together, unnerved, as Abe kissed the back of her hand a little too long. She drew her foot behind her ankle in a quick curtsy as a thank you, holding her fluttering hem.

"Call me, Abe, Doll," He insisted, looking over the top of his bug-eyed frames, slowly letting go of her hand. "Pleasure's all mine, and you and your good for nothing husband are welcome here anytime."

Charlie cleared his throat, and stepped between them, wrapping his arm possessively around Ally's waist, arching his brow at Abe, with another imposing stare.

"Sugar Plum, why don't you go get us a table, and I'll be with you presently....... Abe and I have much to discuss."

"Of course, Charlie, I shall await your return, My Love," She smiled sweetly at him, swallowing her nerves, at being left alone in such....... colourful company. Charlie watched vigilant as she walked to a table and sat herself down, crossing her arms over her chest, rubbing her forearms, as she looked around, surveying the bar, and he reminded himself not to leave her unattended for too long.

He strolled to the bar, turning his back on Abe, tapping two of his sharp talons on the glowing green glass.

"Two Peppermint Twists, one virgin, hold the schnapps, and a whiskey for Abe, all on my tab."

The pale, looming insect of a bartender, narrowed his slits of eyes derisively at Charlie, clearly offended.

"I KNOW what a virgin is, you condescending-"

"Really?" Charles mused, feigning shock, with a snicker, as the bartender poured the drinks, resentfully. "You surprise me, Hob, I'd have thought you'd be utterly unfamiliar with the concept, due to the particular company you keep."

Hob slammed the drinks on the bar without another word, as Charlie smiled to himself, impressed with his own sharp wit.

"A virgin...... for your virgin, huh?"

Charlie shot Abe a glance over his shoulder, and slid the shot glass of whiskey over to him, with a half smirk, half snarl.

"She is, isn't she? Let me guess? Pure as the new-fallen snow, 'course that is your type. Guessing that means you didn't exactly make waves on the wedding night."

"I wouldn't say that......." Charlie smirked, stirring his Peppermint Twist with his candy cane. "Ironically these were the waves I made, that prevented those of the far more pleasurable nature. Though I sense even those beckon on the not too distant horizon."

"Cut the coy shit, Charlie, what the HELL is a beautiful, classy dame like that, doing with an old, crooked codger like you, and in a joint like this!? How the HELL did you even get her here, there's no way that- no..... wait....."

Abe shook his head, as he spun his glass around and around, his magnified eyes widening with the realization. "Damn. I knew it. I knew as soon as you sauntered in here, the smouldering draft wasn't coming off you quite as strong. You seemed...... lighter. Let me guess, Kiss of Death?"

Charlie nodded, impressed. "However did you guess? Yes, it does seem the most effective delivery method."

"Look at you...... parsing off a piece of your dark soul on her, just to have date night with your wife........ Or did you come here looking for a favour?"

"You know me too well, Abe," Charlie sighed, the two clinking their glasses together, before knocking back a drink."

"I heard you were stupid enough to get yourself hitched again, but part of me didn't want to believe it. Thanks for the invitation, Friend." Abe scoffed, taking another drink.

"Oh come, Abe, don't pout. It was a small, tasteful ceremony, an altogether intimate gathering. Just the bride, the groom, and an indentured priest. Not even the children attended."

"Course not, you think she'd ever say I do, with all those tiny biters around, chewing up the scenery? Usually when a man says to his prospective bride, I hope the little ones don't eat you up alive, he's just being comical. You crazy kids. I should buy the house a round to celebrate the occasion.

"Don't pretend to be happy for me, Abraham, I know you're not," Charlie snarled, taking another drink, motioning for Hob to bring Abe another shot of whiskey. "At least I know you can pretend to like her, although I don't know how anyone could resist it. She's most persistent in that pursuit.

"Are you kidding?" Abe chuckled, arching both of his coarse, twisted brows "Hell yeah, I like her. Third time's the charm for Charlie Manx!!! Seriously, how'd you pick up a hot piece like that, WHAT Hallmark Card did you snatch that one out of, huh? Mrs. Christmas even curtsied to me, and all Ice Queen Jolene ever did, was say hello with her right hook.

Charlie chuckled merrily, his eyes dancing, fond with the memory. "I remember....... She hated you. To be fair, Abe, you did rather wantonly place your hand on her posterior, so you see the assault wasn't entirely unprovoked."

Abe shrugged his shoulders, starting in on his second drink. "What can I say? Jo had a nice one...... But your new squeeze, damn, now that's a woman. Lucky Son of a Bitch, she's real easy on the eyes, sugar sweet, well-mannered, and my GOD that upstairs-"

Charlie's black eyes snapped furiously, cutting to Abe, angling his chin down, brow terse, as he raised his hand sharply to silence him. "Do spare me your lewd depictions, and perverse metaphors, Abe. Not with her, she's....... delicate. She requires a softer address, I must insist. And I'll have you know, I am well aware of what is........ upstairs."

Abe nodded with a suggestive grin. "You're a man, Charlie, yeah sure, maybe a fancy dandy of one, but your blood runs just as hot as mine."

Charlie cracked a smile in spite of himself, arching both brows. Touché Abe. "A touch hotter, I should think....... Especially when it comes to her. You would do well to...... govern your gaze, however. Touch her again, and you’ll WISH I’d left you to the Walking Backwards Man."

"Easy, Charlie, you don't have to go all slaying song on my ass, I meant no disrespect to your lady, just admiring what you got. And my, you sure got yourself something special........."

Abe leaned in secretively, his eyes steady, and unusually serious, making Charlie take pause and lean in as well.

"She's stronger than you, creatively speaking, you know that, right?

Charlie stared back hard, his smirk furtive and haughty, tilting his silky head sardonic. "You don't say?"

"I mean, the potential is there, Charlie Boy, yeah, sure she's still green, it's a raw energy, but I felt it all the same, the moment she walked in. This girl...... She may be damn near perfect for you, but she's trouble."

"My, my, whatever am I to do?" Charlie clicked his tongue, making a mockery of his distress. "If only there were a way to harness that delicious creative energy for myself, make sure it can never be used against me, reign her in, before the little thing realizes how just powerful she really is......."

Abe frowned, bewildered, and Charlie decided a demonstration was in order, tugging his leather gloves tighter on each wrist, and he eyed his young bride, brushing his fingers across his own cheek, and Abe watched, spellbound, stunned, as she did the same, her fingers on strings, without taking notice.

"You Clever Bastard..........." He breathed, and Charlie's smirk grew even more menacing, reaching into his coat, running his fingers along the seam of his waistcoat pocket, as hers mirrored his with the ruffles just below her neckline. "You have no idea...... just how CREATIVE I can be......" Charlie whispered, moving to withdraw her magic wand, before stopping cold....... deciding against such a covetous display. The power radiating off of that mighty pen would make it irresistible to every, how did she call them, ne'er do well, here. "I've been keeping this one close to the vest for decades, Abe," He whispered cleverly, running his gloved fingers though his shiny, raven coif, and watched satisfied as hers did too, trailing through her own curls, and this time she did notice, and flinched, startled.

He dropped the hold, and finished the rest of his Peppermint Twist, Abe turning back to look at him in quiet reverence. "It’s her, isn’t it........? She’s the long game you've been jawing on about all this time........"

Charlie nodded, his eyes like stoked embers. "I told you.......... I'm going to be the most Powerful Strong Creative of them all."

Abe looked back at him, his eyes somehow even bigger, struck speechless. "Jesus, Chuck...... That was what, twenty years ago......?"

"Twenty-three," Charles finished softly, gesturing to her with a gentle nod of his shiny head. "I felt her power come into the world when she was born, after finding out a hundred years previous, that she was going to be Mrs. Manx, The Second."

"Damn....... You caught this one right from the cradle, didn’t you?" Abe shook his head again in a daze, sneaking another look at her, as she lay her head demurely on the table. Twenty-three years Charlie had been chasing this skirt, and there she was........ Now THAT'S an endgame.

"Precisely......." Charles simpered back, with a clever purse of his lips. "How else do you suppose to keep them loyal?"

"Amen to that, Brother, Amen to that......" Abe straightened his glasses, with another conspiring smile. "Poor thing, never stood a chance against you and your holly jollies. I'll bet she thinks you're in love with her!"

Charlie's eyes lost their mischievous shine, and he smiled a little taken aback, pressing his lips together

"Damn it, Chuck, don't tell me......." Abe groaned, reading the worst emblazoned in Charlie's dark, romantic eyes. "No, no, oh you poor lovesick Son of a WHORE!!! You've got yourself a sweet scheme going here, don't wreck it to hell by putting your skin in the game, and falling for her!!!"

"An unforeseen complication, Abe, winning her affection, somehow garnered my own, but the scheme is just as sweet, as imagined, even sweeter, you might say........ I was so loathe to take a wife after Jolene's scathing rejection, and my multiple attempts on her life, but being married again, even if it began as a ruse, has been pure bliss. I fully intended on ruining this young woman's life, and now I am more than happy to let her ruin mine."

"Real poetic, Lover Boy. And yet........ Here you are, your dream girl in tow, sneaking a snatch of your black soul on her, just to ask me for a favour. Do I sense trouble in your sordid little paradise?"

Charlie frowned, his dark brow knit, wrinkling his nose. "The trouble isn't with my wife, strangely enough, but the other woman, attempting to come between us........"

Abe's face lit up like a Christmas tree, clapping his hands together, bringing his elbows up onto the bar. "Oh GOOD, I was wondering when we were going to get to her. Miss Shorter Way herself, the other special lady in your life. Do you want me to take care of it?

Charlie bit his lip in distaste, his ire rising, stirring with the candy cane in his empty cup, snapping it in half. "Yes....... I want her GONE. Vic McQueen has already turned my bride against me once, and I'd rather not see that happen again. It’s time Abe, the bill has come due, and I am here....... to collect.”

"Hold on...... Peaches and Cream over there, made a move AGAINST you, that little sweetheart who keeps looking over here like a lost puppy? And you DIDN’T kill her!? Damn, Charlie, now that's what I call progress. You never would have given Jo a second chance."

"Jo never would have asked," Charlie finished smoothly, gazing at the lovely creature that had fallen asleep, head down on the table. "Every marriage has its........ problems, I suppose. The little quirks that keep things interesting. My little minx befriended my whore nemesis, and then they tricked me, in league together, STOLE my car to escape, but in the end....... She chose me. I cannot kill her, let all that loveliness and enviable energy go to waste. I've been at this too long, invested so much of myself, watching....... Waiting. And yet........ I can't have her be tempted again, she's too trusting, too good, Vic will prey upon her pesky empathy, and that's a problem for me. I want you to get rid of her, Abe, use her own tricks against her, by pretending to help her."

"How many of these have you had tonight, Chuck? I'm cutting you off. Lay off the schnapps, and the CRAZY talk, go on! Be with your girl, cop a feel for me, and forget everything you just said."

"Abe........ I am deathly serious about this," Charles snarled, leaning in, palms down on the bar, his chest shuddering." I am not drunk, nor mad, this is how I'm going to end that conniving bitch, Vic McQueen. You told me once, I had to kill her, and you're going to help me do it, by rallying your riff raff, and making a play to side with her, against me."

Abe stood up abruptly, shoving his empty shot glasses away. "That's DAFT, Manx, I won't do it, they won't do it...... It's unthinkable, it's-"

"CREATIVE," Charlie hissed back, the corner of his lip curling up maliciously. "You see...... I need to keep my poor, confused wife away from the BAD influence of one, Victoria McQueen. I need a different battlefield, one where my inscape is not at risk. You lure her here....... Convince her of your shared insatiable hatred for me, offer to join her in authoring my demise, and then, just when she thinks she's not alone, that she has an army, we strike, we FINISH her. Ally need never know........"

"Damn it, Manx, that's some kooky kind of suicide play, not to mention risky......." Abe's shifty eyes darted all around him, motioning for Charlie to lean in closer. "I'm with you, you know I am, you fa la la la fop, but there are folks here..... your fellow dark creatives that would jump for a shot at killing Christmas, you get me? You get it going around that somebody's making a big move against Charlie Effing Manx, and I can't promise you some won't be throwing in their hat for real."

Charlie grinned, showing off all of his teeth, hardly phased, his voice a hushed rasp. "Then it's a good thing....... I have my secret weapon, and her very special flaming knife...... Once my hidden enemies reveal themselves, caught up in the tangled web of this deception, after I destroy Vic, I will raise her against them. My initial folly was in attacking Victoria head on, relying solely on blunt force, but no, I understand it now........ This crafty femme fatale requires a stealth approach. She'll never see me coming........ until I am driving my sword through her heart.

"I'll do it, Chuck, I'll get the word out, but how are you going to get the rebel spitfire here anyway?"

Charlie slowly stood up from the barstool, snapping up Ally's untouched drink with a shrug, and an especially smug smile. "She's a drunk, Abe...... She'll find her way here, we all did. And if not...... you'll just have to reach out with a more than generous invitation."

Charlie sauntered over to his sleeping beauty, running his nails across the back of her dress, feeling the tight lacing of her corset, and she drowsily raised her curly head, her long eyelashes, fluttering.

"I must apologize vehemently, My Sweetness, that bit of urgent business, and catching up with good old Honest Abe, took much longer than anticipated. He arched both eyebrows very sweetly, his dark eyes coaxing. Do you have it in your heart to forgive your neglectful husband? I come with a peace offering."

Ally grinned adoringly, hugging his neck, as he sank down into the chair beside her. "Always........ I'm so happy you had a nice chat with your friend!!! You needn't apologize, Darling, I've been perfectly fine with my uh people watching........ That horned fellow did ask me the oddest question, however, before he left. Goodness, what IS that? It smells delicious!"

"This, My Dear, is called a Peppermint Twist, and I believe you'll find its effects most........ invigorating."

Ally's gloved fingers curled gratefully around the ceramic mug, bringing it to her lips, the swirling peppermint and white chocolate flowing warm, and comforting over her tongue.

"Mmmm oh my, Charles, that has to be the most scrumptious drink I've ever had! Yes, its effect is most......." Ally breathed deep, her eyes glowing eerily green, and the lights in Parnassus flickered erratic, as she felt it, the energy pulsing through her veins, her mind razor sharp, her hands shaking. "Powerful........."

Charles watched satisfied, breathing it in with pleasurable leisure, stoking the wildfire inside her that was just aching to be released, and just as he'd planned, every dark creative eye in the place was now on her. The bats were afraid of the butterfly.

"Take another drink," He insisted firmly, his gaze intense as he invoked his hold, bringing an invisible cup to his lips, as she brought the real one to hers, drinking deeply.

She gasped as the coloured neon died all at once, plunging the bar into complete darkness, the juke box music falling dead silent, and Charlie propped up his boots up on the table, leaning back in his chair relaxed, as the bats swarmed in a panic all around them, swooping out the door.

That's it, my little butterfly, make them flee.

"Oh my God, I don't understand, did I-!?" Ally froze, fearfully setting down her cup, and the ceramic shuddered on the table. "Impossible........ Abe, oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I-I don't know what’s just happened!!!"

Abe, who had sidled up next to their table, scratching the back of his head, now yanked off his glasses in bewildered awe.

"You're a knock-out, Doll........" Abe mouthed, utterly baffled, him and Charlie exchanging a knowing look. "You and your man here, you're gonna own The Night Road. Queen of Christmasland, and Princess of Parnassus.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

I want to tell you... (Part 8.)

Description: Nathan Drake is not the exact definition of an unhappy man. His job is steady, his friends still see him from time to time, he plays football, but his marriage is his main problem. Many things will change when a special person comes to his life.

Part Summary: Some things from the past are about to be revealed slowly... And you don’t know if you feel relieved that Nate knows first bits about you or if you want to keep the things secret. 

A/N: x

Word counter: 2.7 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme​, @peakymarvels​, @nemodoren​, @flavorishy​

Series master list: H E R E

Nathan’s car sing-along playlist: H E R E

This time, Nathan promised himself to be better than before - and he texted you right the other morning when he woke up. First, he was feeling weird about it, but as soon as you texted back, a grin appeared on his lips. You've even sent him a photo of your completely moved-in living room with a heart emoji, which made grin all shift long.

It took exactly three days before your other hangout. Your semester was starting in October and you hadn't got many friends in the town, so when Nate offered you any kind of escape from the loneliness, you've accepted right away.

The hangout wasn't originally even Nate's idea - it was Sully's. They were just hanging out at Sully's place, Florence has been gone for the shift, and both boys were getting ready to visit a farmer market in the nearby city when the idea crossed Victor's mind.

"Hey, kid?" - Sully sighed as he walked out of the bedroom, adjusting his belt on his jeans. Nathan expected the old man to ask if the visage suits him, but Victor pulled a completely different Uno card.

"You know, I was thinkin' about that girl of yours. Ain't she free for the day? I mean... A bit of help never hurt anyone, amirite?" - The old man adjusted his Cuban shirt, having Nathan thinking about two things in particular. How could he charm Florence while wearing such fashion crime and why on earth he wanted to meet you? The first one was bothering Nate way more, but he still asked about the second subject. - Why would I invite her to shop with you?" - Nate asked confusedly, earning a chuckle.

"Because you, boy, have been staring outta window the whole time I've been in the bedroom, thinkin' about her. Didn't you?" - Sully asked, knowing he's right. Nate was thinking about you - yet he was thinking about the best text to respond with to your last joke. It wasn't like he was just mindlessly signing, talking about how pretty you were. - "How am I lookin'?" - Sully turned at himself in the mirror, putting a cigar between his lips and aviators on his eyes, before hooking them on the hem of his white top. Nathan rolled his eyes, standing up.

"Like someone whos too old to be attractive, but he still thinks he has it. Come on." - The younger man asked, already hearing his phone ringing as he called you, hoping you wouldn't pick up. To his bad luck, you've picked just after the second sound. Your voice told Nate that you're really glad to hear him.

"Hey!" - A joyful cheer came out of the phone, making Sully chuckle at your excitement as he locked the apartment door.

"Hi, nice to hear from you." - Nathan greeted you back nervously, looking at the old man giving him his well-known grin. Nate felt like a nervous girl asking her boy out to the prom, so he took in a deep breath to ask you if you'd like to join them, being interrupted by your giggle. - "You're out of breath? You're jogging or something? I mean, jog in this weather is a suicide, but you do you." - You rambled, being lost in the thoughts inside of your head.

The weather was beautiful, indeed. The sun was shining, and the air was nicely warm, so it would be ideal weather to go to the beach for a swim. But having you thinking that Nathan is jogging made Sully chuckle as the young man rolled his eyes at him. Nathan would jog only if necessary and Victor mas aware of that. It was more probable that Sully himself sets on a jog, this boy would rather go to buy an ice-cream, sit on a porch and watched the nature.

"No, unfortunately, I don't jog, so..." - Nathan answered, having you chuckle with quiet 'kay added in the end. - "But I'm going to a market and you, miss, are going with me. How does that sound?" - The man said with confidence, having Sully make a dramatic surprised face as both the man walked to Nate's jeep standing in front of the apartment building.

"You don't even ask me if I have time today? Rude." - You answered, and for a moment, Nate felt saved because you won't be going with them. - "Sure, where will you pick me up?" - You asked suddenly when Nate plugged his phone into the car's Bluetooth, suddenly hearing your voice everywhere around them. Sully was quite amused with the personality you seemed to have so far.

"I don't know, maybe on the street, you're livin' at?" - The old man asked, having Nate's eyes widen in horror. Sully just innocently opened up the window, lighting one of his cigarillos up. Nathan hated it when the man smoked in his car, but he also learned that resistance comes in vain when it came to this man, so he just rolled his eyes and set on the road.

"Excuse me, who is that? I thought I'm talking to Nate." - You asked nervously, all the humor suddenly leaving you.

"Don't mind him, it's my best pal. So, in twenty minutes at the corner of the street? I think I won't be able to drive in because of the people and stuff." - Nate smacked Sully's thigh angrily, watching the man having a problem with containing a serious face as he turned around to look from the window. For a while, there was this weird silence on your end, before you sighed.

"'kay, I'll be there. See you, both." - You said your goodbye swiftly, already hurrying off to put some clothes on.

"Was that necessary, Sullivan?" - Nathan sighed, turning on one of his car playlists. This man was a sucker for singing in the car when he was stuck in a long colony, so he made a few playlists over the time - some included rock'n'roll when he was feeling fierce, one of them was solemnly based on the legendary 80s' songs, but he had an indie one of the modern music that kids these days listened to as well. And because he knew that Sully's more this oldies guy, he turned this one on, having Sully sigh unpleasantly. But he deserved it at the end of the day.

"Shed see me one way or another, kiddo. Or did you plan on shovin' me into the trunk, makin' me jump out of it as a surprise once we arrive there?" - Sully responded with his typical sense of humor, having Nate take a while to think over his stupidity. No matter how much he didn't like it, Sully was right. You'd see Sully when they'd be picking you up, so maybe, it was better to be aware of the danger beforehand. You've been looking exquisite, almost kicking the breath out of Nathan's chest, which sully didn't miss at all - he just didn't say anything out loud.

You had the same denim overalls on, with another amazing t-shirt a huge sunhat on your head. The old man sprang up from the co-drivers seat, opening the door for you, offering you a handshake. - "Hi." - He said. Oh Lord, this man was at least twenty years older than you, but he had some damn charm inside of him. - "Name's Victor, what 'bout you?" - The man gently kissed your knuckles, stealing breath out of your lungs.

Nathan couldn't but eye-roll at the sight of Sullivan. This guy was something, trying to impress every lady around even if he was taken. - "I wonder what Florence would say about your 'bout you, Sully." - Nate peaked out of the car, giving you one of his typical grins. At that, Sully chuckled and winked at you, as you still realized you're holding his palm in yours and that you also have a boyfriend. - "I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you, Victor." - You smiled back calmly, finally letting his hand go as you climbed into the car next to Nate. Sully didn't miss the dreamy look on the young man's face as he watched you settling down.

"Hey, Mr. Drake." - You told him charmingly, immediately vibing to Nate's playlist. Nathan smiled after a while, waiting before Sullivan settles his ass down on the backseat.

"Hey, how are you?" - Nate started a small chit-chat as you set on your way. It took you quite a long time since, in the middle of your journey, Nathan decided he wants to have an ice-cream, so you had to get an ice-cream. And when you finally set on the real way, there was a huge colony of cars because of some roadwork ahead. You and Sully chatted about his girlfriend, about how he's doing, what is he doing. He was a business owner, which quite surprised by someone who was looking like Sully. Suddenly, a song dropped, having both you and Sully to look at Nathan, who started dancing around, mumbling the words.

"Well, here we go again." - Sully mumbled under his mustache, rolling down the window to have another cigarillo. For a moment, you were amused by simply watching Nate vibe to the song, before he turned to you and sang you the lyrics. - "What are you doing? Stop." - You told the man between the waves of laughter washing over you. Soon enough, you noticed that Nate rolled every window down, now screaming the lyrics from the top of his lungs. For a moment, it almost looked as if you just let the man make an idiot out of himself, but suddenly, you started dancing too, yelling the lyrics on the man driving the car next to yours.

"Like strangers. Perfect pretenders. We're falling head over heels, for something that ain't real. It could never be us, eh, just you and I." - And at that moment, Sully was sure by two things. First was that the people on the front seats were just kids in overgrown bodies, Nathan especially. And the second thing was that he understood what Nathan saw on you. Elena was crazy at times, she was fun and really smart, but she had never sung one of Nate's car songs as passionately as you did. Sure, he didn't crush on you as Nathan did instantly, but you were likable.

The people in the cars around yours were laughing at the sight of two adults making such moves and faces during a pop song, there was no-one angry about you blasting the whole highway with the song. - "And you were acting as if I was embarrassing you?" - Nathan asked you unbelievably when the colony moved forward, grinning at you. - "You, miss, outshined me. You're way better at car sing-along than I am."

"Well, I couldn't let you know my strengths from the very first moment, could I?" - A classy smirk appeared on your face before you turned to look out of the window. - "But Sully is looking like his ears are about to bleed every second. You okay?" - You turned to the big man on the backseat, who had that grin on. - "Well, it was an impressive concert, to say the least."

You needed to say... You were grateful that Nathan made you come to the market that day. It was happening in a small village and it was obvious that you either had to have friends there or know about this place on your own to find about a market like this. There were animals, hordes of vegetables and a lot of gardening tools. You almost bought some, but Nate told you not to because you didn't have even small flowerpots at home. Even if the market wasn't too big, you spent almost three hours there. And just when you were walking back to the jeep, Nathan was carrying four bags of goods in his palms, you heard your phone ringing. It was from Mike.

"Hey, baby." - The man sighed and you could already tell what that will be about. You were about to spend another day at home on your own. - "What're you doing?" - He started sweetly, as he always did.

"Oh, Nate and his best friend took me to a market to buy some veggies because Nate is about to cook dinner for him and his girlfriend. How about you?" - You asked Mike back. Yeah, sure, he was quite surprised that you were spending time with Nate again, but he decided not to comment on it. You were hanging out quite a lot.

"Guess where. I won't be at home until midnight, again, so..." - Mike breathed out and your face automatically saddened. Nate caught this just when he and Sully finished packing the goods into the trunk, so he slowly walked up to you, but didn't let you know that he's standing just a few feet away from you.

"Are you sure it's about work?" - A sour question left your lips as you tried to stay calm, not to cause some drama in front of Sully and Nate. But Nathan furrowed at the words you've said. He almost started assuming what you were talking about, but you asked another one to his good luck. - "Or is there someone else in work again?"

That made Nate widen his baby blue eyes and from the stress, he started to toy around with his fingers. Mike was cheating on you with someone? Was it before you moved there, was it happening now or..? How long did you know about that? Jesus. Nate didn't know why is he still listening to such an intimate call, but he had an actual feeling that in a way, it made him more sure about the feelings he was having for you. You didn't deserve such a jerk. - "Yeah, sure, whatever. I'll find some program for myself, don't worry about it."

With that, you turned on your heels and Nate's head sprung in the opposite direction as he pretended that he wasn't listening to you. You didn't know how much he heard, so you just gave him a careful look. - "Uhm, I and Sully talked about inviting you over to the diner... I mean... If you want to, of course, but I would like some help with preparing the masterpiece... That's what I wanted to ask... You about..." - Nate mumbled with nervosity in his face, still playing with his fingers. It was a relief that Nate didn't hear any of what you just spat at Mike.

"I think I can save some time for you and these two. It's your lucky day, Nathan." - You answered, fighting the urge to cry at least. Back when you were living in your old place and things got bad, you used to yell at each other. So you decided to move to a different town, start over - you finally started working on your degree and Mike had won a good work offer. And for the few months, the situation had settled down once again. Mike stopped seeing these... Ladies and it could be felt the love had come back to your relationship.

It was almost a month and a half since you've met Nathan (it took quite a long time before you heard back from him) and the relationship was getting cold again. It wasn't even that Mike was gone for a lot of time, it was just the feeling of love disappearing again. You were almost seeing Nathan more often than your boyfriend, which was sad, but you could understand him a lot of aspects of his relationship with his wife. That was why you were fond of spending time with Nathan, most likely.

When you watched that awkward goofball smirking as he looked away from you. So you immediately took off to drive back to Sully's place. It made you feel better about yourself once again - Sully pulled up all of his best jokes for you, so he had you giggling in no time at all. Nate was thinking about the conversation he heard, but he joined the conversation not too long after. And just like that, you were headed with two practical strangers to the apartment of one of them.

[joddit-y]

Gabriel and Beelzebub's Divintively Terrible Plan (a Good Omens fanfiction)

if you’d rather read it A03, click here

chapter one is here, two is here, four is here

WARNING: IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANXIETY/PANIC ATTACKS, READ WITH CAUTION

CHAPTER THREE

Aziraphale was a bit worried about his friend. Logically speaking, there wasn’t anything wrong with him- the apocalypse had been called off, Adam had put reality back on its feet, their respective head offices weren’t calling for their heads. And yet, the angel couldn’t help but feel the demon was acting strange. He had called on Aziraphale several times per week during the months that followed the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, and although Aziraphale found this to be a rather pleasant surprise (he initiated many of their days together now as well), he’d begun to notice a significant trend in Crowley’s increasingly regular visits. That being, he didn’t. Crowley seemed determined to avoid the bookshop at all costs. 

If Aziraphale invited him over, he’d make a counter offer or abruptly cancel and reschedule at a different location. As a result Aziraphale was becoming better acquainted with his best friend’s flat, but he was beginning to worry if the demon simply did not like the bookshop anymore. But, he supposed, it was irrelevant. The time spent with Crowley is what mattered.

Sighing into the musty air, Aziraphale gently closed Agnes Nutter’s book of Nice and Accurate Prophecies (He’d had to beg Adam to let him keep a copy without stealing Anathema’s). He’d taken great delight in deciphering her already proven accurate predictions, it was like playing some grand game of connect the dots- he’d had a good laugh with Crowley over her instructions regarding Betamax.

But there was no point in worrying over something if you weren’t going to do anything about, he decided. Removing his gloves, he scootched the chair back and picked his way over several small stacks of books littering the floors (not that he particularly condoned a dishevelled shop, but it had served rather well as a customer deterrent in the past- twisted ankles were something no one enjoyed) to the telephone. Well, it was actually his new “flip phone” that Crowley had coaxed him into buying. Said owning a rotary phone was an affront to human innovation, and that the least he could do to keep up with the times would be getting an upgrade. His demonic friend had been pushing a smartphone, but Aziraphale met him halfway with a Nokia flip phone. He hadn’t been too fond of it originally- still didn’t like the idea that Crowley may have been right about the usefulness of modern technology, but the little contraption (“Little?! It’s a brick with a price tag!” Crowley had exclaimed at that remark. He’d been torn between hating the flip phone and grateful that Aziraphale finally had a mobile) had grown on him. It really was quite handy for taking calls, and although texting took him an inordinate amount of time, he did enjoy righteously snapping the lid shut when he wished to hang up on someone with flair.

Scrolling through his contacts to Crowley’s name, he paused. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. If he pushed Crowley too far...no, Crowley is a demon and of strong character, this wouldn’t cause problems. It wouldn’t. As his phone dialed a loud and annoying tune, he noticed vaguely that in stories whenever a character has to reassure themselves that their course of action was right, it never was.

Unfortunately this thought had been drowned out by the first few seconds of a voicemail message, interrupted by the sleepy sounds of his friend waking himself up.

“Ngh...hey ‘ziraphale, what’ss up?” he mumbled, a drowsy hiss escaping his defences.

“Crowley! Ah, good morning dear boy, I hope I didn’t wake you?” He stuttered, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of something to say before calling.

“Nah, you’re fine. I mean, you did. But it’ss fine…” Crowley said, dangerously close to falling back asleep.

“Well, I was wondering if you would like to have a drink this evening?” He began, his mind desperately scrabbling for plausible reasoning for his next query almost audible.

Crowley seemed to perk up at that.

“Yeah, sure, sounds great. So- so, the Ritz? My place?”

Aziraphale rubbed a manicured nail anxiously.

“Ah, well, see, I was thinking. And I thought that since I...have something to show you here at the bookshop, why don’t you just meet me here, I can show you that, ah, thing , and then we can indulge ourselves afterwards?”

Silence from the other end of the line.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. He had to convince Crowley that it was necessary he come or he might never find out why he was avoiding their old haunt.

“I, erm, well- I’ll be frank with you my dear, I received something recently that is unexpectedly demonic, it can’t be moved outside the shop, and I require your assistance in managing it.”

It is important to know at the point that Aziraphale hadn’t manipulated his best friend completely. He actually had received a mysterious package that radiated demonic energy. So he had no choice but to open it at some point, it’s not like he could give it to a human, it could be dangerous (besides, the box was rather large and was taking up far too much space in the shop to be ignored).

“-It’s just. Well. Crowley, I need your help with this, and I was really hoping you’d be willing.” he babbled. He hoped his friend would cooperate.

“...Yea, uh if you really need me at the shop, than I can..I can do that.”

The angel sighed in relief, a hand fluttering to his chest.

“Oh, oh thank you, dear boy, that’s really very--”

He would have kept talking if not for the telltale shrill from his phone that Crowley had hung up on him. A white eyebrow arched.

Strange behaviour indeed.

~~~

The sun was setting, evening had fallen. Washed out pink and gold streaks coloured the darkening sky, the few puffy clouds that were still dithering overhead hastened over the hills like obedient sheep called by their shepherd. London was calm, street lights becoming visible and casting a warm yellow glow over the roads. The atmosphere was serene, a perfect night to enjoy a glass (or several) of fine alcohol with a loved one. Yet the demon Crowley wasn’t picking up on this. He was sitting in his Bentley, white knuckling the wheel, staring doggedly at the dash as if it had compared his fashion sense to Aziraphale’s. The car was not moving. Crowley had slumped into the leather seat near ten minutes ago and hadn’t done anything since. He was waiting. Waiting, to not fear dread seeing the bookshop again. He wouldn’t admit it, but the demon hadn’t dealt with all the... feelings the fire gave him. It was almost like he was afraid to go back to the scene of the crime.

He’d considered dropping by the shop several times before, but had never gone through with it, always swerving into some back alley (or on one memorable occasion, a window- the Bentley’s to be precise) to avoid it. Het let out a growly sigh, removed his sunglasses, stared at the ceiling, reconsidered his last course of action and put the glasses on again, and finally willed the ever patient car into life.

Contrary to popular belief, the Bentley had been getting fed up with its driver’s antics and had been about thirty seconds away from kicking its engine into gear and driving him there itself.

Thankfully the stalling demon got his act together before that happened and remained blissfully unaware of his automobile’s opinions.

Crowley didn’t think about much while on the road. He simply focused on the fact that he would be helping Aziraphale and as a plus, consuming a concerning amount of alcohol. And that was enough for him. Except for the one occasion when it wasn’t and he regretted everything, letting loose a string of curse words screamed at the top of his lungs.

Soon enough he was pulling into the parking space on the corner of the shop, and the majority of his anxiety had been dealt with.

Spoiler alert, it hadn’t. Crowley just happens to be rather good at lying to himself. (Which is also a lie. Or is it?)

In the blink of a golden eye, Crowley was standing before the wooden door once again. But the major difference was that it was not burning to charcoal before him, and he did his best to remind himself of that fact. Rapping politely, his gaze drifted towards Aziraphale’s unnecessarily convoluted sign regarding his store’s hours, snorting under his breath at the ridiculous measures his angel took to keep out customers.

Wait.

Crowley was a demon . Demons did not “rapp politely.” Demons were rude and did what they wanted, and Crowley liked to consider himself somewhat of an unsavoury character- working for Hell or not, he had a reputation to uphold. So the obvious thing to do would be to barge in on whatever the angel was doing in a rather insensitive manner. But Crowley didn’t want to do that. He’d rather put off going into the shop for as long as possible, as he’d made quite clear over the past months. The serpentine demon decided a compromise would have to do, banging out a thundering rhythm on the poor abused tree the moment Aziraphale decided to open the door.

Crowley, nearly whacking the unsuspecting shopkeep soundly on the nose, retracted his fist quickly and arranged his face in an expression of vague distaste. Aziraphale blinked, a hand shooting up belatedly to protect his face. He chuckled lightly, chapped lips quirking upwards at the sight before him. Hands shoved into his pockets, eyes unreadable through dark shades, was his best friend Crowley. A mumbled sort of apology escaped his sharp tongue, seemingly without the consent of its master.

“Well do come in, dear boy, that box isn’t going to open itself.” Aziraphale said warmly, beckoning the demon inside.

His shoulders tensed as he strutted into the cluttered space. Everything seemed perfectly fine, he could even smell a whiff of cocoa in the air. He supposed the box was the thing that couldn’t leave the shop and required Crowley’s personal assistance-

Now that he thought about it, that sounded like-

“Angel, did you make up that whole box thing just to get me in the shop?” he questioned.

“Why would I need to, unless you’ve been avoiding it?” Aziraphale responded, an innocent look on his face.

Sneaky angel, Crowley thought. Kinda endearing.

...No, he amended.

The angel gave a little half-smile and clapped his hands. “So! Recently I was delivered an anonymous package, see that large crate over there-?” he pointed out the conspicuous looking wooden crate occupying a back corner of the book shop. It had an aura, almost like it was...wait. Crowley sniffed. He’d been shoving his more unappealing emotions into a hole for the past few minutes, but now there was something... in the air- acrid, smoky,

b u r n i n g

A flicker of red orange light appeared out of the corner of his eye. No, no no, this could not be happening again Aziraphale was too careful and oh god someone his angel was still here , he might not be so lucky again--

“...so you see the problem is the demonic aura this beastie is emanating, I really think that you would be more suited to…”

--his heart was beating wildly in his chest, it usually didn’t beat at all--

Crowley whirled around to beat out the flames -- he could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck--

Only to find that there was nothing? Nothing, just nothing, that couldn’t be right -- short, erratic breaths pushed themselves out, desperate for air he didn’t need-- He frowned, somewhat aware of the plump man in his peripherals calling after him confusedly.

“Crowley?”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear him, fidgeting and glaring at a spot by his desk.

--he could smell smoke, it didn’t make sense it DIDN’T MAKE SENSE--

Aziraphale approached his friend. He’d never seen him like this, he didn’t seem quite well, chest almost heaving as he stood stock still.

“Crowley are you alright, you’re starting to worry me!” He exclaimed, and laid a gentle hand on the suited shoulder. Crowley started, blinking rapidly behind his glasses and jerkily maneuvering himself away from the angel’s touch. Now that was definitely odd, Crowley never had a problem with contact- several occasions where Crowley had draped himself over Aziraphale when he was hungover attest to that.

“Dear boy, do tell me what’s wrong.” He worried insistently.

Crowley smiled awkwardly and suggested they take the box outside in case whatever was inside damaged his precious books. Aziraphale considered this to actually be a sound idea, but one look at the wheezing demon practically wringing his hands beside him made his mind up for him.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea my dear, why don’t we go, ah, scope out a good place for it first hm?” He said soothingly, guiding his friend towards the back door.

Crowley felt the cool night air like a slap to the face. It was all hitting him now.

Tears streaming down his face, eyes burning-

aziraphale-

smoke pooling in his lungs, burning him from the inside, scorching heat charring everything he loved to cinders-

he’s gone, gone-

the roar of the flames hammered in his eardrums, the sickening sounds of home crumbling to ash behind him-

AZIRAPHALE HE’S DEAD-

he couldn’t see couldn’t breathe couldn’t   t h i n k

SOMEBODY  KILLED  MY  BEST  FRIEND

~thanks for reading!~

[twowritingdisasters]

Sin City: Foxtrot

Chapter One

The media, like the muckrakers of old, picked up on the presence of a new player in the city’s eternal struggle between human and Inhuman almost immediately. Green mask, they said, untamable ivy, impossibly fast with eyes that glowed amber. Hellbent, some claimed, on Inhuman domination, while others insisted that he only meant to use his cursed powers to defend the hellhole of crime and prejudice that their home had become. Even the Inhuman population was divided, some cheering him on while others groused that he was only turning more people against them. Either way, Sloth was growing in infamy and seemingly growing in power and confidence on top of it, hiding in the shadows less and stopping both rabid, wild Inhumans and cruel, Inhuman-loathing agents of law enforcement.

Ban Volpin wanted absolutely no part in it. The shadows were where he thrived and he was doing fine in them, thank you very much. Thieves were meant to avoid the spotlight, and he was the best thief there was, which meant avoiding Sloth. Unfortunately, Sloth himself seemed to have other ideas, and, being the complete and utter bastard Ban would soon discover he was, he seemingly became intent on dragging him into this...bizarre crusade.

It began--as things usually did with Ban--when he tried to pickpocket a kid walking some shaggy mutt. Slipping his wallet out of the pocket of his hoodie was easy, and Ban hummed with delight as he flipped it open, reading name printed neatly on the inside. Harlequin, huh...that’s a damn unfortunate name if I’ve ever heard one. “Ah, crap,” he muttered, flipping through it; no driver’s license, no credit card, no identification other than the name. Like me, he thought, and bit back an irritated curse. Like us. Like all the Inhumans. He almost wanted to go back to return the wallet, but hey, a thief had to make a living somehow. He could probably rip off the label, pawn it somewhere--ooh, there were a few twenties in there, could probably buy him a steak at some slightly-better-than-shitty restaurant, wouldn’t that be nice--

“Hey.” 

He turned, glanced down and met the amber-eyed glare of the kid he’d pickpocketed moments ago. Fucking shit. He flipped the wallet shut, tilting his head nonchalantly down at him. “Whaddya want?” The wallet wasn’t worth fighting over; there wasn’t much in it, but if the kid asked, he’d hand it back. No point in outing himself as an Inhuman over sixty bucks and some cheap fake leather. 

To his surprise, the kid--Harlequin, whatever--smiled. Smirked, really, his mouth twisting wickedly at the corners as he hummed low in his throat, sounding amused. “You’re one of us, aren’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

In answer, the kid’s sclerae suddenly flashed amber, the iris darkening, and the dying weeds sprouting out of the cracked concrete flared with vitality. He hovered a few inches off the ground before dropping to the sidewalk again. Inhuman. Figures. “It’s been awhile since anyone’s been able to steal from me. You’re a good thief.”

Ban scoffed. “Look, if you want your wallet back, ya don’t have to resort to this...bullshit, alright?” He gestured aimlessly at him with one hand, tossed back the wallet with the other. “You caught me, it’s fine. No flattery necessary~”

“Is it flattery if it’s true?” The boy’s eyes glinted. “I mean, you seem annoying. And like kind of a dick. But you’d be useful, too...”

Well, fuck, that was a sentence Ban absolutely loathed. “I’m not here to be used by anyone, fuckwit,” he snapped, turning to stalk away. “Much less some brat who thinks they know shit about me.”

He got about five steps down before something slammed into his side, throwing him into an alley; he snarled, lashing out at whatever it was before swearing as it sliced up his hand. The injury sealed up quickly, as usual--unkillable and all that--but the annoyance of it made him curl his lip as he clawed at it and struggled. Fuck it, he found himself hissing mentally, extending his hand toward the bastard as he called on his power. 

Locating his opponent’s energy was easy, sapping it even simpler. He grinned wickedly as he dodged a blow from the bastard’s knives--knives, really? Against a thief? Ha, amateur. There might’ve been a lot of those damn ninja blades (ugh, he was starting to get an inkling of who this fucker was...), but with his agility boosted and his adversary’s slowed, avoiding them all was a piece of cake. Any wounds that were left sealed up in seconds, the spatters of blood on the glass-covered ground the only signs he’d been wounded. 

Unfortunately, the bastard didn’t have any physical strength he could sap at all--goddamn weakling relying on his powers all the time--but there was plenty of speed and strength in his gift, and he slowly drained that all away, grinning as the swarm of knives slowed to a halt, the boy dropping to the ground with a gasp of exhaustion. The knives coalesced into a--a freaking pillow?--swooping underneath the kid as he collapsed--and why the fuck was he still grinning? “Knew you were good.”

Ban scowled at him, flexing his hand as power thrummed around it. “And why the fuck does it matter to you?” 

His grin faded, flattened to a sharp scowl. “Because the Daimonas Corporation has plans--for the city, for the world, for everything. And their plans aren’t exactly good, either.”

Daimonas Corporation, plant control, shifting weapons...oh fuck, he’s-- “You’re Sloth.” It wasn’t a question, and the kid--Sloth--tilted his head toward him with arched eyebrows. “Then what--”

“The Daimonas Corporation is planning to create an Inhuman army.” The words came out in a rush, as though he’d been waiting to tell someone. “I’ve been trying to stop them, but I can never get close enough, never get proof, and the cops aren’t gonna do shit. Even as Sloth, I can’t fight that many rogue Inhumans on my own, don’t have the skills to get to their information, but you--you’re a thief, a good one, and you don’t steal from people who can’t afford it. Plus, you’re an Inhuman, which gives you a stake in this already.”

Fucking-- The Daimonas Corporation, better known as the Demon Clan on the streets, were like the bogeymen of the Inhuman population. At least half of them had been attacked, experimented on, or used in some way by them, and the other half had at least ten close calls between them. An army of controlled, brainwashed Inhumans wasn’t a stretch, and after what they’d done to Killia…

We’ll save her, they’d said when he’d brought her to them, out of other options. He’d pleaded with them--don’t attack her, she’s not like me, she’s normal--but they’d taken her blood, used her until there was nothing left, killed her and tossed out her body for him to find later.

He wanted nothing to do with those bastards ever again. “And why the fuck should I join your crusade?”

Sloth didn’t answer, only blinked seriously at him. “One night patrol, just one. And if you’re not on board, I’ll let you walk.” He extended his hand. “I’ll even let you keep the cash.”

It was a bad deal, a shitty idea, and Ban knew he should walk away, knew he should turn and leave. What else could this kid give him, anyway? Who knew if he was even telling the truth?

But Ban clasped Sloth’s hand in his, meet his eyes before letting them flash red briefly, the sclerae changing shades as he activated his power for a brief second, letting the added agility flow out of him. “Ya drive a hard bargain, Sloth.”

The kid grinned again. “Call me King.”

One patrol turned into five, then ten, then a nightly rotation, the new red-armored vigilante fighting alone just as often as he fought in tandem with Sloth. A new name began making its rounds throughout the human and Inhuman communities--Fox. Quick, clever, and unfailingly deadly, Fox’s easygoing, joking manner grew in fame far more quickly than Sloth’s icy anger and sarcasm, the scarlet-masked hero even gaining a few fans. People remarked on his greed, his strange deftness and accuracy for a man of his build, wondered whether he really followed Sloth’s agenda or whether he had a different purpose entirely. Support for the heroes had begun to grow even in the human community, mostly among the young, and the Inhumans were nearly entirely for them.

Ban glanced at his reflection in a diner window and snorted softly, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Fox. His eyes glittered scarlet as he gazed out across the road, at the sleek, imposing building rising above his city, the letters D.C. flashing on it. The Demons had already released a statement condemning them, and most of the humans stood against them already, armed with prejudice and privilege.

Good. He stirred sugar into his coffee, and grinned--a fast, foxlike smirk. Let the war begin.

[ratherhavetheblues]

MICHELANGELO ANTONIONI and TONINO GUERRA’S ‘LA NOTTE’ “I lacked the courage to go all the way”

© 2021 James Clark

     Having finally, in the preceding essay, L’Avventura, ventured upon the cues of poet-film writer, Tonino Guerra, one might proceed with gusto upon the second campaign, namely, La Notte (The Night), 1961.

However, before thrilling to a rare lucidity from Guerra, I must describe how wrong my first impressions of this film were. (Not that it matters what I did; but there is a lapse which everyone involved has missed, a crucial mistake.) In those days, Antonioni could do no wrong in my eyes. But an anonymous note which I stumbled upon back in 2013 for a blog , in Wonders in the Dark, concerning La Notte, and promptly forgot, might have wakened me up a bit. The preamble of the “behind the scenes,” involved another fan, shoring up the Antonioni line. “I’ve become fascinated in gradually realizing that almost the full complement of this indie—yes—but also guerrilla art, had been met with censure. It was something of a jolt to learn that the film on tap here, La Notte, hinged upon two great performers (and specialists to boots) concerning problematic incitement, namely, Marcello Mastroianni and Jeanne Moreau, who hated this assignment and did not take seriously the roles they were to sustain. Mastroianni, in particular, spent quite a bit of time on the set quarrelling with one of the writers, Tonino Guerra. And that rancor, with its behind the scenes clutter, cues our special concern here, regarding the precise nature of Antonioni’s pristine closures within complex and even Byzantine involvement by associates, though contrarian with regard to conventional filmmaking, unlikely to have absorbed the unique physicality of his inspiration.”

One more time: “… unlikely to have absorbed the unique physicality? ” The unique physicality was entirely the initiative of that trouble-maker!

Let’s see if I can make amends. Guerra, the necessary “nuisance,” would have constructed for the Antonioni appellation, a seeming hot intellectual subject, namely, “alienation,” wherein to place a far more comprehensive and far more profound demand. Right from the opening credits, with a steep, steady drop of an empty glass elevator, there is an oblique indication that human authority has stepped back a move. We’re in Milano, with its heady schemes, but that steady fall steals the show. Very soon a moving car with a man and a woman on board, nearly becomes crushed by a wreckless heavy- construction worker. The escapees use an elevator to reach a friend in a hospital. As they approach their destination, we notice that each of them conveys a remarkably vivid shadow. We imagine that the anxiety here (terminal cancer) has been given a graphic form. That form, with its mundane, shadow aspect, can stand as a promise that another  force has to be reckoned with, despite being lost to the “realists.” During this event, we notice varying intensity (including that of the victim and the victim’s  mother); and, sometimes, also no shadow at all. This forum of potential mystery and potential power consists by way of an agency unseen per se. But when one has an inkling to be fully alive, that constituent will see what one’s made of. The elevator was an entrée. The rest of the saga is out of this world.

  Therefore, when the host of the occasion, Tommas, asks, “What’s new?” he’s really hoping for a moment of courage, not another diversion. Not that it’s another humdrum moment, but Tommas, providing his own expected response, “Your book comes out today!” has other matters on his mind. Intensity, but missing the boat. Giovanni, the novelist in the room, tells him, “Let’s not talk about that.”/ “Why not?” Tommas asks. Giovanni shrugs off that news with, “One has to do these things…” (launching a supposed important book). If we take the writer to be not simply being polite in his good fortune, we’ve encountered a gigantic lack of gusto. (No serious lift, here, from the strongest of helpers.) Right here, we are face-to face with eliciting the elements from our own courage and from what love collaborates. Tommas, also a writer, exhorts, “And your books, the only thing that really matters.” Grossly lost perspective. But on the other hand, there is his most recent essay in an obscure journal. And though all but a dead man, Tommas feels  the wonderfulness of the moment. He makes a distinct shadow of his upper body. He has made a statement of understanding. He’ll, unfortunately, declare, “I see things more clearly now… So many things become clear when you’re all alone.” (He had just blurted out that he strongly felt at home with them. Could he be both?!) “I feel like I’m watching from the sidelines, when I should have been more involved.” (Easier said than done.) “I lacked the courage to go all the way.”

  “All the way…” Giovanni praises Tommas’ powers. “You, a quitter? Then I should give up writing!” (Before the film ends, he does just that.) The flood of dynamics moving into solidity. The dying man slips into self-pity. “I wasn’t smart enough, anyway.” Smart is not the matter. Tommas had well disclosed the dilemma: courage. Our saga, with its black graphics freefall, was only one of many vigorous gifts of disinterestedness. While those two dig into careers, and perhaps slip a bit (or slip a lot), the full gift may be just around the corner. It also may be  elsewhere. The latter does not mean that reflections can’t rally. All the actions to come pertain to perseverance. So while the brave patient, the brave mother and the very questionable couple move apace, those shadows of promise need to be understood. Giovanni has only one moment of wit that makes perfect sense. He tells Tommas, “You give success the slip.” (Guerra, the true genius, gave “success” [fame and fortune] the slip, while embracing the depths of art.) But that room of irony, a bit of magic in full body, flourishes. Tommas’ mother, we learn from the patient, had had a regular seven hour train ride; and was now struggling without sleep. More little moments to ponder.

   Instead of Antonioni’s easy and fashionable alienation (being a picture, in fact of Giovanni and Lidia [his wife]), Guerra, the adult, opens his eyes to a portal of maturity, vastly more exciting and penetrating. Lidia bails out early from  Giovanni’s opening. She embarks upon a long afternoon in the city, beginning with jay-walking across a very hectic and dangerous street, which she manages with remarkable panache, pivoting like a matador. An Olympian  there. But hardly, in other matters. (We’re reminded of the non-athletes in the film, L’Avventura [1960], capering over deadly rockfaces.) If she can do that, she can be brave in other matters. It’s all in the culture. A culture destroying itself.

Lidia’s afternoon voyage has a destination. Soon she has entered a slum, with a crying toddler. She does not linger long. She sees fit to tell the child, “What’s the matter?” Then she looks for a moment to a blackened burned wall. A jet roars over. She takes a taxi to an industrial area. She tells the driver to wait. Then a series of events, pertaining to physical  power, occurs. Along with that, there is the recognition that she has had much to do with the area, though their car, as we’ll see, is a very expensive one, and their apparel is affluent. But we shouldn’t conclude that she was born there. She was, in fact, as much a patrician as he. (Bergman on the job.) But she has unfinished business to ponder here. In the hospital, Tommas remarks, “I regret spoiling many of your evenings with my presence in your lovely apartment.”/ Giovanni  responds, crazily,  with, “It’s your home too. You know that…” (A cliché, to measure how far they are apart.)

   Though classically patrician at heart, there had, it seems, a spate of rebellion based  in this precinct. The rebellion, with a safety net, would have been short lived. But here, Lidia, when the odds seem frighteningly wrong, there was a fantasy to cling to, a sensibility of earthiness. She wanders in the familiar range, and soon she’s upon  a familiar event, a brawl involving young boys , with one of the fighters smashing the other to a pulp.  Too real, she finds, and with her sense of authority she ends that savagery. On she continues, to a large field where young boys (once again) look for a silver lining. There we see a group of boys shooting off rockets. More implacable dynamics, their elevation involving—along with the violent noise and speed—keening for something unheard of (while what is heard of, continues to make them sick, an uncanny sickness).  She phones up the reluctant novelist to come out there with her, to hopefully, once again cross that dangerous road. “They go up really high. It’s beautiful!” Giovanni proves to be in no mood for neither something new nor nostalgia. His patrician sense of advantage does not budge; but that has left him with nothing. On reaching the place of the former experiment, all he has to say is, “These tracks used to be in service when we used to come here.” The cantina where Lidia was on the phone, pipes out from a radio, “Our program continues with more easy  listening.”

   Back at home in their killer digs, Lidia, not easily to be squelched, tells  him, “I don’t feel like staying in.” Her first choice was a party at a villa. But on realizing the host would want to take up again the question of Giovanni’s being hopefully compromised in his writing, she thinks of something much better. (She signs off from that cloud with, “Every millionaire wants his own intellectual. You must be his choice.”) Feeble shadows. She looks at him and glares. The subject of ditching the hardness. “What’s wrong?” he asks. In response she mocks, “Would you fasten me?” Dead gestures, and the shadow being lost. “I’d rather we went out by ourselves,” the minor matador decides. As things go by, she likes the show; but she should have liked it much better. A statuesque, black dancer and her retinue, does something even more amazing   with her sensibility, her body, and her heart than the climbers and the jay-walker. Giovanni  tells her, “Look at her. She’s not bad at all.” Not bad!? Then he looks away to check a woman server. The performer holds an empty wine glass in  her hand. She slowly, very gracefully,  performs a forward  roll, ending by placing the glass being filled on her forehead. A dimension of incredible grace. Then many awe-inspiring twists and turns follow. There is a close-up of Lidia. She touches Giovanni’s cufflink. “You remember?” she urges, when sexy was more than that.  His response is, “You’re really trying to distract me.” She smiles but it’s light-years away. This night has the beginning of a watershed. Her subsequent move, “I can have thoughts of my own,” promises what she can’t deliver. She feebly backs off, “I don’t have any at this moment, but I’m expecting one. I can feel it coming.” The sax easing the dancer’s magic. Though having recently frowned upon the world of patricians, Lidia now thinks her best hope could be an infiltration of irony. Silence as virtue. There is no kick-start  of a jaunty elevator, here.

   It’s an all-night party, but no one gets out alive. This last hurrah in Lidia’s reflections needs close attention amidst scheming and waste. Confronted with the usual crowd, which she had failed to comprehend and master (an almost hopeless task), she was quite unique in largely evading the patrician bonhomie. Her evasive stalk in the darkness of the grounds (far more pedestrian than her ways of taming hot-blooded racers) leaves her ordinary. And yet, what  your patrician can’t appreciate, is seeing someone in the grip of a  toil which can’t be bought off. On the other hand, Giovanni has a busy ream of business, easily about the normal.  However, one of his businesses brushes, concerning the young, Valentine, the boss’ daughter,  and her questioning (also questionable) elicits alertness. Before that, she is found, ironically, in Lidia’s solitary meandering within the mansion—seen from a distance—reading  the avant-garde novel, The Sleepwalker, by Hermann Broch (and its resemblance to the work of Ingmar Bergman and Andrei Tarkovsky). And then, aptly, Giovanni, brought into the connection as a playmate for the girl’s version of roulette, with jewels for the counter.

One other player we haven’t mentioned here, is a man who has attempted a few times, during the evening, to speak with Lidia. He is definitely not a stranger. He perseveres, and  manages to escort her to the dance floor. To her surprise, he cannot dance. (Not a close liaison.) Passion interrupted. Passion never happening. A heavy rain occurs, and they run to his car. While plunging into the downpour, another world announces itself. The windshield has become nearly opaque, a rushing quaisi-black oil with curious flashes from the streetlights. Both of them laugh, feeling definitely a highlight of the festivities of the party. He parks; a slight moment of sense. There her visage on the window had become like a monster. Deep shadow with no  room to grow. To them it’s only unusually dark, like a tunnel of love. Lidia comes across with, “Where are you taking me?” Ambiguity running amok. The gutter along the top of the sportscar  becomes a little river. The real show, however, is  as if it never happened. At a deserted stop light, they caress. She snubs his invitation. “I can’t. “I’m sorry…”

   An all-night band at the gala. Another sax player, but how to match what we’ve already seen and heard? As it happens, there is mastery to spare. Where is the door to touch that polyglot integrity?

During Giovanni’s hopes to improve on Lidia by way of Valentine (the sort of ruthlessness which Antonioni would find to be trenchant), she plays a tape for him. “Promise not to make fun of me,” she insists./ “I promise,” he vows./ “From the living room today you could hear dialogue from a TV: ‘If I were you, Jim, I wouldn’t do that.’ After that, the howling of a dog, slow and sure, rising in a perfect arc and tailing off in an great sadness. Then I thought I heard an airplane, but there was silence, made up of sounds. If you press your ear to a tree and listen, after a while you’ll hear a sound. Perhaps it comes from us, but I prefer to think it’s the tree. Within that silence were strange noises that disturbed the soundscape around me. I closed the window, but the noises persisted. I’d thought I’d gone crazy. I don’t want to hear useless sounds. I want to manage… So many words, I’d rather not hear, but you can’t escape them. You must resign  yourself to them.” She erases the tape. Unfinished business. (Try not to use the word, “soundscape.” Try not to make a fetish from a vegetable. Try to grow up.)

It’s dawn, and Lidia, on quitting the damaged monarchy, suggests to Giovanni  lingering on the plutocrat’s golf course abutting that heaven. She admits that years of generosity from Tommas’ insights could never elicit serious thought from her. “I wasn’t interested in the least,” she tells him. “His persistence nearly drove me mad. I began to hate him for it. And never once did he talk about himself; he talked about me.” (This preamble is not about disparate personalities. It’s about patricians: those having been expected for many generations to hold riches and powers, even if valuing ludicrous, slack and superficial understanding, even if lacking vision, even if gutless, even as cherishing violence to see themselves as alphas—the way of life, right?) It is Lidia’s pleasure (not struggle) to picture that carelessness pertaining to the young Lidia, as, “I never realized what was happening. How foolish we are in our youth. It seems like nothing will ever end. But you talked to me only about yourself. That was new for me.” (Had you ever heard your relatives speaking?)  “I was so pleased! Nothing in the world felt sweeter. Maybe because I loved you.” Then again, could it be that that connection is about a billion dollars; and the  generous one had lived in one room? (That, however, she had kept in touch with the thinker for a long time, cannot be entirely ignored.) “I loved you, not him. That’s why his adoration wore on me… Whereas you were flattered by it. Isn’t that true?”/ “Yes, but not much.”/  “He was so vulnerable.” In her reminiscence, she walks to a table, feeling sad. “The reason I feel like dying is I don’t love you anymore. That’s why I feel so miserable. I wish I were already old, so I’d were already dedicated my life to you. I wish I didn’t exist anymore because I can’t love you anymore. There it is. That’s the thought that came to me at that nightclub, you were so bored.”/ Giovanni says, “But if you say all this, if you wish you were already dead, it means you still love me.” (That being an encore of sorts, of the father,  whistling in the dark, in L’Avventura.) / Lidia argues, “No, it’s just pity.”

   Giovanni stalks away. She follows. He sits down at the lip of a bunker. (A shot, way beyond his skills.) Soon both of them are at the lip. Soon both of them admit they lacked adult resolve. Lidia has brought in her purse a sheet of paper she might have carried for many days. This was the day: “When I awoke this morning you were still asleep. As I slowly emerged from my slumber, I heard your gentle breathing, and through the wisps of hair over your face I saw your closed eyes and I was certain of my emotion. I wanted to cry out, to wake you up, because you slept so deeply, you almost seemed lifeless. [Ironies abounding.]   In the half-life, the skin of your arms and throat, so vivid, so warm that I long to press my lips against it, but the thought of disturbing your sleep, of having you awake in my arms held me back…” There is more, unfortunately. But we don’t need the full doggerel. One more time!: “At that moment I understood how much I loved you. Lidia, and the eternity of the emotion was such… etcetera.”

About mid-disaster, the supposed novelist became stern. By the end, he was ready to condemn the enterprise in the strongest language. “Who wrote that?” he sneered./ “You did…” And yet, Guerra has much more in store. Lidia kisses his hand. There is a weak caress; and the embarrassed writer (having, during the night, quit the work he never came close to what Thomas did), somewhat pounced upon Lidia, in a form, much more than dominance than affection. While being manhandled in the sands, she calls out, “No… I don’t love you anymore! And you don’t love me either!” This elicits from him, “Be quiet.” / “Say it!” she demands. / “No, I won’t say it!”

  The camera draws back in stages. Then it pans away from them altogether. What it doesn’t show is that there is a modest withdrawal from the heavily tainted story and the heavily tainted discoveries which Lidia, the patrician softy, had done her, not all so bad, best. Here she becomes a potpourri. She becomes a figure of pathos, while also maintaining a figure of bathos. Keep trying. You’re not alone.

[salexectrian-heir]

Loki

Pairing: Solavellan Rating: E* (not every chapter is E, most are rated T. Chapters containing explicit content will be marked with an asterisk*, ex: Chapter 7*) Summary: Lavellan rescued a mischievious sphynx kitten outside her work who loves her dearly. But his destructive habits start to get out of hand when he steals her attractive neighbor’s underwear… repeatedly. [Previous Chapter]       [Read on AO3]

Chapter 3

Winter came early this year. Fresh snow meant more accidents on the roads, and that meant more bodies would be filling more beds in the hospital. Which meant longer hours for Anise, and many on-call rush ins, meaning she would be returning home when normal people would just be waking up to start their days.

After a particularly grueling six hour emergency surgery, she was released back into the world with orders to sleep and not return to the OR until the day after tomorrow. She carried herself and her freezing, soaking wet scrub pants up five flights of stairs because the elevator was down for a maintenance check, and hated every step of the way. That was until she bumped into Solas, who was in a rush. He always seemed to be in a rush.

“Pardon m--oh Anise,” he said, startled.

She imagined she must have looked just as bad as she felt. He looked impeccable, as almost usual. Save for the times he stumbled into the laundry room in a sleep deprived stupor.

“Good morning Solas,” she managed to smile, hoping it didn’t look too terrifying, “off to a late start?”

“I overslept, but I should still be able to make it to work on time,” he glanced down at the watch on his right wrist, “granted the traffic is not too bad.”

Suddenly she was at full alert, “Please be careful driving! There were thirty six accidents yesterday, four of which resulted in five people requiring major surgeries. Please, I would much rather see you folding my underwear in the laundry room than in my OR.”

His resulting expression was a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Wait, pretend you didn’t hear that, I’m a bit frazzled at the moment, and…” she covered her face, cheeks heating up against her palms.

He offered her a soft smile. “I will tell my Uber driver to be careful on the roads on the way to the airport this morning.”

Anise peaked through her fingers, “You’re flying?”

Solas nodded, “I work in Arlathan, so it is necessary.”

She pulled her hands away to gape at him. “Arlathan? But that’s like, seven hours away! What are you doing living here?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” he stole another look at his watch, “I’ll tell you over laundry when I return, if that is alright with you?”

Anise bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling too broadly. “Yeah, it’s a date.” Her stomach dropped what felt like a thousand feet. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, I believe you did,” he said smugly as she stepped aside to let him pass.

After he had gotten down another flight, she leaned over the railing and called down to him.

“215-383-7891!”

He paused mid step and glanced up.

“So you can text me when you land so I know you got there safely.”

The smile he gave her drove all the remaining cold out of her body.

“215-383-7891,” he echoed back and disappeared down the rest of the stairs.

Just over seven hours later, he let her know he had landed safely.

The next day she bought two sets of black boxerbriefs in his size and a greeting card. She stuffed underwear in a plain blue gift bag, and wrote his name in cursive on the outside.  The card she bought had a picture of an adorable kitten on the outside with a blank inside. She threw together a heartfelt apology and promised this would be her final one. She signed both her name and Loki’s before placing it inside the envelope.

“I think this is a first for me,” she said conversationally to Loki, who was sitting on the table in front of her, sniffing the envelope, “I never bought a man underwear before.”

Before she had time to react, Loki bit the envelope. Anise yelped in surprise and yanked it back, pulling the kitten with her. Loki let go as she edge of the table came dangerously close to his front paws.

“How fitting,” Anise said, running a thumb over the small bite marks on the top of the envelop, before sliding it into the gift bag, “now he definitely won’t think we’re sorry.”

Loki meowed and jumped down from the table in response. He sat impatiently by his food dish.

“I’ll feed you in thirty seconds, I just have to hang this on his door first.”

Anise closed the dryer door. Without Loki to interfere, she was able to get everything done much more quickly. Though she would admit, she missed his hairless, nosey butt poking around. “So, what is it you do exactly?”

“I am a pharmaceutical representative for the Evanuris Corporation. Their headquarters and located in Arlathan, hence why I frequently fly.” He emptied the rest of his basket into his machine and changed the settings before starting the cycle.

“EvaCorp, seriously?” Her incredulous tone made him take pause. She was familiar with the company, a little too well. Evacorp, as the doctors referred to it, was the primary producer of nearly all the medications and drugs utilized at most hospitals across the region, often at expensive prices. And unfortunately they had the right to, as they had the most cutting edge formulas and the most current research available. Still dicks, but much needed ones.

“I can imagine your distaste… I recall you saying you worked in an OR, correct?”

“Yes, the one right across the street actually.”

He looked impressed. “So, I really should  be calling you Doctor Anise...?”

She laughed. “If you ever become my patient, which I hope you do not, I would ask you to refer to my title, Dr. Lavellan.”

“Excellent. Is this your permanent placement?”

“Not quite. I have two years left of my residency here in Haven. I don’t think I see myself staying here after that to be honest.”

“Where will you go? Orlais? Antiva?”

“I have connections at the Emerald Graves Center, they’ve been begging me to consider them for a fellowship. So I could see myself settling there. If Orlais offered me a position I might die from sheer shock!”

“Hmm.” If he had any opinions, he kept them to himself.

“So you work for the big bad drug company selling us much needed medications for insane prices, but live here?”

This earned her a subtle grin. It gave her the impression he did no smile much, or at all for that matter. Which was a shame, because she thought his smile was quite handsome.

“I find it the environment in Haven quaint and relaxing, which is much more desirable than that of the atmosphere of Arlathan nowadays. Arlathan has become… different than it used to be.”

“Yeah, it’s become a “must see” tourist zone,” she said in jest, but saw the smile slowly fade.

“It wasn’t always.”

“Are you originally from Arlathan?”

“Yes,” he said, some light returning to his eyes, “in a suburb to the North. I grew up in its streets, watched it blossom and thrive. And now…”

“While tourists are annoying, they mean well I’m sure. Wouldn’t you want people from all over the world to learn about Arlathan’s rich culture and history?”

He glanced down at the shirt he was folding. “Yes, you are correct. I…,” he took more time than he needed to fold the sleeve, “I just don’t want the city itself to lose its history...or have it get erased.”

She bumped his hip and he gave her a pointed look.

“We can only preserve the past, not continue to live in it. That’s a good thing.”

“Perhaps I am just old and afraid to live in the future.” He set aside the shirt into the pile of already folded clothes.

Anise smiled, “Possibly. But you’re not that old.”

Another rare smile graced his features, “Compared to you, I am ancient.”

“Oh, ancient?” Anise teased, turning to face him with a hand on her hip, “should I be calling you Hahren, then?”

His ears turned the loveliest shade of pink as he hastily restacked his already folded clothes. “That will not be necessary.”

She giggled as the color of his face burned brighter with each passing second.

“How old are you?” she asked, placing her clean pile of clothes back into her own basket.

“Much too old to be flirting in a laundry room at this hour.” He smiled at his pile of clothing before glancing to side at her.

She in turn gave him a skeptical stare.

“I easily have over a decade on you,” he said.

“Okay, so you’d have to be older than thirty-eight?” she hedged, “No way.”

“Forty,” he answered quietly.

“That’s not old, last time I checked,” Anise hefted her laundry basket onto her hip, “give yourself more credit, Hahren.” She decided she really loved making him blush.

And with that she sauntered out.