#i’m done i’m logged off i’m getting my christmas nails done later and i can’t wait to catch up on sleep!!

[adoreinbloom]

freedom!! i am officially done for christmas!!

[boredout305]

Kat Talley Jones (Urinals/100 Flowers)

John Talley-Jones and Kat Talley-Jones, Santa Barbara, California, circa late 1978/1979.

Kat Talley-Jones was an early photographer of The Urinals and 100 Flowers. She is the lyricist of “Ack Ack Ack Ack” and has compiled an impressive 1978 to 1983 gigography of The Urinals and 100 Flowers. Talley-Jones is the wife of the bands’ bassist and vocalist John Talley-Jones.

Professionally, Talley-Jones is an independent exhibit developer and writer. She’s worked on teams that created the Dinosaur Hall and Nature Lab at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County and visitor center exhibits at Mammoth Cave National Park, Devils Tower National Monument, Badlands, National Park, Stones River National Battlefield, and Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area among many others.  

Talley-Jones is still involved with The Urinals and 100 Flowers, taking photos and contributing in countless other ways, something she’s done since the late 1970s.

Interview by Ryan Leach

This interview originally ran on Razorcake’s website. 

Ryan: Where did you meet John (Talley-Jones)?

Kat: Like John, I come from a military background. I was born in Italy. I later lived in Japan, the (Washington) D.C. area and Iran. I met John at the University of Texas at Austin. We gravitated towards the same circle. There were Texans and then there were army brats. We had a different frame of reference than other people did.

           John was walking down the hall of the dorm I lived in. I had pulled a picture out of the NME of Kevin Ayers and put it on my door. Kevin Ayers was wearing some blue silk jacket. It was a great photo. I loved Kevin Ayers, The Soft Machine and the Ayers, Cale, Nico, Eno album.

Ryan: That’s a great live record.

Kat: Yeah. My roommate was a lesbian, so we had a nude pinup of a woman on the door too which was very scandalous—we hoped.

Ryan: At that time in Texas it was. Even in Austin.

Kat: Right. John and a friend of his were walking down the hall. They stopped, saw the photos on the door, and wondered, “Who lives here?” I opened the door and there was John, wearing blue eye shadow, black nail polish and a toothbrush around his neck (laughs). We got to know each other after that, running in the same circles. I went out with a guy and John went out with his sister—you know how it is being college aged. Everyone is switching partners.

           John left UT. His parents thought—and maybe he did too—that film school would be better at UCLA than at UT. That probably wasn’t the case, but John left for California. My parents had moved from Iran to Redondo Beach. So we got back together again. It’s complicated.

Ryan: John had mentioned that he had moved to San Francisco before attending UCLA.

Kat: He was in San Rafael in Marin County. He lived with his aunt and uncle and worked at a bookstore in San Rafael. That was before he went to UCLA.

           My parents went back to Iran. I moved in with my brother in Santa Barbara. I was living in Santa Barbara, John went to UCLA, and then we started going out. I did not see the first Urinals iteration when they played the talent show at UCLA. However, I did see the first three-piece show at UCLA with Kevin (Barrett), Kjehl (Johansen) and John. That was on the fourth floor of Dykstra Hall.  

Ryan: Had your parents not moved back to California, would you have likely stayed in Austin?

Kat: Probably not. At that time, there wasn’t really a scene yet. It was sleepy. It was a place where you could get by getting stoned, paying $100 a month for an apartment. I was ambitious, but I didn’t happen to paint or anything. I didn’t love Austin. Just as I was leaving, friends of mine were forming The Huns. We would go to Raul’s and bands like the Skunks were playing. The Ramones and Patti Smith came through there. So there was stuff, but LA felt much more exciting.

Ryan: You mentioned The Huns. So you knew Phil Tolstead and the rest of the band?

Kat: Yes. Phil was an Air Force brat. We had a mutual friend named Victoria (Jones) who Phil went to see the Sex Pistols with in San Antonio. She had lived in London. We were people with a broader background. I can’t say that above everyone in The Huns. I’m still friends with Dan Puckett who played keyboards in the band. I knew their drummer, Tom Huckabee. My boyfriend at the time had a crush on him which was awkward (laughs). I was getting away from that situation too. My parents moving back played a part. But my brother was at UCSB and needed a roommate. I thought, “Well, I’ve got nothing going on in Austin, so I’ll live with him.”

Ryan: You took a lot of early Urinals photos—obviously, for most of their record sleeves. Was photography something you had been pursuing previously?

Kat: Well, I had a camera (laughs). It was just because I was there and I had one. I wasn’t really trying to be expressive. I didn’t take that many photos of shows; the cost of film and developing was expensive. Also, with the low light, the photos often came out horrible.

Ryan: You need an SLR and a lens with a low f-stop. Even then, results aren’t guaranteed.

Kat: I had a Canon FTb camera. I was the beneficiary of trickle down: my dad would get something new, and I’d get the old version of whatever he replaced it with. It was a nice camera that was unfortunately stolen. I didn’t take photographs as a means of self-expression. I just had a camera and I was standing there.

Ryan: If you don’t mind me digressing back a bit, did your parents have to flee Iran when the Shah fell or had they already moved back to the States? I can’t help but think that all of this—you having lived in Iran—played some part in the naming of “Surfin’ with the Shah.”

Kat: Yes, they did. They went on Christmas vacation and never went back.

Ryan: Amazing. I’m glad to hear they got out safely.

Kat: Yeah. My dad was an army officer. He liked that kind of excitement (laughs). I was in Iran and John would write me and send me punk mixtapes. Iran was very much on his mind. I would say that had a lot to do with naming of the song, “Surfin’ with the Shah.” But not the modality or anything.

Ryan: What years were you in Iran?

Kat: I was there when I was in high school, so 1970-1973. I then went to the University of Texas. I was an insane overachiever and graduated UT in three years. My parents moved back to Iran. I went to visit; I thought, “Why go back to the States? I can get a job here.” So I got a job typing repair logs for Bell Helicopter. I came back to the States with something on my resume: “I’ve had a job!” When I moved back to Austin, I was employed by a contractor that worked for the Air Force at what was then Bergstrom Air Force Base.

Urinals practicing at Dykstra Hall (UCLA). Photo by Kat Talley-Jones

Ryan: Going back to the early days of The Urinals, do you recall the first 7” EP (self-titled) coming out?

Kat: Oh, sure.  

Ryan: You took the photo for the back cover. I can only imagine being part of a self-released 7” was pretty exciting back in 1978.

Kat: It was very exciting. I had been a prog fan. I loved Yes and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. It seemed so out of reach; what ordinary mortal could release a record? To think that you could control the means of production that way was amazing. I can’t remember if that’s the one with the taped piece of Super 8 film on it, but I certainly sat down with Kevin and Kjehl and taped pieces of film on one of the labels. I stuffed the singles too into the plastic bags. I would go around with John and we’d drop the records off to stores on consignment. I was still living in Santa Barbara. I recall going to record stores there. People were often extremely uninterested, because the records were so handmade looking. Not all of the record stores—even the independent ones—were interested in the DIY thing yet.

Ryan: I grew up in Newbury Park, between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara. I found it surprising that The Urinals played an early show in Santa Barbara (at George’s on November 4, 1979). The recording was recently released as a live LP, Pin the Needles. You must have been the conduit for that show.

Kat: Yeah. There was a band that was playing up there, The Neighbors, and someone in the group worked at a record store in Goleta. I would go and hang out there and that’s how that connection was made. Santa Barbara doesn’t seem that likely, does it? There wasn’t much going on up there.

Ryan: Nearly zero. You don’t think of Santa Barbara and punk.

Kat: There was a little bit. There was The Rotters.

Ryan: That’s true. Lance Loud was from Santa Barbara.

Kat: But he had moved on.

Ryan: Right. To New York.

Kat: I lived in Isla Vista. The Rotters played a park there and I saw them. I would walk down the street and people would yell, “Hey, punk rock!” Nobody looked like that in Santa Barbara then. There was this club called The Fubar in Goleta. I saw Magazine play there. There were probably 15 people there. It was not a crowd. People didn’t know about them.

John might not frame it this way, but I was also pretty instrumental in setting up the Raul’s shows in Austin (March 27, 1978, and March 28, 1978).

Ryan: That’s interesting.

Kat: Phil Tolstead had been John’s roommate (at UT), so I can’t say that they weren’t close. But I had a connection with the Huns. The Urinals played with the Re-Cords (at Raul’s) which was Tom Huckabee from the Huns’ band. They also played with the Norvells which was Sally Norvell’s band. I don’t have a specific remembrance of setting the Raul’s shows up, but I was always writing letters to (Huns keyboardist) Dan (Puckett), Victoria (Jones) and less to Phil (Tolstead). Phil could hardly manage to write you back. We were in touch a lot. When the Huns had their bust (September 19, 1978), they sent me a T-shirt with the image of Phil being arrested by the police officer. I still have a photo of me wearing it. I think I have the original cover art for their 7”. Victoria painted the cover and sent it to me. I’ll have to look for it. I’ve got boxes filled with stuff.

Ryan: It’s pretty amazing that the first Urinals show outside of UCLA was in Austin at Raul’s. Do you recall trekking out there?

Kat: I think we drove out to Austin in Kjehl’s Chevy Caprice. It was a small Chevy; it wasn’t big. We crammed everyone in there. My particular gift is that I wake up very early. When everyone else can’t drive another moment, I’m starting to wake up. With the four of us we were able to make it to Austin in one shot. I think it was 27 hours. We just brought guitars. Kevin borrowed Tom Huckabee’s drums. We stayed with friends and drank a lot of frozen margaritas. I think those two shows at Raul’s happened over spring break (1978). That was the only time everyone could get together to leave town.

Ryan: That makes sense.

Kat: Yeah. We weren’t in school or working.

Urinals performing at a house party. Photo by Kat Talley-Jones

Ryan: Can you talk about writing “Ack Ack Ack Ack.” As far as I know, it’s your only songwriting credit, but it’s a great one.

Kat: Right. Why not stay on a highpoint? I had heard the news reports about Brenda Spencer, the girl who shot some kids in school. It was the same event that inspired the song “I Don’t Like Mondays” (by the Boomtown Rats). I was thinking about that. When I was a kid, as everyone does, I’d play war with friends. We’d chase each other around and pretend to shoot each other. The boys—I don’t know if it was genetic or what—but they could always make that machine gun sound better than I could. I was always jealous. They could vocalize “Ack Ack Ack Ack” and I couldn’t. It was a word you’d see in comic books. I always liked it as a sound. Why did I name the subject of the song Johnny? Possibly because of John.

Ryan: How did the music come together? You wrote the lyrics and John composed the music?

Kat: I wrote the lyrics. I typed them up. I was still in Isla Vista. I probably mailed them to John. But we saw each other virtually every weekend. I would drive down (to West Los Angeles) and occasionally he’d drive up. But John had an old Volkswagen that couldn’t get over the Conejo Grade.

Ryan: I lived right at the top of the Conejo Grade for years. I know exactly what you’re talking about.

Kat: Yeah. So John would take the Greyhound Bus to Santa Barbara and he’d smell like the bus for a day or two. It’d take a while to get that smell out.

Ryan: Los Angeles to Santa Barbara isn’t too far. Nevertheless, it’s still about a two-hour drive.

Kat: There would be a Urinals or 100 Flowers show. Afterwards, I’d sleep until about 4 AM. And then I’d scoot out when there was no traffic to work. I had a Buick Skyhawk with a V6 engine. It was a terrible car; the clutch cable would always break. I’d drive it straight to work. It’s no wonder why I didn’t get the best performance reviews.

Ryan: Do you recall taking the photo for the Presence of Mind 7” EP? It has a real dada feel to it.

Kat: John came up with the idea. I think it was taken at Kevin’s apartment. I don’t know why it was just John and Kjehl (on the front cover). It feels like Kevin was developing in another direction. He had gotten extremely political. I wrapped them up in newspaper and took the photo. That one turned out nice because the black and white was more saturated. It seemed like the photos for the other albums were washed out. We may have had a rudimentary darkroom; it’s possible we made the prints ourselves. That sounds like something we would’ve done. It’s insane to me that we have so few photos. We just couldn’t afford it at the time.

Ryan: You’ve compiled an amazing Urinals and 100 Flowers gigography. How did you put it together?

Kat: I had these tiny datebooks my dad would get from the USAA. I would get one and he’d keep one. When we lived in Iran, I’d make daily notes. What I was doing in Tehran, the dates I’d been on and other things. I had a habit of making daily notes. Later on, I went back to those little pocket calendars and made that gig list. It’s moderately accurate.

Ryan: It’s an incredible resource. I didn’t realize 100 Flowers played Phoenix with the Meat Puppets (on October 17, 1981). I thought those early shows at Raul’s in Austin was the only time the early incarnation of the band left California.

Kat: We drove in Seabiscuit—the name I gave my horrible Buick Skyhawk. Again, it was Kevin, John, Kjehl and I and we drove straight to Phoenix. We left early. I remember Savage Republic drove out too and played; they might have been called Africa Corps then. I did take some decent photos of that show. It was at a boxing ring (Phoenix Madison Square Gardens). There’s a nice one of John and David Wiley that I took. David was in Human Hands.

Ryan: The Consumers too.

Kat: Right. We stayed at David’s house. Bruce Licher and the other Savage Republic guys stayed with the Meat Puppets at their place. The Savage Republic guys were pretty clean cut, but the Meat Puppets took acid and were playing cowboys and Indians over them all night. 

Ryan: That makes sense.

Kat: Yeah (laughs). It was always kind of a blitzkrieg thing. We actually spent one night in Arizona. 100 Flowers played in San Francisco. We drove up for the gig and then drove back home (to Los Angeles) afterwards. It was pretty horrendous.

Ryan: I’ve done Los Angeles to Phoenix and back to see a show. It’s pretty rough.

Kat: It’s doable.

Ryan: I did it in my early twenties. I’d just spring for a motel now.

Kat: Yeah. I mean, if they were playing in San Diego now, we’d stay the night at a hotel. We drove back from a show in San Diego one time. A truck tire bounced over the center divider and hopped over us, hitting the car behind us. That was scary.

Ryan: With the benefit of hindsight, it’s interesting seeing The Urinals evolve. You can hear their musicianship develop on each EP. Eventually, they’d release compilations like Keats Rides a Harley on their own imprint, Happy Squid. I picture The Shaggs evolving like that had they actually wanted to be in a band. There aren’t many similar examples. Maybe The Raincoats? I can’t think of any at the moment from Los Angeles.

Kat: They learned more and more as they went along. I don’t think they initially had aspirations to release, say, Keats Rides a Harley or The Happy Squid Sampler. An LP was unthinkable when they started. I’m sure John and Kjehl have mentioned this, but getting a mentor like Vitus (Mataré) was key. Vitus knew how to do things. Obviously, being in The Last he had a much broader reach. They knew Gary Stewart (The Last’s manager) and people who were more record business savvy. But there was never any aspiration to get picked up by a record label. That was also unthinkable. It wasn’t a political thing: “We’re pure of heart. We’re not going to sign.” But who would’ve signed The Urinals in that era? There was some interaction with Greg Shaw at Bomp! It seemed like it was all a natural progression. It wasn’t aspirational—if that makes sense.

Ryan: It does. The Urinals and 100 Flowers weren’t trying to get on Enigma Records.

Kat: Right. I think it was really satisfying to put out friends’ work. I think about the little Happy Squid Sampler (1980). Getting stuff out by Neef and Phil Bedel (“Bells in Ice” 45, 1980). I’m not going to say it was done out of generosity of spirit; they’d just figured out how to do it. John is extremely thrifty and a monetarily conscious person. Doing things as cheaply as possible resonated with him. They were playing with all of these great bands—Leaving Trains, Meat Puppets, and Gun Club—and they had simply figured out how to get records made. So they did it without being careerist. It was coming from an artistic standpoint.    

Ryan: Do you recall the last two 100 Flowers shows at the Anti-Club (January 28 and 29, 1983)? I think that was the only time the band headlined a bill.

Kat: Oh yeah. It was so crazy—it was celebratory, but it was also the end of the band. There was that psychological development: celebrating and mourning at the same time. I don’t know why, but it always seemed like 100 Flowers played when it was raining. That’s true up until the present. I think the Anti-Club shows happened during an El Nino year. It was really wet outside; everyone at the club was wet. It was humid; the walls were dripping. The Minutemen played. It was a lot of fun. I remember thinking, “Why couldn’t it have been like this all the time?” But people didn’t appreciate them until they were ending the band.

           The second night was with the Leaving Trains and The Last. I don’t remember that show being as wild as the one where The Minutemen played. But how could it ever be?

Ryan: With the release of the Negative Capability compilation and reunion in 1996, it seemed like folks caught up with the Urinals. It was the same thing with Mission of Burma when they reunited.

Kat: Yes. Honestly, I think some of it had to do with the singles being collectors’ items. They were being bootlegged back in the 1990s. “Oh, that band I paid $100 for their 7” is reforming.” Perhaps I’m wrong on that

Ryan: I think you’re right. I was in New York City two years ago and I went to Almost Ready Records. They had just gotten the first Urinals 7” EP in. I remember saying, “Oh, wow! That’s the first one I’ve seen in the wild.” It has an effect.

Kat: Oh really?

Ryan: Yeah. I’d never seen an original copy of the first 7” before. Those records suck you in. We were talking about Vitus and The Last earlier: I recall seeing a test press of Look Again (1980)—obviously, the record was never released—on the wall at Amoeba for hundreds of dollars in the mid-2000s. It sticks with you. Especially with self-released records like The Urinals 7”s. They had an initial small pressing, limited distribution, and often record labels—with or without a band’s approval—will repress titles once used copies hit a certain price. If you released it and you’re not repressing them, prices go up and they sometimes get pirated.

Kat: It always irritated me. The band never saw any of that money. Like I said, John was very thrifty. I’m sure he wasn’t in the red. But they weren’t sold for much originally. I don’t know how many copies of the first EP we have. I’d be surprised if it was five. You wanted them out in the world.

Ryan: You’re still involved with the Urinals and 100 Flowers. I see you’re still taking photographs. It’s amazing seeing them play places like Belgium and China.

Kat: Yeah. I always thought they were doing interesting things. It wasn’t random. I had mentioned that their records being scarce had some allure, but they were doing something different. They continue to. All of John’s iterations of the band have been good. There are things I’ve liked more than other things. There have been times where I’ve liked the band less than at other times. But they’ve persisted because they have merit. All of the band members have a vision. I believe in it. There have been times where I’ve been busy with my own work and haven’t gone to shows. As I mentioned earlier, I wake up early, so having a set start at midnight isn’t always my favorite thing. But I enjoy watching them play. I think John appreciates that if I think something sucks that I’ll tell him. But not with an axe to grind.

Kat and John today, photo by Pat Aldarete. 

#urinals #100flowers #kattalleyjones #johntalleyjones #ackackackack #happysquid 

[falloutdialogue]

Logs from the Railroad’s Leaders

After completing the main storyline with the Railroad ending, the PAM mainframe terminal will allow you to access terminal entries from the Railroad’s past leaders, revealing some more backstory. Wyatt was leader from 2266-2273, Pinky was leader from 2273-2277, Desdemona has been leader since 2277. Desdemona claims Wyatt’s reports are the ‘earliest surviving records of the Railroad's history.’ 

Wyatt (66-73)

2266 Nov

Gathered surviving runners, held an election. I lost, or won, depending on how you look at it. After the HQ massacre, most people simply left the Railroad. Only one person survived HQ, a runner named John D. He called out for volunteers to get some of the old files. No one stepped forward. My job is to rebuild the Railroad from scratch. I think where Agamemnon went wrong, is that HQ was known by too many people. I'm theorizing here, but once the Institute hit a safehouse and leaned on anyone the HQ would be easy to find. But how could Agamemnon know just how deadly those damned Coursers are? Current count: 13. 0 synths. How the hell do we rebuild from here?

2267 Feb

Got our first synth out of the Commonwealth last month. Threw one Hell of a party. What people don't know is another runaway was recaptured by the Coursers before we even got to them. John D has been finding tourists at a pretty good clip. But he keeps their identities to himself. Operational security he calls it. It makes me grind my teeth, but he's probably right. I think our whole organization needs to be more like a pyramid. A broad base of tourists that help out, mainly with information. Then the runners and safehouse owners in the middle. Then agents. Then HQ on top of that.

2273 Mar

A whole work crew of synths escaped together. Five synths at once. We're scrambling to keep them hidden. Coursers have been spotted looking for them. They found one of our safehouses, but no one there knew where our HQ is. John developed a dead drop system we've been using. Some vocal elements (Toby) say we should shut down. But that's a year and a half worth of synths.

Pinky (73-77)

2273 Dec

I just found Wyatt's journal. For whoever runs this outfit in the future, I figure you should know how we messed up. We were running the Workgroup Five out of the CW when Coursers found our HQ. Total shitstorm. Deacon (that's what he's calling himself now) had an escape route planned, and most of the survivors owe him their life. Wyatt didn't make it past the first hail of bullets. Something everyone should know: if one safehouse goes down assume that all Hell's coming for your ass, because it probably is. Always, always, ALWAYS assume the Institute has resources beyond what we can imagine. From now on only the heavies leave HQ. And we got to move our packages fast. This slow crap hurts more than it helps.

2275 Jun

Damn it. We got two synths, or packages as we're calling them now, out of the CW. Running the 3rd and a Raider gang caught them. Total blood bath. P.K. almost lost his package near Danvers, too. I kicked Deacon out of HQ, got sick of the lying, face-changing son of a bitch. That month he spent as a Ghoul freaked a lot of people out. Going to keep running hard.

2276 Jan

Lesson: move all packages outside the Commonwealth. Lamda 8 homesteaded off Parsons. She got married to a farmer. Coursers found her and it got bloody. Lost Lamda 8. Her wife almost bit the bucket, too. Courser spotted heading south (with company). Watts volunteered to track them.

2276 Sep

Desdemona is a real pain in the ass. Keeps harping on every little damned thing. Worse than Deacon and Carrington combined. We lost a safehouse and went to ground. SOP. Desdemona says I'm being sloppy. I'm getting sick and tired of leading these misfits.

Desdemona (77-)

2277 Dec

After we lost Trinity, Pinky Thompson stepped down. It took some persuasion. We held a vote on who should run the Railroad. It came down to me and Carrington. Might be a problem there. The doctor, Deacon, and I have been analyzing the many, many mistakes of Pinky. Our "batting average" is roughly 50/50. Only a few synths a year make it out. It's hard to keep motivated when failure is so epidemic. We're going to hit the fundamentals: operational security. Look outs, counter-intelligence, and compartmentalization. We need to reduce the response time to find a new synth runner.

2279

2 escapees. 1 loss. 2 reclaimed before interception. Added a new member to core HQ. Thomas Weatherby. An Institute grenade did a number on his family farm. He's rattled but very, very smart. Hoping he can arm us with something better than pipe pistols. Organization grown. Devised rail signs and improvements to dead drops. No Coursers spotted all year. Merry Christmas.

2280

One of our rescues, G7-81, took a strange turn. Most synths are traumatized and go through the procedure with Doc A. G7 opted out. Begged to join. Did some crazy stunts with High Rise at Ticon. Called her into the HQ. Promoted "Glory" to heavy. She's well suited for the role (perhaps too much so). Been working with Tom. Brilliant, but he's getting increasingly eccentric. Carrington says the stress is causing severe psychological problems. But he's too damned essential. God help me, I'm keeping him on. 2 escapes. No losses. 1 reclaimed. Quiet year. Less chrome domes in the field than the last two years. No idea why.

2281

Where to begin? Year started like shit. Coursers came out of nowhere. They found the Farm, lookouts only gave us 30 seconds of warning. Torched what we could, casualties light. Relocated to the Beast. Then one of the B team scouts, Tommy Whispers, made the find of the century. An old DIA facility, "Switchboard." Called him up to HQ (overdue), Glory's taken him under his wing (God help him). Tom relocated to the Switchboard or Facility X as he calls it. Then he sent an urgent message. My first meeting with P.A.M... Can't describe. She made some predictions, frighteningly accurate. Asked for data. Started feeding it to her. Very reluctant to help the cause. But after a long talk with Glory she's on board. No one knows what Glory said to PAM. Deacon jokes that PAM has a crush on Glory. Certainly PAM acts different when she's around. But there's nothing emotional about PAM. With PAM's prediction managed to anticipate a run-away. Year ended badly. We had a synth infiltrator at Mercer. Deacon caught her before P.A.M. But damage done. Blew the Beast and moved to Bolthole. Only an hour to spare before the coursers came. 2 escapees, 1 loss, 0 reclaims.

2282

Promoted Tommy to be our second heavy. Tom made him a custom pistol, the kid's frightening with it. P.A.M. has us running strange ops for data. She's not always right, but right enough to be a trap. Too tempting to rely on her predictions. One day Deacon recommended moth-balling her. Took an hour to talk him down. 2 escapees. Not many runners this year.

2283

One word: PATRIOT. Our second package of the year was different from the start. Didn't behave lost. Ran in a straight line to Diamond City. Old Man Stockton caught her before she caused too many waves. She wasn't supposed to be on the work detail and had a care package: a map, instructions, and a coded holotape. Tom's been useless all year trying to decode the damned thing. Third package sent straight to Diamond City again. Set up Old Man Stockton as the gatekeeper. Then a fourth came in after a week. All with care packages. All with more codes. Someone on the inside is helping us. Code-name PATRIOT. All told 5 escapees this year.

2284

An incredible year. Everything's coming together. Tom broke PATRIOT's code, said it was designed to be broken (whatever that means). Just two words, "Mass Fusion." Sent some recon there and found nothing. Found out later why. PAM's been trying to find the location of the Institute in earnest. Failing. Deacon's convinced the solution lies in the past, not future. Deacon already knows the big secret - we know nothing about the Railroad before Wyatt was in charge (or is Deacon Johnny D???). Deacon's been digging into Institute sightings from years, even decades before. Or at least, that's what he says. Getting really tired of all his lies. Coursers caught Package 7. Almost nailed Old Man Stockton, too. One of our scouts found Package 8 heading to Mass Fusion. The coded message he carried was another location, Prospect Hill. 8 escapees this year, 1 loss, 1 reclaimed.

2285

Busy. We're in Switchboard now. Bolthole went down on fire. Coursers getting very active. But, by God, we're rescuing synths. 9-2-1. Both of those 2 were from goddamned lynch mobs.

2286

A dry year. Coursers, work crews, and synths vanished for three months. No idea why. Worked on fortifying Switchboard. Deacon was barely here all year. Chasing ghosts. 4-1-0.

2287

PAM's errored out on trying to find the Institute. Took a good month to get her to run without crashing. Her being down hurt the numbers. We now have 12 safehouses and I don't even know how many people. Carrington worries we're getting too big. But in order to move all the synths PATRIOT's sending us we need places to hide them. Deacon working on secret project. Code-name Wanderer. Deacon has a wild theory and an even wilder plan (Tea Party). I agree there's something strange there, but I'm withholding judgment. 9-1-1.

[bringmetolife-pwff]

Part One : Chapter Twenty-Two - Happy Christmas?

"Hey Sammy, can you make sure I don't have anyone call me right now?  If they do please either handle them or have them leave a message."

"Sure," she nods her head at her desk as she looks up at me with her red hair in curls and glasses sitting on her face with a smile.  "How has it been with Will?"

"That's actually who I'm having a Skype meeting with right now," Evelyn says with a blush.  "It's been great though.  He's so easy to talk to and it just feels different than with Liam.  A good different."

"Well, if there is anyone who is deserving of love right now - it's you."

"Thanks Sammy.  I'll be in my office for possibly an hour, thirty minutes tops."

"Okay," she tells Eve in understanding.

Evelyn walks to her office door with the sound of her black Louis Vuitton heels hitting the floor as she opened and closed the door, sitting in her chair as she opened up her Skype app and waited for him to show up.  

Most places would say it was unprofessional to take a personal call or Skype during work.  At Evelyn's business these were her rules and she was okay with her employees needing to take emergency day off.  It was one of the perks of having her own business.  She also wanted her place to be a job her coworkers enjoyed coming to work at and didn't dread.

Minutes later - his name popped up and she clicked on it and finally saw his handsome face with his charming smile.

"Hi blue eyes," she smiled at him, happy to see him finally, even if it had been only a month since she had last seen him.

His laugh filled her ears as she took him in.  She noticed he was wearing his green military shirt he wears under his uniform.  

"Hi Stormy.  Nice outfit," he looks her over with what she was wearing for the day as he bites his lip.

"Thanks," she laughs.  "Is my work outfit turning you on?"

"Maybe. . .  What?  I can't help it that you look hot."

"Your incorrigible.  I miss you."

"I miss you too.  Anything new happen since I've been gone?"

"One thing.  Chelsy broke up with Harry.  For good this time."

"Bloody hell," he runs his fingers through his blonde hair.  "He must be devastated.  How's he holding up?"

"Just like you said.  But he wanted me to still go to Chelsy' birthday and I did.  But I felt awful afterwards and I've decided to take some time away from her.  At least for a while."

"Sorry, what?  Why?"

"It's not fair to either.  Especially Harry.  I can tell it's hard on him and I know he didn't want me to choose sides and that's why he wanted me to go, but this is my decision.  It wouldn't really be fair on me either.  So to be fair to everyone, including myself, I'm distancing myself.  I've already talked to Harry and Chelsy about this."

"Sorry you lost a friend," Wills sympathizes with his girlfriend knowing that this was just as hard on her as Harry seeing she was really close to Chelsy.

"Yeah, me too.  Hey, I wanted to ask you something.  Are you doing for Christmas?  Or do you not get Christmas off?"

"I get Christmas off," he lets out a laugh.  "Every year for Christmas my family and I go to Sandringham House.  My granny likes to spend months there before Christmas but I only go for a couple weeks.  Are you doing anything?"

William had been meaning to have this conversation with Evelyn and was glad that she had brought it up.  He needed to tell her his plans as they didn't include her in them.  

"Yeah, every year the whole family gets together including my aunts, uncles and cousins.  It's a big family time and we make cookies and open up one Christmas present on Christmas Eve."

"I'm sorry Eve, but we aren't going to be able to spend Christmas together."

"Oh."

"I would have you come if I could.  God, do I wish you could come.  Unfortunately, Granny has this rule where it can only be married couples who meet at Sandringham."

"No, no, no don't you dare apologize, Wales.  I know that your family must have traditions that are hundreds of years old.  I mean - it was silly of me to forget who you were for a bit thinking we would be able to spend Christmas together.  Huh?"

"How about this?  What if I spent the week before Christmas you and have our own Christmas?  What do you say?"

"I would love that, Wills.  I miss you."

"I miss you too."

Evelyn heard a knock on her door as she inwardly groaned.

"I'm sorry.  I have to go back to work," she gave him a sad smile.

"S'alright.  I best be off as well."

They both waved to each other as she blew him a kiss through the computer.  He smiled at her before she logged off and open the door to her assistant.

"I'm really sorry for interrupting your call with him but this is important.  David will not stop calling, saying it's urgent."

"That's alright.  Is he line one?"

"Yes," she nods her head in confirmation as she speaks.

"Hi David, what can I do for you?"

"Evelyn.  Are you almost done with your Christmas collection?"

"Yes sir.  We have one more dress to design and then we are complete.  We will have everything shipped to you within the next two weeks."

"Excellent.  I look forward to speaking with you then."

"You as well, David.  Thank you."

*

"What if we add pockets to the dress?  That way they could have bits and bobs in their or just to have in case their hands get chilly," Eve commented to the artist who was drawing the beautiful dress.

The artist stared at the dress, imagining it with pockets first then ultimately agreeing with Evelyn.

"Can we get started on it right away?  We have to have this collection shipped within the next two weeks and we need as many workers to get started on this dress as possible."

"Yes we can," he says with a smile.

"Excellent.  Make sure that this dress is in the colours: red, navy blue and green."

"You want three different colours in the same dress made in less than two weeks?"

"Yes," Evelyn nodded her head.  "That's exactly what I want."

"Okay," he let out a sigh.  "You owe me though!" He yelled as she started walking away.

"I do, thank you!"

*

Although Evelyn was sad that she was losing a friend, at least for the time being, she decided to meet up with her favourite Scottish.

"How're yew, love?" Ivy asked as she gave her a big hug.  "It's been a while."

"It has!  I've been all right.  And you?" She asked as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.  

"Jus' busy wit werk," Ivy replies her accent as thick and strong as ever.  "Can yew believe how fas' the holidays are approachin'?"

"So fast, I need to get my Christmas tree soon.  I've already started decorating around the office recently.  "Are you doing anything for Christmas this year?"

"More like a holiday," Ivy explains.  "I'm goin' ter Germany fer two weeks with Jake."

"Wait, Jake as in Blair's ex Jake?" Evelyn screeches excitedly for her best friend.

"That's the one," Ivy says with a glowing look of happiness on her face.

"When were you going to tell me about you two?  Since when?  I have so many questions!"

Ivy laughed at her best friend and shook her head as they sat in Evelyn's new apartment.  

"We been datin' fer abou' two weeks.  I know its fast, but we want ter be away from all the drama."

Ivy never spent Christmas with her family anyway as her parents had divorced when she was younger, around eight years old.  Her mum unfortunately passed away a few years ago around Christmastime.  Her dad had been out of her life since the divorce.  Evelyn would always invite her to her families Christmas every year and every year she declined.  

"Aww," Evelyn commented at her best friends happiness.  "well I'm happy you both are dating.  Despite him being with Blair in the past, he's a good guy and you both will have a great time."

Evelyn and Ivy chit chatted the rest of the night, allowing themselves to be silly and talk about their men they had.  They chatted about what Evelyn and Will were going to do for Christmas as Ivy knew how important the holiday was to Eve.  She could tell a hint of sadness in her friends voice as she voiced that she and Will wouldn't be spending Christmas together but possibly the week before.  Evelyn felt it was rubbish that she was saddened by the news.  She knew that his family was different and therefore already had traditions for the holidays.  

The two made biscuits and watched their favourite movies as well as they painted their nails.  

---

a/n: sorry it's a shorter chapter.  it's more of a filler.  i also have new books posted on my profile, maybe give them a look?  i'm still going to be continuing this book, promise!

what are your thoughts on this book?  it's been a while since i've written about ivy so i thought i'd bring her back :)

not sure how much i'll be able to update this week.  it's the last week of my classes and i have two tests i have to take still.  hope you all are doing well!  

[lalunaunita]

Nathanael Saves France (Winter Week Day 4: Snow/Decorating)

Chloe never skipped class. There was no need to. Sabrina did her work and let her cheat off of her tablet for quizzes. As a result, Chloe was always on time and always made A’s. But as the bell rang to recall the students to their classrooms, she stayed put in a quiet corner of the library, scribbling madly and muttering to herself.

This is all Sabrina’s fault! Chloe thought angrily. She should learn how to draw!

Half an hour passed as Chloe drew and redrew over her paper. The eraser tore a hole through the page as she swiped across her unpracticed pencil strokes for the twentieth time. Tears tracked silently down Chloe’s face as she held up her messy paper to look through the rough split. She threw it back down and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

A familiar head of red hair peeped around a bookshelf corner. Chloe glared at Nathanael as she quickly wiped her eyes and sniffed back her tears.

“What are you doing?” he asked with no preamble as he walked up and inspected her paper.

Chloe tried to cover the mess with her hands, but gave up and leaned back in her chair.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” she snapped.

Nathanael just stared down at her, inscrutable, until she dropped her eyes back to the library table.

“It looks like you’re drawing something. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

He took a step away and reached up to re-shelve one of the heavy volumes he carried. Chloe had forgotten he was a library volunteer on one of his free periods.

“This stupid decoration project is worth ten percent of our grade. I have to get it done by tomorrow,” she muttered.

“Oh, yeah. I turned mine in two weeks ago.” Nathanael continued to shelve the books until he turned back to Chloe empty-handed.

“Of course you did. My projects are usually early and flawless, too, you know. This is different.”

“That’s because Sabrina does all your homework,” Nathanael rejoined. “She can’t draw, huh?”

“Whatever.”

Chloe sat square in her seat and crossed her arms imperiously. Suddenly, a glimmer came into her eye and she cocked her head at Nathanael, who caught the gesture and slowly backed away.

“You draw, though,” she mused.

Nathanael looked to both sides, seeking escape.

“You want to help me with my project, don’t you? I’ll buy you supplies,” Chloe purred.

“I - no- that’s not a good idea, Chloe. Sorry.”

Nathanael shook his head frantically, but Chloe’s eyes held his own in a mesmerizing Medusa stare and he couldn’t look away. She rose just as slowly as he retreated, a lioness on the hunt.

“Your art is really good. You can bring my idea to life. It’s like…I’m the Santa and you’re the little worker elf.”

Nathanael wrinkled his nose. “Not a chance, Chloe. I’m not doing your project for you.”

Chloe put on a calculated pout. “You’d let me fail? What would everyone say? The Mayor’s daughter, a failure? There’d be rioting in the streets. Paris would collapse. The future of France-”

“Oh my gosh, Chloe, I will help you if you’ll stop,” Nathanael spat from between clenched teeth.

He wasn’t getting out of this one, he could tell.

Up in Chloe’s opulent hotel room, Nathanael had been surprised how much Chloe enjoyed the spirit of the season. Her room looked like a Christmas decoration store had thrown up - twinkling lights glittered around every window, dangled from her light fixtures, and blinked in concert around the perimeter of her suite.

She had her own personal Christmas tree with expensive glass ornaments from Venice. Its refreshing pine fragrance warred with the warm cinnamon logs burning in her fireplace and the fragrant hot chocolate placed next to the teens on Chloe’s coffee table where they worked.

Nathanael sat back to stare critically at her handywork, fingers steepled at his chin. He’d successfully coached her into creating something mostly on her own. Not a drawing - they’d decided that her skills in that area wouldn’t get Chloe very far. Instead, a trip for art supplies had secured craft popsicle sticks, paint, and a lot of glue. A slightly off-kilter nutcracker soldier stood unsteadily on the coffee table as a result.

Chloe was somewhat breathless as she watched him, feeling unusually invested in the little piece of crap. If Nathanael didn’t have good things to say after all this work…well, he’d regret it. More than he already did, she thought a little sadly.

She’d almost called Sabrina to come over after Nathanael agreed to help her. Chloe could have watched the proceedings while getting a pedicure, rather than sitting here with her hair all messed up and glue on her fingers. But something about Nathanael’s smile when they bought the supplies stopped her. He was actually enjoying it. Maybe not the time spent with her, but he had a brightness in his eye that she only got when she found the perfect dress from Paris fashion week’s latest collections. That look had made her curious. What was so great about popsicle sticks?

Four hours later, she had to admit she kind of got it. As ugly and imperfect as the two-foot-tall soldier was, he belonged to Chloe in a different way than her other possessions. She was almost disappointed to have to turn him in to Ms. Bustier tomorrow. Nathanael let go of his chin with a sigh. Chloe glanced at him sharply.

“I think you’re done. He looks nice. Maybe just a touch of red on his hat, to make sure the wood doesn’t show through.” Nathanael indicated the spot and Chloe dutifully filled it in with her paintbrush.

“Good work, Chloe. It didn’t have to look traditional, you know. You could have picked something simpler.”

Chloe sniffed, her diffident mask back in place now that the final critique was over. “I’m the mayor’s daughter. I like traditional.”

“I can see that.” Nathanael’s gaze wandered over her room for the hundredth time, taking in the condensed and crowded visual joy of the season.

Chloe stood and stalked over to her tree, snagging a wrapped box from underneath its boughs. “Here. This is for you. For helping me.”

She thrust it at Nathanael awkwardly, who put down his hot chocolate and stood quickly.

“You don’t have to do that,” he muttered, his cheeks flushing.

“I owe you one. I… don’t like that.” Chloe’s brows furrowed. That was what came out of her mouth, but that wasn’t quite right.

Nathanael held his palms outward and shook his head. “Chloe, that’s not how it works. I didn’t help you to get a prize. Don’t worry about it.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “I actually do know that. Can you take it anyway? I want you to have a present. I’m just not good at giving gifts.”

“Um… yes. Sure. Thanks, Chloe.” Nathanael took the gift, his fingertips brushing her paint-stained nails.

Chloe stared at her hands, the pit of her stomach releasing a few butterflies as Nathanael sat back down to open his gift. She should feel irritated - she’d need a new manicure after this - but somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She focused instead on her classmate’s face as he opened the box on his lap, smiling to herself. If there was one thing Chloe knew, it was how to buy a gift.

[mottlemoth]

[Fiction] ‘Mykie’

Author’s Notes: Sweet Christ, why have I done this... just... why... you know what? There are no words. 

I’m sorry, everyone. I’ll show myself out.

Mykie's first owner was a little boy called Jack.

He was a well-meaning child, excitable and full of energy, whose mother loved him very much. He was overjoyed on Christmas morning to be told to close his eyes tightly and stretch out his hands - at which point she placed into them a squirming, struggling Mykie.

At the sight of the guinea pig he'd been asking for since October, Jack screamed with sharp delight. He was thrilled - but for Mykie, it was an unhappy first meeting. Terrified at the shriek, he bolted from the little boy's inexperienced hands and by some miracle twisted in the air, landed safely with a flump on the couch beside Jack and then raced for the nearest cover.

It took them half an hour to reach him under the television stand.

He was then placed, with more care, back into a crying Jack's arms; given a piece of carrot, which the 'My First Guinea Pig' book said he would like; and the two of them made a second attempt at hello. Jack was gentle, stroking Mykie's head with a carefully trembling hand. His mother filmed it, proud. After this much more successful introduction, Mykie was then transferred back to his cage where he could calm down, and Jack opened the rest of his presents.

It was a noisy Christmas Day that followed. Lots of people came over to look at Mykie. He took shelter in the small wooden house they'd provided him, frightened and longing for quiet, but they kept pulling him back out to show him off.

It was a relief at last when darkness fell, and the lights were all switched off except for the tree, and the humans went off to bed. Mykie came out across across the prickly wood shavings to eat some of his food in the darkness. He drank from the bottle like his mother had taught him, missing her quietly. The click of the metal ball was noisy in the silence as he lapped at the water.

In the pet shop, he'd lived with all the other pigs in a big open paddock. Some of them had chased him and tugged at his ears, which was terribly mean of them - he was a quiet boy, gentle and shy. He'd been looking forward to a home; to an owner who loved him; to a cage of his very own.

He hadn't realised he'd be going alone though.

It was strange to be by himself.

For a few weeks, Jack was very fond of Mykie. He got him out to play several times a week, and dutifully answered his mother's summons to clean out Mykie's straw and change his water bottle. There was always food, and the cat was always kept away from the cage.

But as the months went by, and the little boy grew older, his interest in the small and sad little guinea pig who never seemed to do much began to wane.

It wasn't a big cage. Mykie couldn't really sprint around it much - or even run at all. At the shop, he'd loved to run with the others - except when they chased him, which was very mean of them. He'd loved to pick up a sudden burst of speed and hurtle quickly from one end of the paddock to the next, kicking up a big puff of paper bedding with his strong back legs, zooming his way between obstacles as fast as he could. Sometimes just thinking about it, or seeing the others do it, made him hop into the air with excitement.

But in this cage, he couldn't do that.

He liked to gnaw on his toys - until they were all gnawed. He liked to eat too, but it wasn't often he got given carrot or courgette any more. Sometimes he got peelings, if they remembered him tucked away in his corner of the lounge - but then sometimes they forgot to take away the ones he didn't eat, and the scraps would start to smell bad and settle somewhere under his straw.

Of everything though, it was the loneliness that made Mykie saddest.

He missed the sight of another guinea pig. He missed having one of his own kind to talk to, to squeak at, to sit next to and tussle for food with. The humans were kind to him, even if they were forgetful sometimes - and they were certainly never cruel.

But he so missed hearing someone else's squeak.

As Mykie got bigger and bigger, his cage grew smaller and smaller around him. Jack got involved in the football club at school, and he saw Mykie less and less. His mother took over cleaning Mykie out - it annoyed her, yet another chore on her long list, and some mornings they forgot to fill up Mykie's food dish. They were always very upset when they realised, and filled it straight up. But it didn't mean Mykie hadn't been hungry all day.

Mykie slept a lot inside his wooden house, and remembered the pet shop. He remembered his littermates and the feeling of soft paper bedding under his paws. He remembered what it was like to run as fast as he could around a nice big cage, and how everyone had squeaked and shouted and popped into the air whenever the pet shop girl with the big dish of lettuce had appeared. He missed what it was like to nestle at the bowl with them all.

He even missed being chased.

One day when Jack was seven, his mother was vacuuming the lounge when she realised that no-one had topped up Mykie's food for well over a day. Mykie, now sad and asleep inside his wooden house, had been digging through the shavings to find old scraps. His paws were sore; his nose was full of dust.

After a tearful talk with Jack after school, a decision was made.

The advert went up online the next day, with a photograph of Mykie - his thin red fur, his sad expression, his little wire cage with its gnawed plastic toys.

Then, a couple of days later, Mykie's Humans arrived.

There were two of them - two young women. One had purple hair and a pretty dress printed with cupcakes; the other had a leather jacket, car keys and a helplessly big laugh. They chatted nicely to Jack's mother in the lounge by the cage as the Human with Purple Hair held him gently in her arms. She talked to Mykie softly about all sorts, tickling behind his eyes, calling him a pretty piggie, and her girlfriend discreetly examined his little paws - his sore footpads - his long, curly nails.

Mykie's new humans met eyes without a word.

Their gazes skipped politely over the plastic toys, the small cage, the rabbit muesli he'd been given, the prickly pine shavings he'd slept on for a year.

They told Jack's mother they had their own cage at home, so they wouldn't need his - and they were fine for bedding, and food, and hay. She was kind to offer, they said. They'd even brought a box - a special one with a hinged lid and a carry handle, gently lined with a pink fleece blanket.

Mykie was lifted from his cage, placed with care inside the box, and the lid was closed.

He didn't like the car ride very much. It wasn't nice to be bumped about - but as they drove off, the Human with Purple Hair wheedled a sprig of parsley through the door of his travelling box.

Mykie leapt upon it with delight.

"Poor little thing," the Human with Purple Hair said, as he ate it in a happy frenzy. "He's underweight… and those claws..."

"We'll give him his twenty-four hours to settle," Leather Jacket replied, waiting for the lights to change. "Then we'll get him clipped… maybe take him to the vet after work one night? I just want someone to check those feet. I'm sure it's fine, but…"

"Pine shavings," said Purple Hair, with a sigh.

"Mm," said Leather Jacket.

There was a pause.

"Kid was just too young," said Leather Jacket. "Lost interest. It happens."

"I'm glad we saw the advert." Purple Hair bit her lower lip, gazing at Mykie through the travelling box lid. "I hope he gets on with Greggie..."

"Of course he will," said Leather Jacket. "Greg'll love him to bits. They'll be cuddled up together before we know it. Three weeks' quarantine, and they'll be tugging on each other's ears like tiny BFFs."

Mykie didn't hear any of this. He was very busy eating.

He'd never tasted parsley before.

He liked it very much.

As the travelling box was put down, and the lid slowly removed, Mykie found himself in a strange new place - a large open paddock with lots of space to run, full of fresh white paper bedding and scattered with all sorts of interesting things. There were little houses and pods to hide in, and log bridges to run under, wooden toys with bark to nibble at, cardboard tunnels with vegetable-dyed paper, and soft fleecy hammocks in colourful green prints. As he emerged nervously onto the fluffy paper, Mykie spotted a vast pile of hay in one corner. He eagerly hurried inside it.

The hay was green and soft and fragrant. He could snuggle himself right down inside the pile where nobody could see him. At once, he felt safe. Happily, he started to eat.

"There we go," said Leather Jacket, with a laugh. "All sorted."

"He's so cute… his beautiful fur. I can't believe he even matches the hammocks."

"Your magnificent eye for colour. Tea?"

"Oh… God. Yes please."

For a full twenty-four hours, nobody disturbed Mykie. Nobody moved him, or touched him, or reached into his paddock. When the Humans went to work the next day, they left Radio Four on quietly beside his cage so he could get used to the sound of voices. That night, they gave him a big chunk of carrot and a small piece of yellow pepper to try - and another sprig of parsley.

For three quiet weeks, Mykie settled into his brand new home.

He had a check-up at the vet, who clipped his nails for him and reassured his Humans that he was in good health. The soreness in his paws would go, and he was gaining weight very nicely. They'd have to make sure he didn't eat too many of his guinea pig biscuits, of which he was very fond - that made Leather Jacket laugh. It was her fault, she said. She liked seeing him rush out to hoover them up.

The days drew on, and Mykie grew more and more used to having his Humans around. They never passed his paddock without coming over to say hello, giving him a gentle wiggle of their finger or offering him a piece of hay. They laughed each night as he ran laps of his cage, puffing white paper up behind him each time he set off at a sprint. He enjoyed coming over to the side to have a look at them - to stand with his paws up on the bars, and see what it was they had for him. When they picked him up, it was with one hand carefully around the middle and the other under his bum to support him, and they let him out of his paddock at least once a day.

In the evening, Leather Jacket liked to lie on the sofa with him settled on her chest, watching TV together.

In the middle of the third week, Mykie fell asleep on her like that - flopped down, stuck a foot out and napped, lulled to sleep by the slow rise and fall of her breath.

Purple Hair took a huge number of photos on her phone, as Leather Jacket grinned and tried not to disturb him by laughing.

"D'you think he's ready for his cheeky cage mate?" Leather Jacket asked, her voice a soft rumble.

"This weekend?" said Purple Hair. Her eyes brightened.

"Sure. Saturday evening? We'll let them loose in the hall… see if it's love at first sight."

"I really hope so. Poor Gregs has been so lonely… I know you can't skip the quarantine stage, but…"

"Better safe than sorry," said Leather Jacket. "Let's just hope Gregster doesn't chase him too much."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," said Purple Hair. "We'll make them a really nice salad. Dinner's  always a lovely first date."

Leather Jacket grinned. "I'll get tiny tuxedos hired, shall I?" she said. "Taxis booked?"

"Oh my God, don't. You know I always want to dress them up for a Christmas card... little antlers and a sleigh..."

Leather Jacket bit down on her laugh, trying not to wake Mykie.

"Yeah?" she said. "My mother'd love that. From both of us and the grandpigs. Imagine her face."

"Don't tempt me," said Purple Hair, kissed her Human on the forehead, and went off to the other room to see if Greg had finished his cucumber.

That weekend, at six PM on Saturday, Mykie found himself being lifted gently from his paddock.

He wriggled a little in Purple Hair's hands. He hadn't had his customary salad yet, even though he could smell them cooking their Human Dinner. It wasn't like the Humans to be late with his salad. He hoped they had a good explanation.

Purple Hair cuddled him to her chest for a few moments, rumpled his ears, and told him he was a wonderful piggie, which he always loved to hear - and she told him to be very, very nice to Greggles. Mykie wondered what on earth a Greggles was. She then carried him through to the hall, where he'd been out to play a few times now.

Gently she placed him on the fleece blankets now spread across the laminate floor. Mykie looked around, sniffing, wondering what was going on. There were toys and hidey shelters everywhere, and he could smell something terribly interesting - something that seemed almost familiar, though he couldn't quite place it.

He realised, as he ambled over to have a nibble on the nearest wooden house, that it was The Smell of Another Piggy.

He'd almost forgotten it.

This wasn't someone he knew - it was a stranger. He sniffed the house eagerly and checked inside it, but there was no other piggy there. He looked all around the house and the other pods, catching inside some of them that tantalising smell again. There was no sign of the stranger though. Mykie trotted about the hall, impatient, investigating this toy and that toy, as Leather Jacket sat at the bottom of the stairs with a smile and kept a watchful eye on him.

Then the hall door opened, and Purple Hair crept inside. She had her arms wrapped carefully around something.

"Mykie?" she called him, softly - and Mykie, being a very clever pig, looked up at the sound of his name. He hurried over, his ears flapping a little as he ran. "Hey, little guy… come and see who I have…"

She knelt down, gently, and lowered her arms.

And onto the fleece blankets, she placed the most wonderful sight that Mykie had ever seen.

He was grey and bright-eyed and scruffy - a little bigger than Mykie, and his fur was thick and teddyish. As soon as Mykie came to sniff him, he started sniffing Mykie back. He was soft and his breath was puffy and gentle, and he wound his way around Mykie, sniffing every inch of him in delight. Mykie worried for a moment that the new pig might be about to chase him. He puffed up a little and churred, hoping this settled the matter.

The stranger didn't seem to mind. He began to cluck softly to Mykie, snuffling at his mouth.

Mykie slowly lifted his nose up into the air, bewildered as the stranger proceeded to dot him with enthusiastic piggie kisses.

"Are they getting on okay?" Purple Hair asked, as she appeared from the kitchen carrying a plate piled high with salad.

"Well, we're already onto first base..."

"Oh God! They're so cute... Greggie... Greggie, sweetheart, kiss Mykie gently… he's still very shy. Here, pretties."

Purple Hair placed down the salad plate.

They descended eagerly on the pile. The stranger seized a piece of cucumber, which seemed to be his favourite. Mykie grabbed some parsley and ate it as quickly as he could fit it into his mouth. A happy silence fell - munching, crunching and nibbling - and as they worked their way through the mountain of salad, Mykie noticed the stranger sneaking closer and closer to him with each new piece. By the time they found the grapes hidden at the centre, the stranger was snuggled comfortably into his side. Mykie found himself so startled by the stranger's friendly presence that he didn't mind at all. Greg didn't steal his food or take things off him - just ate beside him, happily, bubbling a little as he squished his way through half a grape. His whiskers quivered as he chewed. He smelled nice, Mykie thought. He looked like he would be terribly fun to run around after.

Their Humans sat at the bottom of the stairs, side-by-side, and watched in overjoyed silence.

"Success, d'you think?" said Leather Jacket, softly.

Purple Hair leant against her shoulder. "Give it a couple of hours… they might start kicking the shit out of each other yet."

"Yeah, just to be safe..." Leather Jacket smiled, nuzzling gently at her temple. "Think we're onto a winner here, though. Don't you? Might even be sharing a cage by bedtime."

Purple Hair sighed. "God, they're cuddling already… boys, too. They even look adorable together. Mykie's so sleek, and Greggie's so scruffy... I love it."

"Reckon Mykie'll give us trouble when you put the reindeer antlers on him for the Christmas photo?"

"Stop it - seriously, don't, or I'll do it."

"He'll end up with a whole little wardrobe," Leather Jacket murmured. "Different outfits. Hats. Bunny ears for Easter."

"Which part of 'stop it'...?"

Leather Jacket grinned, and kissed Purple Hair on the forehead. "If it makes you happy."

Purple Hair blushed a little, cuddling into her side.

"I'll get on Etsy for a tiny sleigh," she said. "Your mother's going to love it."