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kariachi · 6 years ago

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Martin Mystery commission for @thenixkat!! A 10k rewrite of Hairier and Scarier, now featuring more Tonio and sorority girls!

Martin had, at first, been displeased with the Center work station that had been stowed away in his dorm as an alternative to giving him a raise. Diana had tried to convince him this was the better deal, but there was no way on the bright blue ball that was Earth he believed it. Even now, he would’ve preferred the extra five grand a year that had been tossed the others’ way. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to take full advantage.

“Check it out, Jav! The inside scoop on all of Torrington’s hottest hotties!”

Having a personal computer of any sort was handy. It gave him the opportunity to write stuff out and store it away without needing to take up physical space, which was especially useful when one was trying to gather as much information with which to impress girls as physically possible. With how important his studies of the paranormal, supernatural, and just magic in general were, there simply wasn’t enough space in his brain to remember all the little tidbits of information he managed to gather about, not just hotties, but also his friends and the occasional boy Tonio was into. And Center computers? Were all set and ready to make files on individuals, a program Martin was using with gleeful abandon.

He was very proud of himself for his work. Doubly so for how well he’d hidden it all. These files were all hidden in the folder he used to store his original fiction, which itself was labeled ‘Case Notes 4-73X-52K’. It was as secure as he could make it without arousing suspicion.

“Betty here,” he said as he showed off his work, “is president of the chick flick fan club, and guess who’s got two tickets to the premiere of Tears of a Teenage Beauty Queen?” He threw a smile at Java as he took out and waved said tickets, receiving a wide grin in return.

“Very smooth.”

“Thank you. Now,” he stowed the tickets back away and moved on to the next file, “meet Maria. Her locker is lined with posters of Rad Bradford- the world’s top male eyebrow model. You know, people say I have brows just like his.”

“If you say so.” It wasn’t the most encouraging response, but okay. Next file.

“And let’s not forget Louise- her favorite color is fuchsia, so wait until she sees me in this!” Martin pulled a floral print fuchsia shirt out of a bag by his chair, holding it up to himself. He had been warned against this color once before- against the whole pink-purple spectrum really- but he was not going to let the opinion of two sorority girls, given ages ago, stop him from getting a foot in with a hot girl. It wasn’t gonna happen.

“Nice shirt, for a limbo contest.” He also was not going to let his sister’s opinions stop him, but that was a vow going back several years. Java turned at Diana’s entrance with a smile. Martin ignored her, as was the proper brotherly way. Besides, he had other things to worry about- like ‘should I gun for a forth girl, just in case, given my track record’. It was a new technique he was trying, if going hard after one girl at a time wasn’t giving him results, maybe going less after more girls would give him more luck…

“Martin Mystery!” And she was going to sick her nose in it, of course. “You can’t use Center equipment for your own personal dating scams!” For a brief instant the smart-ass in him wanted to point out that he also sometimes used it to help Tonio get dates, though the thought was snuffed out quickly. Instead he just returned her glower.

“Why not? It’s not like anyone’s gonna find out.” He had this on lockdown, the only weak link in security was Diana herself and

And MOM’s face replaced Louise’s on the screen.

Fuck.

“I’m never quite sure,” she said as Martin felt every individual cell in his body try to back away, “whether you underestimate me or overestimate yourself, Martin.” She looked pissed. In a moment of panic Martin began trying to close the file, or bring up another file, or do anything really that would get that look off his screen. It didn’t work. Nothing worked. Diana, beside him, looked too damn smug, probably with the timing as much as anything. Java was edging away. MOM glared harder.

“Meet me in my office, Agent Mystery.”

~~~

Whoever oversaw maintenance for cell block C ought to have been taken out and shot. There was no way all of those cells could’ve gotten that dirty with regular cleaning, it just wasn’t physically possible. The doors, the walls, the floors, everything was covered in patches and puddles of muck and grime and other things that it made even Martin’s skin crawl to think about. And given the cleaning supplies at his feet, and the look MOM was giving him, he had the sinking suspicion this was all about to be his problem.

“Perhaps after cleaning the cages you’ll think twice about misusing Center equipment.”

“Ya know,” Martin replied, even as a voice in the back of his head told him he was pushing his luck, “why don’t I just go think about it now?” If anything MOM’s gaze got firmer.

“I can double the task if you feel like playing games, Martin.” It was no wonder she’d gotten the designation MOM, getting reprimanded by her was just as bad as by his own mother. For a moment he felt like he was six again, being stared down as he suggested donating all his clothes to charity so he could fit more comic books in his closet.

Was not a fun feeling.

“Sorry you got busted, dude,” Billy said, hovering to his side as MOM walked away. There was nothing Martin could do but sigh.

“A fair price to pay,” he said, not really feeling it, “MOM’s not gonna delete everything I had on there, is she?” He wasn’t holding out hope for his files, but… Billy gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“Your stories are safe and sound,” he said, and a bit of weight lifted off Martin’s spine, “but you can’t put them under false labels anymore.”

“When you say ‘can’t’-”

“Don’t or MOM will just take the whole workstation. And you still won’t get a raise.”

“Damnit.” Martin huffed. That was just his luck. “Well, at least I’ve got you to help out, right Billy?”

“Nope.” He was still smiling. That was not something you said to a guy who was about to clean all of this and still smile! “I’ve got my own work to do.” As everything from Martin’s shoulders to spirits sank like a busted freighter, Billy patted him again and hovered passed him towards the exit. “Have fun, Martin!”

That. Traitor.

Martin groaned and looked around at the cages again. Filthy was an understatement, even he managed to keep a cleaner space than this. His mom would’ve pulled out the flamethrower again if she’d seen the mess in front of him. And it was all on Martin to clean it, by himself, with the occupants of the cages still there. What was MOM trying to do, kill him?

“Well,” he said to himself as he spotted one- one- left empty and began to haul supplies to it, “might as well start with the easy cage.”

He didn’t have the authorization needed to open any of the cages in a single button press, and even MOM didn’t have the authorization to give him the authorization, so Martin was forced to type in his unique security password, plus the ‘punishment’ code- which explained why he was opening a cage and also barred him from opening any others until this one was shut and locked- followed by scanning his u-watch before the doors would open. The Center could afford overkill, but apparently not janitorial staff.

It was, he couldn’t help thinking, strange that this cell was as dirty as the rest of them despite having nothing in it. But then, if maintenance couldn’t be bothered to clean the cages that were in use, why would they touch the ones that weren’t. And he almost, almost, couldn’t blame them. These cages were well lit, but had nothing resembling an amenity outside a single bed that was, in all honesty, more like a bench than anything. No ventilation. No grates. This one in particular had a pile of shit off to one side and he was certain he was going to see more. There was just the bench, the tile floor, and a piece of paper taped to the back wall. It would’ve still been creepy and suffocating even without the mess.

Martin took a moment to check the piece of paper out, mostly because he wanted a distraction from his chore. It was an article! About him! About a werewolf capture he’d made what felt like ages ago. It even had a picture.

“Aw, someone was a fan.” Okay, that was a bright spot in his day. Kind of. If nothing else look at the angle in that photo, count on the guys from the Center’s weekly newsletter to get his good side. Still, something about the article rustled his jimmies, even as he settled in to start scrubbing some unidentifiable muck out of a back corner. There’d been something about that mission, it’d been a struggle and really unique and he found himself wracking his brain to remember why. It’d turned out to be a werewolf but there was something about it, it had been

A phantom. A phantom werewolf.

It’d been invisible.

Martin froze in his scrubbing, muscles going tense. He was alone, in a supposedly empty cage, that had an article on the wall about an invisible werewolf he’d put in here. His back was to the cage. He took a deep breath, moving slowly to place the rag he’d been using on the floor. The door was still open, he hadn’t seen a reason to close it, so. Best case scenario, nothing was in here, he was being paranoid. Next best case, it was asleep and he hadn’t woken it. Worst case, it was

There was a thud as something dropped from the ceiling.

Going with his first instinct, as soon as the werewolf hit the ground behind him Martin dove for the door, reeling back when it darted in front of him with a growl. Okay. Okay. It was between him and the door, all long limbs and dark fur and probably one hell of a grudge from the way it was growling.

“Hey there,” he said, plastering on the fakest smile he’d ever managed, “long time no see.” The growling got louder as it stalked closer. Martin tried to edge towards the door. “Look, clearly you don’t want me here, so how about I just leave, huh?”

To his utter lack of surprise, the werewolf did not step aside and let him walk out a free man. In a heartbeat it dove at him, knocking Martin to the ground as he clapped his hands around it’s wrists to hold back vicious claws and dodged away from snapping teeth inches from his nose. Fuck, the thing reeked as bad as it’s cage. Scrambling, he managed to get his feet planted against it’s belly and heaved, launching it across the cage and onto it’s back. Years of practice made it easy to jump to his feet, using the bench as a platform to bypass the monster as it recovered from the rough landing and flipped back over, just in time to grab his left arm as Martin bolted through the doors, setting off the automatic locking mechanism.

Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh shit.

Panic setting in, Martin grabbed his arm and began to heave against the werewolf’s grip, the machinery behind the plexiglass doors whirring as they applied gentle pressure along his arm where they’d have liked to be closing. A tiny piece of Martin’s brain took the time to be glad they weren’t just shutting anyway, taking the limb clean off, though that may have been safer than the position he was in now. It felt like an eternity, though probably it was only seconds, before the werewolf lost its grip and Martin fell back with a cry of pain, clutching his arm. As the door properly shut and sealed, he turned his attention from the still growling creature to his forearm. More specifically, to the four fresh, bloody gashes on it.

Fuck.

~~~

He didn’t finish his cleaning. They couldn’t have made him, not with a gun to his head. Martin Mystery was not a man prone to fear, but he was a man who had grown up with magic and been interested in the supernatural since he was old enough to focus his eyes and he was not, under any circumstances, going to let a wound from a werewolf fester. As soon as he’d come down from the adrenaline and shock of a sudden werewolf attack and the realization that he’d been scratched, Martin had shucked his shirt- it wasn’t like he didn’t have more- and used it to wrap his arm just long enough to flee back to Torrington.

Stowed safely away under his bed was what may well have been some of the most valuable stuff at Torrington. Most people, from just looking at the cache, would’ve laughed at the idea- a mangled disaster of a book, a handful of various stones, bundles of leaves, grasses, herbs, and a few little carved items of wood, bone, one of gemstone, still nothing fancy. But it was, more valuable than damn near anything. Nowhere else on school property were you going to find a higher concentration of magic and spell components than in the dark wood box cleverly hidden behind a take-out container and a pile of possibly-sentient-at-this-point socks.

It was this box that Martin dragged out as soon as he’d locked the door to his dorm and drawn the curtains. His spellbook, the sapphire frog, a few different herb bundles, and because he wasn’t quite stupid the first aid kit he’d promised his mother he’d keep somewhere accessible back when she’d first signed the paperwork for him to begin work at the Center. He had to have, somewhere in there, or in the myriad of other books on things so many people thought weren’t worth studying with the fervor he threw at them, there had to be some way to prevent werewolf curses settling in. There had to be.

Martin Mystery spent the next seven hours trying everything he possibly could before he finally went to bed.

Then he spent another four trying them all again.

~~~

Lunch the next day was… interesting.

Martin headed to meet Diana in the lunchroom, arm still aching from both the wound and his attempts to make sure there wasn’t any curse to it, only to be met with wide eyes and a noise somewhere between impressed and concerned.

“That must have been some punishment.”

“Yeah, it’s not easy being me, Di.” He stretched and clenched his fingers as he spoke. Tonio had seen him without the bandages that morning and expressed worry that it might be bad enough to screw with his movement, so now Martin was worried about it too despite himself. Maybe he should ask Diana about that? If anyone would know how deep a wound it would’ve had to be to cause problems it’d be her... He threw his gaze around the room as he considered the option- maybe he should get lunch first? Despite the breakfast Java had brought up when he hadn’t shown at the cafeteria, he felt like his stomach was gnawing on it-

Wait, stop, Betty was right there!

“Now if you’ll excuse me-” And he was gone, leaving his sister blinking in his dust as he all but teleported across the room to Betty’s table. Betty who didn’t look to happy to see him. Well, that was going to change soon enough. “Betty! Just the girl I was looking for.”

“Get lost, Martin.” He was not deterred. He was never deterred. He was hungry, but not deterred.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to someone who scored two tickets to tonight’s premiere of-” What was that smell? Oh god it smelled amazing- He looked down and was immediately enraptured by the contents of Betty’s plate. “Those look delish!” At no point had any cafeteria food, even Java’s, looked or smelled so wonderful as that chicken did to Martin in that moment, standing there with his stomach consuming itself like a black hole.

“You don’t mind if I take one of these, do you?” he asked, throwing up a smile as he snatched a wing off her plate, not even noticing the way he was practically draping himself over the plate or how Betty backed away. What he did notice was Luke straight lifting him off the ground by the back of his shirt.

“Dude,” the other boy said firmly, “some manners around my girlfriend!” Girlfriend? His? Between this new information and the fact there was chicken in his hand and not yet in his mouth Martin was at a bit of a loss.

“But, I’m just so hungry, I can’t help myself…” It wasn’t a lie, but it was still about to get him punched before Diana jumped in to save his life.

“Luke, wait!” It said something about how she was held at this school as compared to her brother that Martin was immediately set down, Diana automatically grabbing hold of him. “Martin’s just, part of a science experiment I’m running. He hasn’t eaten in three days, it’s making him loopier than normal, I’m so sorry.” She steered him away from the table as she spoke, Luke glaring after them, and Martin was grateful- in a confused way- until she reached for the food.

“Back off, Di, the wing is mine!” he growled as they briefly wrestled over the chicken, only for her to wrench the item out of his hands. Martin all but whimpered as she turned with a tense grin and replaced it on Betty’s plate, then took advantage of the continuing confusion of everybody involved to grab him by the undamaged arm and haul.

“Are you crazy?!” she growled under her breath as she lead the way to the door. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“I don’t know,” he replied, and it was the honest truth even if he wasn’t really paying attention to her. No, his eyes were on a new plate of chicken, hot and fresh and smelling delicious and going right passed them. “But I have to eat!”

Laser focused on the plate, Martin pulled out of his sister’s grasp, hardly noticing the world around him until after the crash, when he was on the floor next to Jessie, wrapped around her plate like a cat with a yarn mouse.

Floor chicken was awesome.

~~~

The floor chicken, alongside a plate of his own Diana grabbed him and the first of her plates, was thankfully enough to take the edge off Martin’s hunger. At least, enough of an edge that he could think about other things, like the slight itch that was leading him to rub his shin against the inside of his jeans or, more importantly, the fact that while Betty had been a bust he and Di shared an art class with Maria and they were currently working on figure drawing and anatomy.

So of course when Ms. Sachs called for a volunteer, Martin was immediately in motion. After all, as he pointed out with a gaze in Maria’s direction, he was a dead ringer for Rad Bradford. In fact, now that he was started-

“This pose,” he told Maria, who from her small jump clearly hadn’t been expecting him to suddenly be practically hanging off her easel, “is for you.” That’s it, Mystery. Who the man? You the man.

“Get your own girlfriend, loser.” Wait, what? When did Brody get there? And when had he started dating Maria?!

“Heh, sorry,” Martin replied, backing off sheepishly, “I didn’t know she was spoken for.” Because she hadn’t been three days ago! What the fuck? First Betty, now Maria? Thankfully he was broken from that spiral of confusion and poor timing by the sudden impact of a piece of charcoal against the back of his head. A quick turn to investigate revealed who else but Diana, ready with another piece to throw if he didn’t get his butt in gear.

“If you’re gonna pose, pose already,” she insisted, and though Martin rolled his eyes he went to do so. After all, there were still a few hot girls in the class- though sorority ties barred him from moving in on two of them- so he may as well peacock while he had the chance. He made his way to the stool in the center of the studio and struck a classic pose, brow twitching when Diana immediately laughed. “The Thinker? Really? How about something more believable?”

For a brief moment, his temper flared, and he seriously considered mooning her in front of the entire class. But, Taylor was to his right and would’ve nailed him with something heavier than a bit of charcoal if he did, so he instead settled on pulling down his lids, twisting his face into the most grotesque mask he could manage just long enough to get his friends to laugh and Diana to comment on its appropriateness before settling back into something more relaxed.

Things were fine like that for about ten minutes.

The problem with posing for a class, especially semi-impromptu posing, was that there was nothing to distract you but your own mind. Normally this wasn’t a problem for Martin, his imagination ran like an ostrich through the savannah, but today was just proving, difficult. He was still hungry enough for it to keep him from thinking, and the more he sat there the worse the itching from before seemed to become. Maybe if he’d had some music going or something he could’ve focused on that instead, but in a quiet room it was like it was getting worse and worse until finally he just, had to scratch. He tried to keep it low-key at first but…

“Stay still, Martin.” Diana was not alone in this request, the rest of the class either grumbling or looking at him in concern as his scratching got more intense.

“I can’t, I’m all itchy! The fuck, did I get fleas or something?” If that werewolf gave him fleas on top of everything he was quitting the Center and reading tarot for a living like his grandmother. The majority of the class picked up their easels and moved back a step, the rest descended into chuckles and open laughter as Martin scratched like he was trying to take skin off, having to actively stop himself from just gnawing on his own leg.

“Try doing your laundry once in a while!”

He could only fucking hope that was the problem.

~~~

At least during gym there were things to keep his mind off his hunger, and itching, and the fact he was starting to ache a little bit. Plus, Java was there and much less likely to judge him than his sister was. So Martin felt pretty good, not great at this point but pretty good, strolling in with his new shirt and the sort’ve confidence only he could manage. There were always cheerleaders nearby during his class, always, and lovely Louise was among them. Yes, he was down two out of three, but he still had a chance to get a date by the end of the day.

Little mind was paid to him as he walked by the rest of the mini-squad on his way to a curious Louise’s side, laying on the Mystery charm.

“So, Louise, I saw you admiring my shirt…” And immediately every one of them started giggling, which even he knew was never a good sign.

“I’ve just never seen a guy wear fuchsia before…” At least Louise was smiling at him as she said it, that was progress, right? Right? Martin blinked, beginning to second guess this decision- maybe he should’ve listened to Ivy- and smiled sheepishly at her. But before he could continue on chatting, a basketball slammed hard into his gut. He just barely caught it, flashing the girls an ‘I’m okay’ grin.

“My girl has better things to do than chat it up with you, Mystery.” And Martin heard nothing beyond that. Chip? Louise was dating Chip? Number one, since when? All of these girls had been single last he’d heard, where the fuck were these relationships coming from? Number two, why? He threw a confused look at Lil, two cheerleaders down the line. She responded with nothing but a shrug and a grimace that clearly communicated how much she didn’t approve of the matter either.

“Mystery!” Oh, yeah, person talking. “You playing ball, or what?” Martin grinned at him, cutting around him, dribbling the ball.

“With my mad skills? Step aside!”

One downside to working with the Center was that he simply didn’t have the time to devote to things like sports, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable. He’d always been the athletic type, and his missions were often more than enough to keep him in shape even when he wasn’t doing proper sporty things. In fact he’d once been referred to as the ultimate geek-jock fusion, and he was more than happy to show off what he could do for an audience, any audience, but especially one including girls. Lil applauded him from the sidelines as he dribbled hard, fast, and in as ostentatious a manner as was physically possible, right until the moment he got an angle wrong and sent the ball directly into his ankle.

Chip didn’t even look at him as he fell over, just snatching up the ball with a curt “you’re skins”. Rude.

“You alive, Marty?” Lil asked as Martin got back to his feet, heading back their way even as the other cheerleaders chuckled over his tumble.

“Right as rain, Lils,” he said with a smile, “gonna take more than a vicious basketball attack to stop me.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.” He blew her a raspberry and shook his head- so mean, and to him, her good friend- as he turned his back to the lot and began to shuck his shirt.

He got most of the way there before he looked down and saw a sea of orange fuzz.

Eyes blowing wide, he slammed his shirt back on and looked around erratically, suddenly horrified someone might have seen the fur covering his chest. That hadn’t been there ten minutes ago when he’d gotten changed, it just hadn’t. This was bad, this was bad bad bad-

“Java!” He was so glad his friend worked his class, he needed the security of just, having him there, and clung one-handed to his arm. “Did you see that? Did anyone see that?” Martin scanned the room again. Cheerleaders were talking amongst themselves, didn’t seem to be paying him any mind. Other boys looked like they wouldn’t have noticed if he’d died on the court. And then Java, frowning slightly at him.

“See what, Martin?” Okay. Okay, nobody noticed. Alright, that was- He quickly darted a hand under his shirt to confirm that had happened. It had. Fuck. Martin took a deep breath and tried to relax. He could handle this. He could handle this.

“Look, Jav,” he said, throwing up a laughably fake smile, “I’m not feeling so well, can I sit this class out?” Java’s frown deepened in concern, but slowly he nodded.

“Go to nurse,” he said, and Martin nodded vigorously before bolting for the door.

~~~

Things were getting worse by the minute and the nurse was the last place he planned to go. He’d gotten to watch in real time as the fur overtook his legs as he changed back into his standard clothes. His nose was getting keener and keener, with every step it felt like, which didn’t help that his stomach was rumbling again, louder and fiercer than before. The itching was getting insane, everything ached, and the world was just, too damn loud. He could hear everything, from squirrels running around to other students talking under their breath as he stalked by with a growl building in his throat.

Martin was a good ninety-percent sure what was going on. He would’ve had to be stupid not to be, and no matter what his grades said Martin Mystery was not stupid. At least, not about things like this. Attacked by a werewolf? On the night before a full moon? (It was a full moon tonight, he knew, he was one of those people who kept track of that shit.) Being beset afterwards by intense hunger? Heightened senses? Sudden fur? A turtle could’ve followed that trail.

This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good. What was he going to do? What could he do? He’d already tried everything! There was nothing he could do with magic to stop or fix this, and he wasn’t going to the Center for help, not after what he’d seen yesterday. He was going to have to

He stepped around a corner and just barely missed being hit by a ball being tossed between two other boys. Without missing a beat he twisted around, leaping through the air to catch it in his teeth, landing on all fours on the ground with a skid that made his palms hurt. Before what he’d just done could even clock with him, he was shaking the ball with a growl.

“Um, Mystery?” When he glanced up Todd was slowly kneeling down beside him, one hand hovering near his shoulder and the other gesturing somebody behind Martin away. “You okay dude?” No, no he wasn’t, but how precisely do you explain ‘I got scratched up by a werewolf yesterday and now this’ to a civilian? You couldn’t, not without the Center having to get you out of the psych ward afterwards. Instead of a proper answer his jaw tightened around the ball and a whimper forced itself out of his throat, making him flinch with just how bad this all was. Tentatively, Todd started petting his hair.

“Um, it’s alright? Look, I sent Marcus to find, somebody…” Oh this was just getting better and better, they’d probably track down a teacher, or Diana-

“Thanks, Todd, we were looking for him.” That wasn’t Diana. The figure that ran up alongside Marcus and dropped to his side was very much Lil, followed closely by Darcy. “Marty? Buddy? Can you give Todd his ball back, we can get you inside?” He bit back another whine and forced his jaws apart, the ball plopping out into Todd’s open hand.

“Sorry man,” Darcy said as the girls helped Martin to his feet, each with a firm grip on one arm. Todd shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve had to wash worse than Martin-spit off this thing. Just, take care of him?” Their grips tightened.

“We plan to.”

~~~

“I call to order,” Sarah said, standing at the front of the meeting room, “this meeting of the Psi Psi Psi sorority and Tonio Antonelli to address the topic of- Martin Mystery, the fuck?”

This was a rare moment in which Martin did not want a crowd of girls looking at him. The entire sorority was there, plus Tonio- who they had hunted down specifically because he was the Senior Martin Specialist once he’d demanded nobody get Diana or Java involved. Java might have been safe, maybe, but if Diana figured this out she’d call MOM within four minutes. Fuck, the girls might call the Center if they found out.

“Is this a vampire thing? How worried should we be here?” Oh thank god. The vampire thing was old hat at this point, he could work with it.

“It might be?” he lied through his goddamn teeth, swallowing down a handful of peanuts from the honestly scarily large package Taylor had found him. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling, weird, lately.”

“Uh-huh.” Tonio looked him over and for a long moment Martin remembered just how damn well he knew him, especially when his eyes flicked to Martin’s bandaged arm. “For how long?”

“Almost a week now.” Lying was good here, lying would keep him out of a cage. Yes, Tonio’s eyes narrowed at him, but he didn’t argue and that was all Martin needed. A few of a girls sighed.

“Martin,” Aria said, “you have to tell people when shit’s extra weird, or else we can’t help.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“I thought I had everything under control.”

“Uh-huh.” Ten different people at once with that one. Sarah sighed.

“Okay,” she said, “from now until we get this worked out, someone is always on Martin Duty. Keep notes, keep him from getting the cops called on him, the usual.” Wait, no, fuck again!

“Guys, it’s not necessary, I’ll just hole up in my room a bit, up my calorie intake, it’ll be fine.”

“Martin,” Tonio patted his arm with too calm an expression, hefting a book in one hand, “fetch.”

It fucking burned that as soon as the paperback went flying he did.

~~~

“Tonio, man, our rooms are connected, you don’t need to do this.”

“Yes, yes I do, because you’re a disaster.”

Martin groaned and flopped back against the pile of dirty laundry he was using as a mattress. Tonio was insisting on sleeping in his room tonight, for the sake of keeping an eye on him, and Martin wasn’t rude enough to make him sleep on the floor.

“Seriously, I’ll be sleeping, what sort’ve trouble can I get into?” What he wanted, more than anything in the world in that moment, was to not be sharing a room with one of his best friends when he surely went full werewolf. He liked Tonio too damn much to want to maul him.

“Knowing you? All of it.” Tonio stretched out on the bed, smirking at him as he reached for the last light in the room. “Just whine if you need me to escort you to a tree or something.” Martin scowled at him.

“Oh shut up.”

As Tonio laughed and that final light shut off, he pulled his blankets around him and shut his eyes, praying for an uneventful night.

~~~

Martin Mystery woke up on the floor of the Psi Psi Psi meeting room, surrounded by familiar faces.

“So, good news- it’s not vampire shit.”

“Bad news- you’re a werewolf, Martin.”

“Don’t make Harry Potter references at him, the idiot’s been through enough.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

Martin groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes like it might make all this a dream.

“Are you sure?” he asked, as if he didn’t damn well know.

“Well-” It sounded like Tonio was somewhere towards the back of the room, and that was definitely his ‘why are you my best friend?’ tone- “given I woke up… seven hours ago? to your tail in my face? We’re pretty damn sure.” He sighed. “I knew you were lying... Why do you not tell me these things? I share a suite with you, this is relevant!”

“I was scared getting people involved would make things worse!” He was. He really, really was. Those cages kept flashing in front of his eyes, alongside images of blood and bone. “Is everybody o-” As he pulled his hands away from his face, Martin noticed the long, black claws sticking out of each finger. A small, distressed noise rose in the back of his throat.

“Yeah, like we said,” Darcy said, taking a gentle hold of one of his wrists- oh, look, his wound was gone, that was terrifying- “definitely a werewolf. Claws, your ears are all pointy right now, and there is just, so much fur going on. And everyone is fine.”

“Yeah,” Maddie chimed in. “You were less Cujo and more Clifford.”

“We were all more worried about you chewing a hole in yourself than one of us,” Sarah added. “Speaking of which, do you want a flea collar? We were talking about what sort’ve supplies Diana and Java’d need to keep you healthy now and, that might be handy.”

“They aren’t going to need anything to keep me healthy.” It was a relief to know he hadn’t hurt anyone, apparently hadn’t even tried, but still. There was no way this could get out. No. “Not a word about this leaves this room.” Brows raised incredulously all around him.

“Martin,” Tonio chimed in, “speaking as your voice of reason- at the very least Diana needs to hear about this. I mean come on, are you gonna go home for the summer and just hope you never walk out of your bedroom during a full moon? Your family’s gonna have to know.” Martin shook his head, muscles tense, and lips pulling back from his teeth.

“If Diana finds out, the Center will find out. If the Center finds out, I’m going to end up in a cage.” Paige scoffed.

“Over the bodies of twenty-three girls and a Tonio you will.”

“Martin, seriously,” Darcy still had her grip on him, and clearly wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon, “we can’t be there for every full moon. You’ve gotta tell somebody.” Martin whined under his breath.

Fuck fuck fuck.

~~~

In the end they compromised. The others wouldn’t tell Diana unless directly questioned about his potential werewolfness, and he’d call his grandmother and tell her he was now at risk for canine distemper.

This was easier said than done.

“Yes, Gramma.”

“I know, but-”

“Look it’s a very recent thing-”

“Gramma telling Diana is an actual health risk here.”

“I tried that- Yes, yes, I know.”

“But Gramma, I-” Flinching, Martin nodded along and held the out the phone. “Tonio, she wants to speak to you.” The other boy took the phone as if it might bite.

“Hello, Mrs. Mystery. I’m doing fine, how about you? Oh great.” Of course, Tonio she was chill with.

“No, no, we’ve got things under control, we think. Just figured someone in his family should know about this. I mean full moons still happen over the holidays… Uh-huh.”

“Oh no, he was great, perfectly manageable, plenty of food, a few hours of fetch, and everything was fine.” Well, that was good to know at least, even if the idea that he’d played fetch made Martin pout even harder than he had been. Who knew being a werewolf could be so humiliating?

“Huh, that would explain it. Okay, I’ll let him know. Bye, ma’am. Same to you, bye.” All eyes in the room- which wasn’t that many at this point, it’d been decided that the people who’d actually gotten a decent amount of sleep should carry on as normal while the rest slept or handled this werewolf business- were locked onto Tonio as he hung up the phone. With a deep sigh, he flopped down bonelessly beside Martin.

“So, that necklace is supposed to stop the worst of the vampireness?” Martin sighed.

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Your gran thinks it should’ve stopped the werewolfness too, but since it didn’t she’s gonna call up some of your aunts and try to get a new one together that will.”

“So,” Sarah interjected, hanging off the back of a chair, “we only have to worry until they do. Then everything should go back to normal Martin weirdness, right?”

“That’s what she thinks. She wants us to keep an eye on him until then.”

“Well fuck, we were gonna do that anyway.”

On the one hand, Martin couldn’t help but notice they were talking about him like he wasn’t there, especially as they continued on. But on the other, what they were talking about was ‘our friend is a werewolf, how do we manage this without him ending up in a cage’. Everyone there had sat up last night making sure he was okay and under control. Sophia and Maddie had gotten hold of a PetSmart catalog and were arguing over what dog beds looked more comfortable.

As worrying as the situation was, his grandmother and aunts had his back and his friends, honestly, seemed just to get more awesome the more they learned about his weirdness.

And after the holy water incident he hadn’t thought they could be more chill about his shit.

~~~

The lot of them were in the middle of a discussion about collar colors- half of them, including Martin, felt red was the best option because warm colors were his thing, while Tonio was with the other half in thinking a blue collar might work to bring the color of his jeans up to balance the rest of his color scheme- when the u-watch went off. And everything immediately stopped.

It chimed.

The screen went to its pre-call static.

Darcy wrenched the watch off Martin’s wrist and yeeted it across the room.

They all watched in silence as it ricocheted off the back wall, hit the floor, and bounced into the darkness under a desk. After a brief moment, the space was illuminated, and MOM’s voice rang out.

“Martin? Agent Mystery, where are you? Answer me!” A brief pause. “Goddamnit…” And the screen went dark again.

Silence reigned for several seconds more, three sets of arms wrapped protectively around Martin, Tonio’s hand clamped onto his arm. Slowly, everyone turned to Darcy.

“What? I panicked!” Martin released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the others following his lead.

“Fingers crossed, she just thinks I’m slacking off.” Lil nodded against his shoulder.

“Fingers crossed.”

~~~

“Bad news, everybody,” Hannah said as she stormed purposefully into the meeting room, waking up two girls and Tonio in the process.

“Because we haven’t had enough of that lately…” She threw the short blond a sharp look, then turned her attention back to the room at large.

“Chip’s dead-”

“Well, that makes my life easier.”

“Lillian!” Lil doubled down, arms crossed and back straight.

“He was a piece of shit.”

“Louise is a mess!”

“She’ll live, better off without him anyway.”

“Okay,” Sophia said, stepping between them with hands raised, “can we stay on topic? What happened, Hannah?” Shutting the door behind her, Hannah walked across the room to hover casually and worryingly protectively around Martin.

“What was left of him was found around the other side of the building this morning, in the bushes. Everyone’s talking like it was some sort’ve animal attack.”

Martin’s gut fell clean out of him, eyes blowing wide. There weren’t animals at Torrington large enough to take out a teenage boy. They weren’t even allowed cats for fuck’s sake, nonetheless anything that could leave ‘what’s left’ of anything bigger or badder than a pizza. All there was was- And he’d been at odds with Chip, sort’ve, just yesterday-

“Oh no, don’t you start with that look!” There was a light thwop against the back of his head and when he turned to look there was Tessa, with a firm, no-nonsense expression. “You’ve been alone for ten minutes out of the last eighteen hours, that is not long enough to break out of a locked room, find a jock, eat him, clean yourself up, break back in, and lock the doors or windows or whatever behind you.”

“I could if I wanted to,” Martin countered on pure instinct, baring his teeth at the thought he couldn’t do damn well anything if he wanted.

“Yeah,” Tonio said, tone flat and as unimpressed as everyone’s expressions, “maybe if you were a were-cheetah.”

“The point is,” Hannah said, laying a hand on Martin’s shoulder, “we know you didn’t kill him, but, we don’t know what did. And until that thing is caught, anyone who finds out about you is gonna see you as the prime suspect.” Hackles raised around the room at the thought.

“Okay everybody,” Sarah said, glaring at nothing in particular, “sounds like we’ve got more and more shit to worry about.”

~~~

Another meeting was called for that afternoon.

Nobody was really sure how they were going to handle the ‘strange beast eating schoolmates’ situation. They couldn’t even agree on if they should. Several of the girls were of the opinion that they should just leave well enough alone, it probably was some animal that made its way onto campus and it was better to let the professionals deal with it. Others felt it was better to know for sure- find out what it was that attacked Chip and then decide whether or not to be worried.

Martin had enough of an instinct for his work to know it wasn’t going to be some animal. That was the sort’ve thing Diana would suggest, and she was rarely right when his gut said ‘supernatural’. He might be wrong, but she wouldn’t be right.

“I’d put my life savings on this being the sort’ve thing the Center should get involved with,” he said, slumped down in his chair at the head of the room with the rest of the council, idly scratching his arm.

“Even if it is,” Ivy countered, “we’d still have to get involved. You’re the Center employee here, we aren’t leaving you alone, and you don’t want your sister or Java involved.” He hated a lot of things, but mostly that she was right. Whatever was going on he could probably handle it alone, but nobody was going to let him. Maybe Diana and Java would handle it, but the idea of not being there to help them made him queasy. Or maybe that was the hunger again. Just in case he tore open another bag of Fritos.

“I’m just saying, guys, I can handle it. Give me like, two hours-”

“I’m sorry, did we not already have this argument yesterday?”

“Yesterday a guy wasn’t dead!”

A knock rang from the door before Sarah could answer. Again, the room went quiet. Another knock.

“I know you all are in there,” Diana called from the other side, “we need to talk to Martin!” Goddamnit. This was the problem with getting your whole damn social group together in the usual place, you were too easy to find. Martin swore to find them all a new meeting room, in a different country if he could swing it. In this moment though, everyone in the room shared a look before Darcy stood and cracked the door.

“Martin isn’t here.” Bless that girl.

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”

“You’re already Martin’s friend, who knows how much lower you’d sink.”

“Hey!” The affront on Tonio’s face at that, as Martin’s oldest friend, was golden.

“Tonio’s here, Martin’s here, let us in.”

“No.”

“Darcy, please.” Logically Java, who Martin had no doubt was also out in the hall, would’ve been able to open the door with ease. He was, he had to assume, just too kind-natured to risk hurting or scaring her. “Think he might be sick.”

“He’s fine.”

“Listen-” Wait, was that Billy? That sounded like Billy. Fuck. “-this is going to be hard to believe, but we think he might be a werewolf-”

“Yeah, we know, either that or he’s possessed by a golden retriever. It’s all under control, goodbye.” As everyone inside struggled to not laugh or throw something at her, Darcy closed the door. Or, at least she tried to. The door stopped before it could click shut, and despite her best attempts creaked open enough for Java, a disguised Billy, and a very affronted Diana to force their ways in.

“You know?!”

“Well yeah,” Darcy responded, holding her ground between them and the others, “he was chasing balls out front yesterday, it’s not exactly rocket science.” Diana gaped for a moment, the boys waving behind her in an attempt at being friendly, before craning to glower at her brother over Darcy’s shoulder.

“Martin! What the fuck! You tell them but not us?!” He licked barbeque flavoring from his claws and waved.

“Hey guys. Um, nothing to worry about? Gramma’s working on keeping me from going all, furry.”

“-er.”

“Shut up, Ivy.” If anything Diana glared harder.

“You told Gramma, and not me!”

“Well Gramma doesn’t have a direct line to the Center, now does she?” Tessa reached out and grabbed Darcy’s arm, slowly pulling her back into the seats as Billy and Java edged towards the front of the room.

“Martin,” Billy said, “you really should head back to the Center-”

“And end up in one of those cages?” Martin tensed at the very thought and when he did everyone did for one reason or another. A few of the girls half-rose from their seats, eyes on his team and on Billy. “Yeah, no. We have everything under control here and Gramma’s working on keeping me from changing. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Nobody’s going to put you in a cage, Martin,” Billy said, hands raised placatingly. “If anything you’ll be killed alongside the rest of us.” Wait what? Jaw going slack, Martin’s face twisted into a confused grimace. “The werewolf that turned you escaped yesterday, as per protocol we had to call Security Chief Jones back in from her vacation and after looking over the footage she’s angrier than I’ve seen a person in years. You’re dead, I’m dead, MOM, the Assistant Security Chief, Head of Maintenance… If any of your friends here want work at the Center, we’re about to have a lot of openings.”

It took a minute for that to sink in. Normally he’d take such a threat with a major grain of salt, but if there was anyone working for the Center he would count on to follow through… That was honestly kind of scary. Thankfully other people were paying attention for him, namely Sarah, who was the one to pipe up with a-

“What do you mean ‘escaped’?”

“Oh, yeah,” Billy said, apparently so caught up in his imminent demise he’d forgotten, “that’s why MOM was looking for Martin. And because he hadn’t finished his cleaning-”

“In my defense I did get attacked by a werewolf.”

“-but mostly because he’s the one who caught it last time and we were worried it might hold a grudge.” The room went quiet again as everyone let this sink in. The other werewolf was loose, it may or may not be out for Martin’s blood, if it was, then it was probably heading for or already at

“Well,” Tessa said, “at least we know what probably killed Chip.” Java sighed, some tension leaving his shoulders.

“Am glad not Martin.”

“No, no,” Tonio said, “you haven’t seen wolfy-Martin, he wouldn’t take out a bacon cheeseburger.”

“I am right here.”

“We know.”

“But if the werewolf is after Martin,” Diana asked, “why would it kill Chip?”

“Because he was an asshole?”

“Stop it, Lil. Was probably just hungry. After all, it’s not like it had Darcy there feeding it jerky.”

“By the way, thanks Darc.”

“No problem, Marty.”

“Okay,” Sarah raised a hand for silence as she spoke, motioning the newcomers to take a seat with the others, “so, we know the extent of the werewolf problem. Now,” she looked directly at Billy, “what more can you tell us?”

The ‘having them sit’ thing turned out to be useless, because the moment Billy pulled out the werewolf’s file everybody was out of their seats again, crowding around him for a better look. It had everything. Height, weight, preferred diet, blood type, known history, Martin’s report on the mission during which he’d captured it. Even a photo, which got a lot of ‘huh’s from the crowd.

“That looks, nothing like you did, Martin.”

“Really?” he and Diana asked as one. Lil nodded.

“Yeah, you looked a lot more humanoid. Like, blatantly very canine, but not nearly as much as that guy. And you were fluffier. And more colorful.”

“You think maybe the vampire thing has something to do with it?” Tonio asked, and Diana glared at Martin again.

“They know about the vampires too?!”

“Look, after the holy water incident I had to come clean with some stuff.”

“What holy water incident?!”

“The one where Darcy dumped some holy water on his head as part of an in-joke and he started smoking.” It was a rare and, in Martin’s mind, beautiful moment where Diana had no words. She just gaped at him, eyes wide. He shrugged.

“I’d rather not talk about it. Whatcha thinking, Tonio?”

“I’m thinking,” Tonio leaned back as he spoke, “maybe you’re not becoming a werewolf like one that because you’ve already got the vampire blood going on. Maybe werewolves that are vampires or are gonna be vampires are a different type, and that’s why you’re fluffy and colorful. Or maybe that necklace of yours is working on it, just not entirely. So you’re only half-turning.”

“Gramma’d be glad to hear that,” Diana said, “it would probably give her less work to do.” Martin nodded along to that, it would, it really would, but Java shook his head.

“But not help with phantom werewolf,” he said, and he was right. If that thing was eating people, and looking for Martin, then they had to recapture it. And hopefully find someplace more humane to put it. Maybe Martin could gain survival points with Jones if he puppy-eyed for the werewolf’s well-being… But first.

“Well, I did catch it once,” he said, standing tall and grinning toothily around the room, “and that was in way worse circumstances, this’ll be a breeze.”

“Worse than on a high school campus while you yourself are transforming into a vicious beast?”

“He wishes.”

“Shut up, Tessa.” Martin’s grin widened as he aimed it at Billy, who shifted away slightly at the sight of sharp teeth. “Of course! Last time I was inexperienced, human, and only had half a clue what I’d gotten into. This time I’ve got people behind me, I’m a fucking werewolf, know exactly what I’m dealing with, and, I have time to plan.” He stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Who wants to help catch a monster?”

All around the room hands went up. Not all of them, but that didn’t matter when every face in the room held a confident expression. Everyone here trusted him, and whether they were willing to help with this specifically or not- it was a dangerous event to be involved in after all, even if he didn’t plan for any of them to be in harm’s way- they all had his back.

He’d known there was a reason he liked all these people.

~~~

In the end fifteen extra people- including Tonio- made light work, and preparations were complete well before the sun finished setting. Which left plenty of time to argue about who would be involved in the actual ‘werewolf capture’ portion of the event. And it was an argument. Too many people wanted to be involved with that. In the end they managed to pare it down to just Lil- who could not be deterred and made the compelling argument that she was the most hardcore athlete present so she was fairly certain she could handle whatever Martin and Diana could- alongside Diana and Java, with Martin acting as bait and- at his own insistence- the only one on the ground.

That had been an entirely different argument, but he’d won it with logic and empathy and forward-thinking and Diana damn well better have been proud of him.

So it was that, as the moon rose over the rooftops, he found himself standing alone at the edge of the campus. He could feel more of the wolf coming over him, just as he had the day before. Aches, hunger, heightened senses, that itching that was still fucking going. Martin chewed at one hand as he paced, face shifting into a short muzzle, tail growing through the hole Jessica’d cut in his pants and boxers earlier. Even if the other wolf somehow wasn’t after him, which he doubted, it was certain to find him, and that was all they needed to set things in motion. For it to take any sort’ve interest.

The damn thing took another hour, it’s scent rousing Martin from a potato chip-induced half-sleep before it came within sight. Setting his spine, he climbed back to his feet and let out a howl. One graciously answered.

“That’s it, buddy, come get me…” He stood tense, waiting, waiting, until the snarling form of the phantom wolf slipped out of the deeper shadows. Why it was showing itself, Martin didn’t know, but he certainly wasn’t about to complain. It came closer, he moved back, closer, back, rinse, repeat, until finally the tension in the air broke and the beast leapt with a roar.

Martin ran.

Through the grass, vault a shrub, it was on his heels, longer legs serving it well, up a path, under one of the larger trees-

There was a yelp as the werewolf followed him.

With a sharp grin, literally, Martin spun on his heels to face his foe. Java and the girls grinned back at him from up in the foliage, and beneath them- one very colorful werewolf.

“And now you can’t do your phantom thing.” Phase one, complete. Phase two, a go.

The werewolf charged him again and this time Martin stood his ground, grabbing it by the shoulders and twisting as it went for his throat. Together they hit the ground, a mass of fur and claws and teeth. The goal, as Martin wrestled with it, was to get it subdued enough that the others could bind the thing. Originally they’d been going for a net, which would’ve left the dye and paint they dumped over it unnecessary and kept this whole fight much shorter, but preliminary testing had proven Martin could shred it easily and they were going off the assumption the other wolf could do the same.

Thankfully, Martin considered as a lucky bite got lost in his mane, he was a lot better protected than last time.

With a snap, a snarl, a familiar kick to the gut, the werewolf broke out of his hold and darted back to give itself space. Which also gave Martin time to get hold of the x-rod, quarterstaff style. Having a weapon couldn’t hurt. Besides, this way he could smack it from a distance and there was feeling deep in his soul that was satisfying about smacking something coming at him with a stick.

Now that he thought about it, this was probably the instinct called upon during the invention of baseball.

One sharp crack stunned the wolf, sending it to the ground, and Martin sprinted to pin it. Not that he was quite fast enough, by the time he reached it it had enough sense back to try for another bite, one hastily blocked with his staff. And so, with jaws around his weapon, Martin did one better.

A staff pressed against the back of it’s jaw held the wolf’s head to the ground, Martin’s weight on it’s middle kept it from maneuvering. At first, the wolf tried to swipte at him, but his own thick fur and clothing made it a waste of time. The best it could do was try to lift the staff like a barbell in a bid to even the odds back up, and even that was an attempt that wouldn’t last long. Now they didn’t have to worry about the teeth, Java, Diana, and Lil jumped down from the tree and came to Martin’s aid- each swaddled in a painful number of layers for safety’s sake.

Java grabbed the wolf’s forearms and carefully pulled it’s hands from the quarterstaff, pinning them above it’s head so the girls could tie them with a length of wire carefully covered with cloth and cotton for safety. This was repeated, with even more care, with it’s flailing legs. Then, while Java held the legs and Lil held the arms, Diana pulled out one of Tonio’s belts (“Nothing deserves to be bound in anything of Martin’s”) and wrapped it loosely around the wolf’s muzzle. Carefully, carefully, she tightened it as Martin pulled the staff away, like the world’s most dangerous game of Jenga, before yanking it tight the instant the staff was clear.

Thoroughly bound, gagged, and pinned, there was nothing of consequence the phantom werewolf could do. Martin patted it’s head consolingly.

“Don’t worry, dude, we gonna make sure you’re kept in better conditions this time.”

~~~

Two months passed and thankfully nobody died, though several did lose their jobs, and even MOM walked on eggshells for a few weeks. Plans to improve conditions in the cages were rushed through the approval process, though the phantom werewolf would never see them. That one had been transferred to another facility with nicer cells that also was plenty far away from Martin.

He’d gone through two more full moon cycles since being turned, none of which had resulted in any harm to any individual. At least, not any harm that put them at risk of turning. Getting knocked over by an enthusiastic werewolf was not a big threat. As it was he’d spent those nights out in the forests behind Torrington or locked up in the meeting room, always with someone to look after him, often with a ball to chase and snacks to eat. It was actually kind of fun, now that he was getting used to it. But nothing lasts forever, and amount of the shaving and nail clipping he was having to do to maintain his cover was really crimping his style. It would’ve crimped Diana’s style.

“Hold still, Martin!”

“If you’d hurry up I wouldn’t have to!”

“Do you want this to stay on?” Diana demanded, aiming an knee to the small of his back, “then sit still!” The new necklace their grandmother had sent was… tighter than the last one. More of a choker than anything. Supposedly to make sure it stayed in place, as if Martin had ever had a problem with keeping it on before. He supposed it probably had something to do with how often he got transformed into things, especially lately. This was supposed to make sure he didn’t turn into any more supernatural creatures before his time, or give into any of the relevant urges, and if it didn’t work she was probably going to come up and ward him personally.

Again.

“There, finally! How many ways to close a necklace are there, and how did Gramma find them all?”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Martin replied. Before his eyes his claws were receding, and he could feel the hunger dying down. He turned to grin at his sister. “Thanks, Di.”

“No problem.” She brushed her hands off and sat back on his bed. “It’s going to be nice to have the, well, comparatively normal you back.” He laughed and scooted back himself, throwing an arm over her shoulders.

“Tell me about it. If I never wake up with a ball in my mouth again it’ll be too soon.”

#fanfic #martin mystery #achi does commissions #commissions #commissionwork

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theswiftarmy · 5 years ago

Text

POST #25 – Mr. Whittington’s Cat, I Presume?

“Stay here.”

“Billie, where are you going?” Justin Bieber called after her.

“Just stay here! Finneas and I will enter over there—” She pointed to a blocked off road lined with security guards and official looking individuals in event staff shirts, “We have to let them take our photos on the red carpet. Wait, Justin, why am I telling YOU this, you know the red carpet deal, don’t make me say the word…”

“What word, you mean duh?”

“Duh! Yes.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I know the red carpet deal.” He nodded.

The group nodded back, they all knew the deal. Justin Bieber, Oak Felder, Pop Wansel, Scott Borchetta, Kanye West, Carl Lyle the lawyer (who’s last name is also coincidentally Lawyer), and Kymmie (The Teen Arianator and aspiring social media influencer) stood in a hiding spot near the chaotic crimson carpet. Kymmie knew the deal not because she had gone through it before like the others, but because she had consumed so much media, both social and anti-social, that she knew way more than your average teenager could possibly know about the red carpet without so much as even stepping foot on it. She imagined the bottom of her feet, one day, taking those very first steps onto the carpet. That magic carpet ride. That crimson carpet. Oh, how she longed to be part of that crimson carpet club (as she had decidedly named it inside her head). Oh how she longed to join those select few individuals around the world as a member of the exclusive red carpet club. How many people in the world had walked on the red carpet? Percentage wise? It was a VERY exclusive club indeed. So many people in the world, yet so few belonged to that Hollywood elite. Oh how she dreamed one day that would be her. She would make it happen, and she wouldn’t stop until she did. She could see it, just across the way, so close, yet so far away. All she knew was, she would get there one day. She thought, it must be the most amazing experience ever! The lawyer of course had been on what he called ‘red carpet duty’ on numerous occasions, because it was his job to be there. It reminded him of being a Resident Assistant back in his college days, but for Hollywood stars instead of his fellow university classmates. He found it to be the most boring of tasks he’d ever been assigned. But when you work for The Whales of Hollywood you get assigned various overt and covert tasks of which you are required to complete. Mostly it was boring legal stuff, like babysitting an uncooperative client to make sure they don’t say anything stupid to the press, just one whisper to their ear, was usually all it took, just a few words, very specific words. He was told what to say by someone else, who told that person to say it, and someone told that person and so on and so forth… a whole whisper down the lane game. It was entirely possible that Kymmie and the lawyer would cross paths one day on the red carpet in a completely different interaction.

“I’ll call you, Justin, don’t go anywhere until you get my call. Okay?” Billie nodded at Justin after saying okay.

Justin nodded back. Then, everyone else nodded at his nod at Billie Eilish. There was a hierarchy of nods, just like the hierarchy of whispers. Our entire world is one hierarchy after another—hierarchy of hierarchies.

She took a deep breath and turned to face her brother. “You ready?”

Finneas smiled a crooked smile. “Oh yeah. I was born ready—”

Billie made a face and shook her head no.

Finneas reacted, “Yeah, that was kind of cheesy, wasn’t it? I won’t say that again.”

She changed her ‘no’ headshake to a ‘yes’ head bob.

The group watched as Billie and Finneas made their way through the madness towards the red carpet, it didn’t take long before the first photographer recognized Billie and her brother, and the cameras turned their way, like weapons turning on a new target. Paparazzi have that sixth sense ability to spot a celebrity before anyone else does. Although, they do work for The Whales of Hollywood, so maybe it’s not a sixth sense, maybe it’s just what they are paid to do. If you don’t want The Whale (or the rest of his pod) sending the paparazzi after you all you have to do is walk down the red carpet exactly as you’re told, or you just might find a camera lurking on your next vacation or… while you’re sitting in your backyard trying to enjoy some time alone. The Whales have ways to make any photo say whatever they want it to say so that YOU say whatever THEY want you to say… Be a good celebrity and do as your told… Well… That was the old hierarchy/patriarchy/monarchy… Some say there’s talk of a new ‘archy’ in town… A Swiftarchy.

“OH MY GOD, that’s Taylor Swift’s cat!” Kymmie shouted breaking the silence.

“No it’s not. And shhhhhhh. Keep quiet.” Scott scolded her.

“Yeah it is! I’m gonna go take a picture of it.” She started to creep towards it.

Carl stepped in her way. “No you’re not. You’re staying right here where Billie told us to stay.”

“Whatever, you can’t stop me. I’m only going to go take a picture and then I’ll be right back.” She weaved around Carl.

“Yeah Carl, chill, yo.” Kanye said. “We’ve got time before we got to go… Let her take a pho-to!”

“Sweet rhyme bro.” Justin fist bumped Kanye.

“Yeah you know how I flow.”

“How about this for a rhyme… No! She needs to stay with us. Everyone just stay here.” The lawyer demanded and then turned to follow her.

Scott called after here in a whisper yell. “Kymmie! Come back here.” He then also started to follow—he followed the lawyer, following Kymmie. There’s a new hierarchy of following now, obviously.

Kymmie neared the cat and knelt close to the ground, she turned around, “You guys it really is Taylor’s cat!”

“This is a trick.” Scott said under his breath to the lawyer as he followed close behind Carl.

The cat meowed and then turned and walked further away. Kymmie followed it immediately.

“Kymmie, stop following the cat and come back here.” The lawyer spoke with a voice of authority.

“You’re not the boss of me! And anyway, I just need to take a picture!” She followed the cat around a corner.

The lawyer called after her. “You don’t need to take a picture. You need to come back with us to the hiding spot so we can stick to the plan.”

Scott looked back and saw that the rest were beginning to follow. “What are you doing? Go back!” He whisper yelled at them and flailed his arm around in the air. They ran across the street catching up with Scott. He quickly gave up and waited for everyone before continuing on. The group rounded the corner to see the lawyer who was following Kymmie who was following the cat, about fifty feet ahead of them.

Just then a person in an orange vest also rounded a corner in the distance opposite to the one they had just rounded. The person wearing the orange vest stopped in the distance looking the other direction appearing to be talking to someone just around the bend, everyone froze. About a hundred feet down the street from the group, nearest to the guard, Kymmie froze in her tracks after looking up from the cat to see a bright orange vest directly in front of her, she looked back at the lawyer and then back to the cat sitting comfortably on the ground then to the lawyer again. The security guard’s radio blurted out something about additional crowd control needed to keep some Taylor Swift fans back. The Swiftness with which her Swifties had suddenly multiplied caught the entire event security team off guard. The guard ran back in the opposite direction without so much as noticing Kymmie or any of the others, just a short distance away. Kymmie let out a sigh of relief and the others did the same.

Scott shifted his stance nervously, and then spoke to the group standing behind him like Shaggy talking to the rest of his spooky mystery solving friends. “Jeepers! That was a close call. Like, you guys… I think we really need to all get back to the hiding spot. What do you think Scooby? I mean, Scooter.” He held up his phone with Scooter on the other end of the call, he pressed a button to put Scooter on speakerphone. Due to a lot of background noise it was hard to tell what Scooter was trying to say, but it sounded a lot like Scooter said… ‘Ruh roh’. “See guys, even Scooter thinks this is a bad idea… Zoinks!” He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

The truth of it all was that, Scott happened to be the only one who really knew what was at stake here, he’d already solved the mystery long ago which was why he brought Scooby, sorry, I mean Scooter in on things, but that just seemed to have added more chaos. After what Billie Eilish said to him, he realized it might not matter who’s hands the power to make the ultimate viral song of all time fell into, someone was going to figure it out eventually and then it would spread across the globe to every earlobe on the planet as soon as that artist finally did figure it out. He knew that no matter what it could possibly infect everyone on the entire planet if it wasn’t stopped, and sure maybe Billie was right, maybe anyone could be the true bad guy. Maybe any of them, given the chance, would make the song that would become the only song anyone would sing ever again, the entire world locked in a musical virus infected and stuck together globally forever in one singularity of song. But he had to take a chance and side with someone, and Shaggy and Scooby, sorry Scott and Scooter, just made sense. If you can’t figure out whose side anyone is on, how do you fight? How do you know you’re fighting the right fight? The only thing he knew for sure was that if that song were to be created and unleashed upon the world, it would forever change the way everyone lived. It would disrupt the entire planet, all of humanity. The musical virus would transmit from person to person without so much of a hope of anyone ever stopping it. Music is already quite contagious even without the secret chord… But with that secret Leonard Cohen chord? The music world and anything that relied on it would grind to a halt, and for all he knew, everything else would too… coffee shops, bars and pubs, everywhere around the world, anywhere a show could be played—all of it stopped. All concerts, festivals, pro sports games, Broadway shows even! Everything stops, the music just stops. It would in-fact include anywhere there’s music and people gathering together, even birthday parties where they might sing the Happy Birthday song, or weddings, anywhere anyone gathered in groups and music could be heard, would be done... Award shows just like this… Movie theaters around the world, Hollywood and The Whales… All of it would be shutdown. Roll up the red carpet and put it in storage. Shut it all down.

And you say, well that would never happen! COACHELLA CANCLED? IMPOSSIBLE! Scott Borchetta used to think the same thing, but he knew it not only could now, it will happen… It was only a matter of time until it did. Coachella, with it’s roots dating all the way back to the seventies London punk scene, the anarchy of the eighties and Goldenvoice giving a voice to so many musicians… Would be stopped in its tracks by a newarchy, the song to end all other songs.

“Scott, just chill, Billie has my number, she promised me she wouldn’t lose it! I was like, Billie, Billie don’t lose my number! And she was like, I won’t. I promise.”

Scott ground his teeth. “Fine. Okay everyone, like, let’s not split up, we just, we NEED to stay together. Come on, we need to catch up to them.” They hurried along the side of the building to catch up with Carl Lyle the lawyer, and, with Kymmie and the cat. About ten feet ahead of Carl, with her phone raised ready to snap a photo, Kymmie followed the frisky feline. She stalked the cat slowly as it strolled along strutting its stuff.

Just then the cat stopped in front of what looked like a stage door, the kind you would see just outside a Broadway show, where fans gather after shows for autographs from their favorite cast member, the door was wide open. The cat looked back and meowed.

“Awwwww, it’s sooo cute!” Kymmie held out her phone and steadied the shot. She spoke to the cat. “Okay Taylor’s cat… STAY STILL! I just need to snap a photo…” Before Kymmie could take the photo the cat disappeared through the door. “WHYYYYYYY!?!?!?! Oh no, no no no, I’m not giving up that easy, I’m going to get this photo of you!” Kymmie hovered just at the edge of the door.

“Oh no, no no, YOU are NOT going in THERE.” Carl slid between her and the door.

“Yes, I am. I need to get this photo!” She argued putting a hand on her waist.

Scott pointed at the door. “No, this isn’t right, there shouldn’t be a door just wide open, especially a stage door.”

“But this is the theater! This door leads into the theater! Maybe this is where we want to be anyway? We’ll find Billie inside and everything will work out, AFTER I get my photo of Taylor Swift’s cat. Look, it even says STAGE DOOR right above the door on that sign!”

Scott shook his head, “That’s a handwritten sign! Or, hand painted? Hang on a minute, I know that handwriting, that’s Taylor’s handwriting and the paint on the sign still looks wet.” A little bit of paint was running from one of the letters dripping down a few inches, “There wouldn’t just be a hand painted sign. Still wet, I might add.”

“How do you know it’s Taylor’s handwriting?” The Arianator questioned.

“Because, I know her handwriting, I Just do. And the sign aside there’s something else off about all of this. No, this is just not right, there should be security—no one would just leave a door wide open. It’s just so out of place. ESPECIALLY a stage door.”

“Well, maybe the streets are blocked off and no one else is allowed back here. Did you consider that Mr. Hot Shot Scott?” Kymmie was determined to win this door debate.

“Then we wouldn’t be standing here!” He argued back.

“Maybe they blocked it off after we got through? We saw that one person in the orange vest with the radio, you know—”

“No, NO, there’s something not right about this. I agree with Scott.” The lawyer crossed his arms and stood in front of the door like a bouncer. “No one is going in there.”

Justin walked over to stand beside Kymmie and peered in the doorway trying to get a glimpse of the cat. “So, if that IS Taylor Swift’s cat, why would it just be walking around outside?”

��Maybe she brings her cats to every performance and lets them walk around before the show.” The Arianator said shrugging. “Maybe the cat just wanted to go for a walk outside.”

“I highly doubt that.” The lawyer said shaking his head.

“Well, I’m going to follow it.”

“No. You can’t go in there.” The lawyer shook his head again.

“I need to! I need a photo! If I don’t take a photo no one is going to believe me. SO, outta the way!” She disappeared through the door after dashing around the lawyer. He reached out throwing his arms in her direction but caught only air.

“Okay, everyone, we’re just going to have to follow her.” The lawyer decreed turning to enter the doorway.

“What?” Scott was taken by surprise. “I think in the best interest of everyone else here we should just stay—“

“Just follower her!” He barked, and stepped through the door.

“I don’t know about anyone else but I get the feeling this is a really bad idea, and I just wanted to say I think this just might be the worst idea of all time… Of all time.” Kanye said from the back of the group.

“It is.” Scott said in an ominous tone. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly where this is going.”

“Yeah, but it’s actually a little bit fun, in a way… You know?” Justin cracked his knuckles. “It’s like we’re entering some sort of carnival funhouse. Life on the edge, Taylor Swift style, I say bring on the funhouse mirrors!”

A spellbound maker of broken hearted lovers.

The hallway was dark at first until their eyes began to adjust. “What’s that?” One of them said, “A candy bar wrapper?” Another suggested. It was not a candy bar wrapper, it was the silhouette of the cat that could still be spotted as it trotted, no, gallivanted down a lengthy hallway and in through another doorway at the very end. The walls were painted all black with very dim lighting—black light to be exact—the telltale glow of random objects and pieces of clothing made for a fun distraction from the current distraction of their original task, a funhouse indeed, Swiftie style. They followed Kymmie into an area that resembled some sort of unused dressing room, various props were strewn about: Strange hats and clothing, odds and ends. There were mirrors along the walls with old fashioned looking light bulbs along the edge of every mirror. Each mirror was outlined in lavishly painted gold wooden frames. The mirrors were makeup mirrors, most likely from backstage Broadway. It’s possible they were replicas, but they appeared to be genuinely vintage. The cat sat on a chair in front of one of the mirrors, the chair appeared to be antique looking and also genuinely vintage. The only light in the room came from the menagerie glowing glass makeup mirror bulbs.

Kymmie the teen Arianator turned back to the others and held her finger to her lips… “Shhhhhhh.” She said softly. “I need silence, I don’t want to scare the cat.”

She crept up on the cat slowly, steadying her phone to snap a picture. “This is going to look soooo cool with this lighting.” She whispered.

She took the photo and as soon a she did, the cat shifted slightly then paused. She took another photo. Then the cat moved again and paused once more.

“Umm… Is anyone else seeing this?” She asked in a normal voice. The cat was obviously not scared.

Oak stepped forward towards the cat. “The cat is posing. It looks like it’s posing for the photos!”

“It is.” Scott commented from a corner of the room, “It’s doing exactly what Taylor does when she’s on the red carpet being photographed.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Pop added. “Weird. Very weird.”

Kymmie kept snapping pictures and the cat kept changing poses to mimic Taylor’s red carpet looks. “So weird. But also kind of cool because, I mean, you don’t see a cat posing for photos every day. Do you think Taylor taught her cat how to pose like that?”

“I bet she did. I feel like that’s something she would do.” Justin replied.

After several poses the cat jumped off the chair.

Kymmie swiped through the photos and picked her favorites, then uploaded them in a post.

“Oooo I’ve already got hearts! I literally just posted this!”

“What? You posted them?” Scott stepped towards Kymmie’s phone to see. His voice contained a slight sense of urgency.

“Yeah, what did you think I was going to do? That’s the point of taking a picture, so you can post it online. Why would you take a picture that no one is going to immediately look at and put hearts on it and write comments about?”

“Well, it’s about deciding and taking the time to decide who you want the photo to be shown to… You know, when I was your age, we had to wait to get pictures developed, or you could get them turned into slides to show them on a projector provided you had a projector and a screen and an audience to show them to…”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” Kymmie waved him away.

“Yeah, get the times pops.” Justin said.

“Me?” Pop Wansel asked.

“Not YOU Pop, I mean Scotty B too hottie over here. Slides… Photos developed, waiting for things? Talk about dating yourself, dude. No one has done that for, like, decades. Everything’s instant now, like popcorn. You know the only reason we’re in this mess is because of that Elvis Porter Easter Egg sound you found on tape. TAPE! Old technology got us in this mess in the first place.”

Pop interjected some of his wisdom into the situation. “Well, there’s going to be messes no matter what technology you use. Old or new, the mess will always exist. Mess just finds a way no matter what the technology of the day happens to be. That’s the human flaw. We think we’ll be happier if we fix things. If I could just fix this, or get beyond this current mess, or problem, or conundrum, all will be well. But it’s not true, there’s always going to be problems, so happiness and contentment is in finding piece with the moment no matter what the situation is currently. Sometimes you learn from the current situation to make a better decision that leads to a better outcome in the future. And while it’s good to work towards making things better, no doubt, sometimes you have to accept some things the way they are in the moment, because not every problem can be fixed.”

“Like accepting that I posted the cat photos!” Kymmie said making a face at Scott.

“You need to take the post down.” Scott said with slight fear in his voice.

“What? No! Look at all these hearts I’m getting! This is going to be trending in NO time. And I will be famous. Hello red carpet, here I come!”

“You know, the carpet isn’t always redder on the other side.” The lawyer commented his perspective and a warning to Kymmie that maybe everything she is seeking isn’t waiting at the end of a red carpet rainbow. Maybe it is, but maybe it isn’t.

“Taylor’s going to see it! Her team of Swifties are Taylurking right now.” Scott shouted.

“No they’re not, she’s busy getting ready for the show or whatever… Oooo I just got a comment! WHOA. Oh my god it’s from Emma Watson! WHAT? Whoaaaaaaa. No way! She said… ‘I see you found the cat. That’s Mr. Whittington’s Cat – xx Emma.’ Weird.” Kymmie looked up from her phone, “Mr. Whittington’s cat? No it’s not, it’s Taylor’s cat. It’s Taylor Swift’s cat. Who’s Mr. Whittington? What is she even talking about? Why is Emma Watson commenting on my post? What does she mean by I see you found the cat? I’m going to comment back and ask her how she can tell it’s not Taylor’s cat. Because this is TOTALLY Taylor’s cat.”

Kymmie commented and Emma immediately commented back.

“Wow, that was fast, how did she comment back so fast? Okay, she said, you can tell by the cat collar, look at the collar, it says London Gold on the collar. London Gold? Oh yeah, it does say London Gold. I wonder what that means…. London Gold… This is soooo crazy right now. WHOA I’m getting more comments!”

“DELETE. THE. POST. NOW!” Scott reached for the phone but Kymmie turned in the opposite direction, classic basketball move. Scott caught an armful of air.

“What, why? No. Emma Watson commented on it! I’m not going to delete it. She’s a very high profile celebrity! You obviously don’t know about the importance of reputation in the influencer game. I’m going to ask her what London Gold means.”

She commented the question and, again, Emma immediately commented back, the comment was so quick it was as if she were simply thinking the comment instead of actually typing it out.

“She said, read the story of Dick Whittington’s cat. Who’s Dick Whittington? What’s so special about his cat? Also, how did she write that reply so fast, no one can possibly type that fast! Ooooo, she included a link, it says, ‘click on this link’. Should I click on the link?”

“NO! Don’t CLICK ON THAT!” Scott shouted at her. He reached out again for the phone but Kymmie was too quick. She ducked, dribbled, passed the phone to Justin, and he passed it back to her.

“Delete it, or give me the phone.” The lawyer said sternly.

“No.” Kymmie argued back. She tossed the phone back and forth to Justin, Kanye, Oak, and Pop as Scott and the Lawyer attempted to snatch the phone trying to catch it midair.

“Give me the phone or delete the post. You have ten seconds.” The lawyer began counting down from ten, like a parent not putting up with anymore from a child, “Ten, nine, eight…”

The phone landed back in Kymmie’s hands, “Fine! Ugh. I’ll delete it, let me just screen cap it first as proof for my friends… Wait this is weird… It won’t let me even click on any options to screen cap. It’s like my phone is stuck on this post. I can’t do anything. Let me try to get to the menu… It’s not letting me do anything now! Here, look, I’m even trying to delete it, nothing is working.”

“What?!” Scott said in a worried voice.

“It says this post is now managed by AlisonThirteen. Who’s AlisonThirteen? Only AlisonThirteen or a moderator from her team may modify or delete the post.”

“Oh no.” Scott said, his eyes wide with fear.

“What? Why did you say oh no?” Kymmie said looking up from her phone.

“Never mind. There’s nothing we can do about it now.” Scott looked around the room seemingly searching for something, ‘but what am I looking for’, he thought to himself.

“Well, since I can’t delete it I’m going to comment back, it seems to still let me click on the comment box. This is Taylor’s cat, not some Mr. Whittington’s cat. Are you sure I shouldn’t just click on the link Emma sent? I mean isn’t that what links are for? Someone sends you a link, you just click, I mean, right? Like, links have to be clicked! You can’t not click on the link, you have to click it! Don’t think, just click!”

“DO NOT CLICK ON ANY LINKS!” The lawyer and Scott shouted at the same time.

“Okay fine, calm down. I won’t click on it. I’ll just ask Emma to tell me who Mr. Whittington is.”

“Technically you’re tapping on it, since you’re using your finger, clicking would indicate you have a mouse. Anyway, speaking of mice, maybe the cat is both? Maybe it’s Taylor’s cat and Mr. Whittington’s cat. That is to say, if Taylor adopted it, perhaps it was someone else’s cat before it was hers.” Everyone acknowledged Oak Felder’s wisdom.

“Well, but, that would make it Schrodinger’s cat.” The lawyer added.

“Or, given our history, maybe she catnapped it.” Justin offered, still annoyed about what the Swifties did to Sushi and Tuna.

“Whose cat? I’m confused.” The Arianator said after typing out a quick comment.

“It’s a thought experiment where the cat can be two things at the same time. Taylor’s cat and Mr. Whittington’s cat.”

“I don’t get it.” She replied.

“It’s like that song by One Direction.” Oak began. “She’s beautiful because she doesn’t know she’s beautiful and that’s what makes her beautiful. But since he’s telling her she’s beautiful in the song, she now knows she’s beautiful. So, can she still be beautiful, even though she now knows it, since not knowing she’s beautiful is what makes her beautiful? In telling her that she’s beautiful, wouldn’t that change the statement because the state of her not knowing she is beautiful is what makes her beautiful.”

“Is there going to be an exam after this? I feel like I should be taking notes.” Justin asked.

“This is confusing.” Kymmie replied.

“Or, maybe it’s the perspective of the person looking at the cat?” Oak continued, “It appears to be different depending on who looks at it. Maybe it’s like looking in the mirror, unless you knew it was a mirror, and you had never seen an image of yourself so as to know what you look like, how would you know it’s a reflection? The mirror would be the cat, but depending on who looks at the cat, that changes which cat is seen.”

“Wait… That’s strange…” Kymmie said looking at the picture on her phone. “Sorry, Oak, I’m listening to you, but also, I’m not.”

“What’s strange?” Scott asked, his voice now more urgent sounding, a concerned tone.

“There’s something weird about this picture. I can’t quite figure it out though.” She stared at the phone.

“Let me see the photos….” Scott walked over to her and put on a pair of glasses, then inspected the photos closely. “You’re taking these photos directly in front of the mirror, but I don’t see you in the mirror… We need to get out of here. This is a trap!” His face looked as if he has seen a ghost.

“But, how does that work? It’s so fascinating.” She walked over to the mirror and stood in front of it. She could clearly see her reflection. She pulled out her phone to take a mirror selfie but remember the phone was locked to the post. “Someone give me your phone!” Justin tossed his phone to her. She caught it and snapped a selfie. “Weird. I’m not in the photo. It’s just the mirror reflecting the wall behind me.” She tossed the phone back to Justin. Everyone else gathered around his phone to look at the photo. The teen moved closer to the mirror. She looked at her self and thought who else had stood before this very same mirror. She fixed her hair. How many others had fixed their hair while they looked at their reflection, their impurities, imperfectness—made perfect with makeup for the stage. A peculiar thought popped into her head and she wondered the same thing about a song; if listening to a song were like looking in a mirror, or hearing into a mirror, how many others had also listened to that same song, any song. Felt the same feelings. Each and every song had a list of those who heard the song, and some lists for some songs included nearly everyone on the planet, while others just a select few. There were undoubtedly songs that nearly everyone in the world had heard at one point another. But, even with the same song everyone’s experience of that song is different. Everyone has different memories, emotional responses, to some the song can mean one thing, and to another, something completely different, Taylor Swift’s cat or Mr. Whittington’s cat. It’s the same cat, but we all view it differently. But what if there were a way for everyone to feel the same way when listening to a song. If you remove the reflection from the mirror, isn’t it the same experience for anyone who looks into it? If we can’t see ourselves, we all see the same thing, right?

Conceivably the whole world could be connected together by a hand full of songs. Wouldn’t it be such a strange sensation to somehow be able to connect with anyone who has ever listened to the same song as you? Or what if such a song existed that everyone had listened to at least once, or even the entire world continued to listen to on repeat, a song connecting the entire human population together, as one. Seeing everyone in the world, or rather hearing everyone as one mirror—an audio mirror. But, what would an audio mirror look like, or sound like, or be like?

There’s feedback, when a microphone is pointed at a speaker, or a guitar is placed directly in front of an amp, but is that it? It can’t be. Feedback sounds terrible. But, looking into a mirror is… captivating. It would have to be like looking into a mirror. Seeing one’s own reflection, but in the song. Can one listen into a recording the way they can look into a mirror? But instead of seeing you, it’s everyone; or maybe it’s blank, because a blank space has the potential to be anyone in that mirror. But isn’t the possibility of reflection, at least, for sound, the absence of sound? In which case, wouldn’t a sound mirror be… Shared silence?

If it’s not silence then how would a mirror for the ears even work? Would it be like knowing you shared that song with others just as you can imagine others have looked in the same mirror as you? She thought about how a song, could have the power to make you feel less imperfect, the right song could lift you up and make you feel amazing, just as makeup can conceal imperfections, make you feel a higher level of beautiful. Music, in a way, is like makeup for your mind, and heart and soul… but it’s more than that, it has the power to make you feel an entire range of emotions. Music can change your entire state of being on the inside and no one on the outside would ever know you changed. It didn’t just cover something up like makeup did; it had the power to make you feel beautiful from the inside out. To truly connect with a song either alone, with another person, or with the whole world, music could make you feel something that words can’t really describe. And hearing the right song? It changes you, sometimes, forever.

Suddenly the lights flickered. They stayed for a moment in their dimly lit state before shutting off entirely. A glowing silhouetted image of Taylor could be seen in the mirrors for only a second before fading away as the lights flickered back on. Her song Style played. Maybe it was Style, the duration of the clip was extremely short, so short that it was impossible to really tell if they had actually heard anything at all or just imagined it. It was just a tiny bit of Style, just enough style, a small amount of Style. The sound entered their ear drums and into their brains… No time to put on special Swiftie sound canceling headphones, no time to cover their ears.... They were quite possibly Swifted, ever so Swiftly, and yet ever so slightly, just a tiny little bit of Swiftie in their minds… We never go out of style… We never go out of Style…

Each of Taylor’s exes flashed in the makeup mirrors, as though they were trapped behind the mirrors, handwritten lyrics could be seen below each one of Taylor’s exes, their portrait glowed in the mirror, trapped behind the lyrics.

“Poor souls, trapped forever in the lyrics of songs… Taylor Swift, the spellbound maker of broken hearted lovers…” Scott spoke quietly to himself, seemingly un-phased, as though he knew this day would eventually come, like he knew for years. Scott knew the power of trapping someone in a song for all eternity, any good songwriter knew the power, and Taylor did too, she knew what it did, she knew it better than anyone, after all, her first hit song was named Tim McGraw… Write a song about someone and they are forever trapped in that song, and the more popular it becomes, the more trapped that person becomes. Taylor was one of the best in the business; she could spin a song spell quite well, much better than most. The spellbound maker of broken hearted lovers, she got rich and famous singing songs of wonder… Now we’re all under her spell.

They say you fight fire with fire, or in this case, an interruption with a distraction, and as everyone knows cats make the best distractions

“Okay this is kind of creeping me out a little.” Justin admitted after the lights flicked back on full.

“What was that you said about how it’s like a fun house…” Kanye poked fun at The Biebs.

“Yeah, Ye, but, that was before any of this flickering lights and the man in the mirror stuff happened!”

“Yeah, I’m done with this cat, let’s go back! Kymmie ran to the door that lead to the hallway and pushed against it, “The door… It’s locked from the other side! I don’t even remember there being a door here before! I just remember we were in the hallway of black lights, and my shoelaces were glowing and then we walked in here, I know there was an open doorway but I don’t remember a door, and maybe it’s because I was paying too much attention to my glowing shoelaces, and the cat of course… Did anyone else remember a door? Did anyone else hear it close?” She franticly shoved her body against the door trying to open it.

“You need to calm down.” A voice said.

“Okay, who said that… Because it didn’t sound like any of us.” Kymmie backed away from the door, almost in tears, officially freaked the heck out. “I’m officially freaked the heck out!”

“It wasn’t any of us...” Scott said in an eerie ‘this is the end for us’ type of voice.

“There’s probably a speaker somewhere in the room and Taylor is just trying to messing with us by making it seem like the sound came from within the room. EVERYONE, it’s okay, I have cats, I can handle this.” Justin put his hands out and walked over to the cat. “Okay cat… Unlock the door!” Justin crouched in order to look the cat in the eyes. The cat stared back for a few seconds.

“You know I have a name. It’s Tom. My name is Tom. Not… ‘Okay cat’.” The cat said in a very royal British accent.

Justin stood up and backed away. “Did anyone else just hear the cat talk, or was that just me?”

“Oh yes, yes, I believe the cat definitely just talked. That was the cat talking is what that was. Yes, that’s, uhhhh, that’s a, ummm, what do you call it, it’s uh… a talking cat. Yes, I believe, that’s uhhh, what that is.” Scott said in his Jeff Goldblum voice.

“Holy crap, Taylor’s cat just talked!” Kymmie yelled out, “Holy crap the cat just talked. Taylor Swift’s cat just talked, you guys, TAYLOR SWIFT’S CAT JUST TALKED!!! What is going on here? OH MY GOD, you guys, what the actual flipping heck is happening right now. TAYLOR’S CAT TALKED!”

“Yeah, we heard you the first time. How many times are you going to say that?” Justin said to Kymmie.

“Well, I’m sorry, JUSTIN, I’m kinda freaking out!” Kymmie started to freak out fully. “This is not real, I’m dreaming this right now, this is a dream and then I’m going to wake up and it’s not going to be real. Cats don’t talk in real life.” Her voice quivered with fear as the words escaped her mouth.

“Love,” The cat said still in a royal but now nonchalant British accent, “I do say, love, in the words of my very lovely owner, you really need to calm down.”

“Whaaaaaa… Oh my gosh. OH MY GOSH! Calm down? I’m talking to Taylor Swift’s cat! How am I supposed to calm down? I just said that to a cat. Oh my gosh… OH MY GOSH!!! I just replied to a cat. I’m talking to Taylor Swift’s cat!”

“Could you be a dear, love, and tell Emma I said hello.”

“Umm, what? You’re telling me to comment back to tell Emma Watson that you say hello?” Suddenly her fear floated away, and she felt peaceful, filled with love and complete calm. Her fear changed to immediate curiosity. “Okay. I mean, sure.” She said to the cat. “Should I do it?” She asked the room.

“I say go for it.” The Biebs said also in a mellow tone. “Why do I suddenly feel so relaxed? This cat just seems so chill. Like, he’s such a cool cat. Cool cat… cooool… caaaat.”

“Why does the cat have a British accent?” Kymmie asked.

“I don’ know, why?” Justin answered.

“It’s not a joke. I’m asking.” Kymmie replied.

“Oh… Doesn’t Taylor take her cats over to England?” Justin suggested as a possible explanation.

“Cat’s can’t get accents… CAT’S CANT TALK!” Kymmie replied.

“Well apparently this one does.” Justin replied back.

“No! This is a trick.” Scott struggled to shout. “Don’t... talk… to it…” His shouting melted away as he struggled to maintain intensity in his voice. “No.” He tried to fight the relaxing mellow feeling hitting his mind. Had he been Swifted? He wondered. He felt like that moment right after you wake up from a dream. Reality seemed foggy.

“I mean, it is a talking cat. How can we not talk to it?” Oak Felder offered, he too now slightly subdued. “I think Justin is right, I feel so… tranquil.”

“We can’t talk to it… Because, like, we have… Uh… Ummm… something else we are supposed to be doing. We neeeeeeeeed to contact… Billie.” Scott reaffirmed. He motioned with his hands to Kanye. His hand eye coordination felt slightly off. He felt like everything was in slow motion.

“Like, but it’s a talking cat. Maaaaaaan.” The Ariantor tried to argue back but she continued to feel more mellow, and free, and full of love. “We’ve got plenty of time anyway. Time is slooooooooooooooow right now. And I’m sure Billie will call Justin when she can’t find us.”

“Yeah.” He checked his phone. “See, Mr. Scott B… no missed calls. And full bars on my service. And look how big the screen is right now.” The screen appeared to Justin to be the size of a TV screen. Everyone else saw the screen of his phone appear to grow right before their eyes.

“Whoaaaaaaaaa…” They all said in unison.

“Well… Okay.” Scott replied convinced as he possibly could muster in his catatonic like state. He looked at Carl who looked at his watch then gave a concerned look back which eventually melted away to just a shrug of the shoulders.

“So, your name is Tom?” Oak Felder inquired of the cat.

“Yes. Ground control to Major Tom. Tom here!” The cat was peppy and spoke in a perfectly upbeat voice, a bit on the cheeky side though. Everyone honed in on the voice unable to pay attention to anything else but the cat.

The Arianator made a face like she was thinking very hard. “None of Taylor’s cats are named Tom. So, you can’t be Taylor’s cat then.”

“Ah, but you are undoubtedly misinformed.”

“How so?” Oak asked further, curious.

“Was I not adopted? Could I not have two names? Could I not have an identify from a previous owner? Or, maybe even a previous life!”

“Well… Yeah, I guess.” Oak replied. Everyone else nodded in agreement.

Scott broke free for a moment from his mellow state, “Everyone, stop talking to the cat! He wants you to pay attention to him.” Scott tried to intervene; he knew what the cat was up to. He tried to shake off his euphoric Swiftie feeling, that feeling that he had just woken up from a dream but was still dreaming. Shake it off, he thought, shake it off… Oh no… Taylor’s lyrics were just too infectious. Shake it off… Shake it off…

Justin stepped forward. “But, I have to know now, I have to know everything about this talking cat. Plus, Scotty too hottie, just trust me, yo, Billie Eilish will call when she needs us all. I just have a funny feeling she will, that’s all.”

“Nice rhyme bro.” Kanye fist bumped Justin.

“Thanks.” Justin gave his ‘cool’ look back that he often uses in a lot of photos. The ‘I’m Justin Bieber level of cool because I am Justin Bieber’ look. You know the look.

“I HAVE TO KNOW TOO!” The Arianator said. “I’m soooo curious. I can’t explain it, like… I’m soooo curious to know. I have to know. I want to know, I NEED to know. Look at the cat! He’s sooooo cute.”

“Haven’t you ever heard the tale of Dick Whittington and his cat?” The cat said his British accent, very royal sounding. Like he could have been a cat for the Queen of England herself. Except that the Queen of England has dogs… Doesn’t she? I think so, yes, she does, I just looked it up. She may have a cat, but I can’t find any search results that prove that.

“Ummm…” The Arianator scratched her head. Justin also thought for a moment.

“Oh no.” Scott said in a quiet voice.

“What?” The lawyer said back.

“This IS a trap. Taylor IS trapping us.” He looked around the room, not sure what he was looking for, mostly out of desperation for a solution, or a clue, anything.

“How do you know for sure?” The lawyer said quietly to Scott.

“I just… know. This is her.”

The teen held up her phone. “Emma Watson just commented back, she said it’s definitely Dick Whittington’s cat. Also she said, ‘Tell Tom I said hello, xx -E’.” She looked at the cat. “You talk to Emma Watson?”

“Yes.” The cat replied.

“Do you talk to Taylor Swift too?” She asked.

“Not like I chat with Emma, no, Taylor just knows my routine already, so there’s no need for human words. She just knows me, as I am her cat. We have an unspoken agreement.”

Kymmie thought for a moment. “That makes sense… I think. Wait… Why do you talk to Emma Watson?”

“Well, it’s a long story but… have you ever heard of the ten days of silence?”

“I think so, yeah. Is that where you go somewhere and don’t speak for ten days? You just sit there and meditate?”

“Close enough. You see…” The cat walked about the room as he spoke, “she’s one of the few individuals in the world who have successfully completed the ten days of silence. When you spend ten days in silence you… Well, some individuals, anyway, with a certain predisposition to ‘clairvoyant abilities’ start to experience alternative forms of worldly communication. Your brain starts to seek out other ways to connect to other living beings.”

“But how?” The Arianator asked, eager to know more. Everyone else’s attention was fixated on the cat. Everyone was eager to know more about Emma Watson’s predisposition to ‘clairvoyant abilities’. They were completely forgetting they had somewhere else to be… at least for now. But, that was the point, wasn’t it? Welcome to the game show called The Cat Always Wins… Staring Tom Whittington Swift, Taylor Swift, and a guest appearance by Emma Watson, and of course, our lovely contestants… Can they win against the cat or will the cat win again? Find out, on The Cat Always Wins! Spoiler alert, the cat always wins!

EDITOR: If the cat always wins, why would anyone watch that?

WRITER: Because, it’s a cat! Also, it’s not a question of if the cat always wins, it’s a question of HOW the cat always wins! It’s like how you know the good girl is always going to defeat the bad guy, but you watch it anyway to find out how!

EDITOR: Producer?

PRODUCER: Executive producer?

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: I’ll allow it. Continue the story.

PRODUCER: Management likes it. Allowed.

EDITOR: Okay, continue the story.

WRITER: Thanks, I will. I’m glad I have a whole team of people who aren’t directly involved in creating this content telling me what I can and cannot write.

EDITOR, PRODUCER, EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: That’s what we’re here for!

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: I just pitched the show “The Cat Always Wins” to my bosses… The owners of everything. They like it! Hurry up and finish this so we can start working on The Cat Always Wins.

WRITER: It’s not a real show!

EXECUTIVE PRODUCER: Well it won’t ever be with an attitude like that! Let’s make it happen! Think like the cat, because, remember, The Cat Always Wins! We already bought the rights!

WRITER: So this is what it must be like to no longer have control of something you created. To be at the whim of this creation that now controls your life. Welcome to a new spin on the Taylor Swift’s Masters Ownership Story… The Cat Always Wins.

“Yeah. How is that even possible?” Justin inquired of the cat, eager to know more about Emma Watson’s predisposition to ‘clairvoyant abilities’. Everyone was eager to know more about Emma Watson’s predisposition to ‘clairvoyant abilities’.

“Well… It works just like any other form of communication. What do you do when you need to talk to someone who isn’t nearby?”

“Umm…” Justin scratched his head, pondering the question. He felt groggy. The Swiftie Style spell had clouded his thinking.

“You catcall them!” The cat smiled. They sat with blank faces. “Okay, so, that was a joke, do any of you have a sense of humor? You guys feline okay? What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” More blank faces. “Wow, tough crowd in here.”

“I think I’m watching a cat trying to do stand up. What is life right now?” The teen started to laugh, sort or, it was an ‘almost’ laugh. A bit of a ‘Ha… Ha…’

“If you need to speak to someone and they aren’t in the room, you call them on your cell phone. Right? Pick up the phone and call them! You seek out an alternative form of communication! Like how you’re waiting for a phone call from your friend Billie. Right Justin?”

“Ohhhhh.” Everyone nodded.

“So, she can talk to cats after doing the ten days of silence thing? Like someone would pick up a phone and call someone? Although, who does THAT anymore, just message me.”

“I know right?” Everyone agreed. Well, everyone but Scott.

“I still talk on the phone.” Scott said.

“Don’t make me say it.” Justin said back.

“Say what?” Scott asked.

“Get with the times pops!”

“I get the New York Times delivered digitally to my phone, does that count?” Scott stated.

“Well, that’s a start.” Justin replied approvingly.

“YOU GUYS! Let the cat tell us more about Emma Watson’s predisposition to ‘clairvoyant abilities’!” Kymmie said in a strong voice, she was trying to yell but it came out as a half whisper.

“Sorry. Go on cat.” Justin pointed to the cat.

“Where was I? Oh, yes, well, she can do a lot more than just talk to cats. Emma Watson’s powers of communications are unlike anyone else you’ve ever met she has the ability to communicate beyond—“

“WAIT, hang on, who is Dick Whittington?” Kymmie interrupted. Just then her phone began to buzz and make noises like an arcade game or pinball machine, “WHOA, there are more celebrities commenting on this post! Florence Pugh just commented too! You are quite the popular cat, you know that? At least with famous British actresses it seems. Do you talk to Florence too?” Kymmie asked.

“Well, I have been known to draw a crowd or two. Especially in and around London.” The cat smiled confidently then purred slightly. “To answer your question, no, I don’t chat with Florence, only Emma. Ten days of silence, remember? Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the story of Dick Whittington. Well, it goes as follows, a cat named Tom, made a fellow named Mr. Whittington wealthy because the cat had the ability to chase off rats.”

“But, aren’t YOU Mr. Whittington’s cat?” The lawyer cross-examined the cat suspiciously. “Or are you Taylor’s Cat?”

“Mmmmm hmmm.” The cat replied.

“Well which is it?” The lawyer leaned in. “State who’s cat you are for the jury!”

“Hold on… When did this story take place?” Justin asked, “Because I’m looking it up on my phone here and the story seems a lot older than you look.” He held the giant phone up for everyone to see, and pulled out a laser pointer to emphasize his point, a presentation for all those present, just as one would make in a class or business meeting. The cat resisted the urge to chase the red laser.

“Ah, but perhaps, I have many lives. Nine? Or perhaps, I live longer than most cats. I could be an old soul, Mr. Whittington’s cat, in a new body, Taylor Swift’s cat.”

“Mmm hmmmm… Well, Mr. Whittington’s cat, if you are who you say you are, shouldn’t you be chasing rats then?” The lawyer grabbed the laser pointer out of Justin Bieber’s hand and aimed it on the floor. The cat pawed at it a few times then stopped himself, not giving in to the lawyer’s tricks.

“Chasing away rats is what I do best.” He said with a smirk, then snickered. Two other snickers could be heard from elsewhere. The snickers of two other cats—creeping somewhere in the shadows.

“Okay, well, Mr. Whittington’s cat, shouldn’t you be chasing rats RIGHT NOW then?” The lawyer counter argued.

“I am.” Mr. Whittington’s cat replied. The two unseen cats snickered again.

“What?” Justin said, taken aback by Scott’s facial reaction to what the cat had just said. Everyone stared at Scott. It was as though all the blood had drained entirely from Scott’s face, he looked woozy.

Scott let out a gasp, “Oh no… We’re the rats!” He exclaimed in a quiet voice.

The cat sprawled out on the floor holding his paws up turning his head to look at everyone upside down, a distractingly cute pose, “Uh, what I mean to say is, did you know that Emma Watson is going to be the next Queen of England?”

“No she’s not.” Kymmie argued back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… Stop trying to change the subject there, Tom!” Scott walked over to face the cat.

“I am doing no such thing, I am simply stating a fact. And given that YOU still haven’t told Emma I said hello, I think that I have the floor! Additionally, considering that I have four appendages and you all only have two, that counts doubly for me.”

“THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE!” Scott huffed. “That’s not how it works, you’re a cat you have four feet! Also, none of your paws are on the floor right now, they’re all up in the air and you’re waiving them around like you just don’t care! You don’t have the floor at all!”

“Well, it’s a metaphorical floor… Or metafloorical if you will… Ohhhh, zing… Thanks, I’ll be here all night!” The other two mystery cats snickered, “And so will you…” Thomas Whittington Swift said in a quiet voice.

“Stop trying to distract us, I want to go back to what you said before… Hang on, what do you mean by, and so will you, I HEARD that…” Scott stared at the cat dubiously.

“What was I saying before? Oh yes, about Emma Watson being the next Queen of England, I agree, we should discuss that!”

“No, that’s not what I was referring to… “ Scott replied pointing his index finger at the cat.

WRITER: Oh that’s too perfect, we’re gonna “yes and” that meme reference, let’s run with that bit…

We see Kymmie rush over to Scott’s side. And, we see, a plate of food sitting on a table appear in front of the cat. And the cat is now sitting behind the table with the plate of food on the table in front of the cat. Scott points at the cat with an upset look on his face and Kymmie stands beside Scott. She has an upset look on her face too. They’re both yelling at the cat.

And continue scene…

“No hold on, Tom, you know it’s just not possible for Emma to be the next Queen of England. She’s not in the royal family.” Oak pointed out that very important detail that would stop Emma from ever becoming Queen of England.

“Give me one reason why Emma wouldn’t make a good Queen of England?” The cat questioned his court.

Everyone stood silent, unable to come up with an objection to the statement. “The cat makes a good point.” Kymmie said.

“I don’t have an counterargument against that exact suggestion.” Oak stated.

“Emma is IN like a gin and tonic at a dancehall.” The cat said springing to his feet and tossing the plate of food off the table, he jumped up onto the table and walked around like he was on the floor of congress, or parliament—or on the table of congress or parliament because he’s on a table.

“That doesn’t make sense. We’re not saying she wouldn’t make a good Queen, we’re just saying you know there are other people in the royal family, right? There are so many people in line to be next, and Emma Watson is NOT one of those people! Obviously, if she were, according to the governing law, in line for the throne, she would surely be fit for Queen of England. I’m sure not a single person would object.” The lawyer joined the Emma Watson for Queen of England debate and argued his talking point.

“But perhaps she could be an honorary member of the family. Or, maybe, she secretly IS next in line…” The cat purred, satisfied with his debate performance.

“The cat is lying to us!” Scott finally managed to break free from the Style spell and fully wake from the relaxed state… “Everyone we’re getting off topic here! We’re letting the cat distract us from what we need to do!”

The cat spoke swiftly, “Why would I lie? I have no reason to lie. I was just lying down, yes, but that’s a different kind of lie. Lie, lay… Lying.” More snickering from the two mystery cats hidden in the shadows.

“No, no, no, everyone, quiet!” Kymmie yelled. “I’m going to win this argument. I’m asking her right now on this comment post if she is part of the royal family.” The teen typed on her phone.

“Tell her I said hello too!” The casual cat slid the comment in very smoothly.

Kymmie stopped typing. “Wait, if you and Emma can talk through your minds, or whatever, why am passing notes back and forth between the two of you like we’re in grade school! Can’t you just say hello to each other through your minds?” She asked.

“Oh, sure, we’re talking right now. We just think it’s fun.” The cat said with a smile. “Haven’t you ever messaged someone from your phone who was sitting in the same room as you.”

“Oh yeah. I guess that make sense.” Kymmie said, she’d totally done that. Sometimes you’re sitting there watching TV or a movie and you want to hear the show, but also want to talk to your friend. Or if there’s another friend in the room and you want to say something to one of your friends about the other friend… Kymmie eyed the cat suspiciously. They’re talking about us, she thought.

“This is ridiculous, we’re fighting with Taylor Swift’s cat!” Scott tried to convince the others.

“Mr. Whittington’s cat.” Justin corrected him.

“WHATEVER! We need to focus. We’re arguing with a cat!” Scott knew that time was running out.

“But it’s a talking cat.” Justin argued still under that small amount of Swiftie Spell and it’s anyone’s guess how it was interacting with his Selena earworm. So far there didn’t seem to be any side effects, but one never knows when you start combining song spells and earworms together. It’s a dangerous concoction.

“I’m commenting to Emma right now.” Kymmie said waving away Scott’s sass.

“Well she’s not going to tell you. It’s highly secret you know. Only a few know. And I’m one of those few.” Mr. Whittington Swift Cat said with a cunning smile.

“This cat is messing with us—”

“Taylor Swift’s cat—” The teen corrected Scott.

“Mr. Whittington’s cat—“ Oak corrected Kymmie.

“Emma Watson’s cat?” The lawyer offered.

“Schrodinger’s cat.” Pop proclaimed.

“Cat Steven’s cat.” Justin added.

“Cat Steven’s cat?” Kanye questioned.

“I thought we were playing one of those imrov comedy games where you name the object, and you substitute different names, I’m sure there’s an official improv comedy name for this kind of scene work, I’m drawing a blank right now. I’m not a regular improviser… sooo… Just go with it. Yes and.” Justin shrugged. “Cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man in the moon, ‘when you coming home, dad?’ ‘I don't know when’, but we'll get together then, you know we'll have a good time then…”

Never combine earworms and song spells, it may make the person lose their mind. Of course, the effect is only temporary.

“—WHOEVER’S CAT THIS IS, it’s messing with our minds!” Scott shouted.

“Now why would I do such a thing as to mess with you? Did you ask Emma Watson about her royal status yet?” The cat sat resting his chin on his paw.

“Yes, she said to ask you. Also she said ‘hello’ back. Also, also, Emma suggested naming you Kit Cat.” Kymmie read the comment aloud.

“Give me a break.” Scott put his palm to his face, which was something you used to be able to do back in the day before the great virus circled the world and face palming became a thing of the past because no one was allowed to touch one’s face anymore.

EDITOR: Yeah, that’s realistic. No one is allowed to touch their face? Man you come up with the weirdest stuff.

WRITER: Oh you just wait, it’s gonna get way weirder. I’m just getting started. It’s a game of musical chairs and the game doesn’t end until there’s a winner.

EDITOR: You’re so weird.

WRITER: THIS IS WHAT WRITERS DO WHEN THEY ARE STUCK IN QUARANTINE. Don’t leave your house. If you leave your house, you might hear the song, and if you hear the song, you will NEVER get it out of your head, you become one of them! DANCE MONKEY DANCE!

EDITOR: What if I’ve already heard the song?

WRITER: It’s too late… Just dance. Just sing. Just sing, and dance… The only way out is a more addictive song and the cycle begins again until you hear an even more addictive song, and that cycle goes until you hear the song that you can NEVER get out of your head. Unless, someone write’s an antidote song… Dance… Monkey… Dance… Australian sound, Australian crosswalk sound… Billie Eiliish… Taylor Swift… Music is infected, soundtracks are infected, laugh tracks are infected, Foley artist created sounds in films are infected… Ten days of silence, shhhh listen, can you hear it? Emma Watson will save the world with silence!

EDITOR: What do you mean by Emma Watson will save the world with silence?

WRITER: Shhhhhhhhhh… Listen to the silence… of no one talking… Just writing and reading… Shhhhh… Just sit there and try to listen to Emma Watson’s thoughts, as she reads her books.

EDITOR: How am I supposed to hear Emma Watson’s thoughts? That’s impossible. No one can hear her thoughts except her. I’d just be siting here silent listening to nothing.

WRITER: That’s the point. Sit quietly and listen, until you can hear Emma Watson’s thoughts in your head.

EDITOR: So you just want me to sit there while you write?

WRITER: Yep. Oh, just a warning, make sure you don’t accidentally think her thoughts as your own, just listen to them.

EDITOR: Okay fine, whatever, I will sit here and try to read Emma Watson’s mind, or listen to her thoughts, or whatever, while you write. And since we all know it’s impossible to hear someone’s thoughts, I’ll just sit here quietly. So you could just say that instead of trying to be all mysteriously cool trying to convince me there’s a way to read people’s minds or that Emma Watson is some come of chosen oracle that will one day save the world.

WRITER: Thank you.

EDITOR: Wait, what do you mean think her thoughts as my own?

WRITER: Shhhhhhhh… Don’t think… Just listen… Be in the present… Let Emma Watson be your thought guide…

EDITOR: *Rolls eyes*

“Okay, we’re not playing games anymore. Or, at least the name the cat game.” The lawyer responded in a flat tone of voice.

“Awwwwww.” The cat purred in response to Emma’s hello back to him. “So, it is.”

“It is what?” Scott demanded.

“It is time for us to go to London!” The cat announced.

“London? We have somewhere else to be! Why do we want to go to London?”

“Why, my friend Scott… To find out, of course! We must find out the answer to the Emma Watson question! Is she going to be the next Queen of England? Her Grace, Ms. Emma Watson of Windsor Castle! HER MAJESTY Emma Charlotte Duerre Watson of Buckingham Palace!” The cat held a paw up in the air pointing the way.

Just as the cat tossed a paw into the air the lights went out again, and then in each of the mirrors they could see the flicker of faces appear and disappear. Each face glowed for a moment, then faded away. One of the faces, Scott was positive, was Elvis, Elvis himself. He made out a few of the others, he was positive Tom Petty was there, along with Prince. Janis Joplin, even! David Bowie. Whitney Houston. Wow. They all flashed so fast that it was impossible to recognize more than a small number. The only commonality was that they were iconic musicians no longer living among us. Each one of the faces, perhaps coincidentally (and perhaps not), had a corresponding trust managed by The Whale himself. Personally appointed by way of a signed retroactive power of appointment that gave The Whale sole trustee guardianship. The signatures of course, were not exactly on the line for any of the legally binding documents, but that minor detail didn’t seem to matter to the notary public, the witness of each signed document, or the reviewing judge who denied any and all appeals with prejudice. The objector, respondent, and petitioner were all informed of the trust’s fate by certified mail. The Hollywood Whales sent a representative from each of their pods to pick up the individual trust packets personally. As was customary of The Whales of Hollywood.

When the lights came back on, a previously shut door on the opposite side of the room, had opened. The cat stood at the edge of that door.

A sign in Taylor Swift’s handwriting read “To The Stage Door” but it was crossed out, and under it was written “To London”.

“You can’t give up now! Onwards to London!” The cat shouted.

The lawyer pulled Scott aside and spoke to him. “London? We don’t want to go to—”

“Just follow him.” Scott said in a sour tone. “We’re not actually going to London, there’s no possible way that’s a doorway to London. We’re in LA! I’m sure it just leads further into the building, there has to be a way. We’re dealing with a cat, it’s not like we’re up against a whole army of Taylor Swift’s Swifties, The Swift Army. it’s a cat, Carl. I’m sure we can figure this out.”

They could hear noise, very low, it sounded like idle chatter, people filling into an open auditorium. Guests were taking their seats for the 2019 American Music Awards.

“Oh no. It’s starting soon!” The lawyer announced.

“We have no choice. We have to go!” Scott commanded.

“Just uh, timeout for a second, you do realize you’re trusting a cat on which way to go right?” Oak asked, just confirming the current situation.

“Well we don’t exactly have any other options right now do we?!” Scott said.

“You dirty rat.” The cat suddenly belted out.

“Are you saying that to us?” Scott asked the cat.

“I just like saying that.” The cat smiled.

“Well can you say something else?” Scott replied.

“Say hello to my little friend.” He said, as another cat appeared in the doorway.

“WHOA, it’s another one of Taylor’s cats!” The Arianator pulled out her camera to take another photo, but remembered her phone was locked.

“And say hello to my other little friend.” The second snickering cat appeared on the other side of the cat named Thomas Whittington Swift Schrodinger.

“Do they talk too?” She asked.

“No.” The cats snickered. “They just snicker.”

“You dirty rat…”

“Okay, can you seriously stop saying that, can you just stop saying that.” Scott was very annoyed, now slightly agitated.

“Sorry.” The cat said back. “It’s just a force of habit, you know, after all, I’m always looking for rats!”

“Let me try to handle this again.” Justin stepped towards the cats, “Okay cat stop talking right now.” Justin said, trying his tactic from earlier.

The cat meowed. The two cats snickered.

“See, he’s not talking anymore.” Justin said. “I’m the cat whisperer!”

The cat meowed again.

“Stop meowing.” Scott was beyond annoyed.

The cat purred loudly.

“Stop making sounds of any kind!” Scott shouted. “Let’s just go. At this point I don’t even care where you’re taking us.”

Taylor Swift’s cats smiled and turned to lead the way. Welcome, my friends, to the series premier of The Cat Always Wins.

@taylorswift

#TaylorSwift #TheCatAlwaysWins #EmmaWatsonSavesTheWorldWithSilence #TaylorSwiftForQueenOfAmerica #EmmaWatsonForQueenOfEngland #MrWhittingtonsCatIPresume #LondonGold #TheCatsFoundTheRats #EmmaWatson #TenDaysOfSilence #LetEmmaBeYourThoughtGuide #WhatWouldEmmaWatsonThink #ShhhhhListenToTheSilence #CanYouHearIt

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charlesking830-blog · 6 years ago

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What is the preschooling secret of teachers?

You wrestle for ten minutes with your 3-year-old to get his jacket on, yet his preschool teacher has ten kids (including yours) dressed for the playground in less than three. What's her secret? Partly, of course, the advantage of not being a parent—kids really are more inclined to behave for outsiders.

But it's not only that. Teachers develop all sorts of tricks to help young kids learn, keep the classroom more efficient, and make their job more enjoyable. This is hardly surprising. Preschool teachers have year after year of experience with this challenging age group. Fortunately, they're more than willing to share the keys to their success with eager (and sometimes frustrated) parents:

multiplication learning toys

Secret #1: Preschoolers don't have to dawdle . Why does your child seem to thwart your attempts to get you both out the door each morning but promptly turns on her heels when her teacher announces it's time to head back in from the playground? The explanation is simple enough, says Barbara Roth, director and teacher for more than 20 years at the Hanover Nursery School, in New Hampshire: "When we say something, they know we mean it." Roth says she routinely sees parents tell their child it's time to leave the playground but then stop and chat with another parent themselves, or indulge countless delays and requests for "just one more slide." "You've got to follow through," she says. "Otherwise, it becomes clear that your child doesn't really have to do what you say when you say it." This means giving a few gentle but firm warnings starting five minutes before it's time to leave (or come to the table, and so on), then announcing departure time definitively and matter-of-factly. You may have to just go and scoop her up the first few times (which you should do without hesitation) until she knows you're serious.

Kids also respond to cues they can see, hear, or count. If a child has trouble saying goodbye, "decide on a certain number of hugs and kisses," suggests Jenny Raffaelli, lead teacher at the Kinderberry Hill preschool, in Roseville, Minnesota. Soon she'll come to both expect and accept the routine.

counting toys for 3 year olds

Roth plays the same few notes on the piano each day as a signal that free play is over. You might regularly use a bell or an egg timer or blink the lights in the room for the same effect, whether to get everyone to come to the dinner table or to mark that it's time to put away toys. Counting (as in "I'm going to count to thirty, and then I want to see a clean room") also inspires students to finish picking up in a hurry. "I often hear parents promise kids a treat to get them to do something," says Roth. "But that's rarely necessary—praise and accomplishment on their own mean just as much as material incentives."

Letting a child race against herself helps her hurry and also provides a great learning opportunity, says Joyce Drolette, director of the Big Sky Preschool, in Big Sky, Montana. She suggests timing getting ready for bed, school, and so forth with a stopwatch, then graphing or charting the results on the wall each day. In addition to teaching about graphs and charts, this method lets your child compare her speed on different days, says Drolette, and may even push her to beat her best time.

Secret #2: Kids can handle scissors and pens earlier than you think. Wanting to help their child develop writing and other fine motor skills, most parents simply hand him a pencil, kid-safe scissors, and paper. But a little practice may forestall frustration later. Raffaelli has her students learn basic skills and movements with such activities as picking up nuts and small blocks with kitchen tongs, stringing beads, rolling out play clay, and even cutting it with scissors. "With clay, it doesn't matter how kids cut," she says. "They can snip any which way and really build the fine muscles in their hands."

Once your child becomes adept, let him cut real paper—but in a way that guarantees his success. "For a preschooler, trying to cut out a picture is often too much—the scissors get caught up in the paper and he can't go anywhere," says Ann Curtis, director of the Infant and Preschool Center at Western Illinois University. "Thin little strips of paper work better: One snip and he feels a great sense of accomplishment." Set him up with a bunch of thin strips of different-colored paper and a container to cut them into, then let him cut strips to glue onto a paper plate for a wall hanging. Yarn also works well for scissor practice.

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As for writing, if your child shows an interest in using pencils and wants to move beyond scribbles, loops, and doodles but is frustrated that he can't make letters, he'll probably get a kick out of fooling around with stencils or tracing, says Raffaelli. Both let him practice holding the pencil and using it like a grown-up, and they won't prevent him from writing without them later on.

Also let him copy or trace your grocery or to-do list. "We play restaurant and store all the time, with the kids copying menus and lists right off the blackboard," says Drolette.

Secret #3: Structure and routine are critical for easy naps. It may seem amazing that your child manages to nap with a bunch of other kids in the room when you can't get a short snooze out of her in her own comfy bed, but preschools have an advantage over home, explains Raffaelli. "Your child is with a group of other children who are doing the same thing, so it's just easier to go along with the rest." Even if you can't import ten other 3-year-olds every day at naptime, there are some other tricks.

Mary Eltgroth, assistant director of New Horizon Child Care Center, in Savage, Minnesota, recommends that you first give her time to unwind before her nap—a half hour minimum—being careful not to suggest an activity that engrosses her so much that she won't want to interrupt it to sleep. Next, create a routine: the same time, the same music, the same bed, and the same expectation: quiet or sleep.

Cutting down on distractions can also help, says Drolette, who runs a fan (out of reach) to block out background noise and suggests that restless kids cover their eyes with a blanket so they're not tempted to keep looking around.

Secret #4: How you say things is as important as what you say. Having trouble getting your child's attention? Don't raise your voice, unless it's to sing. "Kids don't care how you sound," says Curtis. "If I'm reading and they aren't listening and I start singing the story, they quiet right down."

But you can't rely on song alone. Teachers try to alternate verbal tactics, using whispering or different voices or silently mouthing the words to get children to focus on them. They also employ visual cues, such as putting a hand up in the air or touching their finger to their nose and asking the children to do the same when they're quiet. Amanda Johnson, who used to teach at Radnor Nursery School, in Devon, Pennsylvania, has even been known to lean playfully over her charges and "blow the dust out of their ears."

And once you've got your child's undivided attention, keep your instructions clear, short, and direct, says Barbara Hill, director of administration at the Child and Family Study Center, the Lab School for California State University, Northridge. "Don't start by saying that if they get on the table it might break. Say, 'Get down'"—and explain later.

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Secret #5: Your child wants to get dressed himself.

Most young kids really want the feelings of independence, self-confidence, and achievement that dressing themselves brings. It's just that their clothes get in the way. To make it easier, "take into account where your child is developmentally when you buy his clothes," says Hill. For instance, a 3-year-old won't do as well in a pair of jeans with a zipper and a button as he will in elastic-waist pants.

Then develop specific ways to help him succeed. This might mean arranging his outfit the night before in the shape of a person on the floor, getting in the habit of putting on dress-ups and costumes when you aren't under time pressure or labeling clothes so that your child is able to distinguish the front from the back.

Raffaelli suggests marking one shoe with a star, dot or little sticker and teaching your child that that shoe always goes on the same foot. Another right/left shoe teaching method, from Curtis: Ask your child whether his shoes are mad at each other. If they're on the correct feet, the toes will be kissing (touching); if they're angry at each other (on the wrong feet), the toes will be turning away.

To help your child learn how to manipulate zippers and buttons, let him practice on someone else so he can see what he's doing. "It's important to do this with real clothes—doll clothes are much more difficult," says Roth. "We let our kids put their snowsuits on large teddy bears." And offering to let your child button or zip your coat after you have buttoned or zipped his gives him a feeling of accomplishment as well.

Secret #6: Taking turns and sharing don't have to be traumatic.

As an adult, you know you have to wait in line sometimes, and you're comfortable with it as long as no one cuts in front of you. Kids have the same expectation of fairness, say teachers. Most will share and take turns as long as the system is fair. "When two children are arguing over one object, we talk about how fighting won't fix the problem but will only make them cry and feel angry," says Drolette. "I tell the one who's most upset, 'Let me hear Billy and then I'll hear you.' He'll immediately calm down because he now knows that I'll listen to both sides." Then she gets the children to agree that in the future they'll ask for the toy nicely and relinquish it when they're finished with it. "Seven times out of ten, the child will hand over the toy right then and there."

If this approach doesn't work, you may have to formalize the sharing process. Give the child waiting for a toy (as well as the one already playing with it) an accurate measure of how long until it's her turn, rather than just saying wait until "later" or that she'll get her turn "in a little while," says Johnson. She's had success using egg timers and clocks to schedule use of a popular toy. Curtis has even used a sign-up sheet for some highly desirable items. "Even a three-year-old can understand that it will be her turn when her name comes up. It also serves as a graphic representation of the concept of waiting your turn, and it's good practice for kids to print their name on it," she says.

Secret #7: Play may be all the education your preschooler needs.

"I'd like to think kids go home from my class and say, 'I had great fun. I played all day,'" says Johnson, "because that's how children learn." So even if you decide to push some academics at home, the focus should be on fun rather than rote learning. It's easy to use letters in projects and games, such as Raffaelli's favorite literacy project: personalized math and counting books. "We take photographs or cut out pictures of everything that begins with a certain letter—or look for groups of one, two or three objects and so on—and make them into books."

And remember, one of the reasons your child can let loose and enjoy himself in the first place is that he has his own secret weapon: a foundation of unconditional love waiting for him at home.

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