#is Effie still arrested

[mailorderfictionalcharacter]

I think an interesting - but very depressing - Hunger Games AU would be one where the rebellion plan in Catching Fire fell through and there was no rescue, but between half of the victors being in on it & Plutarch likely sacrificing his life to ensure it, Katniss is still the victor. This would cement Katniss as probably the biggest celebrity in Panem’s history and essentially make a black bag death/disappearance for her impossible. There’s lots of directions such an AU could go with from there.

[effieotto]

Please give us more headcanons i loved all of them!!!

Okay, here we go again with more of my favorite headcanon for my pookie

-Haymitch’s nickname obsession started with Hazel when they were both kids -he called her Hazelnut

-when Haymitch won his fortune after his victory, he decided he would try to help the starving families in Twelve with his money, sneaking out food and supplies for those in critical conditions. However, when a peacekeeper saw what he was doing and whipped the man he was secretly feeding to death, Haymitch vowed to himself that he would not try to help anyone ever again -which didn’t last long, because even though he kept his distance ever since, he still made sure to always buy a bunch of useless stuff on the seam so he could overpay the traders

-Haymitch and Effie’s relationship was never more than casual sex during their time working together. They were close friends, partners, sex buddies, and that was it. While they had strong feelings for each other, it was more genuine care between partners than actual love. She was his friend -so in thirteen, when he was hurt because of her arrest, it wasn’t due to some sort of love story, but because he had just lost his closest friend as a result of something he did

-before he snatched his phone out of the wall, Haymitch had weekly phone calls with his fellow victors, like Chaff, Seeder, Finnick and Beetee

-Haymitch had a lot of panic attacks during his years mentoring, to the point of Effie developing her own method to coax him out of it when it got too bad

-He slept with Johana once when they were both absurdly drunk and that was one of the biggest regrets of his life -no one but Chaff, Jo and Finnick knew about that because he was too ashamed

-Haymitch and Effie worked really well together. Even though they were always arguing and disagreeing with each other about everything, they could always read each other minds through their eyes, predicting what they was about to do or say

-the pocket watch he is always wearing with his vests was a present from Megs for his third year as a Mentor, cause he was always late for the games related events -he pretended to recent her for mocking him about his lack of interest, but still kept the gift with fondness for the rest of his life

-during the bombing in Thirteen, Haymitch left command to stay with Sae in her bad, snugged against her side while she stroked his hair. If he was going to die, he wanted to do it with his family (or the closest thing of a family he still had)

-Haymitch liked the idea of having a family of his own someday and one of his biggest resentments was having been deprived of the chance to be a father

| sorry for taking so long to respond you |

[gudvina]

The things I do to keep you near.

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Chapter 3: Reaping day (or trying for a child)

Can also be read on AO3!

74th Hunger Games, part one.

The potential tributes were lined up in rows taking up the Square, the stage was ready, and the Mayor was already making his speech, but Effie couldn’t stop looking at the empty seat beside her.

Being late really hadn’t been her plan. She scheduled everything to the last millisecond, but a hovercraft malfunction came up. When she arrived in Twelve she was told there wasn’t time for her to retrieve her Victor, Peacekeepers were going to deal with that, because she needed to greet the Mayor. She’d tried to reason with the Head Peacekeeper to no avail. It was too late.

She didn’t trust others with him. Very well acquainted with his nightmares, the idea of him drunk and terrified as armed men barged into his house made her nauseous. What if he, in a drunken episode, became violent? She knew how to behave in such cases; get far away from him, let him gain consciousness of his surroundings, and never touch him.  

But the Peacekeepers weren’t her. They wouldn’t know. They would arrest him, and she’d-

The Mayor finished his speech and suddenly Haymitch appeared, staggering onto the stage. He wobbled to the chair close to her, and the smell of liquor filled her nostrils. It was a terrible entrance, but better than him being arrested. She paled when his arms rose to hold her, almost knocking down her wig.

“This is very inappropriate, Haymitch” she muttered, escort smile still tight on her lips.

He mumbled something under his breath about marriage, but the Mayor called her name, and there was nothing she could do but walk up to the podium.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour! Oh, I love this! It’s such an honour being here, on this fine day.” she beamed at the crowd and met grey faces everywhere. Admittedly, the clouds in the sky made her statement a little dishonest. It wasn’t a fine day.

The moment of the drawing came, and she sauntered to the bowls. She did this every year. She pulled a slip of paper and walked back to the podium, already opening the slip.  

“Oh, our first tribute has a beautiful name! Primrose Everdeen!”.

She meant it. It was a beautiful, delicate, sweet name, and when she saw a tiny girl come forth, her hair styled in two braids, wearing a dress too big for her, she thought it fit her. She was pretty. So, so pretty.

“Prim!” a voice bellowed from the crowds. It was one of the older girls, quickly making her way into the crowd to reach for Primrose. With a sweeping motion, she pushed the child behind her.

“I volunteer!” the girl repeated twice more.

A volunteer in District Twelve? It was unheard of, probably the first time in decades, and she looked at the Mayor. The man’s eyes were fixed on the scene in front of them, Haymitch was out of it, and she realized it would fall on her to answer.

“Lovely! But I believe there is a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…” what was the procedure again? Why did nobody explain it to her?

“Why does it matter?... Why does it matter? Let her come forward” the Mayor’s expression was agonizing, and the urge to storm off was growing on her. This was why she was never late; everything went terribly when she did!

Her eyes fell on the Square again, and she saw small Primrose hold onto the older girl. She couldn’t hear what they said, and soon one of the boys ended up carrying the child away. The lady climbed up the stage, determined if a little stiff. Her hair was dark, her face angular, but what caught her attention were her grey eyes. They were a lighter shade than Haymitch’s, but resembled his enough that for a moment she was transfixed. As soon as she was on the podium, she snapped out of it.

Chin up!

The rest of Katniss’ introduction passed in a frenzy, the crowd raised their three fingers in a strange salute and Haymitch taunted the cameras, before falling off stage. He didn’t get up. Haymitch was unconscious and she couldn’t even check on him. The reaping couldn’t be stopped.

When the Peacekeepers took him away on a stretcher, she couldn’t wait to get over with it.

“What an exciting day!” she fixed her wig, still sporting her grin “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our boy tribute!”.

Effie marched back to the bowl trying to hold her wig in place, picked a slip of paper, and quickly retraced her steps. All she could think about was Haymitch on the floor, unconscious. It made her heart hurt worse than her face was.

“Peeta Mellark!”

From the crowd, a boy came forward. His hair was an ashy blonde colour, soft waves framing his forehead. His soft traits were tainted by a panicked expression he struggled to contain, and when he was close to the podium, she found herself touching his shoulder to guide him close to Katniss. He was very pretty and looked strong, and well-fed. Despite the disaster of a Reaping she had just presided, she thought that maybe this year Twelve might finally have a winner.

The Mayor finished his speech, and the Anthem finally ended, taking away with it her tributes.

“Well, Miss Trinket, I take you will move on to the train station?” asked the Mayor. It was polite small talk she would have usually indulged, but her nerves were frayed.

“No, I… do you have any idea where they took Mr Abernathy?”

“The clinic, I think”.

“How do I get there?”

“Well, it’s not too far. If you want, I can have my daughter walk you there”.

Not too far turned out to be, in fact, farther than she was comfortable to walk in her heels. Madge Undersee was nice company, though a bit reserved, but keeping a conversation was her forte so she managed. When they reached the clinic, she even kissed her goodbye Capitol-style, thanking her for the courtesy.

When inside everybody’s eyes were on her. She was received in a cold, stand-offish manner, and taken swiftly to Haymitch’s room. Twelve’s manners were atrocious, and if this had been another occasion, she would have reprimanded everyone in the hall. She didn’t have it in her, though. Her thoughts were filled with an unconscious Haymitch being taken away by Peacekeepers.

When she entered he was awake and lying in a bed, clearly annoyed by his situation. Seeing him relieved her immediately, and when she felt the nurse leave her relief was replaced with anger.

“Do you realise what you did in front of all Panem?” she hissed, trying to keep her voice down.

“Well hello, princess, where the fuck were you?! Weren’t you supposed to be here in the morning?”

“I have nothing to justify myself for, but for your information, we had a hovercraft malfunction that delayed my departure. When I was here it was already too late. I didn’t enjoy it any more than you did. In addition, I will not tolerate this language from you. We’ve not had a Reaping this bad since the 63rd edition!”

“Don’t get your wig in a twist, princess, it’s not like I was dying to have you here. You can go back where you came from.” he cut her off, sulking in his bed.

She sighed and sat on the visitor’s chair. The room was small, the paint was faded or in certain areas even cracked. She let her anger steam away, and she could see him do the same. His head wasn’t bleeding. He seemed alright.

“I think this year we might have a chance” she offered.

“Told you to stop getting your hopes up years ago” his voice was softer, and she relaxed.

“I know, but I have a feeling-“

“Usually it takes you a day to get attached, can’t believe you’re already doing this. I’m not drunk enough”.

“Oh, no, you have been drunk enough already! Don’t you dare touch another drink, Panem knows how your body might react after your concussion”.

“Not a concussion, sweetheart”.

“Whatever it was, not under my watch, Haymitch Abernathy!”

“Did you come just to shrill in my ear?” he asked nonchalantly.

“No, we have to go to the train station at once, and I will personally make sure you are tucked into bed when we get there”. She felt her blood rush to her face and was thankful for the white powder on it, she sounded awfully domestic. His smirk didn’t help.

“See, Effie, now I like the sound of that”.

“Don’t you get funny ideas; you were drunk and unconscious just thirty minutes ago and I’m still angry. I will not have sex with you”.

“That’s what you always say” he smirked, getting up with her help. Maybe she always said that, but this time she meant it.

“Only not to us” the boy lashed at his drink, flinging it on the floor where it shattered, wasting perfectly good liquor. His name was Peeta, or so he thought. Peeta stared at him with a stern look, and the girl beside him, Katniss?, was mirroring him.

He’d told them to stay alive and laughed, not expecting them to retaliate. But retaliate they did.

He’d needed that drink. It was the day after the Reaping and Effie was still avoiding him like the plague. Angry at his drunken acts and worried for his health she left him to the boy’s care. It brought him back to the 70th edition when she’d disappeared. He’d even tried to sneak into her bed, but she thought he was hoping for some action, so she kicked him out.

He needed her. What wife kicked her husband out when sick, anyway? Was this a Capitol thing?

Haymitch took a good look at the two in front of him and decided the best course of action was to remind them who he was. A drunkard? Maybe. But a Victor still.

He punched the boy’s jaw, knocking him from his chair, and turned to reach for another bottle. The girl took the occasion to drive her knife between his hands and the bottle, lodging it successfully in the mahogany table. Effie’s words made their way back into his mind. This was the first time any of the tributes showed anything more than a meagre will to survive, and maybe he could work with them. Maybe.

“Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?” he snorted, and saw the boy pick himself up from the floor.

Despite his usual reticence, he found himself assessing the kids. A minute later, in an uncharacteristic bout of hopefulness, he decided to promise them his help. All they had to do was not interfere with his drinking, and he’d stay sober enough to do what he could for them.

When the kids left the car he stayed there, musing. The boy was good-looking and charismatic but didn’t have the fire in him. The girl, instead, looked ready to fight. He could already spin a narrative, there, but decided against any more thinking. He got up and walked through the carts.

He knocked at her door, like he’d done a thousand times before, and heard some shuffling behind it before it opened. She was still in her pink satin gown, the one that stopped at her thighs, and her face was slightly flushed, if a little irritated.

“What is it, Haymitch?” she asked, only opening the door enough for her to peek at him.

“I promised the children I’ll stay sober to help them, maybe you weren’t wrong”.

“Told you so! And good for you, now go back to your compartment” she moved to close the door, but he put his foot down to stop her, a smug smirk on his face.

“You know, sweetheart, I am not drunk, I don’t have a concussion, and I’m sure I can do much better than your fingers, here” he pushed the panel open and made his way into the compartment, sitting on her bed. The sheets exuded her smell, and he was tempted to lean down to smell them.

Effe sighed and finally closed the door, turning towards him. Her golden, shoulder-length hair framed her face, accentuating the blue of her eyes, and her lips were pursed in worry. She was scanning him for any sign of ill health, but he was as well as ever and she seemed convinced.

She walked towards him and moved to sit on his lap, her legs falling on either side of his waist. He sighed and inhaled her scent, while her hands smoothed his hair, humming softly. It was a washed-out blonde colour, and she loved its length. Men in the Capitol wore wigs, and she’d never seen anyone’s real hair before Haymitch. Not even her own father’s. It felt different.

“I truly think this year we might have a winner” she whispered with her usual sing-song tone, softly pushing a few strands away from his face.

“I don’t know, but this is the first time I’m sure they might survive the bloodbath, and that’s… new”.

“New is good. Will you truly drink less?”

“I mean, it’s either that or a bunch of kids will try to kill me, and your fingers will melt off, so I gotta do something!” he smirked and heard her gasp. He earned a slap on his arm, but otherwise, she didn’t try to deny what she was doing.

“Well, you were sick, what was I supposed to do?” she pouted, softly grinding on him. The little minx.

“You know damn well I wasn’t sick” he grumbled, but the way she looked at him told him she wasn’t convinced.

“Sure, but I am not going to do this until we get to the penthouse. I don’t trust the children not to wander around”.

Haymitch sighed. He knew she was right. Peeta and Katniss seemed bent on sneaking around. Her usage of the word children worried him, it was something she used to do when she got attached; for some reason this year it started right after the Reaping, and he didn’t know how far she might take it.

“I’m already here, now, am I not?” he tried, his hand trailing up the hem of her skirt, hoping she’d relent.

“I said not until the penthouse, Haymitch” her voice was breathy, he could see her fight his pull, and it took all his restraint not to flip her on the bed and have his way with her.

“God, you’ll be the death of me”.

“Try not to die, I am willing to wait another few hours, not more than that. Anyways this year we also get a new pair of stylists!” she lit up, dispersing some of the tension between them.

“Yeah? No more Chip and Chop? What do we get this year?”

“Oh, you’re going to like them. Cinna and Portia are quite the novelty, you’ll see”.

“The only thing I want to see now is your naked ass, sweetheart”.

“Haymitch!” she reprimanded him, but laughed heartily and he delighted in the sound. It did things, to him, her laugh. It was a sound he heard rarely, and when he did it ripped a piece of him in smithereens and rebuilt it, making it new.

He smirked and let his hand wander over her body, noticing the way her breath quickened. It would have taken him very little to work her up and make her forget her resolve, but he saw her point, so he stopped at a little groping here and there. He could wait until they’d get to the penthouse.

And if he kissed her again, he figured he could not be blamed. She was his wife, after all.

[whatrealbeautylookslike]

Hayffie prompt- Effie and Haymitch get arrested by the Capitol after Katniss blow up the Arena and have to go through it together. It’s heartbreaking, i know… but i can’t stop imagining they being tortured in front of each other and still doing everything they can to keep the other alive and as safe as they can be….

oh my goddddddd I'm finally getting prompts. thank you so much

this is so devastating thanks I hate it.

no actually I will see what I can do. I generally HATE writing angst as a rule but idk this gets me

[coffee-or-murder]

For the super long ask meme:

Effie: 👕10, 🍽️1, 🤝9, 💓8, 🎲10

Zimri: 👕1, 📦14, 🍽️3, 💓2, 🎲11

Effie 👕10. If your character could splurge on a particular garment, what would it be? This but it needs to be More Pink and More Sparkly please and thank you.

🍽️1. What flavor would your character say their personality is? Lemonade with a shot of vodka, triple sec, and grenadine ;D Oh and that pretty sparkly food safe powder! That too. Fruity and sweet and sharp and boozy ;D

🤝9. Where is your character's comfort place? Spooning or being spooned by Tempie u_u If not with her then elbow deep in legal research or party planning. She gets in so deep with party planning every other stress sort of falls away.

💓8. What scents does your character find comforting? She likes sweet floral fruity scents the most! That or fruit and spice scents like apples and cinnamon :D

🎲10. Is there a skill your character doesn’t know they’re bad at? If videogames existed she would be amazingly awful at them. The type to just walk off the stage in Smash Bro’s while going “Did I do it? Wait where did my little blob go?? Where are they? D:”. But in universe she’s pretty aware of what skills she lacks. However she’s never tried knitting, but if she did she’d quickly find out she just makes a tangled mess. There is no saving her.

Zimri 👕1. What is your character's favorite physical trait they possess? Zimri is quite fond of all of her physical traits -she knows she’s hot shit after all it’s sort of her job- but she’s most proud of her figure. It’s hard maintaining her very pear shaped body for dance and combat and information gathering after all, but she pulls it off wonderfully.

📦14. Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want? Honestly? She is so hard to embarrass, nothing is really coming to mind! I think the closest thing would be that she still has the contract Avi signed to purchase her before taking her to his court and basically becoming her new dad. She pulls it out sometimes and thinks about burning it, but she misses him and his court so badly she can’t seem to get rid of it. It is a bit embarrassing because it’s basically the receipt for herself as a product, which should be an awful memory, and it mostly is but it’s also one of the last pieces of Avi’s handwriting she has left.

🍽️3. Is there a food or drink your character is unwilling to try? That depends entirely on who is in the room, who is paying for the food, and what the kitchen looks like. She’s a bit picky about food safety, but if someone paid her to eat with them she’ll eat it without complaint. She is not a fan of super crunchy hard foods though. Zimri was also raised nomadically and food was sometimes slim, so she'll eat to survive but she won't enjoy the taste.

💓2. Are there particular sounds your character is fond of? Drums and wind chimes are favorites in different ways. Drums make her feel lively and want to dance, while the chimes make her more likely to relax and close her eyes to take it in.

🎲11. Does your character have any injury stories? She once got stabbed while in bed with a visiting diplomat’s aide. Totally unexpected too. She wasn’t even trying to dig for information, she just seemed fun so she slept with her and then got stabbed! Apparently the aide had done it before, and they were able to arrest and try her for her past murders. Zimri was stronger than she was expecting for a court entertainer though, so she really only got in the one stab before Zimri was able to overpower her and call the guards. .

[mio-nika]

Effie's comics changed my entire lexicon when I'm talking abt DD.

Like, you still see me making jokes about "under arrest for not wearing socks". Or "it is a crush", or "WHERE WAS NO CEILING".

Like. Irreparable damage to my humour.

[whoslaurapalmer]

i LOVE the thought of kit and lemony doing a detective agency together so much (these two siblings who have always investigated separately finally investigating together.......) BUT. bertrand and kit being detectives and bertrand being miles really is so peak here. especially in that "minor role in canon and dies early" way. i too want him alive as much as possible and i think the two of them investigating would be a really fun turn here, like how would it go down without his death and what would be bring to the investigation, and i spent some time last night trying to figure out, if thursby's death or miles' death is more of a catalyst, but. it really is necessary, bc it's part of why sam DOES let brigid get arrested. there's like a...... principle of loyalty between sam and miles. they don't like each other a great deal, but sam still goes, That's My Partner, and i have a moral obligation to find his killer, because That's What You Do When You Lose Your Partner, especially when your partner is a detective, and that IS something i can see in kit

and atwq is technically lemony already starring in his own maltese falcon remake, and i think having a story without lemony here opens up different and tasty dynamics between everyone else, especially with beatrice. kit being in this detective role instead.........i considered lemony being like. potentially a narrator, bc i think that's fun, if lemony is narrating his sister's story, with lemony's knowledge of events and him potentially like.....misrepresenting certain aspects of the story to protect kit, to protect beatrice, even if there's no narrator role in the maltese falcon (although the book is in like third person objective and therefore there is some Universal Force As A Narrator, even maybe hammett himself, bc of sam as the pov character but there's like Zero of his thoughts, just his actions and expressions), but lemony also, doesn't NEED to be here, and it might take away from kit, and then how is lemony's character functioning not only as a narrator but as someone everyone else might know............

that gutman dialogue with esme and carmelita is so AAAAAAA...........it's everything!!!! it's so esme!!!!!!! she WOULD throw carmelita away for whatever she wanted, especially the sugar bowl!!!

i did idly wonder about like. the sugar bowl re: lemony though. with the theory that it has information that will exonerate him, and beatrice trying to get it for that purpose, but i didn't like that bc i thought it was too lemony-centric. and to me the major point of the maltese falcon is greed, and in a story about greed nobody gets what they were after, that's the whole central piece, they don't and they can't and can never get the real maltese falcon (hangfire gets the bombinating beast statue but then is literally swallowed by the physical representation of his greed.......) so it would probably make the most sense if the sugar bowl here really is empty? and/or even a fake on its own, a replica of the real sugar bowl, maybe the lid doesn't open or it's a solid piece like the fake falcon, only capable of being nicked or broken (i keep thinking of esme like. smashing the fake one. and then immediately regaining her composure and moving on to the next part of the hunt)

the kit vs esme of it all. the kit vs geraldine. the esme vs beatrice. the kit vs beatrice. geraldine vs everybody else around her. oh there's so much fun in there. about acting, selfishness, desire against greed......

r being effie is SO GOOD bc i keep picturing beatrice coming to the office and r getting to say to kit "you'll want to see her anyway, she's a knockout", beatrice IS a knockout!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! of course r would say it!!!!!! aaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!

snicket and denouement is the most perfect agency name ever and i love it with my whole entire heart. dewey being iva.................Much To Think

i started rereading the book last night and what really struck me about brigid in the opening is like. spinning this fake story about thursby, there's such a ruthlessness in it, such a betrayal, like she wasn't friends with thursby but he's in between her and something she wants so it's him or her. and it's doing this to make herself seem as innocent and naive and blameless as possible. and beatrice being that way about olaf!!!!!!!!!!!! and then beatrice doing it to everyone and using them as steps to get what she wants and then finally running into the one person who won't have it

of course we're left with beatrice killing bertrand, which breaks my heart. i don't think even any incarnation of bea is THAT terrible or that truly manipulative. like, in the way that brigid is different from gutman (i think their greed comes from separate places but i am not yet committed to that thought bc it's been a while since i've thought about them, but also their ultimate mannerisms are different, gutman even in his rage is level-headed, brigid is not), bea is different from esme, esme is the worst version of beatrice, more desperate, more cunning, more deceptive, there is a heart in beatrice that esme lacks, or just a different kind of a heart. ugg and bea as the actress that is always acting...................she really is. she really really is. maybe bertrand sees part of that acting too.

the sugar bowl as the maltese falcon

kit snicket as sam spade beatrice baudelaire as brigid o’shaughnessy

count olaf as floyd thursby duchess r as effie perine bertrand as miles archer dewey denouement as iva archer esme as casper gutman geraldine julienne as joel cairo carmelita spats as wilmer cook

[forthegothicheroine]

How other great detectives would solve the Chesapeake Ripper murders

A series I do sometimes.  For the purpose of this post, I will be assuming Hannibal does not have protagonist protection.  I will also do my best not to assume that any of these detectives have protagonist armor, either.

Columbo: Columbo is immediately suspicious when Hannibal says that he “transferred his passion for anatomy into the culinary arts.”  When Hannibal talks about his hobby of collecting news clippings about church collapses, Columbo knows for sure that only a serial killer would do that.  He keeps needling at Hannibal, being incessantly polite, asking a series of innocuous questions, mentioning that his wife has been urging him to go to therapy and can Hannibal tell him anything about that process?  Hannibal can tell he’s smarter than he seems, but doesn’t realize just how smart.  He’s also smart enough to finally come to arrest Hannibal with a full squad of burly guys with guns.  Columbo is also very sweet to Abigail and they write letters to each other after the case is over.

Phryne Fisher:  Phryne has an absolutely marvelous time investigating this case.  Hannibal takes her on dates to the opera and fine wine tastings and they have amazing sex.  She also almost has sex with Will Graham, but when he collapses on a chair and beings talking about all the troubles he’s been going through, including encephalitis symptoms, she ends up driving him to the hospital instead.  Between Will’s testimony about how Hannibal has been misleading him about his symptoms and her own secret swiping of keys, she becomes suspicious and investigates the murder house.  When Hannibal catches her, he promises that her death display will be the most beautiful one yet.  She shoots him non-fatally and he gets arrested.  (She may also be arrested for breaking and entering, but Hannibal can’t exactly claim stand-your-ground when he has a basement freezer full of body parts.)  Phryne also possibly sleeps with Alanna.

Sam Spade: I’ll be real here, Sam Spade is probably going to die.  His primary method is deliberately antagonizing people into giving him money, and Hannibal would absolutely put him in his ‘rude people’ recipe cards.  If Spade was clever, he left a dead man’s switch with Effie, and she goes to the police with the evidence folder when Spade’s body is found posed like a statue of a bird.

Sam Vimes: The moment Sam meets Hannibal he mentally classifies him as a vampire, even though he is not technically a vampire.  Hannibal keeps ‘forgetting’ and offering Sam food and drink with alcohol, talking about how harm reduction is much more viable than complete abstinence and generally trying to manipulate him into falling back down the addiction hole.  Sam gets brittle and suspicious in response.  Hannibal drugs him and tries to hypnotize him into believing he saw another character do the murders, but the Inner Watchman in Sam’s head comes to the rescue again and he slams Hannibal over the head with the nearest heavy art object.  Sybil still afterwards insists that Sam go to therapy to deal with his rage.

L: L wastes time going on dates with Hannibal and trying to trick him into implicating himself despite already having plenty of evidence, and Hannibal kills him and puts his head in a candy store.

Poirot: When Poirot attends dinner at one of Hannibal’s parties, he knows as soon as the meat touches his palette that it isn’t really rabbit.  He does his best to hide the fact that he isn’t eating, and whispers to Hastings to do the same.  When he finally has caught Hannibal in enough lies, he accuses him of murder while in a room with him, Will, Alanna, Abigail, Chilton, Able and Jack.  With so many witnesses, Hannibal maintains his cool and says that he’ll call his lawyer and see everyone in court.  When they actually investigate his house and find the human body freezer, Poirot faints.

Philip Marlowe: Every time Marlowe tries to bother Hannibal, the local cops drag him into the station and berate him for hassling a rich person.  He has long conversations with Hannibal when he does get him alone about great literature and the morality of Shakespeare characters.  Hannibal drugs him and tries to convince him he witnessed somebody else commit the murders, but Marlowe is so used to being drugged and seeing ridiculous things that he doesn’t trust any drug trip memories.  He is eventually able to catch Hannibal in the process of cleaning up after a murder, and both shoot each other.  Both survive and Hannibal gets arrested, but Hannibal taunts Marlowe that he will go the rest of his life never meeting anyone who understands him as well as he did.  Marlowe sadly agrees.

Dale Cooper: If Cooper does solve this case, it will take at least a season and a half.  It will be based less on evidence and more on Hannibal having dark energy and his name coming up when Cooper picks it out of a bag of ice cubes with initials carved onto them.  Abigail finally breaks down and confesses everything that’s happened to Cooper, and he tells her she’s not an evil person.  He and Hannibal shoot each other; both survive.  Hannibal goes to jail but continues to influence other people to commit murders from within jail.  Cooper ends up in a coma, and when he wakes up, he reports visions of a feathered stag telling him that he should look for new hair gel.

Kinsey Milhone: Kinsey inherently distrusts smug rich people, and no rich person is smugger than Hannibal.  She spends a lot of time talking to Abigail about their mutual family issues and becomes suspicious of how much her answers seem to have been worded ahead of time by Hannibal.  She tracks him and manages to find him while he’s in the process of cutting someone up.  They attack each other, and it’s pretty much a coin flip as to who survives.  If it’s Kinsey, the resulting story is called C is for Cannibal.

Miss Marple: Miss Marple thinks Hannibal dresses in such a lovely fashion, and he’s so sweet to invite her over for a glass of sherry.  She doesn’t attempt to look around his house or catch him in the act of murder or do anything dangerous, she just compares notes about what’s being said by him, Will and Abigail, and unravels a web of lies to find some definite conclusions.  Jack Crawford and the entire FBI are humiliated that a nosy old lady sitting in her living room figured everything out before they did.

[regalpotato]

I don’t wanna sound upset or maybe I’m trying to hold myself back. Ik snw is only allowed 10 eps and that restricts screen time a lot but… I thought the whole purpose for pushing the main trio was so that they can all get the spotlight. But all we’ve gotten is a lot of Chris and Spock both individually and together but like I’m getting crumbs with Una.

You're preaching to the choir, Anon.

I've been incredibly vocal (mostly on discord, a tiny bit on twitter, just not much here on tumblr) about it.

Read more, because I went off

All the interviews, articles, previews for SNW before it came out, sold this show as a Pike, Number One, and Spock show. But when it came to it, there was barely any Una. She was actively written out of a number of episodes (Memento Mori, All Those Who Wander, A Quality of Mercy - are the main culprits), and she wasn't vital to a lot of the others.

She's the first officer. No other Star Trek show in history has had this little screen time from the main cast first officer. Spock, Riker, Chakotay, Kira, T'Pol, Saru/Burnham, even god damn Ransom when the bridge characters aren't even the main ones we follow in Lower Decks (also it's funny because Ransom is voiced by Rebecca Romijn's husband), all have more screen time and more importance than the very first ever Star Trek first officer, Number One.

And it's not about my favourite not having screen time - Effie Trinket is one of my all time favourite characters and she's barely in the last THG book and I didn't get mad over it - it's that this was billed as a show where she would have screen time, and she just...didn't.

If you took her out of Season 1, nothing would change, she hasn't been the driving force of any plot except for her centric - which tbh is less about her (she's been Illyrian her whole life, and we didn't even really see her struggle with hiding it or whether or not she should risk exposing herself to save the crew) and more about a plot point (yes in episode 1, Pike was sent to rescue her, but he could easily have been sent just to rescue the other crew sans Una).

Meanwhile, if you take Chris (most episodes), La'an (Strange New Worlds, all the gorn stuff), Spock (do I even have to explain this one), Christine (Spock Amok/Serene Squall), Erica (Elysian Kingdom/A Quality of Mercy), Hemmer (most of his episodes), or Nyota (Children of the Comet/all her Hemmer friendship stuff) out of episodes, there would be vast differences to the plot and feel of the show.

I think Joseph M'Benga is possibly the only other main cast member who (aside from his centric episode) hasn't been vital to the show.

Una's mistreatment by the show hurts me a lot. She's been in my top 5 favourite Star Trek characters ever since I saw The Cage (and Discovery and Short Treks didn't change that) and I was so excited to see her and Pike work together as Captain and First Officer. AND WE'VE NOT REALLY SEEN THAT?? I think the only time we've actually seen them work together as CO/XO is the Serene Squall mutiny.

I'm really hoping Una has a bigger part in Season 2 (part of me does wonder if it's a scheduling conflict with Rebecca Romijn as she is the most famous cast member, which hopefully changed as filming went on.) because this is ridiculous. I know there’s the argument that they wanted to put more emphasis on the new characters, but Chris and Spock still got hella development, and they were already far more developed that Number One...

Though I can't imagine her arrest will last over one episode (or otherwise we're gonna get entire episodes without her in).

[uncloseted]

How long is Effy's sentence after her arrest?

Effy's crime is described as, "using illegally obtained information to create 11 million pounds in trading profits," also known as insider trading. Later, she agrees to make a statement naming Jake as her accomplice and acknowledges that she knows she'll still go to prison for her role in the trading.

In the UK, a person convicted of insider trading is liable on conviction of indictment to a fine or imprisonment for up to seven years or to both. We know that she's facing at least some jail time, but since she named Jake as an accomplice, I would guess that her sentence is under 5 years.

[whoslaurapalmer]

goddddd i always know it's coming but the end of the maltese falcon (book) gets me every time. like. the end of the movie is about greed. but the end of the book (which is also still about greed but hold on) is about. consequences. relationships. sam goes through the whole book getting this almost constant commentary from other characters about how he always gets off scot-free, no one can ever pin anything on him, he gets away with doing every just-on-the-edge-of-horrible thing he does, and being pleased about it, and part of how he ends things with brigid is sam's own desire to manipulate others to keep the control he has over his life and how he lives and making sure he gets out after all the falcon shenanigans (especially bc the only thing sam's actually guilty of there is some decent physical violence, but not murder), and then he goes to effie when it's all over, his secretary, the only person in the whole entire book sam feels something like respect for, the only person he'll meaningfully almost-apologize to, and that's when sam actually genuinely suffers consequences for what he's done. is he wrong to have brigid arrested? no, and effie knows that. but effie believed so wholeheartedly in brigid, and not just brigid but sam, and her relationship with sam, and in herself, and sam picks that up and ruins it and effie can't stand him now. she doesn't want him to touch her at all. and it's the only time he's genuinely horrified by what he's done. he spends the whole book seriously but still jokingly telling effie he's no good and her putting up with him regardless and then he has to face that he really is no good to the one person who really matters to him, to the person who used to let him get away with it, who can't anymore

[melisusthewee]

WIP Wednesday

If I still had Photoshop, I probably would have a thousand banners by now. But I don't (thanks, Apple), so all you get is text. Thank you to everyone who has tagged me so far! I'm still in the midst of working on Chapter 3 of my current post-Trespasser fic, A Good Song Never Dies so I thought I'd share another snippet from it. I feel a little like I'm dropping bread crumbs building up bits of backstory for this character, but I think (or hope!) it's working so far.

Tags are below the cut, and - as always - if you want to be added or removed, please don't hesitate to let me know!

The only thing he had come to admire was the vhenadahl, growing in the center of the district with its branches stretching beyond even the tallest roofs. Some of them were blackened and scarred, perhaps destroyed by shems in scuffles and purges, or simply choked by the sick earth it clung to by the roots. But where it bore no leaves of its own there was still colour, as woven banners and paper lanterns hung from its boughs, waving lazily in the day’s breeze and twinkling like colourful fireflies at night. Nestled amid the roots that had broken free of the ground were dozens of candles that Hawthorne was certain had been stolen gradually over time from the shemlen Chantry - a reminder to him that it was Andraste the elves here prayed to.

Hawthorne didn’t believe in Andraste. He didn’t believe in much of anything other than himself. Growing up as he did, drifting from place to place, it was difficult to really think that any one group had stumbled upon the ultimate truth. The magisters had their dragons, the Qunari had their philosophies, the humans had their Maker, and the elves had their absent gods. In the end, they were all little more than stories people told each other in order to find comfort in a vast and uncaring world. Sometimes he thought the dwarves might be the ones who had come closest to the truth, giving thanks to the earth they sprung from and believing it was to that same stone they would one day return. No Maker was around to usher anyone to his side; and if Ghilan’nain had truly once created all the beasts of the world, she had likely died long ago with the only remnants of her existence being stories told around campfires or whispered between spirits traveling the Fade.

And maybe none of it was true. Maybe everyone had gotten it all wrong. Or maybe there was some truth in all of it and it was only the names that were wrong. Did it matter that the elves here called this presence that lurked beyond their understanding the Maker? Or was it more important that they looked at the vhenadahl, recognized something very old and very kind in the world, and described it the only way they knew how?

The idea made him hesitate as he stood in the soft glow of the lanterns. The ritual he’d come to perform wouldn’t harm the tree, but it was invasive nonetheless. He was a visitor here, these were not his people, and he knew it was wrong to dig deep into their sacred spaces. But there were few places in the city where there was a ripple in the Veil, a place that pressed between this world and the Fade just enough for spirits to mingle and for Hawthorne to hear them. It was either here or he walk into the shemlen’s cathedral with all its hushed whispers and lilting songs… and almost certainly several guards in gilded plate and maille waiting to arrest him. He had no choice. It had to be here.

Tagging: @kita-lavellan @silvanils @ellie-effie @noire-pandora @arliah @morganlefaye79 @knuttydraws @drag-on-age @kittynomsdeplume @rosella-writes @nivenor-krosis @retrowondergirl @darethshirl @inquisitoracorn @cleverblackcat

[thegoblinwitchqueen]

In This Eden

Chapter: 6

Dutch Van der Linde X OC

18+

AO3

The encampment that housed the notorious Van der Linde gang was not at all as she expected. Although, Florence Barlowe did not truly have an expectation to begin with.

The young woman already knew from her many late nights spent with Buck as they discussed and tracked the transitory gang across west Elizabeth as Ike Skelding, that the Van der Linde family were not like other gangs.  Others, such as Colm O’Driscoll, consisted mostly of large factions of hardened men and not much else…horses, maybe? 

Dutch, on the other hand, preferred to keep his group small and was not opposed to the idea of housing a few women and children. 

Still, as Effie stood awkwardly outside of “her” tent while unsure of what to do at that moment, she couldn’t help but expect the sight of men clad in all black clothing skulking menacingly around the camp while armed to the teeth. But, as her dizzy vision settled back into steady normalcy, that was not what she found.

Instead, Effie took in a scene of peace and the intoxicating scent of fresh stew. 

The woman that never felt fear, never felt unsure, never worried about the thoughts or opinions of others—-suddenly felt so small and out of place. Her hands ran along the length of her suspenders as the anxiety and reality of her situation finally began to set in. 

Florence Barlowe was within unknown territory that housed the one man she despised, and not in a million years would she anticipate for her journey of revenge to end up this way. Effie had fully expected to barge in with guns hot and blazing, but now….what would she say?

Hello! Thank you for saving my life and, by the way, I’m here to kill you all in cold blood?

No. 

Effie was unarmed and still injured. If she was to say those words…they would set her untimely death in stone. To survive, she would have to come up with a believable story and alias.

“What’s your name?”

“Florence.”

“Mama, her name is Florence!”

Fuck .

The muddy child had caught the woman off guard, and because her jostled brain still struggled to keep her thoughts straight, she did not think to give him a fake name. His little boots happily collided on the muddy ground as he raced towards Abigail, who was gathering dirty clothes, to reveal the identity of the mystery woman. 

Abigail smiled and ruffled the boys hair before raising her hand in a slight wave towards the panicked woman. 

“You gave us quite a scare, Ms. Florence. ” 

Hosea Matthews . 

Effie swallowed a lump of anxiety as she recognized the older, light haired gentleman that steadily approached her. Although the drawings of his wanted posters did not do the man justice, she knew who he was immediately and without hesitation.

To see a name on a piece of paper made it easy for Effie to separate the feelings of guilt when a bounty was killed or arrested. As well, when she was out on the field, the criminal she sought to bring to justice typically tried to kill her on sight which made the act of murder very easy to carry out.

But this? To meet a highly dangerous and wanted outlaw as if they were just two regular citizens made Effie feel …uncomfortable. 

The name Hosea Matthews was known across West Elizabeth as a hardened criminal capable of murder…and yet…as he stood in front of her with hands and a face that showed the ravages of time..the reality was that he was just a man. Not a monster, but a man.

Was Dutch the same? Just a man?

“I..I’m very grateful.” The young woman mumbled while her eyes struggled to hold contact with his own piercing gaze. 

A slight smile pulled at the corner of Hosea’s thin mouth.

“Don’t thank me. I wasn’t the one to carry you here.” Hosea scoffed as he placed a hand lightly against the woman’s back to politely guide her to a simple table where a large bowl of hot stew was waiting.

If not you, then who? 

Effie parted her dry lips slightly as she debated to ask the man to recount the story of her rescue—but the saliva that flowed freely like a river from underneath her tongue begged for her to focus on more pressing matters…like food.

The woman’s empty stomach growled furiously and, without hesitation, she sat heavy onto the wooden bench. She did not even think twice about asking whether or not the bowl was meant for her. Nor did she worry that it may have been poisoned…although why would they go through the trouble of reviving her just to kill her again? Hardly practical.

Effie didn’t even mind the painful burn she received from the hot stew on the roof of her mouth!

Food was the only thing on her aching mind. 

Hosea let out a hearty chuckle as the young woman frantically scooped the first bit of sustenance she had received in three—no—four days into her cavernous mouth. 

She only stopped once or twice to take in a giant breath of fresh air through her gaping orifice just to keep her alive long enough for the next bite to be shoveled in. 

“It’s nice to see someone enjoying my food.” 

A hefty man with a thick mustache and male pattern baldness laughed through his gut as he prepared food from behind a blood stained counter. Effie, with cheeks full like a western chipmunk, smiled in slight embarrassment. 

“S-sorry.” Embarrassed, Effie swallowed and composed herself. She was so desperate for food, she had forgotten her manners. 

Although, do outlaws even use manners?

“Don’t apologize! Mister Pearson rarely gets compliments for the slop he tries to pass as food.” Hosea sat across from the young woman and lightly groaned as his knees bent. “Must have been quite a while since you’ve eaten anything, I reckon.” 

A slight nod was the only response from the young woman. She still wasn’t sure what story she was going to use as a way to explain why exactly she was half dead in the woods. So, she figured that being as quiet as possible was the best course of action. For now.

Hosea pulled a fresh cigarette from his vest pocket and lit it. Effie inhaled the last bite of her stew, though she desperately wanted to ask for seconds, and allowed her sore eyes to scan the surroundings. 

At first glance, she realized that the camp was small enough for her to traverse its whole circumference in just a few minutes. As well, Effie could see a few young women bustling around as they performed various chores and a few young men scouting or prepping their weapons. The elderly of the group were scattered throughout and minded their business. Although one older gentleman appeared to be unconscious as he laid underneath a tree with an opened whiskey in hand.

Still, just like her own group of bounty boys back in Blackwater, the members of the Van der Linde camp were of all different colors and creeds. That was something she did not expect from a criminal.

It seemed that Dutch Van der Linde was more of a progressive than his racist counterparts. Still,the racists she knew often wore suits and ties by day and pointed hoods by night…

Okay, so she’d give Dutch that at least. 

Speaking of which, where was the bastard? 

“So, where are you from?” Hosea eyed the young woman, as she glanced around, with an expression she believed as—-healthy suspicion— across his face. 

Understandable considering the circumstances. 

It’s not like they had expected for their “off the beaten path” encampment to be discovered, regardless of the situation. 

Hosea was said to be a shrewd man. And he knew that there should not have been a young woman sniffing around their camp late at night. In fact, there should not have been anyone . 

The whole thing seemed…suspicious.

He was not wrong, for the whole situation was suspicious. Effie had been on her way to destroy them, and it was by divine intervention that they had found her in the state she was in.

Luckily, any form of identification on Florence’s part had been lost somewhere amongst the rubble after Perses reared his stubborn head. And, it appeared that they did not seem to have an inclination of who she was.

Effie was safe.

For now.

However, Florence was unsure of how many people Dutch may actually have surveying the overlook, and she could not risk that satchel to be uncovered by the wrong hands.

She surmised that she would have to find it as soon as she could leave…if they would even let her.

With a stoic expression, Hosea pulled the smoke from his cigarette deep in his lungs, and waited in awkward silence for Effie’s response.  Had she not concussed her brain, she would have had no issue with finding the words to paint the fabrication she needed. But…

“Van Horn.” Effie stated. She figured she’d start with a small truth, and hoped that the story she needed would show up somewhere along the way. That’s how Buck often tricked his prey.

God…she missed him.

“That’s quite a long way from here.” Hosea lifted a brow in mistrust. “What brought you to Valentine?”

What brought you here ?

“I’m visiting my sister in Valentine.” 

A lie.

Although Effie did have a younger sister,  she had long since died from tuberculosis and her older brother was posted somewhere near San Dennis. In fact, Effie had never actually set foot in Valentine as she spent most of her bounty hunting career in West Elizabeth to be as far away from her insufferable family as humanly possible. 

In all honesty, they probably thought she had died from her love of alcohol and morphine. And Cliff sure as hell was not about to correct them out of pride and fear of a tarnished image.

“Does she know you’re here?” Again, Hosea made sure to ask his questions in a manner that made them seem innocent. However, what he really wanted to know was—

Is the law out searching for you?

“No. Actually…she’s dead.” Effie avoided the man’s curious gaze by scraping the leftover residue of the stew into bite sized spoonfuls. She was still hungry. 

“Here, darlin.” Pearson took her empty bowl and tossed a few more spoonfuls of stew in it. Effie graciously accepted. 

“You were visiting your dead sister?” Hosea would not allow for the conversation to be interrupted by bland slop. 

“Yes, she died a few years back. She’s buried in Valentine. And, since the death of my parents, no one has been there to care for her grave. I’m an orphan, with no living relatives.”

“A husband?”

Yes…unfortunately.

“No, I’m unmarried.” Now with a full stomach, Florence relaxed her stiff shoulders and embraced the feeling of calm that radiated her body. Even though she had slept for a full day, her healing body still screamed to sleep away the pain of her head and face. 

And her broken heart wanted to change the sore subject of marriage.

“I’m surprised that a woman of your age is unmarried.” Hosea crossed his arms across his chest.

“Well, my fiancé recently passed.”

Thanks to Dutch.

“I’m sorry to hear about that.” Hosea’s expression of sympathy was genuine. However, Effie felt she could no longer trust what she perceived to be true or not. After all, her incorrect assessment of Giuseppe Muldoon led to Bucks murder.

Giuseppe

Florence shot up from her seat at the table and furiously looked around the camp for any trace of the Englishman. Not only did she wish to watch his last breath leave him as her hands tightened their grip around his snake-like neck—-but he was the only person that could properly identify her.

Hosea, thoroughly confused, watched the young woman silently.

After a few moments, Effie decided that the coast was clear. No sign of the Englishman, and it seemed as though he hadn’t been there when she arrived. Maybe he was not an official member of the gang…only an associate.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” Hosea asked. 

Suddenly, Effie remembered the outlaw who had been interrogating her, and she smiled weakly.

“Yes, actually. My horse.” Effie responded with a fake expression of embarrassment. While Effie did wonder where the beast was, she was still upset with him…but he was only a horse and he did not mean to fuck everything up.

Hosea smiled and finished the last bit of his cigarette. 

“Ah yes, the dapple gray Breton.” Hosea rose from his seat and brushed the loose debris from the rotting wood from the back of his pants.. “We found him wandering with our own horses when Dutch carried you to camp. Beautiful creature. In fact, Dutch is out riding him now. He was curious as to how a young woman like yourself could handle such a brute.” 

Wait…Dutch Van der Linde carried her to camp? 

“Dutch…?” Effie felt a wave of anxiety and bitter rage fall over her body like a heavy storm cloud. Her concussed brain could not stop her from expressing the pain of her aching heart across her broken and blackened features. The man that called for the cold blooded murder of her lover was out cavorting around town on her horse?  On BUCK’S horse. “Dutch Van der Linde is out riding my horse…?” 

A smirk of triumph appeared across the outlaws face as the name of Hosea’s partner left the woman’s lips…and suddenly…Effie realized she had fallen right into the man’s trap. 

Gotcha . 

“I see…” Hosea sighed in exasperation as he approached the anxiety stricken young woman, and put a hand gently against her shoulder as she stood stiff as a board. “So you do know us?” 

“I…” Effie couldn’t speak. Hosea rubbed the tension from his neck and suddenly he didn’t seem so much like just a man anymore. 

He fucking caught her. 

Effies lips parted slightly as she scrambled to find an excuse…anything to save her. However, before the man or the young woman could continue, the familiar sound of Perses’ mighty hooves entered the clearing followed by two other horses. 

Effie looked past Hosea, and felt her heart beat faster as the blood pounded behind her ears in rage.

The dark haired man that had taken everything away from her…murdered her best friend…ruined her life—- dismounted from her lovers saddle in a quick and fluid motion. Effie felt her brows furrow angrily as she watched the devil himself give her beast a hefty pat on his thick neck before he turned to face her.

Dutch Van der Linde. 

And although she had imagined many times the words she’d say as she took his life or the fear she’d instill into his very being— 

The one thing she did not expect was for him to smile at her.

[tickled-catastrophe]

it’s all become clear why we’re three weeks into this armie hammer drama and that piece of shit still hasn’t been arrested.  apparently effie admitted on insta to finding a folder on his computer that was packed full of explicit images of underage girls, and she turned a blind eye.  so much for protecting women, huh?  funny thing is, she could be charged with failing to report a crime, and face six months in jail! that, ladies, gents and nonbinaries, is why she hasn’t taken this to the authorities.  and all you charmies out there still defending this dumpster fire of a person, wake the fuck up already! 

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Hayffie headcanon/character analysis

This may or may not be a popular perspective, but it’s my view nonetheless. Before starting up with Effie, I think Haymitch is relatively sexually inexperienced. After his Games and throughout his 20s and 30s, he’s mostly reclusive and constantly dissociating in alcohol. The intent of sex, when he has it, is not about connection, rather it’s to numb himself so he feels less the constant pain of his emotions.

In those decades, I imagine he’s self-focused with the women he fucks. He makes sure they’re consenting, which is certainly not difficult for him to find, but he doesn’t prioritize their pleasure alongside his. His mindset is, “An orgasm for you is not my responsibility, sweetheart. If you want one, then have one.”

When it comes to Effie, he’s effectively already been in this rather intense working partnership with her for years. He knows her well. And when their relationship becomes sexual, he’s everything but numb. He’s unwittingly flooded with emotions that, for years moving forward, he doesn’t allow himself to define and basically tries not to think about. He doesn’t want fleeting escape in her body. He wants the feelings that he’s having; he just doesn’t want to think about what they could mean for him or her. His desire for what he feels quietly scares the shit out of him.

I see Haymitch in a kind of second adolescence with Effie. Often when people go through intense trauma, especially attachment trauma, while their brains are still in early life (before age 21 or so), their relational development and other forms of development can be arrested until that trauma starts to become integrated. I imagine this having happened to Haymitch.

After the revolution, I picture him slowly evolving a capacity for emotionally charged sexual connection. He’s starving for it, and with Effie he feels increasingly safe to allow it. And, damn, it’s delicious — she’s delicious in a way he hasn’t known before.

For the first time in his adult life, he’s thinking about the experience that his partner is having during sex. He doesn’t simply get off on her expressing pleasure. He wants her to feel pleasure for her own sake, because he cares about her much more deeply than he’s willing to admit.

I think she shakes him up like crazy, and he starts to envy every relationship she had before or during their evolving relationship. He’s jealous of the experiences she’s had without him which have shaped her into a savvy, embodied, and surprisingly wild partner. She’s the first for him in certain ways that he’s not the first for her. And that reality makes him want her more... No more firsts for her with anyone but me.

I think the reason he’s envious and resentful is because he’s fairly clueless about the full nature of the torch she’s carried for him nearly forever. I imagine it’s very hard for her to be patient. Because she’s been crushing on then loving him for so long. Please love me. But if you don’t, then at least fuck me like a grown up who *pretends* to love the person he’s fucking.

She takes what he has the capacity to give her. Receiving even that much in the beginning is madness. But of course she wants more. She’s Effie; she wants the dream, and she knows she deserves it. She grows increasingly impatient for him to recognize and acknowledge that what he’s actually doing is not just fucking her or falling for her, but already loving her. The falling happened while he was so busy trying to deny it.

[shewantedtobeasecretgirl]

10. Bathroom wall (Part Three) a.k.a. a queen bee, Prince in the shower and a backup Casanova

In the previous parts: The bunch spends a free evening in a bar, where local girls are trying to get closer to the band members. Dave suggests Jeff that he should make Judy jealous but she’s too busy with being outraged about a girl named Claudia dancing with Stone. Finally, Claudia backs down; after a fight with Stone, Judy reveals to Karrie, that her made-up stories about Stone had to do something with her reaction. In the meantime, Mike is feeling sick and refuses Karrie’s advice to take his health issues more seriously. She also shows him pictures of Effie but Mike’s evening ends with a surprising twist. Judy tries to calm down with the help a relaxing shower but she gets unexpected company in the common bathroom… 

@shadowsonoureyes I think I almost completed your drabble challenge 😉

“I got a lion in my pocket and baby he's ready to roar…”

God, I wish this was only a nightmare and I woke up suddenly realizing nothing of this madness has happened actually, maybe I could even laugh at the whole setting. But now, laughing is the last thing I feel like doing, I’ve been standing here since who knows when, I’m freezing, I wanna finish my shower, I wanna dry myself, I wanna get out of here… this with the lots of “wannas” sounds like some random lyrics of The Ramones… But as things stand at the moment, I’ll grow old and die here because this skinny hippo has been splashing beyond the wall for at least fifteen minutes, performing the longest and most inconsistent mix of Prince songs ever, deliberately altering the lyrics, changing the range of lines or even skipping some of them whereas repeating other ones infinitely like a broken record player.

“You got the horn so why don't you blow it…”

Actually, I’ve even started playing with the idea of turning the water on again, maybe this capybara enjoys listening to his own voice enough not even to hear it. But no, that’d be too risky. But I could definitely get rid of the shower gel bottle to be able to rub along my body against cold, I’ve been squeezing that little plastic flask at full strength since he entered here, as if it could help me become invisible. I slowly stoop to place it on the ground in the corner feeling like a compromised spy who’s ordered to put her weapon down without making any suspicious or ambiguous move; but due to the slippery surface under my soles I lose my balance and as I catch towards the wall to prevent myself from falling I drop it… and it lands with a loud crash in the metal shower tray. Fuuuuck… I freeze immediately and perk up my ears holding my breath trying to figure out if he heard it too… of course he heard it, it was as ear-splitting as a rocket launch but maybe he was too distracted and…

“Is somewhere there? Who’s that?”

He heard it…

“Who’s that? Scully? Is that you? Don’t be so shy, we’ve known each other for ages, I’ll even wash your back if you need help…”

Okay, Judy, you can’t hide any longer, you have to find out something, anything… what if I just ran out with a battle cry and grabbed my towel and… okay, maybe something more discreet would be more adequate.

“Scully? I’m coming over…”

“NO!!!” I scream.” It’s not Scully… it’s me… Judy…” I manage to reveal my identity only for the third attempt since my voice won’t obey and insists on sounding comically high-pitched. “And thanks but I’d skip the offer, I can reach my back.” Jesus, I don’t know why I’m babbling this, it’s like…

“Oh… I didn’t know it was you. Actually, I thought I was alone, you were so silent… I couldn’t even hear the water running at you…”

“Because… because… it wasn’t running since… it’s a part of my shower routine, I begin it with hot water then I turn it off and stand a few minutes until I start feeling I’m freezing, this method works wonders on the blood circulation…” I basically yell the end of my bullshit excuse since I turned the water on in the meantime to finally put an end to this awkward situation. Unfortunately, when I turn it off, I can hear he’s still humming, seriously, how much time does he need to dry his balls?

“Anyway… you were right.” he speaks up out of the blue.

I was right? Meaning what? You’re a pervert? You’re a bitch who would bang everything that moves?

“The acoustics in this room are truly excellent.”

You don’t say…

‘I’m flattered by the fact that once in a blue moon you are willing to agree with me. And, uhm, I’m ready with my shower and as you’ve probably already noticed, my towel is hanging on the wall on the other side so… so I’d feel honored if you left…”

“If I left?”

Yes, I mean get the fuck out you pig, you heard it well.

“Why would I leave? I want to enjoy these fascinating circumstances a little bit longer…“

I should have known this wouldn’t be easy, this must be like a dream come true for him: holding me hostage, taking advantage of my miserable situation…

“But seriously, just listen: I really get a dirty mind whenever you're around… Awesome!”

I roll my eyes so hard that I can see my own frontal lobe… Being forced to listen to Stone’s falsetto serenade while being butt naked, fuck, I didn't know what I was missing in my life until now.

“What do you want? Should I sing a fuckin’ duet with you for my freedom?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually… what about Together Forever by Rick Astley?” I hear him snapping with his fingers and giggling at his brilliant idea.

“Well, the performance of Under Pressure would sound more honest from my mouth right now…”

“You’re just so negative, nothing can please you today seemingly. But as a sign of my generosity, I’m ready to give you that towel.”

How can a voice be so irritating? This nasal tone with the mannered Northwestern accent makes sound everything what he says extremely annoying, I could punch him even for citing the headlines of a newspaper.

“Ha-ha, very funny, Gossard. But let’s skip your cheap tricks and move your aaa…self out of here.”

“Cheap tricks? I don’t think there’d be anything interesting to see here, plus, you’re forgetting about a very important factor: I’m out here wearing a towel whereas you are in there wearing nothing so it is me who makes the rules. But, again, I’m a genuine guy so I give your towel to you, all you have to do is to ask me.” the pain in the ass goes on with his rant.

“Okay. GIVE ME THAT FUCKIN’ TOWEL!” I scream angrily stomping of helplessness.

“Why do you have to be so rude? You’re hurting my sensitive soul all the time; if you want me to cooperate, you have to be kind and ask me nicely.”

Once I get out of here, I’m going to fuckin’ kill you, I swear, I’m going to kill you ten times, I’m going to kill your reincarnated bodies too even if you will be reborn as a cute kitten or a baby giraffe…

“GIVE ME THAT FUCKIN’ TOWEL! Please?” I yell again and append a fake, cheesy appeal to my words.

“You see? It sounds immediately completely different.” he snickers satisfied.

“Okay, but we have to clear the logistics first. I think the least awkward way would be you standing facing the door, handing the towel backwards to me and I would reach out for it and…”

“Do you really think I wanna peep?” he asks with amused smugness in his voice.

I do? I don’t? Shit, there’s no right answer to this question, I mean, I’m not interested in him at all, I don’t care what he might think about my look, my body, I don’t even know whether he would think anything at all or he’d just act neutrally like I wasn’t a woman or human at all but fuck, I’m a human, I’m a woman, I could be the possible subject of a guy’s interest too and when I mean “a guy” I don’t think necessarily about him although he’s a guy too…

“I don’t give shit about what you want, what I want is to minimize the level of my retinal damage by not seeing your face, so please do me a favor, turn away from me and give me that goddamn towel.”

By the time I’ve finished the sentence, a pale body with something bright blue at waist-level appears on my horizon with funny side-sliding steps. He’s standing with his back to me, as far as I can judge it even without my glasses, my assumption is only based on the dark trail of his hair on his back. Or he’s an aberrant psychopath who covered his face with his hair to deceive me. He pulls my towel off the wall… okay, that means he’s truly facing the opposite wall unless his shoulders are especially flexible… damn, he reaches it backwards to me lifting his arm to the same height… I’m still not sure about his exact posture…

I slowly walk to the edge of the shower tray, hesitating for a few seconds which one of my body parts I should keep covered before reaching out for it. With a deep sigh, I opt for my breasts and try to grab my towel but there’s still almost a one-yard distance between our hands.

“Stone… you’re too far… could you come closer?” I moan in agony.

“Interesting… until now, you wanted me to go away and now you’re asking me the opposite. Or you’re just trying to trick me into touching you and then get me arrested for sexual assault… no, Camden, I don’t buy it. Anyway, walking backwards is dangerous, what if stumble and fall and break my neck? It’d be safer if you came out of your hiding place, you can’t spend the rest of your life there when I’m gone, I don’t care…”

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this but I obviously have no choice… I approach him with sneaking steps while terrible thoughts are chasing each other in my mind… What if he can rotate his head 180 degrees like owls? What if he’s got extraordinary eyes like chameleons and due to his particularly developed peripheral vision he can see basically everything around him?

As I finally touch the terry cloth fabric, I immediately tear the towel out of his hand and wrap it around myself. His arm swings automatically back to his body as if it was pulled by a spring and while I pull back into my shelter to dry all my body parts, he keeps standing at attention on the same spot.

“Ahem… I’m ready so… you can go…” I make an attempt to get rid of him.

“You’re not a quick learner… and you’re pretty ungrateful… I haven’t heard the magic word yet.”

I can’t believe this. And I can be grateful to him for not humiliating me even more…

“Thanks…” I mumble.

“I didn’t understand it… it’s strange, the acoustics in that corner must be different, it absorbs sound waves…”

“Thank you, Stone Almighty Gossard, nothing could express my eternal gratitude, you’re my savior, I’d be nothing without you, from now on, I’m your slave!!!” I shout paying special attention to my articulation.

“Could you hear the echoes too? Much better.” he clicks with his tongue satisfied and disappears from my sight with the same hilarious moves he made earlier. “Good night, Judith, and if you happen to have erotic dreams this night, please keep them for yourself, I’d feel embarrassed if you told me about it…” he adds and as I open my mouth for some snarky retort, I hear the door slamming.

Finally. This… prick is just unbelievable, after his performance at the bar he thinks he did me a favor by not behaving a like a perv? And erotic dreams? Come on, I’d rather puked myself to death of his sight.

I have to use the awkward choreography I invented earlier to get back to my stuff I left on the chair, although I myself don’t really understand either, why, I’m alone after all... As I lean down for my glasses, my fingers reach out for… nothing. They’re gone! I grope the whole chair along… still nothing! I put down the shower gel bottle and try to crouch down to check the floor under the chair, which is not easy to do at all without exposing my intimate body parts. I keep adjusting the towel with my left hand while I try to scan trough every inch of this goddamn place with the other one and I’m about to drop the freakin’ towel when I hear a weird noise from behind my back. Snorts… silent snorts… like someone was suppressing laughter… oh shit. That moron, that son of a bitch… he’s Satan, I told it.

I straighten up as fast as I can, I can only hope he didn’t see my backside or my nipples or… why can’t I die here and now without more suffering?

As far as I can see him without my spectacles, he’s leaning against the sink and checking me out with folded arms.

“Taking away my glasses? That’s the most creative idea you could find out? Seriously, where are we, in third grade maybe?” I attack him but in the meantime I realize I should calm down, seeing me being upset is probably his favorite entertainment. “Okay, Gossard, go ahead. I don’t know why you crafted this vicious plan with trapping me here, taking away my glasses, stalking me… let’s get over with it, whatever you want…” I shrug resigned.

“Firstly, I didn’t know you were here, I just came in since I have the right to have a shower too. Secondly, I have nothing to say to you, it is you who should talk.”

“Me? Do you think I want to have a chit-chat with you here and now? Are you completely nuts? Just give back my glasses and get out of here!”

“Well, that has a price.” he answers irritatingly slowly, I can hear clearly he’s grinning.

“Is this a blackmail?” I scream outraged.

“Why do you have to use always such tough words? It’s a… mutually beneficial offer. You want your glasses whereas you also owe me an apology and I’m ready to accept it.” he explains with fake generosity.

“I’m not gonna beg you, you idiot.” I hiss between my teeth and grab towards his hands but I’m not fast enough to catch him off guard. He raises his arm high before I could get my property back and smiles down at me with a smug expression.

Does he want me to bounce like a puppy? Well, I won’t. Actually, the only possible weapon that comes to mind is as childish as his stupid little trick but the end justifies the means… But I have to be quick since my one hand is busy with keeping the towel around my body and I don’t want to grope him for too long time either. But he didn’t leave me any other choice, unfortunately.

“Fine, Stoney…” I pretend giving in. “You’re right. So listen to me carefully because you’re not going to hear this from me too often…”

“I’m all ears.” he spreads out his free arm.

Piece of cake.

“Sooo…” I approach him cautiously “Stoney, I just want to say… TICKLE ATTACK!!!” I yell and poke my fingers between his ribs.

The effect is beyond expression. He immediately doubles over letting out a wide range of animal sounds and it only takes a few seconds to tear out my spectacles of his hand maintaining the offensive with my other hand.

“Ha, victory!”I yell chuckling at his convulsion but as I hear a weird noise over his whining, I immediately stiffen. “What was that?”

“What’s… what?” he asks still groaning.

“Didn’t you hear that? I think someone slammed the door…” I stutter as I place my glasses on my nose. “And that means someone had opened it before… and maybe saw us…”

“Bullshit. And even if it happened as you think, all that could be seen was you committing sexual harassment on me so…” he smirks sassily leaning back against the sink.

What an obnoxious asshole. And he’s also wearing flip-flops, which I’ve always hated on men, seriously, I could slap him with them…

“Sexual harassment? I would rather jump on a male tapir than engaging into an erotic intermezzo with you!” I tuck my hair nervously behind my ear.

“You and a tapir? I wish I could see the offsprings…” he keeps grinning and flips his wet hair back… actually, it’s surprising, usually, he’s not a big hair washer. A tiny waterdrop is swinging on the end of one of the dark strands that are wavier than usual, this must be their natural state… then the drop slowly falls on his shoulder and follows the line of his collarbone, changing direction at his neck only to gain momentum and now it’s pulling a trail along his flat stomach and…

“Ahem…” he clears his throat “shall we go? Or do you want to examine my naked body for a while?”

“Let’s go” I start like I was waking up from a dream and I can feel my cheeks are burning for some mysterious reasons. “But you go first, I don’t want to make myself ridiculous in front of more people tonight.”

“Okay, okay…” he walks out with lazy reluctance. “All clear!” he shouts and I put my head out of the door to check he’s not trying to trick me again. How can he walk so leisurely, isn’t he bothered by the fact he’s almost naked? And why did he wrap that towel so tightly around his waist that it shows every curve of his…body parts…?

“Do you want to spend the night in there?” he suddenly turns back and I can only hope I managed to look away fast enough.

“No… no…I’m coming…” I mutter and follow him in duck walk, squeezing my toiletry bag.

He stops at his door and leans with one shoulder against the door jamb, of course he wouldn’t miss out my clumsy performance.

“Wow, gracious. You were born to the catwalk.” he giggles.

“Shut up or I scratch your eyes out!”

“Okay-okay but I hope we can agree that we’re even.” he waves an imaginary white flag.

“We are. And I say now good night before you happened to die under unclear circumstances.”

“Good night, Miss Hundred Pounds of Concentrated aggression.”

His audacious grin mellows into a boyish smile and I don’t know if I am only hallucinating or for a fragment of a second, he scans me from head to toe…

He pushes himself away from the wall and disappears in the dark room, leaving me frozen in the hallway. I stumble back to my room and I plop down on my bed. But what was that stare? He was probably just mocking me as usual, he’s surrounded by beautiful girls and he must find my dwarf body structure ridiculous. But he said we’re even… I stare at the toiletry bag on my lap, although I didn’t turn on the light, its pattern is clearly visible in the street lights filtering through the torn curtain. Musical notes, treble keys… wait. He claimed he didn’t know it was me in the shower. But who else in the bunch would have a bag with these motifs? He knew it was me. He knew it and he still came in. He wanted to humiliate me, it wasn’t just an embarrassing coincidence. Stone Gossard, we’re everything but even.

***

„These piggies are so cute.”

“Yes, they are totally adorable.” Layne agrees observing them with a tender smile. “Look at their mom, how patiently she’s bearing as they’re pestering her… geez, some of these little fuckers are pretty aggressive… look at that one!”

He points at a spotted piglet which is the greediest in the bunch; I don’t know much about domestic animals, I can only guess he’s a tiny boar. He’s tossing away all his siblings to get free access to his mther’s teats and even after he gets one of them, he keeps her poking with his power outlet-shaped nose. Well, moms are the most patient creatures on earth, I’m sure I’ve caused a lot of trouble to mine too…

“I wonder if we can stroke them, their hair seems to be so fluffy…”

“A bit later, now it’s mealtime. Their mother is very protective of them, she would bite your fingers off… I think she’s going to pass out in a few minutes, you can try to grab one of them while they’ll be playing around her.” the farmer-looking guy answers. He can’t be much older than us but he speaks in a slow, prudent manner, which makes him sound like a grandfather. He must be an employee of this place… whatever this place is…

“Effie would love them.” Layne remarks, still fascinated by the nursing process.

Effie? Layne knows Effie? Interesting.

“Is she here too?” I stutter confused.

“Of course, dude, you bought her here, remember?” Layne glances at me and raises one eyebrow.

“Really? And where is she know?” I scratch my chin still not understanding how she got in the picture.

“She stayed in the house. She was interested in the greenhouse and the gardener happened to be there, you couldn’t drag her away from the orchids. Seriously, Mike, are you stoned our what? You should take more care of your girlfriend if you want to take this thing between you seriously.”

Girlfriend? Effie is my girlfriend? Okay, that sounds strange too not that I want to complain…

“And… what’s that house you mentioned?”

“Shit… I’m not gonna help you out with weed ever again, this stuff has obviously terrible side effects on you, you’re like a drunk goldfish. Hey, Jer, tell to this asshole where we are!” he shouts at his approaching bandmate.

“Estamos a la hacienda Cantrell, hombre! This my ranch! And in a few hours, we’ll be eating the best food you’ve ever tried, Consuela is the most badass cook in the entire world! But we have the whole afternoon, I want to show you my new golf course, we could even play, I have tons of golf clubs, I can lend you one of them…”

Wait, something’s wrong here. I know they have their share of success because of this Seattle madness too, not that they don’t deserve it, they are a fuckin’ amazing band but I never knew Jerry had a ranch, I mean, it must have cost a buttload of money and however much I like him, I must admit he’s not that type who prefers savings to poker, dope and strippers.

“How… how long have you owned this… this huge farm?” I wave around clumsily trying not to sound too stupid.

“For like… ages…? Hahaha, man, I know my beautiful maids drive every man crazy, that was my point when casting them and choosing their uniform. But you can’t complain either, I checked the little blondie out, nice catch! That cola bottle-shaped body, damn…” the skirt-chaser underlines his words by drawing the mentioned contour in the air flashing a filthy grin. I don’t like this tone, I don’t like the idea of Jerry talking about Effie or looking at her, fuck, I don’t even like the idea of any member of Alice In Chains staying in the same state as her for more than three seconds.

“But first, we have to choose the dinner. Which one do you want?” the guitarist nods towards the pigpen and knowing his dirty humor, I’m not sure whether he refers to any food-related or he’s called hookers or what?

“How… how do you mean?”

“Mike, this is definitely not your day, just pick one!” Layne giggles glancing amused at his bandmate.

“But… what?” I still don’t get where this whole thing is going.

“Geez man, okay, I”ll do it for you. Come on, little dudes, it won’t hurt, I promise you!” Jerry leans over the fence and grabs two piglets by the skin around their neck.

“No, no, are you trying to say we’re gonna eat them? No, never, this is the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard, you can’t…” I protest shocked but the asshole doesn’t give a shit about me and carries the two victims under his arms to the pickup standing close to us. He ignores the desperate squeals of the poor little things: he throws them in the truck bed and climbs after them.

“Jerry, where are you going? You can’t… stop, don’t do that, man!” I yell almost crying but he just keeps laughing with that typical, pedophile Santa Claus laughter of him.

“What do you think, for what purpose do I breed them? They are cute and all but just think about a crispy, red, roasted pig spinning on a skewer over the fire… yummy… Consuela has a secret recipe, it’s delicious. I takes hours to prepare it, though, but I think I can keep myself busy until then, you know, that blondie is waiting only for me…” he winks and I catch to my stomach. Effie… Jerry… no, that can’t happen, I think I’m going to vomit, Jesus, this is terrible…

He pats the side of the truck bed twice, signaling to the driver that he can start the engine.

“Yes dude, until the pork gets ready, I’m gonna bang Effie… bang Effie… bang Effie… bang Effie…”

His words get mixed with the squealing of the piglets and the roar of the engine and the terrible sounds keep echoing in my head distorted by the Doppler-effect until the car disappears on the horizon.

“Bang Effie… bang Effie… bang Effie…”

…

I wake up with a start. My heart is beating so fast that it almost rips my chest, the blanket is soaking wet of my sweat, even my hair is stuck to my head and neck. This was the worst nightmare I’ve had in the past years… wait… if it was a dream, why can I still hear the snorts?

I slowly turn my head in the direction of the sound and suddenly, everything falls into place. The girl with whom I spent last night is snoring next to me… Her red lipstick and black eyeshadow is smeared all over her face making her look like a slutty panda bear and the little stream of drool in the corner of her mouth makes it even worse. Thus passes worldly glory… not that I have any right to criticize her look, I must look like crap too and honestly, I also feel like that. My head is about to explode, my intestines are burning… but I can only blame myself and that bottle of pure vodka we consumed last night together. At least the sex was satisfactory... yes, satisfactory is the best term, not more, not less. The beginning was creepy, though, with those weird outbursts of her about her nonsense prohibitions… I mean, who the hell wants to do stuff like that? Poor girl, she must have had hard sexual experiences. But that cowboy roleplay could have been even good with the hat and slight bondage elements and all… but her exaggerated behavior kept it in conditional. After all, we both got what we wanted and I don’t have to feel guilty. I didn’t force her, she offered, I just played along… it was basically her who fucked me. I don’t know if it had anything to do with me being the guitarist of Pearl Jam but even if it has, come on, is that really such a terrible crime if the “also ran” member of the band takes advantage of his situation once in a blue moon? The girls are never cueing in front of my hotel door, I deserve to have blast when a rare occasion occurs for some mysterious reason. And I don’t owe anyone any explanation, the guys and Eric are not my chaperones, I’m a single guy with needs and I can’t live in a fantasy world for good, pathetically sobbing after someone I haven’t even met yet, right?

Hydration. That’s the first thing I need right now. The only problem is that she’s sleeping with her limbs spread in four different direction and her left arm happens to rest on my chest. Shit, I wish I had left after we finished it as I always do after one-night stands, it spares both the girl and me awkward morning scenes, these things are not about romance, anyway. But this time the sex was intense and the booze was kick-ass so we both must have passed out after getting on top.

I try to slide out of the bed basically in horizontal position placing the pillow on the same spot where my upper body used to be hoping she’s sleeping deeply enough not to notice the change. I freeze when she lets out a few louder snorts after my maneuver but after a few satisfied smacks, she calms down and keeps snoring. I tiptoe around the bed to collect my clothes and I found all of them except my boxers… fuck, she must be lying on them. After a few seconds of hesitation I get dressed without them, they’re clean since I didn’t have any “accident” yesterday so trying to get them back is not worth risking.

I silently walk out in the kitchen and immediately spot a few bottles of mineral water on the counter… but taking one of them would be stealing, right? But if I turned the water on, she might wake up… I open all of the cupboards until I find a larger glass and turn the water tap cautiously until a thin spout starts running from the pipe. It takes a while until I fill the glass with this method but I gulp the content of it with one breathe in a blink of an eye.

My rumbling stomach directs me to the fridge, even if I don’t want to take anything, I can check its content, right? The cool breeze feels unbelievably good as I lean into it… let me see… further bottles of water, some milk, a piece of moldy cheese which probably isn’t supposed to be moldy, expired yogurt and a bunch of bananas. Shit, banana is my favorite fruit, the best resource of potassium and I’m dying to eat one. But I decided not to steal anything… but come on, it’s only a banana.

As I’m about to leave the crime scene, I notice a notepad and a pencil on the table. Maybe… maybe leaving a note would be a polite way of giving an explanation for what I did, right? Yeah, that’s it! Okay… “Dear…” Fuck, what was her name? Clarissa… Claudette… CLAUDIA! “Dear Claudia,” Shit, this is going to be harder than I thought… should I thank her for the sex? “thanks for the evening. I didn’t want to wake you up so…” so I ran away like a coward “I decided to say bye in this note. I was really hungry so I served myself with a banana.” and last night I served you my banana, Jesus, I’m a gross pig. “Sorry for doing it without asking, as an apology, I drew you another one.” I try to sketch the schematic picture of a banana but it looks like a nonfigurative or even phallic symbol from any possible angle. Shit, I can’t leave it like this. Luckily, the pencil has a quality eraser on the top so I can make the terrible scribble disappear and correct the message. “I drew you the only thing I can draw:” I close my eyes to recall the logo I’ve copied everywhere more times than anything else… “KISS” at least I can still do it… I go over the message again, I think it’ll do the trick. “I wish you the best, Mike”. I stop in the kitchen door on my way out. Even a KISS logo can’t undo a theft. I should offer her some compensation… I walk back and grab the pencil again. “Ps. Next time we come to Charlotte, I’ll invite you for a coffee.” But what if we bump into each other anywhere else? “Of course I also invite you in case we encounter anywhere else.” Okay, ‘Cready, you don’t have to write an epistle, you don’t have to surpass Tatiana, just leave finally before she wakes up. But what if… what if she doesn’t like coffee? Now that I glance around, I can see no coffee machine here… “Ps2. In case you don’t like coffee, my offer applies to tea or soda too, of course.”

Okay, enough, she won’t even notice, who the hell takes inventory about bananas? I shake my head, take a deep breath and sneak out of the apartment.

***

Coffee. The first thing that comes to mind in the morning. I know I drink way too much coffee but caffeine addiction is sort of an inevitable outcome if you’re a rock musician at nights and an espresso guy at daytime. Of course the receptionist or janitor or whoever confirmed my initial aiming: this shitty motel doesn’t sell any food or drinks apart from the broken vending machine in the corner of the lobby. He also said I can take all of its content if I manage to fix it. No, thanks, the late seventies-looking chips bags with their probably fossilized content aren’t particularly tempting.

I’m heading to the bistro on the other side of the street, it’s probably not much better than that place but a coffee without hair in it and a decent breakfast would already satisfy my needs. On entering I must admit, the smells are better than expected and as soon as I take place in a booth, a polite waitress appears at the table handing me a menu and producing a cup out of the blue. She immediately fills it with the hot beverage I was longing for. A cigarette would feel good with it too but there’s no one around I could grub from…

I’ve taken only a few sips of my precious drink when I see a familiar hat appearing at the entrance and in a few seconds, its owner plops down opposite me, munching a banana.

“The prodigal son has returned, huh?” I remark with a wide grin.

“I know you missed me, just admit it.” he answers with a deadpan. “God, I’m starving…” he grabs the menu and begins to study it.

“A coffee, sir?” the waitress emerges again and spills coffee in his cup too without waiting for the answer. “What can I get for you?” she inquires helpfully as she pulls a small notebook with a pen out of the pocket of her apron.

“One Aspirin and a bullet in my head, please.” Mike groans with a dark face.

“Excuse me sir?”

“Give us a few more minutes, please.” I try to send a “don’t ask” signal with my eyes and it seems to work because she leaves with a confused nod.

“The last time I saw you, you felt sick. But somehow you must have resurrected like a phoenix from its ashes since you were out all night… so… go ahead.” I lean back but my bandmate is avoiding my gaze, turning his head around like he was distracted by the interesting furniture of the diner.

“Look, it’s Judy over there!” he shouts pointing at the counter.

“Mike… no… please…” I groan in pain but it’s too late.

“Hey Jude!” he shouts and waves frantically.

Great… I bury my face into my palms.

Unfortunately, Mike comes to the brilliant idea of stretching his leg along the seat he’s sitting on while she’s approaching us; so by the time she gets to our booth, her only option is sitting down next to me. Which she isn’t willing to do, she’s just sending reproving looks at me until I realize the reason of her reluctance is my right arm on the backrest. When I remove it, she slides in the booth as far from me as possible, she’s probably sitting with half butt on the air.

“Hi Judy.” Mike greets her pulling his small metal flask out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” she tries to tear it out of his hand without even greeting us.

“Easy Jude, it’s empty, okay? It’s just a bad habit that I keep checking it.”

“Anyway, I doubt he would begin the day with spirits, seeing he was drinking the whole night…”

“What?” she screams outraged.

“Jesus, are you blind? He’s, like, the quintessence of hangover, circles under the eyes, grey face, he looks like a dirty dish cloth…”

“Jesus, guys, do you really have to talk so loud??? Anyway, thanks Stone, you know how to compliment…” Mike moans rubbing his forehead with his hand.

“I’m just telling the truth. Come on, tell us how did you get so fucked up… or… no… I don’t want to know the details.”

“You probably think I got wasted with a few local dudes I don’t even know and I fell asleep in the corner and when I woke up, I realized someone had drawn a dick on my cheek.”

“You left out the pissing-and-puking part but yeah, sort of. Ouch!” I whine when she tosses me with a strict face at full strength in the shoulder. “What’s wrong with you, do you think he’s a saint or what?” I complain.

“Don’t even listen to him, unlike him, I’m interested in the details. So tell me… were there pubic hair on the dick too?” she leans closer confidentially, flashing a cheeky smile and however much annoying I find her, I can’t help snorting.

“Jesus, six of one, half a dozen of the other.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Anywayyy… I wasn’t with some unknown dudes… but I wasn’t alone either…” he shrugs with a mysterious smile.

“Okay, you’re getting a vasectomy. That’s final. I don’t want you to get sued by teen moms from every single town we stop in.” I shake my head.

“Not that I’m the Casanova of the band, are we going to talk about the favors you’ve done to Seattle’s female population too? Do you begrudge me it or what?”

“I’ve had a long string of girlfriends, so what?”

“What?” our band parrot squeaks in again.

“A long string? There’s a herd of them!” Mike goes on.

“Just stop!” she screams and we both fall silent, surprised by her sudden outburst. “I’m new here. Explain.” she adds in a mellower voice.

“Judith, maybe you should improve your “reading between the lines” skills. My colleague is trying to say that he spent the night with a female acquaintance, I guess we can call her like that with some euphemism. And I recommended some fertility restrictions regarding Mike’s wasted adventures are like the cliché bad examples in sexual education videos.”

“As if you…” my bandmate is about to reply but he gets interrupted by the returning lovely waitress, and honestly, I don’t mind, somehow I don’t want him to reveal my dating history before the girl who never misses any occasion to point out my flaws.

“Did you manage to choose in the meantime?” she inquires.

“I’d like to have… scrambled eggs with ham and a sesame seed bun, fresh orange juice, pancakes with maple syrup, a peanut butter sandwich and chocolate chips with vanilla ice.” Mike reads enthusiastically.

“A sunny-side up with bacon and a cherry pie á la RR.” my neighbor lists.

“A vegetarian cheese plate and I’d like to try that deliciously sounding pie too.” I smile at the waitress.

“It’s even better than you think, Sir.” she winks back at me and as I watch her collecting the menus, I can see Camden’s disgusted face from the corner of my eye.

“Sooo… a Twin Peaks fan, huh?” I nudge her. “From now on, I’m gonna call you Nadine, it suits you in every sense.”

“Nice try, Bob… Anyway, Mike, if this is your hangover appetite, what is your normal state like? I got nausea even of listening to you…”

“I burned a lot of calories last night so…” he grins proudly, making me cackle up.

“Here we are, I want details!” I imitate a drum snare with my palms on the table.

“Jesus, guys, are you really going to disc…” Miss Prudery clucks in but luckily, my bandmate ignores her whining.

“It was… wild.” he smirks firmly.

“Wilder than that escort girl in L.A.?” I giggle since this is one of my favorite stories with which I tease Mike from time to time and it’s also a great topic to outrage this first communicant next to me.

“What? Mike? You’ve paid for sex???” Bingo.

“How many times I have to tell that…” Mike pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers with a nervous gasp. “Judy, it wasn’t the way you think… when I was living in L.A. with the Friel brothers, I met a nice waitress at a concert venue… we sort of hooked up, she’d visit me at the record store I’d work at… she was busted all the time so I’d lend her my spare money, I mean what I didn’t spend on booking gigs for us… and Chris Friel tried to warn me gently that every time I’d give her money, we’d sex afterwards… and once we ended up in a strip club after a gig and I found out she was a stripper, she worked there, I mean, she was dropping her clothes right in front of me… and she wasn’t only stripping. So I realized that what I thought to be a friends with benefits situation was actually a prostitute-client relationship, she was just too good-hearted to enlighten me. Stone, are you happy now???”

“Awww, Mike, this is so sad… but it’s also somehow so sweet… I hope you got a discount at least. But what’s with that girl from last night? What’s her name?”

“Someone has suddenly become curious, interesting…” I throw in.

“Errrr… her name was…”

“Jesus, Camden, you know nothing about one-night-stands, don’t you?” I ask to buy Mike some time but to be honest, I don’t know what to think seeing the industrial amount of condoms I found in her toiletry bag last night. Either is she a wild cat and a really god actress at the same time or this tour is like a project for her to get rid of her virginity. Ten times at least. And Jeff Ament has the honor to assist. Jesus.

“Why, I only asked…”

“He doesn’t know shit about her, let alone her name.”

“You banged…” she yells but realizing everyone looks at us, she suddenly takes the volume back “You had sex with her and you didn’t even ask her name?” she whispers between her teeth.

“Why? Names are overrated. Anyway, she introduced herself, I just… can’t remember her name anymore. And she didn’t even care about my name either.”

“Judith, I understand this is new to you, you probably insist on swapping business cards before petting and ask the guy even to show his ID before the penetration but in most cases, these things are going in a simpler way…” I use the occasion to torture her a bit and she starts reddening so much that I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Hey Stoney, don’t mock her! Jude, there’s nothing wrong with being cautious. I mean, the social security number can even be useful in case your partner suffers a sex injury.” he tries to help her out clumsily and glances at me for reassurance.

“Yeah, let alone the blood type in case he needs a transfusion after the experience.” I scoff.

“Could we go back to Mike’s experience?” she squints towards me with popped eyes making a nervous gesture. “I hope you had protection…”

“Jesus, of course, she was prepared…”

“She??? Mike, how can you be so irresponsible, it’s always the guy’s task, I would never ever… go out with a guy who expects me to provide him with condoms, Jesus…”

Ha. The little liar…

“Are we seriously analyzing these details? I mean, how was the chick?” I exclaim, earning one more toss arriving from my right side.

“She was… nice. I mean, she had that crazy vibe… It was weird, everything was okay until we left to her place, we drank, we played pool, she started flirting, I reciprocated it and so on… At one point, she threw herself on me, by the time I realized what’s happening, she was basically already licking my tonsils… not that I minded. So she dragged me to her place.”

“That doesn’t sound that bad…” I grin.

“Something tells me there was a “but” in the story…” the queen of condoms reacts ignoring my remark.

“Well yeah… she disappeared in the kitchen to bring more booze, so I turned on the TV, I thought some decent erotic channel wouldn’t hurt in the process but I stopped at a documentary, it was filmed in Kenya, I think, with beautiful shots and interesting narrations… she came back at the part on mating lions, she asked me if liked it, I found her question odd but I answered “of course” and she got completely hysterical.”

“How… how do you mean?” she asks fidgeting anxiously with her coffee mug.

“She… she freaked out saying she couldn’t believe I’m into that too. It so strange, out of context, I guess it was probably some dark secret with his ex, so I didn’t ask.”

What a coincidence!

“Interesting, the same…” I reply but a nervous little hand beats me in the thigh under the table. What the hell is she doing?

“Go… go on Mike, and what happened after that?” she inquires with a forced smile.

“I managed to calm her down, switched to Playboy channel, and you know… we begin to get  into the thing on the couch… but my stomach started rumbling, I was starving since I hadn’t eaten the whole day. So I asked her if I could grab some food before we… you know… and she almost begin to cry, explaining she never mixes food into sex, it was so incoherent, I couldn’t even understand what’s happening…” he recalls causing me a lightbulb moment.

“Jesus Mike, I know why she acted like that…” I exclaim chuckling since it I know this is more than a simple coincidence, his story has too much in common with my conversation with Claudia. Actually, now that it’s not about me, it actually sounds funny. Hilariously funny, I can’t stop shaking of repressed laughter… But those restless fingers pinch me in the thigh this time and when I turn right to challenge her, all I can see are two, huge, warm, brown eyes, begging me concerned… and suddenly I realize what they are trying to say.

“And why?” Mike asks back. Okay, I have to find out something, and I have to do it fast, think…

“Because… because… she chickened out!”

“Yes, that must have been the reason.” she agrees as quickly as possible. Okay, crisis averted.

“She didn’t.” Mike smirks. “She finally allowed me to grab some snacks and then… mature content.” he illustrates with fitting hand moves the events. “Okay, she turned out to be into rodeo roleplay, which was new to me but… after all, it was fun.” he shrugs not too convincingly.

“Was she wearing boots with spurs?”

“Damn, Camden, you always grasp the most important details…”

“She wasn’t… but she had a hat made bondage stuff to me but it was fine.”

Our meals arrive in the meantime but somehow the consumption of my vegan cheese plate seems to be incompatible with the picture of the naked Mike tied to a bed and ridden by Claudia only wearing a cowboy hat.

“A lot of people are into it but of course, there are different levels.” our troublemaker plays the expert with her mouth full.

“It was the enjoyable level bondage. Anyway, she had one more outburst, when we were finished.” he tells stuffing a considerable pile of scrambled egg into his mouth. “After the action, she went out to the bathroom but she threatened to slit my throat if I’d follow her. Like, why would I do that?”

I snort but I manage to fake a cough fast enough not to be noticed by Mike and abused by the travel-size Terminator.

“I don’t know, shower sex?” she shrugs casually munching too. Like she knows.

“Yeah, but that’s a good thing, isn’t it? Whatever. Anyway, guys, how was your night?”

“Terrible.”

“Awful.” we answer at once.

“Why, was it because of the motel or…?”

“I had nightmares… I mean, during that one single hour I slept. I didn’t really dare fall asleep because of the cockroaches… and I kept dreaming about them.” she begins to play with the food pushing it around on the plate.

“Stone, you had nightmares too?”

“Oh, no… although I had every reason to do so. I don’t know, the bed was uncomfortable.”

There’s an awkward silence. Mike devotes all his attention to his food and honestly, probably neither of us minds that he stops asking about last night. Anyway, as for the Claudia thing, she was right. He was proud of his conquest, facing him with the fact he was only a backup target would have totally ruined his confidence. I have to warn Scully too, he’s such a gossip. And Ed would certainly disapprove it but come on, Mike just wants to enjoy being the member of a rock band. He doesn’t fuck girls in every bush we pass by, I don’t think he should be executed for it. Jeff isn’t better either, drooling over you colleague, how immature and irresponsible…

“Hi Jeff!”

Speak of the devil. Anyway, why is she so suddenly so enthusiastic of seeing him?

“Hi guys. Wow, that looks good.” our bassist leans over to check my plate while Mike pulls his leg back to leave him space. Of course he couldn’t do that a few minutes earlier, so typical.

“If you ask me, it tastes better without Mike’s bizarre sex adventures but it’s a matter of taste.”

“Bizarre sex adventures? Something tells me I have to catch up.” he laughs. “How are you, Judy? You disappeared tomorrow so early.”

“Thanks, I’m fine, I was just…tired. Look, Jeff, I was thinking… if you wanna hang out today before the show? I mean, you said you’d show me a few chords and…”

I can’t believe my ears. What made her change her mind? If Dave’s jealousy trick worked out, I have to re-evaluate my knowledge about dating.

“Sure.” Jeff’s face lights up. “Anytime.”

“Aaaanytime, Juuudy…” I mock. ”Just don’t forget to put some money in his G-string.” I add mumbling.

“Jesus, Stone, you’re gross!” Mike drops his fork annoyed.

“I’m the gross? Remember, Mike…” I’m ready to remind him of his various drunk performances but as the debate is about to get heated, Eric shows up in the diner followed by Ed and Beth.

“Guys, we have a problem…”