#it could be told a lot more succinctly and plainly but

[angeart]

... here i am deciding that the in-between rambles for the hhau mimic arc are definitely too descriptive, obscenely long, and will not fit into one neat post. (currently 4,4k words and still going, and that's just a part of it still)

so in other news, yep, yeah, i split up mimic arc again to give this its own space—

[thedevillionaire]

Panacea

Exordium, part two, though this can be read as a stand-alone. This one comes with an 18+ label.  

Some other supernatural soap opera folk get brief appearances here too. Aera – Sorcery Leader and best of frenemies with Cerberus; Vampyra – Vampirism Leader; Ashtaroth – Incubus, Vampirism Understudy, Kia’s BFF and ex-FWB. Mentioned, not appearing: Lilith – Cerberus’ ex, and Therion, Demonics Understudy.  As always, any questions, please do ask! But anyway...

*

Offering a hurried apology, Cerberus sneezed again, more heavily than before, and Aera and Vampyra frowned at him simultaneously. “Cerberus, if you get me sick, I will never forgive you,” Vampyra said, the expression on her face suggesting that she was quite serious about it too. “I have far too many things to do, and not just this. Also, if I can’t do those things, then you’ll have to work with Ashtaroth or, more likely, whoever he sends in when he doesn’t feel like working, and you’ll completely deserve it. So think about that.”

“Mm,” seconded Aera, looking at Cerberus and raising her eyebrows as if daring him to disagree.

Cerberus, mildly affronted but feeling increasingly unwell, blew his nose, excused himself and took a drink of water. He cleared his throat, grimacing a little at the pain. “If either of you would like to try reclassifying the Demonics Levels without me, then please, go right ahead. Although surely Therion can do at least some of it. I’m not particularly keen to be here, you know.”

Aera rolled her eyes. “None of us are. And really, I’m still not convinced it’s even all that necessary.  We’ve gone generations without doing anything to rejig the whole ratings whatnot and the place hasn’t collapsed.” She waved a paper in the air as if it would back her up, not that anybody else could read it. “I mean, I do agree that there probably should be more fine detail between levels, but, at the same time, if…”

“Huh-TSSCH-uu!”

Cerberus, having abruptly derailed Aera’s point, muttered a reflexive, “Pardon me,” added a more than somewhat irked, “again,” and internally cursed himself for failing to shake this off despite his best efforts. He sniffled. Everything ached, his head foggy, this damned incessant itch still refused to abate, and he knew at this point his fight was a lost cause.

“For fuck’s sake, go home,” said Vampyra crossly.

A sharp nod of agreement from Aera. “Yep, what she said. You sound awful. Go be Kia’s problem. You can test her resolve about the whole ‘in sickness’ part of things,” she said with a brief sardonic laugh. “I’ll call Therion. If he fucks it up, you can fix it in a week or so, alright? Don’t pretend you wouldn’t be double-checking it all anyway,” she added. “And don’t argue.”

Cerberus hadn’t intended to. He stood, gave them both a curt nod of acknowledgement, remarked, “Don’t call me,” and disappeared.

 ----

 Closing the door behind him wearily, Cerberus leant back against it and sneezed heavily three times in succession, his eyes watering and his head pounding. Kia, her attention abruptly and thoroughly pulled from the Inception papers she’d been reviewing, peered down at him from her vantage point at the top of the stairs. Abandoning her work, concentration destroyed, she descended and crossed the foyer to meet him.

“Meeting over already? Or just over for you?” A rhetorical question, the answer writ unambiguous across her bonded’s entire demeanour. She reached up and put her hand on his forehead. “Well, at least you don’t have a fever. Oh, hon. I knew I should have kept you home tonight.” She gave him a soft look of chastisement. “What happened to ‘I’ll be fine’?”

He’d certainly meant to be fine. “Miscalculation,” Cerberus managed before his breath caught again, sharp and demanding, and he turned from Kia in haste. “Ahh-TSSCH-uu! Gods! Pardon me. *snf!* Sorry. Can’t seem to stop doing that.” He met her eyes with apologetic dismay, sighing. “I’ve been exiled.”

Kia made a gentle noise of sympathy, stroking his arm and motioning for him to accompany her into the loungeroom. She glanced up at him as his expression helplessly crumbled anew, pressing a pre-emptive tissue into his hand as he lost a very briefly fought battle against another heavy sneeze. “Hh-hh… Huh-ATSSCHH-uu!” He groaned, excused himself again, blew his nose.

“Aw, bless you, sweetheart. Sit,” Kia said, and Cerberus all but collapsed onto the couch. Kia moved to join him, stretching her arm across his shoulders and stroking his hair repetitively, soothingly. Cerberus closed his eyes, relaxing into her touch, although with a measure of reluctance. “Careful, darkling. I do not want to give this to you,” he murmured.

Kia, not concerned about that in the slightest, kissed him lightly. “I know.” She continued to stroke his hair, and he leant into her, energy drained and thankful for the respite she provided. “Do you have any cold meds in the house?”

Cerberus sat up a little straighter, sniffled again, shook his head. “I never catch cold,” he said with another sniffle, the unmistakeable notes of congestion starting to blunt his consonants now, and he conceded quickly to the soft challenge in his love’s eyes. “Alright, well, not never...clearly.” He claimed another several tissues, wiped his nose and sighed in weary resignation, pressed his fingers to his forehead against the relentless pulse of cold-fuelled ache. “But no.” And despite Kia’s expression now plainly reflecting well that probably wasn’t the best-laid plan was it, it was indeed true that he’d not had a proper cold for well over a year, possibly two – not that his newly bonded had any way of knowing that – and there were only so many unexpected events one could prepare for.

“Okay then, I’ll do a drug run,” said Kia, deciding practicality was the best course of action right now, and stood. “I shouldn’t be too long, depending on how busy Healing is. Here.” She handed him the box of tissues from the loungeroom table. “So, um, just a thought…if it is really busy, can I name drop you and skip the queue?” Kia raised her eyebrows archly.

“Hmm. Your hopes as recent Underworld queen are certainly ambitious,” Cerberus said, then after brief consideration added, “Although…yes, probably,” with a conspiratorial chuckle and a tired but knowing smile.

“Ha! I’m going to try it.” She kissed him again. “See you soon. Because queens don’t queue.”

 ----

 Kia did indeed return in good time, carrying a bag of Healing concoctions. “Hey, babe,” she said, kicking the door closed behind her and crossing the foyer to meet Cerberus in the loungeroom, where he now sat on the chair nearest the fireplace, looking more than a little defeated, a blanket draped across his shoulders, tissues in hand. “I didn’t get a chance to name drop my way to the top, because they were actually not busy, damn it. I swear, the only time I’ve ever kind of wanted them to be busy, and…nope. Anyway, the dealer is in,” she said, leaning over to kiss him.

Cerberus held up a finger to indicate that Kia should wait, pausing with brow creased in expectation, turning from her as that expectation escalated to urgency, excusing himself as hastily as he could, desperately and unstoppably overcome. “Huh-TSSCH-uu! Hh… h-huhTSCHHUU!”

“Bless you,” said Kia, looking at him with a mix of sympathy and concern. Cerberus acknowledged her as best he could, made a small sound of exasperation and sneezed again. “Ahh-TSCHUU! Gods!” He sniffled fiercely, managed to take a determined moment to recover, and met Kia’s compassionate gaze with a matter-of-fact certainty. “I’m going to die,” he announced succinctly.

Kia suppressed a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart. Well, um, probably not, but...”

“No, I-ihh-HH…” Cerberus inhaled sharply, shakily, and broke off in short order. “HehAHTSCHUU!” He groaned and cleared his throat, the resultant raw sting bringing with it instant regret. “I’m definitely dying.” He blew his nose, sniffling again, vaporised the latest addition to an increasingly long succession of used tissues, and put his head in his hands. “I’m so sorry, darkling.” Looking back up at Kia in sincerest apology, he raked his hair back from his face and rubbed his nose with resolute firm hand, sighing heavily. “I have a question for you, though, if I may. I assume you remember the night I proposed?”

“Vividly,” Kia said, chuckling in reflex at the apparent randomness of it. “Interesting tangent. But first, drugs! You sound wrecked, hon.” She handed him the bag. “By the way, I’ve been warned that you’re a terrible patient. More than once.” A kiss pressed to his forehead. “A lot, you could say, actually.”

“Malicious lies,” said Cerberus as imperiously as he could manage, which wasn’t particularly so given the circumstance.

“Naturally.” Kia rested her arms on the back of the chair, and brushed some wayward hair out of his eyes, tucking stray tendrils behind his ears. “Anyway, I think…maybe you’ve just never had the right nursemaid.” She kissed the top of his head lightly, running her fingers through his hair now in a tranquil, repetitive motion.

Cerberus raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” Well, it was certainly true that Lilith had never been caretaker inclined – not that he’d considered any alternative reaction as a possibility at the time.  Avoidance of these sorts of…contagious absurdities seemed a perfectly reasonable response anyway, he thought, as he rubbed his nose once more against another rising itch, frowning, but managed for the moment to see it off. He refocused. “My question, then, darkling, if you’ll indulge me. Earlier that night at your old apartment, when I told you that you were always beautiful, you told me that I was either a liar or crazy.”

“Or drunk,” Kia added brightly.

“Ah, yes, of course. Anyway, love, if you are even the slightest bit attracted to me in this…frankly ridiculous state—” Cerberus sniffled sharply, as if to emphasise his point. “—then I’m afraid you owe me an apology.”  

“Hmm.” Kia smiled slyly, feigning consideration, as she continued toying with heavy ebony hair, trailing her touch further now, slowly, down angular jawline, across broad shoulders, and mused, “I don’t know. I mean, what if I am crazy? Because—”

An acute deep inhalation the only warning, Cerberus interrupted her with a sudden, powerful sneeze. “AAHTSSCHHUU! ..ugh. Excuse…” he began, but the insistent, demanding need was not yet sated. “Huh-TSCHU-uu! Oh, for…” Another catch in his breath and he surrendered again, almost doubling over with the force of it. “Ahh-HEHTSSHHUU! Fuck! If I find out who’s responsible for this, I will immolate them!” His patience completely at an end, he looked up at Kia in consternation, the frustrated fury alight in vivid emerald indicating there was every chance that he wouldn’t so much as hesitate if given the opportunity.

“Sweetheart, I know that’s kind of a Demon king perk, but…probably a bit extreme in this case.” Patting his shoulder firmly on her way, Kia moved to sit on the table in front of him and tried to think a little less about just how deliciously being indignantly dishevelled suited him. For the time being, at least. She took his hand in hers, held his gaze. “Alright, I want you to listen to me now, okay? Take the drugs, go to bed and I promise I will do my best to make everything better in just a little while, but you have to help me out here.”

With a discomfited sigh, Cerberus sniffled again, apologised – though that green fire, albeit ameliorated slightly, still burned apparent – and nodded after a short time in mildly begrudging concession. He stood, taking the bag of Healing concoctions and the tissues with him. “As you wish, darkling,” he said, and kissed Kia gently on the top of her head. Another sniffle. “But make no mistake – an immolation would be entirely and thoroughly deserved.”

 --

 :Ash! Hi! Sorry about the intrusion, but I was hoping maybe you’d want to come entertain me for about an hour or so? Are you busy?: Kia stretched her legs out across the coffee table and took a sip of wine. :Also…I could kind of use your help.:

Ashtaroth needed no further encouragement. :Not busy, definitely would like to get the hell out of here, will help with whatever. See you imminently, sweetie.:

Kia laughed and began walking towards the door, reaching and opening it at almost the exact moment Ashtaroth arrived. He smiled and hugged her in greeting. “Alright, fill me in, love. A time limit and a mystery task? Darling, what is going on?”

“Come in first,” said Kia, heading back into the loungeroom to reclaim her wine and pour one for Ashtaroth. She took a seat on the couch and motioned for him to join her. “Okay, well, basically, the short version is I’m on a bit of a medication timeline, and I could use some assistance with getting into an outfit.”

Ashtaroth, taking a seat beside Kia, raised his eyebrows. “Not out of? Where’s the fun in that?” He smiled mischievously. “Wait, did you say medication timeline?” He looked closely at Kia, frowning in concentration. “Well, all hail to the Healing team. I’d never have picked you as ill. What’s wrong?”

“Not me.” She pointed upstairs. “Head cold.”

“My, my. So the delicious Demon can be undone like the rest of us after all. I imagine he’s taking it just marvellously.” Ashtaroth chuckled. “Ah…and you intend to be the cure, am I right? I am, aren’t I?” He grinned, winked and raised his wineglass in a toast. “Well, then. To the goddess Kia, panacea!”

“Ooh, I like it!” Kia laughed. “A little bit ambitious there, maybe, but, well, I’m going to try, so…here’s hoping, at least for a while. Cheers!” Kia raised her glass also, then hesitated. “Oh, actually, hang on. Probably shouldn’t. There’s kind of a fair bit of fiddly lacing up of stuff to be done yet.”

Ashtaroth drank his wine anyway. “I’m well practised,” he remarked. “And since I’m very sadly not actually the one who’s going to be the beneficiary of this, and I’ve only got an hour here – even less than that now – honestly, I should probably have your drink too.”

Kia laughed again. “Fine, but I’ll be doing my own eyeliner.”

“Deal!” Ashtaroth claimed Kia’s wineglass for himself, smiling playfully. He took a sip, then said, his tone serious and genuine, “You’ll be fucking irresistible, Kiki love. He’s so lucky.”

“Oh, Ash,” Kia said, touched. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“I mean it. He is. And I think,” Ashtaroth said, toying with Kia’s hair, “that after this you’ll even properly believe it yourself.” He stood, finishing the rest of the wine, and offered his hand. “Alright, come on! Let’s get you even more gorgeous.”

 ----

 Kia opened the door to the bedroom quietly, peeking in at Cerberus, who was semi-lying, semi-sitting amid an array of pillows on the bed, a Demonics text in one hand, and smiled to herself. Perfect. She entered the room.

Cerberus pushed some hair back from his face, sniffling lightly. Healing’s assistance had brought some manner of relief, though his head was still somewhat heavy with the cold he’d come home with and – to his immense irritation – failed to shake off, but he sat up a little straighter and widened his eyes as his bonded walked slowly further into the room, closing the door behind her. Kia, dressed for pure seduction in a black silk fitted minidress, velvet and lace detailed, bodiced and skintight, six-inch stilettos and sapphire eyes kohl smoked, her hair a wildness of arranged disorder, gave him a knowing smile as she reached the foot of the bed, and stopped. She placed one fishnet-clad leg smoothly onto the bed and looked directly at Cerberus, who gazed back at her in a mix of astonishment, disbelief and desire.

“Hey, babe,” she purred, shifting to sit now on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, her hourglass figure lushly emphasised by the corsetry she wore. “As promised…I am here to make your night…better.” Rearranging herself to straddle him, she lowered her body across his and traced a tapered dark ruby fingernail along his jawline, cupping his face in her hand and kissing him deeply before sitting up again, fluid, measured, catlike.

Stunned, Cerberus couldn’t take his eyes off her, absently dropping the text to the floor and barely noticing that he’d done so, mesmerised and fixated, only returning to his senses as a re-emergent, rising tickle sharply forced his attentions redirected. With a brief frown and shake of his head, he hastily claimed a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table, apologising as he did so but unable to do anything else much about it. “HHTSCHuu! ahH… HuhTSCHuu! Ah, gods, I’m s…” he began, intending to attempt a half-hearted protest that he wasn’t at all sure he was up to this and that he’d meant it when he’d said that he didn’t want Kia to get sick too, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “Shh,” she soothed, putting a finger to his lips. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” A little smile and a quick, gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. :Bless you.: Pressing herself closer again, she kissed him anew, warmsensual, indulgent. “And you don’t need to do anything…well, one thing, but I don’t think,” she continued, now trailing her hands down to his inner thighs and pressing, coaxing, insistent, “you’ll have any trouble with that.” She gave him a sultry smile and a quick wink as she felt him harden at her touch. She pushed herself against him a little more, and Cerberus made a small sound of pleasure, closing his eyes, giving in. Kia smiled again, briefly, wickedly, as she moved to weave her fingers through his hair and gently but firmly pull him towards her, teasingly licking, lovebiting and kissing him before murmuring, “Okay, babe, I need you—" Another soft kiss. “—to trust me now.” And another kiss, intense and absolute, accompanied by a heatwhispered Mindsend of :Drop your Protect.:

Cerberus immediately opened his eyes again at this, meeting Kia’s gaze directly, serious, questioning. :Darkling…: he began in reply, uncertainty evident, but she did not relent.

:Trust me.:

And he looked at his love, his heart, and he chose to trust her in a way that he had never trusted another and so gave himself over absolutely, and she took him in body and psyche and she was power, essence, flesh and dream, she was air and emergence, she was sensurround envelopment and possession, immersion, complete and completion, weight and flight and heat and heat and (oh gods) heat, sanctuary and abandon. She was vibration, whisper, scream and pulse, metronomic beat-beat steady and crescendo (breathe) and fall (gods) and arise, crescendo, once more, once more, again immerse again again (breathe) and again (breathe) fire my love, fire, the inferno elemental and burn, burn, burn. She was becoming, she was ascension, she was all the unknown and all the familiar. She was warmth and blood, the crimson charisma, ecstasy and power, she was urgency, debauchery, divinity, desperation, she was insatiable lust and beautiful sanctuary, the splendorous art of the succubus supreme, the frisson edge, enveloping centre and magnificent release, release, ravenous need, and (oh) she danced, yes, (oh) yes, unstoppable force ascendant, as she took his hand, his heart, his sex and his soul and she was everything, everything, everything, and she was, they were, and (oh, oh gods, oh) he was wildpurest sensation, plenary surrender, ecstatic enraptured climactic consummation everything (oh gods) everything (oh gods) everything and (oh gods yes) they were everything and now he was (oh, oh gods) he was (OH) he was hers, he was hers, he was oh (!GODS!) he was hers as he came supplicant unprecedented and she wrapped her arms around him and whispered I love you through his entire being, more than and more than, and kissed him like there was nothing else in the world but this…

..and Cerberus, as beyond words as he’d ever been, found himself unable to do anything more than gaze at Kia in a state of amazed reverie as she smoothly shifted positions on the bed to kneel beside him. She smiled gently, a little impishly. “Feeling better, yeah?” she said with a wink, and placed the palm of her hand on his forehead. :Get some sleep, babe: she Mindsent with Compel, taking advantage of his Protect still being down, and in entranced tractable rapture, he fell readily into unconsciousness. Kia kissed him lightly and stood, gathered some scattered items of clothing from on top of the bed, repositioned the bedcover to ensure he’d stay warm, and made her way downstairs, privately but without reservation delighted.

 ----

 Cerberus, rested and freshly showered and impeccably dressed in an all-black silk nightwear ensemble and robe, his hair still slightly damp and falling loose around his shoulders, entered the loungeroom slowly, almost cautiously, meeting Kia’s eyes with an intense focus as he did so. She smiled idly up at him from where she was lying stretched across the sofa and put the book she’d been reading aside. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said. “You’re looking quite unfairly hot right now. I’m not sure you should be, but…whatever. I���m fine with it.” She grinned. “I might even take some of the credit.”

Cerberus chuckled quietly. “You probably deserve all of the credit, darkling.” He walked over to sit opposite her and looked at her almost in study, a slight frown on his face, contemplative and in consideration for some time before he asked, sincerely and seriously, “What did you do to me?”

“Well, hopefully gave you the best orgasm ever, but I think you might mean more specifically, yeah?” He indicated agreement, and she continued. “Immerse and Possess, the succubus experience deluxe. Everything but the Take.” Kia smiled again. “I’m pretty good, you know,” she said haughtily.

Cerberus acknowledged this with a nod and soft laugh of assent. “I… We’ve had some marvellous sex, darkling, truly, but you… That… I can’t… You…” He shook his head. “Damn it, I really thought I’d have things together by now.” He sighed heavily, smiled a little, and sniffled. “Apparently I’ve forgotten how to talk.”

Kia laughed. “Babe, you’re sick and full of meds and, well, let’s face it, still a little fuckstruck, so…”

 “I’m what now?”

 Kia smiled, gentle victorious, and blew him a kiss.

 :Mine.:

 ----

[ellgrimm]

Sweets (OHSHC bakery AU)

He lightly dusted the rectangle of dough with fine, white flour and ran it through the sheeter one last time. Mori peeled the slightly bouncy dough off the machine bed and placed it on a tray lined with a piece of plastic film. Wrapping the film snuggly around the croissant dough, he smoothed out the indents impressed by his fingertips. He scooped the tray off the maple wood table and spun around gracefully, with habitual movement, to slip it into the fridge along with the other identical trays of dough.

With that done, he slid out of the floury work apron and traded it for a fresh one he kept tidy for sales at the front register. He washed his hands and checked for any errant streaks of flour on his face. Satisfied, Mori walked out from the fairly austere kitchen and into the world of rich woods and shining glass cases that was the customer-service side of the French patisserie shop and cafe.

Haruhi was in the middle of preparing a cup of drip coffee for a patron. Another customer just arrived at the pastry counter and stood politely, waiting to place his order. “Why don’t you see to our guest, Mori?” she asked cheerfully, as she held a gooseneck kettle and slowly circled hot water over the fresh coffee grounds, keeping an eye on the weight of water being poured. A rich, gold-black coffee dripped out the bottom of the cone filter into a ribbed glass pitcher.

Mori turned to face the pastry case and reflexively picked up a set of tongs. He performed a test click: *click*. Then he looked out over the top of the case and said in a deep and calm voice a phrase he had said at least 500 times before: “Good afternoon, what would you like today?”

But there wasn’t anyone there?

He scanned left and right.

Then he directed his gaze down and his heart skipped. A pair of enormous, caramel eyes were looking up at him from underneath a glorious mop of flaxen hair. The boy spoke, blushing a bit, in a voice that rang out clear and light, “Good afternoon! I would like one tartelettes aux fraises, please.” His French was pretty good, or at least it sounded good, Mori thought. “For here,” the boy added.

“Of course,” Mori replied, as he carefully lifted the mini tart off the ceramic tray. A glazed strawberry, sliced and fanned out over piped pastry cream, sat like a glistening red jewel. He placed it on a round plate and brought it over to the register counter. “Anything else today?” Mori asked.

“Can I… get a caffe mocha?” the charming and petite lad said reluctantly after reading through the coffee menu.

Mori caught the hesitation. “Yes, sir. How many shots of espresso?” he asked attentively.

The caramel eyes wibbled a little, damply, and he burst out suddenly “um? No shots? Please?”

Mori was relieved. Now he understood what the problem was: the menu did not list “hot chocolate.” He made a mental note that he should suggest a menu update to the manager. Making cute boys cry was already not his preference; and this boy in particular deserved the world, he immediately and definitively decided.

Mori nodded and completed the cash part of the transaction. “I will bring your strawberry mini tart and no-shots ‘caffe mocha’ to you in a minute, sir. There is a table with a nice view by that window, if you like.” He gestured to a small, round table that offered a glimpse across the street of a park with a duck pond. A coveted sight in urban Tokyo.

The boy smiled and practically floated over to the promised seat. He caught sight of a mama with her raft of ducklings zooming past and gasped with delight. Mori had to work incredibly hard to suppress a grin. It was everything he had hoped for.

Haruhi noticed. She noticed a lot of things, to be clear. Here, she was shocked and intrigued that Mori had said the longest continuous string of words than she had heard at any point over the past two years since he had started working here.

To be honest, she had been surprised when Kyoya had hired him on, considering how much talking is often involved in customer service. Kyoya, in an uncommonly forthcoming reveal into the inner workings of his mind, succinctly told Haruhi once that “diversity is a strength.”And that meant, in stark contrast to longtime coworker Tamaki’s effervescent and somewhat scattered personality, a staunchly grounded giant who is almost religious in keeping up on the daily labors of a bakery is certainly an asset.

Haruhi grabbed a silver dessert spoon and placed it and a napkin on the wooden serving tray, next to the strawberry mini tart. She winked at Mori as he finished making what was honestly a hot chocolate. He grunted softly, as if to say “hush, you.”

---

He came in every day that week. And every day he tried a different sweet pastry. As far as Mori could tell, he loved them all equally.

And Kyoya saw no objection to adding Hot Chocolate to the official cafe menu. “It’s not seasonally appropriate, but there has been an anti-caffiene health trend picking up lately,” he said decisively.

On the last day of his work week, Mori once again watched the boy leave the shop for the day. This time, the boy, busy looking at his phone, bumped into a trio of well-built, strong young men. He started to apologize for running into them, and Mori panicked a little, instinctively leaping over the counter and dashing past the other customers sitting at their tables. A blur of hyperactivity in an otherwise amazingly calm and inviting space.

And then Mori stopped, his heart beating hard.

“Haninozuka-sensei! We are so very sorry for getting in your way!” the trio barked, stiffly and respectfully bowing. Honey smiled kindly and waved them off.

“Oh, no, it was my fault entirely! I must have been busy with my own thoughts,” Haninozuka offered brightly. And after a quick exchange of pleasantries, he turned and walked up the street.

The trio lingered and talked amongst themselves. Mori tried not to listen, sort of. But he desperately needed to know more about this Haninozuka person. Their… sensei?

“Sensei was so...” Said the first one.

“I know! He’s been such a goddamn hardass at the dojo lately. I wasn’t expecting it.” The second offered.

“I was ready for him to beat us up right here on the sidewalk.” The third expressed, now relieved.

Mori was dumbfounded. This bubbly slip of a lad who giggled at baby ducks and was afraid to ask for a coffee without coffee... was apparently also a brutal martial arts teacher? He couldn’t possibly... and the name was familiar, but he couldn’t finish the thought.

Mori swam in his thoughts for a minute, completely adrift in the dissonance, before Tamaki finally caught his attention and brought him back to earth. “Mori-senpai!” he practically sang, “you left this winsome young lady before giving back her change~”

Mori’s eyes flashed and he looked back, embarrassed. “Very sorry, miss.”

“Um, well, I don’t mind!” she chirped. And she honestly hadn’t minded. He had been athletic and lithe --like an action hero-- when he vaulted himself over the counter, and it had made her think spicy thoughts she would never say aloud. Not something she had expected to experience during her trip to the nicest pastry shop in the ward, but it was a surprise she would treasure for years.

---

It was an agonizing week before Haninozuka came back into the patisserie.

Mori spent every shift that week dutifully doing his work, to the best of his ability. But his ability had degraded because a solid half of his brain was fixated on this mystery. Cute? Cruel? Sweets? Sensei? It consumed him, and he was beginning to hate himself for it. It had been much easier to do this job before he had someone he so looked forward to being around.

Then Mori caught himself. Sure, the work was easier before, when he had been habitually focused entirely on the tasks. Separating eggs. Measuring flour. Shaping butter into thick slabs. Pouring coffee and picking croissants out of the case. Even washing dishes. It had become a somewhat mindless rhythm.

But Haninozuka had made him want to come to work. It made the work feel more purposeful, somehow. It was like Mori had a specific audience in mind when he wiped tables. An audience he wanted to feel safe and comfortable and happy in his domain.

But what if Haninozuka was a bad person? Those three guys had been so sure that this was an unusual side to him. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for their comments to color his idea of this boy. But he also was afraid it would be foolish to not heed their words. Surely they knew their sensei better than Mori could possibly have gotten to in a handful of hours over a few days?

But eventually, he did come back.

This time, he was escorted by the trio from before, as well as a new face. The fourth person, who had similar facial features to Haninozuka, but was a bit taller than him, also had a permanent scowl topped with a grown out bowl cut and glasses, and he was nervously eyeing Haninozuka, watching to see what he would order.

Mori was ready to push the register icon for in the hot chocolate part of the order, and jumped ahead to asking “What pastry would you like today, sir?”

Haninozuka, looking resolute, jaw clenched and without the usual gleam in his warm eyes, stated plainly “I’ll take a plain croissant and black coffee today. Thank you.” The bowl cut kid visibly relaxed a little.

Mori felt the pain in his unusually flat voice, but only nodded. “Excellent choice. Is this together or separate?”

Once he finished taking the group order, they paid and left to go sit down at a pair of tables outside on the sidewalk, well away from the previously frequented pond-viewing seat.

Mori turned to the task at hand. He brought out a set of wooden half-trays, one for each order, and selected pastries for each guest while Haruhi got to work on the drinks. Mori used the tongs to pick up the plain croissant and paused. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt so wrong.

He put it back and selected a hazelnut and chocolate ganache filled croissant instead. It looked nearly identical on the outside, especially if you weren’t paying close attention. Only a small seam with chocolate peeking through could be noticed, and even then, that was on the bottom side of the pastry.

He then turned to Haruhi and said, without room for question, “make the black coffee a hot chocolate. And put all the drinks in to-go cups.”

Haruhi smiled, and used a marker to write “black” on the paper cup that would be destined to not, in fact, have any coffee in it whatsoever. She was already thinking similarly, but had been waiting for Mori to declare it officially.

Haruhi helped Mori carry the trays of drinks and pastries out to the sidewalk tables. He carefully placed the correct one in front of Haninozuka and gave a half smile. Haninozuka barely noticed, staring dead ahead, bracing himself for what would be an absolute trial of bitter drink and plain food. She distributed napkins and utensils appropriately. They both chimed “Thank you, please enjoy,” and turned to head back inside.

“Why don’t you wipe down table 3?” prompted Haruhi, who magically produced a clean damp rag and offered it to Mori. Table 3 was inside the shop, but aside from the large pane of clear glass, was right next to the sidewalk tables. The audio was barely muffled. Mori took the cloth and singlemindedly started wiping at a table that was cerftifiably already clean.

Haninozuka tremulously started with the pastry. He nibbled cautiously at one corner. He sighed.

Mori cursed silently. “You have to take a bigger bite to get to the filling!” he thought.

Haninozuka couldn’t bring himself to try a sip of black coffee yet. He went back to the croissant. This time a luscious double whammy of chocolate and hazelnut hit his tongue. His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.

Haninozuka Yasuchika, his brother, was taking a bite of his own pastry and found the kouign-amann satisfactorily salty as well as only lightly sweet. He grabbed his latte and brought it to his lips, then paused. He couldn’t help himself. Squinting suspiciously through his glasses, which light glinted off of even though they were all fully sitting in the shade, he prodded verbally “what about your black coffee, Mitsukuni-san?”

Mori kept pushing the cleaning rag over a now polished strip of an already spotless table and watched intently. “Mitsukuni” he thought to himself. “A nice name. And… I feel like I know it?”

Mitsukuni tried to not lament the inevitable ruination of his surprisingly edible, nay delicious, croissant. He reached for his cup and brought it closer. Holding his breath, so as not to overpower his sense of taste, he sipped delicately. Yasuchika grinned.

“Why it is perfectly tasty, brother! As usual, I mean.” Mitsukuni smiled, practically florid.

Yasuchika was caught between doubt and relief. His alien brother had so obviously hated giving up sweet things this past month. How could anyone go from entire cakes to once piece of (albeit very nice) plain bread? And from the most syrupy, whipped cream-bedecked drinks to black coffee? It was an unprecendented transformation. But on the other hand, Yasuchika felt accomplished. He had singlehandedly pressured his older brother to reform his ways. It was for the best, obviously. What sort of dojo is led by someone who would do anything for a chocolate bar? The lack of self control was shameful.

The other three guys were completely oblivious to the intimate details of sugary drama. They had simply thought it would be a good idea to bring their sensei to the only place they had seen him happy in recent memory, as part of a quiet campaign to improve the captain’s mood. Practice had gotten shockingly intense this past week, and, if they were to survive next week they needed their sensei to ease off a touch. Not that they could EVER say so to his face.

Mori checked that Mitsukuni was happily enjoying his hot chocolate and pastry, and that Yasuchika remained none the wiser. Satisfied, he decided the table’s newly worn hole was deep enough and turned back to his work behind the service counter. Haruhi winked and said nothing.

---

It was almost another week before Mitsukuni came back to the patisserie. Mori had been more patient this time. He felt firmly confident that Mitsukuni would find his way back when he was ready.

And his patience was rewarded, in a way.

Mitsukuni staggered in, after dark and only twenty minutes before closing. His eyes were bleary and his countenance groggy and listless. Mitsukuni, usually so sprightly and upright, dragged his bookbag on the ground and pulled up to the duck-watching table. Mori wasn’t sure what to do. Hand the man a hot chocolate as usual? Or… ask how he was doing???

Mori decided to walk over and offer some direct, compassionate human interaction. “Good evening,” he said, simply.

Mitsukuni looked up, with dark circles under his eyes.

He slammed his hand on the table, which startled Mori for but a moment, and said “I wanna shot!”

“...” said Mori.

“Of chocolate syrup, I mean. Like, a couple pumps in an espresso glass.”

Mori left and came back in an inhumanly fast turnaround with exactly that, and offered the teeny glass full of viscous sugary syrup to Mitsukuni, who promptly sucked it down and smacked the glass upside down on the table. “Another!” he garbled.

Mori didn’t remember grabbing the entire syrup bottle, but it was in his hand already. He decided not to think too hard about that and just left the entire thing on the table and walked away, back to cleaning up behind the counter for the night.

Well after the shop closed, with most of the lights off, save for the one over the register, Mori was done closing with one exception. Mitsukuni was finishing the last of the chocolate syrup. He had perked up considerably, and was now waving his arms animatedly, talking fast about his troubles.

“And Chika-chan comes up to me, and says, you know what he says?” Mori did not know. “He says that real men don’t like sweet things! He tells me I won’t be able to get any respect from my men if I keep eating midnight cakes and carrying candies in my pockets!”

Mori assumed Chika-chan must be the grumpy boy in glasses from the other day. He couldn’t say he liked him, particularly. Or, to be more precise, he didn’t like anyone who dared tell Mitsukuni that his respectability was dependent on having “appropriate” and “masculine” interests.

Mitsukuni blurted out a final exclamation of “Chika doesn’t have the balls to talk shit about Usa-chan, though!” and he… passed out.

Mori didn’t know who this Usa-chan was, but he did know that the shop was closed and that Mitsukuni needed to go home. But where was home?

He decided to try something. He looked up the name “Mitsukuni” along with the words “Bunkyo ward” and “dojo.” The search results were conveniently helpful, offering a website that encouraged serious karate students to sign up under the tutelage of Haninozuka Mitskuni.

“Oh. He is really that Haninozuka,” Mori thought to himself. Ages ago, there had been a falling out between their families. Once a close bond through fealty and eventually marriage and bloodline between the Haninozuka and the Morinozuka families, had been broken a couple generations back. The stories we still told, the wounds still fresh. Mori hadn’t even thought about them as “real” since they had become more of a background radiation to his life than a pressing influence. Until today, that is.

He grabbed the leather book bag and slung it over his shoulder, and then picked Mitsukuni up gingerly. Mitsukuni remained unconscious, a few smears of chocolate around his mouth. A legendary sugar crash.

Mori locked up the shop, without even having to put the boy down. He walked towards the Haninozuka family dojo, which was close by.

The lights were on. It was fairly quiet on the grounds. Only once voice was shouting from inside the dojo training hall as they practiced the forms.

Mori called out. “Excuse me. I have your sensei.”

A surprised face poked out. It was Yasuchika. “My… sensei? Oh, you mean my brother, Mitsukuni.” He looked suspiciously at Mori. “Who are you? What did you do to him?”

“I work at the French pastry shop up the street. I didn’t do anything, he was just very very tired.”

Mori purposefully “forgot” to mention his name. And he didn’t want to stick around to find out what Yasuchika really thought of him, especially with their families at odds.

Instead, he gently deposited Mitsukuni’s slumbering form on a training mat and put the book bag down next to him. Mori looked into his calm, round face and committed it to memory. Then he issued a quick departing bow and turned away, leaving the compound. He didn’t look back with his eyes, but a small part of him looked forward with his heart, in a complicated way.

He couldn’t shake that, despite it all, he still wanted to see this Haninozuka back at his patisserie and cafe. He walked home, tired.

[pablolf]

I don't want it to be about me, but as David Foster Wallace noted, the problem is there is no life experience we can have that doesn't happen by going through our own two eyeballs. So what is the way past that? I've been watching a lot of Twin Peaks: The Return lately and reading and writing about it as well. One of the topics that gets discussed is Lynch's frequent use of violence in regard to women and the old school sense of gender politics. I could get into the validity (starting with the fact he's in his 70s), but a lot of it goes back to the depiction endorsement stuff, along with the right to disinterest. I don't know if he's woke, but if you want to know what Lynch is really about in his heart, then it's embodied in Gordon Cole talking to the famous transvestite-now-transwoman character Denise (played by David Duchovny) and how he said the following about her struggles within the Bureau, "And when you became Denise, I told all your colleagues, those clown comics, to fix their hearts or die." At this, I cried. It just started happening. Just to hear Lynch, this old master of cinema, so plainly and so succinctly take on the question of the hour and answer with that exact phrasing, hit me right in the gut. And, of course, it left me with another question: What does it really mean to “fix your heart?" It's not your mind. It's not your viewpoint. It's not getting on the right side. It's fixing your heart. So really, it's about having compassion. Which means it's about compassion for others, but not in the proverbial sense, for it's not the theoretical masses or minorities out there. It's finding compassion for the other person. The person right in front of you. The person talking. No matter who they are and what they are saying about you. And, no, that doesn't mean tolerating their viewpoints. It's understanding their personhood. I do actually realize what I'm asking with this. In the modern social media landscape, there's a litany of people with the most hateful, toxic, horrific opinions whose only goal is to tear you down. These are people who genuinely mean ill will, so you largely need to remove yourself from that toxicity. No, this sentiment is far more about the conversation within cannibalizing liberal circles and ally-ship, when it comes from the people you would like to count yourself among. It's about us figuring out how to all row in the same direction, that's where it becomes critical. That's where it's all about finding your own capacity for change and reflection, not demanding theirs.

Film Crit Hulk SMASH: On Criticism In The Intersectional Age - A look at the defensiveness and misunderstandings of our cultural confluence.

[sweet-christabel]

A Trusted Friend In Science

FF.net: (x) AO3: (x)

Chapter Thirty-Five - 2035. Return.

Doug barely had time to yell before Chell disappeared in a flash of excruciatingly bright light. He squeezed his eyes shut with a brief exclamation of pain. Barely a second later, the room dimmed beyond his eyelids, but it took a moment for his vision to return to normal. The ship was gone, along with the gangplank and the two workbenches that had been closest to it. Chell was gone too.

He felt numb. Knees giving out, he sank down, lowering Wheatley to the floor. His mind raced as he tried to process everything that had happened. It had happened far too fast, had stolen his breath. She was gone.

She was gone, and he had no idea what to do.

He felt a sudden urge for the companion cube’s silent support, but he’d left it in the back of Gordon’s truck. He was lost. All his plans for the future had involved her in some way. How was he supposed to go on alone?

But then there was a cough.

He looked up with wide eyes, acute hope elbowing its way past his defences, halting all coherent thoughts.

A pair of hands reached up to grip the edge of the dry dock. Chell hauled herself up on wobbly arms, soaked to the skin and shaking badly.

Doug shot clumsily to his feet, accidentally kicking a yelping Wheatley in his haste to help her. Ironically, the dry dock was full of water, the surrounding area wet. Chell’s trembling limbs were making it difficult for her to scramble up, and he clutched her arms, helping her pull herself out of the dock. She was breathing hard, looking to be teetering on the outskirts of shock. Heart in his mouth, he placed a hand either side of her face, studying her stunned expression.

“Chell,” he said in a choked voice. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head slightly, muttering, “Bruised.”

Letting her go, Doug shrugged out of his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. She clutched it, nodding her thanks.

Gordon appeared in his peripheral vision, and he turned to see what the bespectacled man had to say.

“Get her outside,” he ordered quietly. “The sun’s still pretty warm for this time of year.”

Doug nodded in agreement, reaching out to help Chell to her feet. Before they could stand, however, an irate Kleiner stormed up, followed by Alyx, who was plainly trying to calm him down.

“What have you done?” Kleiner demanded, glaring angrily at Chell. “Do you have any idea of the time and research that went into that thing? The experiments aboard are–”

Doug lashed out with a growl of irritation. “Back off, old man!”

Chell’s hand on his arm stopped him from saying anything more, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

Gordon stepped in to talk evenly with Kleiner, giving them an opportunity to leave the hangar. The sun was gentle on their skin as they left the shadow of the doorway, and Chell turned her face towards it, eyes closed. Doug sat with his back against the wall, knees bent, while Chell settled between his legs. He traced paths up and down her arms, trying to warm them.

“It was like before,” she mumbled, breaking the peaceful silence away from Kleiner’s ranting.

“Before?”

“When I…shot a portal on the moon and I was pulled out. The only thing I had to hang on to was Wheatley.” Her voice grew quieter as she recalled. “I never told you this, but right before GLaDOS saved me, Wheatley…told me to let go.”

Doug glanced at her in disbelief, a sharp flare of anger darting in the pit of his stomach. “He did what?”

“He panicked,” she explained with an awkward shrug. “That’s no excuse, I know, and I still find it hard to forgive him, but…he doesn’t handle panic very well.”

“Even still, that doesn’t mean he gets to order you to die.”

Chell nodded in acknowledgement. “I know. But it’s done. I only mentioned it because this time he yelled at me to hang on. After you did it first, admittedly, but he did it. But even still…it just brought all those memories rushing back. I fell unconscious almost immediately after GLaDOS dragged me in the last time, I never had time to really deal with what I’d gone through. So this time…” She shivered violently, and Doug pulled her closer. “I guess that’s why I can’t stop shaking now. I wasn’t in the water long enough for it to have an effect like this.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed her.

At his words, she shook her head, and he turned her face towards him with one hand.

“It is,” he assured her, meeting her gaze. “You’re the strongest, most tenacious person I’ve ever met,” he told her, drawing a smile. “But it’s okay for you to feel like this. Everyone does sometimes. It’s not weakness, it’s your body dealing with what it needs to deal with in its own way so that you can carry on being strong.”

“And I haven’t had a near-death experience in a while,” Chell put in quietly.

“Uh…no, I guess you haven’t,” Doug agreed. “Which is…always good.”

Chell gave a snort of laughter, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I was so lucky,” she said thoughtfully after a moment of silence. “The portal closed just before it would have pulled me through. I think the water pouring in knocked me off course.”

 Doug said nothing, his mouth set in a grim line as he considered what might have happened, what almost had happened but for circumstances. They sat in silence for a long while, until Chell’s trembling lessened, then stopped altogether.

“Are you okay?” he asked her when she fidgeted and sat upright.

She nodded, wrinkling her nose. “My butt is wet,” she complained.

Doug raised his eyebrows. “Not really sure how I can help with that. You’d better hope that Kleiner will let you use his shower.”

Chell shot him a wry look. “After you shouted at him and called him an old man?”

He grimaced, already regretting his brief annoyance. “I probably shouldn’t have done that,” he admitted.

“It’s okay,” Chell said with a grin. “It was very…chivalrous.”

By the time that the others joined them, Kleiner had calmed down enough to listen to what the former Aperture employees had to say. Despite his obvious interest in Wheatley, (who did not seem to appreciate being fawned over), his face was pinched in a steady expression of disapproval, which only let up when Chell invited him to the labs. Taking advantage of his apparent intrigue, she took the opportunity to ask about the shower. While she was gone, Doug told Kleiner all about GLaDOS, making sure to leave nothing out. If Kleiner, Gordon and Alyx were going to insist on accompanying them to Aperture, he wanted to make sure they did so with their eyes open.

The plan worked a little too well. Already impressed by Wheatley’s technology, Kleiner was unable to contain his fascination with Aperture, and spent the entire journey talking about it, pausing only for food, sleep, and necessary human functions. By the time the group reached Ishpeming, Doug could have quite happily strangled him. Chell kept diplomatically silent, but he could sense her annoyance. Wheatley, who spent the journey perched on Doug’s lap, was suspiciously quiet too, clearly disliking the fact that he was no longer the mouthiest personality in the vehicle.

They attracted a lot of attention when they drove into Ishpeming. Doug wasn’t at all surprised by that. There were few cars in the town, and none that looked like Gordon’s modified Jeep. Still, the thought of the blur of faces peering at them all when they emerged had him grimacing. His medication kept him clear-headed, but large crowds still made him nervous, and he avoided being the centre of attention where possible.

At Chell’s direction, Gordon pulled up not far from Trevor and Gerry’s house, and the group scrambled out of the car, stretching their stiff limbs. Doug glanced around for familiar faces, spotting curtains moving in several windows. Then the front door opened, revealing Gerry’s frowning countenance. Doug offered him an awkward wave, and the older man’s expression cleared at once.

“Doug?” he called out. “It is Doug, isn’t it?”

He wasn’t sure if Gerry was having trouble recognising him or if he had forgotten his name, but he smiled warmly. “It is.”

“I thought so! We never thought we’d see you again.” Leaving the front door open, Gerry jogged over.

“There’s some business to clear up,” Doug explained. “At Aperture.”

Gerry nodded in understanding. “Well, you know Trevor and I considered leaving after what you told us, but this is our home. We decided to take our chances. And truthfully, nothing’s really happened since you left. Brad and Trish went out looking for the entrance to Aperture, but they couldn’t find it.”

“Good,” Doug said succinctly, frowning.  

Gerry sent him a smile. “I know. You told them not to. Did you come alone or did you bring lovely…”

Chell jumped out of the back seat right on cue, prompting Gerry’s grin to widen.

“Chell!”

She beamed back. “Hi, Gerry.”

“You can talk!” he exclaimed, making her laugh. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“It’s certainly easier than writing everything down.”

He appraised them both with a searching glance. “You both look well,” he commented, sounding pleased about the fact.

“We are, thanks,” Chell replied. “Although,” she added with a shrug, “it wouldn’t be hard to improve on how you first saw us.”

“Well, I didn’t like to say,” Gerry shot back, eyes twinkling. “Neither of you are bleeding this time, so I’ll take that as a plus.”

They shared a laugh, then Gerry froze, his mouth falling open in stunned surprise.

“Is that…? Oh my god, it is!”

Chell and Doug exchanged an amused look.

“Gordon Freeman!”

Gordon turned at the mention of his name, hiding his pained expression admirably well. He gave Gerry a cordial nod.

“Ohmygosh!” Gerry squeaked, hurrying around the car to shake Gordon enthusiastically by the hand. “Mr. Freeman, I am such a huge fan. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“Thank you,” Gordon muttered politely.

Chell stepped up to Gerry’s side, cutting in and stealing his attention to give Gordon a few moments’ grace. “We’re all heading to Aperture in the morning. We were hoping you’d know of a place we could crash for the night.”

Gerry managed to tear his star-struck gaze away just long enough to tell them about a new guesthouse that a friend of his had opened. The group followed him to a large house in good condition, its open doorway guarded by a sleepy-eyed cat. They fully expected to trade work or goods for their rooms, but Gerry’s friend settled happily for Gordon’s autograph. Alyx quietly fumed about the attention, knowing how much Gordon hated it, but Kleiner seemed openly amused. Doug felt a pang of sympathy for the famous man, but he couldn’t deny that it was a good price to pay for three rooms.

They all gathered in the dining room in the morning for breakfast and disputes. It had been decided that Chell and Doug would leave Wheatley with Trevor and Gerry, but Gordon was arguing that Alyx should also stay. Alyx was, of course, in vehement disagreement. Doug sat cradling his coffee cup between his palms, listening to them fight it out while trying to seem invisible. An equally silent Chell and Kleiner had apparently decided on the same tactic.

“I’m not trying to belittle you,” Gordon said for the third time, his quiet voice weary. “I just think we need to put the baby first.”

Alyx pulled a disapproving face, but she seemed to be in partial agreement. Her hand hovered over the bump beneath her shirt even as she stood up for her independence.

“I know better than anyone how capable you are,” Gordon went on gently. “But we said things would change when we became parents. This is one of them.”

“I’m not far along enough for it to make drastic differences to my lifestyle,” said Alyx.

“No, but if this place can be as dangerous as Doug and Chell have said, I don’t want you or the baby anywhere near it.”

Alyx opened her mouth to retort, but the newest Freeman took matters into their own hands and stopped the argument in its tracks. Alyx gave a gasp, pressing her palm to her stomach.

“What?” Gordon said, instantly on alert.

“It kicked,” Alyx told him, eyes wide. “It’s never done that before.”

She seized Gordon’s hand, placing it on the spot where the baby had made its presence known. Gordon smiled as he felt it.

“I think our child agrees with me,” he said softly. “Don’t you?”

Alyx gave a heavy sigh, but nodded. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay here. Happy?”

“Yes.”

She glanced away, and Doug tried to look engrossed in his coffee, aware that Chell was doing something similar next to him.

Wheatley spoke up from his position in the fruit bowl. “You’re definitely leaving me behind, right?”

Doug nodded. “Yes, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried, mate, wasn’t worried. Just, uh, you know, wondering.”

“Of course,” Doug said dryly.

Following Wheatley’s accidental talent at ice-breaking, chatter started up around the table. Doug turned to Chell.

“What about you?” he asked quietly. “Are you worried?”

Chell swallowed the mouthful of toast that she was chewing, turning to him with a thoughtful expression. “Um…no, I don’t think so. I’m wary, but not worried exactly.”

He nodded in understanding. “I feel the same way. Sort of…anxious to get going and get it over with.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Do you think we can find that hut again?” he spoke up, swirling the dregs of his coffee around his mug.

“Guess we’ll find out,” Chell said with a shrug. “It’s not like we have a choice anyway, GLaDOS specifically told us to go in that way. There must be some structural issues with main reception.”

“I, uh, think that might’ve been my fault,” put in Wheatley. “From when I was…redecorating. It’s entirely possible that I may have accidentally melted the stairs in that part of the facility.”

“Melted the stairs?” Doug repeated incredulously. “How do you accidentally melt something? You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“Actually it was for security reasons.”

“Security reasons?” Chell queried, one eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. I thought if anyone tries to break in, a whopping great hole in the floor would be a good deterrent. I tried to move the stairs elsewhere, but it didn’t quite work out. Turns out the incinerator doesn’t make for a good storage room.”

“No kidding,” Chell muttered.

“Oh, don’t mock me, lady,” Wheatley said irritably. “You’re just sitting there smugly with your cup of…whatever that is, you’ve never tried to run a bloody massive science facility, have you? You’ve never, y’know, thought to yourself ‘you know what, there’s this great big room with loads of free space, perhaps I could store things in it’, then found out that said room is actually full of fire. Melted six flights of stairs, two small offices, and a bunch of water coolers that were just hanging around. Bit of a pain, really. I had plans for those.”

Chell backed down with a quirk of an eyebrow, choosing not to ask what sort of plans involved multiple water coolers. She fell silent for the remainder of the meal, clearly lost in her own reflections in anticipation of the trip ahead. Doug found himself doing the same, although he chose not to dig too deeply. He was afraid of what he might find.

Before long, they were bidding Alyx and Wheatley farewell and climbing back into Gordon’s car. Alyx’s expression was once of severe disapproval, but she didn’t argue.

“If you can’t talk to this thing, kill it,” she commanded firmly. “I’m not bringing up a half Freeman child on my own.”

Gordon valiantly repressed his smile, nodding instead. “Deal.”

Wheatley eyed Chell and Doug with a small, nervous movement. “Um…just…be careful, I suppose. And, uh…maybe tell Her that…I’m sorry for what I did.”

“Are you actually sorry or are you just trying to make her stop wanting to kill you?” Chell asked with obvious curiosity.

“Both,” the core answered at once.

Alyx shot him a bemused glance, and he shifted to look up at her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replied with a sigh, lightly tapping her fingertips on his outer shell. “At least I’m going to be entertained while we wait, right?”

Gordon starting the engine drowned out Wheatley’s indignant reply. He leaned out of the open window to shoot a quick “See you later” to Alyx.

“You better,” she responded curtly, her tight smile taking the edge off the words.

Gordon nodded to her, then pulled away from the guesthouse. Doug felt a flutter of apprehension as they finally got under way, casting a glance back at where the companion cube sat silently as ever. He didn’t miss having to rely on it, but it did seem quiet without its voice sometimes. Chell wasn’t quite as talkative, although her advice was just as sound, and she put his mind at ease much more effectively.

In the front, Kleiner started up his enthusiastic speculation once again, but as Gordon picked up speed, the rush of wind through the Jeep’s open sides snatched his words away. Doug was grateful for that. He needed to focus on staying calm, and silencing the small part of him that was aghast at the thought of trusting GLaDOS.

If we don’t show trust in her, she has no reason to trust us, he reminded himself.

But at the back of his mind, he knew he would never quite forget who had killed his co-workers, just as he was sure Chell would not forget who killed her father. GLaDOS, he was sure, would not forget their betrayals either. As starting points went, it wasn’t a particularly promising one, but at least they were on somewhat equal footing.

Beside him, Chell was equally quiet, the breeze whipping strands of hair out of her tidy braid and sending them dancing across her face. She scowled but let them be, knowing that trying to tame them would be a losing battle until the car stopped. Her thoughts looked as solemn as his own, and he hoped he hadn’t made a huge error of judgement about GLaDOS’s sincerity.

Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

A/N: I'll be taking a break for a week or so. We're fast approaching the end, and I've reached the point where I don't have chapters already completed, so I'm afraid you'll have to bear with me. Also, I apologise for leaving you with a filler-ish chapter.

Truthfully, work has become incredibly stressful in the last few weeks. I’m not coping at all well. My anxiety has spiked higher than it’s been for a long time, and it’s making it very hard for me to concentrate on creativity or fandom things. I’m doing my best. I will not abandon this story. But I can’t promise weekly updates for the last few chapters.

[vitriolic-execution-blog]

10 Breathtaking Facts About Moral Stories

Everyone has a storyteller inside them, and everybody has moral stories to inform. James Joyce as soon as said he never ever satisfied an uninteresting individual. The difference in between people who seem intriguing and individuals who don't is their ability to turn their experiences into compelling stories-- which is why we make storytelling such a huge part of our bootcamps. It's true that some individuals have more natural storytelling ability than others. But anybody can learn the craft of storytelling. That's because storytelling, thus many other skills, is just a series of habits and principles you have to learn. With some attention and constant practice, you can have people holding on every word of your story-- in bars and clubs, at expert networking events, and on dates. In this piece, we'll be speaking about those key behaviors and concepts to up your storytelling video game. Great storytellers inject feeling into their stories. 2 individuals can tell the specific same story with wildly various outcomes. One mesmerizes, while the other has the audience checking its watch. While we tend to try to find interesting stories, the real storytime product isn't what separates a good story from a bad one. What makes the difference is the emotion the storyteller takes into their narrative. For instance, I'm a huge fan (along with three million other individuals) of Dan Carlin's Hardcore History podcast. Carlin makes history captivating by linking historic moments with people and feelings, not just dates and occasions. You do not just get a sense of what occurred and when. You discover what individuals were thinking, what they were worried about, what feelings motivated them and drove them. Carlin creates compassion genuine individuals, drawing the listener into his narrative. Every story has an emotional core, which emotional core is how the storyteller feels about the occasions they're describing. Whatever else is just window dressing. So think about how you felt when your story actually happened. What was motivating you? What distressed you? How did you feel about your surroundings? How do you feel now about what occurred then? If you can reveal that, you can develop connections with your listeners, and trust that they'll be hanging on every word. Structurally, you want to find chances in your story to weave your feelings and inspirations into its occasions. Consistently go back to your experience of what is taking place in the narrative. The more feeling you can impart in your story, the better. This does not constantly have to be deep or complex. In fact, taking a second to state something as easy as "I could not believe it!" or "At this point, I was frightened" offers your story the psychological charge it needs to connect. You do not need to go into great information or be histrionic. You simply have to signpost your sensations and inspirations, and share them authentically with the audience.

As the old saying goes, you need to be interested to be intriguing. If you don't care about your story, why will anyone else? Excellent storytellers know their story. You require feeling to make a story engaging. However every story is truly simply a sequence of occasions that require to be told in the best order. Extraneous details slows a story down and can have individuals wondering about the ultimate point. It resembles informing a joke: You do not go on detours about what the chicken was doing for the last three weeks before it crossed the roadway. You inform just the parts that move the joke forward. The same applies to storytelling. So how do you know what's important to your story? First, keep in mind that all childhood stories starts before the main event. Why were you in the scenario that you remained in to begin with? What key info does the audience require to appreciate the remainder of the story? That's where the story starts. You require to tee up the story that you're going to tell before you start informing it. This shouldn't be your life story, but you need to succinctly explain how you got into the situation you're about to discuss. Once you have actually done that, you require to think about the logical order in which you tell the story. That's typically-- however not constantly-- the essential occasions of the story in the order they occurred in. But in some cases it makes sense to back up a bit and fill the listener in on some piece of background information that wouldn't have actually made good sense at the start of the story. And while some small details that aren't absolutely relevant to the story can be included for psychological effect, you don't wish to get bogged down in unimportant information.

How do you become a great storyteller?

Pick the Appropriate Time and Audience. Utilize a Hook to Engage the Listener. Keep It Concise. Do not Rush. Poke Fun at Yourself and Nobody Else. Vary Your Rate of Speech and Volume. Ask Listeners to Picture. When you've got your skeleton, start thinking about what fills it in. Who else is involved in your story? What does the listener need to know to comprehend the other characters in your story? Expanding the other individuals in your stories is one easy method to make the total story more compelling and relatable. Even if the individual listening can't relate to you, they might be able to enter the story through another character. While every story is different, a lot of stories follow a general pattern. You begin with the background, then tell the listener how the story started. This is the occasion that triggers the story to begin. The action should rise throughout up until it reaches a dramatic peak-- a defining moment-- also known as the climax. You then drive from the climax to the final occasions of the story. After that, you can briefly talk about the effects of the story. This is called the denouement, and it's the bookend of the narrative. Following this general pattern is essential to being a good storyteller. Otherwise, you'll find that many people, who have an user-friendly sense of what makes an excellent story, will grow restless. Above all, a narrative is constantly progressing in some way, even when it takes a step back. The story is the series of events, but it's likewise what develops the stress in the story. If feeling is what draws a listener in, the story is what keeps them wanting more. When you structure your narrative right, the listener will want to know what takes place next. Excellent storytellers create connection. The entire factor to narrate isn't to hear yourself speak. It's to produce a connection between you and the listener. That's the magic of terrific storytelling. And like any sort of rapport-building exercise, there's one simple rule in play: high danger, high benefit; low danger, low benefit. Basically, the higher the level of self-disclosure in the story, the much deeper the connection you're going to make with your listeners. But there's also the threat that you may expose too much and embarrass yourself. At the same time, you might encounter too strong and alienate and even offend your listeners. Ending up being a good storyteller is about mastering that trade-off with time. Ultimately, that's a calculated danger you're going to need to make when you inform an individual story. But I've simplified into 3 fundamental levels to help you get a feel for what you're getting yourself into: Light disclosure involves entertaining anecdotes about yourself and the world around you. Light disclosure tends to be short, with a plainly specified beginning, middle and end. This tends to be a quick little anecdote about something amusing or intriguing that took place to you in the course of your daily life

Medium disclosure gets more severe, because it includes your beliefs, opinions and concepts about the world. This is a riskier proposition, because there's somebody out there who's bound to be affected by your thoughts and sensations. Medium disclosure is best for after you have established some degree of relationship with your listeners. You need to feel reasonably safe that, even if they do not concur, that they won't be trying to find the nearby exit. Heavy disclosure is, as you might think, the riskiest and most tough sort of storytelling. This is where you start sharing your worries, insecurities, failures and pain points with your listeners. There's a two-fold risk with heavy disclosure. First, you may come across as needy or validation-seeking. Second, your listeners may laugh at you rather than with you. You wish to conserve heavy disclosure for scenarios where you feel very safe sharing deeply individual and unpleasant parts of your life. You likewise desire your storytelling capability to match the level of disclosure, which refers practice. For the most part, when you're out at a bar, service networking event or other location where you're fulfilling new people, you'll want to stick mainly to light self-disclosure with perhaps a bit of medium self-disclosure as soon as you've begun to make a connection. Heavy self-disclosure is either for individuals you already understand extremely well, or individuals that you wish to end up being trusted confidants and companions. Rapport is ultimately what you wish to achieve when you narrate, so don't gloss over thinking over this part. One of the most powerful factors to narrate is that it enables you to get in touch with several individuals simultaneously. Just how much do you wish to connect? A good storyteller understands his level of disclosure and utilizes it skillfully. Excellent writers practice their craft. When it comes to informing stories, the more practice you get, the better you're going to be. That might mean that you head off to a Toastmasters or sign up with a storytelling group. It might mean that you practice your stories around your bedroom or record yourself for your own personal evaluation. Nevertheless you select to practice, here are some pointers to getting the most out of the time you invest. Start by listing out a few of your favorite stories about yourself. These do not have to be incredibly in-depth, just something to jog your memory, like "the linguine occurrence." It's good to have a couple of bragworthy stories, but you don't want all your identity stories to be chest-puffing braggadocio. That can be a real turn off when you're speaking with individuals, particularly individuals you don't know very well.

Pick one of your favorites and list the essential aspects of the story that delve into your head. Write them down in an order that makes sense. Now ask yourself how you got in the situation. There's your backstory. That's the skeleton of your identity stories. Everything else is going to hang off of that. Now practice telling the story without taking a look at your notes. You don't want your story to seem canned or like you read from a script. You wish to jot down the answers to the above concerns, however that's more for the function of getting your thoughts in order. Remember what I stated previously: This story is a bit like informing a joke. So you want to attempt telling it a couple of different methods, keeping in mind the important parts, highlighting different bits and playing around with your story to see what works and what does not. Lastly, when you're informing your story to an empty space, you want to pay attention to your tone of voice. Your tonality is going to do help the listener know when you're responding emotionally or reaching a climax. Use your voice to communicate the feeling you desire your listeners to experience. You wish to sound confident at all times-- even when you're being ridiculous or vulnerable-- since that's what's going to show your listeners that whatever you're telling them is totally true, no matter how unusual or unbelievable it might sound. Always prevent singing fry and uptalk. That's never ever an excellent look on anybody.

How can I enhance my story?

Start With a Seed. Let the Story Tell Itself. Use Realistic Characters and Dialogue. Write What You Know. Close the Door. Keep Pushing Forward. Put it Away When You're Completed. Start a New Task.

It takes time and practice to end up being an excellent storyteller. Do not shy away from putting in the reps. The process of learning how to be an excellent storyteller is just as enjoyable (and much more fulfilling) as informing the stories online itself. And when you do master the art, you'll be amazed at how much simpler it is to develop emotional connections with the people around you-- among the most crucial abilities we can master in life. Stories grab us. They take us in, transport us, and enable us to live vicariously and visually through another's experience. As I've stated frequently in my work around presence, shared stories accelerate interpersonal connection. Discovering to inform stories to record, direct and sustain the attention of others is a key leadership skill. Storytelling likewise greatly helps anybody speaking or presenting in front of an audience. Yet, as much as we like to hear the stories of others, in my research I've discovered that the majority of people do not consider themselves good storytellers. I will often hear reasons such as: I never think of it I tend to rattle on and lose the point I have a hard time gauging interest I am never ever sure just how much information to use I don't have excellent stories to share However even if something is uneasy doesn't suggest it's wrong. Finding out to tell stories with self-confidence is worth the effort. As I wrote about here, there's a great reason. We retain stories far longer than information, and have actually progressed to listen and gain from them. Stories underpin cultures of companies, organizations, and whole countries. New individuals learn what to do and how to assimilate though hearing the stories of others. The same can be said for anecdotes, which are generally short stories. A Stanford research study showed that statistics alone have a retention rate of 5-10%, however when combined with anecdotes, the retention rate rises to 65-70%.

The truth is that a number of us don't bother with stories-- not due to the fact that we do not believe they are essential-- however due to the fact that we're not exactly sure how to tell them well. Here are some of my best pointers for how to embrace the amazing storyteller that lies within all of us. 1. Keep a log of story material. It's a lot easier to find the right stories if you have a list to go to. Get in the practice of taking down notes about content that would make for a great story-- client wins, difficulties, times of perseverance, and so on. To get yourself began, spend an hour just considering experiences you have actually had where you've overcome hardship and made yourself (or others) proud. Once you make a habit of it, you'll discover that you can get brand-new fodder regularly-- which you can take advantage of when you need it. 2. When you have crucial points, match them with a story. One of the most powerful applications of stories in a work setting is for conveying messages that you want to have resonance, from prevalent culture modifications to individual mentoring. To utilize stories, you only need to stop briefly, and remember to do so. And inspect that list you simply made.

The next time you find yourself considering what words you wish to state (a sign of an essential message), also consider what stories would assist support your points. You'll discover that it will assist you communicate your message, and for the listener to hear it. 3. Practice them. There's a misperception that great writers can whip these yarns out of their hats and deliver with aplomb. The best stories are well-told stories-- since they improve with each informing. Whenever somebody in my workshops volunteers to tell an excellent story, it's one that they have actually told often times previously. If you want to improve at informing any story, begin putting it out there for numerous groups of individuals. I guarantee you that you'll gain from each experience. And instead of getting stale, you'll get better.

How do you begin a story?

Develop momentum. Withstand the urge to start too early. Bear in mind that little hooks catch more fish than big ones. Open at a distance and close in. Prevent getting ahead of your reader. Start with a small secret. Keep speak to a minimum. Bear in mind what works. One caution: you do want to differ the audiences you inform your stories too. Practicing is essential, however you don't wish to be known for telling the exact same stories to the very same individuals. 4. Do not attempt to be ideal. A lot of us make every effort to be best in a lot of our lives, however you definitely do not want to appear that way in your stories. Perfect storytellers are uninteresting and robotic. Perfect characters in stories are alienating. Nobody wishes to hear how awesome you are, or how well you nailed your goal. Instead, we're spellbinded by stories that involve some vulnerability. We wish to become aware of battles, and how to conquer them-- so be sincere. When you share stories, be revealing about the obstacles along the way. It's alright to discuss success, simply do not leave out what got you there. 5. Usage great story structure. A great story isn't made complex-- it's actually rather easy. I encourage putting stories into a structure that has the following: Clear moral or purpose-- there's a reason that you're telling storytime, to this audience, at this time Personal connection-- the story includes either you, or somebody you feel linked to Typical recommendation points-- the audience understands the context and situation of the story Comprehensive characters and imagery-- have sufficient visual description that we can see what you're seeing Conflict, vulnerability, or achievement we can relate to-- comparable to point # 4, reveal us the obstacles Pacing-- there's a clear start, ending, and segue way back to the subject Lastly, a lesson I'm continuously relearning is that you can never ever have adequate use of stories. I will jam load a keynote with stories and examples, and will still get questions from the audience to hear more. So do not stress over straining anybody with your stories, and instead consider them as gifts. After all, you might hear a good one in return.

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Entry 330

 I snarled, ordering my son to return home immediately.  How dare he injure someone so valuable when acting on my behalf!?  Godric was too immature to be of any use of the family.  Was the fault mine?  I considered for a moment, just growing angrier.

 “Adelmar?” questioned my wife.

 I barely could contain the anger building up inside of me, but forced myself to stand and get away from the crowd.  I didn’t want to kill anyone here.  That endless song pounded through my head, ceaselessly calling me to join the dragons.  I couldn’t!  Not yet.  There was too much to do.  Something streaked toward me with incredible speed.  Shock pierced my anger.  I had thrown a punch, but James was holding my fist, having stopped it with ease.

 “Adelmar.  It’s me, James.  What’s wrong?” he asked, perfectly calm.  He obviously didn’t even consider me a threat.

 “When did you get this strong?” I demanded, trying to focus on the shock instead of the anger, but that terrible calling was still so loud to me.

 “Is it time already?” questioned Alma, having arrived shortly behind James, her dress hiked up in her hands.

 Guilt struck me.  My cousin would forgive me anything, even ruining her wedding.  Giving in to an idea, I dropped all of the spells defending me against magical attacks, immersing myself in James’ power.  In seconds, I was feeling better, the anger gradually subsiding.  Even the call of the dragon mother wasn’t a match for James’ peculiar magic.

 “Cousin, I wasn’t aware that your husband was holding back so much during his challenges.” I told her, restraining the spark of anger more easily now.  Why hadn’t she reported this to me?  I straightened my suit, sensing where my movements had displaced it.

 “I did inform you that he was much faster and stronger than I originally believed.” she calmly reminded me.

 “YOU SHOULD HAVE SHOWN ME!” I yelled, taking a step toward her.  The anger was spiking again.  When James casually blocked my path with his arm, I hugged him.  My cousin had chosen well.  “I’m sorry, James.  I’ll be fine soon.” I assured him as I stepped back.

 “What’s wrong?” he asked once more.  The obvious concern for me on his face was enough to keep my anger in check.

 “His time’s coming soon.” replied Alma, leaning against her husband.  She always did her best not to show her volatile emotions, but I could see her sorrow plainly.

 “Time?” questioned James.

 “There’s something I haven’t told you yet.” she replied, looking at him.

 “I imagine there are many things you haven’t told me yet.” he jested.

 “Just tell him.” I ordered, knowing James was family now.

 “My family is descended from dragons, and each member of the Slayer family is destined to become a dragon.  My mother didn’t die.  She became a dragon and went… elsewhere.” explained Alma quite succinctly.

 “Elsewhere?” he inquired, obviously interested now.

 “She doesn’t know.  None of us do.” asserted Adelmar.  “Welcome to the family.” I told him, forcing a smile.  Trying to deny these two their honeymoon was tempting.  James’ company would be invaluable to me right now, but I wouldn’t do that to Alma.

 “Yes.  Welcome, James.  We’re thrilled to have you.” agreed my beautiful Anwen as she hugged me.

 “Would you two care to come back for more photos?” asked James.  “We were just about to send for you, so your timing is rather great.”

 My smile turned wry as I said, “Timing on almost turning into a dragon and disrupting your party?  I think my timing needs improved.  Then again, I don’t know that I could have stopped were you not here.  Despite the other effects of your magic, there is a very calming effect to it.”

 “I’m glad I decided to attend my wedding today then.  Alma certainly would have been fired up if I had skipped out, and you apparently would have been as well.” he teased, grinning at me.

 Alma lightly hit him before saying, “Sorry, Adelmar.  He can’t take anything seriously at times.”

 “All part of his charm, I’m sure.” I acknowledged.  Then I told James “I still cannot believe your strength and speed.  If you had struck Hyun-woo full force, the man would have died on the spot.”  James had easily convinced me that the fight was somewhat of a struggle for him, but deception was valuable to my family as well.

 I was enjoying the company of my family quite fully before the vampires arrived.  Thanks to James’ influence, I didn’t lash out at them, which could have been a fatal mistake.  Even as a dragon, I doubted I could take the three old relics in a fight, and Ariadne was known to have wiped out an entire army of my brethren when she was two thousand years younger.  Knowing that Aaliyah claimed to be her niece made things even worse.  I mentally thanked James again for being able to calm me.

,,,^._.^,,,

 Even my concern for Adelmar couldn’t weigh me down today.  My wonderful husband had saved my cousin for now.  The reception went even better than I had hoped.  The speeches were a bit long, largely thanks to my cousin, but the meal was fantastic.

 “James, we should do some dancing while we’re away.  That ended too soon.” I told him, remembering every moment fondly as I nuzzled his arm.  We were on our way to the airport now.  At least, I had thought we were.  “Mila, you missed the turn.  Where are you taking us?”

 “I have a surprise for you, so please forgive this little stop before we fly out.” replied my husband, smiling at me as I tried to read his face.

 “Oh.  Does the pilot know?” I questioned, hoping he had considered it.

 “Yes, he was given the correct schedule rather than what you were given.” explained Mila, sounding amused.

 I should have assumed that she’d never fail in that regard.  “Lovely.  Our marriage has already started with more secrets.” I teased, already looking forward to what I’d be seeing.

 “Actually, this is to be a bit of explanation.” insisted James, obviously enjoying the suspense.

 “Oh?” I asked, just before the vehicle’s location changed.  We had driven under a bridge, away from heavier streams of traffic.  Then we appeared in a parking lot.  “We just teleported.” I acknowledged aloud.

   “You didn’t really want us to deal with traffic, did you?” teased James as he opened the door.

 After realizing where we were, I said, “I’m not allowed in there.”

 “As one of the primary shareholders, I give you permission.  The others have already confirmed.” he replied, offering his hand to me.

 I accepted his hand, sighed, and said, “Of all the places to go first, you had to pick one of the most plain-looking buildings around.”

 He merely shrugged, seeming quite pleased with himself.  I knew, of course, that this restaurant supposedly hosted the best food in the world.  The catering at our picnic and at our wedding had shown that the restaurant’s chefs were a match for Marco, which was very impressive.

 I nearly tripped after passing through the second set of doors into the restaurant.  My ability to sense heat had never been able to pierce any branch of this building, and what I was feeling now was inexplicable.  The inside of the building was absurdly large, far larger than the outside.  “What sort of illusion is this?” I questioned, as what I sensed from the diners finally registered.  

 “No illusion.  The Intergalactic House of Awesome Sauce is present on thousands of worlds, offering the best fine dining services in all of time and space.” insisted a familiar voice.  Evanna, the girl who had catered for us in the park.

 “You weren’t there a moment ago.” I stated, watching her.

 Smiling, Evanna said, “No, I wasn’t.  Please follow me, and I’ll show you to your room.”

 I had countless questions, but I didn’t resist when James pulled me along by the hand to follow Evanna.  In a couple steps, we appeared in a much smaller, even more lavish room boasting a single table.

 Motioning into the room, Evanna said, “Please wait here for your next host to attend to you.”

 “You won’t be taking us around?” questioned James, sounding surprised.

 “No.  Sorry, James.  As much as I would like to give you another tour, Carl has me assigned elsewhere today.” she told him, waving before she vanished again.

 “How is this possible?” I questioned, hoping he really did mean to provide explanations as he had suggested in the car.

 “Stabilized passages through space-time with radiation buffers, annoying people buffers, and other fun buffers.” explained Aaliyah, having appeared right beside us.  “Buffers… Don’t you love buffers?  Along with some other useful tech I designed, they allow the Intergalactic House of Awesome Sauce to simultaneously exist throughout all of space and have room for all.  Pretty slick, isn’t it?”

 I shook my head in disbelief and said, “You’re just messing with me, aren’t you.”

 “She really isn’t.” asserted James.  “Where would you like to go?”

 “When and where, really.  The ‘when’ is just as important.  I’m calling first choice though.  See ya!” exclaimed Aaliyah.

 We were suddenly transported to an open field near some mountains.  Far more astonishing, I could see my mother taking notice of us.  “Mother…?” I asked, fully convinced my senses were deceiving me.

 “Alma!” exclaimed Mother, arriving next to us in one leap of her enormous, draconic body.  “You’re married?”

 Illusion or not, I hugged her and said, “Yes.  Just today.  Father was there.  He misses you.”

 “No telepathy today?” asked James, sounding surprised.

 Mother snarled at him, looking annoyed, but James didn’t seem remotely startled.

 “Today?  You two have met?” I asked, pieces falling into place in my head.  I glanced from my engagement ring to my mother, realizing what had inspired him.

 James shrugged and said, “Of course.  How do you think I decided on a ring design?  I forged your engagement ring in a volcano on this planet.”

 “We’ve been fools, Alma.  After I attacked James, the dragon queen told me a great many things that I would like to share with you.” explained Mother.  “Why can I not see your thoughts?” she asked, sounding shocked.

 “I was given something that protects my mind from intrusion.  Adelmar approved of its use on Ai and Mai as well.  There are many things I would like to share as well.” I admitted, still struggling to believe this was really happening.  First, Father was granted sanity for the duration of my wedding.  Now, I was seeing Mother for the first time in years.

 “I’ll hang out over that way and give you two a bit of time to catch up.  We’ll probably be on this planet for a while.” stated James, jogging away as soon as I nodded.

 I didn’t even know where to begin.