#it depends on if my own trench coat will behave so i can take a reference vid of myself djskla

[flufflecat]

this is still not my beautiful wife (wip)

[promiseiwillwrite]

Refusing

It looked like a Dick Tracy Villain, Standing there on the sidewalk with it's back to the wall, just outside the circle of light made by the street lamp, in a trench coat, with a fedora pulled down almost over it's eyes. It turned it's round, bloated and distorted greenish baby face toward me and with a grin of smug satisfaction, it said:

"If you want someone to Trust you, you have to give them whatever they want, at any cost."

This is what my Pre-rational construct said to me, and I just about went insane.

This very thing is what keeps me from exercising discernment, and is the thing that makes me an approval whore.

This Thing, installed by the hateful hands and words of abusers in my past, that keeps me from owning some very damaging behaviors until after the damage is done.

It serves my pre-rational construct as this Override Button for my system of Values. It bypasses my Principles and my judgements that would keep me Safe and Sane and in control of my emotional wellbeing, instead of finding myself consistently at the mercy of people who Do NOT deserve my trust or regard.

I panicked pretty fucking bad.

I thought that THIS, Surely ThiS thing makes me For Real an all the way bad person.

This is where Co-dependency lays it's eggs in all my relationships, waiting for them to Rot.

But it is a Lie.

It is based on untruth, where it Only works if I have no Value. Where What I want, and What I Need have no Value to Anyone. This does not work in this reality.

And it is Huge and terrifying. It's Scope and Depth are Immense, and its effects sweeping... But Like all the others I have deconstructed, and Found absurd, this, too, can be broken down and conquered.

First, Trust is making vulnerable something with great meaning to you. Trust, in itself implies value.

I should trust myself and people that I know have my best interest at heart. People who have worked for years to show that they care, and who have not run away even when I told them with my words and actions that I was not worthy of trust.

I should Not, However, Trust just anyone. I should not trust people who by their own admission have no boundaries. I should not trust people who are like children. I should not trust people who refuse to take responsibility for themselves and their actions. I should even maybe not be in such a Rush to trust people who are New in my life, that I do not really know. I should not trust people unless I am sure about what they want from me, and only when I decide whether or not this is appropriate.

Second, My boundary should be set at maybe a little before "Harm to me and those I love". So "giving them whatever they want" is out of the question, and is not something anyone would ever ask in a normal relationship. If Someone IS asking for things I Don't or Shouldn't want to give them, it should be a Bright Red Flag. This also includes any Internally created idea or assumption about what other people want. IF I haven't asked them or been directly told by them, I cannot assume and then act as though I have some kind of direct knowledge.

"whatever they want" implies that what I want is less important.

I am among those I would seek to protect. The people who love me would want to protect me, not use me. And they would not discard me if I made a mistake, because I have value.

"at any Cost" is Survival Language.

I Don't have to exist in survival mode anymore. I do not have to think in those terms. People Aren't going to Leave my life like rats out of a sinking ship if I fail to behave in the way they desire. Relationships should not work like that. Because I have Value to Them, and I have value to myself. And Even if I made a Terrible Mistake and Everyone left my life for some reason, I WOULD BE OKAY.

And if I Do NOT have Value to them, and they Demonstrate or Say that I do not have value to them unless I give them what they want, Then They need to get the unholy fuck out of my life. Because they are not good people, and they don't deserve to be in it.

Furthermore, I don't need to give people what they want expecting a transactional exchange of trust or love or approval for services rendered. My survival/safety/wellbeing does not depend on whether or not other people like/approve of me. I have agency, and I am fully in charge of my Survival, Safety and well being.

I cannot by any action control what another person thinks says or does. I cannot make people like or trust me. The illusion that I can affect these outcomes in others is just that. An Illusion.

I can be trustworthy, and likeable. But trust and positive regard can only be given, by others, by choice.

But other people liking or trusting me does not give me value. I have value already as a human person. Having Value in the eyes of others Also Does not give me value. It is Already there.

I should not seek Approval or Value to others.

It is not a healthy goal.

But Approval of and Value in Myself, that could be.

[emospritelet]

Closing library : Belle is just as easy to convinced to participate in this meeting as Sutherland

Apparently I have a new WIP. Uh - prompt me? FML

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3]

x

In the end, Belle had to lock the library door.

She hated doing it; the library was supposed to be open to all, a quiet refuge from the bustle of the town, an oasis of calm in the busy lives of its residents. Of course, whenever she held children’s activities and after-school clubs, it was a riotous mess, but her regulars knew the times that such things ran, and arranged their own reading time around them. Between five-thirty and seven p.m. was the quiet time, the time when her after-school class had gone home and her evening book club hadn’t yet started. It was a time that Belle cherished, a time to re-shelve used books, tidy up the library, and even get in a little reading herself. Or at least it had been, until she had chosen to give the Prime Minister a very public dressing-down on live television.

She didn’t regret what she had said, but she hadn’t anticipated the reaction it would cause. There had been so many calls from radio stations and news outlets that she had left the phone off the hook, and she had been plagued all day by visiting reporters trying to get a story out of her. While she had agreed to interviews with some of them—they were paying her, after all, and every little helped her to keep the library going—others had asked some deeply personal questions that seemed to have no relevance to the subject of library closures. After the fourth time of telling a tabloid journalist that her relationship status was none of his business, she scrawled a sign telling genuine library patrons (‘genuine’ was underlined twice) to knock if they wanted access, but otherwise the library was closed.

She pushed her cart around the few desks which had been abandoned when the journalists descended, picking up the abandoned books and stacking them in order. It was quiet outside, so perhaps the news was being made elsewhere; no doubt the Prime Minister had some other policy announcement to make. He was probably on his way back to Downing Street, no doubt cursing the provinces and all those who resided there. Particularly her. 

She remembered the brief look of shock in his dark eyes as she had shouted, her words tumbling over one another in her anger and frustration. Had he really never been spoken to like that before? She found that hard to imagine, and he had remained perfectly calm as she yelled at him, so perhaps he simply didn’t care what people thought. He had been shorter in person than she had anticipated, but the way she had been feeling it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been seven feet tall.

A knock at the library door made her eyes narrow, and she clutched the book she was holding to her chest, heart thumping. Was it another tabloid reporter? The knock had been low and light, not the insistent pounding all the journalists had used, so perhaps not. Setting down the book, she made her way to the door, drawing the bolt and opening it a crack. A woman stood on the other side, short blonde hair above a brief, warm smile and a light grey trench coat. Belle had a vague memory of the woman trying to get between her and the Prime Minister mid-rant.

“Miss French?” she said. “My name’s Anna Marshall. I’m the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff. Would you mind if I come in? It won’t take long.”

“What do you want?” asked Belle nervously, and Anna glanced over her shoulder.

“You know, the press pack hasn’t noticed me yet,” she said. “I think they all went to the pub for dinner. The library’s pretty central, though, and if they see me talking to you, they’re bound to take an interest.”

Belle hesitated, but took a step back, holding open the door, and Anna gave her that brief smile again and stepped inside. Belle closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, and Anna turned on her heel to face her.

“Well,” she said. “You certainly made an impression.”

“If you came here to - to threaten me, you’re wasting your time.” Belle pushed away from the door and stomped over to her book cart, stacking books in the crook of one arm. “I said what I said, and I don’t regret it.”

“I’m not here to threaten you, Miss French,” said Anna. “I’m here to give you an opportunity.”

Belle paused, fingers dancing across the spine of a Kazuo Ishiguro novel.

“What kind of opportunity?”

“A meeting with the PM.”

Belle narrowed her eyes, turning slowly on her toes.

“What?”

“A meeting,” said Anna simply. “A nice, professional one-to-one, with no one yelling or tossing insults around, just a serious discussion of the issues that are affecting you.”

Belle set down the books she had picked up, taking a step forward.

“Why would he agree to that?” she asked. “I pretty much told him he was a bloody arsehole.”

“Pretty much.” 

Anna looked amused, and Belle folded her arms, frowning.

“So is this some plot to - to spin the issue and put some sort of positive light on it?”

“Course it is,” said Anna. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t get something out of it as well. Genuine consideration of the issues you raised, in return for favourable media coverage for the Prime Minister. Sounds like everyone wins.” 

“Talk is cheap,” said Belle dryly. “How will it help me keep the library open?”

“Well, you never know, there might just be some policy changes off the back of it.”

“Not bloody likely,” scoffed Belle. “None of the politicians I’ve contacted has cared, why should he?”

“It’s election year,” said Anna, as though it were obvious.

“So it’s about winning votes, then?” said Belle scathingly, and Anna shrugged.

“Isn’t it always?”

“Why on earth would I want to help him with that?” she asked. “It’s his fault I’m losing this place.”

Anna sighed.

“Look, you actually made some interesting points when you weren’t insulting him,” she said. “And you’re right: sometimes politicians get so caught up in the Westminster bubble that they don’t see how policies affect people on the ground. Particularly in small northern constituencies like Avonleigh. So here’s your chance to change that. Strike a blow for the little man.”

Belle pursed her lips, tapping her fingers against her elbows.

“You know, Fiona Black called me earlier,” she said. “She’s also trying to use me as a prop for her party. If she can overturn the cuts made by this Government, I’d be more than happy to appear alongside her.”

Anna snorted.

“If you thought Fiona Black could be trusted to keep her promises, you’d have taken her up on her offer,” she said, and Belle pulled a face.

“Well, let’s just say I’m really not interested in being in the middle of a fight between those two.”

“Very wise of you,” said Anna. “So if we’re done talking about Fiona Black, you have a choice. You can sit down with the Prime Minister, talk through your concerns and possibly bring about some changes in policy, or you can be remembered as the woman who yelled at him in a market.”

“The latter was pretty satisfying,” said Belle, and Anna shrugged.

“Then I suppose it depends how much you really care about delivering for local people, doesn’t it?” she said. “Or perhaps you’re all talk and no follow-through, like Fiona Black.”

Belle bristled, feeling anger surge within her again.

“Fine!” she snapped. “I’ll meet him!”

“Good,” said Anna lightly. “In that case, come to the Swan Hotel at seven, and ask for me at the desk.”

“I can’t, I run a book club at seven.”

“Eight, then,” said Anna.

“Eight-fifteen,” said Belle stiffly.

“Okay.”

Anna smiled at her and turned towards the door, before slowly swivelling back.

“There’ll be cameras to catch the two of you greeting one another,” she said. “But the meeting itself will be private. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we’re aiming for civility in front of the press.”

“I can behave myself,” said Belle, in a very dry tone.

“Glad to hear it. I’ll keep him in line, too.” That brief smile again. “I’ll see you at eight-fifteen, Miss French.”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Midnight Train Going Anywhere

Summary: Writer Belle French meets Nicholas Rush on the Night Riviera sleeper train, and proceeds to try and work out everything she can about him without actually talking to the man. After all, he'd make a very interesting character in her next book. Rushbelle.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling picture prompt, available here.

Rated: G

CW: Mild blood/gore (nosebleed)

Note: The Night Riviera is a real service from London Paddington to Penzance. It leaves London just before midnight and takes over 7 hours. I've been on it.

=====

The Midnight Train Going Anywhere

Her father would have fifty fits if he knew that she was travelling alone in the middle of the night, but Belle didn't care. The train was almost empty, only one other person in her carriage. It was the slow sleeper down to Penzance, and most of the travellers would have booked beds in the other carriages. Belle had never been able to sleep properly on trains, so she didn't even try, sticking with an ordinary seat. Much cheaper, too.

She had always preferred travelling at night. During the day there were too many other people around, chasing connections and losing their luggage, and just generally behaving badly. At night, everything was calmer, quieter, and there was room for Belle to breathe and daydream. At the beginning of the journey she'd taken out her notebook, intending to write until they reached Exeter at least, but she hadn't even opened it yet. She glanced over at the man in the carriage with her, across the aisle, a couple of seats down. He was paying her no attention, papers strewn over the table and a huge cup of coffee beside him. He was totally absorbed in what he was doing, and Belle found herself making notes about him. He looked like an academic of some kind. She'd met enough of them during her travels to know the type. He wasn't dressed sharply enough to be a businessman, and he seemed to eschew technology like laptops and tablets in favour of good old-fashioned pen and paper. Much like her, in fact.

He was in his forties, Belle guessed, his dark hair beginning to show a little grey at the tips and temples. Studious brown eyes behind his glasses. He'd make an excellent character in her new book. It was almost something out of Brief Encounter, two strangers meeting on a train. Then again, it could also be something out of Strangers on a Train, and that was a lot less romantic a thought. She pushed it to the back of her mind and continued her appraisal of him.

He seemed completely oblivious to her presence and her eyes on him, and she appreciated being able to scrutinise him like this. Everyone else that she had observed as a character study had the usual sixth sense when it came to being watched, and she'd often been caught staring and ended up looking away quickly, breaking her concentration.

He was a good-looking man with a maturity in his features, and for a moment Belle felt a pang of disappointment when she saw the wedding ring. She wondered what his partner was like, trying to paint a mental picture. Probably academically inclined like he was, but opposites attracted after all. If he was in sciences, then his partner would be in arts. He looked like a scientist. Belle would be annoyed now if he turned out not to be. Still, the character that she was building around him was a mathematician, his head full of numbers and not a lot of practical sense. This man looked practical, though. If heavily caffeinated.

The guard came into the carriage to check tickets and tell them that the buffet was closing in ten minutes. Although he seemed oblivious to everything else, the man definitely heard that, and he jumped up, draining his coffee cup and heading out of the carriage for a refill. Belle looked around. She was definitely alone now, and she chanced to creep over to her travelling companion's table and take a look at what he was working on.

She'd guessed correctly - maths, or science of some sort. There was a stack of papers that were obviously graded work, and he certainly didn't flinch in failing his students. The rest of the notes seemed scattered and haphazard, one long run-on equation that stretched over several bits of paper, including a few napkins. His ticket showed that he was travelling from Oxford, and Belle wondered why he was going all the way to Penzance.

"Can I help you?"

She looked up with a start to find that she'd been sitting there opposite his seat for longer than she'd realised, and the man was back. He didn't look put out by her presence, more just mildly amused, and he slid back into his seat with his coffee, taking out his pencil and going back to his equations. The faint scent of cigarette smoke hung around him, and Belle wondered how he was going to get on, trapped in a smoke-free train for seven hours.

"I'm sorry. I'm too nosy for my own good. I'll leave you alone. I just wanted to see what was gripping your attention so much..." She tailed off on seeing his face, the tiniest quirk of a smile amid the increasing annoyance. "I'll leave you alone."

"By all means stay, just don't be distracting."

Belle shook her head and scuttled back to her own seat. Her eyes never left him. The brief interaction had only piqued her interest, because in addition to everything else that she had found out about him, she now also knew that he was very Scottish.

Belle put her notebook down and buried her nose in her novel instead, determining to think no more about him. She nearly succeeded; she’d got three chapters in and had just about forgotten his presence in the carriage with her until he let out a rather squashed and flat-sounding sigh, and she couldn’t help but glance over at him.

He was leaning back in his seat, eyes closed, attempting to staunch what was an incredibly impressive nosebleed.

“Lean forward.” She didn’t even know why she’d spoken; it wasn’t any of her business how he chose to treat nosebleeds which, if his expression was anything to go by, were a common occurrence.

He cracked open one eye and looked at her.

“Lean forward, not back,” she repeated. “If you lean back then the blood starts running down your throat.”

He gestured awkwardly to the paperwork spread out over his desk, indicating that he did not want to drip on it, and Belle found herself leaving her seat and going over to his table, making to move the papers there. He batted her hand away.

“You’ll ruin it,” he muttered, and his voice would have been snippish had it not been so nasal. As it was, he just sounded like a sulking child. Belle rolled her eyes and took his arm, guiding him over to an empty table. Once there was no danger of his precious paperwork being ruined, he dutifully leaned forward and accepted the wad of tissues that Belle handed to him.

“Do you get nosebleeds a lot?”

He nodded. “Too much caffeine and too little sleep. Ever since…”

The sentence tailed off and was left dangling ominously, but Belle didn’t push it, and they did not speak again until the worst of the blood flow seemed to have stopped. She still felt that she ought to make some attempt at conversation. The moment was a tricky one, a moment of weakness and vulnerability for her travelling companion, and everyone reacted to such moments differently. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t want to make an already awkward situation worse, and draw attention to the sudden intimacy of finding oneself in such a state in front of a stranger.

“I guess the combination of caffeine and insomnia explains why you’re in this carriage rather than in a sleeper berth,” she said eventually.

He nodded, moving the wad of tissue away from his nose and checking gingerly that the oozing had stopped.

“Never could sleep on trains anyway,” he grumbled. “I thought that there would be less distractions on the sleeper and I’d get more work done.”

“Same.”

He looked at her, and gave a huff of dry laughter. “I guess I’ve ruined our plans there then.”

Belle shrugged. “I wasn’t getting much work done to start with. At least I have an excuse for not working now.”

The man absented himself, leaving the carriage to go to the bathroom and clean up. Belle stayed sitting at the spare table. Now that the moment was over, she probably ought to go back to her own seat and get on with writing. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her still sitting there when he got back, especially since up until the unfortunate nosebleed he had seemed to be rather productive.

Nonetheless, she did not move, and when he returned, he came to sit opposite her again rather than going back to the papers spread out over his table.

“Thank you for your help.” He was looking very embarrassed, but with a sort of resignation to it, and air of ‘well, this might as well happen’. “Sorry for snapping about the papers.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m the same if someone moves my things when I’m storyboarding plots.”

He raised an eyebrow. “An author?”

“Indeed, for my sins. Arts and sciences, forever destined to be at odds.”

“Would I have read any of your books?”

“That depends. Are you a fan of noir-style detective fiction?”

He shook his head. “Not really my thing.”

“Then probably not.” Belle held out a hand. “Belle French. Or I.L. Chevalier, if you ever do have an urge to read about detectives in trench coats standing under lamp posts smoking cigars in the rain.”

“Nicholas Rush.” He shook her hand.

“So, may I ask what takes you from Oxford to Penzance?”

Nicholas grimaced. “It’s not the kind of errand you share with strangers on a train.”

“Fair enough. I’m hoping to get some inspiration for my new book. Everything’s been set in the city so far, and I think I need a change of scene before it all becomes stale and samey.”

“Well, I hope that the journey proves fruitful.”

Belle smiled. “It has so far.”

There was a pause as Nicholas caught her meaning and he groaned.

“Please tell me that I’m not going to be murdered in the first chapter.”

“No, you’re safe for now, even though your nose did produce enough blood to be a veritable crime scene. The guard’s going to wonder what on earth happened.”

“My wife used to say the same. Every time she saw me with a bloody nose she’d ask who I’d pissed off this time.”

Being a writer, Belle was very good at picking up the nuances of language, and she had to wonder at the use of the past tense in reference to the wife. Still, she’d only just met the man, and as attractive as he was, it wasn’t her place to start asking questions.

The train slowly came to a stop, pulling into the first station, and Nicholas got up to go and sneak a smoke on the platform before it set off again. Belle took her cue to move back to her own seat, and she picked up her pen, words flying over the page as the new character took shape. Whatever the real circumstances were, fiction would always be her saving grace.

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, both of them stealing the occasional glance at each other, and smiling when their eyes met. There was something about being the only ones awake on a sleeper train, alone together in the witching hour, that gave them a certain camaraderie. By the time they were pulling into Penzance, daylight was streaming in through the train windows, and Belle was ready for her bed.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Nicholas,” she said as they collected their bags from the luggage rack and stepped off the train. She rummaged in her pocket. Maybe it was forward of her, but nothing chanced, nothing gained, and she held out her card. “If you ever need a friend in Penzance, look me up.”

Nicholas smiled. “I’ll do that.”

Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe they were destined to be strangers on a train who’d shared a night’s travel together and nothing more. Whatever came of it, however, Belle would always remember him. She clutched her notebook a little tighter to her chest. Her journey was already incredibly inspirational.

[dylanthoran-blog]

D&DA 3: Wings Of Light

The metal door to the cell slammed shut, echoing throughout the whole, otherwise empty, block, as the large lock clicked in place. One of the two guards spit on the floor of their cell, “Y’all’ll pay for what you done.” He grimaced at them and left with the other guard. They slowly closed the large and insanely thick steel door behind them, sealing the party in the most secure zone of their prison.

“Well…shit.” Rede finally exclaimed after they were alone, “They didn’t even tell us what we were charged with! Those bastards!”

“Probably something along the lines of running an illegal alchemy shop, stealing from their bank, and slaughtering a third of their city guard along when we dealt with their street gang problem.” Calie forced a chuckle, “But I’m no expert.”

“It’s not our fault their own guards were part of their gang problem!” Rede shouted at her.

“Calm down, Rede.” Calie said softly, “Getting pissed isn’t going to change the fact we are fucked.”

Gorgos opened her eyes as she rested in the far corner, “Hmm..?”

“No, dear, sorry.” Calie shook her head at her, “No one here is actually going to do that right now. It’s a saying.”

“Hum.” Gorgos closed her eyes and went back to resting.

“Dammit!” Rede cursed to himself, “I wonder how long we have till they are going to carry out our sentence.”

“Depends.” Walker spoke up as he studied the whole cell block around them, “If they want to see our criminal records we are looking at a month plus probably, if they care not about that and simply want to prosecute us on what we did here…probably by the end of tomorrow.”

“And since they’re confident enough in hanging us for simply what we did here…”Rede groaned, “We’re dead by tomorrow.”

“Well if someone had a hair pin I could get us out of this cell…no promises on that large ass door though.” Walker told them.

“Sorry, they get in the way of my helmet.” Calie shrugged at him.

“We all know Gorgos won’t have one.” Rede shook his head, “So we’re doomed.”

Shade pulled her hand out from under his cape and held out a hair pin towards Shade, “Will this work?” Shade asked.

Calie and Rede stared awkwardly at Shade as Walker simply smiled at him, “Thanks, Shade, as long as you don’t want it back.”

Shade smiled and chuckled, “No, It’ll work better if my hair is down anyways.”

“For what?” Walker asked as he quickly got to work picking the lock to their cell.

“Getting past the other door.”

“HOW?” The three of them asked in shock simultaneously.

“You’ll see...you’ll see.” Shade licked her lips as they waited for Walker to finish.

The lock suddenly clicked open and Walker let out a small cry of excitement, “Easy as pie.” He shook his head as he stepped back from the door, “I’ve known house locks to be more difficult than that.”

Shade took a deep breath, “I suppose that makes it my turn doesn’t it?”

“All yours.” Walker gestured towards the large door to their cell block, “You better have some magic up your sleeve.”

Shade chuckled, “Nothing of the sort.” Reaching into his coat pocket she quickly pulled out a large bottle full of a pink and purple liquid, followed by a small vial full of a cotton candy pink liquid. Shade immediately downed the vial.

“Didn’t they take everything from you?!?” Rede asked confused.

“My pocket of holding has two settings, one for when I want to use it, and a fake one.” She took a deep breath, “They only found a handful of coins.” He took a deep breath and reluctantly, for the first time any of them besides Gorgos had seen, pulled down the hood of her cape. Shade’s face was surprisingly fair, with sun-kissed skin, long and silky auburn hair, and sparkling green eyes.

“Divines above, Shade!” Rede called out, “All this time I thought you would have been some pale and sickly looking guy…not…not…”

“Not a gorgeous and stunning woman?” Calie whistled at Shade, “Why do you hide that face?”

Shade chuckled, “I’d rather people think I’m a pale and sickly being. Then they will call me he or she without a second thought. Like this…I’ll only ever get she.” She slowly looked over at Walker, “You don’t seem too phased.”

Walker forced a chuckle, “I’ve seen…more dramatic changes.” They could see Walker was looking into his past, something they all knew little of. Walker quickly snapped out of it and smiled at Shade, “But you are indeed quite the sight. What’s your plan?”

Shade shook her head, “Gorgos, dear…” Gorgos quickly looked up at Shade and smiled at him, “When Walker tells you to, I need you to rip off the heads of the guards. Understood?”

“Gorgos do, Shade asks.” Gorgos nodded at her.

Shade smiled at Gorgos and turned to Walker, “You’ll…you’ll know when to tell her to go ham.”

“If you say so.” Walker shrugged.

Shade forced a cough, “If…if I hear a single word about this afterwards…”

“Uh…okay…?” Calie shrugged at her.

Shade shook the anxiety out of her head and in one swift motion hurled the potion across the block, shattering it on the door wall. It made the sound of a large explosion as a pink gas cloud formed right in front of the door. Immediately the door started to slide open, just enough for one guard to squeeze through at a time, and the pair came barging in, “WHAT IS GOIN-“ The lead guard stopped suddenly as the pink fumes entered his nose. The second guard didn’t have time to speak a single word before his face too glazed over in a trance as he breathed in the fumes.

“Hey there, boys.” Shade spoke seductively as he grabbed onto the bars of her cell. She had undone the top few buttons to his trench coat, showing that she wore nothing underneath it as it gave a fantastic view of her endowed cleavage. Walker, Calie, and Rede all looked back and forth between each other in shock and confused. “You two look nice and strong, unlike my comrades back here.” She tilted her head slightly backwards towards the rest of them, “Think you could…help a girl out…?” Shade licked his lips as she pressed up against the bars of their cell.

The guards were massaging their heads and blinking constantly trying to keep their composure, “We don’t…criminal...” His words were slurred as he struggled to find them.

“I’m even a better criminal in between the sheets.” Shade gestured for the guards to come closer to him, “You’ll have to shackle me if I’m to behave.” As the guards slumped forward, as if under a spell, Shade smiled and slowly undid a few more buttons of her trench coat.

The lead guard shook his head violently, “No! Captian’ll…flog…” He fought tooth and nail for his thoughts.

Shade immediately pulled the coat off of her shoulders, letting it drop down exposing his top completely. “Captain will…?” The guards, finally consumed by the fumes in their systems, flung open the door to their cell.  “Before you boys get too loud with me…shouldn’t we close that door a bit more so your captain won’t flog you?”

“Yes ma’am!” The younger guard nodded his head and quickly ran back, closing the door almost all the way.

Shade had left their cell and the lead guard closed it back up, setting the lock, but not noticing that it was already broken. “Come on boys…let’s go have some fun.”

As soon as both of the guard were facing away from the rest of the party Walker silently opened the door back up and nodded at Gorgos, “Go.” He whispered.

Gorgos’ large body shot off of the far wall flying out of the cell. The pair of guards had only started to look around at the noise before Gorgos had planted each foot on one of the guards’ feet and her hands gripped tightly around their heads. Her muscles bulged with tremendous strength as she effortlessly ripped off their heads before a sound left their mouths. Shade casually pulled his trench coat back up and started buttoning it back up as the trio left in the cell slowly came out.

“Holy...”

“Not. A. Word.” Shade cut Rede off.

Walker handed Shade her cloak which she immediately put back on, hood up as well concealing his face. “Now what?” Calie asked.

“Our gear will be just right outside that door, probably in the control room for watching this block” Walker told her, “After that I guess we fight our way out.”

Shade quickly pulled out an orange potion, “Or we blow in the wall.”

Walker smiled at her, “I’m startin’ to wish I had you back when I was a crime lord. You’re handy.”

Shade laughed, “I know.” They quickly all went out of the block and into the room right next to the other side of the door. Sure enough their gear was in chests right there. As the rest of them finished putting on their gear Shade spoke back up, “Walker, was out cell next to an outside wall?”

“95% sure, yea, but…but…”Walker shook his head, “Pretty sure it leads off that large ass cliff the city sits on.”

“I can cover the fall.” Rede chimed in.

Shade finished strapping Calie into her incredibly thick armor, “Think that’s a new record.” Calie smirked to herself.

“You all ready then?”

Rede looked over their party and nodded at her, “Hit it.”

“Stay in this room.” Shade reached her arm out and hurled the orange potion as hard as he could, immediately jumping away from the door as he did so. The explosion rocked the whole prison as it echoed down every single hallway. “LET’S GO!” Shade screamed out over the sound of the alarms going off.

The party burst out of the control room and booked it towards the blast hole that Shade created. They could see that Walker was right, this lead right out of the side of the cliff face. “KILL THEM!” They heard the captain of the guard scream form behind them. Calie immediately took up the rear and turned around as she jumped out of the hole, holding up her shields blocking everything they fired at the party as the fell through the clouds.

As soon as they passed into the clouds, and their captors stopped firing at them, Rede’s hands lit up as he summoned a pair of wings for everyone to sit down upon. Calie started laughing heartily, “That was fantastic!” She cried out as they slowly floated in the air.

“A shame we didn’t get paid.” Rede shook his head, “Some of our finest work.”

“What do you mean we didn’t get paid?” Walker smiled at them and pulled off his backpack opening it up for them to look into, “Remember, I stole from the bank?”

“HOLY…” Rede eyes lit up as he gazed upon the two huge gold bars in Walker’s backpack.

Gorgos let out a cry of success as Shade chuckled and clapped in approval, “Yes we did.” He took a deep breath, “Any idea how long we’ll be falling?” She asked Rede.

Rede looked down at the ground far…far below them and he sighed, “It’ll…It’ll be awhile.” His eyes suddenly opened wide, “Wait!” He quickly pulled his pack around and opened it up, “A-HA!” He cried out in excitement.

“What?” Calie asked him.

Rede quickly pulled out a summer sausage and tossed it to Calie, who caught it, “Got one for each for each of us.” He said as he continued to pass them around the party. As Calie eyed him curiously he shrugged, “What? That tavern had some damn good sausage! Also I paid for it.” Everyone let out a slight chuckle as they dug into their food, high up in the air floating on their wings of light.