#it did give me a chance to study some hornets up close

[xiphosuras]

Hornets I drew at my job

[theunholygrails]

Foolish Games Part 2

Masterlist

A/N: Introducing new characters and some drama! Percy is still sexy as ever :'(.

Warnings: BJ

I woke up to a door slamming so hard it joined the symphony of my pounding headache. I groaned, hoisting myself over the back of the couch to investigate to intrusion. A brunette head of long sweeping hair rushed through the foyer, barreling towards the kitchen. A familiar mop of black hair hurried after.

Reyna was speaking so fast in Spanish my brain scrambled to keep up. I noted lots of curse words followed by a series of sentences too fast I was surprised she even knew what she was saying. Percy was answering in slow measured words, probably fighting a hangover of equal measure. I ducked behind the back of the couch, reaching for my phone plugged in on the coffee table.

It was noon. 2% battery and a couple messages from friends. Nothing from my ex thank gods. Five from Annabeth being nosey. I opened my uber app, squinting in the sunlight breaking through the cream curtains. I managed to get my driver secured.

A door slammed and I winced, peaking to check that they were in another room. I did not immediately spot my dress in the chaotic. I grimaced remembering the midnight swim. When I sat up I finally noticed the white tshirt I wore and the basketball shorts. And then I went rigid remembering what happened after the swim.

“Motherfucker,” I whispered.

Now I really had to get out of this house. I checked the arrival time of my driver. Three minutes away. Great. I made my way on shaky knees to the large wooden front door. My keys were still in the collection dish. I grabbed them quietly and turned the door handle a fraction of an inch before another door slammed open and Reyna came barreling back into the foyer, brown eyes landing promptly on my guilty ass. Behind her, Percy pursed his lips into a thin line and raised both of his hands to lay on top of his head. His biceps strained nicely against the thin t shirt.

“The fuck is this?” Reyna whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” I babbled.

“It’s just Noa, Rey. Gods,” Percy said.

“I can see that, Percy!” She snapped. I was glad her spear was not strapped across her back this morning. “Why is she sneaking out of my house in your clothes?”

“People were swimming last night. Her clothes got wet.”

“I’m sure the fuck they did.”

“Zeus, Rey! You ended it with me. Why does it even matter?”

“Because I still fucking love you! I’m sorry, okay?” She burst out crying and Percy instantly pulled her against his chest. The memory of being in those arms drove me out the door like a nest of hornets.

~~~~

“I’m just saying. You have nothing to feel sorry for,” Annabeth paused to sip her iced coffee. “Unless they get back together and then you sleep with him. But as of right now, you’re good. Trust me. Been on the Percy train. We’re still friends. You’ll get over it. Just a harmless rebound for both of you.”

I groaned, laying my chin on the cool metal table parked outside our favorite coffee shop positioned between our New York apartments. Just two Manhattan women enjoying their Sunday afternoon. The air was cooling as fall neared. I pulled my baseball cap closer to the top of my sunglasses.

“Should I call him?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Let him deal with his relationship drama. Reyna is a lot to deal with. Still nothing from fuckface?”

“Nope and that’s fine.”

“Good for you. We will hydrate you, get you a good dinner, hit the gym before work in the morning and then get back on our bad bitch mental track. Agreed?”

~~~~

“Good Monday, yogis,” I chirped from my desk at the corner of my studio.

The third class was beginning to trickle in and I was settling into my rhythm. Hot yoga was next and hopefully I would sweat out all the negativity I’d allowed lately. I was in the middle of emailing back a potential client when someone rapped at the wood of my desk. I glanced up to a blonde male who waved gently.

“Heya, sansei Noa,” he said.

“That’s karate. Can I help you?”

“Do you do trial classes?”

I hit send on my email and closed my laptop. The guy was built like a poser with the defined muscles and chiseled jaw but his voice was soft and tempered. He was clean shaven and dressed like a basic gym bro.

“Normally you have to schedule them beforehand because of class size,” I gave my standard answer.

“Right, my bad. Sorry. I was just passing by the front and it looked like the kind of place I needed right now. Can I go ahead and pick a date then?”

I was staring too long into his pale blue eyes, honed in on the polite response. A nice change from the daily demanding consumers. “You know what? Ive got space right now if you like? Have you ever done hot yoga?”

A brilliant white smile showcasing sharp canines. “My favorite.”

“Perfect. I just need a name, number and email to get you a file started.”

He leaned large hands on my desk. “It’s Luke Castellan.”

Before he could give the contact information, I cut him off. “Wait. I know you.” His tanned skin paled significantly.

“I…”

“You’re supposed to be dead!” I blurted out.

His eyes skated around the room and he leaned in closer. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge. I assume you’re a demigod?”

“Luke, you trained me. We took fucking sculpting together. The Apollo table was right next to the Hermes one for fuck’s sake.”

He winced. I heard a murmuring from the rest of my class I was disturbing with my volume. I collected my shock finally. “Take a seat if you want. We should talk after class. I need to start.”

“Okay. Thank you. I’m sorry Noa.”

I waved him off and walked over to my yoga mat. I sat cross legged and drew in an even breath to smooth out my emotions.

It was a slow 30 minute class. Each pose and movement dragged on. Finally, I dismissed the group and nodded Luke outside. He was waiting on the bench outside of the studio I split renting with a few other instructors. I sat next to him, wiping sweat from my face with the towel slung over my pink sports bra.

“Alright, talk,” I said.

“Not much to say. I was given a second chance at my hearing. Here I am. Starting over.” A shrug of well-defined shoulders. The muscles flexed beneath his gleaming sweat. His red tank top stuck to his chest and stomach. “I wish I remembered you, truly. That time is such a blur in my life.”

“It’s ok. You were a lot older than me and to be honest I had a massive crush on you so I probably hid most of the time.”

A surprised smile slipped across his lips. “I’m assuming the betrayal helped you get over that?”

I laughed outloud, slapping his knee. “No shit! So where are you staying these days?”

“Just around the corner actually. Got a job at the local gym.”

“Yeah I bet the fuck you did.” I squeezed his forearm between both of my hands. I wanted to roll my eyes at me falling back into my school girl giddy at him. Betrayal of the gods aside. He was even more gorgeous than ever. The scar down his face gave him a dark sexy vibe. Like a bad boy even though he claimed he was rehabbing himself now.

“So how, did you feel about the class?”

“I mean, I’d like to sign up for it a couple times a week, that’s for sure. And I’d like to take you out to dinner to make up for not remembering a beauty like you.”

I almost bit my cheek biting out the response of “Yes!”

“You’ve got my number,” he said, chuckling quietly. “I’ve got to get to work.” He shouldered his gym bag and excused himself.

The bike back to my apartment was spent reliving my tween fantasies about bad boy Luke. I opened my apartment door and screeched seeing a man sitting at my kitchen counter. Percy turned to face me.

“You know you live in New York? You should really lock that.”

“It was!” I snapped.

A quick grin. “Yeah. But it was easy to break into.”

I dropped my bag onto the floor and brushed past him to get a protein shake from the fridge. “I have to shower and get prepared for my night classes.” I told him.

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t either.”

He paused, studying my face in the shitty lighting of the single bulb hanging between us over the counter. “Are we good, Noa?”

“Of course. What’s a little head between friends?”

“Okay…I can’t read you. Can you not play tough just for a minute?”

I chugged the shake and set the bottle down between us. I leaned my arms on the chilled counter, bun knocking against the light. “Honestly, Percy. I’m fine. We are good.”

“Reyna moved back in.”

“You’re engaged again?”

I drank from the empty bottle to give myself something to do. He watched me with those green eyes. He’d known me for far too long. He was nearly impossible to deceive, but I was determined today. The fact that I had dreamt of fucking him two consecutive nights was irrelevant if he was off the table. Even if his lips did look incredibly juicy tonight. Even if they had done near illicit things to me just nights ago.

“I don’t know. She said she wanted to work on things. And it’s her dad’s house, so I can’t ask her to go and I don’t want to go to my mom’s and admit defeat.”

“You know you could stay here, Perc.”

He worked his jaw silently, then rubbed his hands over his face. “Thanks. I do know. Even if we aren’t officially back together, I think we should work on it…” he trailed off.

“And not tell her about you eating me out?” I leaned closer because I was mean to both him and myself. Because I knew this top combined with this angle gave him a simple opportunity. And he took it.

His tongue slid out between his lips as his eyes flicked down, stayed, then dragged deliberately back up. “Probably not,” he agreed.

For a long moment neither of us said anything. He had more to lose now than me. We were no longer on equal playing fields. So, I left the ball in his court. “I’m going to go shower.”

I was done washing in the first ten minutes. The second ten was giving him a little wiggle room to decide. I had my hand on the faucet to cut off the water that was beginning to go cold when I heard the door creak open. I watched through the fogged glass, catching a hold of my breath. I watched as he tugged his shirt off. My stomach flipped over itself when he reached for his jeans. What had I done?

The opening door let in a rush of cool air, perking my skin to attention. My eyes raked unapologetically over his naked, aroused body. His dark hair quickly slicked against his stubble covered jaw. His eyes were no longer the sea green but murky like the deep water of the ocean.

“Hey,” he said quietly, cautiously.

“Hey,” I giggled, reaching out to touch his rough jaw. He winced, catching my hand with his. “We probably shouldn’t kiss again.”

“Sure, whatever you want, Percy. What can I do to you?”

He groaned, turning his mouth into my palm, scraping teeth against the vulnerable skin. “Touch me,” he said.

My free hand instantly planted against his chest, scraping at the muscle. His eyes fluttered closed, head tilting back to expose his throat. I slid my other hand into his thick hair, tugging it tightly between my fingers and pulling to grant myself more access to the strong column of his neck. I bit it first, backing him into the tiled wall when he shuddered. I kissed over the reddening skin and moved my hands to his flat stomach, feeling the shuddered breaths beneath my touch.

“Like this?” I asked.

His reply was unintelligible. I kissed down his chest, moving my hand lower still as I went. When my fingers brushed over the v-line of his hips, I shifted my route away from the center and to his thighs. An annoyed grunt escaped his lips. “Hush,” I scolded, getting my knees under me. The now cold water was hitting the back of my neck and flowing down my body. I placed my hands on the inside of both his thighs, trailing them upwards and upwards until he nearly contorted when I gripped him. He let out a scandalous string of curses that quickly turned to moaning silence when I took him into my mouth.

He unraveled in minutes and I let him cum all over the breasts I had teased him with earlier. I rose in front of him, my own rosy cheeks mirroring his. “Now we’re even.”

[fischerfrey]

hphm fic: 'til tonight do us part

fandom: harry potter: hogwarts mystery

pairing: mc/merula snyde

word count: 2.2K

summary:

A party in the Slytherin common room leads both Verna and Merula to confront some things about themselves...

“You don’t know shit,” was what Merula spat back at her and Verna didn’t know what she said wrong this time. “You prance around like you own this school and think you’re so damn special!”

“That’s fucking rich, coming from you,” Verna arched an eyebrow at her nemesis. “You’re the one proclaiming to anyone who will listen that you’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.”

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, merula being mean

author’s note: no proof-reading, we die like men! aka i wrote this thing at 3am in my notes app and english isn’t my native language.

hphm fic: 'til tonight do us part

“I’m not sure about this,” Ben Copper said and caught up to Verna. He had been tailing behind her and Charlie for the past several staircases. “Maybe I should’ve stayed in the common room studying with Rowan…”

“Cheer up Ben, this is gonna be fun,” Charlie attempted but Ben still didn’t look convinced. He had been trying hard to step out of his comfort zone with varying degrees of success.

“Hush the both of you, we’re almost there.”

The three of them were approaching the Slytherin common room entrance in the dungeons and the utmost care was needed. Parties in Hogwarts were notoriously difficult to organize if you wanted anyone but your own house members to attend. This one had coordinated times at which someone from Slytherin would let students belonging to other houses in. Barnaby had agreed to open the door for Verna, Charlie, and Ben at 9.30.

“Why are we even going to a Slytherin party…?” Ben asked as they reached the entrance.

“Because Barnaby invited us and I can’t say no to him, it’d feel like kicking a puppy,” Verna answered and glanced around to make sure no one else was in the corridor. “Besides, I think all of us need to let out a little bit of steam.”

“You are aware that most Slytherins think we’re the worst?”

“Yeah, that’s part of the fun,” Charlie said as the door to the Slytherin common room swung open.

“Verna! You guys made it!” Barnaby greeted them with open arms, spilling a bit of the contents of his pint.

“Well Ben almost stayed behind to study but I’m very persuasive!” Verna announced and dragged both of her friends inside past Barnaby.

“Don’t say the S-word Verna, it’s forbidden,” he said with a grimace.

“Oh shit, sorry.”

They had all been extremely tied up with studying for their O.W.L.s for the past weeks and it did sound appealing to just forget the exams for the night. The common room was dark and illuminated by a green glow. Verna wasn’t sure what its source was, but it did create certain menacing flair for the party. The music was loud, and many of the attendees were dancing to its beat.

“So, where’s the fire whiskey?” asked Charlie and Barnaby pointed them to the direction of the drink selection before going off to talk to some of his friends.

“See, Ben, no worries, there are plenty of people from other houses in here,” Verna said observing Tulip and Tonks chatting with some 6th year Slytherins, as well as Penny and André sitting on a couch, heads close together, obviously deep in conversation.

“Is that… a thing now?” asked Charlie.

“Last week I asked André if he was seeing Penny and he said no,” Verna muttered.

“So, you think it’s a new thing? Or is André just full of shit?”

“Guys… I hate to interrupt your gossip club but…” Ben yanked Verna’s sleeve to get her attention. She turned to look where Ben was glancing. Merula Snyde was walking towards them, looking like a storm cloud.

“Oh, here we go…” Charlie whispered, and Verna gently punched him in the arm.

Merula stopped short in front of Verna and glared at her. She seemed taller somehow and Verna noticed she was wearing platform shoes. “What the fuck are you doing here, Malinda?”

“I came to party.”

“Nobody wants you and your loser friends here.”

“Barnaby invited us,” Verna said simply and waved at Barnaby, who waved back, smiling.

“Lee couldn’t read a room if it punched him in the face with a book made for toddlers.”

“Don’t be rude Merula, we’re just here to get drunk and hang out with our friends.”

Charlie saw this as an ample opportunity to poke the hornet’s nest and added: “At least we have some of those.”

Merula snapped her death glare to Charlie. “Shut up Weasley.”

“Anyway! We were just about to go talk to Penny, so I’ll be seeing you Merula!” Verna interjected, handed Ben and Charlie drinks, and ushered them towards Penny and André. “Just pretend I don’t exist, if you can,” she added with a wink, grabbed a drink for herself and followed her friends. When she glanced back, Merula was still standing there, staring daggers at her back. Verna couldn’t help but be amused.

~

It turned out both André and Penny still vehemently denied being involved with each other romantically in any shape or form, so Verna let it slide. They spent a good couple of hours drinking, talking, and dancing. Verna hadn’t realized how much she needed a night off until she finally got one. Between her studies, detention, and trying to find the Portrait vault, her free time was sparse.

“Vernaaaa… can you bring me a glass of water?”

She was called out of her thought by Penny, who had, to be fair, downed quite a few drinks by then.

“Sure, sit tight,” Verna got up and navigated to the table filled with various drinks. Penny had not been herself ever since her sister got trapped in the portrait and Verna knew she was frustrated by how long it was taking to break the curse.

~

As she was filling a cup with water, she heard a familiar voice behind her: “Water? That’s weak.”

“Hi Merula…”

“Don’t tell me you can’t hold your liquor,” Merula mocked as Verna turned to face her. Her makeup had smeared just a little in the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not for me,” Verna tried to move past Merula. The latter stepped in front of her to block her path.

“Maybe you should take Haywood to sleep, she looks like she’s about to pass out any second now.”

“Maybe you should mind your own damn business,” Verna suggested and started to feel annoyed.

“What? I’m just worried about my fellow students.”

“You’ve literally tried to kill me.”

“Bygones,” Merula smirked and took a sip of her drink.

“Maybe after you apologize.”

Merula had the audacity to laugh, she truly was infuriating. “Don’t hold your breath, Malinda.”

Verna had had enough and pushed her way past Merula, ignoring her grunt of protest. She was beginning to think Merula enjoyed pissing her off.

~

“Did Merula give you trouble?” asked André once she got back.

“No more than usual.”

“Maybe we could curse her hair to fall off or something,” suggested Charlie lazily, having taken up most of the couch for himself, leaving just a small spot for Penny to sit in and sip her water.

“Chaz, as much as I would love to do that, I think we’re better off just keeping away from her tonight. After all, I’m actually supposed to get along with her for professor Rakepick’s sake.”

“Aren’t the both of you prefects…?” André asked, amused.

“Well yes, but that doesn’t really mean anything, I mean Merula is a prefect too!” Charlie protested.

André shook his head and returned to his conversation with Ben. Something about his gobstone collection.

“Guys… I feel a little sick…” came a quiet voice from Penny’s direction.

“Shit, don’t throw up on me,” Charlie quickly sat up and pulled away from Penny’s immediate vicinity.

“Okay, maybe you should call it a night,” Verna said and set her drink down on one of the tables. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back to your common room.”

“Oh… you don’t have to…”

“Shush, it’s no trouble… c’mon,” Verna took Penny’s hand and pulled her up. She swung on her feet for a second or two but seemed to be able to walk at least a little bit. “Charlie, can you tell Barnaby to let me back in in like… 10 minutes?”

Charlie saluted her and said: “Sure thing.”

That meant there was approximately 50% chance he’d forget and Verna would have to miss the rest of the party.

~

Getting Penny to walk in a straight line was a bit more difficult than Verna originally thought, but they managed to get out of the Slytherin common room and headed towards Hufflepuffs’.

“I don’t think I should have gone to that stupid party…” Penny mumbled. “I feel guilty enough as it is doing anything other than researching the vaults…”

“We’re doing everything we can, Rakepick is trying to find a way to break the curse right now,” Verna said, trying to sound confident but honestly, she wasn’t sure which one she was trying to comfort, herself or Penny.

“You don’t understand, Bea is all alone…”

Verna bit her lip. She knew Penny was taking this hard. “Penny, I get it. My brother is missing, I want to find the Portrait vault just as much as you.”

Penny let out a stifled sob. “Merlin, Verna I’m sorry. I didn’t think…”

“I know, I know it’s okay…”

~

Verna managed to get her friend safely to the Hufflepuff common room and started to make her way back to the party. She felt a little bit drunk and, being absolutely honest with herself, she would’ve preferred to feel a lot drunk. Before she could make it halfway back, she heard another pair of footsteps in the silent hallway. She was expecting to see other people heading to bed from the party, but instead it was Merula Snyde, who rounded the corner.

“Are you following me, Snyde?” Verna asked.

Merula’s face transformed into a scowl. “Stop flattering yourself, Malinda.”

“Well, I just think that you mysteriously run into me a lot these days…”

“Shut up.”

Verna lifted her hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Suit yourself, can you let me back into the party since you’re out here?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I despise you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is that what you have to say?” Merula asked and her hands balled into fists.

“I don’t really care, honestly. You’ve been on my case for four and a half years, I know you hate me,” Verna explained. She was fed up with Merula’s constant provoking.

“You don’t know shit,” was what Merula spat back at her and Verna didn’t know what she said wrong this time. “You prance around like you own this school and think you’re so damn special!”

“That’s fucking rich, coming from you,” Verna arched an eyebrow at her nemesis. “You’re the one proclaiming to anyone who will listen that you’re the most powerful witch at Hogwarts.”

Merula blushed and that made her even angrier. “I don’t do that anymore!”

“Sure, but you used to, while I’ve always just wanted to mind my own business.”

Merula took a few quick steps closer to Verna. “You think you’re better than me, huh?”

“That’s so not the point.”

“Then what is the point? Please enlighten me, illustrious Verna Malinda.”

“The point is, that you’re mean. And arrogant. You go out of your way to make people feel bad,” Verna made sure to stress each point, so they’d maybe sink in. “I’ve tried to be your friend more than once.”

Merula let out a mocking laugh. “I don’t want to be your friend.”

“The what the devil do you want?”

Something blazed in the purple of Merula’s eyes at the question, and before Verna could react, the other girl had pushed her against the wall. Vaguely, Verna thought about how easily she could free herself from the grasp, but she found herself not really wanting to. Oh.

“Merula what- “

“Shut up,” Merula grumbled. “Just shut up, you’re ruining everything!”

Confused, Verna studied Merula’s features. The colovaria-spell keeping her eyes purple had started to fade out the littlest bit and if you looked closely, you could see specks of brown. Merula had tiny little freckles dotted across her cheeks and nose that Verna had never noticed before (If her gaze also dropped down to Merula’s lips, then that was neither here nor there).

“I don’t want to fight,” she told the shorter girl. Merula’s expression remained unchanged. Verna sighed. “Just let me back into the party, I promise I won’t bother you.”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll go to bed then, this isn’t worth it.”

That seemed to change something for Merula again, because she moved, grabbing Verna’s shirt to pull her closer. Verna tried to ignore the excitement in the bottom of her stomach, but it turned out she didn’t have to, because Merula didn’t hiss out any more thinly veiled threats or insults. Instead, she kissed her. There was something ferocious and hungry about the kiss that made everything inside Verna twist into knots. She pulled Merula closer by her waist and found herself not giving a damn if someone happened to walk by right then. For a blissful moment, Merula had her hands in Verna’s hair and was kissing her like she actually wanted to be there with her, and then just as quickly as it started, she pulled back again. The girls stared at each other in the silence of the corridor. Verna’s heart was beating its way out of her chest.

“Barnaby’s gonna open the door for you,” Merula only said and then turned her back to Verna, hurrying to the opposite direction along the corridor. Verna stood there for several seconds, dumbfounded. She raised her fingers to her lips and wondered whether she’d just imagined that. Slowly she forced her jelly-like legs to walk back to the Slytherin common room.

 ~

Like Merula had said, Barnaby was there to let her in, as cheerful as ever. Verna went back to her friends who had migrated to talk to Tonks, Tulip, and Liz. Charlie handed her abandoned drink back and assured her no one had messed with it. Verna wasn’t feeling particularly up for the party anymore. Her mind kept wondering to the dark corridor, messy mascara, and hot, fire whiskey-laced breath on her skin.

fin.

if you read the whole thing i’d love to hear what you think! this is the first time i’m actually publishing any of my fics, despite having written them for years so this is kind of like a moment for me, personally :’)

[theoldaeroplane]

HARDWIRED - 8. Wonders

CW: ethnic slur

April is in her truck. Her shirt is wet where she used it to dry herself off, because she was not given the chance to find a towel. She has that disgusting just-woken-up taste in her mouth. Shep sits in the passenger seat, his face pushed up against the glass.

April is in her truck, and Dell and his mother are in the apartment. She is in her truck and not in the apartment because Dell all but shoved her out, and she is not sure if she's grateful to be away from the howling bitch or angry that Dell evicted her and not his shrieking animal of a mother.

His mother.

It defies belief that Dell could be in any way related to that thing. The woman who had broken in and thrown water in April's face looked the part, at least, a stout white women with white hair dyed yellow and a Texas drawl to rival Dell's own.

April takes a brief moment to consider her actions, and decides she does not regret slamming this particular old woman into the wall.

She's thinking about slamming Dell into a wall, too.

---

The problem with April is that---it's a sour truth, Dell thinks---she simply doesn't understand about family. He doesn't fault her for it. The chance to learn was taken from her, and she's only found her blood in the last two years.

The fact of the matter is family's family, like it or not, and anyway he's got to do even more damage control.

So of course April barges back in, dog in hand, just as Dell's started to get his mother to lower her voice. The only good part of this is Shep goes straight to Janet Conagher with a wagging tail, the prior sins forgiven, because of course he remembers her: she was the one who appeared on Dell's doorstep with a puppy he had not known he would be receiving some seven years ago.

All eyes, of course, are on April. She stares them both down, and says: "I have to use the bathroom."

Then she's gone down the hall.

Janet turns her gaze on Dell, the dog's nuzzling gone ignored. "What a nice girl," she says, the words thin, sharp ice. "If you faked your death to spare me that, I'm almost grateful."

Dell's head is throbbing. It's only seven thirty. "I'm going to make us all some coffee," he says, getting up.

---

The fact there is now sugary, junked-up coffee in her hands is currently the only good thing that's happened to April today.

Dell and his mother are on the couch. April is trying to remember if she had seen this woman yesterday, either in that glimpse through the door or in the parking lot. She can't remember. They all looked the same.

Janet Conagher, ne Ringbacker, is currently ignoring her coffee in favor of glowering at the way the dog has stuck to April's side. "Dell, baby," she says, making a point of turning to him, and with the most saccharine voice imaginable, "make Sheppie come see me again. I missed him."

Dell exhales and April is given a flash of an apologetic look before he calls to the dog. It at last seems that April has one ally, though: Shep pricks his ears, but does not move. Dell gives up after a second half-hearted attempt. "Oh, for heaven's sake," says Janet, rolling her eyes. "Shep! Sheppie, baby boy, come see mama!"

Shep does not move. At most, his tail thumps the ground once as Janet's cajoling ratchets up. "Bad dog," Janet snaps, finally. "Stupid thing."

"Don't call him stupid," April says.

Janet acts as if she does not hear her. "Honestly, Dell," she carries on. "I said you should get him trained! He's a working dog. He's not meant to lie around the house. Why, keeping him cooped up in this little apartment all day, he must go mad."

Dell does not, this time, look to April. "Actually," he says, "Shep lives with April now. She's got a beautiful stretch of property---"

"Oh," Janet says, flat. "Until you find a new house. I see."

"Well, no. He's been with her about two years now. Don't see a reason to uproot him again."

"Because he's your dog," Janet says. "Two years! Don't be silly. I got him to keep you company! A man ought to have a dog. You shouldn't be so alone."

Even when she can tell she's kicking the hornet's nest, April can't stand by for much more of this. "Shep is our dog," she snaps. It feels good to say it, surprising her: it's the truth, but neither of them had ever bothered to articulate the specifics. It feels almost as good as the next thing that leaps from her mouth: "And I'm Dell's girlfriend, so he's not alone, either."

That's a word she had never thought she would apply to herself. She's still not sure it belongs on her, but it stabilizes her in the wake of the awful morning.

The way Janet's lips curl would put a lemon to shame, and it's the first thing to lift April's mood all morning. She cannot, however, help but glance Dell's way after she says it, unsure of what she is looking for. He is---as he always is, under pressure---wholly unreadable.

"Dell," Janet says, "is this true?"

"I'm happy to say she's right."

Dell may be unreadable, but something confused and thrilled twists in her stomach at the way he answers: like it's plain as day. It almost distracts her from the sudden, fat tears that well up in Janet's eyes, or at least it does until the bitch begins wailing.

April is so completely unfamiliar with this sort of crying that all she can do is stare. It's the kind of crying she would associate with the sudden death of a child, or the news that the world is ending. It's such an overblown reaction to what was said that she finds herself combing over it again, trying to figure out if something else had slipped past her notice. But, no: Janet starts carrying on exactly as if she's been slapped. Through the blubbering April can get snatches of what she's saying: highlights include might as well be dead and stealing my baby and awful redskin.

April has been called just about everything under the sun by this point, and the insult is more irritant than anything else. She does not expect much else from someone who woke her up screaming about her choice of bed. Dell, though, very carefully sets his coffee down and gets to his feet. The flash of flint in his eyes sets April's blood cold; the last time she saw that was when it was pointed at her, in Coldfront.

But it is not her he turns to. "Mom," he says, all calm, unyielding steel, and even Janet cuts short her howling. "If I hear that word come out of your mouth again, ever, you will go to your grave and never hear from me again. That is a promise."

The whole apartment is still.

"I was only," starts Janet.

"I think it's time you be headed out," Dell says, taking her coffee cup from her and placing it (delicate, firm) on the table. He takes her elbow, too, and April thinks he's a little less delicate and a little more firm when he pulls her to her feet. "And you're going to give my spare key back."

"I don't have it!"

"I know for a fact I locked that door last night."

"Well, maybe your girlfriend," and she sneers, and the light in the word that had come into it when April said it vanishes on Janet's tongue, "unlocked it after."

Nothing more comes from Dell. April watches, dumbfounded, as he not only marches his mother out the door but all the way out to her car; she stands on the threshold, hand tight in Shep's fur, and watches the two of them continue to argue right up until Janet finally climbs into her car and pulls away. The moment the car is out of sight she can see him sag.

---

The only thing Dell wants in the world is to go back to bed. Every step back to the door is leaden, and when he finally shuts it behind him something nags at him. "Gonna have to change the locks," he says, half to himself. "I know she took the damn key. Wouldn't be the first time."

The apartment is still silent. He looks up at last to see April standing by his small kitchen table, studying him like she's going to be quizzed in a moment. God, and he's got a lot that needs saying to her---

"No one's ever done that," she says.

"Huh?"

"No one's ever," and she breaks off, her brow a deep crease in her forehead. Dell fills in the blanks: no one's ever thrown water in my face, no one's ever screamed at me in bed, no one's ever called me a whore. He winces at each one. It makes the other half of the sentence all the more of a surprise. "I mean, I guess June kind of did once, but I think that was because I almost died."

This makes less sense than the rest. "What?"

"No one's ever stood up to someone for me like that," she says, gesturing helplessly, and she looks as surprised as he does.

Dell's heart was already weary with the night before, with the treatment of April by his own flesh and blood, and now it cracks. He checks the lock again, for all the good it will do, and crosses to her. His hands find her arms, warm and solid; all he can think to do is gather her close. It takes her a second, but she returns it, in time.

"I'm so sorry," he says, once, and then again. He's too tired to be angry that he's been put here, that April has been once again dealt a vicious hand and that she's so used to it that it was unexpected for him to defend her. That will come, he knows, but right now he's just---empty. "D'you want anything? Uh, breakfast? Or, the, the shower's---"

In his head he's anticipating her to brush him off, brush the whole thing off in her typical way of not reacting when someone has been monstrous to her; at best he's expecting that she might ask for his mother's head on a pike, and right now he's of a mind to grant her that. It's a startle, what she does ask for.

"Can we go back to bed?" she says by his ear, breath tickling the skin. "We can talk about it later. I think I just want to lay in bed with you."

Wonders never cease.

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1 // read on AO3 // @today-in-fic

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

CHAPTER 2

U Street NW  3rd District  11:00am

I tried to tell myself I was rested, but that was a lie. Insomnia is a bitch and she makes a hell of a bedfellow. I couldn’t be bothered with the percolator in my apartment, though day old coffee hadn’t stopped me before. I didn't bother shaving, instead deciding to give my five o’clock shadow an extra half hour. My dress shirt lightly concealed the white bandage on my shoulder and I found a set of grey pants and matching suit jacket. I remembered my raw brimmed fedora and locked the door behind me. I debated whether or not to take the car but I didn’t want to deal with public transit this afternoon. The starter on the Pontiac needed a wake up call and after some persuading I made my way out of Alexandria.

I drove across the bridge and further into the district, stopping about a block away from the precinct so I could hop into the corner diner. I needed a decent cup of joe and some bacon and eggs. Sure it was almost lunch but I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. 

When I arrived at headquarters the bullpen was buzzing like a hornet’s nest. I removed my hat and took a seat at my desk.  My shoulder burned and I felt the stitches pull slightly as I reached down to unearth a group of files from a bottom drawer. I winced as I placed everything I had on Vincenti atop my desk. From behind the stack of papers I watched a parade of suits and uniforms flow in and out of the captain’s office. A cloud of Morley cigarette smoke signaled each time the door opened or closed; it reminded me of how they choose the Pope in the Vatican. I was waiting for that smoke to turn black when I saw Skinner in the doorway. His eyes narrowed and he flicked two fingers like an impatient father. I gathered the assortment of files I was reviewing and brushed past the remaining uniforms that were heading back downstairs.

“Nice of you to join the party, Mulder.”

“Well after my patch job I decided to take a powder and take my phone off the hook. My shoulder is fine by the way.” Skinner took a seat behind his desk and asked me to close the door.

“Funeral arrangements have been made at Arlington. We’re still waiting to receive the final report from the coroner. This of course will tell me how he died but I want to know why. I know you and Detective Spender had been working for some time on the Vincenti ring.”

“Well you did make it a top priority for vice if I’m not mistaken. At the request of the mayor?” I questioned as I glanced at a crowded ashtray then lowered into one of Skinner’s leather chairs.

“Last year, the mayor asked the commissioner for help decreasing drug related crime in the district. And this precinct’s vice squad had a no-nonsense reputation which the commissioner spoke so highly of.” Skinner stated as he pressed back in his chair. “I assume those files you have are related to the case?”

I handed him the papers.

“Since you gave us this assignment, Spender and I discovered Vincenti likes to run operations out of the Navy Yard. Spender wanted to find an informant, or at least pressure someone into being an informant. We staked out a flophouse near the old factory and watched for any dealings. Saw a street-savvy kid who looked like an easy mark and followed him. I remember Spender turning on the bad cop routine and pinned the kid to the wall. We told him he could stay anonymous but he gave us a name; Dimitri Kristoff.”

“A Russian?” Skinner questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“A Russian alias. He gave us that and a phone number,” I replied with a shrug, “At the time, the less we knew the better. Spender may have contacted him and pushed for more info. Eventually we were able to build a file on our friend Dimitri.”

“That might give a little more motive for Spender’s murder,” Skinner stated as he leafed through the file, “Do you think Spender was sold a bad tip or do you suspect the kid?” 

“If Spender was dealt a bad hand he must have kept it pretty close to his chest. We were partners but I personally wasn’t very close to him. I kept Dimitri at arm’s length and I don’t think he’d squeal. You could stake my no-nonsense reputation on it.” I replied as I shifted in my seat, “Frankly if the kid knows what’s good for him he would get out of the game all together.”

“Admirable,” Skinner said while he closed the file and placed it back on top of the stack. I could see the wheels in his head turning, grinding as he tried to rearrange the puzzle pieces. He removed his wire-frame glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was something itching at the back of my head.

“Sir. Can I speak off the record?”

“What is it?”

“I think Spender might have gotten in too deep with Vincenti.”

“Do you think he was working for him?”

“Not directly but he might have been pulling a side job. Thinking he could take a little off the top and offer the precinct’s blind eye as collateral.” 

“He wouldn’t have been that stupid, Mulder. He wasn’t a green recruit fresh out of the academy. He had several years climbing the ranks before getting in with the vice unit. Not to mention his military history.”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely, sir. He also has connections to The Hill and those connections have mob ties.”

Skinner leaned forward on his desk and put his glasses back on. I could see the wheels turning again. 

“Surveillance can post-up in one of the abandoned warehouses at the Navy Yard and gather more intel, see if Vincenti makes an appearance. They’ll be coming out of the woodwork once this hits the papers. In the meantime I want you to find your junior informant and bring him in for questioning.”

  I rose from my seat and reached for my files with a wince and headed towards the door.  

“And Mulder,” Skinner began before I had a chance to leave, “it will be military dress blues for Arlington. Regardless of your opinion, the precinct lost a man with high honors.”

 I nodded in response and headed back into the fray, closing the door behind me. I weaved back to my desk, dropped the files, and searched in my drawer for a memo with Dimitri’s phone number.

I listened to the phone ring on a seemingly endless loop, the long shrill sound reverberated in my left ear and I could feel my eyelids get heavy.  The ring evolved into white noise and I was one dim chime away from disconnecting the call when I heard the receiver click on the other end.

“You’re lucky I’m a patient man, Dimitri,” I started as I tried to stifle a yawn, “we need to arrange a meeting.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” he responded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, detective, I’m no good to you. My sources are as dry as the Sahara.”

“Is that so?” I questioned as I switched the phone to my opposite ear. “Well how about we just meet for a coffee.”

“That’s sweet detective but lunch dates aren’t really my style. I like something with a bit more spirit if you catch my meaning.”

“Fine. I can meet you in the nearest alley and serve up my fist to your goddamn nose. That spirited enough for you?” I heard him laugh through the phone, my fingers tightened on the receiver. “Georgetown University library.  I’m giving you three hours.”

“You gonna have a carnation on your lapel so I know it’s you?”

“Try a grey fedora and a pissed off look on my face.”

And I ended the conversation then left the office to get something to eat. 

------

3:35pm

Georgetown’s gothic spires, stonework, and green fields reminded me of my stint at Oxford. My professors felt that I could use more than a State-side education and my father agreed. He shipped me off to England hoping I would return top of my class. I studied psychology, took in the local pubs, local women, and managed a little bit of travel. After completing my academics I knew I wanted to return to Europe. However, in 1941 I was shipped off to the Pacific in a crisp Marine Corps uniform. Never got to see the Old World before things changed. 

I found a bench near the library at the edge of campus and checked my watch. Some students took their studies outside due to the favorable weather. 

Springtime in the city. 

I surveyed the quad: A male student was more focused on a small group of chatty sweater girls than his textbooks, a professor struggled with a satchel as he hurried into a nearby building. I clocked a young man in a pork pie hat headed my direction but he stopped suddenly to retrieve a gauzy scarf that was snatched by the breeze. He caught up with the shapely owner and said something to make her smile. The man adjusted his hat and continued towards me. 

“Nice weather isn’t it?” he began, “Spring is truly in the air and the winds of change are a-blowin’.”

“Dimitri?”

“One in the same, detective.”

“I take it you’ve heard?”

“It hasn’t made the papers, but yes,” he replied as he took a seat on the far end of the bench. I fixed the brim of my fedora as another breeze rolled across the quad.

“I need some answers from you.”

“Well it depends on what you’re asking,” Dimitri said as he took a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and tapped them against his palm.

“Do you know who bumped off Spender?”

“That’s a tall order.”

“Did you set him up last night?”

 Dimitri took a drag off the cigarette then exhaled a short plume of smoke. 

“I got an alibi if you’re interested,” he said confidently as he flicked away fresh ash.

“Let me guess; you were home all night, listened to the radio, brushed your teeth then went to bed like a good boy,” I replied as I shifted positions. 

“Nah, I’m not the homebody type. Never was good company.”

“I can see why. I honestly hate being around you at the moment.”

He laughed and placed the cigarette between his lips. His glance followed a co-Ed as she walked down the path towards the library.  

“Instead I was out following a tip.”

“A tip? Related to your boss Vincentti?” I questioned. 

“You could say that,” he replied, letting the statement hang in the air. It appeared I wasn’t going to get a simple answer.   

“Let’s go for a ride,” I said as I leaned forward and rose to my feet. The kid chuckled. 

“Are you arresting me?”

“Not yet, I just want a change of scenery. My car’s this way.” 

Dimitri pulled out another cigarette as we walked, waiting until he got in my car to light it. I turned on the radio so I wouldn’t have to talk with him on the drive to the precinct. We would have plenty to talk about once we got there.

Upon arriving, I got the attention of the older uniform at the desk who led us to a vacant interrogation room. I handcuffed the kid to the table and told him to stay put as I left to find the captain.

Skinner tucked a thick file under his arm as we entered the room. I closed the door and took a seat across the table. Skinner handed me the folder. 

“Dimitri Kristoff. Or should I say Alex Krycek,” I began as I turned the page, “you’ve got a record colorful enough to hang in a gallery.” I thumbed through a series of reports. “Petty theft, bribery, breaking and entering, minor assault, and this last one - public indecency? Don’t see that too often.” I watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes found the corner of the room and carved a path back to focus on his hands.

“A guy’s gotta make a living,” Krycek said flatly.

“Well Alex, you must have been deep up shit creek,” I said reaching the end of his file. “I want to know a few things.”

“You’ve got it all there in front of you, detective.” He gestured with a cuffed hand. “Besides I already told you everything I know.”

“Actually you haven’t. I want to know set us up that night? What was your gain in all of this?” I questioned as Skinner rounded the edge of the table. I let Krycek idle for a moment and think. He looked towards the ceiling. 

“Can I get a smoke? I got a pack in my pocket.” 

I shot Skinner a look then leaned over to uncuff one of Krycek’s hands. He cleared his throat as he reached in his shirt pocket for cigarettes and a matchbook.

“I was in a bad way when I came home from the Pacific. Better off than the boys who didn’t of course, but I was still living alone, scraping by. Did you serve Detective?”

“Marines,” I said curtly.

“Ah. Semper Fi,” he said with a quick salute, “ I was in the Army myself. I couldn’t find a decent job when I got back to the States so I got involved with a fair amount of indecent work. I tended bar at one of Vincenti’s haunts. After a conversation one night I was asked to drive them to a job they were pulling. I had driven a troop transport while I was overseas, so I figured how hard could it be? I signed on with no questions asked.” Krycek flicked a match and lit his waiting cigarette. “I put my lead foot to good use and the more jobs I ran, the more green I had for my pockets. Shakedowns and bank jobs were fine but when the heroin came into the picture I knew I needed to find a way out. I had seen enough of that when I was over there, lost a few friends to it when we got home.”

“So that’s when your moral compass pointed north?” Skinner asked. 

“I got involved with a dame. She was a honey of a blonde named Marita who was in deeper with Vincentti than I realized. She worked at a nice club the crew would frequent. I chatted her up one night and she said I was different than the others. Well, she played me for a fool. She had a strong addiction that I helped fuel and it got her killed.” Krycek let the cigarette hang on his lower lip. “Hell of a dame.”

“Okay. So the motive was revenge,” I said as I rose from my chair. “Sounds simple enough. Thought you could single-handedly take down a mob boss because of a woman. Change of heart, realized the error of your ways, and all that.”

“Why get two of my best detectives involved in the first place Krycek if you wanted to handle this yourself,” said Skinner from his corner. 

 “The top vice unit would have easily wrapped this up with a ribbon,” Krycek responded as he twisted the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray. “Apparently Detective Spender didn’t play by the rules. But that wasn’t my department.” 

I was growing impatient and paced the far side of the room.   

“Son, you better elaborate,” Skinner said with arms folded tightly.

“I’m stating that the detective might have had another agenda at that meeting. He might have been linked up with them longer than you realized. Maybe he was working as a mole all along. Or, perhaps the goon didn’t want Johnny Law getting an extra cut from the drop so he cut him out of the picture.” Krycek mimed two shots with a finger gun. He sat there grinning like a dirty rat. I ran a hand over my face and let my palm rest on the side of my jaw, feeling the muscles tighten. My eyes darted in Skinner’s direction then back at Krycek. 

CRACK

I felt my new scar tissue stretch and tear as I swung a right cross that plowed into his cheekbone. The impact knocked him sideways but not entirely to the floor thanks to the thin chain keeping him tethered to the table. I rubbed my knuckles and backed away, waiting for a retaliation.

“Mulder!” shouted Skinner as he stepped in between, “You’re dismissed.” 

I rolled my wrist and watched Krycek adjust his jaw then situate himself in the chair. No blood yet but mine coursed through my veins like a superhighway. The fact I hadn’t left the room caused Skinner to approach me. 

“Leave. Now Detective,” he said with a deep tone to his voice. I exhaled and obeyed with a heated walk to the bullpen.

[shadowofthelamp]

I cleaned up a swap au writing from... geez, two and a half years ago. I tried to make it a bit more accurate to the one we’re writing now. Zim is about 12/13 here.

Wordcount: 1275

Zim didn't like the new kid. 

Which wasn't surprising; Zim didn't like a lot of people. He could probably count even loose friends on one hand. (The one with the scar on the back- the other one had a finger missing from an accident when he was seven.)

However, he didn't like the new kid for a different reason than he didn't like most people.

Most people, they refused to pay attention to his greatness, mocking him as weird and a loner and 'had set them on fire'. Feh. Ridiculous stuff. 

Dib, however? 

He wouldn't leave Zim alone. 

Normally, Zim would bask in the attention, but Dib never gave him a break. He followed him from a distance after skool, he pestered him with constant questions during recess, and he'd actually stolen one of Zim's inventions!

Granted, the invention was a laser pistol and Dib got into trouble for having it about two minutes later, which was undeniably funny, but the point still stood. 

Despite all this, Dib still treated him like he was... a pet or something. He'd click his tongue when Zim snarled and would wave off any prying questions. It was like the guy had dropped out of outer space, with his house that had sprung up overnight and his creepy sister that never looked up from her... game? Phone? Whatever it was, Zim wanted to get his hands on it- it looked really advanced. (Dib had something similar, but he was always writing in it with a stylus thing that looked both ten years old and from the future. It was bulky and weird.) 

"Hey, Zim? How are you today?" Dib whistled lightly, hands in his pocket and a grin on his face. (Man, his teeth were weird. And Zim thought his cousin Pur needed braces.)

"I'm fine, stink-brain." Zim turned back to rummaging through his backpack. 

"Why do you keep calling me that? I don't smell bad."

"It's an insult." Zim rolled his eyes. "Are you going to help me today?"

"With what?"

"Robot hamster." Zim pulled out the little wriggling rodent. "It'll make Mr. Spork flip when it grows to three feet tall. It's going to try and eat his desk."

"That seems like it would be disruptive."

"That's the point. He's afraid of hamsters, you know." The hamster wriggled around and squeaked, probably because Zim was squeezing it kind of hard.

"Well, it seems useless to use your technical prowess for silly pranks."

"Pfft, says you." Zim stood up, brushing off his pants and slinging his pack over his back. 

When he looked back when reaching the door, Dib had something metal poking out of his backpack, but when Zim blinked, Dib was just writing in his PDA.

~~~~~~~~

Dib had left his PDA on his desk. 

Dib never let that thing out of his sight. It was as much a part of Zim's image of him as his stupid backpack and his even stupider hair. 

So Zim stole it. 

What else was he supposed to do, give it back? Maybe it had information on why Dib was stalking him- or maybe it was a diary and held blackmail-worthy material. 

It had a firewall, but it wasn't Zim-proof, and within half an hour, he was in. 

The home screen looked weirdly similar to a regular desktop, except there were weird symbols under the file icons. Foreign letters maybe? Only two were in English- 'Language notes' and 'Study Notes'. 

Language notes first, but Zim discarded it almost immediately- it was just some kind of dictionary. Boring. 

So, Study Notes it was. Zim scrolled through a few pages of the same weird language as on the home screen before it switched to English. 

Day 20. Today Gaz said she had fun chasing a human around for his game device. I still don't get why she finds human games so fascinating- they're not as good as the Arcade on Flagtrep-7, and she knows it. Well, they distract her. Would that be treason, liking that an Invader isn't doing her job? Eh. My Tallest says we can take as long as we like, since this place is newly discovered. 

What the hell...? Was Dib some kind of author, writing in a diary like he was an alien or something?

That, or he actually was an alien. Pfft, it would explain a lot.

Day 21. Zim continues to be fascinating. For a member of a species so inferior, he surprises me.

Zim's hands tightened around the device as he read on. 

He seems almost irken, due to his lack of parental units and love for destruction. He doesn't appear to like my study of him, but I can't help it- of all the specimens here, he's my favorite. He cares for his cyborg pet, but can't stand most of our classmates. A psychological marvel, intense and angry but with a capacity for boundless enthusiasm. I feel if any human would understand our work, it's him. 

Of course, I cannot tell him. Law dictates I'd have to dispose of him then, and he's much more interesting alive. 

I wonder if he'd be different from the others I've dissected. He's started mixing chemicals to change his body composition- it's less efficient than a Pak distribution system, but I look forward to seeing if they do anything interesting. I'll have to get samples to compare.

There were more entries, but Zim just thumbed past them, only catching occasional words. Dib seemed to like 'inferior' and 'useful' a lot. 

Either he was totally nuts (possible) or this was real, he was an alien, and the only thing stopping Dib from taking him apart was a creepy fascination. 

Zim had always wanted an admirer, someone to praise him for being so good at what he did. (Well, one besides Skoodge, anyways.) Dib had come close before, but he had no boundaries at all- Zim had spotted him trying to watch him go to the bathroom once. This? It knotted up his stomach.

He tried to imagine Dib with big bug eyes, hands deep inside a corpse, and it came a little too easily-

"There it is!" Dib's voice shook Zim out of his thoughts. "I've been looking all over for it. You didn't look, did you?" His voice had a tinny undertone, both of fear and anger.

"Who needs fifteen passwords? I couldn't get in." Zim said, and Dib snatched it back

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure," Zim said, even as he scanned Dib up and down. He looked the same as ever- but then, Zim had never really looked. His skin was slightly off, but everyone in their town had some kind of mutation, so he'd simply brushed it off at the time as being born too close to the City Cesspool. He mostly looked normal, but there was a slight shimmer near one of his ears. Zim reached for it, but Dib slapped him away before he even got close.

"What was that for?"

"I saw a big hornet about to sting you."

"Where?" Dib's vision darted around, swatting at the air, and Zim took the chance to slip away.

He needed to find out what was really going on. If Dib was just weird, then he was just weird, Zim already knew that. But if he was an alien? Well, that was another can of worms entirely, one Zim fully intended to dig into with both hands.

He couldn't skip last period for the next few weeks or the tracker under his ribs would start electoshocking him again, but at 3:15, he was going to find out the truth, one way or another.

[rjmorrisonuniverse-blog]

Nolan and the One-Hook Day

1. NOLAN

 What a shit storm of a day.

Distilled angst, chain of events, cosmic joke funnel, harpoon of the gods.

I know as I sit near him that I will have to throw the best punch I have ever thrown; one with technique and violent finality. I'll have to lift up from the chair, slide it back as I tell him "I'm going for a piss", and deliver the perfect right hook that begins from my heel and gains muscle torque up the calf, thigh and buttocks. I'll pivot with it as I rise and all my years of practice should unconsciously find that sweet spot on his jawline. I have to throw for a kill.

One chance or else big trouble.

Even I know that you don't get into punch-ups with massive off-duty cops.

One knockout hook, and an expedient exit through the side door on the far end of that pool table. It has to be soon, before the after work crowd shows up and this shit-hole becomes witness city. Before the pork behemoth gets even nastier and I run out of time. You bet your ass the pig reference is intended; this guy has the face of a swine. Mammoth jarhead on a stump neck with beady red rimmed eyes and nose vascularity that bespeaks years of hard drink. His voice is gravel, whisky phlegm and flat hard, and his salt and pepper goatee has an ugly way of framing an unsmiling mouth.

Motherfucking pig, prick, douchebag.

 I guess we should backtrack some. My name is Nolan. You don't need the surname, so get over it right now. I work for a metal stamping plant, and we make mostly automobile fenders. The job pays well but the environment is a hell on earth; a gargantuan space lit by low sodium lamps that hang forty feet above the floor. Two-storey tall machines that thump and roar like monsters starved for metal and perhaps human flesh, and a long shift there with earplugs inserted and legs taking shock after shock wave is about as otherworldly a job as I've ever had.

Is it any wonder I amped up my mixed martial arts training and aimed at the UFC?

Lunch breaks at A.G. Simpson were hilarious, as the zombies filed into the cafeteria in various states of exhaustion, depression, hangover, debt, disillusion. Even there, with the long bank of windows that overlooked the main work area below, the fucking lighting was brutal. In your face harshness, bad food, a sickly mint green high gloss paint on the cinder block walls... I mean, no amount of overtime could justify my being there and ONLY there to make ends meet. I remember a painting crew that was hired to spray the ceilings and recoat the washrooms, and those guys were freaked OUT by the vibe. They took their breaks in the cafeteria too, cursing themselves for not bringing their own food to the job, bitching about the watery vending machine coffee, and more than a dozen times asking us "how the fuck do you stand working here?"

So, given my size and mindset coupled with a love for man-to-man conflict resolution, it was a no-brainer for me to embark on a little side action in the octagon. I started as a gangly kid with the amateur boxing and proved a quick study with natural power in each hand. Even with the headgear and twelve ounce gloves I was knocking people out cold, and sparring partners too. I always seemed to have that mean in me, but as lady luck, that rotten bitch, would have it... I was a "cutter". If I didn't knock his ass out in the first couple of rounds, sooner or later I'd be bleeding. Bottom lip, bridge of nose, and for a brief stint in the pro circuit, both eyelids. I was an undefeated slugger fighting out of a loser gym, punching for power and lantern jawed, but that goddamned skin of mine  pushed me toward MMA combat, and that was fine by me. I didn't like my fellow man as a rule, and most days, hitting him made more sense than conversation.

I started out lucky, through a cousin who was being trained in the Pat Miletich camp, and found myself under the tutelage of the great man himself. I could list details about the intensive training that mixed kickboxing and Jiu-jitsu, Pat's karate methods and a stripped down version of Thai boxing that seemed best suited to my power... I could talk about the first dozen fights in Iowa, all victories by knockout in the first round.

I was busting my hump at the metal stamping plant all day, training five nights a week, and taking fights for shit money anywhere they would put me. Eventually I was given an opportunity to match up against a name opponent, even though his career was on the downward spiral, and representatives from the UFC were ringside. That was one motherfucker of a highlight reel knockout, let me tell it. My six foot four two hundred fifty pound hammer was primed to drop and I don't mind saying that poor bastard was knocked out during the stare down. Stoked? Homicidal.

The first thing he attempted was a leg kick, and in missing, he presented me with a clean shot at his mandible. I saw his eyes go all wide and wild just as I uncorked a sweet left uppercut and felt that indescribable delicious shock of connection when it exploded on the sleep spot under his chin. He was out before his head bounced off the canvas, and even today the debate continues about what killed him; the punch or that heavy landing. My celebrations ended when I saw that he wasn't getting up, and by the time the stretcher arrived I knew it was serious. I won't lie to you. I won't say it chewed me up inside that my opponent died a week later. These are gladiators and they go into it fully aware of the dangers. Highly skilled, trained to the nth degree, all it takes between two combatants in that arena is a nanosecond of error and somebody's lights go out.

Permanent injury, career ending injury? Not common, but I wasn't a common hitter either. Maybe we can thank my father for that. Every opponent wore his face and I don't throw to win. I throw to injure.

I was told that a contract was being drawn up for me in the aftermath of that fight; that all the way up to Dana White's office, the name "Nolan" was being spoken as the next money magnet. Then that poor bitch died and the contract offer was postponed until the media hornets nest died, too. I was pissed, maybe even a little at myself, and for sure at the man whose physically abusive ways had forged the fires that shaped me.

Two weeks later, I busted up one of Miletich's top young prospects during a heated sparring exchange, and that was the end of my UFC dream. Back to the zombie show at A.G. Simpson I went, and no amount of prying from fellow workers would get me to talk about just how close I had come to fame and financial freedom. Fuck it, fuck them, and fuck dreams. That became my mantra, and I withdrew into a mean sonofabitch's shell. Nobody messed with me back then.

Well, not until I took on that part time gig as a bouncer at Bunny's strip club. That was where I met Sherry-Ann.

  2. SHERRY-ANN

  Here in the bottom of the barrel tavern, I motion to the waiter for two more pints and listen to the gravelly voice of the big prick sitting at the corner of the table. He's talking about his failed marriages, the failings of the judicial system, the failure of society to appreciate what he does for a living. Failure? I'll show the motherfucker failure. Then, as the waiter sets down two more pints, I hear off-duty pig's speech beginning to slur.

"You shoulda been a cop". He fixes his cold eyes on me, looking at my down-to-the-wood hairstyle and clean cut features. He's bitching about the career path and in his next beery breath he's pitching a sale.

"My woman wouldn't have anything to do with me if I was a cop", I tell his stump of a face while Sherry-Ann drops the needle down on some distant memory that plays a song of sex and rage. Pig-mug leers into his ale, and I glance down at the broad knuckles across my right hand, square and knobby and designed for pain delivery. I had been forming a fist as he bitched about his marriages, and now I force myself to flatten out the fingers on my thigh.

 You may have thought that Sherry-Ann was a stripper, based on my mention of the club where I watched the door and floor. Nothing against the girls inside who worked the laps for money, but I would never date a peeler. I fucked a couple of them when I first took the job because they were practically throwing it at me. These all-American clean cut features of mine would have been enough, but toss in some nasty scar tissue and my indifferent conduct, and it was shooting fish in a barrel time. I don't pretend to understand the mind of a woman, but there is a fundamental truth about their being attracted to rough men. They may not love us in a lasting way, but a lot of them want us between their legs.

My first weekend on the job, on the Saturday shift, this feature dancer "Savannah" kept taking her breaks in the entrance lobby, near the door and near me. Nothing wrong with my meat radar, and I knew where the harpoon was headed. This joint, "Bunny's", was a rough place in a nasty part of southside downtown. Blood spatter on the sidewalk out front was common, and in time a lot of it was extracted by yours truly in the doing of his job; I always thought it funny how these down and out motherfuckers could find money for beer and lap dances. How many of them had wives and hungry children at home?

Some of them came in looking for trouble, pissed off at the world, and I took pleasure when reducing their dietary needs to soup. The owner of the place didn't give a shit how we did our duty, as long as the money came in and the cops stayed away and the girls were kept happy. So, when Savannah finished her final three song set of the night, instead of taking private dance requests she asked me if I would join her for a drink. Rose, the owner, cleared it with "Night's almost over... long as you keep an eye on the room."

Savannah and I shared a small table near the entrance door, and she did most of the talking while I admired her rack and scanned the patrons. Her body language was nothing less than a carnal invitation, with those shapely legs spread and her hand coming up often to touch my bicep, forearm, knee. A vacant, giggling, augmented and needy blonde caricature.

Shift finished, I invited her back to my two-bedroom apartment for a few more drinks and some good hard fucking, but on the way out the back door I first saw Sherry-Ann and she laid a burn job on my mind. She was leaning forward to talk to a potential client through the driver side window, and I caught sight of long-honed legs flowing up into a tightly rounded naked ass calling to me beneath her hiked black skirt. Statuesque, easily six feet without the twat-for-sale boots, and when she heard the back door squeal open and slam shut she turned for a second to shoot me and my companion a hard appraising look. The street lamp threw a sleazy orb over her beautiful features, with that young Margot Kidder sneer, too much lipstick and tumbling waves of ludicrous wig-red tresses tickling the mid back.

Untamed; that was the immediate impression. Lanky and dangerous and maybe a little crazy, and the kind of bedroom ride that was sure to be a roller coaster. We experienced that intense time-stand-still-eye-lock and I felt the kinetic energy between us that stayed with me all through the next two hours of sex with Savannah. That final climax, doggie style with her face pushed into the back of my sofa and her hands braced against the wall... that was another woman's bird I was basting. A woman I was determined to meet at the next opportunity. I remember drama-Savannah's look of injury when I handed her cab fare at four in the morning and bluntly told her I needed to sleep alone. She tried to protest and I gave it to her straight - "We both got what we wanted tonight, and now it's time for you to piss off."

 "You really shoulda been a cop, I'm telling you."

I nod as if in agreement, look at the clock above the bar and realize that I'll have to do my thing soon. Sherry-Ann will be expecting me home from work, completely unaware that my day is an official shit-storm only beginning to hit the fan. The huge man sitting with me lifts the pint of ale to his mouth, still glaring my way over the rim, and I see his police-issue service revolver sitting snugly in its shoulder holster. The open front of his brown suede jacket, the bulging stomach, massive arms barely contained by sleeves, and a pungent body odor of sickening complexity.

This doomed fuck doesn't have a clue that I followed him here.

3. PARENTING

  A week after I first laid eyes on Sherry-Ann's lanky goods, I was on duty at Bunny's with a sense of excitement that I hadn't felt in a long time. The shift was uneventful, and when I went through the back door, there she was at the end of the block with another chick. I thought about walking over to her, but decided to roll up in my Grand National. It was a hot night and she was sweetly tucked into a pair of high-riding denim shorts and a tight red t-shirt with black boots at the mid-calf; straight platinum blonde wig. I saw her eyes move from her companion as I rode up slowly, window down.

What a fucking body. Built for cock of Nolan. I can't explain the power of the attraction, and I had never considered paying for sex even once in my life. She just had that sneer, defiance, youthful strut and a physique to match. I'll admit that I had a soft spot for the ladies of the night, because my mother had been one, and I hate on pimps and everything they represent. Sure, I had some Travis Bickle in me, and Sherry-Ann was my Jodie Foster.

"Looking for a date?" her upper lip curled at the corner, and then I could see her remembering me from the weekend before. She smiled as I stopped, and her girlfriend took a long look through the windshield before casually strolling around the corner out of sight. "Hey, I remember you, stud."

Long story short, we did a little negotiating and she got in the car. I drove around the block and parked in behind Bunny's near the fire escape and garbage bins. Very romantic. Turned out that Sherry-Ann was new to this stroll, and didn't fuck. She was oral only, and I had to wear a jimmy hat Her old man was a biker-type who also had a piece of the action in the very club where I worked; a few girls who took on after hours customers at his command. He'd taken a shine to his newest meat, and didn't want Sherry-Ann riding any cock but his. I was as stiff as a fucking girder when she started stroking me through the dress slacks, but when I tried to enjoy her tits she moved my hand away gently, bending to unzip me and set the crowbar free. As soon as she started rolling that goddamned rubber over the head I could feel myself losing the erection.

"This isn't how I want it" I told her flatly, and she froze, raised herself back up and looked me long in the eyes. I remember thinking that I knew her from somewhere, maybe another life, and for the first time in my thirty four years I felt that I wanted something intensely. Her. "I wouldn't mind grabbing a coffee somewhere for half an hour, for the same money, if that's cool."

We started that way, and for weeks I would take her to a seedy twenty four hour diner near her stroll, to learn about her life and tell her about mine. Both of us were survivors of violent childhoods, but her father was nothing compared to the evil piece of shit that was mine. Her dad was heavy into the booze, gambling, and spousal abuse. My father was the angriest most self-entitled rage-aholic in existence, and from my first childhood memories it was his fists that marked my growth.

That prick verbally abused my mother and took sadistic pleasure in kicking the shit out of his only child. As I grew into a large teenager, the beatings escalated in duration and ferocity. He never told me why he hated me, but I knew instinctively that my life had been an accident... a miserable wait around that cocksucker's reality. As Sherry-Ann and I shared these sad stories over coffee, we could feel a mutual caring develop between us, and I always had that sexual hunger for her.

In time, she trusted me enough to explain that she wanted to get away from "Roy", who was becoming increasingly demanding and violent. He'd brought in another girl from the bus terminal, and that was his new top bitch. Sherry-Ann had to start earning like the other girls, and when she told me that, I took care of the situation for her. I spent a couple of weeks in hiding, watching for this fucker, and quickly enough I was able to figure out his schedule. He'd roll around just after the sun went down, in a beat up blue panel van, and again after three in the morning to collect the pussy rent... I waited for the Thursday of the third week, told Sherry-Ann exactly what I planned to do, ignored her warnings and pleas, and when Roy showed up later that night for his money...

Nolan came out of the shadows across the street. Roy was in the driver's seat, window down, in conversation with one of the other girls and I casually walked around the back of the van to push his bitch out of the way with my right hand before looping a short left hook into the center of his face; it had brutal follow-through and Roy's head whiplashed before he hit the bench seat sideways. Two of the girls started running away, but Sherry-Ann stayed for the show. I yanked open the door and grabbed a generous handful of beard and long hair, pulled the semi-conscious Roy back to a sitting position. The blood was cascading out of what remained of his nose, down his shirt and vest, all over the money he had dropped into his lap. I gave him a good shake and his eyes rolled open, tried to focus, and before he could attempt anything I drove a hateful straight left into his open mouth, putting him OUT. I loved the sight of him sagging back to a lying position in a grotesque slow motion of jaw-hanging gore. "Sherry-Ann is with ME from now on" I shouted into the cab, and who knows if he heard it or not...

"Call an ambulance for this piece of shit, and let's go get your things." An hour and two pieces of luggage later, Sherry-Ann took refuge in my apartment. A roach-infested den of depression and about as dead end as it gets for a pretty young runaway of twenty three. We had sex for the first time that night; a two-way act of consumption that I won't ever forget. We felt like we knew each other far beyond those few weeks of talking, and her forthright way of telling me how to fuck her, how to do the things that she needed done, the way her sexy mouth formed a leering curve when she came so hard and violently around me. It would be a long time before she heard it, but when I called in sick the next morning, I was sure I could love her.

Roy? He hadn't seen what hit him. I heard that he lost most of his upper and lower plate, had to have his nose reconstructed, and a few weeks after that night he and his women vanished from Bunny's and the block. Sherry-Ann settled in with me, took a waitressing job, and we fell into a year-long calm spell... I had saved almost all of my earnings over the past eight years and we made plans to get a house together outside the city core. We had a friendship and the sex was ferocious, but there were hurdles to overcome. I helped Sherry-Ann quit the glass pipe, and she helped me open up.

 Which brings me back to this nameless drinking hole and the large man sharing a scarred wooden table with me. Brings me to a heartbeat of hate, and the day that marked the history of Nolan with a river of tainted blood.

 4. SHIT, MEET THE FAN

 A Friday that began like any other, with the five thirty alarm. Sherry-Ann's warmth against me under the sheets, and the new anticipation of weekend reward in my life. I gave up the bouncer gig at the strip club to spend weekends with my woman, and for the first time ever I had days to look forward to during the workweek. Long lazy mornings in bed together, watching television, having sex, lost in conversation... me, the short fuse with lots on his mind and little to say. Simple, beautiful hours.

That Friday I ate my breakfast alone then walked quietly into the bedroom to kiss Sherry-Ann on the forehead as she slept. Me, the guy who told himself he would never give a shit about anyone... she was asleep on her side, dark brown hair fanned out across the pillow. I ran it through my fingers to make myself believe again that this amazing change had come to my existence, and then left to make the half hour trip to the A.G. Simpson metal stamping plant. I first noticed the horizon of fire when I made the turn into the industrial park on Laird avenue; jet black smoke billowing upward to form the devil's cloud cover, licked from below by a massive wall of flame. I hit the gas and felt my guts sink into the comfortable abyss of my usual state of being, knowing what I was going to see at the end of the avenue, reaching for the radio as I saw the rows of cars lining each side and stopped by a phalanx of police cruisers, ambulances, and fire trucks. The all-news station was on the scene and I learned that a huge explosion had ripped through my place of employment, killing four workers and injuring dozens of others.

"Jesus H. Fuck!" I pulled over and parked on the strip of grass adjacent to the two lane blacktop, got out to watch the blaze. Co-workers either sat in their cars or stood around in groups, shaking their heads at the sight of the apocalypse before them. A couple of them acknowledged me with nods, but most of them ignored me. I told you before, people tended to avoid me and I like it that way. I asked a couple of the guys what they knew, and nobody had shit for info other than the explosion happened just before dawn. Fuck me, I kept thinking, there goes work for a while. Maybe for good if the place is gutted.

I went back to the car, sat and watched the show, and after a couple of hours it occurred to me that I should just go the fuck home to be with the only person I cared about before she went in to work her half day. All the way back toward the small house we were renting, my mind was in a fog that reminded me of the worst of times during my childhood. My sixteenth birthday, when the man who called himself my father arrived to take me out of school because my mother had overdosed on heroin. Waiting in the hospital as she fought her last battle, he found a way to blame me, and that night after her death the beating he dished out had me fearing for my own life. I fought him back for the first time, and even though I hurt that motherfucker, he got the best of me and I spent two days in my room bruised, battered, and determined to leave. Two weeks later, he went in to work the night shift and I escaped. Some day I'll tell you about those first few months... I did things to survive that no one should resort to. If not for my mother's sister, I wouldn't be here today to break deserving skulls.

A half block away from the house I could see a car in the parking pad. A rusty Pontiac Laurentian, dented along the passenger doors and crusted with dirt. What the fuck? I glanced at my watch and it came from the stomach up to my throat; a sick knowledge of a thought that I stopped from forming... without realizing it I was on the brake and slowing. Ten in the morning on a day I'm not supposed to be here until five thirty. She goes to work at twelve, comes home before five. I put the car in reverse and backed up to park against the curb about a dozen houses away from mine, killed the engine and sat in silence. I watched the car in the driveway, looked at the front of the bungalow that framed the inevitable act of betrayal that life had in store for guys like me. For the first time in nearly twenty years I didn't take immediate action. I couldn't, man. I was paralyzed with a cold sweating fear, choking on a feeling like being trapped in a plunging elevator. There was no rationalizing in the car that morning as I sat there watching and so certain that Sherry-Ann was in there destroying us with another man who was soon to pay a price beyond reason.

Almost two hours went by, in a blur, before I decided to leave the car. I strolled over to the house, slowly and not feeling anything I can describe. I was thinking about a movie that I'd seen called "Into The Night", where the main character played by Jeff Goldblum comes home early to find his wife screwing someone. As I walked between my place and the neighbour's, around the side to the back bedroom window, my mind went numb. I always knew that God had put me here in this body for a lifetime of getting fucked. Life is a better fuck than pussy. Life is a twenty four and seven joystick, motherfuckers.

Our bedroom windows bottomed at eye level. An air conditioner filled the lower section of the far pane, so I cupped my hands around my eyes and peered through the glass of the east frame... the blinds weren't dropped all the way down to the sill and I was able to make out the two shapes on our bed. The bottom of the bed faced the windows, giving me a clear enough look at his big legs and ass as he pumped his erection into her. I felt a scary chill of calm for a moment, watching his balls move back and forth as he rode that beautiful pussy and blocked her from my view through sheer bulk. The sight of her long naked legs, one bent upward and one straightened, and a small hand gripping the blankets... that started the tears and I turned away quickly to walk back to the car.

Those were the longest two hours of my life, longer even than the wait for news about my mother that afternoon in the hospital. I'm not a smoker, so I sat and chewed gum in silence, waiting and getting used to the idea that once again, the dream is over. Fuck life, fuck love, and fuck dreams. Welcome back to reality. You fell for a whore, asshole. She's been turning tricks on the side all this past year and you bought the Hallmark card version of what it should have been and isn't. Last Friday had been a good fucking day that lasted clear through until the following Monday, and THIS one is the end of the world as you know it. Job, woman? Fuck you. Gone.

 The bartender, myself and this half drunken off-duty pig, plus six others who sit at the bar on the far side of this shit-hole. Four hours ago I watched this man leave my house through the front door, as though it were his, and casually get into his old Pontiac. I gave him a decent head start and then followed him across town into the city core. He parked in front of a tired brownstone on the south side, got out and lumbered up the stoop past a sign that read "short term rentals available", and I parked further up the street and did some more waiting. Him first, her later. I couldn't believe it and yet it made perfect sense. I'd deal with him, then Sherry-Ann would get one chance to explain this to me. Just one. I turned to lean against the driver's door, stretched my legs out across the seats, flexed my fingers, and watched the front door of that brownstone. When I made the decision to stop waiting he emerged from the building wearing the same clothes, and I followed him to the fucking dive that now serves as the shit-storm epicentre.

I gave it fifteen minutes before I entered the nameless hole. It took my eyes a moment to adjust from bright afternoon to damaged liver gloom, and the smell of piss and old beer and sweat that hit me like a swinging back-fist. All eyes turned at my entrance, but he was hunched over a pint and facing away from the front door and was the only one not to see me come in. I went straight to the bartender and asked him in a low voice what "that guy over there" was drinking, ordered two pints, and walked the length of the room to his table.

I set the pints down in the middle of the tabletop and pull out a chair around the corner from his, and he looks first at me and then the beer. Back at me, eyes widening as I lower myself and bore lasers into his pupils. "Still a cop?" I slide one pint toward him and raise mine up for a good swallow. He doesn't answer right away, staring me in the face, sizing me up, lost in something... "YOU shoulda been a cop" he mutters. "I followed you here" I tell him right away, let it soak in for a moment. "From the place where I'm staying?" he runs a huge hand through his goatee and greying hair. "No, from my place... the factory where I work is burning today."

He nods slowly, looking down into his beer... "been looking for you, son."

"I've never been your son, mister. I have the scars to prove it."

"I heard you left the city to stay with your aunt for a long time... " his voice trails off in memory. "So you found out where I live, dropped by for a friendly visit, did you?" He smirks a little and I almost throw the bomb right then, but it isn't the right time... I'm throwing for a kill, remember. I play it like I don't mind that he found me, and of course he has no idea that I saw him fucking my woman... no idea that as I sit here getting psyched up to stop his motherfucking heart, my own has been smashed. "So here I am, sir. What can I do for you?" he smirks again.

And it goes like that for nearly an hour, as this beastly childhood force sits next to me and attempts to... what? Atone for something? Correct the damage that he inflicted on his only child? I sit here and listen to his talk about the difficulty of losing my mother, and the failed second and third marriages. I let him ramble through his anger, and I hear nothing but an older version of the gigantic negative force that took all of my potential and crushed it into a compact life-hating machine. I can't even come up with one iota of pity for this prick, and now it's Sherry-Ann I'm thinking of as I glance again at the wall clock and decide it's time. How she could betray me... us... like that, and with THIS of all monsters.

"Tell me something" I interrupt his self pitying rant about spineless judges. "How much did you pay?" He looks at me stupidly, one bushy eyebrow lifting. "For Sherry-Ann this morning" I raise my voice a notch. "What did that cost you?" His hand comes up with the pint as he says "I didn't pay" and I slide the chair back, start the hook from my hip as I rise and pivot to throw thirty five years of poison through my torso and shoulder and forearm and fist as a projectile unlike any I've ever unleashed. Instinctively aimed for his heavy jawline as he tries to react too late, jerking beer over the rim of his glass when I land it and envision my knuckles removing his lower face. The jolt of it through my arm is like an orgasm and he and the chair hit the floor as though a wrecking ball has swung into the tavern. I'm not even looking at the others in the room, and in one chain of events I squat to look at his hanging jaw and the teeth that he is pushing out of his mouth with a bleeding tongue.

The cocksucker is still conscious but the force of the hook has probably broken his neck. I've never seen a head swivel like that. I grab a handful of vest and start dragging him across the floor as the witnesses just begin to realize what has happened, maybe not even giving a damn in a place this rough. I drag the piece of shit across the floor and his face is hitting the legs of chairs, his arms are limp. The bartender yells "hey! take that shit out of here" and I feel a nasty smile crack my mouth. The door near the pool table has one of those metal bars on it that you push, so I lift up my prey with both hands and ram his face into it. Outside in the late afternoon sunshine I can see that his fucking head looks like a shotgun suicide, and his breath is heavy and blood thick. There's a big blue garbage dumpster around back, and I drag him face down by the vest collar, hearing his gun scrape along the asphalt, feeling the swelling along the top of my hand. 

I prop him up in a sitting position against the dumpster and step back to deliver a looping head kick to his temple. His skull whiplashes and he hits the parking lot on his right side. I feel myself nod in agreement, then finish him off with a short toe kick to the throat. From the moment I first hit him to the lifting and tossing of his body into the dumpster I have been outside of myself. I take one final look at his imploded features and spit on them, dropping the metal lid down on the fucking garbage.

Do you think the blades of the fan are now filled with shit? No. There's just one more detail to cap my Friday to end all Fridays. I drive back to my house, just ahead of rush hour traffic. My hand is swollen and cut where I clipped his teeth. My mind is a seething pit of rage and fatality. I don't care about a fucking thing at this point other than to have Sherry-Ann look at me with her gorgeous eyes and talk me out of this crescendo. Tell me it was a moment of weakness, of old habits dying hard... tell me what you have to but tell me everything will be okay.

I pull into the driveway, enter the house, and see that she is home early. Her purse and shoes and waitress outfit are all in the living room. The house is silent and I walk quickly down the middle hall toward the last room on the left where she is lying in bed with her eyes wide open and the belt from her bathrobe knotted up around her neck. My breath hitches in my chest. I turn on the ceiling light. The bedsheets are on the floor, the pillow case beneath her spattered in blood, the tip of her tongue is showing between bloody lips. I nod again in agreement with the universe. Nolan is getting cosmic-fucked now. How DARE I fall in love? Who am I to change what I am?

In an echo of my earlier gesture that morning, I bend over Sherry-Ann to kiss her forehead, then close her eyelids. No tears now. I pack one piece of luggage, turn off the bedroom light, and get into the car to head for the nearest automatic teller. I'll get a hotel room and tomorrow I clear out my savings. Nolan blows this town forever. I'm on a mission now, and before I'm finished people will know about me from coast to coast.

Every lowlife motherfucker in every shitty part of every city has it coming, and I'm the delivery boy.

[abakersquest]

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – A PERILOUS SIEGE

The tunnel began to slope upwards when Wally took the time to close his eyes. There wasn’t much to see and the path proved to be steady enough that all he had to do was walk forward and keep the small flame wavering in his palm lit. Aside from the litany of footstep echoes there was enough silence for his mind to meander about the events of the past month. He thought about how far from home he truly was, how he’d witnessed and been a part of amazing and terrifying events. He was truly the center of a great world changing maelstrom, and it certainly felt like a hefty weight right this moment. It was always like this now, whenever things went quiet or peaceful for too long he felt his soul get heavier.  But there was something else this time.

No, this wasn’t something new, he’d felt this before. In fact, thinking on it now, he’d felt it every time. A quiet and friendly voice, calling out from some place far away that didn’t exist. It, no, she, he knew that now. She reached out a hand to him, it was so far away, but it was there. If only he could close the distance, If only he could call back to her somehow. He heard his name, no wait, he actually heard his name. Who was that? Was it Rozzi?

Suddenly the end of his tail was painfully crushed against the floor, shattering his otherworldly transit entirely. “OWWW!!!”

“WALLY!” Rozzi shouted angrily. “WHERE’S YOUR HEAD?!”

As he reached out and took hold of his tail, rubbing the new sore spot, his awareness of his surroundings faded in. Most notably the smell of something burnt and the furious look on Rozzi’s face.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Would y’mind terribly NOT setting us all on fire, hmm?!”

He’d lit something on fire? He quickly turned to take stock of their surroundings when his eyes settled on Captain Blackeye, the old shark pointed up toward a burned streak of stone above their heads, leading down the tunnel. The closest patch was still glowing and crackling with heat.

His expression and heart sank like stones thrown into a pond. He’d been so lost in whatever that otherworldly landscape was that his flames had roared without control or focus.

Rozzi removed Wally’s helmet, letting it drop to the floor as she took hold of his cheeks. She turned his head to look him over before staring into his eyes. “Gonna tell me what that was all about so I can stop bein’ mad at you?”

The words didn’t come out at first; they stumbled and tripped over one another in a valiant but clumsy effort to be first. Apology tried to push Explanation out of the way, but Explanation grabbed Apology by the arm and threw it hard against the floor with a hearty, ‘me first’. “It’s the Flare... Sometimes, when things are quiet like this, I think it tries to talk to me, and I sort of… Get lost. I’m… I’m sorry everyone.”

“That all?” Rozzi thumbed the top of his cheeks gently, the anger fading slowly from her eyes. “Then I guess we gotta keep you engaged, then, eh?” She scooped up Wally’s helmet, plopped it back on casually, and then turned to continue walking. “I got one. Ori, how ‘bout you explain that little light show you put on when you grabbed the brightstone earlier?”

Primus Ori Han did not reply. Wally’s spontaneous flare up had caught her as off guard as everyone else, but not as much as the following interaction. She’d been under the same impression as Siani, that those traveling with the Flarebearer were merely his honorable vassals. But the way Rozzi held his head, the mixture of concern and anger in her eyes, there could be no doubt she was his consort. This, of course, meant that Siani’s earlier assumption was a massive insult that Rozzi willingly accepted to be polite. She’d absolutely have to apologize for that as soon as possible.

With that mental narrative hastily assembled, the hornet only managed to catch the words ‘brightstone’ and ‘earlier’. She stammered to buy time to guess, her wings fluttering nervously and fired off errant yellow sparks.

“Don’t smell like Storm magic to me,” Blackeye announced.

She blinked once or twice then realized what she was doing. “Oh! No, no, no. But I can see why you’d think that.” She intentionally fluttered her gossamer wings, a brilliant electric cascade dancing across them in motion. “I can take in and store sunlight and turn it directly into energy to move, move, move. Scholar Argus explained it’s a process similar to what plants do, and something about rapid, rapid, rapid motion creating a field of some kind. I can’t explain it myself; I just know that if I want to move faster, faster, faster than normal, I can tap the power in my body to do so.”

“Ooh! That sounds amazing!” Polly cheered.

Ori smiled and nodded a thanks to the young Icthyite.

“Then you’ll be takin’ point with me, I suppose. Since we can move the fastest,” Rozzi intuited.

“Right,” Wally joined in. “Me and Blackeye will hang back, and Polly can cover our approach. That is, if you feel up to it?”

Polly put on the most serious expression she could to impress everyone, which would’ve worked if it didn’t make her look like she had indigestion.

---

As the sun was setting when they arrived at the tunnel’s exit, everyone agreed to wait until nightfall to move out.

The salt pan finally behind them, Chidulas stood on dry but far from lifeless ground. Dotted with hexagonal homes on tall steel stilts, all bearing some manner of windmill or likewise structure to catch the prevailing winds constantly coming from the south. Ori had explained on the way that Chidulas was once a booming mining settlement, digging away at the nearby salt pan for unique mineral deposits until one day they were ordered to cease by Imperial edict. Their economy quickly fell to shambles, as did the people, made weak and hungry from the lack of incoming supplies. As such, she had no doubt that the residents were not only on strict curfew, but made to accept the guard presence in exchange for the extra food and water brought in for them. Meaning that they would report anything they saw immediately.

Rozzi and Ori climbed out and quickly made their way over to one of the buildings. Nimbly, they climbed their way up to the rooftop, careful not to disturb the wind catching machinery on the way. The red panda was the first to spot the enormous arachnid buried in the sand to the east of the town. A number of tents, varying in size and color, were positioned nearby.

“The smaller grey tents are standard guard issue,” Ori whispered. “The rest are Hado’s soldiers.”

“Guessing the biggest one’s probably his… Any chance if we take him out, everyone else’d give up?”

“The Imperial Guard was ordered to hold Chidulas. I don’t think I can convince them to give it up without a fight. But, but, but it’d be worth a shot.”

“Right, well, least we know they can’t use magic. Worst we have to worry about is cannons.”

“No,” Ori said as she pointed to one of the larger black tents. “They brought the bombardier dynas with them.”

Rozzi’s ears twitched. “I’m sorry, the what?”

“You have dynas where you live, yes?”

“Big things,” she nodded. “Six legs, use’m for moving heavy stuff.”

“These aren’t as big, but they possess a unique attribute. They can shoot out a boiling liquid at anything within 200 feet on command.”

“So big angry tea kettles, fantastic,” Rozzi huffed. “Don’t suppose you have any ideas as to how we’ll handle this?”

Ori thought carefully before a spark ran up between her antennas and a wicked grin formed on her face.

It was almost ten minutes before a rapping came to the tunnel hatch. Wally opened it carefully, spotting familiar black furred feet.

“Okay,” Rozzi squatted down and Wally could see a devious glint in her eye. “We got ourselves a plan”

As two of the four moons came to the center of the sky above, a guard was doing as her title implied beside the sleeping sand spider. She rested her weight on her halberd and yawned loudly, keeping her tent in the periphery of her vision like a cherished love one in the distance. She’d fall into the embrace of her bunk joyfully in a few hours. Really, the whole assignment had been exhausting. Watching over a sleepy nothing township at the very limits of the empire with a bunch of rowdy scoundrels bearing an imperial sanction to be as raucous and aggressive as they damned well pleased, was hardly what she imagined joining the Imperial Guard would be.

The wind was nice and cool at least, if a bit strong.

Actually it seemed to be getting stronger.

Now it was a gale.

The ground was no longer under her feet as she was blasted upwards by the burst of air toward what appeared to be her very angry looking former commander. Of course she couldn’t confirm that, what with her vision suddenly being obscured by the fist that knocked her unconscious.

Rozzi and Ori leapt down, mystically charged air softening their landing and quieting their footfalls as they raced toward the sleeping titan. They climbed up to the strangely hut shaped structures strapped to its back and headed to the one they’d seen the Baron occupy. Inside Rozzi came across a strange device; it was a tall, seemingly freestanding, brass box, with two sticks on top and chords jutting out the bottom. Ori joined her soon after and pulled down what looked like a mirror from the hut’s canopy that somehow presented a larger and clearer image of what was directly ahead of the spider.

“These are the cannon controls,” Ori began to explain. “This stick controls the left side, this one the right, press the buttons on top to fire. You’ll be able to hit anything in the center on the display. It moves as you aim.”

Rozzi made a small impressed noise. “You Insicai don’t do anything half way, do you?”

“No, no, no we don’t.” Ori smiled then turned a knob on the top of the box between the sticks before heading to the front of the hut ahead of Rozzi. The larger podium there, covered in toggles, switches, and levers was the subject of Ori’s quick study before her four nimble hands set to work.

Rozzi noticed several large glass bulbs on the box light up, as she tried to look closer she caught the warped reflection of another guard slowly sneaking up behind her. Without turning she flicked her tail behind herself, causing a burst of air to knock the guard entirely off balance, sending them tumbling out the hut and off the side of the spider. “Been wanting to try that. ORI! THERE WAS ANOTHER GUARD! WE’VE GOT MAYBE FIFTEEN SECONDS!”

The guard shook off the fall as best he could before shouting at the top of his lungs to alert the rest of the camp. However, it was too late. Ori flipped several levers and switches that jolted the spider from its slumber; it shook against its harnesses slightly and rose to full height just as the soldiers of the camp began to stir.

Hado growled as he stepped out of his tent, “WHAT’S ALL THAT NOISE, NOISE, NOISE?!”

The spider walked toward the Imperial Guard tents and unleashed a volley of cannon fire.

A member of the guard rushed up to the scorpion and saluted. “Baron! The support spider has been taken!”

“I CAN SEE THAT YOU IDIOT! TAKE IT BACK!” Hado struck him across the chest with a closed pincer before heading back into his tent.

Another round of cannon fire rung out and Rozzi winced as she saw several guards tossed violently into the air by their impacts. “Um, Ori! Hell of a time to ask, I know, but should I be tryin’ to wound or just threaten the Imperial Guards?” Rozzi called out.

“Either’s Fine, fine, fine!”

“If you say so!” Rozzi fired off another round of shots, striking what must’ve been a supply box, launching bits of shattered weaponry and armor in all directions.

Hado re-emerged, now covered in black armor and wielding twin scimitars in his secondary hands. “Idiots,” he muttered under his breath. “Want something done, done, done, do it yourself!” Hado ran toward the spider, only to have his route blocked by a sudden burst of flames.

Just ahead, slowly dissolving into view, stood Wally.

The Baron chuckled. “You’ve got nerve, nerve, nerve, fur bag… Never woulda guessed there was a tunnel leading here. Woulda made trying to take that cave easier… When I’m done with you, I’ll pay those little, little, little refugees another visit.”

Wally tightened his grip on the Flare, the blade awash in twisting flames. “Then I guess you won’t be seeing them after all.”

With a violent growl, Hado dashed toward Wally. His pincer held out ahead of him, he clacked it loudly by the wallaby’s ear, intending to distract him from the swiping scimitars.

Wally hopped up as he blocked the swung blades, letting their impact push him backward. He knew up close he’d be overwhelmed by Hado’s reach and extra limbs. Feet back on the ground, he saw the scorpion charge again. He swung the flare upward and a crescent wave of flame exploded from its path through the air, forcing Hado to dive out of the way and think twice about blindly charging.

Behind them, another rain of cannonballs cascaded over the camp, but found only soldiers that had already scattered, and tents long since shredded. “Ori!” Rozzi shouted. Can’t you get this thing to turn?!”

“I only, only, only have four hands! There’s three piloting stations!” She called back. Suddenly, a shift in the air caught her notice and she ducked just as a large shield careened past where her head had been. It ricocheted around the hut’s interior and found itself back in the hands of Hado loyalist, Xylo.

The small violet bee sneered at Ori, perched on the rim of the hut’s empty front window. “Betting you wish you’d let me and my sister join the Imperial Guard now, huh?”

Ori stood and huffed, “Hardly.” Faster than a blink her hand struck the controls at her side and the spider suddenly tilted forward, throwing Xylo off balance long enough for Ori to leap out and take to the air.

Of course, this also threw Rozzi over the cannon controls, but she wouldn’t be the leader of the Bandit Circus if she couldn’t take a tumble. With great grace she turned in the air and found her feet on the now slanted structure. Behind her the cannon controls were crushed by a powerful blow from another heavy shield.

“Tsk… That was the perfect shot. How dare you move! You ruined a grand, grand, grand moment you know?!” The shield was pulled back and held aloft by the second of the bee sisters, Vylo. She hovered easily with the weighty thing held above her head. “If I’m to make your final moments an event worthy of my great, great, great campaign, I need to improvise.”

“Please,” Rozzi bore her teeth dangerously. “I’ve eaten things bigger than you, bug.”

“BUG?!” She shouted, scandalized. “WHY YOU INSOLENT PILLOW STUFFING! YOU’LL PAY, PAY, PAY FOR INSULTING THE AMAZING VYLO!”

With shield still held aloft, Vylo began to spin in place, quickly becoming a whirling blur before Rozzi’s eyes. When she suddenly shot forward, the red panda could hear the air being torn to pieces by the no doubt razor sharp edge of the spinning shield. A jet of wind barely carried her away in time to see the twirling Vylo carve right through the front of the command hut with ridiculous ease.

Several guards on the ground rushed toward the bombardier dynas pen as behind them the great sand spider fell and Baron Hado fought the Flarebearer. A few steps shy however, Polly appeared before them, bright smile and all. “Sorry!” She called out. “Dynas Rides are all closed up t’day.”

Two of the guards shouted and charged toward her, only to be swept violently aside by an unseen blow.

Captain Blackeye slowly faded into view between the guards and his granddaughter. When Polly hopped up onto his shoulder he spoke to the remaining guards. “Didn’t y’ hear the young lady? She said NO MORE RIDES!” Blackeye struck the ground with the blunt end of his harpoon where a powerful surge of water exploded outward toward the shocked soldiers, knocking them away.

But through the powerful tide, a bulky Insicai in dense grey armor strode undeterred. His dense armor plates clanked against one another and added metallic cacophony to his weighty footsteps and the splashing water. When the mystic deluge evaporated, he stood his full height, eye to eye with the captain. He barely had a neck to speak of but still managed to tilt his head to look over Blackeye before finally speaking. “Orgo Blatt.”

“Bless you!” Polly said politely.

“Not a sneeze, dear. He’s a roach; name’s usually the only thing y’ get out of ‘em.” Blackeye gently put her on her feet. “Go and sweep up any guards still runnin’ around… This one’s all mine.”

Polly saluted and ran off to do as she was told. When Orgo made a grab for her, his wrist was caught in Blackeye’s iron grip. “Now, now. You should know better than to try a thing like that.”

Orgo smirked, and then nodded.

Blackeye let him go. “See, that’s what I always liked about roaches… You’re direct fellas; you look at the closest problem and throw yourselves at it as hard as you possibly can. I used to be like that meself, so I respect it.”

Blatt took several strange yet identical weapons off his hips with all four of his hands. They were little more than large iron balls with grips on one end, a weapon for brute force over skill or grace.

The captain thrust his harpoon forward and a narrow yet powerful stream of water jetted out from the very tip. Orgo raised his weighty weapons and blocked the flow, a guttural battle cry rising from his throat as he pushed through Blackeye’s opening strike and approached almost undeterred. Forced to break off the stream, the captain tried to fall back to stay out of striking distance, only to have a far too quick blow clip his shoulder hard.

He let the roach chortle, it made him angry enough to forget the wound.

Meanwhile, Wally desperately sought any opening through the enraged baron’s defenses. Between the long scimitars and the deadly pincers, he couldn’t see a single gap or weakness to exploit. The quick bursts of flame he managed to fire off while moving splashed against the scorpion’s armor to seemingly little effect, and he couldn’t concentrate long enough to produce anything stronger. Hado was fast, strong, durable, and skilled, and as much as Wally’s strikes pushed him away, he could close the distance easily.

But Hector’s training taught him not only to focus on his opponent’s abilities, but when to best harness his own.

With a powerful slash against the baron’s guard, Wally sent him sliding on his heels once again, only this time the wallaby dashed forward to charge his opponent.

“THINK YOU’VE BROKEN MY GUARD?! I’LL SHOW YOU!” The baron’s scimitars hummed as they sliced through the air where he’d thought Wally would be. His eyes barely traced the course of the wallaby now jumping over his head. Hado grinned wickedly as his bizarre and angular tail reared back to intercept his prey.

Which was Wally’s plan all along.

He thrust his arm out, just barely catching the tail below its deadly stinger. Hado had just enough time to look at Wally’s landing from over his shoulder when the Wallaby yanked him right off his feet with a mighty pull of his tail. Planting the Flare into the earth, Wally took the scorpion’s tail in both hands and began turn on the spot. He spun Hado faster and faster, ignoring the loud protest and swearing as he reached top speed on his spin and let Hado fly free, howling in absolute fury as he soared through the air.

When he lost enough velocity, Hado dropped low enough to skim across the ground and come to a painful rolling halt in the abrasive sandy terrain. At some point he’d lost his grip on his blades. As he rose to try and reclaim his sense of orientation, his dizzy vision caught sight of the small wallaby with a large sword moving in for a finishing blow. With the edge of his tail he dragged up as much terrain as he could and flung it at Wally, forcing him to block his eyes from the inbound debris with his free arm. Hado catapulted himself forward pincer first, locking onto Wally’s wrist.

The metal of Wally’s gauntlet began to creak under the massive strain. He tried to strike a Hado with the Flare, only to have his other wrist caught as well. The baron lifted Wally up off his feet and held him at arms length, just outside of where he could kick him, cackling the whole time as the wallaby struggled against his steel grip.

“That,” Hado huffed. “Is more than enough out of that.”

Wally grunted and struggled, his gauntlets barely withstanding the pressure of the pincers holding him. He could tell there was no leverage he could use to work himself free. He knew Hado would shrug off any flames he could cast in such limited time. There was no way the fiend wouldn’t clip right through both his wrist if he tried anything.

“Now,” Hado sneered down at him. “I got me no love for Kota, and barely, barely, barely any for the empire. So I say, we crack us a deal.”

Wally glared at him silently and grit his teeth, there was nothing else he could do.

“You drop that sword, here and now. I let you go, go, go and you can save the world or whatever you’re after. But the Flare stays with me.”

The tiniest spark of an idea kindled in Wally’s mind. “Y-you want the Flare?”

“No, I want what the Flare can give me. Power, position, INVINCIBILITY! If it could turn a dust ball like you, you, you into a fighter, imagine what’d do in the hands of a real warrior!”

The tiny ember of thought grew into an inferno. It was a desperate plot that depended on the one thing Wally was absolutely terrible at, lying.

“Y- You’ll have to let me go… It… It’s magic, I have to hand it to you, that’s… That’s how it works, just please don’t hurt me!” Wally spoke loudly and over enunciated. Something his less reputable customers did when they were trying to prove some false point, or cheat him.

“HAH! True colors at last, eh? Not so brave, brave, brave without all those moron followers of yours at your back? I’ll let ONE hand go after to drop the Flare.”

Wally hoped that he’d hidden his surprise that Hado was taking the bait. He did his best to focus those feelings into a scared and shaky voice. “Y-You promise not to hurt me, right?”

Hado’s smile was a grotesque showcase of jagged and dirty sharpness that almost made him wince. “On my honor as a baron.”

With a tinge of real hesitation seeping through the act, Wally let the Flare fall from his hand with a weighty thud.

Hado cackled. “IDIOT! IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT! NOW I CAN JUST PICK IT UP AND KILL YOU WITH IT!”

Wally silently prayed this would work. To whom he wasn’t sure, nor did he care.

Hado bent down, reaching to the Stellar Flare with his secondary hands, taking his eyes off Wally to appreciate how it shone even in the dark of night. He slipped his fingers under the grip to pull it up, only to find it may as well have weighed a million pounds. He grunted and shouted with effort, pulling with all his might to no avail. Finally, he shot an angry and frustrated glare at Wally.

“I… I tried to tell you…” He said, trying to put on his best cringe.

“SHUT UP!” he shook Wally for emphasis. “Now, give me the sword!”

“Y-You’ll kill me either way, I know that now!”

Wally could both hear and feel the pincers tighten on his wrists. “The only thing you can control now, coward, is how PAINFUL your end is!”

He set Wally on the ground and released his left hand.

“Now, give it to me. Any, any, any last minute heroics and I’ll have your right hand as a fine souvenir.”

That was no bluff, and Wally didn’t need his insight to know it. That pincer would cut right through his gauntlet. He’d been there at its forging, and everything his father ever taught him told him it was more than possible. Now, had Wally more experience with danger, loss, or combat, he might not have tried what he did. As he feigned reaching down for the Flare, he reared his fist back, jumped up, and delivered the first and fastest uppercut of his life.

Hado’s head rocked backwards violently. An involuntary reflex forced his pincer to clamp down on Wally’s wrist, carving through his armor.

Wally flinched as the sound of metal being rent asunder rung in his ears, until Hado fell limp into full unconsciousness. There was pain in his wrist, but it certainly didn’t feel as bad as he thought losing a hand would feel. With some hesitation he looked down his right arm and saw his fingers wiggling at the end of it, right where they should be. With a surprised laugh, he carefully pulled off the remains of his gauntlet to get a better look at his wrist. There, with only a few new scuff marks, was the knoka nut bracelet his little sister had given him before he left home. Its natural hardness, far stronger than steel, had protected his wrist almost entirely. Joyous laughter erupted from his throat as he held the bracelet to his lips and kissed it happily before shouting, “THANK YOU ISABELLE!”

With some rope from his pack, Wally bound Hado tightly before rushing back toward the fray, and his friends.

<[Chapter 22]–[Index]–[Chapter 24]>

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Jewelry and Moral Dilemmas

School was its usual boring self, a tad tenser with Danny feeling less than happy talking with Sam.  He was sure he’d be over it soon enough. Right as it was about to end, Danny found his traitorous mind swinging away from the chemicals needed to reflect a specific part of the ultraviolet spectrum of light and toward his social failings.  School did things like that to the brain after all.

“Thanks to you,” Tucker poked at him with a grin, “I now know the quickest way to a girl’s heart: clean boxers.”

Danny sighed and rubbed his neck, kicking the tile floor.  “Man, I blew it yesterday. Paulina probably won’t even look at me now.”

Moping at the floor like he was, Danny didn’t notice the footsteps of a certain latina cheerleader, who offered a small wave.  “Yoohoo, Danny?”

Danny’s head rose so fast a joint almost popped.  Paulina was back? After everything? Danny nudged Tucker in the ribs and Tuck gave a thumbs up before jogging off.  “Uh hi, Paulina.”

“Hi you,” Paulina chuckled, walking closer.  “I just wanted…”

A crushing blow at his side shoved the too small Danny into his locker, closing the door on him.  “Meet me?” A gratingly familiar voice finished her sentence. “Who doesn’t?”

Danny felt anger buzz under his skin and vibrate him out of the visible rainbow.   Does Dash think he can just fucking shove anyone around? Well, Danny thought, let’s see how he feels about having his clothes fused together.   Sliding through the molecules of his locker, Danny grabbed onto Dash’s back, reaching through the jacket.  But he reached too deep too quickly and suddenly he was being pulled in, filling a space larger than he was normally crammed into, his being humming through muscles not his own.  “I’m… in Dash?”

“Excuse me?”  Right, Paulina.  Think about the new power later, think about the weirdness of wearing Dash like a heavy coat later.  Currently, it was revenge time.

“I’m captain of the resident Geek club and I’ve kept every toenail I’ve ever clipped!”  With all the excitement he could muster Danny leaned in close. “Wanna see?”

“No.”  Sour notes rang in her aura and Danny nearly cackled.  Considering the circumstances, he let the body cackle and got down on one knee.

“Oh well, you should see the guy I just shoved in the locker, Fenton!  He doesn’t rub his mom’s feet like me.” Dash’s hands reached for Paulina’s shoes.  “Which is a shame cause I’ve been tryna teach him how to give foot rubs.”

“Eew, get away loser!”  Paulina took a step back and Danny smirked as he pulled up and away from Dash’s big clumsy form.  Phasing back into his locker, Danny noted that Dash felt a compulsion to rub his mom’s feet and that was a fascinating additional tidbit about the power.  “Hey, Danny? What’s your number?” Danny gave her the numbers and was soon tumbling out of the locker, face meeting linoleum. Danny rolled over and Paulina laughed.  “We have to stop meeting like this.” Her eyes widened, picking up something that must’ve fallen out of Danny’s bag. “Oh my goodness, what is that?” Paulina picked up a necklace, glittering gold surrounding an emerald and held together on a gold chain.  With the way she was looking at it, it could practically be made of real gems and gold.

“That?  Uh. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful!”

Danny got to his feet and rubbed his arm with a smile.  “That’s great cause It’s for you!”

Paulina gave Danny a smile that warmed him up on the inside and her aura was singing with chirping birds.  “Really?”

“Yeah, uh, I got it in case I got the nerve to ask you to the dance and you said yes.”  Danny grabbed his pants before they could fall. “I wanted to get you something in case of that and uh that’s what I was planning on though, now that I look again it doesn’t really do you justice.”

“Well, you are kinda cute, and you have great taste in underwear.”  Paulina put the necklace on herself and flashed another smile Danny’s way.  “I’d love to go with you.”

As soon as Paulina was out of earshot Danny tugged on his jacket.  “What am I doing? That doesn’t belong to me- it could be my mom’s or my sister’s…”  Paulina waved goodbye and turned the corner, that blossom of warmth in Danny’s chest spreading.  “Which is future Danny’s problem, cause she said yes !  Whoo!”  Tossing his arms in the air, Danny barely felt embarrassed when his jeans fell again.  Picking them up Danny heard the grating whine of displeasure behind him on the wrong level of existence to be paying attention to.

“Pantless again, Mr. Fenton?”  The balding pot-bellied vice principal drawled with his hands behind his back.  “That’s the third time this week I’ve caught you,” Lancer paused, pulled out a book titled How to Sound Hip for the Unhip, “dropping trou.”  Danny’s foot nearly dipped below the tiles as he tried to keep his laughter inside.  “I think it’s time I met your father for a Parent-Teacher Conference.” The paper Lancer handed him made keeping the giggles in a lot easier.

“My Dad?”   Orion, how am I gonna handle this one?

“Until then, here.”  Lancer handed him a belt.   How did that fit in his pocket?  “It’ll keep your pants up and you out of trouble with the man.”

During class, Danny took down notes on how his power expanded itself.  The flesh had felt wrong, alien when he was inside of it. Dash was bigger than him, heavier and Danny was amazed he hadn’t stumbled around when moving the jerk’s body.  The feeling of Dash’s mind beneath his, pushed under the surface of consciousness, was like wisps of air trying to escape like bubbles but not quite knowing it was trapped.

Mr. Falluca tried to get the slip on a seemingly inattentive Danny, but Science was his Thing, and Danny managed an answer and a tangent on every question shot his way.  Falluca was impressed but reminded Danny to at least look at the board occasionally. Danny made no promises to do so.

When Danny got home, the belt Lancer had repeatedly instructed him to put on nearly forgotten at his waist, he found his Dad monitoring the portal with the Fenton Fisher in his hands, though there was an extra blast shield between Dad and the rest of the lab.  Let it never be said that Fenton’s work slow.

Walking through the door of the shield Danny waved.  "Hey Dad, catch anything?“ Danny knew the answer, but it was the best way to Segway to the issue.

"Couldn’t catch a cold, Danny.  I’m so frustrated I wanna take it out on the first person to give me bad news!  Probably one of those GIW agents…”

Trying to ignore the sound of a hornet’s nest coming from his dad on that second level of reality, Danny weighed his options.  Then, he slipped onto that second level, reaching into his Dad and pushing him up to the third layer that Danny saw when he dissociated.  "Mr. Lancer wants to talk to us.“

Dad’s muscle memory took over for him as Danny directed the body to drive to the school immediately.  Danny had more to do than just fake his way through a PT conference.

Lancer’s office was so much smaller from his dad’s point of view.  The chair especially so. Lancer’s droning voice, unfortunately, was always going to be boring.  “Thank you for coming to discuss your son’s schooling, Mr. Fenton.”

“Well yeah of course!”  Danny never realized before that this was his dad’s speaking volume.  “He’s my little man, gotta know what’s up with him.”

“Well, there’s been a couple of incidents with his pants.”   Sweet Tucana, is this how he describes everyone’s problems?

“Ah, his pants!  I told Danny if he didn’t stop studying so he could eat some more his pants’d fall down.  He forgets ya see.”

Lancer hummed, looking to the side in consideration.  “That would explain some things…”

Holy Pavo, did that work?   “Of course you understand!  No wonder you’re Danny’s favorite teacher.”

Lancer arched a brow at that, leaning forward a bit.  “I am?”

“Yeah, ‘strict but fair and informative’ he always calls ya.”  Danny held up a fist with a grin. “We Fentons, as people of science, understand that teachers are underpaid and underappreciated.  Without you who would be there to educate our future society on how it all works?”

A smile slowly spread over Lancer’s face.  “I like your style, Mr. Fenton.” Hook line and sinker.  “In fact, I’d like you to chaperone the dance.”

Internally, Danny recoiled at the idea of his dad chaperoning the dance in any capacity what so ever.  Remembering exactly how his dad responded to anything he wasn’t interested in, Danny gave as firm and exuberant a, “No thanks!”  as he could. “I’ve got to test my inventions, see what needs improving.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Fenton?”

“That’s Dr. Fenton,” Danny corrected, “and yes.  Now, if that’s all you wanted to talk about.” Not giving Lancer so much as a chance to say otherwise, Danny walked his dad out of the office and drove home.  Portal open, fishing line tossed, Danny whispered in his father’s head that he’d been doing this so long he zoned out and flew out of him. Danny rose up to his room and slumped against the wall.

“Ara, that went better than I expected,” Danny muttered.  “I gotta tell Tuck and Sam about this.”

“So wait, you got Dash to say he scrubs  his mom’s feet?” Sam snorted. “To Paulina of all people?”

“Not only that but he also asked himself - out loud which is a dumb way to ask yourself certain questions - why he wanted to scrub his mom’s feet after I left his body.”  Danny chuckled as he took a bite of his burger.

“So lemme get this straight,” Tucker said.

“Nothing I say is straight, Tucker.”

“You can just walk into people and take over their bodies?”

“Well, when you put it that way.”  Danny smacked away Tucker’s thieving hands from his food.

“No no, I mean, if you could walk into a girl for like, 3 minutes…”  Tucker was then assaulted by Sam’s combat boots directly to the toes, and Danny glared at him.  “Christ, it was just a joke!”

“It was a horribly creepy joke, and you should feel bad about it,” Sam said, stealing his fries.  Tucker looked ready to protest but Sam gave him a challenging scowl and he let it drop.

“You can get a date to the dance on your own like I did.”  Danny rolled his eyes.

“Does he have to take off his pants and act like a dweeb or will either work?”   Sam tilted her head. “No, wait he’s always acting like a dweeb.  Looks like the pants must go Tuck.”

Danny pouted, narrowing his eyes at Sam.  “I do not act like a dweeb, Sam. I act like an intelligent romantic.”  The laughter from both of his friends was frankly rude and unnecessary. “What?”

Tucker leaned over and patted Danny’s hand.  “Nothing Danny, you’re very romantic and understand how all that works.  Definitely.”

“I don’t stalk the girl’s locker room looking for dates,” Danny said as flatly as he could manage.  Tucker winced, then jabbed Danny in the shoulder.

“Touche.”

“Honestly, I’m glad I’m not going to this stupid dance,” Sam said, picking at the scraps left of her salad.  “Saves me the embarrassment of wearing this lame dress my parents bought me.”

Tucker, ever insightful, smirked at her.  “No one asked you, did they?”

“Guess I’m not as standardly pretty as Paulina is,” Sam spat out venomously.

“So she’s pretty,” Danny said, pointing his last fry at Sam.  “It’s not a crime. What’s your deal?”

“Looks are deceiving Danny.”

Before Danny could offer a rebuttal to that blanket statement that answered nothing, his body went cold and he heard a familiar melody at the back of his mind.  The three teens stood up as one, and Danny turned to the sound of screaming. “Shit. Guys let’s see what we’ve got.”

Danny ran to a shadowy corner where he was sure the cameras couldn’t see him and slipped into his Phantom form.  He flew around the corner and pulled up short when he saw the dragon from the other day. “Well fuck. Haven’t I seen you before?”  The dragon roared at him, a line of fire spewing out of its mouth and Danny swerved around it, ready for that this time. “Let’s try that again.  Hi, I’m Danny Phantom, and you are?”

Danny saw Tucker and Sam’s wrist ray fire before he saw the tail coming his way, and dropped to the ground, thankful for his friends.  The beams flew right over the ducking dragon’s head and it swiped it’s tail at Danny, missing by a mile. “Testy got it.” Danny charged at the dragon, tackling it by the midsection.  It flew back when he stopped and Danny grinned when twin wrist ray shots flew and one managed to zap the dragon in the face.

It roared at them all, and pounced at Danny, missing once again when Danny phased through it.  “Must have Tee!” A line of fire shot forth again and Danny dove to the ground.

“Oh, tea?  Good idea! Coffee can make you a mite jittery.”  Danny slipped onto that second level and smirked. “Better yet.”  Sinking into the ground, Danny rose up with an uppercut to the dragon’s jaw.  “How bout some punch?” The dragon flew so far that Danny lost track of it for a second as he flew.  

Lowering down to Sam and Tucker’s level, he noted that the aura of crackling flames had vanished and flew off to a corner to turn back, then walked around a different corner.

“Holy shit, Danny are you ok?”  Tucker was immediately checking Danny for burns and bruises and Danny chuckled.

“Yeah, Tuck, I’m fine.  Except that’s the second time I fought that dragon.  We need to investigate. How are you guys?”

“We’re fine,” Sam said.  “Though Tucker needs to work on his aim.”

“That dragon was moving really fast, Sam, and so was Danny.  I didn’t wanna hit him.” Tucker sighed. “But yeah, I’m fine.  Dateless still though I’ve asked pretty much every girl in school except…”  Tucker turned as Valerie Grey walked by. “Hey, Val?”

“No.”

“Ugh.  Alright, well plan fuckin B I guess.”  Tucker glared as Sam opened her mouth. “And I’m keeping my pants on.”

“Sure you are Tuck.”  Sam patted the geek on the arm.  “Meanwhile, during important business, I’m going to look up that dragon best I can.  Send me a picture of it?”

“Sending now,”  Tucker muttered, already walking off to go find a date.

“Well, while you guys do that I’m gonna go see if I can manage to make blurple into a color I can paint with.”  Danny grinned as he ran off.

“That color doesn’t need a name if only you can see it!”

“Yes, it does!”

When Danny got home, he ran first upstairs to find something suitable for the dance, and then to find his mother when he found nothing.  “Hey, Mom? Where’s that suit you got me for the Sadie Hawkins’ dance that Sam made the middle school do? I wanna see if it still fits or if I need a new one.”

[slendermanlore]

Just Another Fool + “Similar Situations”

While I’m on a roll of compiling vintage ARG player comments, here’s a post for the blog that integrated them the most.

August 7, 2009, Dav Flamerock comments:

Hey dude, that looks really familiar and seems to be corresponding with some research I’m doing on the myth of Slender Man. Have you ever heard of him? I have a few other case studies which I can point you to, if you like, which I’m using in my research, but if you wouldn’t mind I’d like to keep an eye on your blog and on Matt’s journal as a possible–nay, probable–source for my research. If you must contact me, the email supplied with this reply should suffice.

Thank you for your time,

~Dav Flamerock

Miskatonic University

August 7, 2009, Logan responds:

Dav,

I apologize in advance, as I don’t think you’ll find much mythy stuff here. Slender man sounds oddly familiar, although I can’t say I know what a slender man is. I’m currently out and about but I’ll check something when I get home later tonight.

August 7, 2009, Dav Flamerock comments:

The inclusion of dreams is suddenly quite interesting. How long have you been having this dream? Do you remember anything more about the voice which said “Now?” Have you been much of a dreamer before this recurring dream?

Most importantly, have you seen a tall slender man clad in a suit with a blank face, in real life?

This may be more important than you think. As before, I can be reached at my.name at gmail.

~Dav Flamerock

Miskatonic University

August 9, 2009, Logan responds:

I’m not sure how often I’ve been having the dream… A few days maybe? I haven’t had it since I wrote about it though, so I guess this pseudo-journaling thing has at least accomplished one thing. I’ve had plenty of dreams in the past, and even some that have been recurring, so I didn’t think this was particularly out of the ordinary. Also, I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything specific about the voice beyond that it doesn’t belong to someone I know. I guess it sounded like a middle aged man? It’s a bit hard to describe a random voice.

There’s been a pretty good lack of slender men clad in suits with blank faces… No worries on that front.

I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, but feel free to tell me anything you think might be relevant.

Cheers,

Logan

August 11, 2009, Dav Flamerock comments:

I commend Dr. W for putting together the story as he has done so with such limited information from Matt. However, it is *very* curious that you have begun having these dreams after seeing the sketchbook, for obvious reasons. Have you had the dream since we last spoke? I trust you shall blog about it when you do?

I must admit, I am finding Matt’s story difficult to believe. Such a blatant act of hostility and destruction of life is not consistent with the other material I have on the Slender Man, for he has been known to be subtle and very exacting in his victims–certainly not the kind to appear in broad daylight and set fire to half a squad of battle-hardened marines. While the dream coincidence is strange, I must agree with Dr. W’s analysis. Seeing one’s friends blown apart by a suicide bomber is always a traumatizing experience.

Regards,

~Dav Flamerock

Miskatonic University

August 12, 2009, zebo2g comments:

Just a word of advice, and it MIGHT help with remembering the dream. Some people who have dreams of let’s say, winning the lottery. They enjoy the idea of it that much that some keep a notepad on their bedside table. The moment you wake up, jot down every key point you remember from that dream and report it back here and we’ll see where we can go from there.

Stay safe and be careful

August 12, 2009, zebo2g comments:

Sorry just went over the rest of your entries again, but still keep the notes of every dream and we’ll see what we can get from them. The fixation with this creature shouldn’t be taken lightly. Be careful with how far you pursue this as it could really get to you and end in you going insane. If the dreams get worse, for the sake of yourself, back off from it.

August 13, 2009, Lifegospel comments:

Hello

I am a colleague of Dav Flamerock’s, I have an understanding of dream psycology, more so than most scientists. This recurring dream can be troubling, or it could just be you saw the picture and started dreaming about it.

Either way, I will keep reading this, if you have any questions, I’ll answer them as best as I can.

-Lifegospel

September 25, 2009, Sven Vikson comments:

Joshua, I must warn you, you need to avoid this “Business man” at all costs, I can’t stress this to you any more. You may also want to avoid Logan’s journal. You are in great danger and if you aren’t careful, you could end up like him.

September 25, 2009, TheNightmareComplex comments:

Once you’ve got those pictures up, my friend, you need to burn it. Please. The cycle can end with you.

September 26, 2009, Morrigan comments:

Don’t let anyone else touch the journal or see the journal, either. Don’t even mention the journal if you haven’t already.

October 4, 2009, Ash comments:

I have a theory… I think whatever this ‘Slender Man’ is, he is a virus of sorts. The notes and drawings that your friend wrote had a horrifying affect on him, and now it’s affecting you, second hand. The same thing to what’s happening to J who’s posting the Marble Hornets videos. His friend Alex seems to have slowly degraded, and now J is showing signs of illness.

This thing is a virus, corrupting whatever it comes near.

October 5, 2009, TheNightmareComplex responds:

Virus aren’t designed to corrupt, I’m afraid, they’re designed to destroy and breed. Their only function if to multiply. I’m afraid Slender Man is more like a Cancer than anything. And that’s far more terrifying.

October 5, 2009, Lifegospel responds:

Cancer causes the immune system to attack itself, while the cancerous cells multiply, I think that as long as we’re on medical metaphors, Slender Man is more autoimmune. The body starts attacking itself, as Matt, Alex and Logan did.

October 5, 2009, Ash responds:

As long as we’re one-upping each other on the medical metaphors… ;)

He’s like the spiritual black death.

October 5, 2009, TheNightmareComplex comments:

Wow, not only is Dr. P.T. Madd a gamejacker, he’s a bad one; His pictures are straight off of Something Awful.

Nice try, jerk.

October 5, 2009, Joshua responds:

What game?

-Joshua

October 5, 2009, Dav Flamerock comments:

You don’t want to know.

Madd, if you really wanted to pass yourself off as real, you would at least do some historical research and remind yourself that Innsmouth was effectively destroyed in police action over sixty years ago.

~Dav Flamerock

Miskatonic University

October 8, 2009, Dav Flamerock comments:

Logan, you mustn’t aggravate yourself. The reward is knowledge, yes–that is why it was sent to you. That did not cause the arrival of the Slender Man, nor did it make him see you. You are not alone. You are not the only one who can see him. If you learn one thing from me, it is this:

There is no why.

Do not let your shell break. Protect your vital heart and your mind.

He is in our world. We are NOT in his. Do not let yourself fall to delirium. Do not give up hope.

~Dav Flamerock

October 18, 2009, Dav Flamerock comments:

A few details have me worried–Logan living on Ash Tree Lane (Yggdrasil), the frightening resemblance of the scratches on the cover to something too dangerous to discuss on these unreliable networks, and the two missing pages being the most important points.

Joshua, you made the right choice to rid yourself of this book.

October 27, 2009, Dav Flamerock comments:

Without going into too much detail;

I must have posted this on my youtube video, not here, but the reason Miskatonic has no web presence is because we work exclusively on Internet-2, so none of our webwork can be accessed on Internet-1 (what we are using now). I think it’s silly to be completely invisible on this network, but the esoteric have their reasons and I’m not exactly in any position to argue. As for why Miskatonic only shows up as a fictional school, such is an unfortunate side effect of the school’s desire to stay obscure. Lovecraft, as you mentioned, went there and wrote about it, and that was the first really public view to the school. As I’m sure you know, the first story sticks, and so now everyone knows it as “that school that Lovecraft wrote about.” Oh well, I’m not going to make a big deal about that either–it actually works rather well for us.

Dr. Upham is not whom I was referencing, I was referencing Dr. Ukrytywicz (and you wondered why I shortened his name). You won’t find him on the internet much, because he’s a bit secretive himself, but perhaps someone knows of him.

I don’t understand why people keep invoking the Marble Hornets entries here, due to their dissociation, but I have no power to stop you from doing so.

Good day, and have a Happy Halloween!

~Dav Flamerock

December 31, 2009, ISH comments:

Some of us are still paying attention to the trees.

Logan, Joshua. Don’t give up.

January 8, 2010, Dylan comments:

Logan is no longer suffering.

January 9, 2010, Mato comments:

He mentioned he was going to ride his motorcycle to where Logan’s cadaver is being kept, I can only hope that something similar to before hasn’t happened. Joshua if you get the chance to read these comments I recommend continuing to keep in touch with us, it could help take your mind off of things.

I’m a little worried about myself actually, ever since early December I’ve been looking into this Slenderman thing heavily. Been sick since Christmas, everything but the terrible coughing has gone away. Not seen anything strange, yet, though me being far from alone nearly 100% of the time may have something to do with that.

But as we’ve seen from other incidents, SM doesn’t seem to have any trouble toying with people that stick in groups.

March 27, 2010, Zedek comments:

As the curtains close so many from the audience try to hold it open. The Act is done, it is time to sleep and await for a chance to tell our story.

November 18, 2010, Lewis comments:

This is the end of the story. In a few months, it will be a year since anybody has posted on this blog.

Matt is dead.

Logan is dead.

Joshua is dead.

But when one story is over, a new one begins.

March 25, 2011, der ritter comments:

It is but a noise, a shadow, a warning. To see it is to deserve it. Follow the angel of death to the ark. Only the chosen shall live. The Waters of God will engulf sin. The world is his playground but everything answers to something. That something is close, rounding the forgotten planet. Repentence is aimed at something false. Humanity has failed, follow him to the ark. His origin will be the last place for salvation.

May 16, 2011, Can'tKeepUp comments:

Sometimes there are things we can’t explain, things that don’t make sense to us. It’s best not to get involved with these things but for those of you who do…stop before it’s too late.

July 10, 2011, ThroughALookingGlass comments:

It’s been over two years now. I don’t think they’re coming back.

Something bad must have happened, I think they’re gone.

I never really met any of these guys, but I understand what it is they were dealing with. After waiting for two years and recieving no updates, I’m giving up on waiting.

For the past couple of years I’ve been compiling some research and I’ve had a few close encounters of my own. I’m not going to just destroy all of the evidence and spend the rest of my life in fear, I’ll find out what happened to these two by myself. If some Monster comes after me, so be it. I’m done with all these disappearances and unsolved mysteries.

I’ll finish this.

January 31, 2013, Noxifer comments:

What begins, ends.

And with end comes a new beginning.

Life is just a highway to death.