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goldentournesol · 4 years ago

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The Receptionist and The Profiler (Three)

Chapter Three: Minimal Loss

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

A/N: as a heads up, a large part of this chapter is a flashback, separated by ~~~. angst of minimal loss, buckle up y’all it’s getting serious!

Some cases don’t require the whole team to go investigate. Sometimes a few members go out to consult on something and come right back. Apparently, a 911 call had been received from a 15 year old girl saying that a man was sexually assaulting her and other girls her age. The call came from inside a cult’s base and now Spencer and Emily were sent to the ranch to investigate the leader, Benjamin Cyrus. Y/N selfishly wanted to tell Hotch to send someone else in place of him, but she knew Spencer was the least intimidating of the bunch and so it made sense for him to go undercover as a child victim interview expert alongside Emily.

Y/N watched as JJ zoomed straight past her desk and stood behind Derek’s desk, “Morgan.” she said, flicking the volume button of the TV across the room, panic fighting its way through her voice.

Morgan and Y/N’s attention went straight to the news reporter on the TV, “--what is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado child services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a French religious group known as Separtatian sect. The raid--”

“JJ, that’s not the ranch Prentiss and Reid--” Morgan said, standing from his desk.

“They’re still inside.” JJ informed.

“HOTCH!” Morgan yelled across from the bullpen, sending panic and goosebumps to every nerve ending in Y/N’s body. All she could think was, not again, please, God, not again.

Suddenly, all the phones of the bullpen began ringing. Y/N was absolutely frozen in her seat, not even aware of the phone on her desk ringing its wire off. It was like the air was heavy and she couldn’t breathe. She was vaguely aware of JJ’s outline as she approached her and placed her hands on her shoulders.

“Y/N. Y/N!” JJ called out as if she’d been calling her name for hours already, for all she knew, she had. Y/N unexpectedly felt a salty bead of water enter her mouth through her lips, she was crying.

“JJ...not again, JJ.” She practically whimpered, shaking her head in disbelief. The blonde’s heart wrenched in her chest as she thought back to the events of Georgia.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re on our way to him right now. We’re going to do our best to get them out. I need you to stay strong for me now, alright? The phone’s going to be ringing a lot, we need you here.” JJ attempted to comfort her and Y/N was quick to compose herself, nodding.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ve got it.” She sniffled, rubbing her cheeks. JJ pulled her into a quick tight hug, well, as tight as she could with her growing belly between them. Y/N squeezed her tight, “You get him back to me safely, JJ.” She whispered and the blonde nodded before taking off with the rest of the team.

“Is she okay?” Morgan muttered to JJ as they speed walked out of the building, secretly wondering if that’s how friends should react to hostage situations.

“I’m not sure.” JJ answered honestly and the two shared a pointed look.

It was no secret that there was something going on between Y/N and Reid, they knew they held intense feelings for each other, however the team decided to stay out of it...for the most part. Derek, on the other hand, was very good at not missing opportunities to mess with Reid and tease the hell out of him.

It took Spencer a while to get back on his feet, especially after Gideon had departed, but Y/N helped him every step of the way. She drove him to NA meetings whenever she could. She helped him take his mind of things when he was having cravings. She finally, finally agreed to learn how to play chess, even though she was positive she was destined to lose. She’ll never forget how excited he got when she’d offered.

~~~

“Wait--what?” Spencer stopped mid-sip from his morning coffee. The team hadn’t filed in yet, but he was hanging around her desk like he usually did when she told him.

“Yup, you heard me. I’ll let you finally teach me how to play.” Her eyes twinkled with playfulness and he could have sworn his heart swelled twice its size. He was aware that he was gaping at her, but for some reason he couldn’t stop. The thought of sitting across from her so closely and for so long as he tried to teach her the moves was enough to make him forget his words.

“Hello? Earth to Spencer?” She laughed, waving a hand in front of his face. He snapped out of it, blushing.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll teach you! We’re going to have so much fun!” He exclaimed, his face practically splitting in half from his grin. She was about to make a comment about how it wouldn’t be so fun to lose to him (the whole point of not wanting to learn it in the first place), but she decided the genuine excitement on his face was worth more than winning ever would be.

~~~

She also remembered him practically fangirling to her over David Rossi’s books. He was so excited when the other founder of the BAU joined the team in place of Gideon. Of course, Spencer had read all his books and was more than ready to recite them to her if she wanted him to but she preferred to keep the crime and the gore at a minimum, preferring to hear about Victorian love stories and obscure children’s stories that are told in African villages she’d never heard of before. Rossi was a fairly nice man, much warmer than Gideon but was still somewhat cagey upon joining the team. She didn’t really blame him, he’d left the job only to come back to it years later and find a bunch of younger hotshot agents in the unit he created. At least Rossi took the time to learn her name and smile at her in the mornings.

Sometimes he’d sit and watch the two interact from his office. He’d assumed they were together when he’d first joined the team, almost a year ago now. Seeing how they leaned into each other when they spoke and maintained such intense eye contact, it just made sense to him. That and the fact that he’d noticed the way Reid was so much more comfortable around her than he was with his team mates. He’d note the not-so-subtle lingering hand touches on arms and the way they chose not to move their knees away from each other if they bumped. But, most of all, what he thought was a dead giveaway, was the way they smiled at each other; they smiled with their whole faces. Spencer’s mood seemed to brighten around her and even though he hadn’t known the young genius for long, he knew that that was a good sign. If he hadn’t seen Y/N and Anderson getting in the same car together, he’d never have guessed that they were together, much less engaged. You don’t need to be a profiler to know what the longing glances across the bullpen meant, though. Or the sad eyes she gave him every time he left for a case. Or the hug she gave that was obviously tighter than anyone else’s when they came back.

Hopefully, he’ll come back this time.

Y/N was practically a mess at her desk after they all left. She was glad that Anderson was currently not around, then she remembered she should be wanting his presence. That is...assuming he brought her comfort. He didn’t. She took calls to try and distract herself from her panic but she found herself freaking out in between them. Her eyes traveled to the far corner of her desk where the book she was currently reading sat. She smiled as she saw the tassel fall from in between the pages of the book. The book felt heavy as she opened it, she slipped the bookmark from in between the pages, and pushed the book aside. The raised letters of her favorite poem felt familiar as her fingertips touched them. She touched the words as if they could seep into her bloodstream and finally calm her. She remembered the day he gave her the bookmark.

~~~

After years and years of participating in the office Secret Santa, Spencer finally got Y/N. He was overjoyed, in fact, he couldn’t wait to give her her gift. He had it meticulously planned out. He was ready. He poured out his heart and soul in a letter first (this took the longest). Turns out, confessing your undying love for someone wasn’t as easy as it looked on screen. With all the letters he’d written in his lifetime, he was positive this one would be no different. But, man, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Then, he made the bookmark. Store bought would never impress her. He struggled with finding the right kind of paper and the right kind of string for the tassel, but thankfully Garcia had his back. She even helped him laminate it so it could last, for years and years. The way he wanted to last with her. He printed the words of her favorite poem. One that he’d never forget, and not even because of his eidetic memory. He chose a shiny gold string to represent the strings of fate. He had told her once the ancient Greek myth of the Moirai, the three women responsible for fate. Although he’d gone in way too great of detail, she hung onto every word. He knew she’d remember the story whenever she saw the gold string. He hoped she might pick up on what he was trying to say.

That fate would always bring them together.

That he knew that she was it for him, but if he wasn’t it for her, that’d be okay, too.

She’d also complained all too often about the nasty coffee at work, claiming that she wished she never tasted the “vile bean juice”. It was enough to shift her off of coffee completely, unless it was from the coffee shop on the corner of Spencer’s street (he took her there a lot and he liked to bring her her favorite drink in the mornings when he wasn’t rushing in). But she’d recently gotten into teas, and was annoyed at her teapot at home because she said it just tasted weird. So of course, he researched the best kind of teapot possible and hunted every single kitchenware store in DC down until he found it. She’s gonna love it.

To top it all off, he decided to get her a necklace. While looking for the teapot, a small silver necklace caught his eye in one of the shops. A small birthstone hung by two chains, he recognized it as her own, and it was perfect.

He placed the gifts and the letter inside the teapot carefully and placed two pieces of tape to ensure the top doesn’t come off in the box before making his way to Garcia’s apartment. It was really no surprise she decided to host the Christmas party, considering her love of all things Christmas. He was buzzing with nervous energy as he set the gift box under the tree. He was the first to arrive, which meant he had to endure Garcia’s endless questions about the finished gift. She pried it all out of him, even the letter. Garcia was practically jumping up and down as he told her about the contents of the letter. He didn’t know he and Y/N were such a hot topic around the office. A few minutes later, the team flowed in, one by one. Y/N and Anderson were the last to arrive.

But something felt different as they entered the apartment. Her smile was brighter than usual and she seemed extra comfortable around her fiance. He thought maybe he was reading into it too much, but then even Emily noticed.

“Woah, Y/N! You look literally radiant, what’s going on?” She asked as the couple struggled to find places to sit. Anderson found a seat on the couch and offered her his lap. Spencer watched as she blushed and pursed her lips shyly, leaning into her fiancé as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Spencer practically had a nervous ugly green creature growing inside of him. He’s decided to name him Carl. Might as well name him, you know, since he seemed to be around a lot lately. He shifted in his seat a little, which made Morgan glance over at him.

“Well, we were going to wait until later to tell everyone, but I guess that’s the downside to being friends with profilers.” She laughed and shared a look with Anderson, whose hand was grasped tightly in hers.

Spencer noticed her change in vocabulary, she said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. He grew more and more nervous as the pause lengthened. He had to physically put his hands on his knees to keep them from bouncing.

“We finally set the date! Next August!” She exclaimed and Spencer’s heart absolutely combusted in the same exact moment.

He immediately drowned out the cheers of congratulations and kisses on cheeks. The sinking feeling in his chest seemed to strive for more. More destruction.

He was vaguely aware of Morgan grabbing his shoulder and giving him a pointed look, reminding him of his silence. Morgan felt bad for the kid, but didn’t want to embarrass Y/N. Spencer snapped out of his trance and swallowed heavily.

“Congratulations, guys.” He mustered a smile and she beamed at him.

“Thanks, Spence!” He barely registered it.

It was finally happening.

The wedding.

And he’d have to go.

And see her.

And smile at her like his heart hadn’t been ripped from his chest and placed at the altar for everyone to see as it beat for absolutely no reason.

Seriously, what was the point of his heart beating if it wasn’t beating for her?

Except, he knew it’ll always beat for her, even if she didn’t want it.

He’d have to watch her marry another man.

Watch as she walked away from him rather than toward him.

Everyone pretended not to look at Spencer but he could feel the glances anyway.

Oh no.

The letter.

The letter that was in the teapot under the tree!

Spencer didn’t know his heart was capable of beating as fast as it was. He sent a panicked look to Penelope, hoping she’d get the message, but she was too busy coming up with wedding ideas. Spencer could feel panic oozing out of the pores of his skin. Morgan took him aside and into the kitchen.

“Kid, you alright?” Morgan asked, watching as his younger teammate squirmed in the kitchen.

“This is bad, Morgan. This is bad.” Spencer paced around the kitchen, hands in his hair.

“I know, kid, I know. But you need to calm down.” Morgan tried to reason with him.

“No, Morgan! You don’t understand!” Spencer whisper-yelled as he gripped his shoulders and Morgan saw his wild eyes, “You don’t understand! The letter!”

Morgan steadied Spencer, “Reid, breathe. What letter?”

“I’m her secret Santa. I wrote her a letter, Morgan. I wrote her a letter, a letter which contains very sensitive information that she cannot read right now--o-or ever!” Spencer’s hands flew to his hair again and Morgan had to think quickly.

“Okay, okay. I’ll help you, we need to think of a way to get the letter out of the box.”

“Morgan, it’s inside the teapot-- which is taped shut by the way-- inside the box, under the tree!” He flailed around nervously.

“Damn, man. Okay, just follow my lead. When she opens her gift, I’ll distract her and Anderson and you have to get that letter out.”

Spencer nodded and when they joined the rest of them outside, people were already opening their gifts, one by one. Spencer waited anxiously as she began to unwrap her gift.

“Oooh, I’m excited!” She said, carefully unwrapping the wrapping paper and opening the box, still seated on Anderson’s lap. She gasped, “It’s a teapot!”

Spencer grimaced as he watched Morgan fake a trip and spill his drink all over Anderson’s shirt, getting some on Y/N’s back.

“Shit, man! I’m so sorry!” Morgan glanced at Spencer and Spencer jumped into action as the couple were distracted by the spilled drink. He quickly unstuck the tape on the teapot and lifted the lid enough to squeeze his hand through to remove the letter. He stashed it away in the pocket of his cardigan. In fact, he planned on burning it when he got home. He successfully restored the gift to how it was before they returned from the bathroom.

“No one says a word.” Reid warned the rest of the group, who were watching the whole debacle like it was a spectacle. They all undoubtedly figured out what was written in that letter, therefore they understood and nodded.

“Not a peep.” Garcia said, locking her lips with an imaginary key.

“Anyway! Now that that’s all sorted out. Back to the teapot.” Y/N came back to her gift and her seating arrangement.

“Um, you should...you should look inside. There’s um, bonus gifts.” Spencer was absolutely beet-red in the face.

But Y/N knew the gift was from Spencer the second she saw the wrapping paper, which was full of adorable snowmen dressed in Christmas clothing. She grinned, remembering the argument between them which started by her telling him how cute she thought snowmen wearing clothes was and him getting frustrated trying to explain to her how snowmen wouldn’t need protection from the cold. She opened up the teapot and pulled out the bookmark. Spencer watched her eyes soften as they roamed over the words of her favorite poem. She toyed with the gold string of the bookmark as she reached into the pot again and pulled out the small pouch that contained the necklace. She pulled it out and gasped.

“Oh, Spencer, it’s all so perfect. Thank you.” She moved the gifts aside and wrapped him in a hug. Spencer stopped listening to the persistent ache in his chest as he hugged her back. He let all his senses be consumed by her, just temporarily. He found peace in that moment and he tried his hardest to hold onto that peace as he watched her fiancé clip the necklace onto her neck.

Oh, what he’d give to be in Anderson’s place.

~~~

She smiled at the memory the bookmark brought. She found her fingers weaving themselves through the gold strings gingerly. That seemed to calm her nerves enough for now. Garcia had convinced her to go home finally after promising to call her and let her know if anything changed.

2 days.

It was 2 days before she heard any news. She had been cooped up with Garcia in her batcave for emotional support. Also she wanted to know about any advancements as soon as possible. Garcia and Y/N were currently watching a live feed from some news channel.

“Damn, how did he know there were FBI agents in there? Word travels--” Garcia began but the explosion on screen cut her off. Y/N stood up from her seat abruptly.

“What was that?! Garcia, was that the ranch?!” Y/N all but screamed with panic, “Penelope! Answer me!” Garcia’s stunned face was paired with teary eyes as she turned to look at Y/N. Garcia frantically called Hotch and Rossi, but no one answered.

“No, no, no. NO! This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening, Penelope. Are we sure Spencer and Emily were still inside?” Y/N’s voice wavered as she held her hands to her chest in disbelief. Garcia shrugged honestly and wordlessly.

“NO!” She began sobbing uncontrollably, falling to her knees, mumbling nearly incoherently, “I never got to tell him...I never got to tell him.”

Garcia fell to the floor, holding the sobbing woman as best as she could without falling apart herself. Y/N gripped her tight as she felt the walls closing in on her. Her chest felt tight and she suddenly felt as if the air was ripped from her lungs. She could hear strangled sobs, but wasn’t even registering that they were her own.

It was too late.

She’d never see his smiling hazel eyes again. She’d never hear his hearty laugh once more. She never told him. She never told him how deeply her love for him ran. What was she waiting for? She’d waited too long. How utterly stupid of her. And now there’s no chance. He’s gone...he’s pulverized into bits and pieces--

The phone rang and Garcia leapt to it ungracefully, “Sir?! Reid and Prentiss--”

“They’re okay, Garcia. They made it out in time. With Morgan.” Hotch said sternly.

“Morgan was in there?!” Garcia screamed into the phone.

“Yeah, but I’m alright, babygirl, don’t you worry ‘bout me.” Morgan’s silky voice was heard from farther away. Garcia was about to reply when Y/N snatched the phone from her.

“Spencer?! Spence, are you there? Are you okay?!” She half-sobbed into the phone, not wanting her voice to give her away completely.

“Yes, yeah, I’m here. I’m alive.” Spencer choked out, relief flooding her system as she heard his voice. He was very much still alive and breathing, albeit with difficulty. Y/N didn’t register the rest of the conversation between Hotch and Garcia. She lay back in her seat and buried her face in her hands, trying to control her breathing. Garcia hung up and rested a kind hand onto her shoulder.

“Whew, that was a close one.” She said with a small smile. Y/N took her hands off her face and met with her warm eyes, “You know you’ll have to tell him eventually.” Y/N froze in her place again. She suddenly avoided her friend’s gaze. She was really hoping she hadn’t caught onto that. “It’s okay, pumpkin, we can all see it.”

She was right, oh my God, she was right.

“No, I don’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re wrong, whatever you think you know, you’re wrong.” Y/N felt bad saying those words but there was nothing else she could do to protect herself. Garcia stayed silent, but gave her a look that shook Y/N at her very core.

Later, on the jet, Morgan took a seat next to Reid and stared at him intently before speaking.

“So, a little birdie tells me your girl was pretty heartbroken…” He trailed off, but not without an obvious wiggle of his dark brows.

“Morgan, for the last time, she is not ‘my girl’, she is engaged. She is very much someone else’s girl.” Reid rolled his eyes, attention going back to his book, although he tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the thought. He didn’t know if his heart was fluttering because of what Morgan called her, or because she was so torn up about the thought of him dying. He knew he shouldn’t ever feel good about someone else��s pain, but what did her pain mean?

“So what? Engaged ain’t married, pretty boy.” Morgan shrugged, saying it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer shook his head at his friend.

Back in the bullpen, Y/N waited for their arrival ever so anxiously by the glass doors across from the elevator. She was rolling onto the balls of her feet and bouncing with anticipation. It didn’t even matter that it was half past 3 in the morning. She had to see him.

The ding of the elevator was the most comforting noise she’d heard in about a week. There he was, way in the back of the elevator, lifting his gaze from the floor to meet with hers. They both broke into the largest grins they’ve ever seen. She practically pushed Morgan out of her speedy way as he stepped off the elevator and slammed into Spencer with enough force to knock the air out of the both of their chests. Spencer caught her gladly and spun her around, laughing.

“I thought I lost you.” Y/N whispered into the embrace.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Spencer replied softly into her hair.

The team all watched the reunion, adoration clear on their faces.

Emily was caught mumbling, “Damn, I wish I had someone to greet me like that after almost dying.” This, of course, resulted in a full blown bear hug from Garcia.

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bangteamhyuk · 4 years ago

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Got It

Synopsis: (Secret Agent! AU) You sat on barstool inside a strip club. You have your eyes on Kim Taehyung, another mercenary agent like you. You planned it for months. You were hired to intercept Kim Taehyung before he can transport an information that could ruin several market industry. Your goal is to steal his watch. However, you were faced with slight difficulty. You were enjoying his company way too much. Can you resist his charms? You have to try harder.

Warning: Mature Content, mentions of weapon, sexually suggestive conversation, lap dancing, dry humping.

Word count: 3,395

Mood song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wjbY0Tyfr4

“One Bourbon, please” you ordered as you raised your hand to signal the bartender and slowly sat on the barstool. You swiveled from your seat and leaned with your arm on the high table while you wait for your drink.

From your seat you could see men riveted to the girls on the stage, dancing, flying and grinding down to a pole. But your eyes were fixated on somewhere else. You’ve been waiting for this for so long, meticulously planned and watch it fall in to proper places before you could make this move.

You were wearing a tight-fitting midnight violet dress, chest slightly exposed, and the hem ending right above your thigh. When your drink arrived, you shifted from your seat, legs crossed, and your elbow resting from the table as you took a sip from the rock glass. You tucked your hair from your ear when it fell, and you could swear someone was gazing at your direction. It was hard for men not to look at you, they’d be damned if they didn’t.

Well, naturally you’d be attracting a lot of men from your seat, since you are one of the few women inside in a male-catered strip club. You weren’t there for a show, or some woman engulfed with jealousy to see your cheating husband having fun. No, tonight you are an exception. You are there for a purpose and right now he is finally staring at you. Just one seat apart.

“Your first time?” He asked, taking a shot from his glass. He raised his empty glass to indicate the bar tender to refill his drink with a 21-year-old Royal Salute. You raised one eye brow and looked at his direction. “No” you smiled.

“What brings you here then?” he pursed his lips and folded his arms. His eyes now surveying you. “Observing…” your body leaning a bit forward to his direction, not showing one bit of intimidation. “Observing?” he continued, in return he also leaned towards you, not backing out as if taking up to your challenge. “Hmm..” you chuckled, sitting back from your position and being the first one to concede to whatever it is you two have stirred. You sipped from your glass, eyes now looking at the women dancing.

“You like women?” he tilts his head

“I like men more” you replied, as your finger traced the outlines from your glass and you stared back. You faintly saw his spine shake, as if you have roused something from him, piqued his interest.

“What brings you here?” You asked coyly. He just bats his eyes and smiled. Damn, he looked cute.

“Just like any other men, up to no good.” He confessed and grinned. “So, you are here to observe and learn from those women up on the stage? For what? For your boyfriend?” he looked back to the stage and sip from his glass.

“You could say that… but no, I am doing it for someone else, someone I want to attract for the night…” you spoke bluntly, while looking at him even if he was looking at somewhere else.

He turned around and smirked “Must be one lucky guy”.

“Who knows, it might just be you.” you shrugged as you looked away, smirking. You finished whatever that is left from your glass.

“Kim Taehyung” he extended his hand to yours. You looked back and smiled.

“Y/N” you replied.

“Nice to meet you Kim Taehyung” you shook his hand.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You already knew who he was. Kim Taehyung.

Your current client, a man named Mr. Ong who holds a seat on an international trade bureau, introduced Taehyung’s file to your office one night. During your study, you found out several similarities you shared him. Both of you are mercenaries, independent agents to whoever have any interest to shell out millions of dollars for a single task.

Both of you had a promising future, but dropped out from school just because. Both of you started early on this underground business knowing that the pay is more than good, in fact it blasphemously outrivaled any other job. Fuck. You roll your eyes. You are pretty sure he gets the same elation after every successful mission. You two must be insane, and that further ignited your pursuit. Nothing is more attractive to you than a man who shares the same ambition, no matter how morally wrong it appears to achieve.

You were tasked to steal an information from him, encrypted to a memory card hidden somewhere beneath his watch, as you were told. Your client insist that it is of great importance, that the market industry of several countries will be in jeopardy if that information is not intercepted immediately. Honestly, you could not care less.

Now that the secret transporter is right in front you, his boxy smile is definitely testing your confounded endeavor and your damn loyalty to the money. You furtively shake your head hoping to keep your mind refocused on the present task. You can’t let your months of probing, studying profiles and building a fake character around the people involved just to get this close to him go to waste tonight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh so you knew my friend Jimin huh?” he chuckles. Finishing his 5th shot of whiskey. He raised his again to gesture the bartender for a 6th refill. “I’m appalled you haven’t gotten under his influence. Typically, women just…” he laughed midway. You didn’t know why, but you did the same. You weren’t drunk just yet, but you somehow already feel intoxicated around him.

“…just are drawn to him. Even when he just breathe, they are instantly swept off their feet by Park freaking Jimin. It’s not just women, even men!” He raised both his brows, clearly surprised.

“Maybe, but I’m drawn more to men who is crazy as me.” You flipped your hair, exposing your neck. “…and he doesn’t quite make the cut” you continued.

You smirked as the sight of him gulped. He took a quick glance from your bare display of your decolletage. Did that surprise him? But you were just getting started.

“What do you mean by that?” he slowly returns his gaze from your skin towards your eyes.

“Well…” you tilt your head bashfully as you stood up and move to a sit right next to him, finally closing the gap.

“I like to make. Bold. Moves. That’s for starters” you bit on your lips trying not flash another smile, as you took his glass from him and downed all its contents empty. He froze. You left him dumbfounded.

You looked at the sight quite proudly, taking control of the mis en scene, leaving him bewildered and vulnerable. It is only a matter of time and patience to have him finally wrapped around your fingers, and you are willing take it slow. Shit. Are you enjoying this way too much?

“Bold moves? I hope you are not revealing yourself way too much. It’s pretty dangerous” he looks away as he asked for another refill you stole from him.

You chuckled as you were holding on to your empty glass, staring blankly at it “Aren’t I? I kind of like that sound” Suddenly you felt his warm palms against yours. You stopped smiling as you turn your gaze towards him, clearly off-guard. “Your glass please?” he demanded as he smirked.

Did he just took over and shift the control of the present situation to him? You jolted at the thought.

“Sure…” you handed your empty glass over to him. He held it for the bartender to have it filled with the same drink he had earlier. “I hope you don’t steal anything from me for now on. I don’t like it.” He said sternly.

“Sorry” you apologized, looking down. You suddenly stiffened from your seat. Wait, did you just apologized to the person who you are supposed to deceive and exploit by the end of the night?

“It’s fine” he snickered. “Women showing regret when they’re wrong, that’s genuinely attractive” he gleamed at his own glass as he took a swig.

You were lost in thought. Confused. What just happened? You never liked the idea nor the feeling of being subordinate. You love being in authority. Men, influential men, you always find them on their knees begging before you and asking for your help. It is the view you glorified, perpetually.

Just how many women can make men desperate without taking off their clothes or pointing out a gun? What you two have is far greater than a human figure or artillery, it was knowledge. Vast one that can possibly create a war if one of you ever fancy. It is the reason why you kept this job.

However, you are confronted by a man who might just be far superior than you are. Have you misjudged him?

“Do you… perhaps find me attractive?” you tried revert the situation with your question.

“I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t be.” he replied. He raised his eyebrow

“Sorry for earlier. Maybe I can make it up to you if I show you how remorseful I can be?” you instigated.

“Oh, was it not enough?” he licked his lips.

You shook your head. “I can do better.”

You pursed your lips pointing out to the dancer. “Want me to show you? All free. Well, that is, if you agree..”

“Right now?” he enquired as you nodded.

Quickly, he downed the last of his whiskey. You waited for his reply. “Where can I see this show you were saying?”

“Follow me” you held his hand and left the strip club.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

As you opened your hotel room, you directed Taehyung to enter first. He was hesitant at first, but your smile softened any trace of doubt from him and finally entered the room.

“Nice room. Quite cozy…” he looked around the ceiling even if there wasn’t anything to see. You closed the door behind you.

“Sit” you pointed at the wooden chair to Taehyung. He obliged, yet his feet were shaking.

“Relax, I’m not going to do an interrogation” You stood behind him, reaching out an arm as you gently pressed your hand on to his lap, assuring his safety. He suddenly quivered from his sit. “We haven’t even started yet.” You chuckled.

He moved his head, as if tickled at the dry sensation of your voice which sits right next to his ears. You pulled out your phone from your purse and filtered through the contents of your playlist. Finally you found it and played the song you’d love Taehyung to hear.

As the first verse fiddled, you surprised Taehyung by dropping down your heel in between his legs from behind while he remained seated. The sight left him paralyzed. Finally, you were back in control.

You brushed your hand on your bare legs from your thigh down to your heel, entrapping him further to you, with your delusive enticement. You needed to put his attention on you, and kept it as long as you could.

You shift your position, and danced in front of him now. Swaying your hips, spreading your legs and dropping down on your heels, shamelessly. You let him watch and do nothing from his sit.

When the song was almost over, you artfully sat on his lap, moving your hips against him as if simulating the act of copulating. It was dastardly obscene, but you are not one bit regretful. In fact, if this isn’t a part of your job you would gladly taken your clothes off for him by now.

Suddenly you felt his growing bulge. You were startled and left flustered, but you got to keep on going. You looked away from him, unsure what to do next, yet he swiftly took your chin to face him.

Earlier, you found this man adorable and full of charm, but now you found yourself intimidated at his gazed and the abrupt change from his face. His expression unyielding. His posture dignified.

His free hand secured your back, while you move not letting you leave a single gap away from him. He bit his tongue and watch you danced. Everything about him suddenly felt fatal and intense.

You didn’t want that. His hands are not supposed to be there. It will ruin your plan. So you pulled out both of his hand placed it above his head. You held on to his wrists. You secured it with your left hand as you unbuttoned his shirt slowly, using your right.

You weren’t choking him, yet you found his eyes shut and his mouth gasping for air. Then it hit you. It’s the perfect chance for you to end this whole ordeal. You brushed your nose on his shoulder slowly moving up to his ears. Lips almost touching his ear lobe.

He let a soft moan.

You whispered sweet nothings against his ears, telling him how good he is just by merely sitting down. You made sure he was so distorted from reality, unaware of the fact that you are beginning to take his watch from his wrist.

“Aren’t good boys the best?” you whispered as you pressed down the pressure point that sends him unconscious. You sighed.

“That was easy huh?” You stood up and fixed yourself from the table mirror. You looked at the watch and smiled. Delighted to find yourself victorious.

You took your purse and tucked his watch inside. “Oh, I almost forgot!” you picked up your phone which you tossed on the floor earlier. Before you left the room, you took one last look at the man.

Has it not been for work, you would’ve asked him out for coffee instead of a private show and a lap dance. It could have led something and somewhere better for the both of you. “Maybe in another dimension, we could have been drinking hot coffee right now, talking how shitty our jobs are…” you shrugged. What were you expecting? You just knocked him unconscious and you were waiting for a reply?

You turn off the lights of the room and left.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Upon arriving at your apartment, you began to inspect his watch, looking for the memory card your client desperately covets. You carefully unscrew his watch, removing its contents gently. You finally found the memory card hidden at the back of the plate.

You took your memory card reader device and connected it to your laptop. You opened the folder and found that there was only a single file in it. You checked. It’s a recorded video.

“Hi Y/N. Surprised?” he chuckled. Damn it. You knew you are screwed.

“Well to be honest, I wouldn’t expect you to get this far, but hey, congratulations! Well done! But don’t you think I’m a far better player?” He scrunched his nose while staring at the camera. You snickered. You nodded, showing you’ve conceded. You were well played.

“You see, I always knew one day I might be able to face a tough contender. But…” he looks at his watch on his wrist and then throws an identical one above his face and catch it with the same hand. Dangled it on the front of the camera as if to annoy you further at your defeat. “You always can’t be too sure, can you? Wait…” he fixed his camera and placed it on the floor.

He rolled his pants, and wrapped the original watch around his thin ankle and hid it with his socks and pants. “It’s going to be uncomfortable from now on, but at least I’d be able to sleep soundly tonight” you were baffled at the scene. You were right. You have definitely underestimated him.

“Oh, you were wondering how I knew you before getting this? Well, let me enlighten you. The moment I received this specific job to transport this information from my client to another. I made a point of doing some research, finding who my client might be having bad terms with. Unfortunately, I trickled it down to your client, Mr. Ong. I have him followed by the people I trust. Later on, I found out that he had hired you, so I asked someone to follow you too. Actually, you may have heard of him.” You gasped. No, you shook your head, hoping you were wrong.

He nodded, as if he saw right through you from the screen. “Jimin. Yes, Park Jimin. You see, never underestimate a seemingly naïve man. You never know what’s underneath them.” He looked down to where his original watch was hidden, as if adding more fuel to your growing frustration. It’s funny how you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You actually admired him. His dedication to his job and the extent he is willing to do to get it done, that’s definitely appealing.

“We made it a point that he acts friendly towards you, make it conspicuous that he knows me. I needed you to look for me, follow me, and then trapped you down to where I want you to be.”

Your mouth was left agape. You remembered everything completely. From the moment Jimin introduced himself to you in a coffee shop, and down to taking you out for the evening. One night he insists on taking you home, when you two are walking the streets he suddenly pointed out the strip club, and then shared stories of him and his friend Taehyung who loves to spending time inside it.

How have you been so stupid and gullible, not having any slight idea that getting that information from Jimin was too fast and easy. Things are starting to make sense now.

“I made sure we meet at the strip club. Something tells me you have a knack for dancing…” he winked at the screen. “I always knew you have thing for good men. Good but naughty ones, right?” He nods to himself “Yeah, I also did my research well.” He folds his arms and sat comfortably from his chair. “I hope I convinced you enough to make you interested and keep you from being attracted to me.” He showed his boxy grin. “Aren’t I irresistible? Anyway, I’d also like to thank you. If you haven’t realized yet. I took something quite important from you too.” You froze. What was it that he took away from you?

“Your anonymity, that you hold so dearly.” He was right. Like any other mercenary agents, you desired working in the shadows. Having your true identity known will hold you back, that why you never kept a single person close to you. It’s going to disturb you from work. “Don’t you agree knowledge is very powerful and beguiling?” He looks at the watch from his wrist and pointed something on the side. “If you have been keener, you will absolutely realize that in between the strap of the watch you stole from me have a little device called locator.” Shit! You quickly packed your essential things in your knapsack. You knew what’s coming next.

“I told you, I like women who show remorse if they misbehave. Girls like you should be punished don’t you think so? But, thankfully, I’m quite a forgiving man. I am giving another minute after this video ends, so you can escape. Sorry Y/N, I am also doing my job. I needed more time before you can intercept me again. Maybe, if the time is right. We can have coffee?” you chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. The video ended with that. Asking you out for coffee when the time is right.

“Yeah, I’d love that” you chuckled. You can hear the police from downstairs looking for you. If only you have been more careful and overvalued him you wouldn’t be caught in this situation. You scoffed at screen. Looking at it one last second before you closed your laptop.

The smile of the person who just outsmarted you.

You quickly left from your window to run on the roof above your apartment. Suddenly your phone buzzed. A message from an unregistered number. While running you opened it and saw his message. “I had fun. Thanks for the private show ;) Don’t forget to throw your phone. I’d love to see you next time.” You chuckled as you threw your phone aimlessly away. Damn. He was good.

“Kim Taehyung, you got it” you smirked.

Author’s note: Thank you for giving time. I really appreciate it!

#bts fanfic #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung fan fiction #Kim Taehyung x you #Kim Taehyung one shot #bts secret agent au #bts fanfiction #taehyung x reader #Kim Taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung x you

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fluffi · 4 years ago

Text

SNOW-COVERED KISS :: FELIX

pairing: felix x gn!reader

genre: 70% fluff, 30% angst, barista!felix, angst subplot

word count: 2k

author’s note: hi @constellynx! you knew already, but im your secret santa! you mightve deactivated by now (which im pissed at myself for not uploading sooner) but if you havent i hope you enjoy this! have a great new year :)

warnings: mentions of getting stood up

Maybe it was the fact that it was a Friday morning and you had no classes, or that you had walked past the cute little coffee shop on the corner of Avenue street twenty times this week, and you still hadn’t bothered to check it out. Nonetheless, you had the afternoon free today, and you were planning to spend it at Little Leaf Café.

“Welcome to Little Leaf! We hope you have a wonderful time here!” Chorused voices from employees at the café echoed as you opened the door to cold air and overlapping conversations.

It was a gorgeous café, you could tell why it was so popular. Plants of various colors were placed around the area -- hung from grids on the ceiling, on tables, growing on the sides of the walls. Not to mention the festive decorations — an assortment of green and red items meticulously placed around the café.

However, there was something...rather, someone, that was way more gorgeous than the entire café.

“Hello! How can I help you today?”

You were met with an ethereal face after lining up for what felt like ages. As soon as the last heart-struck girl left, an angel entered your line of view.

The sunny boy stood across the counter with a googly smile on his face. You noticed the way his eyes crinkled upwards, and how the apples of his cheeks turned a shade of baby pink when he saw you. He had a silver mullet that looked perfectly trimmed and maintained...you were tempted to run your hands through it. However, his contrasting baritone voice caught you off guard.

In shock and nervousness of talking to new (handsome) people, you completely messed up.

“Hi...I, um, anything? I’ll get anything?” You stuttered and internally facepalmed.

You just embarrassed yourself in front of a very cute boy, but he didn’t seem to notice. Rather, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Sure, I can give you some recommendations. Right now our xmas-special Peppermint Mocha is popular, but if I’m going to be honest, it’s not one of my favorites. I would recommend the Gingerbread Spiced Coffee, but it's your call.” He leaned over the counter and whispered, looking around to make sure his boss didn’t hear him.

As he leaned over to talk to you, you were able to see him clearer. He had glowing skin and his eyes sparkled in excitement, but it made you feel calm. You felt serene and happy looking into his dazzling brown orbs.

Just then, said eyes blinked and squinted at you. That brought you down to Earth.

“Right, right! I’ll get whatever you said! The Singerbread Giced Coffee?” You nodded your head in panic before you realized what you just said.

“Uh, it's called the Gingerbread Spiced Coffee, but sure. Anything else?” He looked back at you after inputting your order with a teasing gleam in his eye.

“Nothing else. I’m sorry, I’m such a mess today!” You bowed in embarrassment and looked at your fidgeting fingers.

He chuckled. “Nothing to worry about. What’s your name?”

“Y/N. What’s yours?” You answered, before realizing that he only needed it to write your name on the plastic cup.

“Oh! I’ve never had anyone ask me my name before. It’s Felix.” He flashed another dazzling smile at you before handing you a table number.

Felix put your order on the pick up table and left to man the counter. Through your peripheral vision, however, you could catch him nervously glancing at you. Ignoring the rising butterflies in your stomach, you walked over to your reserved seat and placed your tray down.

However, as you were about to take a sip of your specially recommended drink, you glanced down and saw your receipt, with a specially written note on it.

Hi, Y/N. If you see this. Read my continued message on the serviette under your drink ;)

-felix

Your heart shuddered as you began to overthink pretty much every possibility that could happen between you and Felix. Maybe he wrote you a note to tell you that you were annoying? Maybe kind of weird? A little cuckoo? A bunch of mind-boggling thoughts started circulating your brain as you slowly flipped your serviette over.

Hi Y/N.

I know this seems like a really unconventional method, but I honestly don’t have the courage to ask someone out on a date in person hehe. Oops! I just said it...uh, would you want to go out with me on a date? I think you’re really cute and I love your personality! Also, um, you’re really pretty.

I was thinking that we can maybe meet at the 31st Bus Stop at 4pm? I have a shift till 3.30 so I could go there and meet you. We can plan everything else out later :3

If you’re already taken, that's alright! You can ignore this message. But do what you will with the information I gave you.

-felix the little leaf barista dude

Your face was in a dark shade of beet red as you looked up timidly and immediately locked eyes with Felix. You tried not to smile as you looked away and giggled shyly.

On Felix’s side, he had been staring at you ever since you took your order. When the two of you met eyes, his entire body froze, and he stopped what he was doing, dropping his half-washed cup into the sink.

“Dude, what are you doing, I- “ Bang Chan, his senior colleague and friend, followed Felix’s line of sight to you and chuckled slyly.

“In my opinion, the color of their face probably means that they’ll go out with you. Get back to work Lix, or you might not be able to see her later.” He nudged Felix’s side, prompting him to continue working. Felix looked up at Bang Chan in confusion and continued his work, still glancing at you occasionally.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. How can I help yo-oh. Oh.” Felix looked up at you smiling, still blessed with a tinge of pink across your cheeks.

“I should’ve given more context. Yes, I’ll go out with you tonight!” You didn’t know where you received this newfound confidence, but you were going to use all of it.

“Oh, really? That’s great! I’ll meet you there then. Be careful, okay? Can’t have you getting hurt before we have our first date.”

Once again you had melted into a puddle of nervousness. Unable to voice out anything, you nodded your head multiple times and ran out the café. Your hands were cold from the chilly season, but your heart was warm from the cute barista.

It was ten past four. You were sitting under the shade of 31st Bus Stop, fidgeting with the hem of your waistband and looking around, by yourself.

You weren’t losing hope, you were sure Felix was on his way right now. He would never stand you up, right?

Right?

Regardless, you sat on the uncomfortable metal bench in freezing weather, and you were about to text him, when…

You realized you didn’t have his phone number.

You weren’t going to go home, however. Determined Y/N was planning to wait for as long as it would take. You trusted Felix.

Forty minutes now. You had been playing some mobile games, looking out at the bustling street in front of you. During the winter season, the sun set earlier, so it was already dark and it definitely wasn’t safe for you to be alone. However, you were determined that Felix would arrive soon.

Five more minutes was what you told yourself as you stared out into the empty road, now barren of cars as the rush hour was over.

“Lee Yongbok, where do you think you’re going?”

Felix cursed under his breath and turned to Mr. Park with a small smile. “I’m done with my shift boss, I’ll get going now.”

“Felix, it's peak season right now. If you don’t remember what I told you guys during the brief meeting, I’ll say it again. From the 12th of December to the 25th of December, all of you have your shifts extended for two hours due to the influx of customers during the Christmas season. Is that so hard to understand?” Mr. Park crossed his arms and squinted at Felix.

“Mr. Park, I’ve understood that rule. I did my two-hour extension, now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now. I have somewhere to be.” Felix tried opening the door and walking out but was pulled back by a stronger arm grabbing his.

“Nuh-uh, young man. I’m sure that whatever event you have today isn’t going to be as important as the wellbeing of Little Leaf. Now if you’ll excuse me, do get your apron and hat back on and go back to manning the counter.” Mr. Park mocked.

Felix sighed and tried one last time at changing the mind of his horrible boss. “But Mr. Park, I swear, I did my two-hour extension, you can check the roster if you-”

“Get back to work, boy. Unless you want to start a new job in 2021.”

Felix sighed and threw his bag down, walking to the staff room to retie his apron.

Later, when Mr. Park checked the roster, he would find out that Felix did do his two-hour extension, and that he never lied.

An hour and a half, that was how long you waited. No one would ever wait for that long. No one would ever stay alone at late hours of the day, waiting for someone who probably wouldn’t even show up.

Tears stung your eyes as you sighed and stood up, huffing and smoothening your outfit out. You thought that Felix had probably stood you up. It was probably a dare, maybe he had been dared to write a generic love serviette to some desperate person who fell for his charming looks. Even then you couldn’t help but think of Felix, and tears streamed down your face as you trudged back home.

“Y/N! Y/N, wait up! Y/N, don’t leave, hear me out.” The voice you had been waiting for finally could be heard.

You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face a panting Felix. His hair was disheveled, apron still on, and his jacket was worn the wrong way round. What an entrance to a first date.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. Mr. Park honestly...he kept me for an hour more, before I convinced him to let me leave. I don’t know why, I’m so sorry. I honestly didn’t think you would be here, no one would stay that long. Please, give me another chance?” Felix took a few steps closer to you but maintained his distance. His eyes scanned yours for any response.

“I’m- I mean, it's not your fault...but you made me wait for so long. I just, I don’t know what to say. I thought you stood me up.” Your eyes watered once again.

Felix immediately waved his hands in denial and took one more step closer to you. “No, no, Y/N. I would never. I’m sorry if you thought I would ever stand you up. I should have made my way here over faster, if only I gave you my phone number. I’m so sorry-”

Your eyes suddenly widened, and you looked up. White, shimmering, pieces of ice fell upon the both of you. You stared at him in awe, mouth open wide.

It hadn’t snowed in Seoul for a long, long time. Maybe this moment was special.

Felix smiled back at you. Amidst the white rain, he took a few steps closer to you until the both of you were so close that you could...kiss.

“Y/N. I apologize. I’m sorry for being a horrible first date. Will you forgive me?” His dark chocolate orbs glanced into yours, dragging you into a new universe.

“Yes. I’ll forgive you.” You whispered, looking at the ground.

His eyes scanned yours for any sort of consolation. He didn’t even need to ask anymore. “Y/N, can I kiss you?” He quietly asked, using his pointer finger to tilt your chin upwards.

As you nodded, he leaned in and placed his lips on yours, as the both of you stood amidst the snow. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he put his around your waist and the both of you deepened the kiss.

Two lone beings, coming together as one, in the midst of a snow-struck city.

2021 © fluffi

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writingwithadinosaur · 4 years ago

Text

“Under the Knife” - Part 5

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,100-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talks of Murder, Violence, Emotions, Cursing. Let me know if I missed anything!

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude @ntlmundy @a-person-unlabled

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

As much as you didn’t want to have this meeting with Crawford, you knew that you had to. You had to fill in not only Jack but Hannibal as well on where you were when it came to motive, suspects, and connections. The car ride back to the office was silent as you struggled to focus on case-related thoughts as opposed to the fact that your brother and Hannibal thought you needed backup.

It wasn’t until you parked in your normal spot at headquarters that you felt yourself slip.

Do they really not believe in me that much? Will, I can understand. He was wary about me joining from the start. But Hannibal? He was so supportive at dinner. He said that I was ‘wonderful and valuable.’ Why would he say that if he was just going to be watching over me and double-checking my work? I--

While Will seemed to not let his emotions come up often, you were the opposite. You were very empathetic and even though you had spent many years working on getting a better handle on them, you couldn’t help with your emotions got the best of you.

You managed to make it to your office before the angry tears started to spill.

There were two soft knocks on your office door. You quickly scrambled to wipe your face with the inside of your shirt and grab a few papers that you planned on showing Jack in an effort to look okay.

“Come on in.” You spoke just loud enough to be heard through the door, hoping it was just a student or delivery and wouldn’t have to turn around and face them. You heard the door slowly creak open a little, Hannibal peeked in.

“Everything alright, (Y/N)?” You let out a single harsh exhale in disbelief. You kept your back facing him as you picked up a few more relevant papers to add to the growing pile in your arm.

“As alright as they can be.” You cursed internally as you felt the shakiness in your voice betray you. A normal person wouldn’t pick up on it, but you were sure Hannibal had.

“I understand you may not want to talk about this, but I think--” You quickly turn around and cut him off, really not in the mood to hear whatever explanation he has right now for his or Will’s behavior.

“I think Crawford is waiting for us. I would like to get this meeting over with and then go home so I can have an actual meal today. So how about we start moving?” You were sure he noticed the extreme lack of eye contact and the stuffiness in your nose making your voice slightly nasal. You were ready for him to ask about your wellbeing again.

Instead, you saw him nod once and held out his hands.

“Well then, let's not keep him waiting. May I?” You gladly handed your stack of papers over to him while you picked out one more file and unhooked your bag from the back of your desk chair, in hopes that you could leave right after this session with Crawford.

~~~~~~~~

“So what we have so far is that Dr. Pencalt was a neurologist with no obvious ties to Dr. Everet, Chasten, or Loreit other than the fact that they all live relatively close to one another. We also now have a potential height range and the small detail that he is left-handed.”

Hannibal hadn’t even shut the door to Jack’s office behind the two of you yet before Jack started talking. He wasn’t even facing you two, instead, he was looking at the board of evidence that now had a few pictures of tonight’s scene on it. Hannibal placed your papers on the desk in front of you as you made your way to a seat. You felt yourself zoning out because of how tired you were. Not only from the lack of sleep, but now your eyes were slightly stinging thanks to the tears that had slipped in your office moments ago.

While you knew what Jack was saying, you felt yourself zoning out even more. It wasn’t new information and you were so spent. You hadn’t realized how far into your mind you were drifting until you felt a shoe tap against yours, jolting you back into reality. Hannibal had seen the minuscule fade in your eyes as you stared at the stack of papers. He knew Jack wouldn’t handle it well, so he did his best to help you.

You tuned back in as Jack started to turn to now face you two.

"Dr. Lecter, do you think that this killer sees the spouses as nothing special, or are we missing something involving them?"

"I believe they were merely obstacles that our killer has to get through. (Y/N) said it best. These spouses are nothing more than 'trash that is taken care of.'"

You hated to admit that it hurt that Jack had to verify with Dr. Lecter on your findings. But it was a bit nice to know that Hannibal was on your side despite what your brain was told you back in your office.

Jack then looked to you, his face not showing the indignation you were sure was bubbling inside him.

“What else you got?”

Slightly rubbing a bit of pain from your eyes, you looked in your notebook, trying to figure out what else to say. You saw a scribble and then reached to your pile of papers on Jack’s desk to try to find the specific ones you were looking for.

“Well, I started to go through and find all of the doctors that work in any medical field within a 50-mile radius. I then tried to narrow it down by eliminating all of the females.”

“Why disregard females?”

“Because unless one of these female doctors is Wonder Woman, I don’t think any of them would be able to physically disable men like Dr. Chasten, who was a rather large man, by themselves.” Jack just nods his head in agreement and you keep your slowly derailing train of thought going.

“I uh-- I haven’t been able to do anything else with this list because we only just found this dominant hand and a good height range an hour ago. And I’ll be able to narrow down that height range even more when I get the angle of the incision point back from Beverly or Jimmy. But it's at least a start to what we’re looking for. ”

You look up from your suspect list as you slide it to Jack on the other side of the desk, only to find him looking at you, expecting more. Reaching for your notebook, you fumble through your scrawlings again, trying to find any information that would please him. Hannibal watched your interaction and decided to step in.

“May I ask something?”

“As long as it's not about my personal life.” You still had your eyes scanning your notebook as you responded.

“It isn’t.” You looked up from your notes, saw that he was serious, and nod for him to continue. “Why did the bedding stand out to you, (Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“At the crime scene, you said that ‘the sheets are flat.’ What significance does that have?”

“Right. Um… Because it's odd.” Jack confusingly looks from you to Hannibal, who is his normal stoic self but still curious. You see that the two men don’t see what you do, so you pull out the crime scene photos from all of the cases that show the dead doctors in their beds.

“Because the killer fixed them before meticulously placing the various parts of Dr. Pencalt out. He didn’t do that for any of the other ones. And, I also noticed that Dr. Pencalt’s eyes were left open, unlike the others who have their’s closed. It's the first time we’ve seen either of these things.”

“It is also the first time he’s killed in one room, then moved the victim to the bed.” Hannibal chimed in.

“Yes! Exactly. But, the bed still would have been messy from Dr. Pencalt’s rushed exit to the bathroom to try and get his gun. Which means that our killer wanted this ‘sculpture’ of his to be nicer looking than his previous ones.”

“Why?” Crawford could see what you were saying, be he needed more.

“I-I’m not sure yet.”

You looked down at your notebook in slight shame. So when Jack raised his voice and hit his hand on his desk in frustration, you couldn’t help but jump in your seat a bit, causing Hannibal to stiffen slightly. He had a watchful eye on you as he let Jack speak.

“Dammit, (Y/N)! This is why I brought you on. You’re supposed to be able to get inside this maniac’s brain and lead us to him. You’re implying that our killer gift-wrapped a victim at a scene that we have seen now four different times. So I’m gonna ask again: Why is this one so special?”

“May--Maybe he has some sort of emotional attachment to this vic. O-or maybe this is about his ego and he knows we were now taking this- him seriously. So he wanted to show us a new mosaic that he was proud of, like a child showing their parents a shitty piece of macaroni art that they think is a masterpiece. Or maybe it’s none of these ideas and it’s something completely out of left field that I haven’t figured out. The point is: I don’t know yet, Jack!”

You didn’t expect yourself to burst like that. But the mix of your personal feelings about Hannibal and your brother, your lack of rest, and Crawford’s accusatory tone had set you off. You focused on fiddling with your ring to try to reign yourself back in and attempt to clock out for the night.

While you tried to breathe for a few seconds, the men just stared. Hannibal was observing you, making sure you were okay enough that he wouldn’t have to physically assist you. Jack on the other hand was silent out of surprise. The two of them had seen Will at his most stressed, but they’d never seen you like this. Jack wasn’t sure how to proceed until you spoke again, much calmer and quieter than a moment ago.

“I need more evidence. We can sit here and spout out theories all night. But without details from whatever the techs got tonight, nothing can stick. So when the gang in the lab has results of any kind or we get more information from the autopsies, then I can reexamine everything I have and get a better idea of what the hell we’re looking for. For now, I’m exhausted, I’m hungry, and need a shower.”

“Are you quitting this case?” Your gaze shot from your hands in front of you to Crawford’s incredulous face; Now worried that he thought you were unfit for this job.

“No. Absolutely not. I want this asshole caught. I-- I just need to rest. I’ve been going almost non-stop since I signed those papers and took the files home. Hannibal can even vouch for me that I was immediately engrossed in this case the moment I got home. I promise that I will be more productive when I can get a sandwich and a few hours of sleep in me.”

You tried to keep your features calm, but you couldn’t help the slight sound of pleading in your voice. You knew you were right and that you just needed a small break. You felt the small sting of disheartened tears fighting their way back into your already sore eyes, hoping that Hannibal didn’t pick up on them. Jack looked to Hannibal for confirmation, getting a silent nod from him. Crawford slowly nodded his head in understanding.

“You’re right. Go home. We will pick this up tomorrow.”

He motioned to the door. You thanked him and tried to stand up and calmly walk out without showing that one of those irritating tears had slid down your cheek as you turned away from Jack. Hannibal had gotten up and opened the door for you, but before you could pass through the threshold, Jack spoke up.

“If you do think of anything, write it down and tell me first thing tomorrow.” You just nod and continue out the door, trying to make it to your car before you let yourself cry anymore. Hannibal was going to follow and ensure your safety as he usually did, but Jack stopped him.

“Not you, Dr. Lecter. I need to speak with you about a few things in private. Shouldn’t take long.” Hannibal nodded as he saw you quickly turn the corner towards the elevators. He shut the door and settled back in his seat at Crawford’s desk.

“I take it (Y/N) didn’t like the idea of you being on this case now too?”

“No. I suspect she thinks that Will and I don’t believe in her ability to handle this intense of a case as well as keep herself afloat. I’ve tried to get her to open up about it, but I fear that it may be too soon to bring it up.”

“Do you think she will be able to stay afloat?”

“I do. (Y/N) is a brilliant individual who’s empathic intuitions match those of her brother. That in addition to her curiosity for the abnormal, and desire for justice make her an ideal candidate for this position. However, I believe that she needs time to process everything that has happened over the course of her first 3 days here. She has only dealt with high-profile cases like this one after they have been solved. She’s never been in an active case of this caliber. She is bound to get overwhelmed and think that she isn’t good enough during this first week. I suspect that she will bounce back soon enough.”

Jack wasn’t sure what exactly he was trying to ask, but Hannibal saw the look of confusion on his face and continued.

“(Y/N) thinks that because she hasn’t found anything substantial yet and another body has been found, that she is not good at what she does. When in reality, she is right, we are at a standstill until we get more evidence.”

At first Crawford wasn’t sure about having Hannibal ride in the backseat through this case. But now he was thankful. Through Hannibal’s understanding of your life outside of the FBI, he was able to remind Jack that you were human and could only do so much without a breather. Something he had failed to remember with Will at times..

Jack stood up and got his jacket that was hanging on the back of his desk chair, stretching a bit as he stood up. Hannibal stood as well, anticipating a dismissal.

“I see. Well, I think we should follow (Y/N)’s example and take the rest of the night to let things settle in. Start fresh tomorrow morning. Our’s killer’s timer is reset; We got less than two weeks to catch this lunatic.”

~~~~~~~~

You were more than glad to get your keys in your door and finally be able to let your guard down. Your stomach growled as you turned the handle, thinking about the leftover pizza you had in your fridge. Before you could step too far into your apartment, you felt your shoe shift as you stepped on a piece of paper. You thought nothing of it, assuming it was a paper from one of your files that had fallen out, and plopped it on your counter, too focused on getting food heated up and getting out of your work clothes to read over it right now.

After a quick shower to get the grime of today off of you, you popped some pizza in the microwave and got dressed in your pajamas. As you took the plate out, your eyes settled on the piece of paper that was on the counter. You set down your dinner and walked over to pick it up. One side was blank but the other was a printed out screenshot of an article from the awful tabloid, Tattle Crime.

“The Virginia Scalpel Strikes Again! - A Deeper Look into the Work of a Killer and the Minds that the FBI Hired to Help Find Him.”

“Why were Dr. Pencalt and his wife targeted by the Scalpel? We still don’t know his motive, but the FBI brought on another member to their team in order to try and help answer some of our dying questions. (Y/N) Graham works within the Behavioral Science Unit at the FBI, but has never worked an active major case before this one. Which may be why we also saw Dr. Hannibal Lecter at the crime scene. We believe that she is shadowing him, learning how to run with the big dogs. The duo could be an almost unstoppable psychological force in the utility belt of Jack Crawford.

Much like her brother Will Graham, who we have talked about on this site before--”

You rolled your eyes and let out an annoyed sigh, not believing the shit you were seeing right now. Not only did Freddie just do the basic research on Dr. Pencalt that anyone could do from a simple google search, but then she had the gall to try to discredit your position on the team. All because she was new and Hannibal was at the crime scene with you.

You couldn’t read another demeaning word tonight.

I was shadowing Hannibal?! That’s some misogynistic crap! I don’t even want to know what she has to say when it comes to comparing me to Will. This is a new low for Hannibal or Will. Going to a TC article as a fear tactic to try to get me to resign? Not today, boys.

You were going to text them and call them out on their bullshit, but decided against it; not having the energy to deal with any more human interaction unless it was absolutely necessary. So you shoved the print-out into your work notebook and tossed it back in your work back, ignoring it until tomorrow.

For now? Pizza, wine, and a good comedy special were calling your name.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #Hannibal TV #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fandom #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham / reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter / reader

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jflashandclash · 4 years ago

Text

Tales From Mount Othrys

This story comes soon after the Roman ambush on Alabaster’s laboratory. After the Pax brothers and Alabaster defend the lab until reinforcements show up, the question hangs in the air: who revealed the location of Alabaster’s lab? The Spy Master is assigned to find out or, at least, find a scapegoat.

Mercedes: Interrogation Letdown

If you asked Mercedes, she would say that she didn’t drink coffee. Her hijab always smelled of the robust aroma, one that wafted memories of her mother, of her mother’s lips as they pressed Mercedes’s forehead in a morning goodbye. Another day of work. Another disposable cup of coffee. Another hour to torment her brothers as Mercedes corralled them ready for school.

There were few personal items in her Camp Othrys cabin, but two of her most valuable were a rug (for when she went to “tend to the Hecate garden” in the chapel) and a small French press.

Few were awake early enough to witness her trek from Fajr prayer to the Spy Wing. There, she dumped some coffee beans and hot water into the glass container. After capping it, she would lean over the golden lid to inhale the fumes. Normally, the French press, accompanying mug, and coffee were all cleaned and away before anyone came in.

Today, she set her coffee mug in the center of the interrogation table. Steam curled up between her and Pax. She tapped her pen against her Othrys notebook. She hoped her irritation was prominent enough to cover up her worry. Pax didn’t need to know she was worried about him. It would get into his head, inflate it, and he’d become the next astronaut to circumnavigate the world and her anger.

This silence was one of her and Pax’s many games: invite him into the spy wing, give him no clear instructions, then ignore him for thirty minutes. At the end of his twitching, squirming, and sprawling across the table, she would ask him which three suspicious activities she had done. She would ask for the exact timestamp for each.

There weren’t always three. Sometimes there were none. Sometimes there were eleven. She wanted him to question her authority, and she wanted him to use his brain, something many people found abhorrent, she knew. At least Pax could be bribed into it.

Today was not one of those exercises. However, she didn’t correct his assumption that it was. She enjoyed his rapt attention and silence.

At the top of the page, as she did in every page of this notebook, she scrawled, “To me, death is nothing but happiness, and living under tyrants nothing but living in a hell” and “The end justifies the means.”

Pax, as suspected, broke first. “Are you going to drink that?”

“No,” she said, “It’s there for the aesthetic.”

As per usual, Pax couldn’t tell if she was serious or sarcastic. That’s exactly where she liked him. His face scrunched up in his I’m Over-Thinking expression. Mercedes loved it. Pax’s unending chatter put her at ease. Ever since he went to Tartarus, his liar’s tells had become obvious. If she waited long enough, he’d rat himself out.

That’s why she left Pax’s interview for the end. He was uncomplicated and comforting after the morning’s slog.

Underneath her paper’s quotes, she wrote, Suspects.

“Did you decide it wise to tell someone about Alabaster’s super secret layer before its defenses were activated?” With others, she couldn’t be so direct. With Pax? If he thought he was at fault, he would crumble to guilt.

Instead of falling apart, he fell onto the table. The coffee mug jerked, the brown liquid sloshing against the white, ceramic sides. She forced herself not to grab for it, to maintain her composure as cool and collected.

“Oh! Mercedes! Do I have to answer more questions about this?” He peaked at her through his fingers, his amber and black eyes glistening. “Axel and I didn’t know the location until we got there! We were just told we’d be Alabaster’s pack mules for the day and we’d do less of a half-assed job that the empousas would.”

From the information she’d collected, this was correct. Mostly. Alabaster verified it: he hadn’t told the Pax brothers anything until moving day.

However, Axel, after several rounds of questioning and clearing his throat, admitted that Alabaster had given him a rough approximation about the plans and location. This either meant Alabaster was willing to lie for one of his “meat shields” or that he had forgotten that detail. Alabaster had come to their interview with a stack of papers meticulously chronicling each time he’d mentioned the lab project over the last three months. If he had forgotten, Mercedes was a Zeus fangirl.

Mercedes had checked his records and found that Alabaster had altered them. He probably thought she wouldn’t notice, but….

But Mercedes knew Alabaster. She knew all of them. It was her job. She knew that Alabaster rubbed the upper left corner of pages when he was thinking. Several pages from his records had unmarred corners. The penmanship was sloppier on those pages. (He forgot to dot an “i;” an atrocity in Alabster’s book of How to be a Hard Ass.) The margins were five millimeters wider than the other pages, something he would balk as being a behemoth waste of space. He likely rewrote those pages, omitting that he told Axel anything. And he thought he adjustments were small enough that she’d overlook them.

From Pax’s reaction, neither Axel nor Alabaster had told him.

“Pax Two, you’re—”

“I know, I know.” He sighed, slumping back into his chair. “I’m excreting salacious facial sweat onto your interrogation table.”

She forced her lips not to twitch. “Sebaceous,” she corrected and immediately regretted it. It brought her joy to envision adult Pax on a CSI crime scene, taking fingerprint samples and discussing how “salacious” or “lustful” the evidence was to the appall of all of his coworkers, all left to theorize about his sex life.

Mercedes was always pleasantly surprised by how carefully Pax listened to her and remembered what she said, even if he did mispronounce a word way out of their grade’s reading level.

“How did you detect the Romans?” she asked. Part of her wanted to be proud of him: he was her trainee, after all and he thwarted the Romans with his snooping.

“One of them shot Sphinx.” The playfulness was gone. He stared at the coffee mug’s rising steam.

Mercedes set the pencil down. Her instincts said to touch his hand or give him a hug.

Impartial, she reminded herself, tracing quotes in her notebook. I’m supposed to remain impartial. Not to think about Lou Ellen crying when she went to the lab, where Sphinx used to live. Not to notice Pax shamefully avoid his best friend’s gaze, horrified Lou Ellen might blame him for not saving Sphinx.

I’m as impartial as a campaign poster.

Mercedes often caught herself daydreaming about ending this war without any deaths. This was the problem with being a spymaster: you had friends on both sides of the war. Little divided you other than a sense of loyalty or cultish idealism. When most Romans defected from Camp Jupiter, they left everything and everyone. But, Mercedes was the spymaster. She needed contacts. She could never truly leave either camp.

No one had won this fight, though New Rome definitely lost. Alabaster no longer had his lab, half-a-decade’s worth of priceless magical artifacts, and one of his spell books. The full death toll wasn’t in on the Roman side, but they had lost a lot of people. Mercedes still needed to verify the death of their prisoner. Rumor said that he had consumed a suicide pill during Jack and Flynn’s “questioning.” Lucille and Mercedes normally did the interrogation. They kept the interrogation humane. Jack and Flynn didn’t.

Mercedes shivered. She didn’t like Flynn and Jack doing interrogations. She didn’t like that Jack’s mind was waning alongside Luke’s.

On top of that, rumors swept the Roman legion of a new monster, this creature that had awaited the legionnaires in the Mist of the Witch’s Layer. No doubt, this was a rumor started to preserve some soldier’s honor, to make the Pax brothers and Alabaster seem an insurmountable foe instead of three panicked kids. From the way Pax retold the story now, he had no idea about the impression they had made.

Pax was retelling the events—enumerating the soldiers, recalling their location, their armament, their words—when he choked. “I couldn’t kill her, Mercedes. Is that bad?” He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. His eyes were glassy. He had been talking about a soldier that he’d caught in a noose. “Good thing to know I’ll always go for the high five. I’ll never leave you hanging there.” The last words broke with a hiccupped sob.

Impartial. You’re impartial.

Mercedes gripped the handle of the mug. The warmth was fading from the ceramic. She lifted it. What was left of the heat and the scent of tangy undertones—she exhaled, shuddering. How would she get through this talk without hugging Pax?

He shouldn’t have been at this fight. He ought to have been failing out of middle school. Really, he ought to be playing with a pegasus at Camp Half-Blood. She tried not to consider how their relationship would differ if he was.

She set the mug back on the center of the table. “No. A propensity for murder isn’t a skill I value and… and the availability of a compassionate heart is a rare delicacy on this ship, despite what Luke and Kronos preach.”

Pax’s watery eyes went wide. He sniffled. His gaze shot around the room before resting back on her. “You don’t like Luke very much, do you?”

Mercedes scowled. “That is a dangerous accusation, Pax Two. I feel for him the same way I feel for my father.”

Irresponsible. Power-mad.

Luke had made her exchange her fear of one monster for another.

She did not always see eye-to-eye with Axel; she’d been to one of his cage matches and was unfond of the sensationalized violence he so easily exhumed. However, she’d never been more relieved than the day he stood between Annabeth—a bound and gagged, thirteen-year-old girl—and her would-be molester. That changed her mind about Luke forever.

This was not a conversation to have aboard the ship.

“I made you something,” the words exploded from Pax. It startled Mercedes and reminded her of the time that Pax smuggled thirty containers of pudding from the cafeteria in Matthias’ spandex boxers. The seams ripped, much like Pax had sputtered these words: clumsy and a little too excited to escape.

Trust Pax to easily dodge a conversation and to make you think about someone’s underpants.

He withdrew something from his jacket pocket. A bulge had inhabited that it since he’d returned from Tartarus, though she’d assumed it was some kind of safety blanket. Knowing Pax, it could have been a preserved piece of skin that hadn’t properly reattached to Lou Ellen’s hand.

When he unfolded the brown silk, Mercedes stopped breathing. While scrunched up and crinkled, the embroidery was still beautiful: all pink and gold thread. It swirled in an elegant floral pattern along the square’s edges. He made this?

“And—I—I made you a magnet pin to hold it together so you don’t need to be worried about piercing the material…”

When he fumbled in his pocket again, Mercedes could feel her lip trembling. Before he looked up, she shut her jaw and dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. By the time he had set the items on the table, she managed her expression into a neutral one. She added Practice Facial Expressions to her list of spy exercises for his training. Vitally important if he ever had the karma of training a mini-him later down the road.

“I made a different one and ruined it when I practiced pinning it. Can you show me how to put one on right? The fabric slides and goes everywhere so I can’t test it properly. You won’t tell us when your birthday is, and I’ve been wanting to make you one for awhile, and this is one of the many things I wanted to do to make it up to you...”

His voice trailed off. Although he tried to keep his eyes sheepishly on the table, they kept flicking up to check her reaction. His information cataloguing demeanor was so obvious: wide-eyed excitement, the hint of a smile curling his lip, a slight lean forward.

Mercedes couldn’t keep her hand from shaking when she reached for the fabric and magnets. He would notice the weakness; she had taught him to notice.

Both sides of the magnets were decorated, one a subtle brown that matched the hijab and another with bold gold and pink paint to match the embroidery, presumably to either blend or use as an accessory. Both were coated in a smooth gloss, likely for comfort. From what she could see, there was no trick or prank attached. Just a small, thinner section, where he must have fiddled with the fabric when talking to her.

This was one of the nicest things someone had done for her since she got to Camp Othrys.

His words echoed in her head. I wanted to make it up to you. To make up for lying and going to Tartarus.

“This is an acceptable start, Pax Two,” she said, “This does not mean you’ve dissuaded my wrath. Continue to grovel and do not expect any items in return.” If he thought she was mad, he was less likely to do something so stupid again. Mercedes almost swore. Technically, Pax was younger than her, even if by less than a year. She ought to give him something, even if it was a few pennies, for Eid al-Fitr. He better not look at that as an apology acceptance.

Pax’s conniving smile broke into a goofy grin. “Gifts are not gifts if you’re expecting something in return.” He sounded like he was quoting a childhood mantra, adding in a little jingle.

“Then they’re transaction pieces,” she agreed absently. Mercedes folded the fabric and attached the magnet to assure she didn’t lose it. She shoved the gift out of sight, under the table. If she looked at it for too long, he’d catch her smiling. She was furious that some part of her wanted to be somewhere private, so she could examine the embroidery in detail.

She began again, “The investigation—”

Pax whined and sank right back onto the table.

Mercedes waited until he quieted his whining. “Did you notice anything suspicious? Oh competent assistant of mine? Or were you too busy examining Alabaster’s assets.” She flipped her notebook to a previous page, one with two columns of names that were subdivided into tables. “This is my list of people who found out or were told. Who would you find most suspicious? Who do you think can’t keep a secret and to whom would they relieve the secret’s burden?”

She read it aloud from a second copy before he could point out that he couldn’t read:

Involved in the planning process: Alabaster, Matthias, Lou Ellen, Hecate, Prometheus.

Involved in construction: Matthias, Alabaster, a rotation of blind-folded minions under Matthias (see back)

Knew the location: Alabaster, Matthias

Found out the location: Flynn, Jack, Luke/Kronos, Phil, Pax One, Pax Two, Mercedes, Morpheus

Two days of constant interviews had taken its toll. Tension clenched her jaw, something she didn’t notice until Paxton forced her to relax. Had she had water since before Wudu? Her mouth felt dry.

Paxton began to babble, “Matthias is a great secret keeper. I still don’t know how he shaved an underwear pattern into Phil’s—”

“Pax Two.” She meant to stop him from going off on a tangent. He took it as an accusation.

“Who, me? I’m a huge security flaw.” He gave her a sly smile. “I tell you everything.”

“That’s amply evident.” Since his return from Tartarus, he felt the need to tell her each time his color switched from green to transparent.

Pax tapped the lower part of the paper. “You forgot the centaurs. They didn’t know until we got there, but they did find out.”

Mercedes applauded this observation with silence. This would indicate that she had not forgotten the centaurs, but wanted to know if he would. This type of testing was so customary to Pax that he continued unhindered.

“Oh! And that sun god—the old one? Hecate’s friend that can see everything under the sun, like Greek Santa. How come he gets the privilege of being Greek Santa but the sky god doesn’t? If I were Zeus, I would want some those powers re-sorted

“Helios,” Mercedes said. She had forgotten him. Rumors of his power (near-forgotten at the likes of Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter) were rampant in the Othrys ranks. Helios sometimes claimed his powers didn’t work because he didn’t have the sun chariot, but she would need to be sure. Mercedes sat very still. Would she need to interview another titan? One she did not want to see?

“You forgot about him.” Pax sounded cheery.

Slowly, Mercedes nodded. “I had. This is why it’s good to keep parasites around. Sometimes they keep things in their digestive systems longer than the host. Or, maybe, sometimes hosts need partners more than parasites.”

Elevating Pax’s position—that was a conversation for another day.

Mercedes felt sick. She wanted to accuse a friend of espionage as much as she wanted to volunteer them for an interactive presentation on degloving. No one had given her much to work with, but most didn’t fit the bill.

Matthias had gone in rambling circles during his interrogation. The main thing saving him? He was too clever and resourceful. Had he wanted to capture the three boys in a building that he had designed, there would have been an attack of chloroform-coated underwear automatons.

Prometheus, likewise, would not have been so sloppy. He, as he admitted, would have gassed the boys or poisoned them.

Alabaster and Lou Ellen suspected Lamia. Apparently it would be easy for such a powerful witch to locate the magical objects transported there. Mercedes had Lamia on a different suspect list.

Luke, in his ever-increasing paranoia, thought it was Alabaster who set himself up. A charming disposition to cover up Luke’s insecurities, but Mercedes knew that Alabaster had no use for subterfuge. His family made up a third of the army. If he wanted, he could have the Princess Andromeda make port in San Pedro Bay with a Welcome Legions of Rome! sign.

That left an option Pax should have pointed out but never would.

Axel.

He was close to all the right people: Luke (formerly. Mercedes blamed their falling out on a lack of shared interest. Axel didn’t have the propensity for pedophilia and domestic abuse that Luke had), Alabaster, Jack and Flynn, and, of course, Pax. By being close to Pax, he was close to Mercedes and all of Mercedes’ documents. He was one of the only souls aboard the ship not pledged to Kronos—incapable since he was full-blooded Maya.

There was no point in interviewing Flynn. Flynn could tell Mercedes that she was innocent; with her charmspeak, Mercedes would believe her. Any argument against Flynn would have to be cautiously researched, compiled, and brought to Lucille, Prometheus, and Luke in full secrecy.

For that matter, Lucille could be a good option, but there seemed no reason: she was happily courting Ethel and had taken Charlie on as her own daughter. She didn’t feel right… Although, Mercedes guessed Silena Beauregard wouldn’t feel right as a spy for Camp Half-Blood, and Silena had been cheating on Beckendorf and getting campers killed for at least two years now. Having children of Aphrodite around was always dicey. Thank god the Roman editions weren’t as powerful.

Although it was unwise to be too close to anyone with Mercedes’ job, she wouldn’t want to accuse Lucille without hard evidence. Lucille made sure no one bothered Mercedes about her hijab, just as Mercedes assured that no one bothered Lucille about her relationships with women.

Mercedes watched Pax’s gaze flicker over the symbols on the paper, pretending to read them.

She didn’t think Pax would accuse his half-brother or his surrogate mother, even if those were the most logical conclusions.

Pax set the paper down. His rounded cheeks puffed into a frown. Insecurity wrinkled the edges of his eyes as they gazed intently into hers.

Mercedes took in a deep breath. Would he?

“Mercedes,” he said, sounding grave, “I’m thinking about having my first kiss—well, my real first kiss.”

“Ya Allah, save us from the sins and hellfire,” Mercedes mumbled, exhaling. The tension eased out of her muscles as she restrained a laugh.

“I’m thinking about Alabaster, though Lou Ellen says he might not be ready yet. But, that’s like saying she shouldn’t try to make a move on my brother during our victory dance party, and she should totally make a move on my brother.”

As he spoke, Mercedes collected the list of suspicious names, tucked it into her flip notebook, and closed it. She rose, took her cup of cold coffee, and dumped it down a sink along one wall. As the brown liquid splattered against the white porcelain, she sent a mental prayer of safety for her mother, brothers, and friends back at home.

No one seemed to realize she eavesdropped on her comrades as much as she spied on her enemies. If there was one thing she knew, Alabaster was not ready for intimacy, with anyone, let alone with Pax. And Axel would certainly have a heart attack warding off Lou Ellen, who, she knew for a fact, Axel thought was too young for him.

“I want it to be perfect. Jack agrees and he’s been brainstorming with me. He said he doesn’t remember his first kiss and that makes him really sad and Flynn won’t tell me about hers. But, it has to have great atmosphere—music! And maybe outdoors—maybe with a garden—but what if something goes wrong? I’ve been practicing on my hand—You know, to make sure I’m not the worst while keeping the purity of the first kiss—and I’ve been asking for advice all around, from Lucille and Prometheus won’t tell me anything, he just laughs in his ‘I’m a titan who can predict the future’ kind of way. And what if it isn’t perfect?! Like, I want it to make Alabaster happy and make me happy and be a good story for future Pax generations like Jack wishes he had a good story for me!” Pax rose to his feet to follow her around the room.

From the frantic cadence of his tone, she knew, with relief, they were done for the day. The part of Pax’s brain capable of none-meandering thoughts had a clear timer and that alarm had gone off.

She walked back to the table, gathering her notebook and new hijab. The fabric felt so soft when she tucked both against her chest. “Too many expectations lead to inevitable disappointment. What if you’re a bad kisser?”

“What if I’m a bad kisser?” Pax’s eyes widened. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them.

“Planning isn’t in your nature. What if nothing goes according to plan?” She ushered her stunned friend towards the exit of the Spy Barracks.

Pax stumbled alongside her, eyes clearly visualizing the worst case scenario. “You’re right! What if nothing goes according to plan?!”

“What if you make a big fuss over something that won’t matter and you worry yourself needlessly?”

“What if I—hey!” Pax’s features scrunched up into a pout. He folded his arms.

Mercedes sighed. Like Alabaster, she didn’t have time for experience in this field and couldn’t offer much advice. As someone who ran spy operations, and someone with a cute, unpredictable parasite pouting in front of her, she knew things tended to fall apart in correlation with how hard you tried to keep them together. “You can’t control if something goes wrong, Ajax, and you can’t control how Alabaster will react. If things go wrong, then you’ll find someone else later, whose lip sensitivity is closer to that of your palm.” She pointed to his right hand, the one she assumed he’d been practicing on.

“But what if—”

Pax went quiet.

Mercedes had, much to her own surprise and skipped heartbeat, leaned forward. His nose was cold when it pressed against hers; his lips, warm. There was a faint hint of something citrusy, like he had drunk orange juice for breakfast. Fortunately, no reek of bacon.

Several jittery questions flashed through her brain: What constitutes as a “real” kiss? Was I supposed to close my eyes? It’s awkward if I keep them open, right? How long am I supposed to do this for?

The insecurity shook her nerves—it shouldn’t have. This was Pax. And they were just friends. Just two friends who spent 90% of their time together.

His eyes had gone wide with shock. His gasp sucked air from her before he gently exhaled.

Four seconds was plenty, plenty enough to make her face feel hot. Mercedes saw movement out of her peripheral—either he was about to push her away or pull her close. She didn’t wait to find out. She withdrew, absently fussing with her notebook and hijab like she’d finished another closing procedure. Both items had almost slipped from her grasp.

Pax looked lost. His mouth moved a few times, before remembering how to form words, “Why did you do that?” The question was quiet and uncertain. Not angry. From his hesitant tension, she got the feeling there was more he wanted to ask, but was scared.

Mercedes quirked her lips into a smirk. “Because, no one will believe you when you tell the story later.”

His mouth moved a few times more times; Mercedes resisted the urge to remind him that they were no longer kissing.

In the most delayed startle she’d seen, he jumped. “But—wha—it—Mercedes!” he cried in protest. Mercedes ushered him outside the spy barrack’s door while he was still floundering for words. “I—but—” He huffed. “I wanted to share my first kiss with someone who hadn’t had theirs!”

Mercedes paused in the doorway, widening her grin. “You just did.” And, she shut the door on his face, locking it. Mercedes pressed against the wall, flipped out her dulled mirror, and tilted it to watch him through the window.

Pax paced back and forth across the entranceway, paused, raised a hand to open the door again, threw his hands up, and dropped them. After six seconds of standing there, he touched his lips and blushed. The blush remained as he walked, unsteadily, away from the Spy Barracks.

He’d be pouty with her for another week. To keep any ideas out of his head, she’d have to pretend she didn’t know why. She unfolded the hijab to admire the embroidery. This must have taken Pax weeks to make. She pressed the silk against her face, enjoying the smooth coolness. The slickness would be a pain—she’d have to wear an undercap to keep it in place.

She thought about how hard her mother would slap her if she ever found out Mercedes had kissed a boy. At home, she would have been forbidden to see Pax or, at least, be forbidden to spend time with him without a chaperon—no, it would be fully forbidden. Pax was raised Catholic. There was no potential for—

The elation in her chest crushed when she glanced down at her notebook. This was a botched job. There was no time for any daydreaming or—had she been flirting? Luke expected a report from her by the end of the day, and she needed to give him a name in that report. If she didn’t—

Mercedes tried not to think about the hunger in Luke when he stared at Annabeth, the way he’d smacked Phil across the room, the times she’d stumbled into Jack healing his own battered face with a hushed, “Don’t tell Flynn or the boys. They won’t understand that Luke has bad days the same way that I get confused.” The way Kronos’ darkness seemed to spread through the underlings like a contagion, through how Jack and Flynn had future plans to torture-heal-torture any new captives (for Jack, as some displaced revenge against Thalia for failing his friend; for Flynn, for fun) and the increased violence and spectacle of Axel’s now labyrinthine cage fights.

And here she was, holding a gift against her face like she could have a Catholic Maya boy as a sweetheart even if she were at home. People died and were seriously injured because of her lack of oversight—how dare she. What else had she clouded from her vision?

Pax is a good suspect. He has access to all your files. But, he had no reason to alert Axel and Alabaster to the ambush. Breath choked in Mercedes’ throat. And she couldn’t do that—she couldn’t do that to Pax or herself.

She knew this—suspecting friends—came with the job. But, that had been a distant thought when she—terrified and desperate for some good to come out of the inevitable slaughter of her Cohort—realized she would make the perfect spy for Camp Othrys. Before she knew the ease of Lucille’s smile, how special Pax could make her feel, how horrifying Flynn was.

Pain spread along her forearm. She dug her nails in. Underneath were the lines of her Roman tattoo, of Mercury’s symbol and her bars of service. The marks didn’t vanish when she pledged her soul to Kronos, when she forsook any chance of joining her real family after death. Was there a chance Allah would understand? To what extent could you step into the dark to stop tyrants and false idols before you were consumed?

When she inhaled sharply, she could almost taste the scent of her centurion’s perfume, a smell as comforting as her mother’s brewing coffee. She thought about that home—Rome. About her real home in Spain. About her real name, the one she had to abandon, and the one she took upon joining the legion, now reserved for her contacts in New Rome. She could never keep a name. If she did, and something went wrong, if she couldn’t do her job right, legionnaires or titans might find her real family and kill them.

Like not finding a satisfying suspect for this report.

Life seemed complicated when she lived in Granada, helping to raise her brothers while her mother worked. It seemed more complicated when she had to abandon them to keep the monsters away. Tiny Mercedes could have never predicted life would get worse.

Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.

But, she didn’t feel that right now. She’d been so careful not to feel anything. And then Pax gave her this stupid hijab and she was dumb enough to kiss him.

Her breath felt tight; legs, weak. She had to lean against the wall for support. How many homes can you have before none of them are a “home?” How many identities can you wear before all of them lose meaning? How many times could you pledge a soul before it shatters?

There were no answers to these questions, and Mercedes still had to pick from one of her friends to throw to Luke as a scapegoat and sacrifice.

Mercedes slid to the floor, pressed her face completely into the hijab and sobbed.

Authors note:

Thank you for reading! I’m sorry for the hiatus--I aim to get back to a bimonthly schedule. Every time I edited this piece, it just didn’t feel right/good enough. I hope you enjoyed anyway! I also hope all of you are well and being gentle with yourselves! Stay tuned for one of my first (sorta?) fluff pieces, Alabaster’s Delicate Dance of Chance (hopefully during the month of October >>’‘)

#Tales from Mount Othrys #TFMO #PJO #HOO #fanfiction #It has been so long since I've done this that I don't remember my normal tags >>''#I love Mercedes but I'm terrified of doing her POV #I feel like it will never quite be right.#Though--in theory--the last chapter of TFMO is supposed to be in her POV #Something that doesn't take place right after TFMO--more a retrospect thing #we'll see if I stick to it > . <#Also--I wish all of you cute weasels at some point in your day

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thecassadilla · 4 years ago

Text

Change of Pace - Chapter 4

Pairing: Kristanna

Chapter 4 on AO3

Read from Chapter 1 on AO3

Word Count: 4,779

Summary: With her sister’s blessing, Anna takes a step back from her royal duties and finds herself working for a ski resort nestled in the mountains. A chance encounter with the resort’s maintenance technician leads them down an unexpected path, as they must work together to plan the resort’s annual ball - and maybe fall in love in the process.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's been reading it so far!!! It really means so, so much to me. Hanukkah is this week, so Happy Hanukkah to those of you that celebrate!!! And once again I apologize for all of the asterisks - tumblr removes posts with “bad language” from the tags. Uncensored version is on AO3! I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

There was a part of him that felt like a complete a*shole for taking the brunt of his anger out on Anna, watching as she curled into herself and attempted to placate him before he stomped away. The other part of him was too busy seeing red to care - the situation may not have been directly her fault, but it was one that could’ve been avoided altogether. He knew that helping her was a bad idea from the start, but he foolishly did it anyway. Even Andrew was shocked when he initially asked if he could leave for a bit.

“Hey man,” he said. “Do you mind if I step away for a few minutes?”

“What’s going on?” Andrew asked.

“I have to take someone somewhere.”

The other man furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m confused.”

Kristoff sighed. “I have to take the lady from the event office to the abandoned building right off the C Ski Lift. So she could scope it out for her party.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Is that relevant?”

“Go for it, man,” Andrew said, a knowing look plastered across his face.

Frankly, it was a bit humiliating; Andrew wasn’t the type to tease or make a fuss out of things like that. But in hindsight, Kristoff, himself, wasn’t the type to jump in and save the day for a stranger while he was on the clock.

And it had gone really well - at first. Sure, she’d said a few things that had indirectly insulted him and he’d been a little sharp with her, but it was abundantly clear that she meant no harm. Other than that, she was immensely grateful for his help - going as far as calling him a hero and rewarding him with a hug. Truth be told, he was looking forward to getting away from her as quickly as possible. Despite the fact that she was pretty and sweet, she was also the absolute last thing he needed in his life. His life was already pathetic and sad, and there was absolutely no reason to even attempt to get to know her when she’d inevitably leave just like everyone else did.

And then she enthusiastically told Bonnie that he had a hand in finding the new venue and his life changed in the blink of an eye. Not only would he have to step away from the job that he so desperately needed to be present for, but he’d also have to spend forty hours a week with her for months. And he was certain that it wasn’t the type of job where they could just sit around and mind their own business - he’d done a repair in the event office a few years prior and it was nothing but constant chatting the entire time he was there.

By the time he marched back into the ballroom that afternoon, a couple of his other coworkers had made it in and Andrew was giving them a rundown of what had happened and what the game plan was. Upon noticing that he returned, though, Andrew decided to stop what he was doing and inquire about his excursion.

“Hey, how did it go with your event planning girl?”

And at that point, despite the blazing inferno of anger inside of him, he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “Horrible. Absolutely horrible.”

Andrew chuckled nervously. “What happened? She turned you down?”

“Nope, I wasn’t even planning on asking her out,” he answered. “But I don’t work here anymore. Starting Monday, I report to the event planning office as her assistant.”

Andrew’s face fell. “Wait, what?”

“She told Bonnie that I helped her find the place and Bonnie decided to reward me for my good deed by shipping me upstairs.”

“Dude, we need you here. Do you see the state of this room?”

Kristoff shrugged. “I tried to tell that to Bonnie, but she didn’t care.”

“I’m going to talk to her,” Andrew insisted. “There’s not a chance in hell that we’re losing you so you could go sit in an office and plan a party.”

“Please,” he practically begged. “I really don’t want to be pulled away from this.”

Andrew nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

But just as he expected, Andrew wasn’t able to get very far with Bonnie. She emphasized that he was needed in the event planning office, and that if the maintenance team needed extra hands, they could hire temporary employees - which was a*s backwards, if you asked him. It was totally illogical to hire several temps, when she only had to hire one assistant event planner, but he chalked it up to the fact that Andrew would be responsible for hiring the temps, not her.

So, he made a decision. He’d go in and begrudgingly do whatever they asked him to in the meantime - but he wasn’t going to make any promises. If another job popped up elsewhere and he was offered the position, he was going to take it without a second thought. Event planning office and Valley Ski Resort, be damned.

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On Monday morning, Anna woke up before her alarm and laid in bed for what felt like an eternity, staring at the ceiling and trying to calm her racing heart. When her alarm finally went off, she crawled out of bed and started her day, meticulously applying her makeup and choosing nice clothes in an effort to create a better second impression. For the first time in two months, she was absolutely dreading going to work - a feeling that she hoped would pass with time, since she actually liked her job.

“Good morning,” she called upon entering the office, relieved to see that only Holly was there and Kristoff had not yet arrived.

“Morning, Anna,” Holly responded.

“How are you?”

“I’m okay. How about you?”

“Could be better.”

“I’m sorry,” Holly frowned. “Is it because of the new guy?”

“Yeah.” Anna closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose. “I’m not looking forward to today. I actually feel a little sick to my stomach.”

“You do look a little green. I have an antacid if you want it.”

She shook her head. “No, it won’t do anything. I’m just anxious because I feel like I ruined someone’s life.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Anna. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Not only am I blaming myself, he’s blaming me too. He said as much.”

“He should be blaming Bonnie.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I feel really bad, though.”

“I know. But you have to remember that you were trying to do the right thing. There’s nothing wrong with that,” Holly assured her.

“Thanks, Holly.”

“And I may have some good news for you.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “You do?”

“So, I know you said that you weren’t interested, but my husband and I went to dinner with a few of his work friends over the weekend and there’s this one guy who is, like, super single. I started talking about you, of course, and I showed him a picture of you, and he’s very interested in going on a date with you - if you want to, of course.”

“Really?”

Holly nodded. “Oh, yes. His name is Darren. He thinks you’re beautiful and I was telling him how you’re sweet and friendly, but kind of down on your luck right now for reasons I didn’t want to discuss, ahem.”

She smiled. “And?”

“He asked for your number. I didn’t give it to him because I wanted to check in and make sure that you were okay with it first - you know, because you specifically said that you didn’t want to be set up on a blind date - but I can send it to him right now if you want me to.”

“Sure,” Anna agreed with a nervous giggle. “You can give him my number.”

“Yes!” Holly cheered, pumping her fist in the air. “I was beyond convinced that you were going to say ‘no.’”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I have anything to lose.”

“That’s the spirit! You deserve to have a little fun! Don’t let a new job and a rude maintenance man get you down.”

As if on cue, the door to the office opened and both women turned toward it as Kristoff walked in.

“Hi,” Holly said before clearing her throat and standing up. “Kristoff, right?”

“Yup,” he answered shortly.

“I’m Holly Williams. I never had the chance to properly introduce myself last week.” She offered him her hand and he accepted, shaking for a moment. “And I’m sure you remember Anna.”

Anna gulped before squeaking out a simple greeting. “Hi.”

He didn’t bother to answer or even look in her direction.

“You can hang your coat up on the rack over there and then I’ll show you to your desk,” Holly said. They both watched as he shrugged out of his coat and hung it up before Holly led him to the desk at the back of the room that once belonged to Jenny. She pointed to a post-it note that was stuck to the border of the computer screen. “This is the login information for the computer, and I’m going to have an email account set up for you by the end of the day.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sure you have some questions about what exactly your role is going to be.”

Anna glanced over, trying to gauge his mood and how he was reacting to all of this. Instead of answering Holly, he kept his eyes cast downward.

“So,” Holly started, once she’d come to the realization that he wasn’t going to answer. “You’ll be the assistant event planner. Um, basically you’ll be helping Anna host the rest of the events for the season, since the events have mostly been planned in advance. The primary event you’ll have to focus on is our annual ball -”

“I know about the party,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“Of course.” Holly clapped her hands together. “I heard that you were an integral part of finding our new venue.”

“Yup.”

“So, Anna is actually working on finalizing the guest list today, and the invitations have to be mailed out later this week. We’re expecting to have around five hundred invitations to send out, and you’ll be responsible for helping her with assembling the envelopes for mailing.”

“Okay.”

“Aside from that, you and Anna are going to have to work together on the rest of the planning. She’ll be able to explain what that entails. Oh, and I ordered new tables and chairs since all of the furniture in the ballroom was destroyed. The first few are going to be delivered this week, so you’ll have to make sure that they arrive at the new venue.”

“Okay.”

“Let me get you one of our event calendars,” Holly said, walking away from his desk and back to hers. “So you have an idea of what’s happening over the course of the next few months.”

Anna’s eyes trailed her silently as she made her way across the room and back. Holly handed him the paper and his eyes scanned the page.

“Do I have to be at all of these events?” Kristoff asked incredulously.

“Typically, yes,” Holly answered. “Unless you have some kind of prior obligation.”

He scoffed, tossing the paper onto the desk and shaking his head in disbelief. The two women exchanged a worried glance.

Holly cleared her throat. “I know this is probably going to be a bit of an adjustment for you, but it’ll only be for the next couple of months. So until April -”

“April?! I’ll be here until April?!”

“According to the email that Bonnie sent me, yes.”

“I thought I was supposed to stick around for the party and then go back to my regular job.”

“Well, Anna will be leaving in April so that’ll give Bonnie a considerable amount of time to fill both positions.”

“And hypothetically, if Bonnie isn’t able to fill those positions - what will happen to me? Will I just be stuck here?”

“I don’t know,” Holly answered with a sigh. “You’ll have to talk to Bonnie about that. But I understand that this has to be an incredibly difficult situation for you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You could say that again.”

“How about you tell us a little bit about yourself? And then Anna and I will talk about ourselves.”

“I live here, I work here - there isn’t really much to it.”

Holly smiled. “Oh, did you grow up here?”

“Yup.”

“I did too! Did you go to Valley High School?”

“That’s the only high school here,” he muttered.

“When did you graduate? I graduated in oh-eight.”

“Fifteen.”

“Ooh, my husband started working there the year before. But he teaches freshmen, so you wouldn’t have had him.”

He smiled dryly. “Nice.”

“Anna, when did you graduate?” Holly asked, clearly trying to bring her into the conversation.

“Seventeen.”

“You’re the only one who was lucky enough to escape the woes of Valley High School.”

“That’s true,” she nodded. “I was homeschooled.”

“Lucky you,” he scoffed. “Valley sucks.”

Holly clicked her tongue. “It isn’t that bad.”

He rolled his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

“It’s a small town high school, everyone knows everyone and there’s a lot of gossip,” Holly explained to Anna. “The stuff you go through there kind of follows you through life.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she remarked.

“One of my friends got pregnant junior year - her family literally had to move away because the whole town knew within a week and they wouldn't stop talking about them.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “So why do people stay?”

“Small town charm, friendly neighbors, more relaxed than a big city.”

“Or because they don’t have a choice,” Kristoff chimed in.

“That too,” Holly agreed. “Before the resort expanded, tourists only visited during the skiing season. This town relies on the revenue that tourists bring in order to stay afloat. I think there was a collective sigh of relief when we became a year-round tourist trap.”

Anna nodded sympathetically. “That’s good, at least -”

Holly’s phone rang then, interrupting the conversation. “Excuse me,” she said, strolling over to her desk.

Kristoff sighed. “So what am I supposed to be doing right now?”

“If you want, you can start stuffing the invitations into the envelopes,” Anna offered. “And once I finish the guest list, we can start sticking the addresses on.”

“Fine,” he agreed.

She took the box of invitations out from her desk drawer, walked them over to him and set the box on his desk. “Don’t worry about sealing them. We’ll do that another day.”

By the time she made it back to her desk, he was already looking at the invitations. “You realize that the wrong location is printed on these, right?”

“What?”

“The location is wrong,” he said, holding one up. “It says that the party is in the ballroom, not the new venue.”

“Oh god, I forgot about that,” she blurted, jumping up and grabbing the invitation from his hands. “No, no, no...”

“Now what?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed, biting her lip and glancing over at Holly, who was still on the phone. “It took a few weeks for these to get shipped to us, and I don’t know if we have enough time to order new ones and ship them out with enough time for the guests to respond. I don’t know what to do.”

“Great,” he huffed. “You really run a well-oiled machine around here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you just said you don’t know what you’re doing, didn’t you?”

“You seem to forget that a pipe burst and destroyed the ballroom on your watch on Friday,” she pointed out defensively. “It’s Monday.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you blaming me for a burst pipe?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Only if you’re blaming me for invitations that were printed before the pipe burst.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that if you’d have caught this three days ago, maybe you could’ve ordered new invitations.”

“You do realize that a lot of businesses are closed on weekends? That it probably wouldn’t have made a significant difference? Besides, we may not have the time to order new invitations and we may have to send these as-is. That’s my point.”

“The point is that you still don’t know what you’re doing.”

“And what would’ve happened if the pipe burst the day before the party? Hmm?”

“Why are you acting like I should know the answer to this?” he argued. “This is not my department. I’m only here because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

She felt her jaw tense. “You know that’s not my fault.”

“Woah, what is happening?” Holly interjected loudly.

“The invitations have the wrong location on them and it’s my fault for not immediately catching it and ordering new ones after the pipe burst on Friday,” Anna explained, her blood practically boiling. “Oh, and I don’t know what I’m doing because I’m too busy running my mouth. Not because of the wrench in our plans, but because I talk too much.”

“I didn’t say that,” he hissed.

“Yes you did! When you blamed me, yet again, for something that Bonnie did. I didn’t ask for you to come work with us.”

“You’re the one that told her that I found the venue!”

“You did find it and I was trying to be nice,” she growled. “Something that you seem to be incapable of.”

“Don’t forget that you just blamed me for a burst pipe. What should I have done? Put some duct tape over it?”

“You know, this could’ve gone so differently if you had kept your mouth closed on Friday. You’re the one who told me about the new venue, remember?”

“Okay, enough,” Holly stated firmly. “Kristoff - it is not Anna’s fault that you got transferred here, and the situation with the invitations is not her fault, either. Anna - it’s not Kristoff’s fault that the pipe burst and we’re happy that he found a new venue for us. I already have one baby at home and I’m not interested in coming to work and taking care of two more. This is an office, not a boxing ring or a debate stage.”

The silence that came after Holly spoke was deafening; the only noise in the entire room was the sound of their collective breathing and the heaters running.

When things had cooled off slightly, Holly piped up again. “Now here’s what’s going to happen - we’re going to send out the invitations as-is, but we’re going to stuff the envelopes with information about the location change. On the day of, we’ll put signs out all over the lobby and we’ll have someone wait by the ballroom to direct people to the new venue - I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“That’s a good idea,” Anna agreed, exhaling with relief.

“The deadline to RSVP is by mid-January, and the invitations take three weeks to order so we can’t order new ones. We wouldn’t be giving the guests enough time to get back to us.”

“Told you,” Anna gloated, smiling smugly in Kristoff’s direction.

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, but didn’t argue back. After a moment of sulking, he sat up and started on the task in front of him.

The rest of the day passed without incident and with minimal noise. Anna and Holly repeatedly exchanged glances with each other and tried to avoid talking like they would’ve on a normal day, though there were a few slips - specifically when Darren texted her to introduce himself.

“Look who texted me,” Anna said, pushing her chair over to Holly’s desk with her feet and holding out her phone.

Holly squinted at the device before squealing. “That’s so exciting! You’d better say ‘yes’ when he asks you out.”

“I’m going to,” she giggled. “Obviously.”

“This is really so great,” Holly smiled. “I’m so happy for you.”

On her way back to her desk, she noticed that Kristoff was looking in her direction through the corners of his eyes but she did her best to pretend like she didn’t see it and went about the rest of her day.

“It’s five,” Kristoff spoke up finally, after literal hours of silence. “Can I go now?”

“Of course,” Holly nodded. “Let me walk you to the elevator.”

He looked less than thrilled at the idea, but nevertheless, grabbed his coat and held the door open for Holly to follow behind him without uttering a goodbye. Anna eagerly awaited Holly’s return, knowing that she’d finally be able to talk freely now that he was gone.

She barely waited for Holly to close the door behind her before asking, “Did you say something to him?”

“I told him that he needs to stop being a d*ck or he’ll be out of a job,” Holly answered matter-of-factly. “We don’t have time for arguments.”

She cringed. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“To be clear, I’m not blaming you for what happened earlier. I told him that we understand that he’s angry, but he’s stuck with us whether he likes it or not. Picking fights with you isn’t going to solve any of that.”

“I don’t want to fight with him,” she confessed. “I don’t want to fight with anyone.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know if I can work with someone who hates me. It was so easy to get along with you and Jenny.”

“Oh, honey, I really don’t think he hates you.”

“Did you forget the part where he ignored me, then got into an argument with me, then didn’t speak for the rest of the day?”

“I think he’s angry and conflicted, but I don’t think he hates you. If he hated you, he wouldn’t have shown up today.”

“He doesn’t have a choice about not showing up - he needs a job.”

“My point is that I don’t think you’re the problem here. Just a few days ago he was willing to help you for no reason. If his first impression of you was that bad, he wouldn’t have done that.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “He didn’t know me then and I practically had to beg him to help me.”

“He still doesn’t know you, technically,” Holly pointed out. “You’ve only spent eight hours together and most of it was in silence.”

“Yeah, but he knows that I ruined his life and that’s a great reason to hate someone.”

“He’ll come around. You’re a very likeable person.”

“I doubt it,” Anna mumbled.

“Keep your chin up,” Holly said. “Everything is going to be fine. We have a new venue, the problem with the invitations was caught with time to spare, and you’re going on a date with Darren. By the end of this week, you may be the happiest girl on the planet.”

She exhaled. “You’re right. Everything is going to be fine.”

“See? You just have to stay positive. Now let’s wrap things up, it’s been a long day,” Holly directed, scribbling down some information on a post-it note. “Oh, and don’t forget that tomorrow’s Tuesday. It’s just going to be you and Kristoff all day.”

And just like that, the tiny bit of hope that had started to brew inside of her popped like a bubble pressed up against a thorn.

Of course, the following morning started off less than smoothly. Her alarm didn’t go off, so she woke up late and got a late start to the day, which meant she’d have to forego looking halfway decent in order to make it in on time - no makeup and a messy bun, it was. She ran around her cabin, gathering her belongings and trying to make sure that she’d have everything she would need for the day before jetting off, hoping that it wasn’t some sort of bad omen.

By the time she actually made it to work, Kristoff was leaning up against the wall outside of the office, his arms crossed over his chest and a pinched expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” she said breathlessly, as she fumbled through her purse for the keys to the office. “I’m usually early.”

“It’s okay.”

He didn’t really seem to care, but she continued to explain herself nonetheless. “Holly doesn’t work on Tuesdays or Thursdays, and this is my first time here without her or Jenny. I’ve never had to use my keys before.”

“Oh.”

She finally managed to find the keys in her mess of a bag, promptly unlocked the door and pushed it open before stepping aside and holding out her arm. “After you.”

“Thanks,” he said skeptically, walking into the dark office.

Anna flipped the lights on before closing the door behind her. “Holly left a note on your desk with your email and temporary password. You can log on and change the password and we’ll cc you in our emails.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to run downstairs and grab a cup of coffee,” she said, deciding to be nice at the last possible second. “Do you want anything?”

Her offer actually invoked a reaction from him for the first time that day - he definitely seemed a bit startled by it. “Um...no thanks.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

She made a mad dash for the coffee shop on the first floor, grateful that there was no line. The last thing she needed was to look like she was intentionally trying to avoid him or slacking or doing some other negative thing that he could run to Bonnie with in an attempt to get her into trouble. As soon as the cup was in her hands, she returned to the office, where Kristoff seemed to be patiently waiting for further instruction.

She cleared her throat and set the cup down on her desk. “So, you finished stuffing all of the envelopes yesterday, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Holly had the location cards printed out overnight,” she said, grabbing the large stack of papers from the printer. “You’ll just have to cut them into the appropriate size and then stuff them into the envelopes.”

“I have to cut all of these by hand?” he whined, his face falling.

“We have a g*illotine,” she assured him, trying to remain calm. “It’ll make the process a lot easier.”

“You have a what?”

His reaction made her giggle. “Oh, sorry. Holly and I call it a g*illotine. I don’t know what the actual name of it is, but it’s basically an industrial paper cutter. I’ll get it for you.”

The g*illotine was stored in the closet, so she walked over and retrieved the heavy tool, staying weary of the bl*de. She placed it on his desk with a thud.

“Now I see why you call it a g*illotine.”

“Right?! Okay, so you may have to stand up to do this - I know I do,” she said, picking up a few of the papers. When he stood up, she demonstrated. “So basically, you slide the paper under the little guard and then you line it up with the grid to make sure it’s straight. Then, you just pull the bl*de down and voila, you have a bunch of cut up papers with minimal effort.”

“Seems easy enough.”

“Just make sure that you hold the paper against the grid while you’re cutting or they’ll come out crooked. And be careful - we can always print out more of the location cards, but we can’t replace your fingers so easily.”

He let out an amused snort. “Okay.”

She smiled to herself as she sat down at her desk, grateful that it seemed to be going much better than the previous day; they were getting along for the time being and there was no hostility or tension. They both worked quietly, and though Anna missed the constant chatting like when Holly was around, she had no idea what she could possibly talk to Kristoff about. So, the sound of the bl*de scraping against the side of the g*illotine and her typing were the primary sounds that filled the otherwise silent space.

The day went by at a snail pace, but when five o’clock finally came and they’d managed to survive the day without an argument, she admittedly felt quite triumphant. She looked forward to updating Holly about how the day had gone, especially since Holly had insisted that she stay positive.

“Have a nice day,” she said, as he was pulling on his coat. “See you tomorrow.”

“You too,” he replied, offering her a half-smile.

I can do this, she thought to herself as she watched him leave. If it stays like this for the next five months, I can do this.

#my writing

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talk-quirky-to-me · 6 years ago

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Who Cared? (AO3)

@kiridekuweek2k19 Day-let’s-pretend-I’m-not-late-3: AU | Red Poppy | Ain’t No Sunshine (Bill Withers)

–––––––

“One of these days I’ll arrest you, man, you know that?”

“No you won’t,” Midoriya chuckled sheepishly, pacing around the small room of what seemed to be a garage, stuffy with old air and the smell of paint. “Someone else might. That hothead partner of yours. What’s his name, Ka-something? Kacchan?”

Eijirou snorted despite himself.

“Please call him that to his face. I will literally pay you money.”

“Who knew getting money was that easy!” Midoriya laughed. “Maybe I wouldn’t have had the need to kidnap police officers if that were the case.”

“For the second time this month,” Eijirou reminded him. The man sighed dramatically, leaning against a dirty wall.

“Detail, detail. You focus too much on the little stuff, Kirishima-kun.”

“I don’t know about you, but at the precinct we don’t really consider repeated kidnapping offenses the little stuff. Or that whole robbery thing you have going on.”

“You rob a bank twice, and people make such a big deal about it,” Midoriya pouted. “Let it be known that the second time I didn’t even do it for my own sake!”

“You can tell that to the judge,” Kirishima deadpanned, twisting his hand where it was tied to the other behind the chair. The man didn’t even use handcuffs – there was something to be said about underestimating your adversaries. “As well as that acrobat partner of yours when we catch her.”

“She’s not an acrobat!” Midoriya giggled. “She’s just ridiculously lucky when it comes to not falling from great heights.”

“And running from police,” Eijirou added. “Unlike you. You, on the other hands, practically run into our arms.”

“And yet I’m still walking free,” the man grinned, pushing himself away from the wall and making his way towards a table to retrieve a notebook. “I think the police likes me, Kirishima-san.”

“We most certainly do not.”

For a moment the garage was quiet as Midoriya picked up a pen from the table and began scribbling something down. Kirishima wrapped his fingers around the ropes, tugging on them gently to test for the easiest way to get them off.

“Has Shigaraki been trouble lately?” the man asked suddenly, looking up at him. Eijirou almost twitched, then frowned a little.

“What’s your business with Shigaraki?” he demanded. “I didn’t quite take you for the type to hang out with murderers.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Midoriya shrugged lightly. “Murderers are the one who like to hang out with me though. He’s concocting one of those grand schemes of his, y’know? Tried to approach me about it around three times now.”

Kirishima frowned deeper. Truth be told, Shigaraki Tomura and his self-proclaimed League of Villains (just how dramatic can you get with the naming?) haven’t actually been trouble in recent months, but if anything, that should have aroused more suspicion than when they were, seemingly, on every corner. Not that he was about to tell Midoriya any of it.

“And?” he said instead, pulling at one end of the rope as sharply as he could without making it obvious. Midoriya shrugged.

“And what? I didn’t agree, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t work with creeps.”

“I would certainly hope so,” Kirishima rolled his eyes. The knot loosened, ever so slightly, and he clenched his fists, trying to get them free. “My respect for Shigaraki is non-existent, so I suggest you don’t stoop to his level.”

“Aw, was that a roundabout way to say you respect me?” Midoriya smiled delightedly, making another note in his book. Kirishima really needed to lay his hands on that book at one point – the man was known for keeping meticulous notes on everything, including, perhaps, many criminals that have so far evaded the law. “I respect you too, Kirishima-san.”

“I’m the officer of the law,” Eijirou told him, wriggling his left hand free and twitching only slightly at the friction burns all over his hand. “You’re supposed to respect me.”

“So are your colleagues, yet I can’t say I have all that much respect for that tiny purple-haired freak.”

“Well,” Eijirou sputtered, because alright, he wasn’t really wrong there, “Mineta’s an exception. We’re not really sure how he got the job.”

Midoriya snickered and flipped back a few pages, adding a couple of words to what already looked like an entire essay of analysis. Kirishima moved his feet experimentally – that rope would be harder to get rid of.

“Anyways, the hell do you want from me, dude?” he asked. Keep his attention on your face, he’ll be less inclined to notice the rest of it. “Just to ask if Shigaraki’s been on our radar?”

“Partly,” Midoriya shrugged. “I’m not surprised he’s laying low though – he’s planning for something grandiose. But apart from that, is it too hard to imagine I just missed your company, officer?”

Eijirou sputtered again.

“You know, when normal people miss someone, they don’t really kidnap them!” he exclaimed. At least the leg ropes weren’t as tight as they could have been – a minute or two of wriggling, and he could probably get rid of them. “People tend to, like, hang out after work or something – and not in freaky garages while tied to a chair!”

“You officers don’t ever really get off work though, do you?” Midoriya shrugged. “One of your colleagues sees me around on the streets and bye-bye freedom, hello prison bars.”

“Are you gonna try to tell me you don’t deserve that?” Eijirou raised one eyebrow. “Two bank robberies. At least five cases of kidnapping.”

“I’ve never hurt a fly!” the man exclaimed dramatically, dropping his notebook back on the table. “Hey, remember Overhaul? Don’t pretend I didn’t help you there!”

“The law is not only for people who cause physical injuries,” Kirishima reminded him. “Also, just because you happened to be in the right place at the right time with the right knowledge–“

“–and decided to share that knowledge with you!”

“–Doesn’t make you any less of a criminal,” Eijirou finished, rolling his eyes. “You’d need way more points for cooperating with authorities to get you out of the shit you got yourself into, dude.”

“Hey, I told you to look out for Shigaraki just now!” Midoriya complained, turning away to return the pen to the pen holder. “Doesn’t that count?”

Kirishima counted to three, then bolted to his feet.

The ropes around his legs fell to the floor, as did the one he was clutching in his hands, and Midoriya spun around, but too late to stop him: Eijirou lunged for his own gun in one of the corners of the garage and pointed it at the man.

Midoriya sighed tiredly, leaning back against the desk and raising his arms in the air.

“And here I was, thinking we’re having a normal conversation,” he huffed. “Don’t pat yourself on the back too hard for getting out, by the way – the ropes were hardly secure.”

“I noticed,” Eijirou said, retreating back towards the door in small steps, careful not to trip over anything. “It’s like you don’t care about being arrested, man.”

“I told you already – you’re not going to arrest me. Are you?”

Eijirou sighed, deeply, and found the door handle with one of his palms, the gun still pointed at Midoriya. (The garage door wasn’t even locked, for god’s sake!)

No, he wasn’t. But it was a nice thought.

“Just because you are occasionally a useful source of information,” he told him.

“And because you like me.”

“And because I– What the hell?! No I don’t!”

“Do too,” Midoriya laughed delightedly, letting his hands drop back down to his sides. “Tell Kacchan I said hi.”

Kirishima slammed the door closed behind him and put his gun back in its holster.

Goddamnit.

***

“Hey, officer, you off work yet?”

Kirishima froze in his tracks. He just got down the front stairs of the precincts, still in uniform, still with a pair of handcuffs clipped to his waist and a gun a reach of a hand away. They were in the middle of a city, in broad afternoon daylight, and did he mention in front of a literal police station?

He turned around, very slowly, and sighed.

Midoriya Izuku approached him, a bounce in his step and a cap over his mop of green hair which did very little to hide his identity for anyone who has ever spent longer than a few minutes studying him. He was grinning, even wider than he usually did, and there was a bag slung over his shoulder, half unzipped to expose a few notebooks and a knife.

“I thought we don’t ever really get off work?” Kirishima raised his eyebrows.

Midoriya giggled.

“Well, after official working hours is the best I can do, isn’t it?” he shrugged. “Look at me, doing what normal people do. You wanna go hang out?”

Now, Kirishima has had his fair share of bad ideas in his life. He followed through on far too many of them to be reassuring, too. But this? This was definitely up there in the top five.

“Why not,” he sighed in resignation. “Just let me pop in home for a minute to change.”

“Great,” Midoriya beamed, and Eijirou suddenly thought that maybe taking him to his apartment building is an even worse idea. “So, anyways, about Shigaraki...”

But then again – who cared?

#bnha #boku no hero academia #kirideku #mha #my hero academia #kiridekuweek2k19 #izuku midoriya #kirishima eijirou #my writing

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ask-de-writer · 6 years ago

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GONE TO SEA : World of Sea : Science Fiction : Part 27

GONE TO SEA

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

WORK IN PROGRESS (Word count unknown at this time)

Writing started 2005

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Dejected at having disappointed his God, Marcus asked, “What error was that, Lord?”

((You removed the programs that would have told you that the New Covenant was unstable. While it is true that each one that died will secure a whole new world to My New Covenant for Man In Space, if they had lived, each one could have sprung a line of descendants.

((Think, Marcus, how many possible habitable worlds are there in this galaxy?))

“Perhaps a billion or more, my Lord.”

((Correct. How many sacrifices will it take to secure them?))

Marcus' jaw dropped. “There cannot be so many humans on Sea at all! The station could not possibly hold them all! How can there be so many?”

((Ships, Marcus. Good, well founded ships that will carry hundreds each. Despite your hate of her, the Pagan has been doing MY work. The station will make the nutrients that all will need and mankind will flourish – for a space of some years. When the station fails, as it is certain to do, then all will come to ME and mankind's place in space, among the stars, will be secure.))

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Many came to watch when they could spare the time. Nearly the entire staff of the school, young though they were, were working in various capacities to raise the wreck of the ship laying on the bottom so deceptively close to the safety of the dock.

The New Dawn was laying to, at anchor close by to the wreck and the ungainly looking dive boat was directly over it. Ropes and airlines snaking down to the parts of the sunken vessel where Pele's students and staff were already cutting away rigging.

Mister Barad and his senior boatyard staff were sitting around a working table along with Pele, Mala'klea, Pearl, Yuri and a few other students. They were poring over the actual paper work plans for the New Covenant.

Several of the Marine Committee, which it was now well known, had made the fatal decision to open the New Covenant to public showing, were there as well. They had been relegated to standing by the walls of the room. Mister Sanch did try to take a place at the table's head but when it became clear that all that he was doing was pretending to consider deeply before penciling OK on what the others were discussing or approving, the others simply refused to give him the papers and plans. It sped up their work considerably.

Yuri was pointing out, “If we are to raise the hull safely, we have to get the masts and all other above deck loads off the ship. Otherwise, she is likely to simply roll over again. In all of these drawings, I don't see any for the mast stepping systems. Did you actually glue them in with epoxy and carbon fiber?”

Mister Barad replied, “No. We set them into snug fitting wells and gave them a weather collar that should be simple enough to cut through to free the mast. The possibility of a ship needing to jettison a damaged mast did occur to us.

“Here, let me just sketch it up for you. It is simple enough.” Yuri handed him a stylus and one of the schools tallow slates. Without comment, Mister Barad began to inscribe the drawing showing what he meant.

Yuri studied the drawing a few moments and then handed it to Mala'klea, who glanced at it and handed it on. Each of the others studied it briefly. Mala'klea put her hands together on the table and nodded. “That is actually well designed. We will have little trouble freeing the masts once the rigging is cleared away. All that we need to do is design a lifter/puller that we can use with the ship at such an awkward angle. Not a difficult problem.”

Mister Sanch tried to truculently demand, “Why not just use the dock cranes to lift the masts out? They are right there to use.”

Yuri started to reply, “Because the angles, total mass to be moved and the bottom . . .”

Mister Kaldar, another of the Committee snapped across him, “Just grab the mast tops and pull! Just like children to make a big problem out of something so simple! Are we on the Marine Committee the only ones here that can think?”

Mala'klea quietly began to gather up the drawings and notes that she had been making. Yuri saw what she was doing and joined her in gathering up his notes and sketches. The other students did too. They meticulously left everything that belonged to the boat yard. Getting up and leaving, Yuri commented, “Since you believe it to be such a simple problem, we leave it to you. The Dock C School and its equipment are clearly not needed.”

He gestured out the door at the mast tops of the wrecked New Covenant. “Your skills at evaluating problems connected to ships is plain to see.”

He held the door for Mala'klea and the others, then shut it in the faces of the outraged Committee.

In the conference room, Mister Barad turned to the Committee. “Utterly brilliant, Gentlemen. Both of those two are young but neither of them is stupid. In the standardized testing, they both got degrees in marine architecture. Either one of them knows more about boat design and construction than all of you put together. Now, you who have no understanding of the problems involved, just insulted both their age and intelligence.”

Arrogantly, Mister Kaldar, the Committee head snarled, “This is a problem for MODERN people, equipment and materials, not some batch of PRIMITIVE children using trivial native materials.”

Mister Barad nodded as if the argument made sense and then demanded, “Since you know more than they do about these problems,Mister Kaldar, YOU must direct the actual salvage operations. You will be needed because I won't do it if you are involved in ANY way. Resign from the Marine Committee or I quit.”

Mister Barad pointed out the window to where the Dock C School's boats were now returning to the New Dawn. Things were happening over on the ungainly dive boat, too. Equipment was being neatly stowed away.

Shortly, all of the Dock C School's water craft raised sail and left the salvage area. Mister Kaldar and Mister Sanch faced Mister Barad demanding, “This is a disaster! You must order them to return to work salvaging the ship!”

Mister Barad shrugged. “I can't do it and neither can you. Pele and her school are a private company. They can not even be ordered by the Executive Committee to do work beyond their company charter and the contract with the station.”

“But they were just helping us to . . .”

Barad cut them off with, “They were doing the WHOLE job, AS VOLUNTEERS, until you BRILLIANTLY ran them off by saying that they can't think. Now the whole salvage job is there for you who think so clearly. Your only REAL function is to publicly pretend that you had something to do with the work, like your speech at the opening of the New Covenant to the public. Sadly, you really did make that decision and unless you accept Marcus Angerson's crazy religious idea, it was a wrong decision.”

TO BE CONTINUED (No more is written yet)

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==> Link not active

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

#GONE TO SEA #World of Sea #Science Fiction #Written by Glen Ten-Eyck #Part 27

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wheezefeed-unsolved · 7 years ago

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The odd death of Michelle Von Emster (theories)

Okay people, I haven’t yet written about this one so let’s do this.

I honestly think this was without a doubt, a murder case. A planned homicide, either driven by passion or revenge. The facts and hints of this case are way too specific for it to have been an accident.

I will start to explain why but let’s start from some interesting facts about the victim:

she quit a job due to a persistent stalker who by the way rode a motorcycle

she was known to have been living in a neighborhood related to drug activity addressed as the ‘war-zone’.

now to what we know about the investigation:

her injuries were located on various parts of her body. one of her legs was missing basically as if ripped off to the bone, like in a bamboo stick stripped down with a knife until to a point, her neck broken as if she had been in a car wreck, broken ribs as well as scrapes, bruises and contusions, and sand inside her mouth, throat, lungs and stomach.

the experts said that the bite of a white shark would’ve been clean and unmistakably have left vestiges of a tooth on her missing leg, and there was none found. and the only shark that could’ve done that was this species

the injuries were inflicted when she was still alive, thus excluding those from potential drowning. which means, she suffered the injuries, then drowned and bled to death until she was found.

Blue sharks did feed off her already made injuries when her body was already floating dead on the water.

Her purse was found 2.5 miles away from her body, in the sand of the base of the seawall. it contained her driver’s license, makeup, keys, paste stub, and a fanny pack containing 27$ in cash. bizarrely, the purse was found on a heavily used stretch of beach which means that it’s very unprobable that the purse sat there for 24 hours without any of the money or the purse gone. which means someone could have been keeping watch over it and make sure no one would interfere, indeed murdering michelle and planting the purse there to make it look like an accident. and if Michelle was found with sand inside her body it could have been possible if it were to be in the shoreline of the beach.

the night before her death it was claimed that Michelle had drinks with one of the suspects, Edwin Decker, after they flirted for weeks, then went to kiss in his apartment and left at 5am from there in a cab. Albeit Decker also mentioned a friend sleeping nearby his apartment that night.

what some of the theories Ryan mentioned in the episode were (excluding the shark attack because it is obvious the shark wasn’t the cause of her death):

Some believe she may have fallen off the cliff to her death, then drowned due to the injuries she presented. However, from the way the cliff is shaped, and even from such a fall, ripping off a leg in such a meticulous way would’ve been too perfect when falls from cliffs usually present random injuries in any part of the body that might’ve had contact upon hitting the harsh surface and full of irregular shapes and forms formed by nature.

She was murdered. This is the most likely scenario and the most plausable with all the facts and hints we have from this case, if we also take in account not only the physical but psychological evidence.

ANd with that I’ll get into my theory:

It was a combination of a bit of all three theories, but undoubtedly this was a murder case.

here’s how I think the murderer could have proceeded :

The murderer somehow encountered Michelle. Either planned or not is a possibility.

Although, let’s focus on this one quote from Edwin Decker who, affirmed that Michelle often surfed naked by the latter’s own words. If this is true or he simply made that up we can’t know for sure, because he could very well also stalk her, but since he claims also that he had been flirtatious or even went as far as to the stage of kissing with her at his place this could have been very well normal. Until he mentioned:

Although, regarding seeing Michelle swim naked in that beach, surfers claim to never have seen her do so.

This could suggest Michelle and him had just been hanging out on casual dating, and not officially as a couple as it was hinted by Decker’s words that the relationship wasn’t clear. Therefore, we could assume that if it wasn’t clear either they were friends with benefits and Decker was very obsessed to a point where he even wrote that creepy poem probably implying that he wanted something more. what also bothers me is that the description of the poem was very perturbing :

Writing a poem in itself is not an uncommon practice to mourn the dead, but a sane, empathetic person would not focus on the lustful parts of the person in question when mourning them, instead only an obsessed person would. much as likely in a stalker like manner.

He also asked however for Michelle’s case, in 2008, to be re-examined. Let’s think about this. After the crime had been committed in 1994, why after so many years does he think of re-examining the case? Probable motive? to hide a piece of evidence perhaps, to ommit or confirm something.´

For these motives, I could see Edwin Decker as a highly likely suspect. Even more than the stalker claimed to have followed Michelle from another workplace to there.

We don’t have however much information about this stalker, all that we know is that, besides stalking her, he often appeared at her workplace and that he requested all the copies of her autopsy. Could there have been an ulterior motive to request such copies when he was stalking her? Michelle as far as we know was not a wealthy person to be blackmailed, but perhaps she could know something she shouldn’t and therefore was being stalked somehow.

however, most people who know too much are usually silenced, and the fact Michelle had been running away from a stalker but also be living in a neighborhood known for drugs is something that might have a connection to it. Although this we would have to access for ourselves in the site and ask witnesses and unfortunately only the authorities could do that.

And what also seems very weird about this was that, they claimed the stalker asked for the copies of the autopsy which meant that firstly, they knew he was her stalker, and secondly, they also knew his identity. And autopsies are not just given away so easily to just anyone, much less to someone’s stalker so either:

a) Michelle’s stalker was a relative or someone acquainted enough to have power to ask for those said autopsies, and wanted his identity to remain unknown to the press.

b) The responsible for those autopsies was in this together with the stalker or with both the suspects.

c) the responsible for the autopsies was bribed or menaced.

Also an interesting fact is that Michelle was found naked at the time of her death’sn announcement, when the body was found on the beach. There were no signals of any other kind of harm besides the injuries forementioned earlier, which meant that if indeed she had gone swimming naked and carrying a purse, dressed in a trench coat, , Michelle’s murder was therefore conducted as the following :

the murderer was with Michelle at the beach at night. possibly this theory would suggest both of them were acquainted enough and perhaps even taking a stride at night, when the murderer took a dvantage of Michelle's trust and started attacking her as he tried to murder her and Michelle struggled with them leavin g the bruises and scrapes she had on her body trying to repeal the attack.

Then the murderer hit Michelle with something hard enough used as the murder weapon that could inflict injury heavy enough to give her a broken neck and ribs similar to ones found in a car crash to put her unconscious and/or to stop struggling.

to make sure Michelle would not indeed fight off anymore once awoken she was dragged off near the shoreline, forced to ingest the massive amount of sand into her lungs, stomach , throat and mouth somehow,

when Michelle couldn’t struggle anymore the murderer proceeded to cut off her leg in her already inanimate body, perhaps burying it in the sand to hide it, and give off the impression of a shark attack. although this demonstrated the lack of knowledge about the area’s sharks and their capacity or not to rip off the leg and the obvious nature of the bite which would have left tooth and a clean bite as the experts said. an attempt to therefore fool the police.

the final steps being the body was pushed to the water left, to be found by the sharks and locals to give the impression of a shark attack provoked by a possible drowning or fall as the waves pushed the body around as he removed the clothes and planted the purse, before leaving the site.,

the problem is like Ryan said how come neither the money or bag was stolen? because if the murderer had been keeping watch over the bag for the night he could have soon be found by someone and interrogated about it. considering the rocky area the beach gave the murderer could have been hidden perhaps but still...how didn’t the bag get stolen or the money either?

The way I see it and knowing all the victim’s habits, the suspect and culprit for me could have very well been Decker because he could have lied about seeing michelle off in the cab and going home, instead also going in the cab or drove her to the beach per request of either of both of them, accompanied her to the beach , killed her, got rid of the murder weapon in the sea, washed his hands off the blood in the ame sea water, planted the purse and left the victim to die. then when asked by police told a different story to prove his alibi. A reminder that he mentioned that Michelle had told him she liked to surf naked, so this could very well be a hint for it. .

However without also knowing the stalker’s background story we can’t prove which one of them could have been the real murderer. And for what reason . Which is why it will probably remain unsolved.

WHat do you think was missed in this theory? comment or reblog your opinions!

#michelle von emster #case #theories #my theories #mine #buzzfeed unsolved #ugh i took 2 hrs for this bcs my pc is so sloooow

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allenmendezsr · 4 years ago

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How to deal with creditors, collectors, attorneys, and the IRS

Why credit card debt settlement services are a SCAM and how you can do their job yourself without spending a dime

How to negotiate credit card debt settlements

How to write a credit card debt settlement letter that gets results

How to avoid bankruptcy

How to declare Chapter 7 or Chapter 13 Bankruptcy (if you have to)

How to rebuild bad credit

How to create a budget

How to decide which approach to take

Why credit card debt consolidation is NOT a good idea

Budgeting Tips

The insider secrets to Tax Debt Relief

How to write a powerful and effective Cease and Desist Letter

and much more…

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“

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“

I read the book…it’s what we’re talking about right now in our financial management class. It’s just good, practical, advice.You can share your own personal mistakes and lessons, like we do with our children, and hopefully they will listen and not make the same mistakes. This should really help people. Hopefully they can get it before they get taken in by a debt relief company. – Pastor Daryl in West Palm Beach

The Complete Debt Relief Manual is the best source of credit card debt elimination information you can find. It covers all aspects, in meticulous detail, of getting out of any form of debt, repairing your credit report, and rebuilding your credit. It even gives you step-by-step plans for dealing with creditors, collectors, lawsuits, bankruptcy, and the IRS. The wisdom in this book cost me several thousand dollars to acquire, not to mention the hundreds of hours spent researching, reading, consulting with accountants and attorneys, writing, and editing. Please let me save you both the time and money you would spend learning this treasure of information the hard way.

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Free Consultation Offer

As an owner of The Complete Debt Relief Manual you will be entitled to a free telephone consultation with me…

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There are proven, effective, lightning fast and virtually unknown ways to get the credit card debt relief you need. This book lays out workable AND foolproof plans to:

Create a simple budget

Decide the best way to eliminate your debt

Eliminate your debt in the fastest way possible

Handle the creditors

Avoid (or deal with) lawsuits

Avoid (or declare, if you must) bankruptcy

Negotiate with the IRS

Rebuild your credit

Save your money

Stay out of debt

Here is what the book contains:

Chapter 1 – The Problem: Slavery to Debt

Types of Debt

Good News – you can get out of debt and stay out

Chapter 2 – The Secrets

Credit Card Company Secrets

Debt Settlement Company Secrets

Collection Agency Secrets

IRS Secrets

Debt Collection Attorney Secrets

Chapter 3 – Which Debt Elimination Strategy Should You Use?

Making Minimum Payments

Consolidation

Roll up

Settlement

Bankruptcy

Endless Collections and Lawsuits

Debt Elimination Strategy Decision Tool

Chapter 4 – The Almighty Budget

Discretionary spending

Saving an Emergency Fund

Chapter 5 – How to Create a Budget

Example Budget Spreadsheet

Chapter 6 – How to Cut Up Your Credit Cards

Chapter 7 – How to Eliminate Debt by Roll Up

Chapter 8 – How to Eliminate Debt by Settlement

Example Settlement Offer From Creditor

Example Letter for Settlement Offer

Example Letter for Countering a Creditor’s Settlement Offer

Example Letter for Acceptance of Settlement (conditional)

Example Letter for Acceptance of Settlement

Chapter 9 – How I Eliminated My Debt by Bankruptcy (without an attorney)

Chapter 10 – How to Eliminate IRS Debt

Options for Repaying the IRS

Chapter 11 – How to Deal with Creditors and Collection Agencies

Example Cease and Desist Letter

Example Cease and Desist AND Debt Validation Letter to Collection Agency

Example Debt Validation Letter to Collection Agency

Chapter 12 – How I Dealt with a Creditor Lawsuit (without an Attorney)

Copy of Letter Threatening a Lawsuit

Copy of Lawsuit Filed Against Me

How I Would Answer a Lawsuit Today

Copy of Creditor’s Reply to My Bogus (original) Affirmative Defenses

Statute of Limitations by State (years)

Chapter 13 – How to Repair Your Credit Report

Example Letter to Collector to Remove Inquiries

Example Letter to Credit Bureau to Remove Inquiries

Example Letter to Credit Bureau (or Collector) to Request Correction to Credit Report

Chapter 14 – How to Rebuild Your Credit

Chapter 15 – To Your Freedom (Staying out of Debt)

Chapter 16 – The Checklists

BUDGET CHECKLIST

DEBT ROLL UP CHECKLIST

DEBT SETTLEMENT CHECKLIST

BANKRUPTCY CHECKLIST

LAWSUIT CHECKLIST

Recommended Reading

What this book will NOT do for you

I am not an expert on foreclosure. Due to the rapidly changing laws and climate surrounding foreclosure, and the risks involved in dealing with foreclosure without an attorney, I am not qualified to advise you. If you are considering walking away from your mortgage, or are currently fighting foreclosure, I strongly recommend speaking with an attorney.

Are You a Slave to Debt?

The rich rules over the poor, and the borrower becomes the lender’s slave –King Solomon – Proverbs 22:7

Being debt free is so awesome; I’m so excited about this and can’t want to share that freedom and that feeling with you!

90 Day Money Back Guarantee

100% Guarantee

If you’re not completely satisfied, and you request a refund within 90 days, I will happily refund the price of the book. I am that confident that you will be delighted with and benefit from the simple, powerful, and effective information and little-known procedures in this book.

The book also contains links to all the essential reading – IRS publications, bankruptcy information and forms, Fair Debt Collection Practices Act, and many other helpful documents.

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All the best from your partner in debt-free living,

John Oswald

P.S. – Why Is This Different Than Anything Else Out There?

There are tons of books that deal with any one of the problems you’re dealing with – Debt Settlement, Debt Consolidation, Budgeting, Credit Repair, IRS Debt, Bankruptcy, etc. To get the information I’m offering in The Complete Debt Relief Manual, you would have to stack those other books up a foot high.

My book has it all, boiled down to the must-know, must-do procedures to solve your entire debt problem, start to finish. My book is zero-fluff, zero hype, no wasted words. You will be able to instantly find your starting point based on your situation, decide on your strategy, print out the checklist, and get on your fast track to getting out of debt, all the way to a shiny new credit score, and avoid all the pitfalls along the way.

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Create a simple budget

Decide the best way to eliminate your debt

Eliminate your debt in the fastest way possible

Handle the creditors

Avoid (or deal with) lawsuits

Avoid (or declare, if you must) bankruptcy

Negotiate with the IRS

Rebuild your credit

Save your money

Stay out of debt

Don’t wait another minute! Order it here Right Now!

P.P.S. – You’ve got a whole lot to gain and nothing to lose with my three-month Risk Free Money Back Guarantee. Simply follow the step-by-step instructions in this book and you’ll save more money and time demolishing your debt than you ever would using a paid debt relief service or scouring through bits and pieces of half-answers on the Web or a stack of fluffy books. Once you use this book to help you eliminate your first balance, you’ll cover the cost of the book and then some. So do yourself a favor and order it now before you pour any more money down the drain!

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tacticianlyra · 7 years ago

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Those who Remain - original

I. May or may not have uploaded this here before? But I don’t remember if I had or not, so. Yes. (This is getting a rewrite.)

Meredith Wilde liked to think of herself as a pragmatic person, and like any pragmatic person, she counted all of her facts before making a decision regarding a problem. It came with being a lawyer, and she hadn’t lost many cases because of that mindset.

The problem she was faced with now wasn’t a case, but a personal problem. A very serious personal problem. The only facts she’d been given were that A) Jordan had been shipped off to god-knows-where to do god-knows-what, and B) that he’s dead. No how, no why. Her brother Alex wasn’t buying it, and neither were her nieces.

The Garrison isn’t telling them what exactly happened to their son/nephew/cousin, and that was sending up multiple red flags, because when the government is being vague about something, that meant something was very wrong and they didn’t want everyone to panic, and it reminds her too much of what happened to her father, who her son both admires and curses.

There is a distinct odeur-de-Kerberos to this entire thing, and that was enough to make her look through her case records to one of the few losses she had.

The Garrison—no, the Coalition—is trying to sweep this under the rug, too.

She needs to call up that client to discuss a few things.

Pragmatic as Meredith is…her gut’s telling her that whatever her son had been doing is somehow connected to the Kerberos cover-up.

Miguel is the most stubborn person in the town of Wolfbridge, and everyone knew it. It was for that exact reason that he’d refused to hire new mechanics.

No matter what that official-looking letter he’d found in the mailbox one morning said, because there is no way in hell that the two street-rats that had lived through the single most brutal winter the area had ever seen were gone.

Then he’d gotten a job that had been a mostly-technical one. It took far longer than the client was happy with, because Miguel just couldn’t make sense of computers as well as Koji could.

Can, he’d corrected himself immediately. He’d still managed to get it done adequately enough.

And then there was yesterday’s job—he’d miscalculated in how heavy that engine part was, and had gone and hurt his back.

It wouldn’t have happened if Stan had been here to help him with it, but he wasn’t.

So now Miguel was left with a major problem. He couldn’t do any heavy-lifting himself for at least two weeks, which means he couldn’t get any work done.

Stan and Koji weren’t here to help him out, nor would they ever be back, according to that letter.

He’s refusing to accept it, because damn it all his boys were not dead!

Katie Holt was forever going to curse the name of Kevin Chaucer for ratting Pidge Gunderson out when he’d walked in on her changing.

There’s nothing that can be done about it now, though—she supposed she was lucky that she’d had a contingency plan involving a very quick getaway, a meticulously-coded computer-worm, and some forged files.

The unfortunate bit was that now she wasn’t allowed within a certain distance of any sort of Garrison base, and neither was any part of her immediate family, all because of “suspected connections.”

Which meant they’d had to pick up and move.

At least she had Hunk, who’d bailed when Iverson decided to move him over to combat piloting. She had a feeling it’s because he wanted the “troublesome trio” separated.

Lance was understandably pissed about all of it; he’d cooled off after a week, and kept in touch. They coincidentally all live in the same town now.

It was at her mother’s quiet request that she went job-hunting, for something to keep herself busy, and she and Hunk both somehow managed to find one at the same place, in a garage that specialized in star-racers.

Their boss had a rotten attitude ninety-five percent of the time, and he was all melancholic for the other five percent.

It was on the fourth day that Katie notices a picture on a shelf; there was their boss with two younger boys in it. They all look just a bit too different to be related, more so with one of the boys; her boss and Kid #1 definitely were Hispanic/partially Hispanic, and Kid #2 was definitely Asian.

Unless, of course, the kids were both adopted…and suddenly, Miguel’s behavior seemed familiar.

“It’s not just the Garrison covering things up.” Colleen Holt sits up a bit straighter in her chair in response to Meredith’s words, attentive now. Meredith kept her hands laced together, waiting.

“Do you really think they’re connected?” Colleen asks finally.

“That’s what my intuition’s saying.” The lawyer paused. “Do you believe me?”.

“…yes. I do.”

She found the file completely on accident, at four in the morning, but the fact that it had the same amount of classification as the Kerberos Mission piqued her interest.

The Great Race of Ōban.

Katie first saw the assortment of names, pictures, and paraphrased information to go with the names and pictures.

Don Wei. Manager of the team, and former CEO of Wei Racing. That same business had announced a new business leader without warning some time ago.

Rick Thunderbolt. Three-time winner of the Star-Racing Grand Prix, champion of the minor leagues afterwards. Primary pilot. Lance was a major fan of his.

Jordan Wilde. The son of the lawyer they’d had that her mom had since befriended, which she was relieved about. Designated gunner…which made no sense if it was a star-racing competition.

Stan and Koji Martinez. The boys from the picture—her boss’s adopted kids. The shared surname proved it. Team mechanics.

And then, Molly. No last name. Secondary pilot.

All privately reported as deceased, save for Molly, who didn’t have any contact information either.

Katie glared thoughtfully at the screen—way too much like Kerberos, this was.

And then she scrolled down further, and saw one of the final details tacked onto the file.

“Shiro’s alive?”

The two he ended up with were diamonds in a pig trough, Miguel grudgingly admitted. Both were Garrison dropouts, one because of being subject to a surprise class-switch, and the other for reasons she wouldn’t disclose. They must’ve been friends, since they had nicknames for each other—Hunk and Pidge.

They were Garrett and Holt to him until further notice.

Garrett picked up everything about as fast as Stan had, and Holt blazed through whatever she was told to do like a maniac, and business goes on smoothly for almost a week.

Then, one morning, out of nowhere, Holt asks about Stan and Koji.

He warily gives her a brief spiel about them (as much as he can say without his voice wavering).

It's when he found himself saying that they were hired for a job that they wouldn’t be coming (haven’t yet come) back from that she stood a bit straighter, looking a little more intent.

“I think I might know what happened to them,” she said.

…maybe he’ll start calling her Pidge.

“We can all meet at my place this Tuesday.”

A lawyer and a schoolteacher―Alex had left a friend in charge of Sasha and Amelia for the time being.

An engineer―Miguel had closed up early today for this reason; he was understandably perturbed to learn that his new technician hacks government databases in her free time.

An astronomer―they were all gathered in Colleen’s living-room right now.

And lastly, a teenager―Katie, or Pidge as she likes to be called, the reason for them being here.

None of them really had anything in common, save for having missing family members.

The curtains were shut, if only because Pidge had her findings displaying on the TV screen, so they could all see it at the same time.

“Twenty-five thousand light-years,” Colleen said slowly, shaking her head in amazement. Shewas the only one standing up. “What kind of competition even was that?”

“Something big enough for the Coalition to want to keep it under wraps,” Alex replied from the couch, sitting next to Meredith.

There was a few moments of erratic eye-twitching from Miguel, who’d claimed the recliner chair, before he swore profusely in Spanish. “I knew those star-racers would end up scrap!” he exclaimeds angrily, gesturing with one hand at one of the details; the Whizzing Arrow I had exploded before it could finish its first race, and was left in an irreparable condition.

The team’s initial pilot, Rick Thunderbolt, had been rendered unable to race competitively ever again due to damage sustained by his nervous system in that same crash.

The team found a spare pilot in “Molly,” who had originally been a stowaway.

“I had to do some digging to figure out who she really is,” Pidge was saying. “Turns out, she’s the manager’s daughter Eva. Ran away from the Stern Boarding School five times.”

“He didn’t recognize his own daughter?” Meredith asked, flabbergasted.

“She was there for ten years and he never visited,” was the curt response.

There was a few long moments of silence, as they regarded her with silent shock. “What the shit,” was Alex’s only comment. “What about―?” He cut himself off, face falling. “Maya Wei…of course.”

Meredith remembered having seen that horrific incident on TV; she’d been watching the race when it had happened. The authorities hadn’t been able to determine the cause of the Cloud II’s explosion.

But she had to agree with her brother’s thoughts. To abandon his daughter like that after her mother’s death? How could someone be so callous? No wonder Eva had gone under a false name.

“Then what happened?” she asked, and Pidge scrolled down.

Colleen made a choked sound, and the others, Meredith included, all leaned forward a bit subconsciously.

An unidentifiable ship had crashed on Alwas (which was the planet they’d gone to), and inside it had been Takashi Shirogane.

Whom the Garrison had publicly written off as dead, along with Colleen’s husband and son―and Pidge’s father and brother, who’d she’d infiltrated the Garrison under a false identity in an attempt to uncover the truth for.

Not even three hours later, the island that the competition was being held on found itself under siege by an unknown assailant, labeled with a name Shiro had provided.

Galra.

Meredith has been in Garrison buildings enough times to know the names of most other alien races that the Earth Coalition has been in contact with, and that isn’t one of them.

The word “Voltron” stood out to her. Something that the Galra seemed to think was on Alwas, as they’d presumably assaulted the planet for, if the multitude of SOS calls picked up was anything to go on.

“I think I caught some of those distress signals on my deep-space radio,” Pidge was saying. “I mean, I couldn’t understand them, but they sounded frantic.” She paused. “Then there’s this last bit here.”

The message provided by the one who had supplied the Coalition with the information was one of the few non-natives to Alwas (the “Scrubs” were able to remain underwater for a length of time, apparently) who hadn’t been taken away by the Galra.

Of ninety-six different racing teams, all from different planets, none of them―save for some minor members of some delegations―were on the planet any longer.

The Earth Team’s backup star-racer, the Whizzing Arrow II, had not been identified as any of the destroyed/taken star-racers, nor had any sign of it been found anywhere on the island.

The team manager and the ex-pilot were among those taken by the Galra.

Shiro, Eva, Jordan, Stan, and Koji must have all been in the star-racer, as they weren’t among those taken…but they hadn’t yet been found, either.

The final detail was that of a second unidentified craft having left Alwas, going at speeds that no other ship had ever reached, aside from the one that had brought them there to begin with, and what was assumed to be the main Galra ship.

It had simply vanished, prior to the Galra leaving the galaxy altogether.

Alex was silent, face pale. Coleen’s eyes were watering, shining with hope once abandoned. Pidge iwas pulling off a first-class pokerface, but she’d already had time to process everything.

“They’re alive,” Miguel said gruffly, voice tinged with relief.

“They’re just…” Meredith stopped, taking a shaky breath. The truth wasn’t much better.

“They’re just lost in space,” Pidge finished, adjusting her lens-less glasses.

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cathygeha · 5 years ago

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REVIEW

The Third to Die by Allison Brennan

Mobile Response Team #1

Detective Kara Quinn has worked undercover most of her twelve years with the LAPD. She is good at her job but as a result of her last assignment is “on leave” for two weeks and has gone “home” to spend time with her grandmother. Not a woman to sit and relax she is soon assisting the FBI’s Moblie Response Team in finding the Triple Killer. This story has a great deal of police procedural information included as they look for the killer. As this is a new series each of the team of the new MRT has to be introduced and a bit said about them, too. Will they catch their man? Will they be able to save any of the people the killer is out to take the lives of? Will they figure out why the killer kills and why he chooses those he does to murder? Quite an interesting tale but not a happy ever after for everyone.

What I liked:

* The concept for the team and that it is not quite complete yet

* Matt: seems wise and mature enough to be in charge of the team

* Kara: dedicated police woman that is a bit of a chameleon. I want to know more about her

* The dynamics between the various people working the case

* The side story of Catherine the profiler and her situation (though I wonder if she has been in a previous book)

* The potential for a relationship between Matt & Kara

* The groundwork put in place for the series

What I did not like:

* The bad guy...what a creep. Toward the end he did sound mentally “younger” than his years...more teenager than adult at times

* That some very good people ended up dead at the hands of the serial killer

* Having to wait for the second book to find out what the next case will be.

Thank you to NetGalley and Mira for the ARC – This is my honest review.

4-5 Stars

BLURB

An edgy female police detective…An ambitious FBI special agent. Together they are at the heart of the ticking-clock investigation for a psychopathic serial killer. The bond they forge in this crucible sets the stage for high-stakes suspense. Detective Kara Quinn, on leave from the LAPD, is on an early morning jog in her hometown of Liberty Lake when she comes upon the body of a young nurse. The manner of death shows a pattern of highly controlled rage. Meanwhile in DC, FBI special agent Mathias Costa is staffing his newly minted Mobile Response Team. Word reaches Matt that the Liberty Lake murder fits the profile of the compulsive Triple Killer. It will be the first case for the MRT. This time they have a chance to stop this zealous if elusive killer before he strikes again. But only if they can figure out who he is and where he is hiding before he disappears for another three years. The stakes are higher than ever before, because if they fail, one of their own will be next…

EXCERPT

Wednesday, March 3

Liberty Lake, Washington

12:09 a.m.

Warm blood covered him.

His arms, up to his elbows, were slick with it. His clothing splattered with it. The knife—the blade that had taken his retribution—hung in his gloved hand by his side.

It was good. Very good.

He was almost done.

The killer stared at the blackness in front of him, his mind as silent and dark as the night. The water lapped gently at the banks of the lake. A faint swish swish swish as it rolled up and back, up and back, in the lightest of breezes.

He breathed in cold air; he exhaled steam.

Calm. Focused.

As the sounds and chill penetrated his subconscious, he moved into action. Staying here with the body would be foolish, even in the middle of the night.

He placed the knife carefully on a waist-high boulder, then removed his clothes. Jacket. Sweater. Undershirt. He stuffed them into a plastic bag. Took off his shoes. Socks. Pants. Boxers. Added them to the bag. He stood naked except for his gloves.

He tied the top of the plastic, then picked up the knife again and stabbed the bag multiple times. With strength that belied his lean frame, he threw the knife into the water. He couldn’t see where it fell; he barely heard the plunk.

Then he placed the bag in the lake and pushed it under, holding it beneath the surface to let the frigid water seep in. When the bag was saturated, he pulled it out and spun himself around as if he were throwing a shot put. He let go and the bag flew, hitting the water with a loud splash.

Even if the police found it—which he doubted they would— the water would destroy any evidence. He’d bought the clothes and shoes, even his underwear, at a discount store in another city, at another time. He’d never worn them before tonight.

Though he didn’t want DNA evidence in the system, it didn’t scare him if the police found something. He didn’t have a record. He’d killed before, many times, and not one person had spoken to him. He was smart—smarter than the cops, and certainly smarter than the victims he’d carefully selected.

Still, he must be cautious. Meticulous. Being smart meant that he couldn’t assume anything. What did his old man use to say?

Assume makes an ass out of you and me…

The killer scowled. He wasn’t doing any of this for his old man, though his father would get the retribution he deserved. He was doing this for himself. His own retribution. He was this close to finishing the elaborate plan he’d conceived years ago.

He could scarcely wait until six days from now, March 9, when his revenge would be complete.

He was saving the guiltiest of them for last.

Still, he hoped his old man would be pleased. Hadn’t he done what his father was too weak to do? Righted the many wrongs that had been done to them. How many times had the old man said these people should suffer? How many times had his father told him these people were fools?

Yet his father just let it happen and did nothing about it! Nothing! Because he was weak. He was weak and pathetic and cruel.

Breathe. Focus. All in good time.

All in good time.

The killer took another, smaller plastic bag from his backpack. He removed his wet gloves, put them inside, added a good-sized rock, tied the bag, then threw it into the lake.

Still naked, he shivered in the cold, still air. He wasn’t done.

Do it quick.

He walked into the lake, the water colder than ice. Still, he took several steps forward, his feet sinking into the rough muck at the bottom. When his knees were submersed, he did a shallow dive. His chest scraped a rock, but he was too numb to feel pain. He broke through the surface with a loud scream. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t think. His heart pounded in his chest, aching from the icy water.

But he was alive. He was fucking alive!

He went under once more, rubbed his hands briskly over his arms and face in case any blood remained. He would take a hot shower when he returned home, use soap and a towel to remove anything the lake left behind. But for now, this would do.

Twenty seconds in the water was almost too long. He bolted out, coughed, his body shaking so hard he could scarcely think. But he had planned everything well and operated on autopilot.

He pulled a towel from his backpack and dried off as best he could. Stepped into new sweatpants, sweatshirt, and shoes. Pulled on a new pair of gloves. There might be blood on the ATV, but it wasn’t his blood, so he wasn’t concerned.

He took a moment to stare back at the dark, still lake. Then he took one final look at the body splayed faceup. He felt nothing, because she was nothing. Unimportant. Simply a small pawn in a much bigger game. A pawn easily sacrificed.

He hoped his old man would be proud of his work, but he would probably just criticize his son’s process. He’d complain about how he did the job, then open another bottle of booze.

He hoped his father was burning in hell.

He jumped on the ATV and rode into the night.

Q&A with Allison Brennan

Q: Tell us a little about your new release, The Third to Die. What character in the book really spoke to you?

A: THE THIRD TO DIE is the first book in a new series, which is always exciting. I think what I like the most about THE THIRD TO DIE -- and the series concept of a mobile FBI task force tackling complex cases in rural and remote areas -- is that I can explore some areas that aren’t often written about. With the vast numbers of crime fiction set in New York City, Los Angeles, and the like, I wanted to do something different. (This isn’t to say other authors haven’t -- J.A. Jance has a small-town Arizona series and of course Craig Johnson’s Longmire series in Wyoming are two I enjoy.) I like moving the setting from book to book and keeping the core characters -- it’s one reason I had Maxine Revere investigate cold cases in places other than where she lived. Because of the nature of the task force, they will be outsiders wherever they go, and need to learn to work together and trust each other.

In THE THIRD TO DIE, a serial killer hits a small community outside Spokane, Washington. The Triple Killer surfaces on March 3rd to take three victims before he disappears for three years. But this time, the FBI is on the case early, and they have the best chance of finding him. If they don’t, a cop will end up dead. The best thing about this story is being able to create an ensemble cast of characters. I love shows like BONES and SVU where you have a lead character or two, but the writers spend a lot of time developing everyone else, so you feel like you’re part of a team. That’s what I’m trying to create with the MRT series.

Matt Costa heads the group, and what I love most about Matt is his ability to be a leader. He’s a workaholic, but he trusts his team to do their job. He’ll listen to everyone, but when he makes a decision he stands by it. Detective Kara Quinn thinks, “He’s an alpha male trying very hard, and failing, to be a beta.”

Dr. Catherine Jones surprised me. I pictured her (somewhat) as a female version of Will Graham from THE RED DRAGON (the book, not the movies!), torn apart by what she’s seen, but unable to leave the job behind even if it destroys her family. Knowing she’s a secondary character in this book, I was surprised that her few scenes had such an impact.

But it was Detective Kara Quinn who really spoke to me. Kara was never supposed to practically take over the book. When I first conceived of the opening, where Kara finds the body, I thought Kara would simply be a witness and that she might investigate on her own and possible even end up a victim herself. But getting into her head, learning about her childhood, watching how she interacts with Matt as well as his team … she intrigued me so much that I hoped she survived (it was iffy there for awhile!) because I wanted to keep writing about her.

Q: You write about some interesting and complex characters in your books. From Investigative reporter Maxine Revere to the Rogan/Kincaid families. What is your favorite type of character to write about?

A: This is a hard question! I like exploring a wide variety of characters, both heroes and villains. I love complex and conflicted characters, like Detective Kara Quinn, who has many strengths and a few weaknesses. I love writing villains and trying to figure out why they do what they do. To me, every great hero has a fatal flaw and every evil villain has a redeeming quality.

Q: How long did it take you to get your rough draft finished on your latest release?

A: Generally, a rough draft -- which is usually pretty clean because I edit as I go -- takes me 10-12 weeks to write. Because I wrote THE THIRD TO DIE “on spec” -- meaning, it wasn’t contracted by a publisher -- I had to write between other projects that had deadlines. I wrote three complete books while also writing this book, so it took me a little over a year to finish the rough draft. But it wasn’t really “rough” -- because I had to step away for weeks at a time, in order to get back into the story, I re-read and edited what I’d written, then wrote the next few chapters.

Q: For readers who haven't tried your books yet, how do you think your editor or loyal readers would describe your books?

A: My editor usually tells me that my characters are compelling and I know how to increase the tension through to the climax. My long-time readers usually tell me that they feel like they know my characters and that they can’t put the book down because they have to find out what happens. Most readers say my books are suspenseful. I also hear that my books are “intricately plotted” which makes me chuckle because I don’t plot.

Q: When writing, how do you keep track of timelines, ideas, inspiration and such? By notes on the computer, a notebook perhaps?

A: I’ve tried every method of note-keeping, but little works for me. When I’m writing, I write notes directly into the manuscript either using the comment function or just typing in the text *** NOTE *** so I can easily search the asterisks. During revisions I have a notepad next to me with the key points my editor commented on, so I can keep those in mind while fixing problem scenes. For ideas I have a computer file called IDEAS (original, I know!) that I add to from time to time, but I rarely have used any of the thoughts I’ve jotted here.

Q: In The Third to Die, were there any characters that started off as supporting characters, but then developed into a more prominent character?

A: Detective Kara Quinn, who ended up being my favorite character once I was done writing, I’d intended to be a supporting character but as I got into her head, I liked her so much I kept wanting to go back to her. She became much more important to the story -- and, ultimately, the series. Detective Andy Knolls, who was a strong supporting character throughout, was originally supposed to be a much more minor character -- just the local cop my FBI agents could tap into for whatever they needed. But once he walked out of the autopsy because he thought he would puke, I realized he was a terrific character and I wanted to explore the character of a small-town cop facing a violent crime he was ill-prepared for.

Q: What advantages or challenges does a writer in your genre face in today’s fiction market?

A: I think all writers, regardless of genre, face an overwhelming marketplace for stories. There are so many books being published today--both traditionally and independently--that standing out can be a challenge. But there are clear advantages to writing mysteries and thrillers -- I’ve talked to several bookstore owners and they tell me the genre has been selling much better over the last couple of years. Recently, one bookseller told me, “We used to sell tons of romances. Now, everyone wants mysteries.” There is always a market for good stories well told, and genre fiction is always in demand.

Q: The Third to Die is the first in a new series from you, called the Mobile Response Team. What made you decide to branch out into another series set in the world of the FBI?

A: I had this idea more than a decade ago. When I participated in the FBI Citizens Academy in 2008, I learned about the Evidence Response Team and how they work within the FBI -- basically, they are agents from different squads in one jurisdiction who come together because they have specialized training in order to process and investigate specific types of crimes. One example locally was the Yosemite murders that terrified northern California in 1999, investigated by the Sacramento FBI with crime scenes investigated by the Sacramento ERT. But ERT agents also have their own cases, they’re only pulled together in extraordinary circumstances. So I mentioned an idea to the public information officer about having an ERT unit that worked around the country (rather than in one limited jurisdiction) and he said he didn’t see how it would practically work. I shelved it, but it nagged at me from time to time. Fast forward ten years and the PIO had since retired. He and I were chatting about another book of mine (I call him regularly for research!) and I talked to him again about my idea, but I had tweaked it. I had the concept of a Mobile Response Team to focus on rural and underserved communities, based on reading about some FBI offices that had huge territories and more limited resources (because of size, location, etc.) He thought about it, and said, yeah, he could buy into it, especially since the FBI is working hard on improving its image. So while it’s not an actual FBI task force, it was plausible. So I ran with it.

I love writing crime thrillers. I’m very comfortable writing in the FBI world, maybe because of all the research I’ve done and maybe because I’m interested in the cases they investigate. Because the MRT team moves around, I can explore a multitude of crimes that interest me. With an ensemble cast of characters, I can focus on different characters in each book, hopefully to make them more real to my readers. Matt and Kara will likely lead each book, but like Catherine was a pivotal character in this book, and Michael Harris will be a pivotal character in the second book, I hope to also go deeper into Ryder, Jim, and the rest of the team.

Q: I really enjoy the complex story lines and cases you have in your Lucy Kincaid and Max Revere Books. How much research goes into your stories and is there a particular 'right from the news headlines' that catches your interest for a possible storyline?

A: I love research! I read widely and have more than 50 research books on my shelf -- forensics, true crime, military, criminal profiling, psychology, police procedures, and more. I have contacts in many professions who I can ask questions. Before I start writing, I have to make sure the set-up works. After that, I research as I write. I participate in “generic” research whenever I have the opportunity--talking to people in interesting professions or going on “field trips” (such as to the morgue to view an autopsy or a ride along with the sheriff’s department)--just to keep my general knowledge about law enforcement up-to-date.

Because I read widely, and keep up-to-date on crime related news, many ‘right from the headlines’ stories catch my eye, but I rarely write about them. It’s usually a couple stories that I see together that give me an idea. Such as reading about a storm that unearths bones might interest me, but then I’ll read an article about a missing person or a mortgage fraud scheme and twist all the articles into one idea that’s completely different from the original stories. I’ve read a lot about human trafficking, and my second MRT book touches on that based very loosely on an article I read about how coyotes go back and forth across the border and the cost to their victims (financial, emotional, physical) coupled with another article I read about an abandoned camp that may or may not have been used for criminal activity, on top of a conversation I had with my brother-in-law, a wildlife biologist, about birds.

Q: What do readers have to look forward to in the future from you?

A: After THE THIRD TO DIE, the next Lucy Kincaid book will be out on March 31, where Maxine Revere gets to join Lucy in San Antonio -- but with a twist. In CUT AND RUN, Lucy is investigating the cold case and Max is investigating the recent murder. I’m almost done writing the Lucy book that follows -- COLD AS ICE (10.27.20) as well as finishing the revisions of the second MRT book (currently untitled) coming out in the spring of 2021. I also have an idea for a trilogy about a female private investigator that I’m super excited about, and I’ll be starting the first draft of the third MRT book this spring. Oh -- and there will be two Lucy Kincaid novellas coming this summer!

Q: What advice do you have for someone working on their first book?

A: Create good habits. Write regularly--create a schedule that fits into your life and stick to it, whether it’s an hour every morning before the kids get up, two hours at night when you used to watch television, or every Sunday afternoon. You need to make sacrifices to find the time to write, but if it’s important, you’ll do it. (For example, when I was working full-time out of the house AND had three young kids, I gave up television for three years and wrote every night from 9 to midnight.) Also, learn how to discern constructive criticism--some advice is good, some isn’t. Sometimes it’s hard to know what to take and what to leave, but it’s important. Generally, advice that is constructive will help you see your flaws while also motivating you to keep writing; advice that is destructive will make you feel like a failure. Don’t listen to the destructive advice.

Q: What is the hardest part about writing for you?

A: Procrastinating. I get easily distracted, especially when I’m just starting a book. So I guess that means the beginning is hard, hahaha. Once I am deep into the story -- somewhere between 100-150 pages -- something clicks and then I can’t write fast enough. In fact, I’ve often said that it takes me twice as long to write the first 100 pages than it does to write the last 300 pages!

Q: Do you have a set schedule for writing or do you work writing into your existing schedule?

A: Before my first book came out in 2006, I worked full-time and I only had nights to write. I wrote every night when the kids went to bed, from 9 to midnight. Now I write full time, and I treat it as a full-time job -- I start after the kids go to school (about 8 am) and generally wrap up before dinner (about 6 pm). Not all those hours are spent writing -- I’ll research, read, spend time on social media -- and sometimes I’ll write at night, especially if I have to take a day off for errands or I have an imminent deadline or if I’m super excited about the scene I’m writing. Because my time is flexible, I can go watch my daughter’s softball games or take a day to research on-site (like a ride-along.) I also write on the weekends, but only if we don’t have family things planned (or a softball tournament!)

Q: What is your favorite line from your book?

A: I don’t have a favorite line, per se. I have a couple favorite scenes. When Matt first comes to town and he and Kara walk through the crime scene. Matt’s conversations with Ryder Kim, his jack-of-all-trades analyst. Kara’s scenes with her grandmother. The climax was hugely fun to write, and needed a lot of choreographing on my part to make sure it made sense! There’s a scene from a child’s POV that was very emotional to write and stuck with me for a long time. I think Kara has most of the best lines, to be honest, and one of the best exchanges between her and Matt was after a press conference Matt gave with the Spokane PD, when Kara was in the audience trying to figure out if the killer was watching the speech. Matt was irritated because he hadn’t seen her, and Kara decided to have fun with him. At the end, as she’s about to leave the room:

Kara smiled and handed Matt his wallet. “You were too easy.”

Matt took his wallet, looking both surprised and angry, but also impressed. “You stole my wallet?”

“You gave me shit because you thought I’d bailed on you--I was just having fun. Don’t take it personally. I’ve been picking pockets since I was a little kid.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Allison Brennan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of three dozen thrillers and numerous short stories. She was nominated for Best Paperback Original Thriller by International Thriller Writers, has had multiple nominations and two Daphne du Maurier Awards, and is a five-time RITA finalist for Best Romantic Suspense. Allison believes life is too short to be bored, so she had five kids. Allison and her family live in Arizona. Visit her at allisonbrennan.com

Social Links:

Author website: https://www.allisonbrennan.com/

Facebook: @AllisonBrennan

Twitter: @Allison_Brennan

Instagram: @abwrites

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/52527.Allison_Brennan

Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0778309444/httpwwwalli0f-20

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-third-to-die-allison-brennan/1131669020;jsessionid=C1F1BD4B1DE6C665460E505FA5022816.prodny_store02-atgap03?ean=9780778309444

IndieBound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9780778309444

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9780778309444

AppleBooks: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-third-to-die/id1464894471

Google Play: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Allison_Brennan_The_Third_to_Die?id=0sWZDwAAQBAJ

#Allison Brennan #Mobile Response Team 1 #Mira #NetGalley #Murder Mystery #FBI Mystery #Serial Killer #Suspense #Thriller

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the13thtrack · 7 years ago

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A Man Called Destructo - From The Inside with J.T. IV

The work of John Henry Timmis IV (a.k.a. J.T. IV) has remained elusive to most both within his lifetime and decades after his death. He is considered by some modern acolytes such as Ty Segall to be an unsung rock god. While others knew him as a Chicago resident, ex-institution dweller, record breaking filmmaker, and myth…

His self-released 1980′s recordings, which he referred to as “heavy glitter” or “destructo-rock” dwell in their own fully realized private musical sphere. For those with a taste for art on the fringes, the world of J.T. IV is a dark and alluring place. His acoustic material sounds as if Ziggy Stardust, Syd Barrett and Chris Bell merged together into one sad desperate alien, and once the band kicks in heavy devastation ensues for all parties involved.

As far as the posthumous cult of J.T. IV was concerned, things picked up considerably when a compilation of his recordings entitled, Cosmic Lightning, was reissued on Drag City/Galactic Zoo in 2008. That release that was curated by Moniker Records co-founder Robert Cole Manis. Flash forward to 2017; Robert and his partner at imprint Monikier Records, Jordan Reyes, have conspired to bring us more J.T. IV in the form of his autobiography, From The Inside. Having received the manuscript years back, and considering how to best release it to an unsuspecting public, Manis went to his friend and Featherproof Books publisher, Tim Kinsella, who helped to make the book a reality. Robert, Jordan and Tim were kind enough to submit to a short Q&A about the new book and the art of John Henry Timmis IV.

Even for fans of outsider musicians, J.T. IV’s work remains still somewhat obscure. Can you tell me a little about how you discovered the work of J.T. IV? What in particular drew both of you to the work of John Henry Timmis IV in the first place?

Robert Cole Manis: Back in 2007 I started researching John Henry Timmis IV aka J.T. IV after moving back to Chicago from Portland OR where my girlfriend was attending grad school. I had heard his song “Death Trip” on an obscure punk compilation called Staring Down The Barrel the year before and it became an obsession of mine to track down as much info as possible about this bizarre character who also had directed the longest film in history! It seemed strange to me that there was very little info on the subject. The song alone was remarkable but with this additional information mentioned on the back of the record, I needed to know more.

With a little bit of sleuthing and some luck, I met the individual who released the compilation. He tipped me off to where this guy spent some of his life, which record store he hung out in, who some of his friends were…. this is when I found out he was no longer alive. The compiler also sent me more songs from his discography and I was blown away.

One name the guy told me to track down was Lee Groban. Lee, who passed away a few years ago, was a local legend. Lee and John Timmis were best buds in the 80s and collaborated on a lot of projects together, including the longest film in history, based on Lee’s poem “The Cure For Insomnia.” This is how I came across the memoir. Lee kept everything. Whenever we met to chat about John, he would show up with more ephemera. Records, photos, magazine clippings, and then one day he showed me the memoir John wrote. Another piece to this guys wild and incredible life.

Jordan Reyes: The discovery was fairly easy for me since Robert had already done all the legwork. Around the time he asked me to join as partner in Moniker, which was in January 2015, I moved away to Miami - self-relegation being the logical first step in partnership. My first four or so months in Miami saw me in various motels, hotels, or strewn across friends’ couches. Robert had acquired the manuscript to From The Inside many moons - suns, even - prior, but he wanted me to take a look at it since I had a background in English and writing. I remember being in a sweltering extended stay on Calle Ocho in Miami, eating arepas and reading this damaged memoir, playing the YouTube stream of Cosmic Lightning in the background. The manuscript itself was compulsory - I read the thing the first time through in probably 2 or 2.5 hours. Then I started trying to edit, but Robert was adamant that nothing be changed other than punctuation to retain the original’s form and substance. And, like the good servant I was, I did just that.

JR: The read itself from a substantive point of view is a bit more complicated. Not to go too far into personal history, but for one reason or another, both mental illness and substance abuse hit home pretty hard. And with even a cursory knowledge of the man himself, its easy to see how on Cosmic Lightning and in From The Inside, the ghosts and whispers of self-destruction pull the strings. You can’t help people though, especially when they’re dead, so my heart went out for Timmis, and that empathetic response linked us - though in Timmis’ postmortem reality, languished across a destructo-rock cloud and imbibing g-d knows what in the ether, he most likely couldn’t care less about my sublimated bond.

His record breaking 85 hour movie, The Cure For Insomnia, is the work he is probably most well known for. Can you tell me more about his work as a filmmaker?

RCM: He dabbled in B horror home-core flicks like Cannibal Orgy. As for the Guinness Book Of World Records film it’s a culmination of found footage, personal confessions (which does in fact contain parts of the memoir word for word), and video recordings of old exploitation films and documentaries like Marihuana (1936).

One of the things I liked best about the Cosmic Lightning album was that it included a DVD of videos, which made it more of a multimedia extravaganza rather than just a standard album reissue. In what ways do you feel the book further enhances the J.T. IV experience?

RCM: I think the memoir expounds on his upbringing which openly reveals his overall attitude, anger, and resentfulness towards authority and the elite. I’d like to imagine the book was written in a matter of days, as a stream of consciousness bolt of energy.

How did you discover the manuscript of From The Inside, and what inspired you to release it now?

RCM: Lee Groban handed it to me during one of our meetings in 2007. It was completely out of the blue and unexpected. It took me 10 years to publish it, for many different reasons. I started Moniker, got busy with releasing new bands and I put the memoir on the backburner. I knew one day it would come to fruition, and when I met up with Tim Kinsella last year to pick his brain about the world of publishing books, I sold him on the idea. It certainly wasn’t my intention, but after we got to know each other and I could tell he would do a great job with it, I agreed. So that’s basically how it all came about.

What was the thought process that went into deciding how the book’s manuscript should be presented?

RCM: I clearly wanted to keep John’s vision as close to what was written. That was very important to me. We changed the names in the book, we corrected misspellings, but didn’t mess with syntax.

Tim Kinsella: Generally when we edit a book we go back and forth with the author about particular word choices, whether it’s choosing a synonym that is rhythmically different or a verb tense or whatever. Seeing as the author is deceased, we couldn’t do this. And we thought it was important to maintain the original tone, which is often kind of manic, so we decided to even leave simple grammatical and spelling mistakes that people would commonly choose to correct. We hoped this would create a sort of urgency and rawness.

Like Robert said, we did have to change some names simply for legal reasons. He gives enough backstory about some people that they could, in theory, be sleuthed out. And we didn’t want to risk printing any sort of slander or libel.

John seemed to be ahead of his time in some ways in trying to manipulate media to create certain perceptions about his work. For example, him planting the fake news story about being disfigured in a car accident. In your opinion does From The Inside also try to manipulate or warp reality in a similar manner?

JR: My first response is to say that reality has gone out the window in this memoir, but that’s not quite true, is it?

Timmis preemptively describes the book as a series of extraordinary events happening to him. The flavor From the Inside. “Contrived” gets a bad rap. Contrivance isn’t bad. It means that something is meticulously thought out rather than being created spontaneously. The Sistine Chapel? Contrived. Here’s my two cents - everything is fucking contrived. The happenstance in the narrative of From the Inside itself is contrived. Timmis wants these events, ideas, and people to color his legacy, and he’s willing to go on the record as having experienced some pretty baffling shit to do so. But perhaps, in his perception, this was reality.

What was John’s relationship to his musical and artistic contemporaries? Would you view him more of an outsider toiling away in his own sphere or was he a part of any of the musical scenes that were happening around him?

RCM: From what I can ascertain, John was a lone wolf and worked outside the music industry. I imagine he wanted to engage in it to some extent but either didn’t have the connections or didn’t have the desire to feed into it. The concert footage you see depicts him and his friends on stage playing to an audience, but in reality it was a total set up. He rented out that concert hall so he could invite all of his friends to witness his own rock and roll extravaganza.

What do you think were some of his biggest influences?

RCM: Musically – Alice Cooper, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie / Cinematically – Death Race 2000, Night Of The Living Dead

Are there any plans to release any more J.T. IV recordings or books in the future?

RCM: Yes! In fact, we are compiling a cassette release of all the B-Sides and cover songs he recorded during the 80’s which were left off the comp for one reason or another. Should be out next month.

Copies of Cosmic Lightning are available on J.T. IV bandcamp, and From The Inside is available now from Featherproof.

#john timmis #outsider music #moniker records #featherproof books #drag city

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whatdoyouexpectthistime · 8 years ago

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‘Choosing Sides’ Part Twenty-two - This Is a Rescue

There was nothing for it. She couldn’t stay in the utility closet and she couldn’t call anyone for help, not that she felt she would. Her clothes and her phone and the card allowing her access to the penthouse area and attached suites were all back at the day spa.

She’d need to go back down the hallway, wrapped just in a towel, and retrieve them before she could do anything.

Stupid girl.

Acknowledging the mess she had made, and the precarious position she was now in, Miho knew she had to own it.

Own her response to Kaga – he wanted her as a woman and in those moments she had responded in kind. Her scornful, reactionary reply came less from sexual frustration, and more from his strength to pull back when he knew he should.

Shouldn’t have kissed him. Why did you?

Because Eisuke was swimming around in her head, and Baba too, men on the other side of the fence to Kaga it could very well turn out… a fence Miho was straddling, and doing a poor job of balancing upon.

Not cut out for this?

“Fuck it,” she growled to herself, scrubbing her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Clean up your mess and get on with it.”

Squaring her shoulders, she peeked out of the darkened room and looked both ways. The hallway was empty – perhaps people were having a lazy, late breakfast – and so Miho made her dash.

Staff in the day spa looked glad to see her return, and bowed apologetically; Miho did not chastise them for allowing Kaga into the massage room, she just wanted to get her belongings and proceed with her next objective.

By the time she left she had found some calm. She had analysed her situation, separated herself from the turmoil of her emotions and the shame of allowing her personal feelings to enter into what was a matter of Public Safety.

But she still felt Kaga’s lips on hers, the need and desire of the grope of his hands, and she could not help but lament, even buried as that lamentation had to be, that she’d completely blown any chance of a relationship with him.

Can’t take it back now.

Leaving the Tres Spades, Miho knew someone would see her, and the further from the hotel she got, the greater were the chances of Kaga or Goto or Shinonome intercepting her. Kaga knew where she was going and who she planned to see, and knew what it could mean. She expected to be stopped, but she embarked, and got off the train without sighting any of them.

They’re just going to let me?

In the foyer of Hishikura’s building she announced her arrival, and was then shown to his office.

He rose from behind his desk, moved around and offered his hand to her – habit from having spent time overseas perhaps.

“Miss..?” he greeted then paused.

“Fujiwara,” she filled in for him, bowing slightly over their clasped hands.

“I’m glad I was right,” he said as they parted and he motioned toward the sofa setting.

“About?”

“Ichinomiya has rivals and enemies everywhere,” Hishikura explained, waiting for her to be seated before he positioned himself opposite. “You’re an intelligent, creative woman, who would make the perfect vehicle to get to him.”

“I’m not interested in getting to Mr. Ichinomiya,” Miho denied evenly.

“Oh?”

He sat tall in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, the very picture of meticulous control, but there was also something lurking behind those glasses. Enjoyment.

Amusement.

He was waiting for her to start squirming.

“It looked very much to me,” he continued, touching his fingertips together, “like you were about to get a whole lot closer to him last night, and yet – you were hesitating.”

“As I said, I’m not interested in Ichinomiya exactly,” she somewhat repeated.

“Go ahead, Miss Fujiwara,” he prompted. “Elaborate.”

“I shall,” she nodded slowly, but stared into his eyes. “But first, please, why is it you have a suite in the Tres Spades that is not listed in any guest manifest?”

If he was surprised she knew this information, it didn’t show in his unflappable expression, nor did he answer, and so Miho kept talking.

“For a man I once heard was determined to become prime minister, that seems a little shady.”

“For all his faults, Ichinomiya understands privacy,” he replied easily. “Is it really so difficult to believe I would desire that?”

“Yes,” she answered, allowing a slow smile to spread across her face – she had nothing, but he didn’t know that, “when your neighbours are who they are.”

“My neighbours?” he echoed.

“Kisaki, Oh, Baba,” she listed, “and of course Mr. Ichinomiya himself, though by all appearance you and he do not seem to be on good terms.”

“Ichinomiya is a tenacious businessman. I respect that,” he told her, not shifting in the slightest.

“Is that all he is?” she probed quickly.

“What precisely are you insinuating?” Hishikura enquired, his keen eyes narrowing just slightly.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” she shrugged, leaning back against the couch cushion a little. “But I know for a fact something very big is about to happen at the Tres Spades, the kind of thing that could look very bad for even someone just seemingly suspicious.”

Button pressed.

“A threat, perhaps?” he responded calmly, and Miho laughed.

“No, no of course not, that would be vulgar; but you do have a reputation to protect, and reputations are very much like glass – easily broken, difficult to piece back together.”

“And what is it exactly you think you know?” he asked, and though his facial expression had hardly twitched, there was something in his voice that gave him away.

“Are you a terrorist, Ambassador?” Miho asked outright, sitting forward a little.

“Am I what?” Hishikura blinked, a reaction to be certain.

“Please answer the question,” she insisted, her face as stern as she could make it.

“Miss Fujiwara, you’re in my office making ludicrous accusations, I am n…”

“It’s a question, not an accusation,” she interrupted sharply, and followed up with fierce. “One I ask, because any day now in the Tres Spades, someone is going to make a shameful amount of money selling information that could put the safety and security of everyone in Japan at risk.”

“And who are you, to know such a thing?” he responded dryly.

If he was in on it, revealing herself was a bad idea. If he wasn’t, he might be able to help her.

Inhale.

“I was sent as a representative of a benevolent agency…”

Hishikura scoffed, and Miho bared her teeth.

“I need to find that information before the terrorists, who have already attacked Prime Minister Hiraizumi, get their hands on it,” she growled. “Because if they do, every law enforcement officer and every single government official – yourself included – will be vulnerable and exposed.”

This, Hishikura seemed a little surprised by, but then considered both it, and her.

“What makes you think this transaction is going to occur at the Tres Spades?” he questioned after some time in silence, and it caused Miho to ruffle further.

“Shouldn’t you be more concerned about terrorists with all your information, Ambassador? About the chaos that could be caused if every undercover agent in Japan was targeted?”

“Undercover like yourself,” he noted.

“I don’t matter,” she countered quickly, without hesitation. “All that matters, is protecting innocent people.”

“And you think Ichinomiya has this information?”

“I don’t think he has anything to benefit from destabilising the country, even if he could make huge profit,” she determined. “But a man like that…”

Her sentence trailed away before she began again.

“I beieve there is little he doesn’t know about what’s going on in his hotel,” she said.

“Except for you, of course,” Hishikura smirked – he seemed pleased by this.

“Can you help me?” Miho queried, looking at him honestly. “Because I am running very short on time, and if I fail… people are going to die, police, politicians and civilians.”

“How on Earth did you get mixed up in something like this?” he asked as he got to his feet. “Infiltration and seduction seem a little out of the purview of a translator, even one as good as you.”

“It has all happened surprisingly quickly,” she told him vaguely. “But about some things you don’t hesitate.”

She watched as he crossed to his desk. It could have been interpreted as a dismissal, the way he suddenly acted as if she wasn’t even in the room, but momentarily he looked over at her.

“Let me make some inquiries,” he said finally. “But make no mistake, my aid does not come without cost.”

“I doubt I have anything you’d want,” she chuckled, “and you’re by far more connected.”

“I’ll think of something,” he declared, his tone so offhand it sounded a little sinister.

Miho stood.

“That information,” she stated, “is not for anyone to duplicate or consume – yourself, and myself, included.”

“Do you honestly think so poorly of me?” he grumbled.

“You, Ichinomiya, the others – I don’t know what to think anymore,” she admitted. “So many secrets.”

“That’s rather hypocritical of you, Miss Ohira,” he sniffed.

“Perhaps,” she nodded. “But I have to consider the lure of temptation, when that information might be used to advance in other ways.”

“And you think I would?”

“I would like to think you wouldn’t,” she answered, getting to her feet. “I would hope you’d do everything in your power, as a man of moral principle, to return it, unread, un-duplicated, to the proper authority, so no one else gets hurt.”

The truth was, Hishikura could benefit immensely from acquiring that information and using it for his own means. Politics was a dirty game, no matter how idealistic a mask one wore, and of the very little Miho actually knew about the man, Hishikura’s ambition was clear.

He looked back at her, one eyebrow raised.

“And you’re the proper authority,” he enquired, though his tone didn’t hold as much scepticism as it could have.

“This isn’t about glory,” she asserted, approaching where he stood by his desk. “I just want to stop bad guys doing bad things to good people.”

“How very noble,” he noted.

“It’s not about being noble either,” she stated. “You will help me?”

“Heaven forbid I fail to live up to your expectations,” he said thinly, but inclined his head ever so slightly. “May I suggest in the meantime, you keep out of Ichinomiya’s way?”

“He may know something,” she pointed out.

“If he discovers your little undercover operation, the consequences will be severe.”

“Shallow grave in the mountains?” she smirked, but Hishikura’ expression remained unsettlingly serious.

“That I cannot say.”

“I’ll do my best not to antagonise him,” she chuckled, but still he was unmoved.

“See that you do, and don’t go poking around places you shouldn’t.”

“Can’t promise that,” she told him, stepping away and preparing to leave.

Hishikura said no more, but escorted her back to the foyer where she bowed to him before departing.

There on the street, Miho paused and looked about. Nothing jumped out at her as being distinct from any other day, though she expected Kaga to roll by at any moment and with Shinonome, bundle her into a car.

But there was no car, and no Shinonome, and no Kaga.

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself for what seemed like the millionth time that day – stupid that it actually stung Kaga wasn’t attempting to forcefully extract her.

And yet maybe that meant he decided to trust her after all.

This circled her mind, a never ending drain on her mental energy until a slender female figure drew in close behind her right shoulder – much closer than a pedestrian just going on their way would be.

“I work for Mr. Oh,” she said quietly, sliding her arm in under Miho’s linking them like friends, though as a pair they were an odd one. “You’re being followed by some shady characters, and we’re here to save you, so don’t cause a fuss.”

“Followed by shady characters other than you, you mean?” Miho frowned, a scowl developing when a town car pulled to the curb beside them and her new friend gave her a nudge toward it. “Hey!”

“Seriously?” the young woman snapped. “This is a fuckin’ rescue, so get in.”

Refusing to comply with minions of Soryu could end just as badly as going along with them, and in the face of the open car door, Miho didn’t have a lot of time to deliberate which was worse.

“Fine,” she huffed, ducking into the back seat, quickly followed by the white haired-woman.

The moment the door enclosed them within, the car moved swiftly away from the curb, and turned a corner so fast, even if Miho had looked back, she would not have seen Soma appear out of concealment and take out his phone.

Awkward in silence, Miho sat, and openly studied her female companion. She was thin, with perhaps the palest skin Miho has ever seen, though not quite as fair as the long, silky-white length of her straight hair.

“Why would you follow me?” Miho asked eventually, but received no answer, though the male driver did look over his shoulder at her with a somewhat sympathetic look.

Not very mafia like, in fact he had an innocence about him that made Miho want to smile, despite her situation.

“Seriously, this is abduction,” she pointed out a little sourly, trying to keep calm.

What if they’ve figured me out? Is this my last car ride before that shallow grave I mentioned to Hishikura?

“Shut up,” the woman dropped, rolling her eyes. “Soryu wants to talk to you.”

Gulp.

“I don’t even know Mr. Oh,” Miho told her carefully. “What could he possibly want to talk to me about?”

“Shut up,” the woman said again, making it blatantly obvious no answers would be gleaned from her.

The ride was short, and tense. Finally, Miho was escorted from an underground car park, into a neatly decorated office. It was not the dark and dingy mafia hole in the wall Miho had expected – then again, it seemed all those she’d encountered in the Tres Spades penthouse were wealthy beyond reason.

Soryu stood from behind his desk when Miho entered, flanked by her ‘guards’.

“That was a thorough rescue,” Miho declared, making eye contact with Soryu, despite the palpable waves of intimidation radiating from him. “But I’m not sure exactly what I have been rescued from, or why your people were there to rescue me in the first place.”

“I will ask the questions,” Soryu said flatly, and despite the disparate body size, the as yet unnamed, pale woman, pushed down on Miho’s shoulders and forced her into a chair.

And Soryu loomed, a cold, dark storm cloud on the very brink of breaking over her.

“Oh-kay,” Miho exhaled, her chest tightening.

“Why were you, a maid, visiting Hishikura Shuichi?” he asked, standing tall, just his eyes looking down at her with the promise of violence.

“Pardon me, Mr. Oh, but am I restricted from visiting certain people in my own time?” she questioned tentatively, and reflexively shrank down a little when Soryu’s eyes narrowed.

“Answer, my, question,” he insisted icily.

“He… intervened in a difficult situation, so I wanted to thank him,” she replied with some hesitation.

“What difficult situation?” he pressed, completely unconcerned about her discomfort – in fact her discomfort was entirely the point.

“A private one,” she frowned.

“Hey,” the woman behind her snapped, giving the back of her head a sharp push. “Obviously you don’t realise the situation you’re in.”

Hackles rising, Miho rocked forward out of her seat to confront the unpleasant girl, but Soryu was there to meet her with stone.

“Sit,” he commanded, and Miho could picture the smirk burning against her back.

“I think you know the situation I’m referring to,” Miho said through her teeth. “You’ve no reason to be following me around, so my guess is Mr. Ichinomiya asked you to.”

This statement hung in the air, seconds ticking by, until Soryu leaned down a little toward her face.

“Indulge me,” he insisted, and Miho let out an exasperated breath.

“Mr. Ichinomiya invited me to the rooftop Jacuzzi last night after we returned from an awards ceremony,” she blurted out, scowling like he’d actually used torture. “I was, hesitant and concerned he might want more than a soak in the tub, and when Ambassador Hishikura appeared unexpectedly out of nowhere, he provided me an opportunity to slip away. Happy?”

“Hardly,” Soryu dropped apathetically as he straightened. “Where did you go after that?”

“Why?” she growled, digging in her heels. “What the hell is this all about?”

“Don’t talk back to Mr. Oh!” the man also behind Miho barked, but it was the cool, slender fingers of the woman that pinched the back of her neck.

“This is about you being shadowed,” Soryu declared, and Miho only just managed to suppress the urge to gulp. “And not by us.”

The fingers at her nape tightened.

“I don’t…” Miho began in a harsh whisper, but sucked it back in when Soryu’s face drew very close to hers.

“You do,” he asserted, his breath on her face.

And Miho was finally afraid.

“What maid throws a grown man down like you did?” he persisted, one hand either side of her head, gripping the back of the chair she sat in to support his lean. “What maid, covets the attention of a man like Ichinomiya Eisuke, only to turn now the perfect opportunity to bed him?”

“I…” she began, but once more he cut her off.

“What maid, visits a Japanese Ambassador she met the night before, her steps followed all the way?”

“I didn’t covet Mr. Ichinomiya’s attention,” she shuddered out. “He came to me, and, and the thing in the foyer – I told him about my husband and self-defence. What more can I say if there isn’t anything left?”

But her innocent act did not satisfy Soryu in the slightest. He was convinced there was more, and he wasn’t wrong, but Miho could hardly tell a mafia boss that. Then again, if she didn’t give him something, she could very well end up like Abukara.

“You will…” Soryu said, then his phone rang, and he instantly straightened to answer it.

Momentary reprieve.

He left her with the other two in the office while he walked out of the room, and though Miho could hear the rumble of his voice, she couldn’t make out the words.

“You should just tell Mr. Oh what he wants to know,” the young man told Miho, attempting to look stern.

“He’s looking for something that isn’t there,” Miho whimpered, in her best approximation of fear induced distress.

In truth she was frightened. The threat to her life was real, and now this man was suspicious of her, he might not let go until she did reveal who she was and who had most likely been ghosting her steps; but if she did that, she put them at risk: Kaga, even as mad as she was at him still for showing up and messing with her head; Goto who had no doubt reasoned with Kaga to keep her in the investigation despite her connection with Baba; the other instructors working their angles - they would all be suddenly in greater danger.

Miho closed her eyes.

“You know,” she said in a quiet, miserable voice, “there probably isn’t even anyone left who’d care if he did kill me.”

It was a lie. She knew that, but she really did feel for the first time, completely isolated. Kaga had said it himself, there was no backup for her – there would be no rescue. If she didn’t manage to talk her way out of the situation, then she only had herself to blame.

“I bet those guys following you’d care,” the woman sniffed, finally letting go of Miho’s neck. “Come on, who are they? Debt collectors? Pimps? Detectives? Dealers? Who’d you fuck with?”

Her eyes were such a piercing blue, Miho had trouble looking away from them: sharp, accusatory, filled with barely restrained anger.

“The only one I think you could say I fucked with,” Miho responded slowly, “is Mr. Ichinomiya, when I decided not to get any closer to him – but that’s my right, I don’t care how rich he is, or which mafia boss he has on a leash.”

“No one holds a leash on Boss!” the man exclaimed, but was immediately admonished by his female counterpart.

“Jeez Inui, calm down,” she muttered, not even glancing in his direction, not breaking eye contact with Miho – like a cat, barely blinking.

Then Soryu strode back in, his face even more dark, if that was even possible.

“Cuff her,” he instructed, hardly even glancing at Miho. “Genever, you’re staying here to keep an eye on her, Inui with me.”

There was no discussion. Miho’s hands were cuffed behind her before she could resist.

“Come on,” Miho protested, though she did not pull against her restraints or try to stand, “this is unlawful imprisonment!”

“Do we look like we care?” the now named Genever sneered. “Just shut up.”

“Talk, shut up, make up your fucking minds,” she retorted, and Genever took hold of her hair and wrenched her head back.

“You’re going to be quiet while I babysit you,” she hissed before letting Miho go, and sourly Miho looked up at Soryu.

He was scowling even deeper than before, just considering her from where he stood in the doorway.

“Whatever it is,” Miho huffed. “It has nothing to do with me.”

“We’ll see,” he declared, and then left with Inui in tow.

Great. Now what?

Continue to Part Twenty-Three - Plaster Dust

#voltage inc #voltage games #voltage angst #kbtbb #kbtbb fanfic #shuichi hishikura #Oh Soryu #Inui Ryosuke #Genever Mieke

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godsandvillainsrpg-blog · 8 years ago

Photo

KILLIAN YOUNG

eighteen ♱ thief ♱ lefevre

“I am not violent. I am not malicious. I am a result.”

WE ARE PLAYING A GAME OF EMPIRES

TRIGGER WARNING FOR ABUSE

Killian has no recollection of life before the Giordano family. Surely they must have had someone – a mother, a father, a family. Something. But the recesses of their mind where those memories should be is met only with darkness, an ominous cloud restricting their access. Instead, all they know is this: how to steal, how to kill, and how to destroy. It has been their perverse religion since they can remember, and Vita their only teacher.

They were four years old when they came to live with the Giordanos, a mere child. For many years they knew nothing of their family or how they came to be in the care of Cassius and Vita; a child so young does not question these things, does not know to inquire of their new surroundings. Perhaps they had been in shock, everything changing so rapidly around them that their young mind only had the capacity to adapt, not to interrogate. Not that it mattered – Vita was not a woman who could be persuaded to give answers. She spoke with authority and her words came as commands, not requests.

Vita became their pseudo-mother, or at least that was how Killian grew up envisioning her. She told them they had no one else, reinforced that this family – and herself in particular – was all they had. To a child, this logic was unquestionable, for children are built to accept such facts at face value. This assent became her gateway, giving her access to Killian’s mind…and the opportunity to build it however she pleased without any boundaries. There were no limits, and Killian was the one to suffer for it.

To call what she did to them child abuse would not even scratch the surface of her actions. She exploited their youth, brainwashed them, painting herself savior and mother, but with conditions and at a price. In order to keep her happy, Killian would have to prove themself. It began as little things; delivering messages, fetching her things, constantly at her beck and call. But over time, these demands became more serious and more sinister. Killian’s descent to darkness was subtle and it was slow, but it was meticulously calculated. Vita wanted more than a pet – she wanted a monster. And so she created one.

It is a universal question that men have struggled to answer for centuries: how are monsters born? The answer is simple – one must strip them of all humanity. This was a study that Vita Giordano excelled at, and Killian was the one to pay the price. Given a blank canvas, she painted a heinous portrait. They were brainwashed and indoctrinated. Killian’s moral compass pointed in whatever direction Vita desired. Righteousness was defined by whatever she said. Stealing was their primary modus operandi, but killing was often included in these games. The scent of blood was an aphrodisiac, the thrill of the kill intoxicating, an addiction all its own. Killian had become her servant, with little understanding of anything outside Vita’s teachings. Their life was primordial, not even human, but a creature restricted to whim of their master.

For years, they lived like this…if this existence could be called living. Robbed of a childhood and of any semblance of free will, they knew nothing of the human experience. Love and emotions were void, non-existent. This was Vita’s design. Though Killian learned how to function as though they had a soul, a mind, a heart even, it was not authentic for there was only a black hole where these should be. Their every move, every waking moment was determined by their creator, a creator who reveled in her handiwork.

There is no way to know if this was a project that could have lasted forever, if Killian would only become more debased over time, if they would have surrendered every last part of themself to her. Fate, though, had its own plan on intervention. As it turned out, there was one sliver of humanity left in this poor being. Though they were a mere child when the Giordanos had taken them in, they did have a mother and a father. Killian had no recollection of either of them, but there was this inexplicable feeling they had at any passing thought of them. Never in their life had they experienced anything remotely close to love; the so-called affection Vita poured out to them was conditional and it was a tactic, not genuine. They were tied to her out of obligation and training – they belonged to her, not like a friend or child, but like an animal. But somewhere, some past self that Killian no longer knew, they had parents, parents who loved and cared for them. And it was this which would act as the catalyst that would break the hold Vita had on them.

They had heard it in passing, mention of a young couple who had turned down an offer by Cassius. This was rare, and there was little known among the ring of what happened to those who refused. Some, perhaps, were allowed to go on with their lives…but there remained some who were instead placed on the blacklist. Rumors abounded over what this list meant, and what it took to make it. These were the few who could pose a serious threat to the ring; they either had skill, or they may be willing to expose the family and their game. Those who made this list always met their end. This young couple, killed fifteen years ago, had been both: too skilled to risk work for a rival, too righteous to be trusted with this secret.

There was no mention of a child, but Killian did not need help connecting the dots. Their parents were killed at the hands of the very couple who had acted as their parental proxies. Not only had Cassius and Vita stolen their childhood and humanity, but they had been responsible for the loss of their parents. The two of them were to blame for everything. Killian may not have known how to feel, but they did know there was something missing, a gaping hole which they found impossible to fill. They were nothing, less than nothing, and it all pointed back to two people. This was the beginning of their rebellion.

The plan was to find a way to bring them down, to destroy the beast from the inside – starting with Vita. A hatred that burned with such fiery contempt raged inside them. Killian learned to bare their teeth, take this abuse with knowledge that one day, it would all come crashing down around them. This empire would fall, and like all dethroned royals before them, heads would roll. Gods. Psh. They were nothing but mere mortals with a divinity complex.

The betrayal of Christian and Giuliana was something Killian would have never anticipated and certainly did not predict – but they provided a decent vehicle to bring about Killian’s desire. The two never revealed their endgame, but there was no doubt that the Giordanos would intend to kill them; if Killian knew anything, it was how flippant that family dealt death. They were not a hard sale for the two traitors, much to the surprise of both. And when the time came to officially switch sides, the degree of shock and pain from Killian’s betrayal was only the beginning of what they had in plan for Vita. Though they are playing by the Lefevre’s rules – for now – Killian has a plan of their own. They were stripped down and robbed of every piece of humanity, and now they would take away everything from this family. If Vita desired a monster, they would show her just how monstrous her creation had become.

TAKE NO PRISONERS, LEAVE NO SCARS

LOVE

Emotion of any kind is essentially foreign to Killian, and love is an emotion they are sure they will never feel. As a young child, before Vita had finished her work in them, they had been friends with Bella, who was the only person to truly welcome them with open arms. The girl was sweet and kind, radiating the warmth that entirely lacking in their interactions with the rest of the family and the members of the crime ring. Though they grew to be close, Vita would train Killian to turn off affection, to shut down any attempt at true companionship with others. What they felt for Bella was a childhood fantasy, one that passed. Killian now struggled to even remember what it was like to have a friend, much less a love interest.

LEGACY

Any information about their family is unknown to Killian, though they suspect that Cassius and Vita know much more than they are willing to share. Killian has considered the notion of extracting the information from them through whatever means necessary – after all, thanks to Vita, they are well-versed in the art of torture. But at the risk of stirring and disturbing what small piece of humanity which may linger, Killian is not sure they can handle the repercussions.

ALLIES

Because of their special place as Vita’s prized pet, Killian did not mingle much with the other criminals, and the same rings true even now. They are hardly sociable, and prefer to work alone. They will take up jobs with Amara, who they have worked with in the past from her early days with the Giordanos. She is good at what she does, but when it comes to getting her hands dirty, she balks – which is where Killian often steps in. Sakura is almost like a twin soul, someone who understands the depths of darkness that Killian has experienced. The difference between them, however, is that Sakura chose her path, while Killian was left without a choice. So while they understand each other, their journeys could not be any more different.

ENEMIES

Killian does not waste much time on distinctions between enemy and ally, friend or foe. To them, every person is disposable. Still, there is one person who tops this list. Perhaps ultimately Cassius is to blame for the turn Killian’s life took; in all likelihood, it was he who ordered the hit on their parents, who brought them into the fold, who introduced them to her. But still, no person is worthier of their wrath than Vita. She played the role of mother, twisted nurturer and caretaker, all the while tearing them down and rebuilding them into her own sleeper soldier. Without remorse, she destroyed them, turning them into something barely human, primitive even. And for these sins, she will pay.

THE REST

During their time with the Giordano family, Killian shared kinship with only one other person aside from Bella, and that was Katya. Both of them were orphans, taken under the wings of Cassius and Vita; but where Katya was allowed to retain her identity, recognizing what Vita intended and balking against it, Killian was too young to possess such self-awareness. It is likely even she is not privy to the totality of their affliction, the details of exactly how Vita shredded their mortality, which is why she cannot understand their betrayal. Meanwhile, Salvatore did his best to remind Killian of their humanity, to undo the damage done at the hands of his mother – but these attempts would be fruitless. Now Zaine has stepped into his shoes, picking up this crusade where Sal left off. However, Killian is certain there is no hope for them, and they intend to stay this way, at least until their vengeance is realized.

KILLIAN is potrayed by LUCKY BLUE SMITH. They are currently AVAILABLE for auditions.

#new rpg #crime rp #original rp #lsrp #lsrpg #killianbio #killian #o #nb #onb #guns tw #abuse tw

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