#kept getting the malfunction error and for a moment thought it was the wire but instead its the connector port on the tablet 😢😢😢

[veronix]

My drawing tablet is breaking down nooooo

[randomfandomimagine]

Struck By Lightning (Marty McFly x Reader)

Characters: Marty McFly, Doc Brown

Fandom: Back to the Future

Tags: Time travel, friends to lovers

Warnings: Spoilers for the movies!

Word Count: 4k words

Requested by @kikikittykis: Hi I want to request a Marty Mcfly x Female reader ficlet where the reader is from Marty’s time and she can Time Travel because she has powers or something maybe she could be related to Doc. But they both get stuck in 1955 but she stays in the shadows to let Marty fix the timeline since he’s the one that got them stuck there. Maybe she has to use the DeLorean with Marty on the way back because her powers are malfunctioning. Thank you if you have the time to complete this request

A/N: I made up some new stuff for time travel, so for the sake of enjoying reading this just ignore how absolutely crazy and not scientifically accurate it is 😂 This is my first Marty and BTTF ficlet and it might have been a bit complicated, so I’m a little insecure about it. I hope you all still like it! 😙

Marty McFly x Female Reader

_

You paced up and down, nails drumming against the little box that you held in your hands. The town square was lonely at that late hour, and only the lights of the posts kept you company in your anguish.

Trying to distract yourself while you waited, you stared at the box in your hands. It was somewhat small, as it only occupied a little more than both of your hands put together as you cradled it in them. It was made of small metal planks reinforced with oak wood, hiding a complex unit of wires connected to the core of electricity. On one side there was a small screen with a keypad filled with numbers. At the top of it was a round red button, shining and enticing. The outside of the box was covered by a thin layer of black rubber.

Knowing every centimeter of the box by heart, you impatiently clicked your tongue. Where was he? He was always late. For someone that had time traveled several times, Marty had no actual sense of time. You were pretty sure that his watches always broke too.

When you heard the sound of skateboard wheels gracing the pavement, you turned around and sighed in relief. It was hard to contain the nerves that upset your stomach, but they subsided slightly at the sight of your best friend.

“Y/N” Marty said, kicking down on his skateboard to stop it and throw it up in the air, where he easily caught it with one hand. You rolled your eyes with a smile at the cool movement.

“I bought you a new watch, McFly” You only replied, to which he grinned in response.

“What’s going on?” He asked you, walking closer. “You sure have your uncle’s sense of mystery”

The nerves stirred in your stomach again when you remembered that time your uncle Emmett gathered you and Marty for the great reveal of his time machine. The DeLorean was the most incredible thing you had ever seen, and it only became greater during your time travels. The thought of it made you jittery again.  

“Um…” You shook your head, trying to focus on the reason why you called him. “See this little box?”

Marty nodded, holding his hand out to take it, but you protectively moved it away from him. He frowned at the gesture, but you explained before he could complain.

“You need to be careful!” You warned him. “This right here is my first invention: a time machine”

You proudly grinned at him, but he only squinted in confusion. It took Marty several seconds to say anything else as you stood there before him, beaming at your reveal.

“Wait a minute… wait a minute, Y/N” He fidgeted, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “Are you telling me you build a time machine from that tiny box?”

“Yes! You see…” You started pointing to the different parts that made the box. “It carries a circuit of electricity in it that shocks the mechanism, giving it enough force to make time travel possible”

“Is that like Doc’s flux capacitor?”

“In a way”

“That’s heavy…” Marty uttered, fixing his blue eyes on the box that you so gingerly held in your hands. “Does Doc know?”

“No, I haven’t told him yet”

“Why didn’t ask him to help you?”

“Because he would!” You exclaimed anxiously. “I wanted to do this myself”

Marty fondly smiled at you, nodding his head in understanding.

Much like your uncle Emmett, you had grown fascinated by science. You studied and learned to idolize great people like Albert Einstein, Marie Curie, Isaac Newton and Thomas Edison. It had always been something you shared with your uncle, which reinforced your bond as he was the only family you had left. This connection only grew after he introduced you to the DeLorean and you joined him and Marty on their time travel shenanigans. Even now that he had a family of his own, him and Clara as well as your cousins Jules and Verne welcomed you and often invited you for dinner.

“Well, let’s go back” Marty said after a moment of silence, taking your wrist. “Let’s show Doc what you invented, he’ll be so happy!”

“Not yet, that’s why I called you” You bashfully averted your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I wanted to try it first… and I didn’t want to do it alone”

He paused, and his fingers loosened their grip around your wrist. Returning to that fond smile, Marty nodded again, this time in determination.

“Great, let’s do it!” He clapped in anticipation. “How does it work?”

Your face lit up in excitement as you held the box up to demonstrate.

“You see this big red button at the top?” He hummed in affirmation, and so you continued. “You press this to activate the circuits and introduce the digits on the counter”

“Is that it?” Marty gawked at you in astonishment.

“Yup! Then you only point it at whoever is going to travel and voila!”  

“Wow… that’s really heavy, Y/N” You recognized the pride in his eyes as he looked at you, impressed that you had done it on your own. “It’s so simple too!”

“Thanks” You nudged him with a smile, which he gladly reciprocated.

“So where are we…?” He interrupted himself, grinning. “When are we going?”

“I think we should go one minute back in time…” Trying to get over the nerves in your stomach, you took a deep breath. “Do we concur?”

“Right on” Marty leaned a hand over the big red button and stared at you.

Before doing anything else, you inserted the digits that should allow you to travel one back in time. Then, you proceeded. Shaking from head to toe, you hesitantly lay your hand over Marty’s. Between the two, you pressed down and pushed the button. With the device pointed at both of you, it was only a matter of time until you confirmed if it worked or not. As you waited, you shut your eyes tight in nervous anticipation.

A strange magical force seemed to surround you, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes yet. Marty’s arm wrapped around you, protectively and uneasy. Only when you heard him gasp, did you dare to open your eyes.

At first glance, you didn’t notice any changes. You were still at the Hill Valley square, and it was night still. Before you celebrated your success, however, you needed to confirm it. A quick glance at your wrist watch told you that the hour hadn’t changed.

“There’s something different…” Marty whispered, letting go of you.

Internally agreeing with him, you took a quick look around you. The streets seemed different. There was something strange about Hill Valley all of a sudden.

Just as your friend was about to take a step, you held on to him in realization.

“Marty!” You tugged at his jean jacket. “Is this…?”

“1955…” He completed, looking around him. After all, he had spent enough time on that year to realize it was so.

The untouched ledge of the clock tower was clue enough, but so were the closed shops that surrounded you and even the old-fashioned cars parked in the streets.

Disappointed, you peered down to the device in your hands. You had miscalculated. There was a big mistake somewhere in your invention, a great margin of error. How could you have traveled so far back in time when you had only set it for one minute?

“Well…” Marty piped up, noticing your mood. “It worked!”

“No, it didn’t…” You sighed, repressing the urge to hurl the device at the floor. “We’re in 1955, not one minute back in 1985”

“Don’t you see, Y/N?” Marty gently took you by the shoulders. “You still invented a time machine, Doc would be proud!”

You showed a sad smile, partly agreeing with him. Your uncle Emmett would be proud, and he would offer to help you fix the problems. If only you could show him a perfect time machine that didn’t have such a big margin of error.

“Now, let’s go back” Your friend patted your shoulder before letting go of you.

Once again, his hand leaned against the button. Yours hovered above it as a terrible hunch reached your gut. If it had thrown you so far back in time, who was to say that you would be returned to 1985 safe and sound? Nonetheless, you pressed your hand over Marty’s and pushed the button together again.

“Uh… Y/N?” He uttered, looking into your eyes. “Nothing happened”

He was right. As you feared, that magical force didn’t surround you this time. You felt absolutely nothing, and so you urgently pressed the button again. It was for naught.

“Marty…” You stared at him with pleading eyes, feeling utterly helpless and miserable. “I’m sorry”

“No… no way…” He nervously passed his hands through his hair. “Not again, Y/N…”

Why was Marty McFly cursed to get stuck in a time away from his own? Was it his friendship with the Brown family that condemned him to such a fate? Just when his adventures with your uncle seemed over, you walked in. Y/N Brown, failed scientist and crappy time traveler.

“I’m a failure…” You hung your head low as tears arrived to your eyes.

“Hey, no” Marty tenderly took your hands in his. “It’s okay, Y/N, we can fix it”

“How?” You exclaimed, quivering with sobs as you forced yourself to look up into his kind blue eyes. “We have no resources here, and even if we did there are no guarantees that I would be able to fix this stupid device!”

Marty frowned. His eyes grew sad as he saw you start crying. Not knowing what to do to comfort you, since he was feeling just as lost, he only rubbed his thumbs against the back of your hands and squeezed your palms.

“There’s gotta be a way” He tried, shrugging to lessen the tension. “We got stuck here once, maybe we can…”

You sniffed through your nose, attentive to his words. However, when he stopped talking, you watched him in alarm. Marty had grown distant, absently letting go of you and taking a few hesitant steps back.

“Marty?” You muttered, not losing sight of him. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a DeLorean here” Marty was about to start walking, but you pulled at his jacket again.

“You’re right!” A spark of hope ignited in your chest, although it vanished soon. “But need I remind you our other selves are here too?”

“Alright, but…” He licked his lips, and you could almost see the wheels in his head turning. “What if we take the DeLorean when we… they… are not looking?”

“They won’t leave the car…” You objected, biting your lip. “Besides, if we took it from our other selves it would cause an abysmal paradox!”

“There must be something we can do!” Marty threw his arms into the air.

“Yes, let’s think for a moment…” You paced up and down, going over all your scientific knowledge. Your time traveling device worked in a similar way to your uncle’s DeLorean. There had to be a way.

You mentally sought inspiration, going over what you did with Marty in 1955. It took your uncle Emmett some time to figure out how to send you back to the future without plutonium, but…

“Eureka!” You exclaimed, startling Marty a little. “The thunderstorm!”

His eyes went from the night sky to the little box you clung on to. When they returned to yours, his expression lightened up at the sight of your recovered excitement. On the 12th November you could harness the storm’s electricity to power your time traveling device.

“That isn’t until…” Given that his watch still didn’t work, he took your wrist to look at yours and see the date. “Next Saturday”

“Well, we can hang out for a bit, it’ll be fine…” You sighed in exhaustion, already knowing you had to go through that all over again. “I’ll be easy, we just need to be careful not to…”

“Not to run into our other selves and disrupt the space time-continuum?” Marty completed for you.

His sarcasm suddenly made you feel even more tired. Of course you wouldn’t be that easy. Not only did you had to avoid running into the other Y/N and Marty, you also had to make sure not to get in the way of Marty’s parents falling in love as well as Marty’s successful travel back to 1985 the other time.

Exhausted, you hid your face in his shoulder. When he kindly wrapped his arms around you, at least you were glad you hadn’t done it alone.

_

You had discussed your plan many times. Unfortunately, you couldn’t talk to your uncle as he was already dealing with the other Marty and Y/N from the other timeline. Likewise, you couldn’t let any of them see you or disrupt their endeavor if you wanted to guarantee your own wellbeing.

Given that thunderstorms were unpredictable and the only spot where you knew a lightning would certainly strike was occupied, it was hard to tell what to do. Although reluctantly, you had admitted that your best chance was catching a lightning that would power your device and send you back to your time. Chances were slim, and you felt at the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Even as you walked, your eyes were glued to the clock tower, minutes away from being destroyed. Hill Valley citizens were completely oblivious to the thunderstorm, as well as they were oblivious to the activities that were taking place. There were two time travels to happen that night: one had already been successful, the other… well, it was yet to see.

“Y/N” Marty stopped walking to put your hands on your upper arms. “Don’t worry, it will be alright”

“But what if I’m wrong?” You averted your gaze, fiddling with your thumbs. “What if it doesn’t work and we’re stuck here forever? Or… or…”

“You’re just as smart as Doc is” He reassured you, showcasing absolute determination in his expression. “I believe in you, you’ll get us back”

“I just…” Instead of looking at him, you glanced at the other Marty in the distance. “I’m scared”

“I’m a bit scared too…” Marty pushed you against him in a much needed hug. “But I know you’re right, this will work”

His warmth embrace comforted you in the chilly night, as your hair moved with the breeze just like his was. His bangs tickled your cheeks, but you didn’t move.

“Breathe” He playfully told you, making you realize your shoulders were tense and you were definitely holding your breath. “We’ve done this before, we can do it again”

You let out a shaky exhale, nuzzling his shoulder. While you still felt bad that you had gotten him into that mess, it was a relief that he was by your side. Marty made everything feel alright. Just as you started to calm down, you noticed something and grew tense once more.

“No… Marty, what are you doing?”

“What?”

“No, not you… him” You pointed at the other Marty, who was stepping away from your uncle’s younger version. “I don’t remember you doing that…”

“That’s why” Your Marty lifted his arm, pointing a finger at a figure that walked your way and that had gathered the other Marty’s attention.

Biff headed your way, no doubt enticed by your feminine figure. You rolled your eyes at him even as he approached. Marty, on the other hand, stiffened and refused to move an inch.

“I don’t think he recognized us”

“Do you think he confused me with Lorraine?”

“Maybe… although you don’t have to be my mum to have that pig’s attention” You caught a hint of jealous protectiveness in his voice, but ignored it.

Biff was walking closer, and with that so was the other Marty, alarmed by Biff’s presence. You had time traveled so many times that all those different events were overlapping.

“We have to do something before he sees us!” You urged your friend. “And before my uncle and the other you walk over here!”

“Hey!” The other Marty called, leaving the DeLorean for a moment.

“Quick, Y/N, what do we-?” You cut Marty’s words as you moved on an instinct.

There was only one way you could think of that would have everyone’s attentions off you. You took Marty by the lapels of his jean jacket and pushed him against the streetlight behind him. Immediately after, you smashed your lips against his. That way, the intimate nature of the moment would drive them away as well as hide your faces for them to recognize.

Frozen by shock, Marty held his hands up in the air. When he realized that he was supposed to sell the moment, he cautiously put them on your hips. It was surprisingly comforting and pleasant given the stressful situation.

Without breaking the kiss, you opened your eyes to glance at them. Biff had faced his back to you, waving his hand in the air in annoyance. Luckily, he didn’t bother the other Marty as he returned with your uncle and the other you.

The kissing sound seemed to echo on the streets as you and Marty separated. Your faces remained close, mere inches away from each other, so close in fact that your noses touched. For a moment, the two of you could only stare into each other’s eyes as you breathed heavily. That had been… interesting.

“That was close…” Marty gulped as he glanced from your lips to your eyes.

“Sorry…” You gasped, letting go of him and taking a step back. It took his hands a second to lift off your hips and let you move. “It’s the first thing that came to mind”

“I mean… it worked” He chuckled, which distracted you a little from the blush on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry…” You felt terrible, having embarrassed him and made him uncomfortable.

Marty was your best friend and you hoped he didn’t take this the wrong way. You had only done it to save yourselves, to… to avoid a catastrophic and earth-shattering paradox! You told yourself that, but found it hard to ignore how it had sent tingles down your spine and how you had been glad to have an excuse to do it.

“No, it’s fine…” Marty reassured you, distracting you from your thoughts. “It’s fine…”

His voice broke, and you knew that was a sign that he was nervous. You had definitely made him uncomfortable. Trying to forget about it all, you distanced yourself from him with the pretense that it was best to walk away from Biff, the other Marty and your uncle.

“Um…” You forced yourself to steer your thoughts back to the task at hand. “We need to…”

“Right” Marty nodded and awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yeah, the uh… the lightning”

Mortified by what just happened, you continued walking as you were before it. You had to find a place where you wouldn’t be seen, as that Marty, Y/N and Doc were still in the town square and there was another version of them at the entrance of Lyon States before it was built.

Just when you were distancing yourself from the town and reaching a more isolated spot, the storm broke out. Your stomach churned in anticipation, knowing this was your only chance to go back to the future.

Then all of a sudden, you knew. Call it destiny, or call it a stupid and irrational hunch. Whatever the case, you could feel it in your bones as you peered up at the dark night sky: a lightning bolt was about to strike. You had to catch it, and so you ran for it.

“Y/N!” Marty shouted when he realized what you were doing, and followed after you.

You prayed to all those scientists your uncle taught you about and that you had grown to admire as much as he did, nearly as much as you admired your uncle Emmett. Shutting your eyes tight, you hoped that the lightning bolt hit exactly the box and not you, and that you could turn the gadget in time to point it at Marty.

The lightning struck, making you flinch and cringe in anticipation. Just as it touched the box and the powerful electric force vibrated against your hands, you felt Marty hold on to it and tilt it up. Then everything happened very fast, as the familiar sound of your device surrounded you.

The force of Marty’s movement, however, had thrown you back. You felt yourself falling backwards albeit with one of his arms wrapped around you. There was a commotion of yelps and groans between the two of you as you landed on your backs, holding on to each other.

As the magical force that surrounded you faded away, reality settled back in. The night was cold and the air was humid. You didn’t know if it was the cold or the wet pavement underneath you, but you felt yourself shaking.

The box buzzed in your hands before dying down. When it did, you weakly glanced around you. Everything seemed in order, just like you remembered it. It seemed like you were at home in 1985.

“Y/N!” Marty, who had landed next to you, rushed to kneel by your side. “You okay?”

Out of breath, you found it impossible to respond. You only looked at him, struggling to breathe. Everything hurt, and it was hard to talk and even moved. For the time being, you focused on calming your accelerated breath and racing heart.

“Hey, talk to me” Carelessly throwing the time traveling device away to keep your hands free, he held them in concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Like…” You gulped, slowly recovering the ability to speak. “Like I was just struck by lightning”

Marty laughed, dropping his head forward in relief. Without dropping your hands, he tugged at them to pull you to your feet. Your brain felt slow and foggy, and you swayed as soon as you had to hold your own weight. Luckily, Marty realized your weakness and tightly held on to you, letting you lean against him.

You took a deep breath, trying to settle your dizziness. Honestly, you just were glad you had been cautious enough to cover the outsides of the box with rubber… it might have saved your life.

“Hey” Marty gently folded a finger under your chin, slowly lifting it up so you looked at him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah…” You smiled, although you clung on to his shoulders for support. “Now I know why Uncle Emmett always says time travel is dangerous”

You expected Marty to laugh again, but he didn’t. Trying to focus your eyes, you peered up at him. He was staring at you. As you stared back at him, you knew. Somehow, even though neither of you said a word, you knew. You knew that something had struck you along with that lightning: a realization. You were struck with the realization that the kiss had been more than just pretend. So much more than that.

Finally, Marty laughed. You did too, letting out a chuckle of happiness and relief. At least your little adventure wasn’t in vain.. it made you realize Marty was much more than just your best friend.

“Uh… we better get back” He said, lovingly rubbing your arm. “Before anything else happens”

“Yeah, we’ve got plenty of time” You grinned at him. “Now, in the present”

Marty smiled and slowly separated from you, as though he was as willing as leaving that endearing closeness as you were. Sneaking playful yet timid glances at each other, the two of you started walking.

Your hands brushed together with how close you were again as you headed back home. A smile had taken over your features, and it only grew when Marty’s fingers gently tugged at yours. Without losing another precious second, you took his hand too.

“We have one hell of a story to tell Doc” Marty muttered, smiling as much as you were.

“Yeah, I don’t know what will surprise him more” You held your intertwined hands up, making Marty laugh.

Not only had you invented a working time machine that, while flawed, had successfully sent you back in time. You had also returned safely to your year without your uncle’s intervention and while avoiding several of your other selves without getting in their way. As well as that, you had realized you had fallen in love with your best friend, and it had been shocking an unexpected. Just like being struck by lightning.

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[the-headbop-wraith]

3 _ 46 Spaces that Overlay

  An assortment of vehicles cycled through Kingsman Mechanics, the most common build being older models – trucks, jeeps, and some van types. In the carport, one attendant spoke with a client and scratched down notes onto a page. In the garage, the court of Kingsman worked elbow deep in grease to get at the errors, erosions, or update the inventory to make carriages and engines roadworthy once more.

 Further into the garage, a truck with its hood popped sat stationed over the suspension of a rotary lift. Two cords extended from the casing within the chasse, plunged into a computer. The one utilizing the computer was Arthur, seated in the driver side of the vehicle. A second laptop sat on the dashboard, with a tutorial vid going of diagnostics for Bluetooth in the is more modern model.

 This vehicle needed updates, which the owner was not interested – or mystified to the process – of implementing on their own time. It was a light task, along with the routine replacing belts and checking the fuel pump. The truck was a regular brought in, which required more work than the typical checkup due to the high miles it gathered. Sort of like the Mystery Skulls van, but less clutter, and less living in.

 Crud, he missed the van. He knew it was in good hands, but driving around with the spare truck just wasn’t the same.

 A loose sling hung around Arthur’s shoulder, for resting his left arm when he wasn’t typing or adjusting the parts of the truck guts. The updates tallied off in the truck itself, while Arthur relocated himself to the front grill and checked the computer there. Kingsman Mechanics wasn’t quite prepped for the cutting edge of these specialty models, hence why Arthur had a spare laptop rolling through the specifics for “Bluetooth Updates for Dumbass”. So long as there were no errors in the software updates, they could supply them without concern.

 Arthur checked the clock in the corner of the computer screen. Noon shot by without a blink, he kept on top of assignments as they came in. Nothing out of the ordinary, no drama or long-winded diversions to derail some good momentum. The change of pace was so jarring he felt as if there should be some kind of crisis, one of the workers would fly through the garage shrieking,

 “The electricity was cut. The city has declared war!”

 Some of the wires in the engine appeared scorched at the ends. He’d need to replace those, but first the charge required a review; this might be a malfunction that needed adjusting.

 As Arthur was unfrilling the cord for the gauge, a solid and ominous form crept up behind him. “Aye.”

 Arthur jolted, whipping around and heaving the device above his head as if to toss or salvage it from certain disaster. When he saw who it was, his muscles melted immediately. “Uncle….”

 “Lunch hour came an’ run you by,” grumbled Lance. “You need to take care of that. Now.”

 Arthur mumbled under his voice. “I sorta lost track of time. No biggie.”

 “Its’a biggie,” Lance grated. “You might do your own thing when you and Vivi are out, but under mah roof you take to this structure. Go take a lunch.”

 He didn’t feel the drive to argue about a topic he had no defense for, especially since he was feeling a bit low and running on fumes. “Two minutes. I wanna check the charge on these converters.” Arthur was forced strafed when Lance shouldered him aside.

 “Lemme take care of that then. You don’t wanna keep Vivi waiting.” He stole the reader from Arthur’s hand.

 “Vivi?” he questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

 Lance fussed about how tiny the clips were. “Yuh. Come by, and picked you up somethin’ along the way.”

 “Oh boy,” Arthur mused. It was one thing when she took it upon herself to pop by and check in on him, but he was jittery about the company in tow. Not daring to loiter another moment, he mumbled a thanks to his Uncle and claimed the spare laptop from the trucks dashboard. A break in the steady repetition worked in his schedule, since he did need to head up to the workroom for some additional parts, and needed to take a cursory diagnostic of his arm.

 The breakroom was bare, aside from spare food cartons and abandoned cups left by some of the mechanics. He eased the door open further, skimming the tables and counters over; intent to perceive any irregularity in the shadows. There was nothing beyond expectation, nothing visible to the trained eye. Just Vivi and the mysterious Mystery, and on the table nearest to her rested a flat box.

 “Hey?”

 “There’s the man,” Vivi praised, with a grin. “I was in the neighborhood and thought we’d drop by.”

 “Sure,” Arthur hummed, distracted. “I was actually gonna head up to the second story. Ya wanna come?” He casually dismissed the way Vivi’s eyes lingered on the sling.

 “As long as you’re invitin’. C’mon Mystery, that likely belongs to someone.” Vivi took the back of a chair Mystery bounced up onto, and hauled it back a yard to prevent the dog from reaching an open carton of partially eaten fastfood. “I brought you a pizza.” Vivi claimed the flat box off the table.

 “Oh… cool.” Arthur held the breakroom door open for her and Mystery, once more casting a scrutinizing gander to the mess hall. “Been a while since I had a pizza.”

 “Hot pockets don’t count.” Vivi quipped. The corridor from the breakroom, opened up into the main service shop. She carried the box one handed, high above, like a waiter delivering precious cargo. She examined the vehicles in the shop, and the mechanics stirring through interiors and engines, the activity rolling through passive. “Has it been busy? It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

 “Meh,” Arthur exhaled. He plucked the plugs from his ears and jammed them in his vest pocket. “We have some priority jobs. Then, we have small fry stuff, which the recruit techies handle.” He led their path into the back chamber, shielded from the work floor. Some diverting corridors led off to offices, while a branching stairway inclined to the upper floor. “I’ll put it this way, we’re not behind and we’re not swamped. That smells good.” The aroma of the pizza was swirling around the small party. He took another careful examination of Vivi, when she joined him on the level floor of the second story corridor. Vivi made a face he wasn’t certain of, but didn’t comment.

 “Then I hope that means you’ll eat most of it, ‘cause… I’m iffy about sharing this with you.”

 They stopped at the entrance to the workroom, Arthur stalled as he sifted through his keys. “Urugh? Why’s that?” He shifted the laptop pinned in the sling, beside his metal arm. He unlocked the door and opened it wide, allowing Vivi into the room first followed by Mystery.

 “I question the ingredients on this pizza pie.” Vivi glanced around the small room, avoiding the small table cluttered by papers and magazines. Arthur shuffled over and began clearing the table off. “It’s a surfs up pizza.”

 “Heck yeah, love those.” He dumped the laptop on the couch, along with the magazines and some ratty hand drawn sketches.

 “Lewis made it for you.”

 On this confession, Arthur locked up. “Huh?”

 “I’m pretty sure it’s safe.”

 “HUH?!?!” This time Arthur scooted back from Vivi, giving the full room a serious examination – his hair and muscles bristled. “He’s… uh, is he… here?”

 Vivi set the pizza box down, the unmarked, blank box suddenly incriminating and somewhat sinister. “No,” she assured, looking not very certain herself, “don’t worry—”

 “I’m not worried!”

 “He’s been keeping a low profile, sort of recharging. Or conserving his energy.” Vivi sat on the couch, across from Arthur and the pizza. “Does that make sense?” She waited on him, even while Arthur stood there gawking as if there was a full-blown face on the pizzas surface, heckling him.

 “I… guess? Is he happy?” He edged forward, focus imbedded with the pizza.

 “Happy as a cactus on a hot, sunny day. I’ve been giving him some space, in and around the hours I’m not working. And I had to pop by, make sure you are taking care of yourself. You tend to get buried in your work.” She pinned Arthur with a severe glower.

 With a dry swallow, Arthur turned his focus back to the culinary tribute. It looked like a normal pizza, aside from the uniform marks of homemade quality. The toppings appeared genuine and fresh – it was damn near impossible to find place that served seafood ingredients, unless it was a specialty restaurant which had them on hand. Namely, not likely a pizza chain. He reached out—

 A rolled up magazine bopped his hand. “Hey!”

 “You got grease and grime all over your hands.” Viv pointed the magazine at him. “I doubt you’ll taste the pizza through that.”

 “Seriously?”

 She directed the improvised weapon toward the entrance door. “Clean!”

 “Fine!” Arthur marched off and slammed the door.

 When left on her own, Vivi turned the magazine weapon onto Mystery. The dog was in the process of creeping up behind the table, ears aimed far forward. “You are not picking off the calamari.” Mystery ducked down and slinked away.

 In short time Arthur returned. He gave Vivi a review of his hands, to receive certification that he had done satisfactory work in getting out the grease stains. “I hope it’s not all cold and gooey,” he muttered, as he sat on the couch. The first slice plucked up was lifted aloft and examine under the fluorescent light from above; wavering laces of steam curled off the gooey sauce and toppings. It looked fresh, looked like a perfectly normal, unremarkable pizza. He glanced to the side at Vivi, stroking at Mystery’s neck. And the doggo himself, gazing at him. Resolving his nerves, Arthur took a small bite.

 “How is it?”

 Arthur’s eyes watered. “This is legit really good. He really made this?”

 “You seem surprised.” She leaned over and hugged Mystery around his jaw.

 “I didn’t expect it.” He took another bite. “Well, I figured you’d make a cameo eventually, I didn’t suspect— Wait, was this Lewis’ idea?”

 Vivi laughed. “Cut me some slack, I knew you’d be blazing your hours away. You need a more nutritious, well balanced diet.”

 Arthur held up a second slice. “This is a pizza.”

 “Yeaahhh… but it’s not deep-friend, is it?”

 The pizza didn’t kill him. That was a plus. Arthur didn’t really believe there was anything wrong with the pizza, but it felt bizarre to receive a pizza of all things. What was that? Well wishes from beyond the grave. Ugh?

 When Arthur finished what he could of the pizza, Vivi took the leftovers down to the breakroom and stashed it in the fridge. It was her day off from the Tome Tomb, and she vouched to spend the hours at the garage. Arthur didn’t inquire about it, company was appreciated while he took some hours to do tweak work on his arm. They shared casual exchange about their respective jobs, away from the typical Mystery Skulls investigation work. The Tome Tomb got a shipment of interesting cargo, in his spare time Arthur was updating digital equipment, and checking or cleaning the more simplistic electronics such as cameras.

 “What sort of work are you doing on your arm?” Vivi posed, while she was by the schematic board examining designs.

 Arthur adjusted the clamp, which held the wrist in place while he fiddled with the forearm chamber. “Wiring. And the circuit boards.” He took the soldering tool, and with a delicate touch laid a connector down. “After so many hours or use, I have to switch out the merch. I can tell when it’s time, because it doesn’t work so well.” He was well versed with bending his fingers and pinching them into narrow spaces, using the pointer and pinky to slot the wire into a narrow space that would keep the cord from coming loose or snapping.

 “I had no idea,” Vivi hummed. “I thought you toiled your hours away updating or perfecting your designs.”

 Arthur shifted his shoulder. “I wish. The bulk of arm building is ‘something doesn’t feel right’, and ‘this feels suspiciously seamless’.” He didn’t want to mention that the arm had been giving him issues since the night they dealt with the forest spirit, or whatever that thing was. “Maybe my next model I put time on will let me to wear sleeves. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

 “Ooh,” Vivi chimed. “You might have to overhaul your whole wardrobe.”

 “I’m not retiring the vests.”

 It was a solid and unremarkable day, to be productive. When the sun began to sink, and the Kingsman began sifting out on the shift ends, Vivi decided to call it a day as well.

 Before leaving, she gave Arthur a hug around his neck and ruffled his hair. “I’ll give you a call later, and make sure you go to bed.”

 Arthur paused in his work, adjusting the miniscule screws in the joint connector of the arm. “What’s the point of me trying to get sleep, if you’re gonna call me and wake me up? Probably.”

 “The point being, turn off your phone.” She stole her backpack off the couch and marched to the entry. Mystery beside her legs, looking bored or drowsy, likely both. “And I have a mighty suspicion you’re gunna forget to go to bed, before you remember to turn off your phone.”

 At the end of the day, she was right.

 __

 The Tome Tomb saw a myriad of interesting and cryptic characters voyaging from all walks of life searching for answers or seeking questions to the mysteries, of the world boundless. It was a bookstore first and foremost, followed by artifacts inspired – while others were purchased – from a diverse field of beliefs. Strange constructs of protection and inspiration hung from the ceiling, while among the aisles spiraled the whispers of pursuit for some illusive necessity. Sometimes on the shelves lay a stack of books, neglected by some careless patron impartial to resetting what was set asunder. Out and away from the mazes, a desk or chair loitered at a wall, inviting visitors to a moment for a seat and contemplation toward a book of interest. Duet always said that it was a valid and humane way of feeding knowledge through the transfer of energy. Whatever that meant.

 Winding through the aisles, a metal ring jingled above a set of black socks. Through the towers of volumes and published documents trotted a white hound; a curious creature with ears as sharp as a pinhead, eyes deep and critical.

 The powder-white muzzle prodded at one book set against a brace, until the support shifted aside enough that the tome flopped over. Mystery leaned up higher on his rear legs and took the spine gently between his canines and inched it out about halfway – before shuffling his head beneath the tottering text. He balanced the book upon his head and padded off.

 In another aisle, a teen browsed through the lines of titles while examining his phone. The klingle-cling of the ring coerced his attention, and he looked over to observe the white pooch. The aisle was located near a corner, and in the corner awaited a large, ornate armchair. The dog paced over to the chair and hopped up into the seat, curling round and around before settling down. Mystery let the book slip across his ears and plop open in the crook of the armchair. He raised a paw and began flipping pages, with a delicate doggy claw.

 The teen stared. Mystery ignored. Flip. Flip. Flip. He stopped and read a passage, beginning a chapter into a topic of interest.

 The teen raised their phone, flipped into camera mode, and snapped a picture. With a grin, they switched to gallery and swiped through the endless scroll of pictures. The wide smile on his face dissolved, when he reached the most recent timeline. Weird.

 Once again, with the flash. Mystery didn’t react, aside from flick an ear.

 “What the…” the teen uttered. “What the heck is going on?” They adjusted the settings on the phone and tried once more. The same result. He gave the phone a shake, as if that were the same practice of turning it off then on again.

 Reangling the phone, he snapped a picture and blinked. It went off, right in his face. Scrolling through the endless photography, they located an unflattering selfie.

 With excitement, he turned the camera on the amusing scene of a dog with glasses reviewing a book, and gave it another go. Snap.

 Once again, the teen was left with disappointment. Mystery gave a large and dramatic dog yawn.

 The teen moved a little closer, raised the phone—

 “Ahem!”

 Startled, he whipped around to the blue figure standing behind him. Shorter, but intimidating in her own right.

 “Photography is not allowed,” Vivi growled. For emphasis, she directed a finger to the pinned page tapped to the end of the aisle board. The sign read:

 PLEASE RESPECT OUR LOCAL ORBS

 “Oh… uh, sorry.” The teen stuttered. “The dog….” His face fell.

 Vivi raised a brow. “What about him?”

 Squeak-Squeak! Mystery bit the rubber chicken.

 “Believe me,” Vivi stated, setting a book on the shelf she was beside, “we gave him one of those chickens that wails. Worst idea.”

 “Uh….” For whatever reason, the teen checked his phone again. This time he didn’t check.

 “Did you need help with anything?”

 During the work week, a steady stream of customers came through the Tome Tomb. Some with very specific descriptions of the items they sought, while others were curious to review the merchandise offered by the store’s prominent displays. For short periods Vivi managed the counter, before rotating to check the back storeroom and then emerge and go circulate across the main floor; check in with curious visitors, or evaluate whatever tasks required attention and get Chloe on that. It was a distinct contrast to Kingsman Mechanics, wherein activity was intense and sounds abundant. The Tome Tomb was quiet, serene, like a graveyard fitted with books.

 A female but strongarmed courier entered through the front door with a standing trolley, a stack of large boxes weighed down the bleating wheels. The bell chimed as the door swooped shut.

 Vivi emerged from the maze of aisles, a few books stacked in her hands. “Hello Marquis. Who’s the distributor this time?” She set the volumes beside the keyboard.

 Marquis slid the platform from beneath the boxes and eased the trolley back. “Likely IKEA. I hope you enjoy assembling furniture.”

 Vivi grimaced and took the small blocky tablet Marquis handed over. “I think we’ll have to invent a whole machine that specializes in assembling IKEA brand kindling.” She signed the business name and handed it back over.

 “Simple is better,” cracked Marquis, as she pocketed the palm pilot. “Build a fireplace, this place could use one of those rustic ones.”

 When Marquis left, Vivi took the packing slip from the top box. “I…KEA… Duet! Did you order more desk sets?”

 From the back, a very muffled and distant, “…nooo…” floated forth

 Vivi took a ceremonial dagger from the front desk and plunged it into the top box. “Ah. I don’t know what these are. Do you know?” Interested in the activity, Mystery prowled over sniffing at the boxes. He trotted around Vivi, as she set the top box on the floor. “Some artifacts? Duet! Are you ordering cursed artifacts again?!” She pulled out a clay pot from the packing filler; the vessel appeared to be hand made, and distinctive by genuine craft and art.

 From the back, a voice retorted, “That’s what the charms are for….”

 “Charms won’t work on hostile demons!” Vivi set the teapot on the counter. “I’m gunna fill you with so much holy water….”

 The bell chimed, and Arthur leaned through the doorway. “I’m not going to ask.”

 Vivi waved him off with the hand clasped to her arm. “Just typical Duet accumulating questionable goods from the four corners of the world, and Bermuda.” Before the statement fully left her lips, she lit up, “What’re you doin’ here?”

 Arthur held up bags with Styrofoam containers within. “Repaying for the unprompted meal.” He lowered the packages, letting the bottom gently bop Mystery on his curious head.

 “Is it lunch already?” She checked her phone. “Wait… I still have thirty minutes.”

 “Take an early lunch,” Arthur grumbled, in a frown. “You interrupt my work, I’ll interrupt yours No argument.” He set the packages on the counter.

 “I had to drag you away because you don’t know how to interrupt yourself.” She poked at the bags. “Orion Sandwiches?”

 Arthur kneeled and examined at the packing straw in the box on the floor. “Not a home cooked meal, but better than that nitrate infused garbage you insist on hoarding.”

 Vivi pulled out one box and popped the lid. “The nitrate infused garbage fuels my bum days.” She started eating on the baked chips. “I really appreciate this. Y’know, I only delivered the food….”

 “What a koinky-dink, so did I.” He gave the open but clear space of the main room a cautious examination, then directed his gaze up to Vivi. “Lewis around?”

 “Hmm?” She handed a chip to Mystery. “No,” she whispered. “I invited him, if he wanted to hide around or whatever so he wouldn’t be alone. He won’t come near this place, but he doesn’t say why.”

 Arthur stood and looked around at the hanging charms. “Yeh, no kidding. Place is creepy.”

 “Please, I prefer to describe it as an eccentric inclination.” Arthur gave a yelp and dove over the counter. “Jumpy as ever,” Duet spoke, inching forward to look over the side. “Apologies. You seemed so relaxed, so at eased….”

 “You SNUCK UP on me. What the HECK?! Where’d ya even come from!”

 Vivi pointed at the door leading to the back room. “I thought you were deciphering?”

 Duet smiled. “I smelled food and was curious.” They indicated the sedate front room. “If you want, you can go ahead on lunch. I need to catalog our new items.” Duet snapped their hands together. “That reminds me, how was your journey, and the assignment? Vivi returned with some insightful items.”

 Arthur struggled to heave himself up, he reframed from overusing his slinged arm. “Peachy ala king. Oodles of fun.”

 “Mmm. Some time, you must impart your stories.” Duet lifted the teapot from the counter and looked at it carefully, held high and catching the light from a window.

 Vivi leaned over the counter and assisted Arthur in getting relocated. “Trust me, it wasn’t that exciting.”

 “Even better,” Duet hummed. “I would not want to worry about my best asset procurer falling into peril.” They set the pot aside. “This item is not cursed. It is merely misunderstood.”

 The bell chirped and a new pair of customers ventured in, fresh faces gathering in the details of the small shop. Friends, or maybe a couple.

 “Greetings,” Duet called. “Speculate boundless, and let us know your deepest wishes in your own time.”

 One of the two dug into their pocket. “Oh, we’re looking for a certain item, or attribute?”

 The other responded, “We’re in need of books on… protection?”

 Duet’s face fell. “Ooh, I don’t know if we can guaran—” Vivi pressed a finger to Duet’s face.

 “We have a large selection to review,” Vivi insisted, with a large warm smile. “If you’ll come with me, this way. Don’t look at them, look at me.”

 Arthur stuttered, fighting the urge to beat the counter. “Her foods gunna get soggy!” He turned to Duet. “And she hauled me off to eat. Kettle!” He hissed.

 “It’s a pot.” Duet held up the little ceramic artifact. “I suspect that you waited for her to arrive, and pry the cold wrench from your hands.” They watched as Arthur packed up the Styrofoam container and cinched up the handles of the bag.

 “That’s not too far from the truth.”

 Duet took the ceremonial dagger and began cutting into the next box on the stack. “You could pursue her, and repay the courtesy she showed you.”

 Arthur ventured through the doorway to the back room, snapping, “I won’t risk invoking her wrath.” And to himself, “Got enough on my plate right now.”

 The back of the Tome Tomb was better described as a closet brimming with the overstock of the shop, and other items that didn’t fit on the shelves or among the merchandise. Some stock needed protection from the curious impulse buyer, some buyers needed protection from the items that did not yet have a place on the main floor.

 Arthur squeezed between two shelves before he could straighten his shoulder and take on a normal stride. He shifted his posture when Mystery shoved on by. “Don’t worry, I got you something too.”

 Mystery yipped.

 “Yes, I remember your preferences on mustard.” They strutted past a small alcove, with a counter stretched between the two walls. On the surface awaited rare collector magazines, fitted into protective sleeves and stacked. Between the towers stood an ancient, out of date computer box and a green shape huddled behind it.

 Chloe sighed and slouched further in the chair. Her sleeved hand shifted the mouse, clicking and dragging. Her eyes glistened beneath the shroud of her hood.

 Arthur backtracked and pointed with his hand from the sling. “You can set the eight of diamonds on the nine of spades.” He hurried on, cramming himself between two shelves.

 Chloe slapped her sleeves against the desk and jolted up. “I’m not playing— GASP! Are you a psychic?! Hey!” She scrambled under the gap beneath the bench and pursued. “Tell me your secrets!”

 “There’s a reflective surface behind you.” He snapped his elbow away. “Don’t grab. Hey!” Chloe darted in front of him, chasing Mystery.

 “You have very keen eyes for a mortal.”

 Arthur spun around, trying not to fall or step on the dog currently dodging around and over his sneakers. “It’s the only way I’ve survived this long. Mystery! Don’t encourage her. Chloe! Mystery! The two of you! Both of you! Gimmie a break! Don’t you have work?”

 Chloe fell in step behind Arthur, throwing her arms high above and stretching. “I need a break from that. The light makes my eyes hurt. Are you workin’ as delivery now?”

 “No.”

 “Did you bring something for me?”

 “I didn’t know you were working today.”

 “I work every day. So, now you know.”

 Arthur slipped into a small room, the elbow in the sling raised up and hit the switch. “I didn’t really ask.”

 The light revealed the small space of the breakroom, complete with two tables and a few  kitchenware essentials. There was a small counter and food preparation zone, a single basin sink, and cabinets. Though these quarters were cramped, there was more nutritious food items packed within than a single health food store. He set the packages on the nearest table. Across from him a chair scooted out, and Mystery popped his head up.

 “Not gonna wait on Vi?” Arthur rummaged in the bags, pulling out the warm containers one at a time. He popped one lid and set the box before the dog. “The food’ll get soggy. Not that she won’t eat it, it just won’t be as good.” Behind him, the electric steeper gurgled as the water boiled within.

 “Your color looks good today.” Chloe went through the cabinets, locating a mug and the beverages. “Somethings different.”

 Arthur hmphed. “I’m getting sleep. That’s different.” Chloe hummed.

 “You guys stickin’ around longer this time?” She scooped some leaves into a steeper spoon and set it in the mug. “This place turns into a real dullsville while Vii ain’t here. Also, all the extra work pilin’ up.” The mug steamed as she poured the water over the spoon.

 Arthur rolled his eyes. Mystery nudged his food container closer to Arthur, and then gazed at him with large, puppy eyes. “It’s up to the boss lady. Or, maybe Duet will have a hand in our next cross country escapade.” He took one of the steak fries from the carton and ate it. “There isn’t that much freedom in where we go, as you think.”

 “But it’s still fun getting’ a change of scenery.” Chloe moved around the table, inching around the room to face both Mystery and Arthur. She blew on the mug wrapped between her sleeves. “Seeing all the different places. Going on adventures. Doing real paranormal work, and not just… reading about it.”

 Mystery whined, compelling Arthur to pick out another steak fry. “Sightseeing isn’t that big of a thing, either, since the schedule is always tight. It’s business, out and back – work on all way to the job, work on the job itself, work all the way to the next job.” Chloe nodded.

 “Sure-sure, I know it’s work.” She tried sipping some of her drink.

 “The grass is always greener on the other fence, or however Vivi would butcher the saying.” Arthur pulled out a chair and took a seat. “We work with a lot of different people, some very uncooperative, others unintentionally unhelpful. If you don’t keep up with all the reports and witness accounts, it’s hard to get a hold of a story and figure out the situation. We do investigations, not sensationalism.”

 Chloe frowned, “I know that, I’m not some kid. If the jobs so bad, why’d you get involved?”

 Arthur raised a finger and pointed at her. “Right, I’m gonna shut you down right there if you’re trying to get into another spiel, about convincin’ Vivi to let you ride along on our assignments.”

 “Aw, c’mon….”

 “I’m not getting involved.” He slapped his flesh hand on the tabletop. “And don’t bring it up with Vi, this is exactly why she won’t think on it.”

 Chloe dithered, sipping quietly on the steam. “What d’ya mean?” Arthur mulled over the question, as he ate another streak fry. “I’m tryin’ to be ambitious and persistent. That’s what you need for ghost investigations, isn’t it? I got those qualities. C’mon, tell me what I’m missin’.”

 Arthur shrugged and leaned a little further over in his chair. “There isn’t a standard list to check off.” One more fry. “It’s more than wanting and filling in a DnD class type. We started this to help people, and it comes with a cost. Aside from that, she’s… y’know, not really interested in taking applicants right now.” He reached over and rubbed Mystery between the ears. Mystery’s response was press the carton closer to Arthur. “No. I don’t want you scavenging off Vivi later.”

 Arf!

 “I’m not.” He pretended not to notice Chloe examining his arm in the sling.

 “Um… do you think it’ll ever happen?” She shuffled back, nearer to the wall. “Eventually.”

 Arthur did feel a little bad, but it wasn’t as if they never had these talks on the long open roads between compiling and editing reports. Chloe had a lot of spirit and good qualities, but she didn’t have the full spectrum of the work incorporated into her aptitude. They could likely work something out, but it wasn’t a good time to delve deep into the topic. Aside from all that, Vivi had a role for the Tome Tomb as asset evaluation and procurement; it was more than selecting potential merchandise but comprehension into the context of the material, it’s age, and historical significance. And before… the accident, the work wasn’t safe. Even the casual “guy-in-a-mask-shenanigans” had perils, which could get out of hand.

 “Probably someday, no promises, no obligations,” he offered. “We just got back, and I for one am enjoying this stationary address while it lasts. Some stability.” He used his shoulder to rub his cheek. “I love the freedom and all, but even road junkies get burnt out on endless highways.”

Chloe dipped her head, nodding very faintly. “I… uh, probably should get back to work, huh?”

 “That’d be a good idea.”

 Once more she nodded, distracted. “Er, um. Why – can I ask – why did you sign up, for the ghost investigations?”

 Arthur pushed away the carton box Mystery insisted he examine. “That’s kinda a personal topic.”

 Chloe blinked within the strange shadow of her hoody. “Oh, right. I guess, uh… I’ll catch you later.”

 When she was gone, Arthur slumped at the table, resting his chin on his folded arm and causing his goatee to frazzle out. “If Vivi doesn’t show up, I’ll hunt her down Watcher in the Woods style, and haul her away from her current clients.”

 Wooof.

 In the quiet of the breakroom Arthur did dwell as he sometimes did, on the reasons and whims of their adventures. He slipped the false arm from the sleeve and slipped it across the table, until it rested across from his line of sight. The servos and hydraulics wheezed as he flexed the fingers, studying the craftsman ship of the palm region – designed to follow the contours of the natural hand, but limited in range of mobility and grip. Trying to duplicate the lines and folds of a hand didn’t work for unyielding metal, he came up with a design which flowed and worked for the fabricated limb.

 The mysterious canine hurtled against his knee, dragging Arthur from his musing a full minute before he heard the footfalls beyond the doorway. He sat up quickly and wrapped his flesh hands around his metal wrist.

 “That went much smoother than I anticipated,” Vivi announced, upon entry. She smoothed out her hair as she crossed the small space, to the single sink. “It helped that Duet was distracted with merch. Chloe didn’t bother you too much, did she?”

 “Nah-uh,” Arthur hummed. He reached to the bag and hauled out the last boxes. “She tried to bum food off me, but that was about it.”

 Vivi went over to the fridge and popped it open. “She buys food and doesn’t eat all of it.” After some rummaging, she pulled out a can of flavored tea. “I was actually going to head over to Kingsmen and kidnap you away for some lunch time. Did you get something for yourself?”

 Arthur let his eyes roll over, to land on Mystery in the chair. “Sort of.” Mystery nudged the box a little closer. He sighed. Then, a paper plate settled down in front of him, and Vivi set down a portion of her sandwich. “You guys, no! Stop that! I don’t even like bratwurst!”

 Vivi bit into her own slice of stacked condiments, first getting mustard on her chin. “Pick out what you don’t want—”

 “Don’t talk with your mouth full! Disgustang!”

 “MMF!” Vivi chewed and swallowed. “You brought this on yourself! Haulin’ food by, but not eating with us. How uncivilized.” Arthur made a face and delivered a childish raspberry. “You don’t have to eat it all. Just pick at it. You can’t resist, Arthur. The sandwich… it’s desire is to be eaten by yooooOOOooOOOO….”

 Mystery threw his snout high and howled.

 Arthur huffed, but did pluck a bit at the ingredients poking out from the side of the stacked bread. “Mm….” He tossed a look to the doorway. In response to the interest, Mystery gave the gaping portal a high eared examination. “Did you thank Lew for the pizza? For me?”

 “Yeah. You know I did.” She spooned some sauce along the side of the sandwich and chewed a few chips. “He actually lost his living appearance for a while, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I’m not sure what that meant, but he seemed really frazzled. Happy, but frazzled. It was very cute.”

 Arthur face palmed. He snatched a napkin from the bag, after nearly getting tasty juice in his eye. “I’m actually surprised he’d try cooking in your kitchen. I know he’s not doing spooky things,”  he raised his arms and wriggled his fingers, spookily, “but he doesn’t have, what I’d say… a lot of control over, er… stoves. Well, not just stoves… but, I mean I’m glad nothing got scorched. Least of all, that pizza.”

 Vivi nodded as she took another bite from the sandwich. Then she stalled and gave Arthur a look, before chugging her tea beverage. “Wait-wait-wait-WAIT! Are you implying he had a habit of burning shit, prior to becoming a fire ghost!?”

 Leaning far back in his chair, Arthur blinked owlishly. “Uh…yeeaaa…. A little surprised you haven’t invested in a fire extinguisher yet. Might wanna do that….”

 “I live in an apartment! One is provided.”

 Arthur thumped his head against the table. “Right, we’ll get one for the van too. I’ll start researching fire-resistant materials and applicants.” Mystery popped up beside the table where Arthur sat, and plopped down a chilled coffee in a can. Once more Arthur sighed, but he appreciated the gesture more than anything.

  __

 The hour was so late and the moon soaring high into the gray sky, gliding behind the drapery of clouds and woven, crooked branches. If not for the stray breeze curling across the road and skittering through the tops of dried grass, the place would seem as if suspended in time and forgotten; abandoned by the turn of a clock, and exiled from a plain of existence shared by the waking world. In this thicket where no mortal could stumble unto, extended acres of mystical land imbued with a kind of power unknown to the living. The acreage was accessible and open to stragglers, but its state of subsistence disconnected from the natural world in the light of day, became a doorway that remained inaccessible until the hours whittled away. With the slumber of the sun, the forest became entranced by moonbeams, the rocks and trees shifted beneath the shadows, and nothing was as it once seemed.

  It was not the memory of wandering and reaching no distinct space, of lost and misguided drifting. There remained the ambiguous sense of presence, of wholeness; this persistence of loss and dwindling. A train of thought shifting like mist, memories he spun through and grappled to restrain; all slipping away despite his resolve to restrain them. That was his focus, seeking this illusion of restoring what was robbed away. Reclaiming the pieces of himself, without the full grasp of what his self was initially. Who knew him? They left him, and he was stranded. The days ceased to exist, he dragged through endless twilights and dawns, time lost its hold on him. There was nothing but the endless cycle of seeking, and a vague suspicion of roaming through infinite circles.

 The burning eyes swept among the velvety shrouds, the outline that of a memory to a shape fitted around the twin gleaming lights. Noiseless and seamless, he pressed further and onward through this mysterious place. A power settled through him, connecting his spatial presence to the air and shadows. It incurred a sense of defiance, to venture out in the manner that he did. The nature and surrounding woods provided a sense of peace that the domestic world could not infuse, though there was a wrongness in this brashness. It was reckless, since he knew from experience there awaited some fates worse than death.

  This was still far-far from that place, where the steps of his living self-ended, and the region where his new state of subsistence began. He was afraid to venture too near, when the compulsion to venture onward swelled, beckoning him. It was captivating, but why so he couldn’t say for certain. It was akin to homesickness, though the area far detached from anything home. That place was nothing, empty, and held nothing to offer. Yet still, the tangible draw insisted.

  “Come rest, come glide. Come see, come along and never leave. Slumber and dream, there is nothing left to the weary.”

  Lewis gave pause in the thicket, miles and miles more from where he raised an elaborate illusion. It was not his intent to return, never and absolutely ever. Yet, he knew. Somehow, he knew without a doubt, some deep part of his spiritual nature knew the nearer to that territory and the caves, and the deep tunnels, this was where he held the most power. To the why he was not certain, but he had a damn good theory. A theory he would never risk to delve into.

  With barely a whim and flick of the wrist, he manifested a standing lamp post with an ornate, gothic design. In its glassed top, a fuchsia flame sputtered to life and basked in the pale moonbeam. Lewis continued onward, gliding across root clumps and skittering around the towering trunks of trees. Every few yards, another lamp post rose by a wave of his hand, to offer comfort and a guide for his return. A lure and security thread, in case his thoughts drifted further than he intended. A tether to compel him from a place that wished to claim him.

  Upon reaching a charming little clearing, where the light sifting across the grassy plain was its strongest and he felt heated, Lewis stopped his march. Close enough, this would suit him. Nothing was supernatural or cryptic to this location, but it was unique to him. This place was where he needed to be. The area was cosmetically appealing, but it was not the forceful drag. No fabrications or steps, or a vine drenched wall. Nothing, but the lamppost beckoning, and comforting.

  Sweeping his arms outward, several tall candelabras burst into existence from a flash of embers. Each stood several meters out from Lewis, encircling him within the clearing. Candles upon the wicks vacant of a flicker, cold. Lifeless. In his own time, he examined them one by one. The sconce nearest to him by three meters, he fixated on. His eyes shimmered.

  High above the center of the clearing, a small flame formed and began to drift downward.

  With great intent, he observed the flickering ember as it glided downward, falling nearer to the candle set. However, before the flame alit on the wick, Lewis flinched and the brilliant glow extinguished. The wind picked up, whistling through the blades of grass he dwarfed. Rasping, he tried once more. This time, raising one arm to the conviction of a flame.

  One time he did this, while biding time and resting in a dark box within a deep, dismal crypt. Conserving his vitality for the illusion, the manifestation, the hallucinations prevailing forth at his meager whims. The eventual meeting, and inevitable pursuit. He could manage again while focused on the flame he conjured, though that initial potency he once took for granted did wane. With a steady hand, he guided the path of the glow closer and lower to the candelabra. Though he managed to alight the flame on the wick, it did not take, and soon vanished.

  Embers snapped at the corners of Lewis’ vest, and the outline of the skull gleamed through the faux flesh. It would work better if he moved closer, but he had to work at it from a distance. He needed intensity, as with concentration. Though the wind picked up, it did not flutter or shift the edges or loose sleeves of his attire. His shape was a lie, and outward influences such as reflective surfaces would exploit that deceit.

  Slapping his palms together, he dropped the guise of his living self and forced attention into compelling the flame, and maintaining it as desired. It wouldn’t be easy, it may not work immediately. He set one hand over the locket shimmering at his breast pocket, and raised the other – palm upward – to demand another dry spark.

  The cliff stretched above, the torchlight fluttered after him. He reached into the dark abyss for a hold, a ledge, but the air was empty above, as it was below. Faster and faster, mesmerized by the shimmering light… like the ember, bobbing merrily within open air uncontested. He reached toward it, fortifying a mystical grasp.

  It was effortless in that place. It required nothing to raise a mansion, to coerce visitors, to cloak terrible secrets. But he was not returning, and he would never venture closer if he could help it. But a conduit to the shelter where he first rose, would enable him to better grasp influence. Without the restraint he demanded, Lewis would be no more, no better, than a deranged wraith. The sort of spirits his team sought to disperse from the living realm.

  The sort of spirit Vivi and Arthur encountered, in a mansion during the cycle of a waning crescent moon.  

[ancsthctist-archived]

//. 失われた記憶 // memories lost // reijiro

     Sotenbori didn’t change much in the last two decades, did it? Even during the daytime, there was still an uneasiness about it, one you couldn’t quite touch until the sun drowned in the west and the brightly flashing neon nightlife was made more apparent. Reijiro remembers the first night he was here, on Hanzou’s arm, gawking in foreign wonder at the sights, the sounds, the smells. How quickly he forgot that urban jungles had its dangers--how swift Sotenbori was to remind him that this wasn’t the wonderland it was dressed up to be. Even the waters of the river were dark and murky--pretending to be a perfect spot for a boat ride with a loved one whilst hiding bodies floating just beneath the inky surface.

     But Reijiro wasn’t here for the fun of it. Nay, Sotenbori was the last place he wanted to go, and for the reasons he eventually decided to come. With a brief note detailing his trip left for Majima, he booked a hotel for three days prior to taking the long train ride back, wherein he had all but left his body behind in some lucid daydream, only to be woken by the intercom announcing their arrival at the station. Shit. Mind raced to stay on. To take it back to Kamurocho and give the excuse that it wasn’t as important as he thought it was. To pretend to fall asleep, fail to disembark and end up back in Tokyo as a result of human error. Heart jittered in his chest as he stood, grabbed his bag and stepped off the train.

     Part of him hoped that whatever awaited him here was harmless and unnoteworthy. His office had been abandoned and was left untouched by the locals. Reijiro had the deed and never thought of selling it off to anyone--no one ever asked, and Ayumi-chan made use of it at least as a form of storage. But now she no longer needed it, having decided to get rid of majority of the things she kept. Money from selling the property wasn’t needed, but there were was one thing he had left there. Abandoned. To rot and whither to dust. One thing that he had feared then and feared now to peruse. But the time has come. With things settling down in Kamurocho, he decided to make his way to this ill begotten place, leaving Ayumi-chan in charge of the clinic during his absence.

     The hotel room reminded him of his old apartment. Almost like a box. Gray walls, wooden door and floor. Few appliances and a claustrophobia that kept him awake at night. It was enough to make him wonder if perhaps he should see the sights again to kill time before it was dark enough to visit his old office. Dinner from Osaka King calmed him down somewhat. But then it was back to bored anxiety that seemed to slow time down to an agonizing crawl. The closer that time drew near to make for the old place, however, the harder his heart hammered against his chest.

     First night was focused on going through what supplies remained in the old cabinets and drawers, pulling out medical supplies that were still usable and even old books that he had completely forgotten about. Bringing them back to the hotel room and going through them, he tossed what was worthless and packaged the rest in his messenger bag. All in the clinic had been cleaned and thoroughly combed--except his desk. His desk, a nice piece of polished mahogany, only weathered by age and several instances of yakuza shoes kicking it for one reason or another in fits of rage, sat lonely in the front, with all drawers emptied except for one. It wasn’t until the second night that he sat at it in the old leather chair, with his phone in front of him open and with a text readied to send to Majima.

     I hate this place.

     He thumbs the send button. But never quite puts enough pressure for the message to go through. So rattled and anxious with his hand on the drawer, he could swear that he hears the synapses in his brain sparking and short-circuiting, wires crossing and malfunctioning when he needed them to calm. He opens the drawer. A leather bound notebook is inside. It’s not his. But another’s. He touches it with hesitant fingers, leaving his own body behind as he can’t feel himself pull it out and rest it upon the surface of his desk in front of him. He can smell Hanzou in the leather. Even in the years following his death up until Majima was dragged into this very office, very nearly on the brink of biting the dust, he never once even dared.

     But it’s open now. And he hates it. He hates every minute of it and his heart aches and throbs as he reads through the messily scrawled mixes of kanji and hiragana. Some bits are in English for some reason. To practice, perhaps. Reijiro did the same, but transposed. He feels tired as he reads through. Hoping and fearing in equal measure that he finds something earth-shattering. Something that puts the foundation of his perspective in an upheaval. Something that hurts him and makes him feel guilty for growing bitter and angry about their time spent together. Time wasted. But... there’s nothing. Nothing at all what Reijiro had imagined. Hanzou didn’t trick him into coming to Sotenbori. Hanzou didn’t plan to kill him and was stopped by another family member because Reijiro was a civilian.

     I don’t love him anymore. But I don’t know how to let him go.

     That it was that simple made Reijiro’s heart burn. He didn’t know whether to be angry or cry. Perhaps both. But he’s tired. He’s so tired. He fantasizes picking up the desk and shattering it against the wall, howling out his anger like a beast. But instead, his fury is unleashed in a sharp exhale of breath long held. He closes the book and rests his head in his hands, closing his burning eyes and letting his thoughts drift back to Tokyo. Back to Kamurocho. Back to Majima. Leagues apart from one another, these two Yakuza for whom he felt so much. Perusing the long past thoughts and feelings of one lead him to further understanding just how little he knew him. His stomach turned. He had fallen in love with an idea. And the idea persisted to frost the glass that encompassed reality. Microdreams take him back to the arms of a masked demon. And his body goes lax for a moment, reveling in the warmth. He could swear he smells that all too familiar brand of cigarette smoke and he breathes it in. Brief seconds of pleasantness are broken by the subtle clattering coming from a direction that Reijiro doesn’t recognize.

     Head raises and he looks around, grabbing his phone and erasing the message left, hurrying to use it as a flashlight when he hears it again. Going still, he listens. It’s coming from below. A basement? He didn’t recall a basement in his building. The entirety of this slot of land was abandoned, was it not? And why was the noise so loud? Getting up from his chair, he searched throughout the office, before feeling a draft coming from an empty bookcase. He notices scrape lines along the floor, and weathered paint and drywall sticking out from behind it. He moves it, careful not to make a sound as he uncovers a massive hole in the wall that leads to a makeshift stairwell that cuts through the wall of the neighboring building.

     He should leave. He should leave now, burn the deed, and never return. But he doesn’t. He eases himself down the staircase, down into a basement he had never known was there. It was cold down below, and dark. He holds an arm close to himself while the other holds up his phone, using it as a makeshift flashlight to illuminate the new space. There’s little beyond boxes and crates, all old and worn, with a chair, a tarp, and an excessive collection of bottles. There’s an unlit candle and a pack of cigarettes. He approaches this area that appears to be a living space, picking up a bottle and looking it over. It’s a cheap brand. Smelling awful of bitter ale. And he’s blinded for a moment, blinded and looking up at the ceiling involuntarily, startled by the sudden shatter of the bottle on the concrete ground beneath him. Mouth covered, he reaches up to grasp at a foreign hand coming in from behind, dropping his phone and sending it skidding across the floor.

     A sharp coldness pushes him and there’s hot blood gushing from him. He’s grabbing at the hand over his mouth, which turned to an arm around his neck under his throat, as well as the knife piercing the soft flesh of his side. His sweatshirt grows heavy, wet. The blade rips from him and finds its mark again. He can’t scream, but grabs furiously at the hand holding the knife. His teeth bite through clothing and draw blood from his assailant. It earns him another stab and he kicks at a leg behind him. A shriek and he’s released, falling to the floor with eyes blind and ears deaf, all ringing so loudly, so dark and wild and bright and spinning, everything’s spinning. He reaches for his phone, blood spilling from him and body shaking, but he’s grabbed, spun onto his back. The man on top of him is ragged. Eyes wide and wild. He’s frightened with the realization of what he just did. A hand goes around Reijiro’s throat, the other holding the knife up.

     He stops it from piercing his face with one hand, the other desperately clasping the one around his neck. His muscles ache and burn and his bones scream. He can’t feel the pain in his side, only the fierce gale of adrenaline that threatens to blow both of them over an unseen edge. Strength failing, his switchblade finds its way in his hand and he thrusts the steel into the man’s throat, right below the chin. Fear and desperation turn to shock, and the force of the man’s strength was soon to go lax as he coughed and sputtered, blood specking Reijiro’s face. He shoves the man off him, ripping the knife from his neck and pulling himself away. He wouldn’t help. He couldn’t help. His own blood stained his sweatshirt. His pants. A trail of red follows him as he drags himself towards his phone.

     Call Majima.

     He can’t. He shouldn’t. He probably should. But he won’t.

     Text him. He must text him.

     No. This was his journey to make. He must do it on his own. He can treat himself. He can stitch himself up.

     He’s hurt. He NEEDS help.

     He can help himself. This happens all the time in Sotenbori. This is the nature of Sotenbori, so it’s fine. He knew what he was getting into when he booked his trip and hotel. It’s fine. It’s all fine.

     When he reaches the top of the steps and his desk, he collapses on the floor. Tears threaten to bleed from him and he whimpers, blood stained hands gripping the wounds. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want to involve anyone either. This was his issue. And he needed to see it through himself. He was tired of being saved. Tired of being rescued. But...

     A shouting sob escapes him, one hand going over his mouth while the other gripped his bleeding side. Anger wells in him and his eyes are pinched shut, images of Hanzou smiling at him even long after he had written that sentence flashing, and tears finally escape him and he’s crumbled on the floor, shrieking into his palm as his body shakes. The touch of Hanzou’s hand on his shoulder, the press of his forehead against Reijiro’s. The genuine look in his eyes, the deep rumble in his throat and the way the apples of his cheeks perked when he... 

     It’s the smile that kills him. His body all but doubles as he curls up on the floor, heart gutted and lungs starved of breath. How awful he made him feel, only to bring him back up with that smile, a nuzzle on the cheek and a hug to bring it home. A kiss to the top of his head. He feels like a child. Lost. And alone. And he wants Hanzou to come back. To be alive, so he can leave him. Leave and say goodbye, return to Kamurocho, to Majima, with healing in his heart. But he can’t. It’s gone. It’s all gone. And he’s left there bleeding on the floor, screaming out in his pain, pain that supersedes the punctures in his side. Screams drown to whimpers as energy leaves him, as the anger dies back into familiar sadness. His hand presses hard into his side, and he cries until he can’t anylonger. Until his lungs hurt and his face is sore.

     The twilight that pervaded around his clinic is quiet, offering silence to the outpour of grief. He pulls spare twine and sutures from his bag and stitches himself up, biting down on Hanzou’s journal for the lack of pain management. It’s hours before he makes it back to the hotel. He’s the spitting image of the dead, but as predicted, no one was called to check on him as he stumbled through the streets of Sotenbori back to his hotel room, where he makes the bare minimum effort to clean himself up. He takes off his sweatshirt and wraps it tightly around his side, painful and sore as it was. Light blue tanktop and jeans are stained dark in red, but the blood is old enough by the time he reaches the station that it looks like a poor design choice from a distance. Kamurocho is much the same when he arrives, having slept the entire trip back with Hanzou’s journal slipped between the medical books in his bag.

     He leaves the door to his home unlocked when he finally gets inside. He feels dead. Exhausted. Absent of everything and nothing, the only thing that seems real to him is the throbbing in his side. He was lucky the attacker hadn’t pierced his vital organs. He would have hated to have to stay in a hospital in Sotenbori of all places, much less let Majima know that he couldn’t leave his sight without getting the shit kicked out of him. But that was the nature of the world they were entrenched in. Violence for violence’s sake, where hurt had no meaning beyond what it was at face value. Hanzou didn’t treat him like shit for any reason beyond the fact that he was just an asshole. And he didn’t die for any reason beyond that he was in the wrong place on the wrong person’s dime. It was all meaningless. It meant nothing in the end.

     He would leave a trail of bloodied clothes on the floor of his house as he made his way to his bathroom, filling the tub with warm water and epsom salt with weak, shaking limbs. He leaned against his sink and looked into the vanity. He was far more pale than usual. Eyes red and unfocused, hair disheveled. He was a picture of death. Sotenbori had taken its pound of flesh. But it was over. It was over and he could finally ease himself into the tub, flinching at the brief sting of the salt, and close his eyes. He would text Majima later. And tell him he loves him. And that he hoped he’d never have to return to Sotenbori for as long as he lived.