#maybe ill put her on the newspaper and give her a rival

[canwriteitbetterthanueverfeltit]

FINALLY figured out the concrete goals/obstacles for each of my MCs in my NaNo instead of just their vague character arcs & the main plot arc

[frigidsilver]

--CHAPTER 2--

Blotted Clouds

A month or so had passed since Karnage offered a spot on his crew to the bat named Vincent Lunas. Since then, his new recruit has been proving to be more than just a witty talker. Quickly finding a place among the mechanics and engineers of the crew repairing the engines, keeping the canons maintained, and the occasional blackout he's tasked with fixing.

They all had been doing the occasional morning routines. All filed into the mess hall sluggishly and drowsily. Grabbing their breakfast from the chef and finding their seats to converse and eat. Karnage sat in his reserved seat at the end of the hall by the windows that looked over the clear morning sky.

Vincent and the other mechanics made their way in a few minutes later. Recently just arriving from the supply run they were sent to retrieve earlier that morning. Don had waived Vincent to his table. The bat grabbed a tray with some fruits then pulled a chair aside Don.

"Good morning, my little tinker. How is my lovely ship running so far?"

"Everything is running swimmingly, Captain. Ratchet, Jock and myself picked up the ship's weekly supplies from the port, along with your requested order."

He placed a to-go cup of coffee on the table in front of his captain. In which Don reached over to grab, washing down his meal. A yawn escaped his mouth with his hand groggily pushing it back in.

"I maybe known as the creature of the night among the crew. But it seems to me that coffee is the only thing keep you up.

"Don't think you are the funny comedian this morning. I was not the one singing outside the ship late at night. If I knew any better, you are enjoying your night shifts TOO much."

Vincent gave a sheepish grin, not even fighting the accusations.

"Did you stay up all night listening to my songs? Forgive me, I'll bring it down a few octaves. Although, I'm touched to know you let me get away with it so long without any ill comments."

"I'm not complaining, Vincent. I am just making sure you don't lose your edge.

I would hate to throw you off my ship for not getting the required amount of sleep."

"Don and Vincent gave each other a grin. Enjoying the banter they share. It's been so long since Don Karnage had someone to give a good back and forth without fumbling on their words. He watched the bat pull out a crumpled newspaper. He barely had unfolded it without a word read when Don pulled the paper down with a finger.

"Are you not going to share this morning's news? I need to keep my knowledge sharp."

Don listened to the willing reader whisk through the headlines briefly. Leisurely rocking back and forth in his chair with Vincent comfortably putting a leg on a knee.

"Abel Klaus faces charges for stolen inventions. Wonderful news...rivaling news anchor, DNN. Faces backlash after bold accusations torwards the king...A-

His eyes stopped to take a moment to read the next headline. Immediately running back and forth through the wrinkled papers to find the full article. Reading the header with his best news reporter voice.

"I think this will pique your interest:

Ace pilot, Baloo Von Bruinwald. Has been reported missing for three days."

Don Karnage almost spat out his Cappuccino after hearing that. Now sitting up straight like a student being called by their teacher. He snatched the papers from the bat's hands. who raised his hand up passively letting his eager captain finish the article with great focus.

"His employer, Rebecca Cunningham of Higher for Hire. Claims he was making a delivery with his navigator, Kit Cloudkicker, southeast of Wasteland and never came back. Also stating that, "He was not at any of the usual places he goes to slack off."

"Huh, Harsh lady. Must be fun swiping her cargo every so often. Well, attempting to that is."

"Oh, but it is much fun. But this is a surprise, even to myself. Rebecca knows that Bear has gotten himself into worse situations and comes back on time for the paycheck. I struck with curiosity on the reasoning for her concern."

Pushing himself out of his chair and placing his hands on the table. Staring off into the wall, visualizing his new morning plans come together. With his nemesis taking a surprise vacation, this left a wonderful opportunity for some excitement.

"With the so-called Ace pilot missing. This gives Don Karnage and his vicious band of pirates a perfect chance to raid the wonderful city of Cape Suzette once again, Yes-no?"

Don Karnage cut breakfast short and put his crew straight to work. Setting the Iron Vulture's course to the city of Cape Suzette.

A wonderful city with towering buildings that even planes have their own designated flight paths through the various structures. Along with its equally as tall cliffs that protected the city from threats like Karnage and his crew. With only a small chasm that lead in and out. Armed with massive cannons and guns that rivaled the ships.

The air pirates had successfully raided Cape Suzette only once. But that was episodes ago and foiled by the efforts of Baloo and the young traitor, Kit.

Kit...

The boy's name rang through Karnage's head as he saw the bright art deco city coming up into view. It was the same as the last time he visited.

His wandering mind drifted his gaze skyward, to be met with a dark storm brewing. Quickly falling over the ship and soon the city.

"Aha, now THIS will add to the dramatic entrance. We shall hide among the storm and catch them by surprise. Nothing like a little bit of lighting and-"

In response to Don Karnage's proclamation. An explosive boom shook the ship. Frantically scanning to see if the cliff cannons had shot at them. To his relief, the guns remained to stay idol. But there was no time to take chances. Karnage reached for the intercom system and held it to his face.

"RATCHET, what was that? Did the ship go boom? If not, what did?"

Moments of static later, the raspy voice of the head engineer, Ratchet spoke through the com.

"No captain, must be the storm outside. Pretty big one to me."

"Keep an eye on my contraptions, my good man. We dont want to be looking like fools in front of our victims, yes, no?

The captain turned his attention back to the storm above. Taking accout of the looming clouds that gradually built over the city and the airship.

Clustered together tight that none of the morning light pierced through. Leaving the sky a dark violent purple that swirled around. Rain began to fall around the ship. Hitting the hull with hard thuds like small rocks. Just by hearing it, one would assume it would be hail.

Except something was strangely wrong with this rain.

It was not clear, but shared the same violent purple as the clouds it came from. Thick and slimy as it clung to the ship's hull.

Crew mates crowded around the ports with Don like moths to a lamp. Eyes glued to the goop slowly piling up together.

Their curiosity quickly turned to concern as the growing piles started to become animated. Climbing on top of each other to make disfigured limbs, gaping mouths, and parting way for soulless, green eyes that burned into the inhabitants of the ship.

It was no rain,

It was ink.

The pirates backed up from the windows as the monsters grew in number. A slow trudge turned into a mad dash to the windows. One of the pirates fled from the windows in a high pitch voice filled with fear.

"SPATTERS!"

All moved away from the windows as the Spatters reached the windows. Lurching what would be assumed to be their heads back and spitting a vile green acid that burned through the window and hull. Putting their unnerving, buring stares to shame.

"THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE! The king and the rodent finished the big one off, did they not!?"

At the very back of the ship, the three engineers ran maintenance checks on the engines, unaware of the assault at the front of the ship. Until Vincent's ears perked over noises that were not familiar.

"Wait a minute..."

Ratchet and Jock turned from their duties torwards Vincent, who stood completely still. Trying to understand what this dingbat was on about.

"It's probably all the lightning outside that's putting your hearing out of whack."

The bat didn't respond if he was stuck in the 19th century, concentrating on the numerous sounds of the ship. He heard the shrill shouts of the crew about a problem soon to be discovered, Karnage's muffled voice howled unintelligible commands, the sounds of the "rain" pounding against the metal exterior, then numerous clangs echoing from deep in the ship that gradually became louder.

The other two pirates looked around now, understanding one of Vincent's concerns. Jock neared one of the pipes, squinting through his dark glasses to see a dark liquid dripping from the cracks of the machine.

"THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE PIPES!"

Not even a moment to process the info was given as the machines groaned in discomfort. Billowing a thick smoke trying to rid the spatters as one tries to rid off an infection. The three darted back and forth between the different contraptions. Twisting values, tightening pipes, and even resorting to primitive pounding on the metal. Anything to try to keep the system stable. Vincent swooped over to the radio to warn the captain of this issue.

"Karnage, the machines down here are malfunctioning. At this rate, we're not sure how long we can keep them together."

But it was no use. The line remained to be the only silent thing in that room.

A pipe broke off the wall and fell to the floor with a loud clang. The three all looked at the fallen pipe spew a black liquid. Slowly forming one of the hundreds of shipwrecking culprits. Its eyes pierced through the smoke and launched itself at the startled pirates.

The green acid was chucked at poor Jock like vomit. Yelling in agony as it made contact with his arm. Leaving it looking like a melted candle as his striped shirt and his charcoal fur melted together and dripped onto the floor. Vincent whipped one of his wings at the spatter and shielded Jock with his other arms. In the process, the quick-thinking Ratchet released the pressure in the pipes, causing them to spray out steam. Putting a barrier between the threat and them.

The machines groans escalated to high-pitched screams as they could no longer stay together. Instincts told them to heed that warning and dropped everything. They fled up the stairs helping Jock out the engine room, slamming the door shut behind them just in the nick of time.

The three leaned on the door with their weight, attempting to give their bodies a moments rest. Sweat dampening their collars and fur. Not even a moment later;

BOOM

The whole ship shook from the blast. Heat poured out from the door with a fiery glow quickly following. They all fearfully scampering away from the explosion, Jock ran alongside Vincent while he squeezed his injured arm with ink leaking through his fingers.

"WE NEED TO GET YOU OUT OF HERE, NOW! YOURE LOOSING TOO MUCH INK!"

"THERE'S NO TIME FOR THAT!

YOU NEED TO GET TO THE CAPTAIN AND TELL HIM TO HOLD THE SHIP STEADY SO WE CAN BREACH THE WALL. YOURE THE FASTEST OUT OF US, WE'LL TRY AND KEEP THE LAST ENGINE GOING UNTIL THEN."

Jock and Ratchet took a hard right to the remaining engine. Leaving Vincent alone to pick up speed to barrel down the hallway. Hallway after hallway, Vincent navigated through the labyrinth of corridors and catwalks to reach the hangar. Having his suspicions to be true. The walls of the hangar were thinned through, distorted chunks of metal clinging to what remained. Leaving gaping holes for the spatters to continue their brainless hunt. Crewmates alike defended against the intruders with all they had. Climbing up to the catwalks to take refuge from the sludge zombies that clawed at the walls.

Vincent kicked the door of the bridge open. Seeing the debonair captain wrestling the helm for control over the Iron Vulture and warding off a spatter. He swatted it away with his wing near the hole it emerged from. Kicking it right back out to plunge into the sea below. Short breathed, he reported to Karnage;

"We just lost an engine! Jock and Ratchet are doing all they can to keep the last one together. The spatters got inside the system, I don't know how."

"DO YOU THINK I AM STUPID IN THE HEAD? OF COURSE I CAN TELL IT WENT BOOM. MY SHIP USUALLY DOES NOT FLY LIKE A-"

Karnage's emotions flipped from irritation to dread. If all the horrors that unfolded around him finally caught up to him. Whipping his body toward the windows with eyes wide open.

"The cannons, RADIO THE CAPE SUZZETE AIR CONTROL RIGHT NOW!"

He quickly took his captain's orders into action and fumbled with the radio's dial to the air control's frequency.

"This is the Iron Vulture to air control. We request an emergency landing in your city's harbors. Spatters are ravaging our ship and took out one of our engines. SO PLEASE REGROW THOSE STOLEN HEARTS OF YOURS AND LET US THOUGH!

.....HELLO?"

The line stayed quiet, with the only thing that could be heard being crackling static. As did the canons that lined on top of the wall. Vincent tapped his foot anxiously waiting for their response. Before letting out an irritated sigh before tossing the mic aside.

"No one bothers to pick up the radio anymore, do they? Or even do their jobs for that matter..."

"We are AIR PIRATES, Vincent! We do not have to abide by ANY of their silly rules. If they are not going to shoot; We go in."

The Iron Vulture unsteadily made it pass the wall. As they did, they found their reason for the lack of security. It was not only the air pirates that were being attacked.

So was all of Cape Suzette.

The ink rain caked the buildings and canons with creatures of all shapes and variety that formed from the puddles. All filled with the same lime green acid.

Thinner

The same substance that ate away at the Iron Vulture, the buildings of Cape Suzette. The same liquid that spilled into their world years ago. Causing the Great Thinner Disaster, that ruined Wasteland. Along with marking the arrival of the monster that came with it, The Blot. A massive demon forged of ink that plagued the world of the forgotten with its endless army of blotlings. Tearing this world apart with the goal to escape and lay ruin the worlds they all once knew.

Vincent only had heard stories of the disaster and the monsters of dark ink from the Gremlins back in Salom during lunch breaks. But nothing could've prepared him for the destructive capabilities of these things.

He was brought back to his senses when tossed to the side by the abrupt jolt of the ship. The ship's helm spun around clockwork.

"THESE IDIOTS ARE TURNING MY BEAUTIFUL SHIP INTO SCRAPS OF METAL!"

Karnage whined as the ship veered close to the wall. Scraping some of the spatters off the ship. Leaving their remains as graffiti on the rocky canvas. Regaining their balance, the two of them held their tongues as the mutilated ship crept out of the cliff, into the harbor.

Despite the small victory, another blast came from behind them. As the last engine finally succumbed to its demise. Vincent turned back to the explosion, concerned for the other mechanics. The airship lost its momentum, rapidly starting it's decent.

"I TOLD YOU IDIOTS TO KEEP AN EYE ON MY SHIP!"

That was uncalled for, I am sorry."

Turning on the intercom one last time, he spoke to his crew rapidly.

"Everyone to the planes, it's time to make a tactical retreat. Hurry now, scatter, go, VAMOOSE! Or I throw you off myself."

The fighter planes one by one sputtered to life down in the hangar. The captain pulled a long lever in the bridge that opened the beak of the ship to the violent storm outside. Sounds of propellers disappeared as Lunas made sure everyone was accounted for from the bridge window. To Vincents relief Jock and Ratchet, emerging from the back of the ship with a layer of ash dusted on their clothes. Everyone had safely made it to a plane and out of the ship.

Except one.

Don stood at the controls stubbornly fighting the wheel. Vincent held onto the doorway for support, calling out to him over the winds.

"Karnage, everyone is off the ship. We need to leave, now"

"I will NOT let these slimey type foes be the last on Don Karnage! I REFUSE to let my ship fall without its glorious captain!"

"The ship will be fine, we can repair it or get a new one. What won't be fine is you getting mutilated like the ship and the pests. Who's going to order around the air pirates? Do you really want Dumptruck to come out of retirement and be captain again after last time?"

Don gripped the wheel tightly trying to stay strong for the vulture, his Iron Vulture. As the towering buildings started to fall around him, the reality started to set in.

His crew needed Don Karnage. How would they ever function without him? Who would lead their revenge on the blotlings? Who was even worthy of carrying his title if he perished?

Reluctantly, he took a deep breath while his grip loosened off of the helm. Backing away with defeat etched on his face, switching on the auto pilot. Vincent raised a hand trying to find the words to attempt comforting Don. But only watched him rush out of the bridge, in which he closely tailed behind. The clanking of their boots pounding on the metal drowned out by the numerous explosions from inside the ship.

The hangar was left empty with only the sounds of howling winds pouring through and a choir of spatters gurgling down below. Don gritted his teeth furiously and rushed down the stairs. Cutlass in hand, he launched torwards the perpetrators that ruined his ship.

"They'll pay for what they've done!"

A vicious swipe of his sword made contact with one of the spatters cutting right through the middle. Only for the blades cuts to be covered again by the dripping ooze. Leaving no trace of Don's fury.

Vincent made his own attempt and let out two shots from his pistols. Unfortunately, met with the same outcome like Karnage. The bullets went straight through and bounced off the metallic interior.

Frustration grew as time did not. Looking over the situation, he hatched up a plan. Running to the wall of the hangar and closed the beak of the ship. The bat heard the creaking of the ship's beak close shut and saw Don was still inside. He dived to him and started shaking him by his shoulders in panic.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? HOW ARE YOU GETTING OUT WITH YOUR PLANE?"

"If I leave that beak open when we crash, we would be drinking sea water like little fishies. I want my beloved Vulture to be intact. Not to end up like the pathetic little shipwrecks made by primitive sea pirates.

I will make my retreat out the bomb bay doors. If we are truly lucky, we will pull the rug from underneath them spatters in the process. I rely on you to signal me when you open the doors. So if anything goes in the south direction; I WILL WEAR YOUR WINGS LIKE A GOTHIC CAPE!"

Vincent gave a speechless confirmation with a blank face. Eyes following the wolf luring the spatters to his plane. Still attempting to process the information with his wings tucked closer to his back defensively.

The familiar sounds of propellers filled the ship once again. Don had maneuvered his plane over the bomb bay doors and awaited Vincent's signal. Who stood by the button like a ride operator ready to plunge him out of the ship. He tore off the red bandana draped around his neck. Swinging it in the air like a flag with a high pitch whistle following right after. With a quick reaction from Don pushing on the throttle full force.

Not a moment later, the doors flung open underneath, dropping the spatters and plane into the air. All sounds faded away into the winds.

A feeling Don Karnage knew all too well. He was made to be apart of the skies. To soar through the clouds and plunder whoever he pleased. He pursuited the most skilled fliers through mountains and caves. This was no challenge for the prince of pirates. This was nothing more than an everyday adventure the writers put him through.

Pulling the throttle close to his chest as he rapidly approached the water. Meters turned to feet, city and harbor blurring together. The plane only grazed the slightest amount of water as it flew over by inches. Don's confidence remained unwaivered, circling around the Iron Vulture.

Vincent punched the button again sliding the doors back together. He rushed to one of the spatter-made holes and saw the captain's plane nimbly dodging the falling ink.

"That's the Don Karnage for you."

The bat whispered to himself tying his bandana back across his neck. Then made his own escape out of the ship. Flapping upwards to intercept Karnage's plane. He grappled onto one of the wings and tried to catch his shaky breath.

The captain didn't acknowledge Vincent at first. Only watched solemnly as the Iron Vulture splashed into the water below. Large tidal waves pulsating throughout the harbor. Karnage's face melted to bittersweet relief, seeing his ship float like a toy bot in a bathtub. A sigh of relief later, he spoke over the propeller.

"Excellent work, Vincent. Your precision managed to almost come close to rivaling my own talent."

"The only thing you're rivaling is the king's luck. Though your skills are impressive, not gonna deny it."

Feelings of mutual respect amongst captain and mechanic only clouded the internal feeling of despair for the crashed airship.

"We will come back for my ship. For now, we shall locate Rebecca Cunningham. I fear there's a connection to those failed attempts of art projects and Baloo's disappearance. "

The falling ink slowed to a stop, leaving the sounds of thunder and wailing winds behind. The tires of the plane made contact with the pavement of a cleared road close to the docks.

Vincent and Don stepped off into the wet street with a thud. Turning to see an upclose view of the damage the storm had brought to the unfortunate city.

The once vibrant buildings that proudly stood tall in the sky now bent into warped and twisted versions of their former glory. Leaving towers wilted and chunks of buildings missing. The thinner had burned through the colorful paint that coated the walls. Digging dull, lifeless dents in their structures. Most places in Wasteland had become husks of what they once were since the thinner disaster. But to see the effects in a matter of minutes showed the true destructive nature of the acid that plagued their world.

Drenched in sweat with pulses still pounding on the falling airship. They vigilantly walked down the pier cautiously, on edge with every creak of each dingy plank of wood.

"It's lucky that you and the vulture had stayed so strong after all these years."

Vincent's voice cut through the thick silence in attempt to distract Don's mind. Who stared ahead blankly like a lost child. Only thinking about all he'd lost all in one morning. His greatest enemy, his ship, and now the city he was supposed to conquer.

After all he was THE air pirate. He was supposed to be plundering things away. Not the other way around.

"We were airborne most of the time. We never were too close to the area where that pollution resided. Or where that...thing launched its last attack. Thanks to my excellent skills of navigation and planning, of course."

His snapped back to his self-assured persona. Remembering the captain he supposed to be.

A few steps later of weary walking, they arrived at their location at the far end of the docks.

Higher for Hire's headquarters resided in a small office with a storehouse and watchtower attached to it. Charming little place made of wood and scrap metal. Which didn't look as charming as it usually did as most of the city didn't at the moment. Holes littered the surfaces of the building and docks. With the biggest hole being the port where Baloo's cargo plane, The Seaduck, usually was found lazily rocking in the water. Alike to its pilot in his hammock right beside it.

They knocked at the office door with no response. They banged louder on the wooden door. Not a sound came from within. It remained pitch black. Not even a moment later, Karnage marched around to the side of the building over to a window. He stuck his cutlass through the gap. Scraping back and forth to unlock the window.

"You really can't be patient, can you? We can just get in though the multiple holes in the walls the blot gracefully left for us."

"I've stolen an idol and the keys to the seaduck plane before though this certain window. This is my own personal door in."

A loud pop later, the old window slid open. A cold breeze

"It is not my fault they don't ever fix this little issue."

Don's announcing footsteps echoed through the office floor. Strewn with missing fliers and numerous undelivered cargo that towered to the ceiling. A mug was left abandoned on the desktop with white steam still dancing above it. The captain took note of this and cleared his throat. Walking around while looking for the owner loudly calling out to her.

"Allo, Allo Rebecca Cunningham. It is I, the consulting captain, Don Kar-"

A turn of a corner unveiled a loaded flare gun pointed directly at Don. Putting his parade around the room came to a sharp halt. Hands up by his face in response with his thick brows raised. Vincent quickly armed himself with his pistols and pointed it directly at the holder. A stern yet shaky voice emerged from the dark corner.

"What do you want, Karnage?"

The gun pushed the captain to the center of the room. Pulling out the person holding it into the dim light. Vincent had his fingers on the triggers ready for any sudden movements.

An average sized woman stood composed at the pirates. She dressed in a pink jacket wrapped over a white turtleneck with muted purple slacks. Her eyes dead locked with this all too familiar intruder with stands of hair falling from her usually upkept French twist.

"Rebecca, I come on business inquiring about Baloo."

Her grip tightened on the flare gun. Raising both her voice and her aim towards his face.

"Who's to say you don't have him in your grasps already? If he's not with you; Then why are you in my office?

Getting impatient waiting to loot our cargo from the seaduck?"

"I assumed my powerful presence would act as a magnet to his metal exterior. Attracting him back to save his wonderful Cape Suzette from the likes of my glorious self. Though now, these pests overstaged me and ruined my onslaught.

May we please talk like civilized type of persons?"

She cautiously lowered her weapon with eyes still on the pirates. Vincent meeting her with the same cold gaze, placing his own pistols away back into his coat reluctantly. A moment later, Rebecca lead them to her desk. Dropping herself into her chair with a soft thud, exasperated. Loose papers gently floated in the air to the floor boards.

"First I lose my pilot and navigator, then the Blot comes back for another serving, and now I have air pirates in my office. I really can't catch a break, can I?"

"Unfortunately no my capitalist compatriot.

You could say your life has been in a "talespin" ever since we've been forgotten, Yes, no?

Hah, I make a joke."

He laughed at his own remark. The other two remained silent as they looked at him. Rebecca pulled at the strands of her brunette hair. Words filtering through her frustrated teeth.

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't walk straight through the thinner and spatters to get the police?"

"As if the police are even in a solid unit at this point. Didn't even bother to shoot us or the blotlings out of the sky."

The bat chipped in the snarky remark from across the room. Peeking into open cargo boxes with curiosity. Mrs. Cunningham didn't even bother with turning her head to the bat and kept her gaze on Karnage.

"I'm sorry, Karnage. But I can't keep track of all your goons. Who is this?"

"This is Vincent Lunas. Relatively new to my honorable band of air pirates."

Karnage dragged Vincent away from his rummaging, displaying the mechanic as a collector presents his latest finds. An unimpressed Rebecca slumps in her chair, looking up at the two.

"Honorable is a loose term you use. All you do is steal and be a thorn at my side ever since the pilot episode."

"It's plunder miss-analysis-of-terms. You can't blame for loving my job and loving the riches you carry."

"King Oswald hasn't made any ill complaints about us. We stay in our air territory, and we have no quarrel."

The bat looked down onto Rebecca. Visibly irritated with how belittling this strewed businesswoman was towards him. Something he wasn't going to let by. His voice dropped low and sharp along with his brow.

"Since we're on the topic of "honorable. " Weren't you the one who endorsed those robot pilots who put dozens out of the job so you could get a good payment? If it wasn't for Karnage sabotaging that flight. Your little operation would've been 6 feet under before you even got dragged down here with the rest of us."

Vincent continued to jab at her track records with petty intent. Wings risen over his head, standing his ground. Rebecca pushed herself out of the chair to confront him. Don Karnage wedged himself between the two, voicing his own frustration.

"We are here to make a deal, not to cause more problems than there needs to be. It has been a long day though it is still is young.

A sharp exhale later, Don leaned on the desk with his hands together. Speaking in his charismatic voice that Rebecca had heard one too many times.

"You see, while you two were squabbling like little children. Don Karnage put some pieces together to this mystery puzzle. Who was the client who hired your services?"

"I'm not going to give out private information out like candy. I have a reputation to uphold and rules for my company."

"How about this; we help you find Baloo and Kit Cloudkicker and possibly help with this mess you and the citizens of Cape Suzette are in. If we are feeling so generous."

"...What's the catch?"

A foxy grin curled his lips over his sharp teeth. His voice spelled out persuasive words to Mrs. Cunningham interests and his own.

"You will put in a good word to the Cape Suzette officials to lift the ban of me and my crew in your city.

Think about it this way; I would not have to force my way into Cape Suzette and raid it if I was simply let in. Think of all the problems we can solve with this simple agreement, Mrs. Cunningham.

Not to mention the wonderful seafood dinners and loot we can easily take."

The last part was whispered underneath his breath, so only where Vincent could hear. Who smothered his visible anger with logic. Being overruled by the potential of his captain's clever negotiation. Fixing his demeanor to be more respectful and folded his wings behind his back.

"Alright, Karnage. I'll budge for now. As much as i don't want to be seen with you filthy pirates. I'm going with you to make sure you don't cause any problems with the info I gave you AND to make sure those two aren't making a fool of me.

"You have my word on my honor as an air pirate. We shall be on our bestest behaviors. isn't that right, Vincent?"

He spoke in a noble tone giving a theatrical bow to exemplify his promise. Vincent mimicking his captain's action right after with watered down enthusiasm.

Rebecca rose from her chair marching to a filing cabinet on the wall. Flipping through the contents inside. Pulling out a barely used file and held it in her hands.

"The last client those two flew for was for Khan Industries, under Shere Khan himself."

——————————————————————

(When this is posted, The Epic Mickey Rebrushed trailer had been released the same day. MY FIXATION MANEFESTED THE REMAKE)

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3

[yatorihell]

In the Darkness Chapter 7 - Wintertide

Words: 2,376

Summary: Chapter 7 of the Harry Potter AU! Yato tries flattery and Yukine is adamant that he will not celebrate his birthday.

Previous chapter | First chapter

Thank you to @themusicalbookworm for beta-ing me!

Dedicated to @brimicky101 happy birthday!!!! <3<3<3

Read on AO3

The apparent new-founded friendship that had formed between him, Hiyori and Yukine meant that Yato would come up to them casually and strike up a conversation. Although both Hiyori and Yukine had caved in, they were in agreement that Yato would be good for extra lessons seeing as his face made a perfect target.

Yato wandered into the Grand Hall surprisingly early, finding the tables were still laid with food as not many students had come along for breakfast yet. However, one face he could always count on to be there was Hiyori. Almost every day for the past week he would come up to the Gryffindor table and smirk under Bishamon’s annoyed gaze, Hiyori’s protection enough for his rival to bite her tongue and turn away in disgust.

It seems it wasn’t needed at this hour as Monday mornings were reserved for ‘special seeker training’, as he heard Bishamon call it. Yato walked over to the table, watching Hiyori as she slowly chewed on a piece of toast whilst flicking the pages of a newspaper. She didn’t look up as he came up behind her, engrossed in whatever new article that had caught her attention. Yato leaned over her shoulder slightly, seeing that the newspaper was the slightly ill-reputed ‘Daily Prophet’. Cocking his head to the side, he read an extract of the double-page spread.

Break in at Gringotts

Believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown, Gringott’s goblins have acknowledged a break in and says nothing was taken. Its reported that nothing was taken as the breached vault – 717 - was emptied the same day.

Yato frowned. Vault 717… why was that so familiar? Yato pushed the gnawing feeling from his stomach, instead deciding to make his presence known to the paper’s owner.

“That looks interesting.” Yato said quite loudly, grinning as Hiyori jumped out of her skin and dropped her toast. Hiyori twisted around on the bench as Yato sat down beside her in his usual straddle position, picking up a piece of toast for himself.

“Mmh-hmp!” Hiyori’s words were muffled by the buttery toast in her mouth, so she opted to crossly glare at him.

“Good morning to you too.” Yato said carefreely, biting into his toast.

Hiyori turned back to the paper, silent as she chewed down the last of her toast and proceeded to ignore the annoyance that was watching her.

“You have Professor Zucchini again today don’t you?” Yato said around a mouthful of food. Hiyori gave a small sigh, confirming it. She paused mid page-turn, sudden confusion on her face.    

“Why do you call him Professsor Zucchini?” Hiyori asked, baffled at the ridiculousness of the name.

Yato smirked.

“It annoys him,” he said simply, “and I don’t like zucchinis.”

Hiyori gave him a look as if she had just discovered that he was a single cell organism that had somehow managed to get accepted into Hogwarts regardless of intelligence.

Well, perhaps he was.

“Maybe zucchinis don’t like you either.” A new voice from behind her caught her by surprise. Yukine sat down on the other side of her, sandwiching her between himself and Yato. “Hiyori, have you practiced the spell for class today?”

Hiyori groaned. She’d totally forgotten to review the Knockback Jinx after her success with Yato.“I’ll be fine, if I can do it once I can do it again.”

“That’s the spirit,” Yato butted in, leaning over to grab another slice of toast. “Wands know what they’re doing, even if the owner is a klutz.”

Hiyori opened her mouth in surprise. Was he really going to insult her magic every time they met? Before she could rebuke his words, Yukine interrupted.

“That’s true, you know.” He admitted.

Yato beamed at him, happy that he was being backed up. He tapped his finger on the desk impatiently as he swallowed his mouthful and broke into his I-know-what-I’m-doing mood.

“Show me your wand.” He instructed Hiyori.

Hiyori pulled it out of her satchel and held it up for Yato’s inspection. He plucked it out of her grip, balancing it between his fingers and thumbs as he critically analysed it. Brown. 10 ¾ inches. He gave it a slight bend as if testing its flexibility.

“Unyielding, so it’s very loyal to its original owner. Quite good for combat and healing.” He twirled it between his fingers, listless thinking about the qualities and what it told him about Hiyori. He practically knew what all wand woods, cores and flexibilities meant and their tendencies. Perhaps it was time to get in Hiyori’s good books.

“Only smart wizards get wands like these,” he continued before pausing for effect, “or witches.”

Yato concealed a smile as he felt Hiyori’s gaze on him, attentive and intrigued. He continued to lather on the positives, talking about the finer details.

“This is cherry, right?” he said, already knowing the answer.

Hiyori nodded, clearly impressed at his knowledge of wands. “With dragon heartstring.”

Yato ‘ahh-ed’, feigning wisdom and awe as he held the wand out in front of him. “It has a very strong power. Cherry and dragon heartstring requires great self-control and strength of mind.”

He tilted his wrist back, offering the wand back to Hiyori with a reassuring, confident smile. “If you can do a spell once, you can do it again.”

“Fancy giving some words of wisdom to me, or are you just flirting?” Yukine cuts in irritably, leaning over Hiyori with his own wand extended to Yato.

At a glance it’s unremarkable. Brown, 9 ¼ inches. Picking it up, Yato looks at it thoughtfully. “Hazel and… phoenix feather?”

Yukine grunts a ‘yes’, watching as Yato dangerously bends the wand so hard he fears it would snap.

“Brittle.” He taps it against his finger before rolling it back across the desk. “No wonder your magic is so unreliable, hazel reflect its master’s emotional state.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yukine says in a raised voice, making Hiyori glance nervously at him. Just when they started to get along, Yukine was about to snap back to his past self.

“It means that if you don’t simmer down, Puff, your wand will never do what you want.” Yato says, cheer devoid in his voice as his tone rises to match Yukine’s. “Your wands loyalty reflects your own, so don’t be surprised when it backfires on you.”

Yukine is about to explode with a fresh tirade of colourful language that no eleven-year-old should know when Hiyori puts her hand on his arm, placating him. Hiyori kicks Yato, hard, in the shin under the table. With a yelp, he scowls at her and opens his mouth to complain, but is silenced with a look that could stop even a child from misbehaving. Silently and discreetly, she mouths two words.

Be. Nice.

Yato’s lip curls slightly. ‘Owners of these wands are also cynical, unlucky and have insecurities’ is the next phrase he wants to spit out, but he knew that Hiyori’s intervention was right. They couldn’t keep fighting like this. He reluctantly offers what he would call a compliment to Yukine, who had angrily torn into a piece of cold toast.

“Owners of this wand are clever and thoughtful; transfiguration and non-verbal spells are their forte.” He says begrudgingly, looking away as Hiyori’s expression softens at his attempt to be friendly. “They are weak to extravagant magic so their magic is normally simple yet powerful.”

Yukine grunts a response, pretending to have too much in his mouth to give a proper answer. An uncomfortable silence settles over the trio. In an attempt to break the tension, Hiyori turns her attention to Yato’s own wand.

“So, what kind of wand do you have?” she asks curiously, the secrets of wands being revealed to her in a much greater detail than they were by Mr Olivander at the wand shop in Diagon Alley.

“Ah,” Yato grins, chest puffing out in pride as he produces his wand with a flourish. Hiyori tentatively reaches out to it, silently asking permission to hold it. Yato gives it to her, and she takes it, somewhat carefully. She stares at it for a moment, admiring the pattern engraved into the ebony wood in such fine detail that it must have been specially made. Then, she looks at Yato, waiting for him to explain it, and he does so readily.

“Blackthorn, phoenix feather, 13 ½, hard.” He lists off the basics before somewhat narcissistically describing what qualities the wand – or rather, himself – possessed.

“It’s used by gifted warriors, the best aurors in the wizarding world. It only accepts those who have proved themselves worthy and faced danger. It will never accept another master; it is loyal as a dog.”

“Its owner is also close-minded and stubborn,” a tall boy is standing behind Yato, peering down at him from behind his black framed glasses. The blue fabric peeking out from his robes hood tells Hiyori he is a Ravenclaw. Yato tilts his head back, a quip ready to throw back at his… friend?

“Kazuma, you’re so cruel. We all know you’re the close-minded one.” Yato hits back, not missing a beat at his interruption.

Kazuma ignores this, instead turning to smile at Hiyori and Yukine who had been watching this exchange with surprised expressions.

“I’m Kazuma. Second year student and Ravenclaw’s Seeker.” He says politely, “and you are…?”

Hiyori and Yukine both introduce themselves in a star-struck manner, floored at how this Seeker was a polar opposite to the Slytherin Seeker they had managed to befriend. He gave a them another smile before turning back to Yato and giving him a lecture about the importance of contributing to class projects, earning an eye roll and a disinterested wave of the hand from Yato as he promised to start his share of the work.

“Good god he’s a bore,” Yato grumbled, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from one of the crystal cut glass jugs on the breakfast spread. “He should be focusing on the exam.”

Hiyori’s heart flipped. Exams. The test. Next week.

“Oh, shoot!” she cried out, spinning around to face Yukine’s bewildered expression. “Yukine, have you started studying for the test?”

“Nope,” he said, “I don’t plan on being in class that day.”

Puzzled, Hiyori asked: “Why not?”

“It’s my birthday, I’m having a day off.”

“A birthday?” Yato cuts in, mostly drawn to the idea of cutting class – which wasn’t new to him, “Fantastic, let’s have a party.”

“Absolutely not! We have a test!” Hiyori says, slightly horrified at the idea of skipping class.

Yukine lets out a groaning noise, wishing he’d never said anything. The last thing he wanted was inviting cause for celebration, or to be monitored by Hiyori that day to ensure he sat the test.

“No party, no test.” He says, pushing himself up from the table decisively and quickly walking out of the hall, Hiyori’s calls for him falling on deaf ears. Sighing, Hiyori swings her legs over the bench, picking up her satchel and readjusting her robe.

“May as well go to class now. I have to talk some sense into Yukine.” She says exasperatedly.

Yato raises his half-empty glass to her back in a salute as she brushes past sleepy-eyed students who have finally emerged for breakfast, turning left once she is out of the room.

“Good luck.”

~

After much nagging over the weeks leading up to his birthday, Hiyori convinced Yukine to sit the test on the condition that there would be no party or hint of celebration.

Of course, Hiyori completely ignored this and produced a slightly lopsided cake from her cauldron after the classroom had been vacated. Yato – making the executive decision to skip his own class and lurk outside – glided into the room at the promise of free food as Yukine began to protest.

“I said no celebration!” he grumbled. He tried to avoid looking at the snow-white icing of the cake which had begun to drip onto the floor.  

“But it’s your birthday!” Hiyori whined, tilting the cake precariously to avoid any more spillages.

Yukine pursed his lips. He stole a glance behind her at Yato who raised his eyebrows before his gaze slid back to Hiyori.

Her wide-eyed, innocent expression and downturned mouth melted his resolve pretty quickly as he turned red at the look she was giving him. Defeated, he flopped back down into his seat.

“Fine,” he huffed. “We’ll have cake.”

Hiyori’s face immediately lit up. She plonked the cake down on the table before rummaging in her bag for something. Yato ambled over and sat down on the desk, eyeing the cake impatiently. It looked like Hiyori had tried to use some sort of spell to make the icing shimmer like snow crystals, but hadn’t quite worked out. Aside from that, the cake was pretty simple, small and round as if made for an intimate occasion rather than a party.

Yato reached out to swipe a bit of dripping icing, but was sharply slapped on the hand by Hiyori who had pulled a cake knife and a slim wooden box wrapped in a red ribbon from her bag. presented the parcel to Yukine and eagerly watched as he opened it. Craning his neck, Yato leaned to look over Hiyori’s shoulder to see what she had given Yukine.

“A quill?” Yato said, unimpressed. Hiyori passively waved a hand at him, silencing his doubts as she waited for Yukine’s reaction. He had taken it out of the box, careful not to bend or break the feather. It was yet again simple and snow white like the cake, but was speckled with flecks of grey and decorated with a silver nib.

“I noticed your quill was a bit…” Hiyori searched for a word which wasn’t as bad as ‘shabby’, “worn. So, I thought a new one would be helpful.”

Yukine had a small smile on his face as he gently twirled the quill between his fingertips, something Yato hadn’t seen Yukine do before.

“Thank you,” he murmured, delicately placing the quill back into the case and stashing it in his bag. Hiyori smiled at him, handing him the cake knife before dragging a chair between him and Yato who was eyeing the cake yet again.

“Shall we?”

[harryglom]

Last day of summer

I have the same trouble writing as I do in my relationships. I find some things too compelling not to say: I'm terrible at editing and keeping my mouth shut. I don't know how to distill anything to it's essence because in my essence I am fragmented, fickle, distracted and entirely too self absorbed to fully relate to or commit to anything. Except maybe that last sentence.

But who knows, maybe that will change too.

I suppose if if I was a good editor that paragraph would read, I am a flagrant narcissist but I like to intellectualise things for my own ego.

So here for you is something I wrote on the last day of summer.

It's incredibly self indulgent but hopefully amusingly so.

***

August 31st 2018:

The romance of floating above water in the Jesus position and the luxuriant option of return to this perfect state has expired. The crickets' hum has been replaced by the clack-clack of roughly handled suitcases. Contemplating gin and tonics turns to demanding early morning coffee in one cycle of moon and sun. A summer, even in its gorgeous final colours, burning brighter for the dwindling excess, has been unquestionably wanked away. I am Marie Antionette stuffed full of icing on the way to the guillotine, I am the plentiful lover shrivelled dry on the inside, I am Casanova after his wig was swept away in a storm.

Sailing by, looking out from the car window, the lush valleys tussle for visibility. With each dip and turn through the dirt roads and unmarked shaley pathways, the hills rise and fall like waves in a thousand shades of green. Dotted like icing sugar, fragments of the oval domes and embellished archways of whitewash villas peer out through the trees. They are all spread out amongst the vast wilderness and not one single man talks to another. They all carve out their own piece of nowhere.

The birds chirp with curiosity and, by a flutter of sudden fear, fly out away from the sound of a chopping axe. The trees are coming down, the world has waved goodbye, we're the last to leave the funeral party.

My parents discuss the nature of familial love like it's a supernatural tether, whilst my mum calms down from a barking voice to her calm barking voice at father's suggestion. It's too early for severity you see: I suppose I should count myself lucky. Still a lecture comes. Today's improvised mantra is Protection not Perfection, "we want to protect you, not to perfect you", before launching a tirade of criticisms at the turn of 8am.

Mum explains with finality that I don't understand how much they love me, which is somehow framed as a criticism. Mum leaves off satisfied with her new parenting slogan-- protection not perfection (which I secretly wish was protection not correction)-- and dad gives me my Friday night blessing in advance-- we're shit Jews but Dad's carrying a hopeless team of pantomime believers.

The airport is painless for the most part. A million rows of cattle cue dividers makes me want to kill the closest responsible person and cause an uprising against the dull oppression of public spaces. But other than that, is how I would nonchalantly have carried on if that was what had happened. I'm sorry to say that this was written as I sailed past the empty rows of cattle cue dividers and thought all was well within the world besides its inherent banality. In retrospect, I was pretty happy then.

It turns out I haven't paid for my baggage and I will have to go to the customer service desk and get a further transfer flight directly to Dignitas if I'm to truly put my frustration to rest. I watch from the separated cue of easyJet customer service, feeling the unparalleled warmth of proximity to British people in the early morning. And I watch as those same cattle cue dividers fill up with the usual suspects: families having temper tantrums, pill-eyed party goers just coming to remember how sobriety feels after four or five days and those who, for their style or state of illness, look like Ibizan roadkill. The special treat arrives at the mentally-constipated attendant working at the UK desk.

I could skin them all alive for a coffee.

By the time I pass through security, I have almost lost my passport six times within two service interactions and as such I feel like a total cunt as well. It turns out I'm in good company. A mother tries the innovative parenting technique of desperately bargaining with a ruthless toddler. The middle aged tattooed Liverpudlian cops a feel of his wife's tit as she reads the newspaper. What can only be described as the ultimate twat brings what I deduce by smell to be the entire four-mile stretch of the central Marrakesh meat market condensed into a paper bag to our gate.

Our bus stalls at the foot of the plane. As such our beloved ultimate twat decides this is a great time to really get stuck into the meat-fest. He devours it in a way that suggests it's part of some kind of ceremonial ancient sacrifice from before people invented the concept of dignity. Everyone plays the "no eye contact game", which proves difficult in such close quarters. I could count your nose hairs and tell you whether you drank red or white wine last night from your breath but god forbid we look at each other for even a second. It's really quite impressive. If each player of the "no eye contact game" cast a bright green laser directly where they looked there wouldn't be a single space for Tom Cruise to acrobatically traverse through. He'd just be dismembered and presumably eaten fresh by the ultimate twat.

In silence, playing the "no eye contact game" like a true sport, I look out of the fragment of window I'm afforded. I observe the stewards ponce around on the top of the stairs, tapping about in their freedom and breathing fresh air, a step away from doing a full rendition of the Sound of Music. This rendition is complete with a faithful emulation of Naziism in the form of endless airport bureaucracy. The baggage attendants joyfully crush our possessions, somehow with both reckless abandon and a spiteful precision and determination. Me and my fellow passengers wait like a pile of bags in 30 degree heat crammed like cattle on a bus wanting to scream "IS THIS SOME KIND OF JOKE!?" and hopefully get yourself sectioned just to get moving somewhere. But no, nobody screams-- besides the same ruthless toddler-- and I admire our stoicism in the face of evil. Only English people can silently struggle and shrug off barbaric treatment with an awkward silence and an urge to be seen as polite. They are our greatest weapons, even as these double edged swords pierce our throats and slowly suffocate us with our own blood.

As I sit down on the plane, still half asleep, I almost feel bad about the skinning alive comment but as my eyes trace over the pale bodies, loud sneakers and signature grimaces of fellow Londoners and really begin to enjoy the rampant sense of superiority that surges through my bones but would never show in my face, I accept they'd all do the same to each other given the chance.

Usually I treat getting off a plane like a kind of race, one with an announcer bellowing juvenile insults at everyone I overtake, one with invisible short-cut markers, doing swift confident turns like you really have somewhere to be. You know, that manic fast walk to rival a meth-head's best goosestep impression whilst fantasising about pretending a disabled old woman is your grandma. Alas, today the wind is out of my sails. I only really wake up when I catch my sour reflection, which is not a surprise as this is the default face I seem to carry with me, in which my hair has flopped into a very Hitlerish style. As much as I dislike making conversations with people in public, this is not my preferred strategy to go about it.

I haven't felt like this in a while. This way of thinking is symptomatic of one thing. The summer is over and London's calling.

[trentteti]

Meet Your New Supreme Court Justice Neil Gorsuch

We have a new Supreme Court Justice! Here’s what you should know about Neil Gorsuch.

0. It’s Pronounced GORE-SUCH

Al Gore claimed he invented the Internet, promoting many to go, “Ugh, Gore such a faker.” Gore such. Gorsuch.

1. Catholic School to Prep School

Gorsuch went to Catholic school as a boy, and then to the Georgetown Preparatory School. I went to plain-jane public school, so I’m not exactly sure what this all means about ol’ Gorsuch, but one things for sure—Gorsuch knew how to make a tie knot or two way before the rest of us plebes did.

2. Raised by An Environmentalist (in a way)

Gorsuch’s mom was head of the EPA, but she was an environmentalist the way Homer Simpson was a safety inspector at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant. Gorsuch’s mom was appointed by Ronnie Reagan to reduce the EPA’s reach and put the onus of environmental regulation back onto the states. That’s, at least, one way to look at it. One of her key accomplishments at the EPA was to make sure we had more lead in our gasoline. Delicious.

3. Wasn’t on Law Review

Gorsuch’s spent his undergrad time at Columbia University where he wrote for the school newspaper, the Daily Spectator, and co-founded a rival paper, The Fed. This kind of background suggests—along with Gorsuch having been an academic stud—that he would have been perfect for his law school’s law review. He went to Harvard Law School, by the way. Alas, Gorsuch did not make it. Instead, he was on a “secondary journal.” But look at him now!

4. Wants Old People to Die from Starvation, Infection, or Thirst

Gorsuch, while a partner at the uber-prestigious litigation boutique, Kellogg Huber, completed a PhD. in legal philosophy. He argued that, basically, it was always wrong to provide assisted suicide or euthanasia.

What this means is that Gorsuch thinks that the better way to go out is to just die from starvation, infection or thirst – the way most old and terminally ill folks have to end their lives when they don’t have access to euthanasia. Sounds kinda harsh, but maybe he never watched Billion Dollar Baby.

Curiously, while it’s never okay to help the sick and the old end their lives without massive suffering, the death penalty is just fine with Gorsuch.

5. Want’s to End Chevron Deference

This is boring, so I’ll keep it short. Gorsuch doesn’t like the current balance of power between administrative agencies and the courts. He’d like to see the courts take back more power.

6. Textualist, Originalist

Look for Gorsuch to give us opinions interpreting the Constitution and its amendments as they were thought of back when they were enacted. He’ll also try to interpret statutes literally, without reference to legislative history or policy considerations. In these ways, he’s a lot like Scalia.

Conclusion

So there you have it, he’s smart, his tie knot muscle memory is well ingrained, he hates old people, and he (probably?) has a grudge against the Harvard Law Review.

Meet Your New Supreme Court Justice Neil Gorsuch was originally published on LSAT Blog