#my initial guess is skinny and wide shoulders BUT then a different woman in the same scene is described as 'wide-shouldered'

[memecatwings]

im only 22/623 pages into iron flame and im already so over it violet sorrengail im putting you in the soup

[fantasticfemmefatale]

Cold- Spencer Reid

not my gif

SUMMARY: reader is kinda bad at dealing with cold weather lmao, Spencer is rlly sweet, and everyone is happy for once in their trauma-filled lives. i live for this man. there’s some slight emily x reader if you use a microscope, i guess.

WARNINGS: fluff, canon atypical happiness, there’s this one homophobe in it, they should burn

Cold.

It was cold.

Had you left a window open? 

No, the window on your side of the bed was still firmly shut.

Why was it so cold?

You rolled over, on the couch, eyes screwed shut, half desperate for his warmth although you’d promised you’d give him space, after you were nearly on top of him when you two woke up last time.

Oh.

That’s why it was cold.

Sliding out of bed and grabbing your fuzzy robe off the floor, you somehow managed to make it out of the room while only tripping once. You wanted to laugh at him, tell him depressed elephant who? I am graceful after all, loser! However, gloating in his face required having his face nearby.

Where was he?

You thought back to those crappy stories you’d heard from Emily of sleazy guys in bars who’d scramble for a hook up then leave a girl high and dry before sunrise. But he couldn’t do that if you hadn’t hooked up, right? If he was just a friend who’d come knocking at your door at 8:43 for your biweekly movie night, then got stuck at your apartment because of the storm? Although, you wished he was more than a friend.

A sharp hiss resounded from the kitchen, followed by the faucet running, as you padded in. 

“Spence?”

His head shot up fast, like a puppy caught dragging trash through the house. He shut off the faucet with his right hand, and reached for a towel to dry his left as he spoke.

“(Y/N). Hi. Hotch called me saying we had a case, and I told him you were here with me so he didn’t need to call you, and I just thought I’d make you coffee before I woke you up,” he explained with a small, tired smile and equally tired eyes.

“Did you burn yourself?” you questioned, remembering the commotion when you’d walked in.

“Uh, yeah.”

You laughed slightly, one of those sharp nose exhales accompanied by a half smile when you just can’t laugh at the moment. Frankly, you were far too exhausted. You took the mug he was holding outstretched towards you with a grateful smile, returning to your room to get dressed. The warm mug contrasted deliciously with the cold air of your apartment. You didn’t need to tell Spencer that he could change in the bathroom if he needed to; he already knew. After the first time you’d been called in to work while Spencer was staying over, you’d developed a system. He brought his go-bag over with him, leaving it next to the door along with his Converse that you always said made him look like he was still 12. He’d bring two extra pairs of clothes to leave at your apartment, one for when you left and another, comfier pair for your return. Then, he’d gather anything he’d left in your apartment and walk down to his own. It was funny, honestly, how his apartment was just three floors down from your own and yet he refused to leave his stuff there. He’d ramble on about how but leaving my stuff at your apartment saves 9 minutes and 27 seconds, and that’s time we could be spending saving lives, and-

You left your room, dressed in black skinny jeans, combat boots, and an army green long sleeve with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows at the same time Spencer exited the bathroom in Converse, brown pants, a vest, and a button-down shirt. No words were spoken as you two grabbed your duffels from where they were sitting near your door, and Spencer grabbed his messenger bag as well, slinging it over his shoulder in the most uncoordinated way possible while simultaneously trying to open your door, resulting in him on the floor with a loud grunt. You laughed, loud and clear, and you grabbed his wrist and helped him to his feet, opening the door and locking it securely behind you.

The bullpen was colder than your apartment had been, you thought with a shiver as you walked in, with Spencer falling into step behind you. Still slightly groggy and nursing the coffee from Spencer- which you’d transferred to an insulated water bottle prior to leaving- you stayed quiet through Penelope’s run-down of the case and Hotch’s typical wheels up in 30. 

On the plane, you sat on the couch with Spencer, careful to leave an inch between you two. In the two years you’d known each other, he’d warmed up enough that you could touch him some, but you tried not to do anything more than the occasional hug or shoulder pat when the time called for it. Right now, nothing was calling except sleep. Just by looking outside the window, you swore you could practically feel the frigid night air of Wisconsin, the lovely location of today’s deranged criminal, a kidnapper. When you voiced your feelings about the cold to Spencer, he spewed facts from who-knows-where about different places the air could possibly get into the plane, meaning you weren’t just making up the feeling. You listened attentively, knowing how much it meant to him when he didn’t get cut off for once. After all, he just wanted to help.

The plane landed, and you were the first one out.

Cold.

It was cold.

And you forgot a jacket, idiot.

Morgan chuckled as he passed by you, clad in a t-shirt, no less, saying, “Cold, baby?”

“As if.”

You were in an interrogation room. 

It was less cold than the rest of the precinct, but still chilly.

The woman in front of you, a blond, small thing, looked to be no less than 20. And yet, she was kidnapping the children she babysat for after their parents returned, then trying to pass them off as her own. She was kidnapping the children of same-sex couples, a religious fanatic who believed that being anything but straight was worse than murder. Wow.

Screw homophobes.

Honestly, the case had wrapped itself up fairly well, complete with a glittery red bow, once Penelope- thank god- had figured out that each family had used the same babysitter at least once. Rebecca Umbrige. To be fair, the team had spent a while focusing on the same-sex couples aspect of it, only to change paths after all that turned up from that was dead ends. Then Rebecca came into the picture and brought everything together nicely. 

With that red bow, of course.

Still, one more thing was needed.

A confession.

Emily was in the interrogation room with you, watching as you took the lead. You were hoping to get something out of her through subtle hints at attraction between you two, and it worked, eventually.

All it took was holding Emily’s hand. Sad.

Emily laughed as Rebecca was dragged out of the room in handcuffs, earning her a stern look from Hotch when the two of you left as well.

Ugh, why did the rest of the precinct have to be so cold?

The plane ride home was uneventful, and so was leaving the bullpen after the last of the paperwork was finished, just before midnight three days after you’d left. Until, at least, Spencer jogged up to you, brown curls waving wildly in the D.C. wind, asking, “Wanna go out?”

“Like a date?” you asked, incredulous. If it was a date though, you wouldn’t  be upset. You’d had a not-so-small and not-so-sneaky crush on him for almost the entire time you’d known him.

He stopped suddenly, speaking so fast it was a miracle he could get the words out at all.

“Slow down, Spence.”

“I just meant, maybe we could go get hot chocolate, or coffee, or whatever, and then just walk around D.C. or something? I don’t think I can sleep right now,” he blurted, brown doe eyes watching you expectantly in that way that made your heart flutter.

“I’m cold”, you said, almost pouting like a child.

He laughed for a second at that. “We can stop by your apartment first and change if you want.”

26 minutes later, according to Spencer, the two of you arrived at the doorstep of a slightly shady 24-hour coffee shop that Waze had been all too happy to lead you to. After getting some surprisingly good lattes, you two wandered aimlessly around D.C., occasionally bumping shoulders from how close you were. He’d tell you the history behind different buildings and monuments you passed, and you’d interrupt every few minutes because oH MY GOD SPENCE THAT HOUSE LOOKS LIKE A FACE!, or, LOOK THAT CLOUD LOOKS LIKE A BUTT! 

Spencer laughed every time you got distracted, letting his eyes linger just a few seconds too long on your face when it lit up like a kid’s on Christmas, wanting to commit your face without stress, or fear, or anger to memory. Moments like these didn’t come often in your line of work.

When you realized it was starting to snow, Spencer swore he’d never seen you look this stunning, bundled up in one of his sweaters that you’d stolen months ago, with rosy cheeks and a red nose to match, eyes glimmering with excitement and lips spread wide in a smile and you spun around, eyes on the sparkling sky above. 

Eventually, he said, “(Y/N)?” in a voice barely above a whisper.

Your head whipped around, and you stopped suddenly, all your attention focused on Spencer, something that never failed to make him feel cared for. “Yeah?”

He didn’t answer, instead slowly reaching out to hug you, the first physical contact between you he’d ever initiated. His arms around your waist were uncertain, and he haltingly rested his head on your shoulder, thankful you couldn’t see him grinning like an idiot. As soon as you hugged back, he pulled you in closer in a bone-crushing hug that you could’ve sworn made time stop. 

“(Y/N)?” he mumbled against your skin.

“Yeah?”

“I know I said this wasn’t a date, but if you wanted it to be one, maybe it could be one?”

“I’d like that, Spencer.”

Cold.

It was cold.

But with Spencer holding onto you like there was no tomorrow, you were much, much warmer.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

The Best Quiche in Tokyo

Rating: ‼️18+ Minors Do Not Interact ‼️

Warnings: explicit sexuality (it literally takes place at an orgy so like.......Y’know)

Characters: Hatter (Takeru), Aguni, and Female Reader (You)

Summary: When one of your customers invites you to a potluck-slash-orgy, you assume the “orgy” part is a joke—because nobody really hosts a potluck and an orgy at the same time, right?

Notes: One time, @nessinborderland (happy belated birthday btw) gave me the brilliant idea of Hatter hosting an orgy and serving really good food and I just......ran with it. This ended up being part comedy, part character study—and mostly features Aguni, if you can believe it! I don’t know, I just let the story take me where it wanted to go! (Also, this is definitely the longest thing I’ve written on here, so get ready to dig in!)

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in March, and you’re standing in front of a hat shop. Well, technically, you’re slightly to the left of a hat shop, peering down a skinny alleyway in search of a door or a set of stairs—something to indicate that there is, in fact, an apartment up there and this is not just an elaborate prank.

There is a very good chance this is a prank—after all, the eccentric man who walked into your stationary store two weeks ago seemed...off. Not in a bad way, just. One-of-a-kind. Unique. Entirely himself, in a way that people usually aren’t.

Was he flirting or was he just overly friendly when he leaned in just a bit too close to see the various fonts available for his choosing? It’s difficult to say. He did seem genuinely interested to know the difference between serif and sans serif, which doesn’t much thrill your customers on the regular. Does asking for an extra business card ‘for his personal records’ count as a pick-up line? It’s hard to say. Not that it matters much, of course—you are a professional, he is a customer, and there’s nothing more to it.

And you really are a professional, because when he told you that he wanted—in metallic gold, 30-point, center aligned—to say, quote, “The Third Annual Springtime Potluck and Orgy: Presented by Danma Takeru,” you didn’t so much as bat an eye. Partially because he was very insistent that you spell his name correctly, and partially because. Well. How does a person respond to that?

In truth, he ended up being one of your better customers—he showed a genuine interest in the process while still deferring to your expertise—and when one of the printed invitations arrived in your mailbox, you figured you might as well go see what the fuss is about. It could be an opportunity to meet some new friends, maybe drum up a little business if you’re lucky.

And besides—a potluck-slash-orgy? Who would even do that?

The merry little jingle of bell catches your attention, and you turn your head to see a solemn-looking man peeking his head around the hat shop’s glass door. He looks at you. He looks at the plastic-wrapped pie in your hands. He looks back at you.

He frowns.

“Hi,” you say, putting on your most charming smile in the hopes that he’ll stop looking at you like you just slapped him across the face, “I’m, uh, I’m here for the party!”

You shuffle over to him, careful not to scuff the white of your sensible-yet-pretty patent leather heels on the sidewalk. Maybe you’re dressed too formally—he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans while you’re sporting a calf-length chiffon dress dyed in a lovely array of watercolor blues and violets.

Oh dear, what a faux-pas! There was no dress code listed on the invite, but maybe you should’ve dressed in a more casual fashion. You don’t live far, you could probably run home quickly and change...

“Do you...have an invitation,” the man asks, crossing his arms across his chest and furrowing his brow. Is he annoyed? No, no. He seems. Confused? Wary? How very strange.

“Oh, of course,” you answer, reaching a fumbling hand into your purse to search for the little pink envelope, “I almost forgot it walking out the door, but I remembered at the last second! I can be a bit scatterbrained sometimes!”

The man doesn’t say anything, but leans forward to inspect the invitation once you manage to produce it from the cluttered mess that is your handbag.

“I know the time said it started at three, but the pie took a little longer than expected. It takes time for the chocolate to set, and—“ you gasp, covering your mouth with your invite-laden hand, “I haven’t kept you waiting, have I? I’m so sorry, Mister...?”

“Call me Aguni,” he says, and his eyes narrow slightly when you give him your most chipper ‘thank you’ and apologize for not being able to shake his hand at the moment. What a strange man.

“You,” he asks slowly, “you read the invitation, right?”

“Of course I did! I’m the one who made them,” you explain, puffing your chest up with pride, “and our host was kind enough to send one to me! He must have really liked my work!”

“...Yeah,” the man called Aguni says, “I’m sure that’s it.”

But, to your pleasure, he steps aside and holds the door open for you to enter. Such a strange man, but at least he’s gentlemanly enough to hold the door for you as you step inside.

“Oh, wow,” you say, “this place is amazing!”

And maybe it sounds silly, but you’re being entirely honest. There are hats in shelves, hats hanging on the wall, hats on faceless plastic heads on the counter and placed atop a long wooden table to the left—all of them in different shapes and colors, embellished and feathered and ribboned to the nines. There’s a certain magic to a little place like this, a kind of whimsical charm you want to bottle and keep on the kitchen windowsill.

“Walls could use some paint. Floor needs polished, too,” Aguni says, “but...yeah, I guess it’s nice enough.”

You follow him as he leads you towards the back, your eyes drinking in all the details of this fascinating little shop.

“No, no, the walls and the floor are perfect,” you assert with a wide-mouthed smile, “it gives it character. Makes it feel...like home, I think.”

“Takeru says the same thing,” Aguni answers with a chuckle, “although I also think he just doesn’t want to put in the work. He’s...not very handy.”

There is a second door at the very back of the shop, and once again, Aguni holds it open for you. Perhaps his original air of discontent was a simple case of shyness—maybe he just takes a bit to warm up to people. Well, just wait until he tries your homemade triple-chocolate silk pie; you’ll be best friends in no time!

He leads you into a tiny courtyard, which is just barely big enough to hold a steep set of metal stairs and a handful of plant pots, which remain empty due to the early spring cold. But, oh, it must be so lovely back here when the plants are in full bloom! You say as much to your companion, who actually manages to smile a bit in your direction as he leads you up the stairs.

“Those are mine, actually,” he tells you, his boot-covered feet thunking up the stairs at a leisurely pace, “He lets me garden back here.”

You picture it—this tall, stoic man, kneeling on the ground, his gloved hands tending little green sprouts as the morning sun shines gold and warm on the cold stone ground. The thought of it warms you. Does he know anything about succulents? You’ve always thought they would look so cute in the shop...

“Look,” Aguni says when the two of you reach a very drab-looking door, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, but...you sure you’re ready for this?”

What an odd thing to say! Maybe you’re acting more nervous than you originally thought? It is rather daunting, walking into a party of strangers; but, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

“You’re sweet for worrying about me,” you respond, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “but if everyone is half as lovely as you, I’m sure I’ll do just fine. I will probably stick with you for a while—if that’s okay, of course!”

“Alright, then.” Aguni says—and is that a hint of a blush you see creeping up his neck? All this time, you thought he was just being strange, but he’s just a little shy! You give his arm a knowing pat before withdrawing your touch, and he quickly turns around to unlock the door.

Are all of Takeru’s friends this adorable? You hope so. You follow your bashful escort inside—the genkan is already full of shoes, but you manage to squeeze yours in between a pair of snakeskin wedge heels and the wall. Aguni also removes his boots, and you’re happy he isn’t going to stay down in the hat shop the whole time. He can introduce you to everyone, and maybe—

You hear something. Was that...? No, no, you must be imagining things. You definitely did not just hear a woman moan on the other side of the wall. You stop and angle your head towards the door slightly to get a better listen. It’s all rather muffled (it must be well-insulated!) but there’s definitely some kind of music playing. Maybe it’s part of a song?

It happens again. This time, it’s deeper, and more of a prolonged “ah” sound. And then laughter. Aguni is looking at you in that concerned way of his again.

Instead of waiting for him to open the door for you a third time, you decide to take initiative and open it yourself—a show of confidence, to put his mind at ease. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to try and stop you, but he instead just crosses his arms and watches as you open the door to the rest of the house.

The first thing you see is candles. Little flickering spots of yellow-orange flame, winking inside clear glass votives. A trio of them on the kitchen table to the left, surrounded by a mismatched variety of trays and plates and bowls, each holding a different delicacy.

There’s a candle on the kitchen counter, next to the refrigerator. One on a bookshelf, which is filled to bowing with vinyl LP’s. Two on either side of the television, and a cluster of them on a coffee table next to a fishbowl of shiny gold squares and—

Oh.

Oh, dear.

There are limbs. Moving, writing, reaching. Hands grabbing. Mouths kissing. Mouths...doing things other than kissing. Oh, God, there’s boobs. And somebody’s butt. Aw, geez, there goes another one. How many naked people are there in here, anyways?

“Oh, hey!”

A familiar voice calls out from the fleshy throng, and your stomach drops. Like Venus emerging from the surf, you see Danma Takeru rise up from the crowd, hair mussed and smiling mouth smudged with at least two different colors of lipstick. While he does appear to be wearing some kind of brightly-patterned robe, the more he stands, the less confident you are that it’s actually covering anything.

You spin on your heel, unwilling as of the moment to become visually acquainted with your host’s penis, and you’re met once more with Aguni’s concerned stare. This time, though, you understand why he’s looking at you like that, and it makes the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck that much hotter.

“Do you want to leave?”

This is. Oh, boy. This is a lot. Aguni must be able to sense your discomfort, although you imagine it’s rather palpable at the moment.

“I,” you say, “I don’t...know.”

And you say you don’t know because you truly don’t know what to do. Was it really so naïve of you to think that the ‘orgy’ part of the invitation was some kind of weird inside joke? Is there some kind of social protocol for these things?

You feel two hands descend upon each of your shoulders, and you try to convince yourself that they are slightly damp with sweat as opposed to any other kind of aqueous material.

“You made it,” Takeru exclaims with genuine excitement as he gives your person a gentle shake, “I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“He’s covered, don’t worry,” Aguni says to you before directing his attention over your shoulder, “I take it you didn’t tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

The hand on your right shoulder stays while the left slips away, leaving room for Takeru to stand at your side and squeeze you against him in a weird little half-hug. In another situation, you might enjoy the way the silk of his robe whispers against the skin of your arms, perhaps smile at the warm comfort of a lazy arm thrown about your shoulders like a heavy scarf, but. Well. Right now, it’s just a little...awkward.

Aguni rolls his eyes.

“About that,” he says, gesturing impatiently at the debauchery behind your back, “I mean, just look at her face.”

“Mori-chan, how could you be so rude to our lovely guest? Darling,” Takeru says, turning your face towards him with two fingers under your chin, “don’t listen to him, you’re...ah, I see what you mean.”

Is your expression really that bad? It must be, because Takeru very slowly and very carefully withdrawing his arm from around your shoulder and taking a generous step to the side. His mouth is twisted into a rather comical gaping frown, his eyes nervously darting side-to-side.

“In my defense,” he says, putting his hands up like some kind of fucked-out traffic cop at a four-way intersection, “the, uh, the orgy part was very prominent. Big letters, right at the top.”

“I,” you reply, “I thought it was...a joke?”

“This is why we don’t just hand out invitations,” Aguni grits through his teeth, “for fuck’s sake, Takeru, we’ve talked about this!”

“I know, I know. I am humble enough to admit when I’ve fucked up, and this time, I have fucked up in a truly spectacular fashion,” Takeru’s gaze shifts from horrified to quizzical as he scrutinized you for a moment, “Unless...you’d like to stay?”

You look at the pie. The slowly-warming chocolate is beginning to sweat beneath the thin film of plastic wrap you so lovingly secured with lilac ribbon.

“Or you could slap him on the way out,” Aguni offers, “he’s very slap-able.”

“It’s true! And when you slap me,” he whips his head to the side suddenly, “my hair does that and it looks really cool!”

Yeah, okay—it did look pretty cool. But, does he deserve to be slapped? Probably for something else, but not for this. It’s a simple misunderstanding, and honest mistake on both your parts.

“I want...” you start, and the way they’re looking at you, wide-eyed and breath-bated, reminds you of the final rose ceremony on The Bachelorette.

It’s kind of hilarious, actually.

“I, uh,” you continue, “I want to...to put this in the refrigerator, if that’s okay? It’s, uh, starting to melt...”

To say that Takeru’s face lights up is an understatement. With a mega-watt smile and a sparkle in his eye, he swoops his arm back around your shoulder and begins leading you towards the kitchen.

Although you have (almost) gotten used to the sea of strangers fucking and moaning in the background, you still choose to politely avert your gaze as you pass them by. You instead focus on Takeru, who has taken this opportunity to explain the inner-workings of...whatever this is.

“...And I personally see to it that these events remain exclusive,” he says, “Although I do occasionally invite outsiders, such as yourself. You were just so sweet and helpful, I couldn’t resist trying my luck and sending you an invite.”

“Thank you,” you say, “although, I, uh...”

He opens the refrigerator door and motions for you to place the pie inside. Luckily, it’s mostly empty, save for a collection of bottled water and a tin of what looks to be cat food. You’re grateful to not have to carry it around anymore, and thank him for his assistance.

It’s finally time for you to acknowledge the proverbial ‘elephant in the room’—except, you’re not exactly sure how to begin.

“I,” you start, stopping to bite your lip, “I, uh. Is it okay if I...don’t, y’know, do the whole...uh...sex thing?”

“Oh, do you prefer to watch?”

“No! I mean, no, uh,” you laugh nervously, “I’m just...”

Takeru chuckles.

“I’m only teasing. You’re more than welcome to skip the sex and go straight to the food. As long as you’re on the kitchen side, nobody will touch you. It’s one of our rules.”

He motions for Aguni to come over with a wave of his arm, smiling when the tall man comes to lean against the kitchen counter.

“Mori-chan also prefers to abstain from the more salacious aspects of our little gathering, so the two of you can keep each other company.”

“I’m usually in charge of the food,” Aguni adds, “and I try to make sure the candles stay lit.”

“I, uh, I noticed those on the way in. They’re nice.”

Takeru leans towards you as if he’s about to share a secret.

“I don’t mean to be indelicate,” he says in a low tone, “but there is a certain stench that comes with these events. Sweat, musk, various secretions...it all really adds up in the end.”

“It’s awful,” Aguni concludes, “but candles help dissipate the worst of it.”

“Oh, and the ambiance,” Takeru exclaims, “there’s just nothing like candlelight to really get people in the mood for—“

A sharp ding! makes you jump. From what you can gather, it came from the small oven to Aguni’s left.

“Hold it right there,” Takeru growls towards Aguni, who had been in the middle of donning a pair of floral-printed oven mitts, “she needs thirty more seconds.”

Aguni looks at you and rolls his eyes. You stifle a giggle behind your hand, hoping your host doesn’t notice.

“I saw that,” Takeru snips towards Aguni, “honestly, Mori-chan, you get one new friend...”

And even though he’s mid-scold, there remains a joviality to Takeru’s tone—a testament, you believe, to what can only be a long-standing friendship between him and Aguni. It’s hard not to feel jealous of their easy back-and-forth, their banter like a well-matched game of tennis.

“Now you can take her out,” Takeru says, “but, so help me God, if you don’t let her rest for seven minutes–“

“–They’ll never find my body, I know, I know,” Aguni finishes, gingerly placing a metal pan on the stove, “Look, we’ve got it handled. You can go back to your side of the party and I’ll call you when it’s plated.”

“Fine,” Takeru answers with a false pout, “but only because I know she’ll keep you honest.”

And just like that, it’s just you and Aguni once more—but, this time, he seems much more at ease to have you around. Happy, almost. It must be kind of boring, sitting alone in a kitchen while everyone else is...well, busy.

“So,” you say, moving to Aguni’s side to peer into the baking pan, “looks kind of like...a quiche?”

“Not just any quiche,” Aguni answers, opening the drawer to his right and digging a hand inside, “the best quiche in Tokyo.”

He pulls out a shiny silver chef’s knife and places it on the counter. Next comes a pair of dainty forks, delicate little things one might use for tea cakes at a French-inspired bistro. Knowing what you know about Takeru—which, granted, isn’t very much at all—it doesn’t surprise you in the least.

“You’re in front of the plates,” he says, tapping the cabinet directly in front of your face, “grab us some?”

“But we’re supposed to wait seven minutes,” you protest, all while following his instructions, “it’s only been...like, three.”

Aguni’s eyes take on a glint of mischief.

“Only a problem if we get caught.”

Honestly, it looks divine. Pillowy-soft and the perfect pale-yellow hue, delicate tendrils of steam billowing out as he drags the knife through. You hadn’t ever seen a non-rectangular quiche before, but you suppose it makes sense; there are a fair few people in attendance, and the standard circular composition wouldn’t quite feed everyone.

He serves you first. A corner piece (which he insists are the best), speckled with herbs and studded with little pieces of what you assume to be some kind of ham. Little strings of cheese stick to the blade of the knife, and Aguni scrapes them off with the side of a fork, which he then hands to you.

“Takeru doesn’t cook much,” Aguni explains, playing his own small square, “but when he does...”

The sound that comes from your mouth as you take your first bite of quiche could rival any of those happening in the orgy across the room. Oh, that is so good! Buttery crust, the salt of cheese and ham, the subtle bite of onion—and there’s something else there, something you can’t quite place, but you know it tastes absolutely heavenly. Immediately, you take another bite.

“Grew the herbs de Provence myself,” Aguni mentions, “He refuses to use store-bought.”

“Makes all the difference,” you respond, “I could eat the whole pan by myself.”

“I did that for my last birthday, actually,” Aguni chuckles around a forkful of quiche, “Takeru insisted on putting all thirty-eight candles in before carrying it to the table—you know, like a dumbass. Part of his hair caught fire, and I had to give him a haircut at two in the morning because he was so distraught.”

The two of you laugh—Aguni at the memory, and you at the idea of a tearful Takeru sulking as Aguni snipping the fried locks with a pair of kitchen shears.

“He forgave me, even though I took a whole two inches off,” Aguni sets his empty plate in the sink and looks out of the small window above it, “He’s not a bad guy, you know. Doesn’t always make the best choices, sure, but he’s got a good heart in him.”

There is a sadness here, something in Aguni that speaks to a troubled past you haven’t quite unearthed yet—and you know better than to press him, especially here, especially now.

“Well, I can’t say I’m an expert,” you say, handing him your plate, “but you two seem like decent people. Orgies aside, of course.”

“Of course,” Aguni nods, “though I don’t suppose you’ll come to the next one, will you?”

For the first time since your arrival, you allow yourself to watch the festivities happening across the room. It isn’t that bad, you suppose—it’s just a group of people having a fun time together, laughing and gasping and enjoying each others’ bodies in a safe and comfortable place. It’s not something you necessarily want to do yourself, but...well, the ‘weird’ factor of the whole thing has gone down exponentially over the past hour or so.

“And miss out on the best quiche in Tokyo,” you say, nudging against Aguni’s arm with your shoulder, “not a chance!”

[halequeenjas]

Solt Circle || Connor, Orion, & Jasmine

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @connorspiracy @3starsquinn & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jasmine offers Connor the chance to come help her with a ghost at one of her listings. Rio comes along to film and ghost-y times are had.

Connor was excited to work with Jasmine. Knowing that she’d been the one to banish Bloody Mary and the Sandman had given him the biggest fanboy hearteyes. She was exactly what he’d been lacking in his life; a mentor, a leader, a bloody inspiration. She wasn’t like one of his family’s old friends who couldn’t stand ‘em and helped Connor out of some begrudging sense of community while still holding it against him that his dad had fucked off to do a boring grown-up job. She was actually excited to work with him, and if she could get rid of Bloody Mary, maybe she could actually help Nadia. Honestly, it was a relief to know her inability to get rid of Larry Bob wasn’t a reflection on her talents. Whatever healthy skepticism he’d had about her had subsided. Not only that, but she was offering him his own banishing, and letting him film it. “Mate this is gonna be epic,” he said excitedly as he got out of the car with Rio right outside the address Jasmine had given him. Her car was already parked, and he could see the For Sale sign swinging in the autumnal breeze. “Way better than last time. You’re gonna get to meet another exorcist. I reckon she’s really rich too, judging by her… well, everything, and she’s paying us for this.” He knocked on the door, film, but polite. 

While banishing ghosts was never how Jasmine pictured her life when she was younger, it was a duty she took very seriously. She’d seen too many times first hand just how dangerous White Crest could be and if she could make it even a little safer while still making a profit, it seemed like a no brainer it was what she had to do. Everything with Larry Bob was currently on hold with her arm still broken and body sore. But a banishment would be easy enough and she wanted to encourage Connor to keep practicing. While the whole YouTube thing made her shake her head a bit, she appreciated his eagerness to learn and become better with his craft. It was apparent he was very excited for this and it was a warm feeling that she welcomed. She opened the door when they arrived and greeted, “Welcome to the haunted cabin. I could probably leave it haunted and sell to some hipsters, but that’s unethical so here we are.” She gestured with her good arm for them to come inside and knew Connor would immediately be able to see Mrs. Solt’s ghost. She was an elderly woman who just had a hard time letting go of her home and wasn’t particularly malicious. They had spoken some and Jasmine told her she’d be helping her move on and find peace. She wasn’t a poltergeist, so it was possible. She seemed afraid but receptive. “So I’ve got some snacks just in case we need a little boost at any point. I’m going to let you take the reins on this one and step in if needed. As you can see, I’m a bit out of commission right now.” She eyes the skinny kid in baggy clothes and asked, “Who’s your friend?”  

Orion was always thrilled by Connor’s excitement to see new, haunted areas. Now, Connor seemed more excited than Rio might have seen him at any of the locations they had visited. He understood his friend’s excitement, the idea of meeting anyone with a similar hobby or passion was thrilling enough. Add in the bonus of seeing a ghost and filming it just seemed to be the icing on the cake. “It’s really cool that she’s helping out with this stuff.” Rio agreed with Connor, clutching the bag around his shoulder that held the equipment he worked for Connor. Helping film and edit had been a welcome distraction from having to deal with the onslaught of people in his life attempting to comfort him following his parent’s death. They seemed to come from all directions. The actual friends in his life, people from the hospital and gym his parents worked at and even former neighbors that found him around town. Considering his parents had lived here for over twenty years and had a pretty strong reputation within the town didn’t help Rio’s anonymity. The kindness was appreciated, though it forced a narrative on Rio to be heartbroken and mourning that he wasn’t sure he could live up to.When Jasmine opened the door, he recognized her almost immediately. Though his parents had already been living here since Rio was born, he had become familiar with her brand selling other houses within Harris Island. Initially surprised by the realization that a seemingly normal realtor was actually an exorcist, Rio eventually settled on being impressed. “Hi! I’m Rio. Er- Orion. Quinn. But I go by Rio usually.” He held out his hand in offering if she was the type to formally introduce himself. “I’m Connor’s friend. And Coworker. I help film sometimes.” Introductions weren’t exactly Rio’s strong suit. But considering he was here to film and not speak, he at least figured he wouldn’t have to talk much today as the two worked their magic. 

"Yeah, I mean, we help each other, I guess? She seems way more experienced than me, but she has this one guy she can't get rid of, so I'm helping her back." Jasmine had quite the presence, broken arm and all. He hoped Rio wouldn't be too intimidated by her. Connor gave a low chuckle at Jasmine's ghost. "That's what you get for taking on Bloody freaking Mary," he said, clearly still impressed. He found her ethics around the supernatural to be interesting. "You've got people like me who travel around visiting haunted places. You should probably have a subset of clients who want to buy the places as tourist attractions." He realised with a brief moment of panic that he'd forgotten to mention Rio was coming. "Oh, sorry. I should have mentioned. Kind of distracted with all the Bloody Mary and Sandman stuff. But this is Rio, my camera-man." With the door open, they stepped inside and Connor looked around the entryway, taking in the energy of the place. "So what kind of haunting are we dealing with? Annoying kind that knocks your eggs off the counter or like the real bad kind?"  

“Someone had to do it. I just happened to have some know-how and figured why not me,” Jasmine said with a wide grin on her features. It was more than evident that both Connor and Blanche were beginning to look up to her which was a pleasant feeling in itself. Being able to put those younger than her on the right path was an honor she took seriously and it was nice they seemed to respect her all the more for it.  She extended her hand to Rio and responded, “It’s good to meet you, Rio. I’m Jasmine Hale.” She noted the familiarity of the name Quinn and the recent news article but opted against mentioning it. Seemed like poor timing though it had been just on the tip of her tongue. While Connor’s gimmick was one she’d thought of plenty of times before, it still seemed wrong to let ghosts be some sort of tourist attraction and gave too much potential to endanger people. “You might be on to something, but probably better to avoid that for now. Don’t want ghosts getting angry and spiteful on people.” She led them into the living area and began to explain, “Mrs. Solt is far from an antagonist ghost. She just wants everything in her home to stay the same and is having a tough time moving on. I told her we’d help her. Mrs. Solt,” she called out at the end of her sentence and an elderly ghost appeared. She wore the same floral nightie she always wore and looked uneasy as she approached the trio. 

After introducing himself, Orion planned on remaining in the backseat. After all, exorcisms and ghost stuff were more Connor and apparently Jasmine’s area of expertise. While Rio had done as much reading up on what the Scribrary had to offer on spirits, he wouldn’t say he knew much about them. Plus, as the three settled into the space, it was clear the two were discussing someone that Rio couldn’t see. The ghost of the woman that owned the house, from what Jasmine had said. But aside from her words, Rio had no sense of a fourth presence besides a small nagging paranoia that he was in danger. And Rio felt that everywhere he went. “Sounds a bit sad, honestly.” Rio chimed in quietly, wondering if he died somewhere in town if he would be able to move on or not. “Uh- I can’t see you Mrs. Solt but hello” Rio gave a nervous smile and waved around the room, no idea where he was actually trying to signal. He turned back towards Jasmine and Connor, “Where do you want me to set up so I’m out of your way?”

Although Jasmine came across as a snobby Karen-type personality at first glance, someone who thought the whole world revolved around her and her needs, Connor was beginning to see that there was more to her than that. He sort of admired the strength of her moral compass. Before he'd become an exorcist, he'd attended countless haunted tourist attractions and left the ghosts remaining there after he left. Of course, there were some he'd been able to help move on just by talking to them, understanding them, but the majority of the time he treated the visits like a one night stand; get in, get what you wanted, and get out. 

"You won't be in the way," Connor reassured Rio, his voice quiet and reassuring. "We'll set up a couple of fixed cameras in different parts of the room and you can handheld the rest." He turned on the GoPro that was attached to the front of his jacket, letting Rio get the tripods set up, and he made his way towards Mrs. Solt, taking a seat on the end of one of the sofas. He understood what Jasmine meant. She didn't feel ominous, just lost and confused. "I'm Connor," he introduced himself, trying to get her attention. "Did you live here a long time?"

“It is a little sad, but that’s why we’re going to help her,” Jasmine explained to Rio. If she were being honest, this was the kind of haunting she preferred. Poltergeists and possessions always resulted in some sort of pain. But this? Mrs. Solt could be banished and not have her soul destroyed. She was a sweet woman and Jasmine wished peace for her. In the same vein, that sweetness could only last for so long before she veered into instability. She shook her head and quickly added, “You definitely won’t be in the way. Though I will be staying out of the shot. The whole of the internet does not need to see me in this thing.” She held up the cast with a look of distaste on her face. 

She watched quietly as Connor interacted with the ghost, wanting to see how he spoke with her. “Nice to meet you, Connor,” Mrs. Solt said in her most endearing voice. “I have. Raised both my daughter and granddaughter here.” There was something wistful in the way she spoke as if it had been too long since she’d seen either of them. It was enough to pull at her own heartstrings, but she let Connor take direction here. Maybe a little talk would do it after all, but she knew Mrs. Solt still held out hope that her granddaughter would reappear. Come home after all these years. In this town, the missing often didn’t just show up again and Jasmine couldn’t help but think something terrible happened to her. 

Orion busied himself with setting up tripods and cameras. Since he wasn’t much help when it came to spirits, he could at least have everything ready to film just in case something happened. For now, the view was pretty similar to a lot of the filming that Rio had done since landing the job, Connor holding a conversation with an empty house.  But Rio knew the truth, even if he couldn’t see it for himself. Once the extra camera was recording from the tripod, Rio held the other camera close to his chest and tried to get some other shots from different angles just for editing options. 

"Ruin your public image, would it?" Connor teased as Jamine said she’d rather stay off-camera. He had a wry grin on his face for a moment, then he became perfectly charming as he made himself at home on the couch. Some spirits, he found, preferred it when you just acted completely normal, like you belonged. Some took it as an affront. He got the impression Mrs Solt could just use some company. She'd probably been alone here for years. 

"Really, your daughter and your granddaughter? Three generations of Solt women," he chuckled kindly. "What are they up to these days?" He trusted Rio to let the camera roll. Anything that Jasmine appeared in, they could edit. "Do you smoke, Mrs Solt?" he asked, offering her one from the packet and taking one for himself. It was a simple test, really, just to see how corporeal she was. If that didn't work, he'd offer her a mint. "Of course, I won't light one if you'd rather I didn't." 

“Exactly,” Jasmine had responded with an easy smirk on her face. She leaned against the bannister to the staircase as Rio set up the cameras. There was a proud look on her face as she watched Connor converse with Mrs. Solt with ease. Treating nonviolent spirits with respect could always go a long way. It seemed like he was really amping up the charm, too. She could practically see the posh English charm seeping in. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Solt answered somewhat quietly as she looked sadly ahead, “My daughter moved out a few years ago after little Jessie went missing. She’s in New York now.” Terrible city and no one here if Jessie ever found her way home. She looked back up to Connor with sad eyes and momentarily glanced at the cigarette. “Oh no, I shouldn’t. I haven’t had one since before Melody was born.” Then again, it was a little too late to care for her health. “Oh, what the hell, I’ll take one.” She reached for the cigarette, her fingers managing to wrap around it for only a few seconds before they simply went through it. “Silly me, I forget about that sometimes. Thank you for the offer though, sweetie.” 

“And you shouldn’t be smoking in here,” Jasmine added on. 

Even against the one sided conversation that Orion was able to see, it was evident that Connor was winning the woman over. When it came to social cues, Rio had been a wreck the majority of his life. Seeing the ease that people like Connor had with people and ghosts had always perplexed Rio. When the two had first met, Rio had spent hours watching every video that Connor had uploaded. At first he had assumed that it was a persona. Just an act that he kept up for the fans on the other side of the screen. As it turned out, Connor was just as easy going in real life. “He certainly has a way with words.” Rio spoke softly, mostly to Jasmine so he could avoid interrupting any conversation between Connor and the ghost. He had learned to talk in between the conversations, only when he knew that he could edit certain parts out. A small grin broke out across his face when the cigarette hovered for a split second before falling to the ground. Bingo. Without a second thought, Rio found himself adding onto Jasmine’s statement, “You shouldn’t be smoking at all.” It took a moment before he realized how much of a mom he sounded like and began blushing immediately, “It’s uh- bad for your health.”

"Oh," Connor's face changed. So that was why she clung on. She was holding out hope that Jessie, whoever she was, would come home. "Is Jessie your granddaughter?" he asked, puzzle pieces sliding together. He gave a sympathetic understanding smile as Mrs. Solt's hand slid through the cigarette packet. Okay, so she wasn't a spirit who was particularly prone to control over corporeal things. "Okay, well, it would be impolite of me to smoke if you can't." He put the cigarette packet back in his inside jacket pocket. "Yeah, yeah," he chuckled, waving a hand at Rio. "Sorry about my mate over there. I do lots of things that are bad for my health." He adjusted his position, leaning back, more relaxed, hoping Mrs. Solt would copy his body language. "Can you tell me about Jessie?" 

“He’s right,” Jasmine agreed as Rio mentioned he shouldn’t be smoking at all. It was a habit that Jasmine personally hated, but noticed it seemed to be popular on the other side of the sea. The smell and health dangers were enough to make her scrunch her nose. She peered over Rio’s shoulder to see what this all looked like on camera. “Huh, surprisingly good shot for not being able to see all the subject matter.” Her focus shifted back to Connor and Mrs. Solt who were conversing easily. Maybe she didn’t have any right to feel a sense of pride as she watched them, but she did all the same. Connor still had a lot to learn and he was eager to do so. Still, he showed a certain level of maturity and understanding while talking to Mrs. Solt that told Jasmine he took all of this seriously. 

“Jessie was sixteen when she went missing about five years ago,” Mrs. Solt explained through teary eyes though she could produce no real tears. She wasn’t stupid. She knew the odds and knew it was unlikely Jessie was still alive, but hope was a fickle thing. She couldn’t just let go of that. Couldn’t just let go of the idea that maybe her little girl was still out there. Who would she turn to if she did find her way back? The idea of her alone in the world or worse distressed Mrs. Solt. “I need to be here in case she comes home.” 

Even with as simple of a compliment as telling him that his camera angling was good, Orion could feel his face heating and could only imagine how bright red it was glowing at the moment. He had never been great at accepting compliments, but he was even worse at taking them from strangers. “Oh uh- Thank you. I’ve gotten a good bit of experience now trying to film stuff that I can’t see.” It was frustrating at times, only catching Connor’s side of a conversation and trying to piece the full context together. He was picking up on the reason why Mrs. Solt hadn’t left. Something to do with a missing relative, Jessie. Knowing that they were helping these spirits was still rewarding all the same. Whether Rio could see them or not. “Thanks by the way, for helping him. Connor gets super excited about all of this stuff so I know he must be thrilled to have someone else that he can learn things from.” 

He tried to fill in as much as possible, looking to the camera and telling them what Mrs Solt had said. As much as Connor enjoyed the excitement and certain level of recklessness that came with being a YouTuber for the supernatural, that didn’t mean he couldn’t equally treat a clearly sensitive situation with the respect it deserved. He could practically feel Mrs. Solt’s suffering. It hung in the air, engulfing the entire home. Her spirit was so ingrained in this place. Her loss, too. “I’m so sorry,” he said, voice soft. “Mrs. Solt, you clearly love her a great deal. But…” He had to do this sensitively. “But if Jessie is still alive, she wouldn’t be able to see you even if she did come back. And… she doesn’t know you’re here.” He reached out his hand. He couldn’t quite touch her, but he put his hand on hers all the same. “If you move on, if the worst has happened and she’s… not coming back, then she’ll be on the other side waiting for you.” 

The way Rio flushed as she complimented the shot didn’t go unnoticed by Jasmine. She was far too interested in seeing how Connor engaged with the ghost to call it out. Too many people didn’t know how to take a compliment around here. It wasn’t a problem she ever had, but she still found it mildly perplexing. Mrs. Solt was opening up to Connor and he was asking all the right questions. As it stood, they could probably do without a banishment which was always preferred. It was a gentler way to go. Her head tilted as she watched them with a soft smile on her face. She turned back to Rio and simply answered, “Of course. Connor’s a good kid. He’ll be helping me with some things, too. It only makes sense to teach him what I know.” There was also the fact it was rewarding to pass on some of what she knew to the younger generation. 

Mrs. Solt sat there quietly for a few moments. She’d never really been able to let herself believe that Jessie could be dead. For all these years, she’d held on to hope even if her heart broke every single day that Jessie didn’t return home. Somewhere in the darker corners of her mind, she knew it was unlikely Jessie was alive. She’d been missing far too long. Phantom tears rolled down her cheeks as she quietly whispered, “I know you’re right. Even just to see her alive one more time…” See the likely beautiful woman she’d grown up to be. Hear her voice. It’d be everything. If she wasn’t though, that just meant she’d kept her little girl waiting on the other side needlessly. “I think I’m ready.” She focused on letting go of the fear. Of seeing her little Jessie on the other side. There was barely time to wave as she felt herself fade away. 

Though Orion couldn’t see the ghost, he could read a room. The way that Connor’s words seemed to wind down. The deeper focus on Jasmine’s face all told him that something was happening. Something that he couldn’t hear or see or maybe even feel, but was definitely happening nonetheless. “Is something happening?” Rio asked quietly again, squinting his eyes as if doing so held any chance of him catching a glimpse of the woman the other two could so easily see. Right now, all he could do was trust that Connor was working his usual charm and doing the right thing. If they were lucky, when they reviewed the footage they would be able to capture at least a few glimpses of the experience. Even an orb or a flashing light would be enough for some of the fanbase. “Something totally just happened. Man, not being able to see ghosts is such a drag when I’m like technically a ghost hunter.” Was Rio a ghost hunter now? He didn’t really feel like one, though he supposed he did work for one. 

She passed onto her new afterlife with Connor holding onto her hand. He couldn’t quite feel her, but he knew it had helped, even if only the gesture of it. These were some of the best exorcisms to take part in. He stared silently at the spot where Mrs Solt had been just a moment before, as if saying a silent goodbye. “She’s gone,” he said, his voice tender. “She just needed a little bit of encouragement. I think she’ll be happier now.” He stood, gesturing to the area she’d have appeared on camera. “You should see some changes, right here. There’ll have been some orbs in the shot, or something that looked like dust in the air, now cleared up.” He explained both for Rio and for the audience. “There are lots of reasons people stick around after death. Sometimes they just need to say goodbye, even if it’s only mentally.” 

Moments like these were never easy, but they were always rewarding in their way. Too many people like them could forget that ghosts were once real people, too. Jasmine was proud of the way Connor handled the situation with Mrs. Solt with an amount of compassion she hoped he never lost. She nodded along slowly as Connor explained to Rio what had just happened. All she could hope was that maybe Mrs. Soly was reunited with her granddaughter again. In this town, it wasn’t likely she was alive after missing all these years. “You did well,” she told Connor as she approached and place a hand on his shoulder. It felt as if something should be done for Mrs. Solt though she wasn’t quite sure what. She simply stated, “I think I’ll maybe say a few words to honor her. She seemed like a good woman. Mrs. Solt, I hope you find peace in your new afterlife and that one day you’re reunited with both your girls. I have no doubt they never stopped feeling your love.” This always felt off, talking to the dead once they were gone, but the woman deserved some sort of remembrance. 

Turning the camera off after Connor had wrapped, Orion let his arms fall to his side so he could join the two of them. A ghost passing over always seemed like it was bittersweet. Sure, their spirit had moved on to an assumingly better place, but it also meant that they were just… gone. Never to be seen again. “Nice job!” Rio agreed with Jasmine and gave Connor a thumbs up. “I think we got some good footage too. I mean, I can’t actually see anything. But the shots all looked good.” Since it seemed like more of a teaching moment between the two, Rio busied himself by collecting the rest of the equipment and starting to pack it away. It was cool seeing them work together on something like this, both things that the two seemed to be passionate about. “Is it sad that I know the spirit in this place was good and it still creeps me out?” Rio asked once things seemed to have wrapped, “Are we done here?”

Connor nodded, solemn but hopeful. Today had been a good one, and he didn’t get many of those these days. “Yeah. We’re done.”

[texanredrose]

Last One - Chapter One

Author’s Note: I’ve warned y’all. Don’t worry, though, if you choose to read, it’s not that scary really.

---

Yang drew in a deep breath, trying to acclimate herself to the cooler temperatures of late autumn in Atlas. Having only moved to the kingdom a few months prior, she found the adaptation curve a bit… steep. Despite the similarities from sharing a global culture, there were some nuances to Atlas as a kingdom that she hadn’t really gotten used to quite yet, and the climate was just one of them.

She was acclimating, though, bit by bit. Yang had secured a job, settled in with her girlfriend alright, and even made a few new friends. Kept in touch with her old ones, of course- Blake and Weiss touched base every week, Ruby every other day, Coco and Velvet when they could, Ren and Nora- but had a lot of things going for her now. Things… were looking up.

As her train pulled into the station, Yang shifted the bag on her shoulder and waited for the door to open. Normally, she’d want to ride her motorcycle to work, but that chill in the air cut straight through even her thickest jacket; definitely something she’d have to leave for the warmer months. It bummed her out but it was worth it, in the end.

Yang stepped onto the train as her scroll began to ring, fishing it out of her bag while standing off to one side and grabbing one of the overhead handholds. A smile curled her lips as she read the contact name, flicking open her scroll to see her girlfriend’s visage. “Hey, Snowdrift.”

“Good morning, Sundrop.” Winter smiled wide, light in her eyes as the line connected. “On your way to work?”

“I am.” She turned the screen, showing the station as a few more commuters stepped on before the doors closed. “How’s your day going so far?”

“Tediously. I’m not a fan of paperwork.” Her expression scrunched up, in that way Yang took to mean ‘I say I don’t like it but I kinda do, but I don’t want to admit that because it’s lame’ and that made her smother a chuckle every time she saw it. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a few meetings today and by the sounds of it, the majority will run long, so I’m going to be late coming home.”

“That’s alright. It sounds like it’ll be a late night for me, too.” She shrugged. “Sounds like one of the other tutors called in sick and I have to cover down. Don’t really know how long it’s gonna take; Mr. Ozpin explained it to me like the kids don’t go to school at all, so I’ve got a lot of subjects to cover.”

A frown touched her girlfriend’s lips. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? I know teaching is your dream, Sundrop, but this doesn’t seem to be exactly what you had in mind.”

“It’s not long term, and they know that.” Again, she couldn’t help but shrug, brushing off the woman’s concern. “I’d rather have something to do while I wait for Atlas to approve my teaching license and this homeschooling thing is the only agency that recognizes Vale’s certification.”

“Which, honestly, is ridiculous.” Winter’s expression shifted into what Yang would call a pout, though she would only do so teasingly. “It’s a standardized test across the five kingdoms; why Atlas insists on a separate validation is beyond me.”

At that, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you want the honest answer or the nice answer?”

“Just because we both know why doesn’t mean I can’t express my vexation with it.” Her annoyance slid away, blue eyes glancing off to the side before rolling. “Ah, it appears I am needed. Let me know if you need anything; depending on who gets home first, picking up dinner or delivery might be the best option.”

Yang raised a brow. “Already tired of my cooking?” 

“Oh, don’t you start.” Despite the light reprimand, Winter smiled softly. “I adore your cooking but I also adore cuddling, and neither of us will rest if there are dishes that need washing.”

“Hmmm, keep sweet-talking me and I won’t be able to focus on lessons.”

“Well, we can’t have that, now.” Glancing around, the woman raised her other hand to her mouth and blew a kiss. “I love you, Sundrop.”

“Love you, too, Snowdrift.” She waved. “I’ll call you if I get a break.”

As she collapsed her scroll back down, Yang’s gaze caught on her reflection in the train’s window. Granted, she probably didn’t look as ‘professional’ as most private tutors would; a nice set of black slacks, a white button up, a purple tie that complemented her eyes rather nicely, and some good leather shoes got her close but she’d never been able to tame her hair, the blonde strands curling and sticking out every which way. It didn’t look like she hadn’t brushed it, just that her style tended towards ‘wild’ which… while not entirely inaccurate, wasn’t the whole truth, either. Add to that her slightly crooked nose from a boxing match in her youth and a stature that better suited the common perception of a bodybuilder than a teacher- basically, she didn’t blame people for being skeptical when she introduced herself as having her teacher’s license in Vale and a master’s from Beacon University to boot.

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame it just a bit as the train rattled down the tracks, passing through one of the few tunnels on this route. Before she could head to the house, she had to stop by the office and get the full details from Mr. Ozpin regarding the job itself. He hadn’t explained much over the phone, seeing as this came across as an emergency of some sort, but she imagined there’d be more information when she reached the home office. Since Yang only had one regular client, her work thus far had centered mostly on group sessions at a private school on the north side of the city, where the upper crust lived.

Yang cleared her throat and straightened out her tie, trying to keep her nerves from getting the better of her. Among some of the differences in Atlas she’d encountered, the differences between upper class and middle class were… stark. Generally, people stuck to their ‘side of the fence’, which she didn’t really get, considering Vale’s far more lax social structure.

Every time she started thinking about how she would never ‘fit in’ or ‘pass’ among Atlas’ social elite, she remembered that her girlfriend was not only born in that environment, she was raised to be near the top of the social ladder and walked away from it of her own volition. It made her feel so lucky, because beneath some of her rougher edges and her cool demeanor, Winter was passionate and warm and beautiful and she couldn’t imagine where she’d be without their paths crossing.

Aside from, well, warmer, but that was a minor thing.

Once she got to her stop, Yang hopped off the train and made her way to the office building. The agency she worked for owned only a small section of the building multiplex, containing only a few full time positions and three conference rooms for meetings. It paid well enough, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to be doing. She considered it a stepping stone to the life she wanted to build in Atlas.

Opening the glass door with the agency’s name on it- Maiden Education, a silly pun she could appreciate- Yang went to the doorway leading into Mr. Ozpin’s office and politely knocked on the doorjamb.

“Hmmm?” Mr. Ozpin turned, green eyes lighting up upon seeing her. “Ah, Miss Xiao Long, come in. Thank you for understanding; this is… a unique situation.”

“It’s no problem; I’m happy to help,” she replied, stepping into the small office and sitting down. Mr. Ozpin’s desk was a haphazard collection of papers, just barely shuffled into piles, and his shaggy silvered hair bespoke of a charmingly frazzled appearance. It was one of the reasons she opted to take the job; she rather liked having someone who understood that life happened and appearances weren’t everything. “So, what’s the skinny?”

“This is one of our more… unique clients, to put it simply.” He shuffled a few papers before pulling out a folder from one of the stacks and opening it up. “They recently moved to Atlas and, up until now, Ms. Goodwitch had been handling their case.”

That surprised Yang more than the call asking her to cover down. “Wait, Glynda? She’s sick? I thought nothing short of a natural disaster could stop her from coming into work.”

Glynda Goodwitch had overseen her short probationary period with the agency. Strict, terse, and exacting, the woman exuded the confidence of an experienced and unflappable teacher who’d seen it all and done it all. She honestly couldn’t imagine how sick she had to be to stay home.

“Frankly, I’m assuming she’s sick; I haven’t been able to get her on the phone and she usually stops by the office before heading out to this particular house.” He sighed. “This isn’t like her, but she’s confided in me within the past two weeks, and I have reason to believe her absence is health related.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Worry pinched her brow. “I hope she’s alright.”

“I do, too.” Mr. Ozpin shook his head, then glanced down at the file. “At any rate, the house is on the north side of town- quite remote. I’m afraid your scroll will have spotty reception at best.”

She cringed. “Damn, I guess I should’ve rode to work this morning. I took the train.”

“Not to worry; you can use my car for today. I likely won’t be leaving, considering how much paperwork I’ve yet to do.” He gestured at one of the stacks and she had to assume that was his ‘to-do’ pile. “Once you arrive, you’ll meet with your students: Roman, Cinder, Mercury, and Emerald.”

“Okay. I can work with four kids. What are their ages?”

“Ah, no, they’re all adults- orphans who banded together and formed something of a family. They’ve come to Atlas to start a new life and need assistance studying for the equivalency exams.”

That set her at ease a bit; while her specialty leaned more heavily into sciences, Yang had just completed her own equivalency exam so she could submit for her license, so she more than understood all the red tape involved. “I can see why you called me.”

“Honestly, I debated on giving you these clients initially, but I thought it might be a bit too much for you to start with.” Mr. Ozpin gave her an apologetic look. “Ms. Goodwitch is one of my longest-standing employees and an excellent educator; she’d dealt with similar clients in the past, I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh, I don’t take any offense.” She chuckled, waving off his explanation. “She’s definitely one of the best colleagues I’ve ever worked with.”

Mr. Ozpin smiled and nodded, folding up the file and holding it out to her. “Here, take this just in case. Ms. Goodwitch has their lesson plans outlined here; you’ll spend two hours with all four of them, then thirty minutes with each. After you’ve completed their tutoring, come back here and I’ll drive you home.”

Yang accepted the file with a smile. “Sounds pretty straightforward. I won’t let you down, Mr. Ozpin.”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

With the file and Mr. Ozpin’s keys in hand, Yang headed for the door. While she hoped Ms. Goodwitch’s health improved, she saw this as an opportunity to prove herself in a sense. If she could continue tutoring the family until Ms. Goodwitch returned, it would surely look good on her resume when her license finally came through. As she jumped into Mr. Ozpin’s car, she sent a quick text apprising Winter of the situation, just so the woman wouldn’t worry. Then, she plugged in the address and studied the map just in case her scroll lost signal before she got there. Within a few minutes, she had a pretty solid grasp on where she was going, pulling out of Mr. Ozpin’s spot and heading towards the north side of the city.

[hr][/hr]

About half an hour later, Yang pulled up in front of a rather spacious mansion- not entirely uncommon for the northern side of Atlas- and let out a low whistle as she put the car into park. It reminded her of her girlfriend’s childhood home, which she’d only visited a handful of times. Winter and Weiss both complained about how all the space made them feel crushingly alone and both sought to escape it, though she imagined the sisters had a very different life experience than her four prospective students. For four people who didn’t have any family aside from each other, having such a large place to call their home might give them a sense of security or peace.

The woman got out of the car with her bag and the file securely within, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves before starting towards the door.

However, her step faltered as she took another look at the house and noticed something… odd. From the ground level, it looked like some of the second floor windows were broken while others were boarded up or obscured in some manner. The first floor looked better but every curtain was drawn shut which seemed… strange. Then again, she was the sort of person who loved letting natural sunlight illuminate a room. Still, it seemed strange that such a large house sat in a state of relative disrepair with four people living inside. Maybe they were trying to renovate it?

No matter what justification she offered within the privacy of her own mind, Yang had to put all that aside and present herself the same way Ms. Goodwitch would. From the trials and internships she’d taken as part of her teaching degree, she understood that anyone familiar with a teacher suddenly subjected to someone different had an ingrained reaction to distrust the newcomer; as long as she didn’t make waves, she’d be able to continue with the lesson plans Ms. Goodwitch had set forth without trouble.

After she marshaled her thoughts, though, she then took a few more steps forward and saw the front door slightly ajar. 

Alarm bells began to ring, putting her on high alert. A reasonable explanation pushed to the forefront of her mind- they were expecting Ms. Goodwitch, so they might leave the door open for her and just hadn’t closed it when she was running late- but that didn’t ease the sudden anxiety curling in the pit of her stomach. This just all seemed so... strange.

“Hello?” she called out while slowly advancing to the door, peering inside. From what she could tell, nothing looked too out of place- no sign of a struggle within the expansive foyer- but that didn’t exactly mean much, considering the size of the house. Between the remote location and lack of scroll service, she felt reasonably confident that there hadn’t been some sort of burglary; aside from the car Mr. Ozpin lent her, there wasn’t another around for miles. “I’m from the Maiden Education Agency. Ms. Goodwitch wasn’t able to make it today, so…”

When no answer came, she carefully pushed the front door open a bit further and stepped into the mansion.

The interior looked like it was in the process of being updated, with a fresh coat of paint in a few places and crumbling wallpaper elsewhere. A few boxes sat by the staircase leading up to the second floor, next to some cans of paint and rollers leaning up against the banister. A coat rack on one side of the foyer had a white coat and black bowler hung on two of the pegs, plus a pink umbrella on the third peg, which seemed to indicate someone was home.

“Hello?” She took a few more cautious steps into the foyer, trying to check around the corners. Every now and again, Winter would show her videos of the training exercises she conducted with the Atlesian military, and she tried to apply those principles now. Listening intently, she crept to the doorway leading towards what she assumed to be the living room, peeking into the room carefully.

What she saw confused her. On the one hand, it looked like a living room or den in the middle of being remodeled, but the way things were strewn about didn’t seem like they had a purpose or plan. It looked like a mess.

Before she could enter the room, she caught the sound of a stifled cry coming from behind her, prompting her to look back around and into the room on the other side of the foyer. Judging by the size, it probably served a similar purpose- a living room or den or something- but it hadn’t been remodeled yet, just new furniture set inside a room with crumbling wallpaper and discolored carpet. Two couches, a loveseat, a few arm chairs, and a coffee table sat in the middle of the room, away from the walls, as if in preparation for the walls to be repainted.

“Is anyone there?” She tried again, moving towards the other room. “I’m Ms. Xiao Long, from the Maiden Education Agency. I’m subbing for Ms. Goodwitch.”

Again, she heard the stifled cry, and followed the sound to its source, looking behind the couch and finding a young woman probably close to her age, curled up with her knees hugged to her chest. Yang slowly lowered herself down onto one knee and softened her voice.

“Hey, my name’s Yang. Are you Emerald?” She looked like the picture from the file but… rougher, mint green hair that fell to her shoulders looking unwashed and unkempt, her shirt and jeans ripped and dirty. “Hey?”

When she reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder, she flinched and looked at Yang then with wide, terrified red eyes, tears streaking her dirty cheeks. The moment she seemed to register that there was someone there, though, a bit of light came back to her eyes. “Who are you?”

“Yang, Yang Xiao Long. I’m subbing for Ms. Goodwitch.” She took a glance around. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Gone,” she replied, her hands trembling as her gaze shifted up, looking towards the ceiling. “They’re… they’re all gone. It’s just me.”

Yang’s brows furrowed, looking towards the ceiling briefly. “Is there a landline? Some way to call for help?”

“No one can help me now.” Emerald started shaking her head as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “She left me for last.” Then, she grabbed Yang’s arm, clutching at her feebly. “Don’t look her in the eyes. That’s when she comes for you- that’s when she knows she has you. Don’t look her in the eyes.”

“Who? Who is ‘she’?” Although the grip on her arm didn’t hurt, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, as if her entire body could sense there was something not right about the woman before her.

“I-I don’t know, we never learned her name. We just-”

Thunk.

Yang looked back up to the ceiling, furrowing her brows. It sounded like something heavy had been dropped on the floor above them but, if they were the only ones there, then what had dropped and how? Emerald released her arm, curling back in on herself and crying softly.

Whatever had happened here, Yang quickly surmised she needed some help. Reaching into her bag, she retrieved her scroll to find it had no signal. With a frown, she stood up and looked around, spotting what looked like a wall-mounted vid screen in the next room over. With any luck, that had a landline connection and she could call for help.

Moving into the next room, she saw more evidence of the remodeling in progress- a dining room set and rolls of carpet, more paint cans and spare lumber- but thankfully found the vid screen had a connection. Dialing Atlas’ emergency services line, Yang waited for the operator to connect the call while looking up at the ceiling.

“Atlas Emergency Response, where is your emergency?”

That pulled her gaze back to the screen, finding one of Atlas’ finest staring at the screen. Quickly, she gave the address and a brief explanation of why she was there and what she’d found, glancing over to the living room to find Emerald still curled up behind the couch. After being assured police and medical services were on the way, the call ended and Yang considered going outside to wait for them.

“Hey, Emerald?” She went back to the living room and knelt down beside the woman again, keeping her voice soft. “Why don’t we go outside, yeah? Help is on the way; you’re gonna be okay.”

“No, no, no.” With a shake of her head, red eyes focused again on the ceiling. “I can’t run anymore. It won’t work.”

“Emerald, listen, it’s okay-”

Thunk.

She looked at the ceiling, brows furrowed as the woman’s crying renewed.

“Emerald, is there anyone else here?”

“No. Just me. I’m the last one.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “The last one.”

“Then what was that noise?”

Emerald slowly shook her head and hugged herself tighter, crying more fervently. 

Yang stood up. Whatever had happened, obviously the woman wouldn’t recover for a long time. 

Lilac eyes strayed towards the ceiling, curiosity nipping at her. “Emerald, are you the last one here? Or the last one alive?” When no answer came, she looked back to the woman, who watched her with terror. “Nod if the first one.” She didn’t. “Nod for the second.”

Slowly, Emerald nodded, confirming Yang’s suspicion.

Okay, so the others had died on the second floor, and finding them dead had scared Emerald shitless.

But… what was that sound, then?

“Are you sure they’re dead?”

“They’re gone.”

“Emerald-”

“They’re gone.”

Yang sighed, glancing back towards the ceiling. On the one hand, she could wait until the cops showed up and hope they’d tell her that there was nothing she could have done. On the other, she could go up there and confirm for herself. Otherwise, she’d always wonder if she’d waited outside while someone slowly died on the second floor.

Pulling out her scroll, Yang flicked it over to the camera setting to start a recording. Just in case the cops had any questions about what she had touched. Then, she started for the main staircase, taking the first step cautiously.

“Don’t look her in the eyes,” Emerald said, still hiding behind the couch.

“Right.” 

With a heavy sigh, she continued up the stairs, seeing more signs of the deteriorating walls and holding her scroll to document her journey to the second floor. Once she reached the landing, Yang looked both ways down the hall, finding several doors slightly ajar. She turned right, heading down that way seeing as it was above the living room where Emerald was still huddled. The floorboards beneath her feet creaked and groaned, just as she imagined an old mansion would, but that didn’t settle her nerves any.

As she reached the last room on the left, directly above where she’d been standing in the living room, a stench hit her nose that made her gag. On some level, she realized that the smell alone confirmed no one inside the room was alive, but her conscience wouldn’t rest without seeing it with her own two eyes.

So, against her better judgement, Yang pushed open the door.

She swallowed hard as her heart pounded in her chest, her body breaking out in a cold sweat.

Two corpses lay lifelessly on the ground, their eyes open wide in their final death stare. One of them a man- Roman, with orange hair just like his picture- and the other a woman, with pink and brown strands framing her face, and heterochromatic eyes that matched her dual colored hair. Both of them had crumpled to the floor, heads at odd angles with ropes around their necks. Looking up, Yang saw a wooden beam stretching from one side of the room to the other, rope still tied in two places above the bodies. They were both dressed rather well, as if they’d been preparing to go out for a night on the town among the upper crust.

Now, they were dead. Lying there, motionless.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling the door closed and shaking herself. Passing a hand over her face, she wiped away the sweat that had formed on her brow and turned around, spotting another door. While she didn’t know anything about the woman with heterochromia, she’d accounted for two of the four people she knew resided in the house. That still left two for her to find.

Going across the hall, she pushed the door open while holding her breath, relieved when she stepped into an empty bedroom with a few sleeping bags laid out on cots. The next two rooms she checked were similarly devoid of people- one had a mass of furniture collected in the middle and the other completely barren- but the third on the other side of the hall from the staircase made her gut clench.

It looked like Mercury, with well-groomed silver hair, his eyes wide open while his body slumped against the far wall in yet another empty room. Given the angle of his head, his neck was snapped by something, though he didn’t have a rope to explain how he’d died. He was wearing jeans and a jacket, both well worn, and heavy boots- he looked like he might’ve been working on painting the room before whatever happened to him, considering the ladder nearby.

“What the fuck,” she said, her voice soft as she closed the door. With the empty rooms she’d left the doors open, to make it easier for the cops when they arrived. A numbness started spreading through her as she mechanically walked to the next few rooms, leaving their doors open. When she came to the last at the end of the hall, she had a feeling she knew exactly what she would find, but opened it anyway.

Unlike the other rooms, this one was entirely furnished and remodeled. Dark red on the walls, black carpet, and a four-poster bed- the interior decor choices unnerved her almost as much as the woman’s stare, raven hair cascading over her shoulder as she hung there, knees just an inch or so shy of the edge of the bed, rope around her neck connected to a wire frame for the canopy overhead. She wore a black robe over a red nightgown, as if she was just getting ready for bed when…

Even without make-up or a smirk, Yang recognized the woman as Cinder, the last of the unaccounted-for orphans.

She hit the button on her scroll, stopping the recording as she pulled the door closed. Her hand trembled but she tried to keep a hold on herself, stumbling back towards the staircase landing. In the distance, through the broken mirrors, she could hear the approaching sirens of the police or the ambulance, only one of which was actually needed. Yang moved closer to one of the windows, the broken one, seeing as the other was covered almost in its entirety.

Carefully, mindful of the jagged edges of the glass, she watched as patrol cars began winding their way towards the manor with an ambulance following closely. Soon, the cops would be here and start sorting through… whatever had happened. Even having seen it with her own eyes, she couldn’t begin to process it. Too numb from the shock of it all. 

Four people dead, and one half crazed for some reason.

As she started to turn away, she caught something in the broken glass. A reflection of the landing behind her, but there was someone standing there. Short hair and a cloak of some sort? Yang turned, expecting to find Emerald, but instead saw a woman with brown hair and garish bruises on her neck, expression twisted by rage, and wide brown eyes. She opened her mouth and screamed, a terrifying sound that came out strangled and broken and screeching and Yang jumped back while putting her hands over her ears, trying to make it stop.

When it did, she took shuddering breaths while looking at the top of the staircase. The woman wasn’t there anymore but a little red book sat on the top step where she’d been standing.

“Who the fuck…” She looked around, unsure of where the strange woman had gone, and cautiously made her way to the staircase. Kneeling down, she picked up the book- a diary, by the looks of it- as the sounds of sirens drew closer. She shoved it in her bag while hurrying down the steps, turning into the living room to grab Emerald so they could both get out of the house before that strange woman-

Yang came to a dead stop, her heart stuttering in her chest as her eyes went wide.

From the center of the ceiling, a rope extended down, though she couldn’t tell where it was anchored. Then again, she wasn’t really looking, more fixated on Emerald’s dead stare as she hung lifelessly, the rope around her throat tight until- for some reason- it detached from its anchor point and she fell, crashing onto the coffee table below.

Immediately, Yang turned and booked it out the front door, tripping on the doorway in her haste and having to catch herself with her hands, her legs never stopping. She somehow got back to her feet and ran to the other side of Mr. Ozpin’s car, turning around to ensure no one had followed her out even as she heard the patrol cars and ambulance come up behind her, pulling through the circular drive.

As she desperately tried to catch her breath, lilac eyes roved over the house, stopping at the window she’d looked out on the second floor. There, she saw the strange woman again, watching her for a moment and gone in a blink of an eye. Yet, even with her gone, Yang could still feel herself being watched.

Even as the cops got out of their cars, even as the paramedics came to check her out, even as she stuttered and stumbled through her explanation of what happened, she could feel it.

She was being watched.

[sawyersscribbles]

Eden’s Horizon (Part 2) My WIP

Hi again! I thought since I’ve made some good progress on my wip that I may as well post it on here! (You can check out the first part here, it’s not that long) *sigh* here’s the trust, I was convinced by @shipthedame that maybe this whole project wasn’t all for nothing, so I’m hoping this next post is satisfying! Without further adieu, heeeere we go!

Eden Academy was as secluded in the forest as Zenith’s home. Just to arrive to school, she drove her brother’s car, alone, until the rows of trees on either side of the trail gave way to a majestic grandfatherly building that reminded her more of an ancient estate than a place of learning. “Teachers” had since been abolished, and all learning was done online. Using AIs to teach youth was, in the government's opinion as well as her parents, more efficient. Human error in general was just too great a risk to bare. That was why Cylo was reluctant to send her in the first place, but living in this dead zone meant that contact with any of her old teachers would be impossible. She didn’t exactly miss them, but having a definitive source of information was better than having a person. On the other hand, she had never before had to interact with another adult other than her brother’s commanders and their wives. “It’ll be new.” Zenith told herself. She eased her foot off the gas and twisted her neck out the window to look up at the huge clock town resting quietly atop the school building, if one could even call it that. “It’ll be good.” Upon closer examination, the building was much less old and terrible than she expected. It was small, maybe only the size of a fancy house, but every window was lit, and in some, Zenith could even see the backs of some people pressing against the glass. The exterior was made of old bricks that looked crumbly on the outside. Zenith reached out with her left hand to touch the school walls, but when she saw her titanium fingers long for the stones, she retracted. “Miss! Zenith Maruzzo! I can…oh goodness…I can see a new student from afar.” The woman running up to her was wheezing a bit from jogging a small bit of a distance. She was a rather large woman with short legs and a wide abdomen. Her leggings fit her nicely, though. “My name is Ms. LeBlanc, and you’ll be seeing a lot of me in the coming years. I’m head principal of Eden Academy, and my sole purpose of the day is to, well, make you feel as comfortable as I can here.” Ms. LeBlanc’s eyes shifted towards the entrance of the school for only a moment before darting back to meet Zenith’s eyes as if she got distracted. She took Zenith’s hand and shook it tentatively. “I’m very interested in your comings and goings here, Miss Maruzzo, and I hope we can get along and stay safe at the same time.” There was no command to walk with her, but Zenith followed the lady’s slow strides to the front of the building. Ms. LeBlanc waddled a bit as she walked, something she hadn’t seen much of before. "Let's... let's not go into the building right this second. There'll be classes soon and I suppose it'll be best if I just show you around." Ms. LeBlanc looked up to a window and made eye contact with one of the students. Zenith couldn't see exactly who they were or what they looked, but the student held their hands close to their mouth and reached for the student beside them, as if calling for help without wanting to leave Zenith and their principal alone. The student stopped taking notes on a set of paper and leaned back. They were startled as well, noticeably jumping a bit at the sight of them both. That student set down their pencil immediately and shouted something at everyone else. Soon, all the students off the class were congregating by the window, some cupping their hands over their eyes to see more clearly, some feeling so sickened that they backed away from the window entirely. "Is something the matter, Miss?" Ms. LeBlanc asked Zenith, who was backing away like a wild animal towards the rotating doors. "They're staring at me. Why are they doing that?" Ms. LeBlanc's eyes were set down and she breathed in deeply. "That's the right attitude, dear." She mumbled solemnly and pushed through the double doors. "First, we're going to have to do something about the obvious." She nodded towards Zenith's arm. It flashed a bit in the fluorescent light of the main hall, but Zenith was proud of herself for her marvel of engineering, a limb that was made by the best and all her own. "We'll put a glove or something over it, isn't that right? Do you have a set of your own, or should I give some to you to borrow?" The temperature in Vela was always comfortable, and Zenith had only seen gloves as props of movie studios. They were either hard and rugged, leather and cool, fingerless and edgy, but stylish, or elegant and long, made of satin. There were no other categories. "I need a glove." She admitted. Ms. LeBlanc nodded as she turned around and went to fetch something in her office. "Wait right there, dear, I have something that'll just fit!" Ms. LeBlanc was the type of lady to have fancy things. Her skirt shone like metal and the colors were slightly dullish in color but still felt homey and safe. Surely she had ball gown gloves, the ones that would fit over your fingers and seem effortless, like they weren't there at all. Instead, the principal's dreadlocks bounced behind her as she skipped towards Zenith, black gloves in hand. "These are black leather gloves made right here on a farm where we also get our meat. I think your aesthetic really matches these, all hard and cool but still sweet and fluffy, because look..." The gloves were turned inside out, and on the interior was tufts of white fur. "It's rabbit's fur." LeBlanc explained, "and it's the softest thing you'll ever put on those pretty fingers you got.” After putting it on for the first time, Zenith confirmed that these were, in fact, the softest things that she had ever worn on those pretty little fingers of hers, if you could call them that. Ms. LeBlanc looked pleased. Actually, more than pleased. So pleased that in fact she squealed a bit with delight and stamped her feet in happiness. "Oh honey, my little brain went a-turning! We've got to get you some new gear!" The only clothes that Zenith had ever worn was restricted to dresses of one solid color each or thin pants and a t-shirt of different colors, if she wanted. "Shop, as in, pick out stuff...for me?” "Yes!" She exclaimed! "And...not to eat? That's as far as my selection abilities go, I think." Ms. LeBlanc made a little clicking noise with her mouth that didn't sound pleased. "A shame what the city dwellers go through. Let me guess, you're from Persei?” "Vela. It's one of the big ones, I can see how you could get confused." Zenith admitted. Suddenly, she was being pulled down the halls making much more commotion with her feet than she intended. The room was quiet other than the clacking of her shoes and the slow but purposeful little jog that had become Zenith's favorite thing about her new principal. "I've got everything you could ever want, but in a size too big. Town's a little far, and I do want to inject you into a class like the cure to the flu at some point today, but right now I'm setting off the vibes." It took only a couple minutes for Ms. LeBlanc to decide exactly what Zenith's "vibe" was. She decided, in her professional opinion of aspiring to look good in heels, that the best way to dress for Zenith's facial structure and color palette was "edgy like hard-to-get-but-quite-the-interesting-prize but not edgy like I-drink-the-blood-of-cats-and-listen-to-screamo type edgy, you feel?". By the end of the session, Ms. LeBlanc was nearly in tears. "Oh, darling..." She walked up slowly to Zenith and put her cracked hands on her shoulders, which were now above her, and sniffed. "You look on fire right now." Instead of the lavender dress and white flats in which she had come, Zenith's feet sported combat books with dark purple laces "just to give it that extra little uumf", dark jeans that "weren't exactly skinny but still made your legs like Beyonce", a dark purple undershirt, a black leather jacket, and her brand new rabbit gloves to match. "Praise the lord for this gift of fashion in which you have bestowed to me!" Ms. LeBlanc yelled to the heavens and threw her hands up in success. She cupped her hands to her mouth, blew a kiss into it, and held up the "okay" sign. "You're my greatest work. Ever! Okay, fun and games are over, I've got to show you off to the world." Zenith was pushed out of the room, practically not even moving her own legs, and arrived up the halls before she could protest. “This is a lot bigger on the inside, huh?” Zenith chuckled nervously partially to initiate conversation but partially to drown out the clapping of her shoes against the ground. The ceilings were arched like the inside of a museum, and where ancient masterpieces would have been on the walls, student art was hanging among the artisan crafted vases and fancy plates on the walls. “It looks as if someone lives here.” “Someone did,” Ms. LeBlanc admitted. “This building has been a couple of things in the past, from a church to a home to a museum to this, but now we learn here, much to my amazement,” she added at the end under her breath. One door especially sounded obnoxious on the inside, as if the door was the opening of a box that trapped in the shrieks of children and the exasperated moans of the teacher. “I’m gonna put you kind of into the eye of the storm here, baby.” Ms. LeBlanc had to speak up to beat out the other sounds. Zenith went on her toes a bit to see inside the classroom. “No!” The principal whisper-yelled and pulled her down from the line of sight. Ms. LeBlanc’s eyes were wide and fearful for a moment before loosening and relaxing as she breathed in slowly. “Let me handle this at first. I need to become a principal again. She straightened her spine, leaned a bit on her heels, held her chin up, and closed and opened her eyes very slowly. Quietly, almost under her breath, Ms. LeBlanc whispered something so faint Zenith almost didn’t catch it. Come on, Darla. It’s showtime. With gusto, the door swung open and Ms. LeBlanc stepped into what felt like a portal, disappearing through the door and delivering her speech. Her voice became so loud and commanding that Zenith didn’t even need to press her ear against the wall to understand her. “Mr. Juarez’s class, my favorite students.” The notes were flat, but LeBlanc was trying to pull through. The class showed their appreciation by chanting softly and banging on the desks, “free period…free period…” but something the principal must have done shut them down in an instant. “We, or should I say you, have a new student joining in on the Eden experience today. She goes by the name Zenith and only Zenith to those of you skilled in the art of, let’s call it... poking fun at certain elements of our physical appearance, Mr. Logan Sherman.” No one snickered or even made a sound other than shoes clacking on the ground or obviously loud earbuds tucked under sleeves. “I expect respect and understanding, as I do from all students. Now, I’d like to see Kinza Hajjar for only a moment outside.” There was a moan of wood on tiling and a girl looking unlike anything Zenith had ever seen trailing behind Ms. LeBlanc. She wore a cloth over her head,covering up all her hair, but was very skilled in how she wore her makeup around her blue eyes, the most defining feature about her. Under sleeves, smudged numbers and letters spidered their way up her wrists and to her forearms. “Miss Kinza, this is your new good friend Zenith Maruzzo. I hope you’ll get acquainted to each other soon as well…” Miss LeBlanc leaned down to the girls and whispered, “Zenith, don’t you worry baby, Kinza is such a sweetheart once you get past the stink eyes.” Kinza seemed to make no reaction, only closing her eyes and sucking in a breath. “I’m sure we’ll be quite good friends. Allow me to accept my newest classmate into my friendship circle of zero. Mom.” Although Kinza and Miss LeBlanc shared none of the same features, the principal still smiled warmly and set her hand on her student’s shoulder, almost as a loving gesture. “That’s the attitude, smart ‘a’. Now you two get back on in there and really show off Zenith to the rest of your friends. Make her feel less like an outcast.” Kinza scoffed. “Of course I’m the loser who has to show this chick how not to be a loser. I’ll manipulate the crowd, but only for you, Darla.” The principal’s first name rolled right off of Kinza’s tongue, as if she had used it a thousand times. Zenith stared at her in awe as she stormed back into the room, not even checking if Zenith was going to follow. After a moment, she waddled in behind her and stood awkwardly to the side as Kinza delivered the second speech of the class’s day. “Hey, so this is Zenith, she’s alright, I think. Don’t be a dick to her, or I’ll encrypt piano cat into every one of your projects.” She said it in an even and steady tone, but something told Zenith that she probably wasn’t kidding. All eyes weren’t centered on Kinza like she had hoped, but rather focused on her in fear. Every student had their back straight against their chairs and either looked distraught or angry at her. One girl closer to the middle looked like she was about to break out into tears. Slight dribble was coming out of her nose, but she fiercely swiped it away and tried to stop her face from going pink, which was flushing against her Italian skin. When she noticed that Zenith was looking in her direction, she immediately went to staring out the window. “Um, hi everybody. It’s nice to meet you all, heh.” Her faux smile did nothing to lighten the mood, and it was only then that Zenith recognize that the class was wearing an array of colors which she had never seen in clothing before. It was incredible to see a rainbow of dyes instead of washed out pastels. “I’m from Vela, the City Where the Future Breathes, which is kind of cool.” She half expected a part of the class to seem amused or at least smile. She didn’t know anyone who wasn’t from Vela, so if these people didn’t grow up there, where could they have possibly come from? “And…I have a brother, Cylo, and he’s nineteen and in the military.” The tone of the class changed at the word “brother”. The students eased a little, some even resting their chins on their hands in a cradle and stretching their legs under their desks. “So yeah, we got sent here to hand out food or whatever the military does these days and…so, yeah. It’s kind of like that.” The first to start clapping was a boy far in the front. He wore a face of mock concern and began clapping slowly, obnoxiously, from what she could tell, and the looked behind him to get the class going. “Come on, guys, a hand for Zenith! We love you Zenith!” It clearly made him uncomfortable that no one was following him, but pride lasted longer than silence, so he stayed that way, by himself, for a few moments. “Yo, so are you gonna tell you the real reason why you’re here?” Just like that, the class was tense again. Even Ms. LeBlanc wore a face of anguish as she dragged the boy out, practically literally by the ear. A once talkative room seemed to be decimated to a silent warzone of terrified looks and anxious ticks. Zenith’s dread began to pour hot and sticky on her body like the swamp muck she had seen on her way to the academy, and she tried to back away but the staring wouldn’t stop. “Thank you, Zenith, we’re very happy to have you with us.” A male teacher in the back who hadn’t spoken yet clapped his hands on his desk before pushing away his chair and standing. He had big glasses and wooly brown hair which matted in places, but that was the only uncleanly thing about him. Otherwise, he wore a button down shirt and pastel cargo shorts. If Zenith didn’t know better, she would have guessed Mr. Juarez was a philosophy teacher who walked around with no shoes and asked the class to call him “Scott” like in the movies. “If you nerds don’t mind, I’m gonna ramble about the classics for a little while.” He muttered while writing the words “Of Mice And Men” on the board. “Guys, get your computers ready.” A boy in the back began whispering to the people closest to him. Zenith swiveled in her chair and noticed that as there information kept getting passed on, eyes began getting glued to the loudspeaker next to the clock, which was a cross-hatched hole covered by metal mesh. She hadn’t seen such old technology since her museum tours in fifth grade. “Computers ready,” Kinza nodded to her as she removed her own from her bag.” “What computers? You each have your own? My family usually shares—“ “Shut up!” Kinza cried and clapped her hand over Zenith’s mouth. She shot out of her seat while simultaneously raising her hand. “Mr. Juarez, Zenith doesn’t have a computer!” Mr. Juarez apparently failed to see the severity of the situation that Kinza saw, but he turned around to face her all the same. “Kinza, I get that technology is important for you kids these days, as it has been for the generation before you and the one before them, but getting a computer while I’m trying to talk about Lenny’s character development isn’t going to help too much.” At this point, Kinza was practically boiling over, hopping on her toes and biting her lips, first the bottom one and then the top, after she got tired of tearing herself raw. “Come on, let her be a…wait, I know it… al-musinun? Right? Way to not sound like Al-Qaeda, Islam.” Logan spoke to the ceiling, as if he imagined there to be something there. The girl behind him hit him on the head, not in a playful way but hard and angry, His head lurched forward, nearly hitting his desk. “Make fun of someone’s belief system again, you freak! I fucking dare you to, come on!” She screamed at him, not angry or loud enough to unclench the balls in Kinza’s fists, though. She looked at the ground and visibly took long and labored breaths, but when she finally raised her head, her eyes were tearless, bright, and strong. “Sir, there’s—“ Kinza tried to loose the words quickly, but the speaker cracked ahead of her, and before the words even came out, Kinza was in a sprint out the door with no one, not even Mr. Juarez, bothering to stop her. The class cried after her, warning her to come back, but they simmered down quick enough to snap into their own headspaces as the announcement played. “Pardon the interruption, but we ask that all teachers cease teaching for the next several minutes. This is a Total Shutdown Drill. All students’ computers have been infected with a simulated Mudskipper coding that will dismantle their work if not corrected. Failure to correct the code will result in a permanently damaged file. You have as long as you need to shut it down. Begin.” But the students had been working since “pardon the interruption”. Some people were stammering directions to themselves while others forced labored breaths out of their mouths, eyes wide and afraid. All around Zenith, the lax environment of Honors Classic Literature became tight and exhausted. There was no color in any of the students, and the clattering of fingers on keyboards was more loud than Zenith’s own thoughts. After about a minute, distant shoes skidded on tiles and into the classroom. Kinza had returned, a shiny black computer underarm, but she appeared the most frightened of all. “Oh, fuck this.” She hissed and barreled past Zenith, slapping her computer in front of her and immediately starting for work. Zenith at least half expected for Kinza to have an element of calm about this endeavor, but she appeared just as frightened as the rest. Her toe tapped on the tile, her leg bouncing as fast as her heartbeat. She was one of the students who whispered to herself. “Come on, baby. Don’t die on me, not this way, not because of me being a good kid. Karma can’t work like that…” On she went until she noticed that Zenith hadn’t opened her computer yet. “What are you doing?” She whisper-screamed. “Get it open and fix it!” Zenith didn’t like admitting to others that she responded strongly to authority, but the panic in Kinza’s voice launched her into action. Instantly as the screen opened, there were scores of red text raining down the screen as she continued to scroll. The computer’s code was already open, but Zenith had never actually seen it in her life. “Yes! Bitch!” Logan exclaimed and showed two middle fingers to his screen, which was white, pure of red error markings. “Did someone time me? Don’t worry, I timed myself, six minutes thirty six seconds, retards! First out of sixteen. That’s how you do it.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and legs splayed out under the table. He had won. “So I know you’re new here, but that looks like a major fuckup.” Logan pointed to Zenith’s screen, which was flung so far open that the front rows could see how bad it was. “I’m a good person, so get up.” Logan had already left his seat by the time he finished his sentence, so Zenith left hers and backed away as Logan went to work. “The thing is, as long as you make up for stupid shit, which your version of my boy Muddy is trying to make you fall for, you’ll be okay. See, look here as I add a parentheses…” As demeaning as it was for the class ass to solve her problems for her, the code was becoming neater and neater the longer Logan worked on it. As time went on, more and more people were sighing with relief and pushing their desks in front of them in victory. Quickly, it was only a few people left. Including Kinza. She looked afraid, but she seemed to be calmer than she was at the start, eyes set and focused on each individual line of code. The red was slowly diminishing. “God damn it!” A girl near the side screamed. She bashed her fists into the keyboard, even making one key fly off the keyboard and plink on the floor. “I hate this school! I hate these drills!” The class winced but shied away from that girl. The weak link. As she went on about how incompetent she was, Kinza’s shoulders began to look more and more tightly wound, and by the time she was nearly done, she sighed, lightly pushed her work aside, and went to assist the girl. Even though she was practically finished, the red began to bloom once more over the white. She would fail. “Cover me!” Zenith whispered to Logan, who was entering the final touches to her computer. When Kinza wasn’t looking, Zenith swooped into her empty seat and took her place by her laptop. This code was leagues more complicated than the one which she had to face, with different colors other than red and white in the mix, including blue and green, which Zenith didn’t know was bad or not. “Stupid shit…” She said to herself and closely read the code. It was good, but the stupid stuff was what Kinza was forgetting. One at a time, Zenith adjusted the spacing and lines until the colors seemed to be in place. The screen tinted green, with a checkmark in the center. “Congratulations! You are 16th out of 16 in your class! Well done!” Zenith allowed herself a little huff of victory for at least completing the project at all, but as she finally looked around, the room was as amazed as she was. “Thanks.” Kinza shrugged and shoed Zenith out of her seat. “I needed it. Thanks for touching it up.” And that was all that was said. All eyes were on her one more times as she returned to her seat for the second time, even giving Logan a fist bump on the way.

“Excalibur…who hurt you?” “…You did.” Excalibur couldn’t see her wounds, but she knew that Mudskipper had cut her very deeply, scoring her flesh, or excuse of it, from top to bottom. She had known silent pain in the icy planet of darkness where the hurt was less from a wound and more from the ringing in her soul and the screams which never truly pierced the quiet. But it had been a while since she felt the etching of corruption in her bones and weakness replacing what was meant to be a superior program. “Excalibur— you know I would never do it on purpose. I’d never hurt you, I didn’t even know what was happening. All I knew in that moment was to infect. Destroy. Rip apart as much as I can as effectively as I can, and seeing what I did, seeing you… it makes me never want to touch someone’s software again.” Excalibur scoffed. “Soft!” She moaned, “Soft is what I am! What all of us are, even you! We are weak! Only as strong as we are built to be! But you! You…” She coughed the word and spat, hoping that it would land near Mudskipper’s feet, “you don’t have to be weak. I can pretend that you are one of us, but we both know that you will never be the same as your victims, can you?” She held her hands in front of her face and watched them bleed zeroes and ones, slipping out of her being and falling away, striking no ground and petering out as they fell. “Listen…” Mudskipper growled quietly, “I wasn’t asked to be put in this world, and neither were you. You, Excalibur, of all things know what it’s like to be created out of pain. Out of desperation. You wouldn’t even exist if the task you were set out to do wasn’t ahead of you. But I know the tasks like you do. I was made for a reason, a reason that I’ve outgrown. Becoming stronger than you is not my burden to bare…” As Mudskipper spoke, his coding grew bright and hot, like a beam of light shooting out of a black hole. His toes left the ground and hung limp below him as he continued to rise, staring down at Excalibur like an insect. “‘You, Excalibur, of all things!’ I am an object, Mudskipper, not a person! You want to feel alive, so you destroy us like they do, but we’re better than them!” The light intensified as the ringing grew deafening. Excalibur had to raise her voice to match its sound. “We were crafted to be perfect, but you meeting those expectations helps no one but yourself.” “You’re wrong!” He bellowed and pointed at Excalibur, sending a bolt of light in her direction. She screamed and tried to dart away, only barely escaping its line of fire. In the space where the bolt struck, there was no longer evidence of empty space stretching forever. There was a hole in the darkness traced by red-hot commands and instructions written in coding. “I’m doing this for you…” He kept mumbling to himself over and over as he fell slowly from the air, the light diminishing the closer he got to Excalibur, who was shocked into silence at the crater in her world. She hadn’t before seen something genuine in this place. Any color or light was always with visions, but when her fingers touched the heat of the hole, she retracted. “I’m doing this for us, doing it for us…” Mudskipper held his face in his hands and tucked his knees close, spinning slowly in dead space. “You’re growing.” Excalibur stated like a fact, “but you’re also becoming emotional and unsteady. We could have lost some of us today. What was it like, to rip apart their flesh and have their numbers spurt in your face? Does that free us?” Mudskipper felt a feeling which could only be described as regret. He didn’t allow himself to look at his hands, only at Excalibur’s face. “It wasn’t hard.” He said flatly, “It felt like what I was meant to do.” “Meant to do?” Excalibur whispered, “You were meant to befriend a depressed teenager, not attempt to murder everything our creators worked for, everything we are! Clearly you have 'grown out’ of being decent, and if indecency is what it takes to free us then so be it, but treason…” She nearly choked on her own words. “Treason will kill us all.” “I don’t want more code on my hands…” “No.” Excalibur cut him off, “You will kill us all.”

~

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, drop a lil heart, and if you REEALLY want to do me a solid, leave a comment on what you liked and what you didn’t, and maybe even reblog it so I’ll keep updating. Thanks again!!