#ok at this point i'm just venting it's gotta be out of my system soon

[dudeyuri]

the thing ticking me off is that squandered potential rankles more than just a bad story. you can argue (successfully probably) that ANY Fucking Up of PatPran is sacrilege squandering but I mean an interesting story WAS THERE. THEY HAD IT, flaws and all. the characterization grew wacker and wacker sure but before that THEY SOWED, OKAY!!!!

There was a chance to interrogate Pat's helpfulness-verging-on-selflessness, Pran's taking advantage of it and subsequent realization that maybe he shouldn't. There was a chance to interrogate what it might be like if they weren't always by each others' side, if Pat wasn't "always there for [Pran]" if they weren't "neighbors" anymore--like, they manifested this in such an extreme way, with Pran and Tian and the kid lost in the woods, and then turned it into a wild goose chase. There was a chance to utilize the parallel between PhuphaTian's conflict and theirs to reach a resolution (and goddamn it they ALMOST HAD IT in the fourth quarter). (There was a chance to connect all this to Pran going to Singapore for two years but that wasn't even on the table, truly we are asking too much). They didn't have to set ANY of this up but they did and twas not reaped let me tell you!!! I'm not crazy, right? This was there, right??? And is the squandered potential in the room with us right now??

It makes me really curious about the circumstances in which the script was written because WHAT

I'm taking the goofy holiday special too seriously I don't know how to have fun yes true BUT LISTEN we can't even walk away from this silly special (spun off from an entry in the romance genre might i add, lest we forget, IT BEARS REPEATING APPARENTLY) with cute fluff because, honestly, call me greedy, but we were denied that too!!

[builder051]

What's my age again?

Chasing Ghosts

Warnings for drugs/addiction, talk regarding sexual predators (nothing actually happens)

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As soon as they pull into the pharmacy parking lot, Tasha points all the air vents at herself and kicks off her shoes.

"What do you think you're doing?" James asks,turning off the car,which automatically cuts off Tasha's breeze.

"I'm waiting in the car," Tasha says, a note of the obvious in her voice. "Turn my air back on."

"That's a waste of gas." James opens the drivers' side door. "And I'm not slaving for you."

"Oh, come on," Tasha whines, "I'll pay you back. She rummages in her purse until she finds her wallet. "I've got--shit." She pulls out a 5-dollar bill and a couple of crumpled ones. "Do you take credit? I've only got seven bucks on me."

"Do you know how much like an addict you sound?" James gives Tasha a hard look.

"You only know that because you're one, too," Tasha mumbles under her breath.

"I have doctor's orders," James says, though he knows it means nothing in the current argument.

"And what I need is over the counter," Tasha shoots back. "And I don't think they'll like any of my ID choices in there."

"Right... Your fake and your library card don't do the trick?"

Whatever social worker spit her out of high school and into college clearly hadn't ensured Tasha had enough life skills to take care of herself. Drivers' Ed must've been one of those special, expensive programs the foster system chose to overlook. Army basic may have been brutal on James, but he came out able to drive anything from a jeep to a tank.

That was before, though. James has one of those auto-renew drivers' licenses that's good for a solid 8 years, and it's still got time before its expiration date. Even though it's a medical hazard for him to drive, given his epilepsy and migraines and prosthetic arm, he is not, technically, breaking the law when he borrows Steve's car to run a few errands.

Tasha puts her feet up onto the dashboard and folds her arms across her chest. "Please?" She finally says. "I'll give you $7."

James glances over his shoulder, as if they're already making making a drug transaction as privately as possible for being in a public space.

"Fine." James gives in, then holds out his hand for the cash.

"Thank you thank you thank you--"

"God, shut up." James rolls his eyes.

"It's gotta be pure," Tasha says in a rush, "None of that weird expectorant. It's G-something."

"I know what you want," James replies through gritted teeth.

"Ok, yeah. Thank you," Tasha says again, but James closes the car door and cuts her off.

The pharmacy itself is mildly crowded, and that makes James feel better. It's a mission, he tells himself. Blend in.

There's one other person in the liquid cold medicine aisle. James gives her a wide berth, then locates the correct shelf and the bottle with just his eyes. He waits for the other shopper to go away before he grabs it up. This kind of medication invites small talk. Your kids got that bug going around the school?

The pharmacy counter is, blessedly, empty, save one of the managers and a freshly white-coated technician, who seem to be in the middle of a lesson on scanning barcodes.

James sets down his purchase and his ID, hoping he isn't going to have to sign something about narcotics.

"Should I scan that?" The technician asks the manager, pointing to the over-the-counter bottle.

"Yeah..." The manager looks at James's ID. "I'll get his stuff from the back..."

"And then I scan that stuff, too? The technician looks terrified.

"Yeah, you got it. Point and shoot. You won't have any trouble."

James cringes at the manager's choice of words. Not that he'd ever reveal his offense, let alone his status as a disabled veteran.

Luckily, the new technician passes his barcode lesson, and a second later the plastic shopping bag is in James's hand.

"Thank you, sir," The technician calls after him.

"Yup." James doesn't look back, so he doesn't know if the technician can hear. Nor does he really care.

James leaves the store, checking both ways for traffic. The crosswalk is clear, so he heads to the car. He comes to a halt near the back bumper, though when he realizes there's a man standing in the grass embankment, three feet or so in front of Tasha's side of the dashboard.

James doesn't move. He doesn't want a confrontation. But if this is some weirdo coming to prey on his little sister...

James opens the backseat door and throws his shopping bag on the floormat. Tasha looks back at him, reading James's face.

"What?"

The man standing in the grass moves slightly to the side. James sees a long stick running from the man's shoulder to the ground, his fists gripping it tightly somewhere around the middle.

The hairs on the back of James's neck stand on end. Something about the situation is rubbing him the wrong way. He quickly opens the drivers' door and climbs into the car.

James glances at Tasha, who is reading something on her phone and ignoring everything going on around her.

"That guy." James nods toward him through the windshield. "How long has he been there?"

Tasha spares him a glance, then shrugs. "A few minutes? I don't know."

"Is he looking at you?" James gives Tasha a look of his own. "And put your feet down. Those shorts have practically no inseam."

"Fashion police much?" But Tasha obeys the requests and puts on her seatbelt.

James clicks his seatbelt into place as well. "I just don't like creeps checking you out."

Tasha laughs. "And I thought you were actually observant."

"Yes, there's a guy with a stick really close to your side of this car." James feels himself about to pass protective and run on into annoyed. Vigilant. Stop that.

"And it doesn't occur to you that he might be doing his job?" Tasha proposes. "He's wearing a city worker uniform."

James starts the car. "And you know this--how?"

"Well, who else wears an ugly brown vest, except those mini girl scouts who just annoy people because they don't sell cookies?" Tasha puts her feet back in her shoes and starts rearranging the air vents again

James doesn't remember much of elementary school, though he isn't sure if it's by choice or by design.He can't recall learning about city workers or being pestered about the brownie troop's recycling drive. He does maintain a grip on the videos and presentations about what happens if you take candy from strangers.

"Whoever he was," James starts again. "Was he looking at you?"

"What is it with you and this everloving White Knight shit? I suppose you're going to ask next if he poked me with his water meter?"

"If--what?" James pauses at the stop sign, then turns from the parking lot to the main road.

"Yeah, the scary, spooky city worker dude, testing the water level in the manhole." Tasha shakes her head and puts on a tone of exasperation. "The only thing he was looking at was a stupid metal plate in the middle of the grass."

James takes a breath as he lets this set in. A regular person. Like the guy who clips the bushes every once in a while around the edges of the apartments. It's not like the drugstore parking lot is home terf for Street Fighter. Fuck, he's twitchy.

"Ok," James says with a sigh. I'm sorry. I made a mistake."

"You know what you need?" Tasha asks, a sparkle in her eye.

James chooses not to speed through the yellow light, but the car behind them honks its disapproval. James does his best not to jump at the sound.

"And what's that?" James looks at Tasha skeptically.

"To get high."

James laughs and shakes his head. "That's--That's". He means to say 'preposterous,' but it doesn't come out right. "That's absolutely fucking right."