#refreshing my steam over and over like a Clowne

[lazylittledragon]

me waiting for patch 6 to drop before i go to bed

[morethanalittleconfused]

I accidentally wrote a 5k fanfic about incidents caused aboard the ghost by differences between species

I've been reading a lot of those old tumblr posts that are like “what if humans are actually just really, really hardy and alien species would be just completely blown away with the shit we put up with without a second thought” and it's got me thinking about the crew of the Ghost trying to get used to each other at first with three humans that are all just absolutely fucking insane, even more so than even your average human.

Rebels spoilers ahead, as well as a trigger warning for blood, vomit and general injuries

It starts with Hera and Kanan. It’s just the two of them, aboard the Ghost, and it takes some getting used to.

At first Hera is shocked by the way Kanan's body seemingly has no limits. He has never once complained about the temperature of the ghost, even when they were running low on power and Hera could feel her limbs start to get sluggish from the cold. Two weeks later he somehow managed to find his way back to the ghost after being in -2 degree Celsius weather for a half an hour with no coat on. When he walked back through the hatch with snow blowing in his loose hair and a red nose and said “it's cold as shit out there” after Hera had been panicking about losing him for the literal entire time, she had to practically scrape her jaw off of the floor. She would have been dead after a few minutes, and yet here he was, now steaming from a shower and shirtless, bitching about how the caf maker was broken.

As time went on, she learned his body did have some limits to the heat. At about 35 degrees he got irritable and short, but that was about when she started getting uncomfortably warm, too. But he would tolerate it. And more. He kept impressing her with the things he somehow managed to pull off, in conditions she would have thought would kill him. He could get knocked around far more than she thought he should be able to, and would haul himself back to the ship with a grin every time.

The way his body worked constantly surprised her. She noticed it first in how quickly he healed, and in how much he ate.

He could eat literally anything. Things she thought were poisonous for most species. He loved chocolate, and would easily eat ten times the amount that would send her to the hospital to get her stomach pumped. He could withstand a ridiculous amount of alcohol, and could drink unprocessed coffee with no problem by the cup. Caf didn't seem to really affect him because his body processed it so fast. And he ate so. Much. it was ridiculous. The good thing was it didn't really seem to matter what.

Hera didn't need much food, but it had to be good. It had to count. Too much filler and she would lose strength. Her body couldn't process a lot, and if what she got wasn't exactly what she needed, her health went downhill, quick.

Kanan was not the same. He could, and would, eat anything. He didn't have any noticeable preference for plants or meat, or the quality of the food. If he could get his hands on it, he would eat it. He would eat food out of the refrigerator she would have considered to be dangerous. He put appalling amounts of random, unrelated food in a pan, cooked it, and acted like that was an acceptable thing to do. Omelets? She hated the very idea but he seemed to think they were wonderful.

And yet, for all that, they had once been stranded for over a week with only enough rations for one, and Kanan had insisted that she take the vast majority of the ration bars. She pushed back, and he then presented her with the absolutely shocking fact that humans can survive for over a month with no food. She was absolutely flabbergasted, and he took advantage of her stunned silence to press another ration into her hand, smirk at her and say, “I can take it. Trust me.”

Another thing she noticed very quickly was how fast he healed.

He could be bleeding openly one minute, and the wound seemed to close itself the next. She knew human blood had clotting factors far beyond that of nearly any other being, but it was ridiculous how fast he sealed himself up. Further into their relationship she got to see this close up when she accidentally touched some of his congealed blood on the floor of the refresher after cleaning him up. She had had to turn away and take a few deep breaths at the slimy, gelatinous texture. He had gently huffed out a laugh.

“Kinda gross huh?”

“Yeah... it's… unique.”

“I've always been kind of fascinated by the way it congeals so quickly. Handy I guess.”

Out of sheer curiosity she had run the end of a pen through the small puddle and been horrified to see that it mostly stuck together.

“It just… does that? Inside you? And that doesn't cause problems?”

“It can. If it clots when it's not supposed to. But mostly it keeps me alive.”

And it did. And though she wouldn't say it to his face, his ability to pull through seemingly anything took just one more worry off her plate. His wounds would be almost completely closed in often under a week, where she would have been dealing with bandages and salves for a month. He almost never got infections, and could keep going with seemingly incapacitating injuries.

They had once narrowly escaped a fight with a gang of imps and made it back to the ghost with almost no problems. She had a sprained ankle, so he had supported her most of the way there, and they had patched up each other's scrapes. He had needed a bit of training so he didn't just slap a bandaid on what could have been a potentially life threatening injury for her, but he did alright. It was only later, when they were sitting in the cockpit, well into hyperspace, and he had coughed suddenly, when things went sideways. She turned to see blood seeping out of the corner of his mouth, and more on his hand when he pulled it away. They both looked at it for a moment, then Hera almost blacked out as a sudden wave of adrenaline washed over her.

“Kanan you're- are you- let me make the calc- are you dying?”

“What? Oh- no I had thought I just cracked a few of my ribs but it would appear I must have broken at least one of them.”

“BROKEN? Your bone? Like in half?”

“I- yeah?”

“Chopper we need to get to the nearest med center right now. Tell them were coming. I dont care if its a fucking imperial light cruiser”

“Wait no lets not be hasty-”

“HASTY? YOU BROKE YOUR BONES KANAN”

“Okay i know it looks bad but really i'm not going to keel over and die right now. Make sure it's a safe med center and cheap too. I can wait.”

“Kanan your bones are literally broken.”

“Yeah. It's happened before and it will happen again. I've broken my arm twice. I've broken one of the bones in my lower leg. A couple toes. At least one finger. And don't even get me started on my nose. It didn't always look like this.” At that he had huffed out a small laugh, but then winced and brought a hand to his lower chest. Almost as an afterthought, he reached down and pulled up the hem of his shirt. She had started to avert her eyes at the sliver of hip he showed, but as he pulled the shirt up higher and revealed more, she felt the breath taken out of her. His skin was mottled a whole host of awful colors, angry and puffy. He coughed that wet cough again and said, “Maybe I do need a med center after all”

She was incredibly relieved when they dropped out of hyperspace and into the welcoming arms of medicine. She was less happy when Kanan was returned to her, that night no less, with only bandages around his chest and a note to “take it easy for a while” she was appalled to say the least.

His ridiculously resilient body sometimes created just as many problems as it solved, though. He got into bar fights after downing enough alcohol to kill a bantha, and got the piss kicked out of him. He ran headfirst into danger with little consideration for life or limb. He was reckless, and incredibly hotheaded, and overall behaved like a clown. She had no idea how the Jedi accepted humans into their ranks, if Jedi he was. Restraint, my ass.

His recklessness applied to food as well. He didn't really seem to mind what he ate, content with the knowledge that if it didn’t work out, he could always regurgitate it back up. Twi’leks could not vomit, like many other species. It was yet another bizarre human trait. The ability to purge substances from your body without them having to pass through your entire digestive tract and cause more issues had always seemed like a neat trick to Hera. That is, of course, until she saw it in action.

She was roused one night by a strange noise coming from the refresher, and she had padded to the door, only to find it open. Blinking in the harsh light, she saw Kanan curled on the floor, wearing no shirt. His hair was loose and hanging around his face, and he was panting heavily. She only had time to say “Kanan, what-” before he coughed and vomited into the bowl.

Her immediate reaction ricocheted from “Oh my god he's dying” to “I’m actually going to die just having to witness this” to “Oh stars he is actually dying” so fast she could barely process it. She was immediately horrified but had no idea how to help him.

“Kanan are you- do you need a medic? How- chop- CHOPPER! How do I help you? Are you hurt?”

He had turned and peered up at her with puffy eyes and a runny nose. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He tried to talk but his voice came out too rough and he had to try again. Even then it was strangely thick.

“Hera? Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Am I okay Kanan? You're in here dying for stars sake and I have no idea how to help you and where the hell is chopper-”

“Hey. hey.” He turned away for a moment and took a long breath in through his nose. “Calm down for a sec. I feel like shit so you're going to have to talk slower. Are you hurt or something?”

“Hurt? No I'm not hurt i’m just- you- you're in here- I don’t even know-”

He closed his eyes and took another long breath in through his nose.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah i’m just… trying really hard not to throw up again.”

“Oh.”

He opened his eyes again and looked up at her again.

She shifted against the door frame. “But you're… okay? This isn't life threatening?”

He huffed out a soft laugh, then seemed to immediately regret it as he dropped his head between his knees for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and tipped his head back up.

“No. I'm good, I just ate something bad at that pub. And I also probably drank a bit too much as well. But I think it was definitely the squids fault.”

“Oh. So this is… normal?”

“More so than I would like. Yes.”

“Okay so…” she took a deep breath to calm her nerves now that it was apparent he wasn't in any imminent danger. “Do you need anything? How can I help you?”

“Some tea maybe. Some crackers. Anything ginger you have. It'll work itself out with time.”

She stood in the door, unsure of what to do, wanting to help him, and watched as he drew a quick breath in and closed his eyes again.

“Hera. Tea. Now”

“Right.”

As she dashed to the kitchen she heard the sounds of retching from behind her.

  There were some strange things about humans that became interesting as their relationship developed beyond mere captain and crew. His hair, for example. At first she had thought it was appalling, the sheer volume of it. It was everywhere. But all it took was threading her hands through it a few times, and hearing the wonderful noises he made, before she quickly changed her opinion.

Related to his hair was the fact that humans seemed to enjoy a certain level of pain, which she could not understand. He would moan audibly when she tugged at his hair, which startled her the first time, in the best way. Once, when she was feeling particularly adventurous, she had dragged her sharp canines across the delicate skin of his throat, and had been surprised to find the taste of metal filling her mouth, sharp and bright. She was even more surprised at the way he had shuddered and come apart beneath her, just like that.  

Then, later, when Zeb and Sabine joined the crew, there was yet another learning curve as Hera adjusted to another human as well as a Lasat, and Zeb adjusted to Kanan and Sabine at the same time.

Sabine was just as reckless. She was a fighter too, but she didn't have the force to help her out. Hera had more than a few small heart attacks in the early days of Sabine's presence before she fully appreciated that she could take almost as much of a beating as Kanan. Sabine had once walked over a half a mile back to the ship with a broken leg, and when Hera pressed her on just how she managed to do that, Sabine had gotten quickly tired of the argument, ending it with a, “I don't know what to tell you, Hera! I didn't have any other options! I had to do it, so I did.”

Hera was used to most of Kanan's strange human quirks, but Sabine presented a new and entirely alarming one, which Hera first came in contact with on a supply run. Sabine needed a monthly supply of medical supplies. Hera knew very little about menstruation, as that was a trait entirely unique to human females. Why their biology decided that it was necessary was completely beyond Hera, it seemed incredibly inefficient. Sabine made as little fuss about it as possible, but Hera had embarrassed everyone about three months in when Sabine asked hera to go get her data pad from her room. Hera had burst back into the common room, and only then was able to identify the smell Sabine was carrying with her that had been tugging at the edges of Hera’s mind all day. Blood. She turned on Sabine with a very distressed, “Sabine are you injured? Are you sick?”

To which Sabine had responded, with a distinct note of confusion, “No? Why?”

And Hera, without thinking, had said, “There's blood all over your bed? Did you hurt yourself?”

Sabine had gaped at her for a moment, then blushed ever so slightly. “I uh- I forgot to wash my sheets after... Sorry. I forgot about that before I told you to go into my room.”

Hera still had not connected the dots and was opening her mouth to further interrogate Sabine as to why her bedsheets were covered in blood when Kanan had jumped up and said, “Hera! Let's go for a walk, yes?” and pulled her gently out of the room, but not before she heard Zeb turn to Sabine and say, “So, why were you bleeding?”

Zeb apparently hadn't had much contact with the more alarming of the humans' quirks, as he had his own room, until Ezra showed up. Then Zeb had to learn for himself just how absolutely wild human biology was for himself. He arguably had a rougher go of it, because while he had the rest of the crew to help him out, he was literally sharing a room with a teenage human.

The first time Ezra got food poisoning was just about as rough for Zeb as it was for Kanan and Hera, except it happened in Zebs room.  Ezra was mostly self-sufficient, but Zeb had come hollering down the hall. He had broken the “do not open my door without knocking” rule Hera kept firmly in place, but she couldn't even be mad at him. Hera was just glad Kanan had been in his own bed that night. She had woken to see Zeb standing in her door, his fur standing up like a spine down his back, one ear folded inside out, panting hard.

“Hera the kid- he’s- I don’t know what the fuck happened but he- I think he’s hurt- or- or something but I don’t know how to help him- it’s Ezra-”

At which point Kanan, who had been woken by Zebs racket, slid open his door wearing only his sleep pants. He took one moment to assess the situation, looked down the hall and said, “Oh, Ezra’s throwing up. Do you want me to take care of him, Hera?”

Hera sighed and got up from her bed.

“No, you get Zeb some tea or something. I've learned well enough how to hold hair back at this point.”

Zeb, still looking entirely horrified by the situation, allowed himself to be led into the galley by Kanan. Sabine poked her head out of her door, decided this crisis did not involve her, and went back to sleep.

The same situation had happened the first time Ezra had gotten a bloody nose in the middle of the night. It was the kind Hera had witnessed with Kanan, and knew firsthand how horrifying it was if one didn't know humans noses just Did That sometimes. It was a middle of the night kind of bloody nose, where Ezra had presumably woken up with blood all over his face and in his mouth and in his hair and on his sheets, and had tried to catch the blood in his hands, which was all well and good until he somehow had to get down from the top bunk and open two doors to get to the refresher. That left Zeb to wake up to a room smelling of blood, with blood on the floor, on the door panel, and a trail leading to the refresher where he found Ezra leaning over the sink which was also, conveniently, covered in blood. All it had taken was for Ezra to turn his face toward the creature standing in the door and say “Zeb?” before Zeb was hurtling down the hall in a panic, calling for Kanan to come help him because the kid was dying.

Sabine, who had been up working on a project, was the first to respond to this particular “The human is dying!” call. She took one look at Ezra, standing in his pajamas with blood on his hands and said, “That sucks,” and turned back to her room.

Hera, who was making her way down the hall to check on if Ezra really was dying this time, had the pleasure of seeing Sabine turn back and say, “If you want a tampon to stop up the bleeding, they're in the bottom left drawer.” This worked surprisingly well at stopping Ezras bloody nose, because he was blushing so hard there was no blood left for his nose. Hera turned back to comfort Zeb, telling him she had reacted the exact same way the first time Kanan had woken up with a bloody nose. She saw him come out of his panic in time to realize she had effectively confessed to sleeping with Kanan, but wisely decided not to say anything. Nothing he didn't already know.

The humans were absolutely bizarre to spend time around. They ended up installing a wall in the galley that had live plants in it, not because they needed fresh plants to eat, but because their brain chemicals got thrown off if they weren't around plants for too long.

They had empathy for everything. Hera had once witnessed Ezra cry in a market when they passed a fruit stand with a deformed Meiloorun. When Hera asked why he was crying, he had looked up at her with these huge eyes, sniffed, and said, “I just feel so bad for it! No one will buy it!” They had, of course, bought it. Kanan tried not to get attached to anything, but he apologized for bumping into inanimate objects, and Sabine got visibly sad when they had to throw out a good piece of gear because it was broken or old.

They all three loved swimming. They were awful at it, just barely flopping around on the surface, but any time they were near even relatively safe water, they were in it, having the time of their lives. Kanan had once explained to Hera that humans have an extra fun little bit of evolution called the mammalian dive reflex, which slows their heart rate and lowers their blood pressure when they are in water, making it calming and enjoyable. Hera was skeptical until she watched Ezra calmly floating down a river on his back and wished she had that, instead of feeling nothing but panic anytime she had to float in water.  

They were mimics. They could replicate a stunning array of sounds, from animals to tech. Ezra's favorite way of annoying her was to make the noises her ship made when something went wrong, just to see how much she would panic before she realized it was him. They would sing along to anything, even if it was just instruments, and Hera would never admit it, but she loved Kanan's voice.

They could sleep anywhere. One of her favorite memories was walking around Chopper Base after a particularly exhausting mission and finding the three of them, Kanan in the middle, with one kid leaning on either shoulder, asleep, leaning against a crate. They had looked so peaceful, and yet she was again surprised at them. It was far too cold for her to even consider sleeping, there were fighters landing only a few hundred meters away, people running all over, and they were snoozing with smiles on their faces, just glad to be home.

And humans would pack bond with literally anything. She had thought Kanan was bad until she met Ezra. It was ridiculous. Her father had said that she was improper for developing a fondness for a droid, but the kid formed a relationship with everything that moved. It got them out of a few tight spots, sure, but she would never get used to having to sit still as some enormous predator loomed in their faces. The sight of Ezra staring down a cat the size of the ghost on some jungle planet, the cat's fangs mere inches from his face as it huffed at him, was something she would never forget.

They were wild and hard headed and strong and made her life so much more interesting.

Early on, Kanan’s strange human ability to adapt to seemingly anything had been a momentary point of contention between the two of them, and was still something she struggled with. It took time for her to be okay with the fact that humans and Twi’leks were just built differently. But it frustrated Hera how weak she felt compared to him. It infuriated her the way he could just walk off something that would have killed her. She had always striven to be adaptable and up for anything. She was strong, and she knew it. But she felt her inadequacies sharply next to Kanan. Early in their partnership they had been in the galley repairing themselves from yet another fight, when Hera had turned to see Kanan casually sewing his own skin up with a needle. The way he could just puncture his own skin like that, with nothing more than a wince and a hiss of breath, had made her see red for a moment and she had to excuse herself to the cockpit to take a breath. They had talked about it, and he had helped her to realize that she was, of course, strong. Humans were adapted differently, so it was entirely unfair for her to be comparing them. But they could compare emotionally, and she was one of the strongest people he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. The two of them were forged in war, and had been through incredible things. She had fought prejudice and overcome so many obstacles to get to where she was, the best pilot in the resistance, without question. As he had said the last part, she heard him smirk a bit, and looked over at him, bathed in the blue light of hyperspace, to find him with a little crooked grin on his face and his hair falling down around his ears. She had felt her guarded heart open a little bit more at that, and had to turn and gaze back out at the stars before her heart opened completely to this rogue of a man.

Later, pressed against his chest in a supply closet, hiding from some stormtroopers, she would marvel at just how fast humans' hearts beat. She knew they were supposed to beat about two times faster than a twi’lek, but his seemed like it was fit to fly out of his ribcage. She found herself thinking, “Is it supposed to be doing that? Is this why he's such a hot headed idiot?” Later she would discover it did not always beat that incredibly fast, usually just a bit faster than hers. It made him ridiculously warm, and also may have contributed to why he was so quick to anything. Not rushed. Not hasty. Just quick. Quick to anger. Quick to smile. Quick to fight. Quick to laugh. Quick to love.

Maybe that was why it was such a shock when he finally reached his limit. She had gotten used to him pulling through impossible situations. She had forgotten that they had limits, just like her.

And then, years later, a glimmer of hope. Ahsoka and Sabine, travelling the galaxy over, searching for Ezra. While Kanan was gone forever, she still had a chance to get one of her boys back.

And of course, there was always Jacen. Her beautiful little boy, who was soft and sweet and yet surprisingly strong, just like his father. And Hera was comforted to know that wherever this wild galaxy would take him, he had Kanan Jarrus’ blood coursing through his veins to keep him safe.

[cosmiccandydreamer]

Insecure chapter 3

Otis driftwood x Reader

( I do not own these gifs)

Masterlist is here. Please see warnings ⚠️

The next day the eve before Halloween, you were at work; you worked about one or two days a week at Captain's Spalding's gas station and chicken roadside attraction. Spalding had become a father figure to you in the years you've known the family. He knew your father too briefly when home; this is where your dad would always fill up his truck before leaving again. You'd still hang out in the shop with your dad while he chatted or killed time. He knew you were a good kid; that’s why when he found out you were dating his adopted son Otis he was overjoyed. You would help him outrunning the register while he would make fried chicken in the back. It was a fun environment, you talking with Spaulding for hours and laughing until your sides hurt. So that night, you're sweeping the gas station/ art exhibit while admiring Otis's art around the place. It filled you with pride that your guy was so talented and creative. 

The shop bell rang, and in walked two young men who were not from around here. You listened in on their; conversation, and apparently, these groups of young people were on the road in hopes of writing a book on offbeat roadside attractions. You watched and held in a laugh from behind one of the shelves as Spaulding messed with one of the young men you learned was named Bill; he always liked to press people's buttons, and this time was no separate thing." oh, I'm just messing with ya son! Look take a load off. I’ll have y/n get ya some refreshments or something. At the same time, I set up the ride y/n Darlin c'mere would ya" you set down the broom. You walked over to the men, your boots clacking on the wooden floor. " Evening gents, I'm y/n does anyone want any water, sprite … burdon?" 

You chucked a bit, which seemed to loosen the guys up; you learned the other was named jerry. " Oh, we're good; we’re just gonna go get our friends who are out in the car. I'll be back" as Jerry leaves, you turn your attention to Bill, you lean slightly against the counter "so roadside attractions, huh? Seems interesting" "Yeah! It's been pretty cool so far being to a lot of interesting places," you noticed Bill was giving off some you assumed to be nervous body language, I mean, you couldn't blame him; this was placed in the middle of nowhere with a loud clown gas station owner. " Is Spaulding making you nervous? He's a lot, but I wear he's just a pussycat he won't hurt ya ``'' oh no no he's fine it's just been a long drive, so how long have you been working here you like it ?" Bill asked while seemingly eyeing you up and down " I like it's it's.." your conversation was cut short by the two women coming inside. They seem to turn their nose up at the place before setting their sights on you with an unimpressed expression, sigh, so it was these types of girls. " Evening ladies! Can I get you anything? We have " " Jerry Bill, when are we going to leave? We don't want to go on this stupid ride," the one you later learned was named Mary said. You took this opportunity to walk away, passing Spaulding toward the backroom; he winked at you as he passed, " everyone ready for the ride; let’s go, people ''.

Afterward, you got your coat and waited for Baby; usually, Otis picked you up from work when you worked nights at the gas station and call him old-fashioned. Still, the idea of you driving alone didn't sit right with him. But this was different; you insisted o. Still, the picking you up because 1. She was already heading into town to get people from red hot pussy liquors, and 2. You knew Otis wanted to work on his art and let off some steam with the cheerleaders there 3. You suddenly saw your guests for the evening event tomorrow. While the group was on the ride, you decided to call the house and inform Baby of the plan. While the guests loaded up into the ride, you pulled Spaulding aside and informed him of what you planned to do. He smiled wide and said, " this is why you're one of our kiddos.” Baby agreed to have you drop her off on the road toward the path of the tree and instructed Rufus to blow out the tires while you went along to the house. 

Everything went off without a hitch. As everyone sat down for dinner, you hurried down the stairs from freshening up in the bathroom; you eyed Otis sitting at the front of the table, god he was so handsome, and you were so in love. You walked over to him when you heard your name "y/n wow hey!! You live here what a small world" you turned to see Bill smiling at you, " oh hey Bill! What a small world indeed" you turned back to Otis ``honey you want a beer?", Otis didn't answer at first; instead he looked back and forth to Bill and you, eyes shifting ever so slightly, he cleared his throat " yeah sure Darlin I'd love one" as you passed him he grabbed your belt hook and pulled your toward him, " give me some sugar first" you happily obliged leaning down to give him a soft kiss on the lips. He kissed you back, never taking his eyes off Bill, who awkwardly looked away from the scene. 

You came back with a beer for Otis and went to take a seat next to him; he instead pulled you down into his lap. You quickly got comfortable not minding the PDA at all; this was your family; they were used to this kind of affection between you both. You looked over to Denise's ring on her hand; it was beautiful, a ruby, you thought. " Wow, that is a gorgeous ring! Is that a ruby" you leaned forward a bit to get a better look, to which Denise pulled her hand away and set her hand on her lap. " Um yeah, it is, and it's a real Ruby too it's from Jerry '' she looked over to him "wow, that was a nice gift," you said " yeah, well I deserve it," Denise replied. " You want a ruby someday y/n? '' Otis asked, causing you to turn back to look at him " I'll get you one day if you want,” “ I wouldn't say no to a ruby someday,” you replied. The rest of the night went on as planned; the group was tied up and used for the family's party favors. 

As the night winded down, you stood out in the backyard smoking; the house had been pretty humid with the rain and hot air; it was a nice stillness standing under the porch watching the rain. " There you are the fuck you doing out here, shoulda told me you were going for a smoke" Otis appeared behind you, standing in the doorway biting his lower lip. "Sorry handsome, you looked so focused and didn't wanna intrude on the art project" he sat down next to you on the porch bench as you passed him the joint. " This was a good day, '' you told him, leaning Into him as he put his arm around you. " Yeah, it was huh," he takes a long drag of the joint and slowly blow it out, " you think you could see yourself doing this forever?" " Doing what? smoking in the rain, yeah, of course ``'' I mean spending your days doing fucked up shit with me"  you take the joint back, also taking a long drag, " nowhere else I would rather be ''.

 He removed his arm from behind you and turns to face you. "I've been thinking," he scratches his face and looks down at his hand all stained with blood, " I know I ain't the most attentive or expressive kinda guy. I'm not good with the mushy shit," you start to protest. He puts his hand up " let me finish like I was saying I ain't good at the mushy shit or telling you how I feel. I know I can be a pain in the fucking ass to deal with, but you are the greatest thing I've ever come across." He looks at you fully this time with sincerity and vulnerability you've never seen; it was rare to see this much from Otis, usually only showing you got some pieces of his soft side when you two were alone. 

You didn't Dare move or speak after that. It was almost like you were seeing a baby deer in front of you. You didn't want to spook him, the forgotten joint just burning between your fingertips." For one, you're as sharp as a tack; I can't talk to anyone else about what I can talk to you about. You're patient with the fact I'm a grumpy asshole; you like my huge art; most people can't stand to look at it, but you not only encouraged me to do it, you offer to help. You're loyal and don't ever show signs of hightailing it no matter what you see here. You're funny; you got some comebacks that I never thought would come out of Lil ol, you mamas, and you're sexy as fuck like God damn, I saw the way Bill what's his face was looking at you, and I don't blame him. I don't even know what I did to have you. I mean, look at me, I look like shit," he chuckles; you still hadn’t moved from when he began talking. " I guess what I'm saying is I know I have made you feel insecure this past; weeks, but like I'm sorry ok, and I don't want you to ever doubt how I feel about cha" he then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ruby ring.. "so I was wondering" " oh my god! " This pulled you out of your trance. “ Are you... I what are you" " hey, can you shut up and let me finish?" " Sorry, sorry," he starts again, " I want you to know I'm in this for the long haul your mine forever, alright? So you ok with that or no?" " You nodded a huge clumsy nod feeling the tears start to form in your eyes, " I'ma need a verbal yes or no here you are crying doesn't tell me shit" " yes a thousand times yes" he slipped the ring on your finger which shockingly was a perfect fit, you jumped onto his lap and straddled him linking your hands around his neck into his long hair, he rested his hands under your butt gripping them, " I'm your forever Mr. Driftwood." 

You both sat this way for a while, just taking in each other's smells and listening to each other's heartbeat; the only sound to be heard was the falling rain. "Otis?" "Hmm," he hummed, buried in your neck, nuzzling. " Can I help today?" You usually helped with the artistic side of the whole ordeal, helping him assemble, get supplies, clean the bodies. Still, you never joined in on the actual killing despite all the time you've been here, but something about today seemed like the right time to jump in. How eyes shot open, and he looked up at you with a wild surprised, yet aroused look, " you sure sugar? You don't have to know, but God damn, it's so sexy to hear you say that '' he gripped his hold on your waist, leaning forward, and kissed you slowly yet profoundly, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his mouth, tightening the handle on his neck; you pulled back, gasping for air " yeah, I'm sure I wanna do this with you" " shit mamas, let's go then HELL YEAH'' he hoisted you up bridal style and carried you into the house down to the basement. 

[tendriltherapy]

Private Lessons

With your home still orbiting the clown-focused land, it’s not a long trip  to pay the Bigtop tent a visit. Clown Church (Clurch) isn’t in session with the Ringmatron right now, just a standard array of Subjugglator antics, so with a few simple questions and an exchange of honks and gropes, you mosey down a side path to find the door to the tall, powerful clown woman’s quarters, which you knock at with just a bit of nervous tension. Not because you fear the clown cleric beyond the respectable amount one fears a stronger, older member of your new cult - but rather, because of the prospect of a private session with her, and falling ever deeper into her intoxicating clutches. 

The brightly-painted door creaks open slowly into a dimly-lit room, and the Ringmatron’s alluring voice beckons from within. It’s ostensibly quieter than when she’s preaching to the crowd, yet there’s something about her gravitas that makes it fill your ears exactly the same. “Come on in, sister. I’ve been hoping you’d up and drop by. Go on and shut the door behind you.” she calls, in a tone that makes you shiver. You hastily comply, slipping in and nudging the door shut with one pronounced hip, orange troll-eyes blinking to grow quickly accustomed to the dimmer light. 

The Ringmatron’s chambers are rather lavishly appointed - colorful tapestries and bolts of fabric cover the walls and arc across the ceiling, all clashing but somehow proving rather harmonious to your altered Subjugglator sensibilities. A door leads off to a side room of some sort, and a large recuperacoon occupies one corner, placed not far from a lavish wardrobifier. The tall woman - her tophat off and her corset loosened - lounges amidst a pile of cushions, sprawled out rather sensuously despite the bottle of Faygo she’s sipping from, beckoning you a little closer. Just the faintest of flickers flashes in her eyes, and you shiver where you stand before drifting over.

“Well hello there, little sis. You’re lookin’ real good since your baptism threefold. Real motherfuckin’ good indeed. You feelin’ good, too?” she asks, and you nod slowly, shivering once more under her powerful gaze, replying that you’ve “Never motherfuckin’ felt better”. The high-ranking Priestess chuckles throatily, holding her half-drunk bottle of green soda for you to take, while she herself rises to her feet to tower over you.  You swirl the bottle idly in your hand, then take a sniff, and your pupils dilate - that’s the now-recognizable smell of sopor, distilled into Faygo form. Your priestess grins and gestures for you to help yourself, and you do. The sweet and sour stuff burns as it slides down your throat with more viscosity than the normal cola flavors, but it’s the best motherfuckin’ burn in the world. A now-familar tingly bliss begins to radiate - slowly but surely - out from your belly. “Good girl. Feelin’ real good, right? Like it was all and motherfuckin’ meant to be all along.” she says, and you nod with another shiver at her words - you’re not sure if she’s talking about the soda, or your newfound status as an adherent, but your sopor-dosed gut tells you ‘Both’ is the right answer. 

“So what brings my favorite new little motherfucker down to visit little ol’ me?” she asks, a powerful hand coming to rest on your shoulder and kneading gently, guiding you to step ever closer to her looming height; she’s something like two or three feet taller than you, putting you at perfect height to nuzzle absently into her midsection. You mumble a reply - 

“I just up and wanted to come see my Ringmatron,” you say, “And... to ask for any ideas to come back home to the Carnival all easy-like when I leave the session.” 

The Ringmatron chuckles again, carding her fingers through your black hair and rubbing a slow circle around your horns that makes a tiny coo escape you. “Leave? Now, why’d you ever wanna do a silly thing like that? You said it yourself, the Dark Carnival here can up and be as much a home as you could ever want. But I guess if you gotta go out an’ take care of some righteous fuckin’ business, it would only make pure sense to let you come back right here lickety-split. Don’t want you straying too far from our little family after all.”

You nod in agreement - it felt so good to join in with the Clown Church’s neverending festivities, in your current state you couldn’t dream of staying away for too long. Still, you do want to go explore for more knowledge and majyyks, and - as you explain to her - to possibly spread the Mirthful Motherfuckin’ Word while you’re at it. A rumble not unlike a purr of approval rattles through her frame, and she pulls you close against her half-dressed frame, burying your face against her lower belly. At this proximity, you can smell everything - the sweet tinge of a few flavors of faygo clinging to her, the musk of sweat, the cloying chemical fug of sopor, and of course the potent pheromonal buzz of her bulge only inches from your face. You emit a quiet half-moan, half-honk that nearly gets lost against her body. She hears it though - or feels it, and replies with a quiet honk of her own, a guttural little noise that speaks to your transformed senses on a base level. 

“I think I’ve up and got a quick fix, but why don’t you and me go have a nice little steam in the sauna? You look like you’re needin’ a real good fix... plus what kinda fuckin’ Ringmatron would I be, not to give the newest motherfuckin member in the flock plenty of private tutoring?” she says, keeping your face pressed to her musky frame as she guides you blindly into the next room - a fairly standard bathroom for the most part, save for the fairly large, purple-stained wooden structure accessible from one side; a sauna. A familiar chemical scent wafts out to greet you as she opens the door and tendrils of greenish fog drifts out. Your bulge throbs in your sheath, the sense of anticipation growing stronger. The Ringmatron laughs, feeling your throb against her leg, and rumples your hair before beginning to disrobe you, pulling your arm and leg warmers off in quick motions, then unclasping your bra with an unexpected tenderness, followed by guiding your thong off with cool, strong hands. You’re like putty in her grasp, and you watch with earnest impatience as she herself disrobes, discarding her corset and pants to expose a body thick with muscle and fat and curvature, her breasts bigger than your head and capped with cork-thick nipples; her bulge and balls hanging low. Silvery-purple scars crisscross her here and there, signs of the rough-and-tumble lifestyle of the Purpleblood cult. A dark purple blush fills your cheeks as you’re granted such a private and full view of her. With a hand gliding down to rest on your hip and squeeze your ass, she leads you into the sopor-scented sauna, shutting the door behind you with a click. 

The sauna is appointed as one might expect - sturdy wooden benches surrounding a bed of warm coals, a bucket of fluid with a ladle in it nearby. But the fluid in that bucket is a telltale green hue, and the box slid under one of the benches looks suspiciously full of lewd and well-used items, proofed against the heat. “Come get cozy, lil’ sister.” your Priestess beckons you, taking a seat in the corner and spreading out comfortable, patting her lap. Even before steaming up, the warmth feels intoxicating and fuzzy on your now coldblooded body, and you drift closer with a dreamy, dopey grin on your face, wiggling your bare rear in front of her before settling down in her lap, legs likewise splayed. While one hand comes to rest on your torso, lightly groping and teasing across you, the other extends to grab a ladleful of green fluid and splash it onto the hot coals, releasing a potent blast of pure, sugary-sweet sopor steam into the air. You breathe it in deep and a long, languid honk slips from your lips as the intoxicant hits you. 

“Good girl, breathe it nice an’ deep. Ain’t nothin’ better-feeling than a hot motherfuckin’ sopor sauna... aside from maybe a righteous pailin’ with a mirthful companion at the same time~” she murmurs, likewise enjoying the intoxicating fog filling the room. Both your bulge and hers begin to stiffen up as the vaporized sopor coats your body in a tingly, increasingly-blissful dew, and you watch with a stoner’s fascination as her bulge throbs and pulses up to full mast, dwarfing even your own beast of a member. The two bulges rest atop each other, your heavy balls drooping down either side of the priestess’s shaft to rest near the top of her own pouch. You’re about to reach out and touch at least one of those bulges, before they’re both grasped at once by the woman whose lap you occupy. “You just sit back and relax, little sis’. Your Ringmatron’s got this aaaaalll under motherfuckin’ wraps~” she reassures you, and you hazily comply. Her cool, sopor-slick hand glides slowly up and down both of your shafts in smooth, steady strokes, pumping them both up to their full, ample heights. She pays extra-special attention to the head of yours, pulling the foreskin-like sheath all the way down to your base to tease it directly. Little dribbles and spurts of purple geneslime ooze from your glans and coat her bulge, and you murmur the tiniest of little moans and honks. “Cutest lil’ honks, lil’ sis... Gonna treat my new lil’ adherent right, earn some right proper motherfuckin’ honks outta you by the time we’re done.” you hear her murmur in a husky tone into your ear. You moan and honk a little more earnestly for her, her hand rewarding you with a firm squeeze all the way up your shaft, which milks out a thick, languid dollop of slime from your tip. 

Her ministrations continue like this for several minutes, just a slow steady double-handjob and an occasional fresh splash of sopor-cola onto the rocks to refresh the hot, intoxicating steam. But finally the Ringmatron seems to want a little more, and with the hand not holding your bulge, she lifts you up like you’re a feather. Her own bulge rises up steadily, and she plants its tip - lubricated by your own geneslime - against your purple pucker. “Bear down, lil’ sis, let this bad girl fill you aaaalll the way up~”  she encourages you, and you comply, pushing down with your pelvic muscles as the horse-sized shaft spreads its way into your waiting pucker. Your eyes cross, flutter, then roll back for a moment, teeth gritting at the immensity of it all. But then she grants you a little sip of sopor-Faygo and returns one hand to your blge, and all is right in the world. Her bulge slips in steadily, a noticeable lump visible through your gut as it fills you up. You’re not even sure how your body is managing to take it, but by the Mirthful Messiahs, it feels truly Miraculous. She slides you down, down, down towards the root of her bulge, cooing in approval of the long, drawn-out half-honk, half-groan along the way. Her skilled fingertips work your glans, your shaft, your balls, encouraging the latter to churn up a nice healthy load while you slip ever downward. Finally your cheeks come to rest on her thighs, fully sheathing her bulge inside you. She doesn’t pump, doesn’t thrust, just lets it pulse powerfully inside you with little flexes of her abdominal muscles while she works over your bulge.

“I knew my newest lil’ sister had some wicked talent in her even during your initiation, takin’ bulges like a champ, all while hangin’ on my every sacred word. Makes you feel good, doesn’t it, gettin’ pailed while hearing the good word? Makes you feel complete, feel right?” she coos into your ear, and you can only agree. With both hands now free to stroke and fondle and please, she keeps up the soft, tender, yet insistent ministrations, all while continuing to murmur to you. You can’t see her eyes flicker, but either you’re too stoned to think straight or her Chucklevoodoos are at work again - just like during your initiation, you can’t quite seem to make surface-level sense of her words, but at the same time they speak to your inmost core, bypassing the active mind entirely and filling your subconscious up to overflowing with mirthful words, wicked knowledge, and clowny thoughts. By the time her stroking is finally milking an orgasm out of you, you’ve got a broad, fucked-silly grin plastered across your face and each sticky pulse of your geneslime spurting from your bulge is accompanied by a long, hoarse-voiced, earnest HOOOOONK! A bucket or more worth of your rich, cold highblood geneslime oozes thickly across the floor, adding to the purple planks’ indelible stain. 

When you finally come down from your sopor and preaching-induced high to relax in the afterglow, you notice your belly bulging noticeably; seems like just like during your initiation, your Ringmatron’s release has been slow, subtle, and steady - constantly flowing into you the whole time rather than coming out in a gush. She fishes around in the box under the bench for something before she begins to lift you free from her shaft, your body twitching and moaning and one smaller, weaker orgasm escaping you at the intense sensation of removal. But before a flood of her blessed seed can be spilled from your wide-stretched hole, she pops a large plug in, filling you back up and keeping you corked. "Best leave that in a few hours, sis. No sense wasting a drop of your Ringmatron's special fuckin' geneslime, right my sister?" she says, to a drunken nod in reply. 

With tenderness she helps you redress, peppering your body in small kisses all the while, looking quite pleased for some reason you can’t quite parse. All you know is you feel invigorated in body and spirit, your mind abuzz with sopor remnants and your priestess’s blessed words. You glance in the bathroom mirror as you pass and giggle at your giddy, still-broad grin, noticing dimly how good your grey skin looks. Was your hair always so shaggy? You’re not sure, but it looks motherfuckin’ good. You pause to refresh your sacred face-paint, while the Ringmatron continues past you to do something in her room. When you emerge, a fresh coat of greasepaint on your features, there’s a new door in a previously unused wall of the room, its bright colors peeking out from between the tapestries. She hands you a Sylladex card for a MIRACULOUS PORTAL, the new door’s equal. “A quick way home for my favorite new wicked sister. It’ll always bring you back to the Dark Carnival wherever you are, and when the Miracles line up just right, it’ll bring you right here to me for a little... private tutoring.” You clutch the card to your chest like a treasure, nodding eagerly. She rumples your hair and teases your hornbases one more time, before lightly swatting your rear and sending you on your way. You wander back out into the Carnival to enjoy the rest of your night. Your spirits and faith have never been higher. 

[lillaxtrigger]

Faded land: Chapter 9

The blistering sun bakes down upon the wastelands from the clear blue skies as Clara climbs up a towering incline. With most of her journey having been taken on foot upon countless miles this past month, she wonders how her legs haven’t given out by now. With very little breath to spare, she wishes for something that can get her through the wastelands faster along with refreshing her supplies, like a vehicle of some sorts, hopefully something with good mileage and air conditioning. Anything would work really, no matter how daft the concept might allude. Managing to drag herself atop the steep hill, she rises from the cracked grounds to lay her sites upon the city before her.

Columbus. From her point of view she notices something odd about the buildings in the city. There weren’t really as many of them broken as she anticipated. Sure, there were the city’s fair share of destroyed establishments, but for the most part, Columbus seemed to be normal. Even a couple of the sky scrapers looked not a day old. Looking over the entirety of Columbus, her hunger pushes her towards entering the city.

She walks to town, finding the streets below her feet to be free of cracks. The roads beside her looking to be just as repaired. Even the dirt looks to be gradually be supporting grass and tree saplings as she enters. The scientist then spots something dash along the corner of her eye and approaches to investigate. Around the corner, she finds people walking along the pavement streets, not overcrowded or in disarray like the last city she visited. Boy was that a cluster fuck. No, what really catches her attention was what the people traveling along the roads were traversing with. Animals, not just any animals, mutant beasts of all shapes and sizes the people were riding as steeds. Most of them were fused chimera’s of two or more animals. Seeing this network of traveling mutants racing along the roads both astonishes and overwhelms the scientist. Remembering her recent encounter with mutated animal life, she proceeds with cation.

As Clara slowly traverses through the patched up streets, she looks overhead to witness several people hanging around the buildings via ropes and sashes being supported by mutant beasts atop the roofs, patching and repairing any damages they’ve sustained. It seems like these people are taking an active effort to fix their city rather than let it rot. Good on them. Before she could progress gazing upon the working repair committee and their valiant efforts, Clara feels her stomach rumble out in utter protest. The hunger being painful enough to make her groan aloud. One wayward repair man hears the young ladies cries of hunger from below and slides down, asking her: “What’s the matter, little lady? Ya feel sick?” “So hungry…Haven’t eaten in days...” “Oh...Well, there’s a soup kitchen right around the corner. Sure they’ll be able to serve ya some grub.” the worker tells her, pointing over towards the corner behind him. “Here, let me take ya over-”. He turns back to find the girl had seemingly vanished. Thought confused, he shrugs off the affair and climbs back up to his patch job repairs.

A bowl of beef stew steams before Clara as she sits upon one of the tables beside a couple of unfortunate souls. She lifts up a spoonful of the soup with a piece of hearty potato’s to inspect for any odd discoloration or shape. Can’t be two careful after all, not after the incident on that weird as hell farm. Hmm...Looks okay. Color a normal shade of blonde. Sharp cut, but overall natural. She takes a light sip of the meaty juices that the mixture was submerged in. Yep. This is normal ass beef stew. Tasty ass stew too. So tasty in fact, that she can’t help but take the bowl and loudly scarf the stew down her empty gullet. Such a rather unpleasant display makes the people sitting beside her scoot away, not wanting any of the scientists flying drips to land into their soup. Finishing the stew, she puts down the bowl to take in a deep breathe and blow out a hearty sigh. “Ahh. That’s the good stuff.”

She returns the bowl back to a nearby dish rack, wondering to herself: “Now, what to do about food.” Just then, a colorful poster depicting a man riding atop a mutant steed like the ones she saw outside draws her attention. Under the rider was a description pertaining to an events of sorts relating to said picture. “Come ride in the annual Columbus mutant steed race. Winners shall receive a lifetime supply of canned goods for there spoils. Sign ups is at the Magmor Ranch…Hmm...”

Somewhere in the city, Clara arrives upon a wide fenced ranch. The middle of this giant fresh cut field is fitted with a practice track, riders racing through the dirt roads upon their mutant animal steeds. Though the doubt of mutated animals being safe to touch has shortly been buried, the site of them still freaks her out quite a smidge. A small phobia she’ll have to overcome quickly if she wants to participate. Looking about, she finds a white building besides the fenced off racetrack and enters.

Within, she finds a crowd of people standing about in the lobby, mingling to one another. At the end of the hall, she finds a clipboard with a bunch of names scribbled upon a grid sheet of paper. Assuming its the sign up sheet, she takes the pen on the side and tries to sign her name, but there was a small problem. Nearly all of the positions have been filled, counting nearly 30 people. She wonders if there’s even any room left on the paper to sign. But at the very bottom, she spots a single empty slot. Good thing she got here just in time, or she might have been outta luck. Without a single moment to hesitate, she quickly signs her name within the square slot. What now, she ponders. Will she be provided with a steed of her own? What kind of freak of nature will she have to mount? Questions that begin to swell as she looks about for any kind of official help on the matter.

The scientist then spots a man over a counter filing paper work. An employee? She swiftly approaches the counter and grabs the attention of the office worker. “E-Excuse me.” she utters. The man looks over the counter and finds Clara awaiting his attention. “Hello, miss. What can I do ya for?”. “Um, I just entered in the races and was wondering if there were any animals left for me to ride?”. “Ehh...I don’t really know...One second.”. The official turns away from his client, asking out loud towards his fellow employee: “Hey, Judas! Do we have any more trainers left?”. “Not sure. Have you tried Isabel?” the fellow employee questions. “I think she’s already taken.”. “What about Rico. No one’s had him for years.” another employee mentions. “Oh yeah. Forgot about him.”. Turning back to Clara, he tells the scientist: “Kay, turns out we do have one more trainer left. Rico, the one that lives across town.”. The employee rips out a piece of paper from a wayward notebook and jots down what looked to be an address. “Here’s his address. Fair warning. Guys a huge prick. You sure you don’t wanna wait until next year?”. “Can’t. I’m a very busy girl.” as she takes the scrap of paper.

Asking for directions towards the address in question leads her down a rather old and barren part of town. Much in contrast towards the part of Columbus she entered from, the streets she walked on were crumbled and full of cracks in turn with the ill crossed roads beside her. The buildings and homes that were still standing didn’t look like they had much time left before they collapsed. Typical post apocalypse affair in all honestly. Maybe the cleanup crew hasn't gotten here yet. The few residents that lived around here led her towards where this Rico guy might be staying.

Aside from the complete abandonment of the neighborhood, she finds the address she had been searching for. Only one house on the street stood that wasn’t in shambles. And even then, it didn’t look all that presentable. Well, there really isn’t anywhere else this Rico guy could live around here, really. Has to be his place. Approaching the shack, the front door suddenly swings open. Out from the doorway stood a man with clown make up on, aiming a pistol towards Clara’s head. “Stay the hell away from my shack!” he roars. She backs away from the armed carnie, falling upon the shattered streets as she holds her hands high in the air. The scientist wondering how many times its been that she’s been on the opposite end of awaiting fire arms and came out unscathed thus far. Quite a number of lucky breaks, isn’t it? The scientist hopes that this encounter won’t be any different, but doubt creeps into her mind as the man before her seems to be leaving not the best impression. “I’m fucking sick of you riders coming over and tearing up my home! I’ve had it!”. “A-Are you Rico?” the scientist wonders. “Who hell wants to know?”. “My name is Clara. I’m wanting to enter the race.” she answers the clown. The man lowers his weapon, an astonished looked was painted alongside his clown make up. The surprise quickly turns into laughter that echoes through the broken neighborhood. The laughter ceasing, he asks: “Alright. Who the hell put you up to this? Was it Manfred? Fucking dick. No no, gotta be Oppela. That bitch always had a sick sense of humor. Maybe it was Derack. That asshole doesn’t know the meaning of the word stop.”. “No one put me up to this. The guys over that the ranch told me to come here. Saying you were the only trainer left.”. Hearing her answer, Rico groans, adding: “Of course. What else could it be?”. The clown man turns back towards the inside of his home, telling his guest to: “Come on in. Fill you in on the details.”. Watching the supposed trainer go back inside, she picks herself of the cracked concrete and cautiously follows the man in.

Coming inside, the scientist found the inside almost as decrepit as the outside. The furniture within looked old and torn up, being vaguely repaired at the least to keep from breaking down. Waving through the air was a strong musk mixed with a vaguely rotting scent. How does this guy live like this? Clara takes a seat upon the fragile sofa, hearing the wood and springs within loudly creaking. She feels like just the slightest impact could snap it in two. “So you that desperate to enter the race, are ya? You sure you don’t wanna wait til next year and try your luck with a different trainer?”. “I don’t really have much choice. Gotta get supplies and get outta town as fast as I can.”. “On the run, huh? Alright then, come on. Let me show ya your steed.”. “A-Already? You haven’t even introduce yourself or apologize for aiming your gun at my-”. “Kid, we got three days til the big grand prix. We need to speed this shit along, asap. Come on.”. “Jeez, fine.”.

The clown leads the scientist out towards the back of the withered shack, where out stood a tiny stable. Looking inside, she find the mutant steed she would be riding with in the race, a large bear spider. Its eight fuzzy legs attached to a big, but skinny body that boasted a grizzly head with slumbering six eyes. “Oh my god!” Clara exclaims. “Yep. A genuine bear spider. She’s a real beaut alright.”. Rico crouches down to the sleeping ursa arachnid and gently shakes her head. “Come on Angelo. Time to get up. We got a new rider for ya.” he gently tells the bear spider. Angelo slowly opens her six eyes, gazing upon her trainer and the person that’d be riding her. Letting out a soft groan as she rises from the dirt, her legs wobble as she tries to stand, like a newborn deer fresh into the world. Hearing the mutant ursa groan much louder, Rico pulls out a can of food as he comforts the starving beast. “Sh sh shh. I know your starving. Gimme a sec”. Using a pocket knife, the trainer cuts open the can of beans and feeds them to Angelo, to which the beast swiftly devours, her trainer holding the can as she eats. After the contents are quickly consumed, Rico drops the can and asks the bear: “You feel better?”. The bear spider gives a satisfied growl in response. “Good. Good.”. Getting back up, the clown man turns to Clara, commanding: “Okay. Snap to it.”. “Excuse me?”. “Gotta get on the beast.”. “You want me to ride that?”. “Well duh, you gotta ride it. How the hell are ya supposed enter the race if you can’t even get on the steed?”. Clara looks towards her potential steed, seeing Angelo's beady eyes staring right towards her. Slowly starting to take the approach, she reluctantly reaching her hand out towards the mutant bears head. “Come on, kid. She ain’t gonna bite.” Rico impatiently blurts out. “Gimme a second! Last encounter with a mutant animal didn’t go so well for me, okay.”. As her palm closes in towards the mutants head, Clara braces herself by tightly shutting her eyes. Her grasp fills with fuzz, she opens her eyes and finds that Rico was right. This beast is completely docile. She shifts her grip towards Angelo’s neck, feeling the fuzz trickle through her palm. This gives her the gumption to try and mount the ursa arachnid. She slowly climbs up upon Angelo’s back, seating herself on the leather saddle placed atop the beast. From her view, she towers over the trainer, the top of her head grazing the roof of the small stable. It almost make her feel, powerful, mounting such a fearsome looking monster. “Wow.”. “First time riding a steeds?” Rico guesses. “First time riding...anything. I’ve never even driven a car before, much less a mutant animal.”. “Congrats. Time to ride.”. “N-Now?”. “Yeah now. Gotta get Angelo in shape by the time the race rolls around and get you up to speed on riding a steed.”.

In the streets out in the front of the clowns home, Clara was trying to keep her balance atop the bear spider as they rode along the crumbled roads. The trainer reluctantly watches as Clara tries to forcefully turn Angelo, tugging the ropes along her mouth, but having no luck as the ursa simply shakes her about. “Come on! Just turn already!” the scientist complains, her steed groaning in refusal. The bears constant struggling eventually makes Clara fall of her back upon the cracked concrete below. “Agh! Ow! What’s the matter with this bear spider? I can’t get it to go anywhere I want it to.”. “She” is just fine, kid. It’s you that’s whats the matter.” she hears Rico say, the clown staring her down over head. “What do you mean by that.?” Clara wonders as she gets back up from the pavement. “I mean that you can���t force Angelo around like a car or a truck. Its a living creature, like you and me. You gotta respect her as one, ca-peesh!”. “Oh...Guess you have a point there. Sorry.”. “Try telling her that?” Rico demands, pointing towards the mutant steed in question. The ursa’s gaze shifting away from the two in a huff. The scientist approaches the mutant beast, putting her hand on Angelo's side and apologizing with: “Uh, s-sorry...About being too rough with you. I’m just not used to riding, well...Anything really.”. Hearing this, the steed pivots her head slightly towards her rider. “I’m promise not to be as rough when steering you around, alright?”. With that, the mutant ursa fully turns, answering with an appreciative groan.

Getting back atop the bear spider, she grabs hold of the ropes as she seats herself upon the saddle. “I didn’t realize that riding a steed would be so hard.”. Clara remarks. “Gotta build trust with her first. That way, she’ll listen to ya. Got it.”. “I think so.”. The scientist gazes forward, seeing the broken road ahead. Taking in a deep breath to calm herself, she asks the steed beneath her: “Okay girl. Let get a move on.”. On command, the ursa arachnid goes forth, slowly crawling along the cracked streets. Upon coming towards the end of the road, the scientist commands her steed to: “Now, lets turn around.” she asks, pulling the rope to the left. As instructed, Angelo turns away from the end and back towards Rico. Seeing how slow they’re going,  she gently whips the rope, giving the order to: “Kay. Let’s pick up the pace.”. With slight gusto, the bear spider speeds up, its many legs scrambling at a brisk pace. Clara sees them quickly approaching Rico upon the side of the road. A little too quickly. Oh god! Too fast! They’re gonna crash into him! The scientist pulls hard on her steeds reins in an effort to break. Both rider and trainer worried about the potential accident, they yell out towards the ursa: “Stop!”. Angelo grinds to a halt, her head inches away from Rico’s clown face. All of them let out relieved sighs upon dodging such a close call. “Phuw...sorry about that. Didn’t realize how fast she could pick up speed.”. “It’s alright. Happens to all of us. I think we should maybe take this whole practice somewhere a little more open.”. “Like where?”. “Don’t know. You’re choice, I guess.”. Thinking for a second, her mind immediately goes towards an obvious choice. “I think I might know a place.”.

Guiding both her new steed and its trainer, she takes the two back to the ranch, many a riders racing through the dirt track around the establishment. “Here we are. Should get in a ton of practice riding around here. Ya know, I didn’t notice before but some of the mutants here actually look kinda cool. There’s a rabbit wolf, a rhino cheetah, lion pig, gorilla kangaroo, gecko zebra, horse crocodile, monkey frog. Rico, are all the animals around here chimera’s like this?”. Looking over towards the trainer, she finds him to frightened to respond, simply giving a horrified glare. “Uh...Rico…You okay?”. “What...the...fuck is wrong with you!?” he curses. “What?”. “Why in the ever loving piss stains did you bring us here of all place!?”. “I thought it was a good place to practice.”. The ursa arachnid lets out a frightened groan, its 8 legs gradually backpedaling away from the dirt track. “This is absolutely one of the worst places we can possibly practice! We need to book it hell outta here right this fucking second!”. “Alright, Geez. Don’t need to be so pushy.” Clara sasses as she turns the spider bear around. “We gotta hurry, before anyone notices we’re-”. “Rico?” someone wonders. “Son of a bitch.”.

Clara turns around, seeing one of the riders eye them from behind. It was a punk looking rider atop the rhino cheetah that was racing through the track a moment ago. It’s muscularly tone legs and sharp horn could decimate anything it would swiftly charge through Between its horn, the beast eyes coldly stare at the three, Angelo beginning to inch away in fear. Quite the deadly adversary. “What the hell are you doing back here?” the punk threatens. With a sigh, the clown man unenthusiastically responds with: “Hello Derake.”. “Who’s he?” The scientist wonders. “That is the Derby Champion.”. “Four years running, you mean. You wanna tell me what a jackass like you is doing back on the track?” “Not really. Just about to leave actually.” he responds, heading towards the exit. “What’s you’re hurry for?” someone laughs as they cut them off from the way out.

Angelo comes to a sudden halt as she was faced with a scaly stallion. Blocking their way out was a kooky looking woman dressed in what would normally be way too much green leather. However, the overboard attire did match the fierce crocodile horse she was mounting. A bite from its sharp set of teeth would leave anybody in a bleeding mess. “You guys just got here and party’s just getting started.”. The horse gator under her gives a deep growl, making Angelo back way. “Whoa whoa, who’s she?” Clara questions. “Oppela. Silver medal.” Rico answers. After a sinister giggle, the croc rider wonders: “And who’s this cute marshmallow you managed to sucker in?” Looking towards Clara, she asks her: “Let me guess, he bribed you, didn’t he?”. “Well actually-”. “I don’t bribe people, Oppela. What would I even bribe her with?”. “A fair point. You live in such a squalor.” somebody with a distinguished accent points out.

Turning back, they set their sites upon a well suited aristocratic man atop an ape kangaroo hybrid. The mixture of the upper body strength of a gorilla spliced with the lower of a kangaroo made for such a powerful combination and it knew this. The chimera proudly puffs its chest in dominance, standing atop its toes. “It’s a miracle you’ve managed to survive for as long as you have.”. “And he is…?” Clara tries to fish for answers. “Manfred. Stuck in 3rd place.” Rico throws out. “At least I’m ahead of the curb. You’ve barely managed to scrape your way out of last.”. “Hang on, what?” The scientist wonders, turning towards the trainer. “He didn’t tell ya toots? Old Rico here’s never managed to snag a win in his career.” the punk stated. “Always close to dead last. It’s so pathetic.” the leather woman adds. The clown man can’t help but look away, wordlessly confirming their accusations. As their laughter dies down, the aristocrat returns the question at hand, saying: “I believe there’s still a question afoot here. Young lady, why exactly did you choose Rico of all participants?”. “Uhh-”. “Yeah, come on. Fess up. What he do to ya?” the Derake wonder. “Nothing, I-”. “Then what’s the deal here?” Oppela pushes. “Um...” Clara stall, looking back towards Angelo’s trainer. She turns back towards the other riders, admitting: “He...was the only one left.”. The riders surrounding them awe in realization with Derake adding: “There it is.”

“Young miss. I suggest you quit now. Riders under Rico’s employee do not last very long.” Manfred suggests. “Can’t really quit. Gotta win the prize and split town.”. “Well then, guess we gotta make you quit then, do we.” Oppela tell her. “Excuse me.”. “You heard what she said. Either bail or we’ll make you bail.” Derack corrects. The riders surrounding threatening them inch closer, boxing them in. “See, this shit is why I didn’t wanna come here. Got any more bright ideas?”. Rico sarcastically questions. “Just one.” Clara answers. Turning towards her future attackers, she tries to distract them with the question: “Hold on a minute. Before you guys beat us like a meat processing facility on overdrive; Answer me this: The three of you obviously really good. But tell me; Who among you is the best?”. This old trick can’t possibly work. They’d have the brains of dead sea monkeys in hopes of them actually falling for it. But what other option is there? She’s got nothin left. “Ha ha. That’s a fucking easy one. It’s me.” Derake respond. “Hold on a second. That’s a load of BS, man. It’s gotta be me.” Oppela rudely retorts. “Sorry, who the hell is the derby champ again? That’d be me bitch.”. “We’ve all been champion at one point, Derake. Simply owning the title isn’t a measure of worth.” Manfred cuts in. “Alright asshole. How many times have you won?”. “Certainly more than either of you.” Manfred answers. “Really? Cause last I remembered, you’ve only won 4 times in your whole career. I on the other hand got 7 wins under my belt.” Oppelo counters, breaking the box that they were using to trap their victims. “That’s cute. I’ve been in the game longer then either of you and all that really doesn’t even come close to my 10 winning, with a 4 years winning streak bonus!” the punk boasts. As the three rivals prattled on with their horrendously clashing egos, Clara, Rico, and Angelo use the opportunity to attempt their escape, crawling their way towards the exit. “I can’t believe that old shitty trick worked.” Rico remarks. “Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are.” Clara adds. In their ramblings, Derake glances over and notices their prey escaping, breaking the entire debacle by shouting: “Hey! The fuck do you think you’re going!?”. The others take notice, their scowls locking on them. “Shit! Bolt it!”.

Ditching the stealth approach, they rush towards the exit in hopes of making a swift escape. Oppela speeds right around them and blocks their only way out, her horse croc threatens with its sharp set of fangs. Manfred jumps towards their direction, threatening to crush them under his beasts heels. Angelo dashes out of the way of the gorillaroo’s strong kick. Feeling the earth tremble beneath their feet, they glance back and witness Derack lunging towards them. They barely escape the strong charge, feeling the raw power behind the rhino cheetahs dash as it passes. Clara looks around and sees nobody coming to their aid. The other riders and the officials simply watching as this pursuit plays out. Looking towards the exit showed a couple of them even shutting the ranch gates, trapping them withing the enclosure. What’s the matter with them? Why are they letting this happen? Why is nobody helping? Questions that race through Clara’s mind as she formulates a plan of escape from their pursuers. Finding a jumping fence coming up, Clara asks the trainer: “Suppose Angelo can’t jump right?”. “Not really, no.”. She opts to go around the brittle fence, hearing the sound of breaking wood behind them, which catches Rico’s attention.

Alarmed, the trainer pulls on Clara’s shoulder to grab her attention, warning: “Uh, kid. Rhino cheetah’s inbound.”. She looks over the trainers shoulder and finds that his warning was correct. Derack was catching up fast. Looking ahead, she nears the edge of the ranch fencing. Beyond the open fields laid the rest of the city. She could probably lose their pursuers if she manages to escape the enclosure. Swiftly, she turns away, leaving Derack to crash into the picket fence. Peeking back, she finds the blunt impact of charge to buckle the fencing. Another punch like that should be more than enough to break through.

She plans to come around again, when her turning is halted by Manfred, nearly jumping upon them. Looking up, Clara sees the aristocrat, bouncing high in the air for another stomp. “I fancy myself a good hunt.” he declares as he plummets towards them. She weaves Angelo around the track to avoid the hopping mutants. Dashing away from the gentleman bouncing assault and running through the race track.

They see Oppela and her horse croc riding up ahead, threatening to run them over. Clara looks back, seeing Manfred ready for another jump. An idea pops into her head. She faces forward, both Rico and Angelo wearing looks of concern, as if worried why their rider wasn’t slowing down. “Uh, kid. Think you might wanna hit the breaks.” he warns. “Both of you gotta trust me on this. I got an idea.”. “Does that idea involve us not ending up being chewed alive like a tasty meat stripe?”. A panicking whimper escapes from the bears maw as they drive ever closer. Oppela coming up, they see the horse croc to be exposing its sharp teeth. “Come on, little marshmallow, I wanna take a bite outta ya!” the leathery woman demands. Closer and closer both riders come, Clara waiting for the right moment as the opposing mutant readies to bite. Once they were close enough, Clara makes an immediately turns away from the gaping maw of the beast, narrowly dodging its clasping maw. Oppela turns her gaze towards Clara as she passes by, witnessing the scientist taunting her with her tongue out. “Grr, god dammit!” she curse. Manfred sees his leathery rival riding near as he plummets down towards her. Unable to stop his descent, he tries to instead warn her by shouting: “M’lady! Look out!”. But by the time Oppela notices him, it was far too late. Both their mutant steeds collide with one another, resulting in quite the inter species crash. “Yes!” Clara cheers. “Damn!” Rico astonishes.

They’re short lived celebration was halted when they hear the sound of heavy stomping behind them. Looking back, Clara sees Derack passing though his rivals, chasing them once more. “So, is part of your grand plan too?” the clown man questions. “Kind of. Just need to lure him back around.” the scientist answers. She then makes a sharp turn and dashes towards the charging mutant. “Not this shit again!” Rico shouts. This game of chicken however had far less risk, because Clara didn’t wait until the last moment to move aside. Instead she dashes away beyond the rhino cheetahs sharp horn and sets her sites upon the buckled part of the fencing. Looking back, they find Derake skidding across the grassy fields of the ranch to make a quick turn back towards his prey. Clara then stops Angelo right in front of the broken fencing, the usra’s trainer asking her: “What the hell are you doing? We gotta charging rhino cheetah coming up on our asses fast.”. “I know. Just gimme a second.” Clara stresses, turning her steed towards the right of the fence. “You really like putting me through this anxious bullshit, don’t you!?”. Both of them observe their punk pursuer approaching, quickly closing the distance. While the scientist remains a little nervous, both the trainer and the ursa arachnid are thrust into an utter shutter on the thought of being flattened like a Sunday morning breakfast pastries cover in bloody syrup. Clara’s moment was near, now was the best time for her to take action. “Now!”. She urks Angelo forward, dashing her out of the lunging beasts charge. Just as she predicted, Derack crashes through the enclosure, giving them their means of escape. Clara doesn’t waste a single moment with her exit, dashing quickly out from Magmor ranch. Dashing away as punk rider witnesses them in the midst of their escape. As Oppela and Manfred pick themselves and their steeds out of the crash, they hear their rival ordering them to: “Get up, you assholes! They’re getting away!”. Quickly, the riders mount their respective steeds and join Derack in his pursuit.

Crawling away from the ranch, they quickly find themselves racing through the streets, passing by countless other mutant driver in their escape. Rico looks back to find their three pursuers turning the corner and racing after them. He then looks down upon his beast and finds Angelo to be tiring out, her legs losing their luster. “What now, genius? Angelo here’s running outta steam and those bastards are still gunning for us.”. “You said Angelo was part spider, right?”. “Yeah. What of it?”.

Their pursuers witness them turning the corner around an apartment complex. The riders quickly follow and find their prey to have vanished, only seeing the setting sun in the distance. “The hell did they go?” Derack screeched. “They seemed to have vanished. Not a trace of them left to investigate.” Manfred concludes “You sure they pissed off down here?” Oppela asks. “I swear I saw them turn this way.”. “Perhaps your vision deceives you, Derack. Your years fleeting with your site.”. the aristocrat snarks. “What’d you say, you little piss ant?” the punk growls. “Guys got a point, mate. You did say you’ve been in the game longer than any of us. Maybe your age is finally catching up with you.”. Both rivals bombard the rhino rider with both snotty and maniacal laughter. “Shut the hell up.” Derack hollers in a huff, all three of them parting from the chase.

Unaware for any of them, their prey had been clinging high above the building right next to them. Angelo’s paws stick towards the apartment complexes brickwork like quick drying brick cement glue. Clara and Rico perched atop the beasts side to keep from falling off. “How long could he do this?” the trainer questions. “You mean you never thought once to try this?” Clara asks. “No. I always thought Angelo’s paws were too smooth to stick to anything.”. Crawling down from the wall, the scientist then asks the clown man: “Kay, now I got a question. What was that hot mess about?”. “What was what about?”. “That stuff back at the ranch. Why did everyone just stand and watch while those bastards attacked us!? On top of that, why did they attack us in the first place!?”. “What are you, new in town? This shits been a part of Columbus for over 37 years.”. “I literally just got into town today.”. “God dammit!”. The clown inhales a massive breath and exhales before explaining: “Alright, I hate explaining shit, so I’ll make this history lesson brief. Basic gist is that since gas for cars got scarce, people shifted towards riding these mutated animals. Lot less of a hassle anyway, kind of. They use them for everyday life and have help Columbus to get back on its feet into a working society. Racing them has become such a celebrated sport around here that it draws in more of a crowd than a religious holiday bonanza blowout special. As expected, winners are looked up to as heroes while losers are treated as dog shit. Which is why I’m not exactly the winner of any popularity contests around here.”.

Rico makes her get off the bear spider so that he take the reins. “Alright, see ya tomorrow.” he says just as he’s about to leave. “Wait!” Clara shouts. The clown comes to a sudden halt, peeking back towards the scientist, asking: “What is it now, kid?”. “Ehh, well. It’s kinda funny. I don’t really have anywhere to sleep, per say. I was hoping that maybe I could stay at your...” she awkwardly urges. Upon hearing this, Rico goans aloud, reluctantly offering her with: “Fine, I’ll let you crash at my place.”. “Yes!”. “But I ain’t feeding ya, got it? Barely got enough for me and Angelo here.”. With that, the trainer leaves the scientist to her own devices, who was wondering where she might stumble upon more food.

Exiting from the soup kitchen, she licks her lips as she rubs her warm stomach, mentioning: “Ahh, soup kitchen food never tasted so good.”. Coming down from her satisfaction, she begins to ponder with: “Still. I can’t keep going back and forth through town just to grab a bite. I need to refresh my supplies. But how? I don’t have any money. Do they even use money around here.” As if of sheer happenstance, a wagon full of canned goods passed by the scientist, whose eyes catches the cargo as it travels down upon the road. The scientist drops the whole money notion entirely and smiles in favor of a far more sneakier method. She really didn’t really have any cash on hand anyway, if they even used currency, that is.

The humble wagon puller stops upon the back of a small market, the rider mounting of her steed to unload her cargo. Clara peeks around the corner, waiting for the chance to swipe just one box of the canned goods. Some people take a couple of the boxes and head inside. Almost half of them are gone. Her moment passing, she sneaks forth towards the wooden wagon, careful so that no one spots her. Peeking into the back, she swipes one of the boxes and flees with her new coveted set of prizes.

She hides within a nearby alley, peeking around the corner to check if anyone followed her. Looks like the coast is clear. Clara looks upon her spoils. A single box of goods containing approximately 12 cans. Jackpot! This should be enough to last her days on end. A little bit of a heavy load, but the scientist is ecstatic from her ill gotten gains. But guilt begins to weight on her consciousness like a slab of crushing pavement. Not from the stealing, no. The shame from thievery long being numb. What truly burdened her mind was a statement left by the animal trainer in his departing words. “Barely got enough for me and Angelo here.”. Those words plant within her sympathy that begin to sprout. He is letting her stay at his place for the night. Suppose it’s only fair to share her newly appropriated goods.

Trekking back to the shack, Clara finds the inside to be relatively empty, accompanied with only the glow of the dim ceiling light illuminating the living room. She doesn’t seem to notice Rico anywhere. Maybe he’s tending to Angelo? Or maybe he went to sleep, who knows. Just in case, he hollers for the trainer to come out. “Rico? You in here? I brought home a surprise.”. Even though her words echo through the home, they fail to bait a response.

Entering the kitchen, she looks out through window towards the backyard. She finds Angelo snug within her cute little stable, but still doesn’t see any sign of her trainer. Where is he? The scientist jumps when the lights come on without warning. She quickly turns around and finds the clown once again starring her down with his loaded pistol, grabbed in only a shirt and his underpants. “Whoa, hey! It’s just me! Just, p-put the gun down!” she urges him. Complying, Rico groans out load, asking her: “So, do you normally just barge into peoples homes like this? Cause that’s the quickest way to get a bullet lodged in your brains.”. “Uh, sorry. Thought you wouldn’t mind if I just myself in. It was getting dark. “Oh really? Guess that makes things okay then, don’t it? Honestly, your lucky that I’m letting you stay here.”. “Oh, a-about that. I wanted to share something that I found, with you. Just a way of saying thanks for not making me sleep on the streets.”. She lays the box of cans atop the dining table in the middle of the kitchen. “Ta da!” she presents. Rico takes a closer look at the scientists gift, immediately assuming: “You stole this. Didn’t you?”. “What? No. No. I never do something like that. Come on, man.” she tries to deny. Although the guilt of stealing has long been numbed, getting caught was another matter in of itself. Her insincere chortling quickly diminishes as she finds her host staring at her with a disbelieving glare. Clearly, he’s not buying any of it. She drops the act with a defeated sigh, insisting on asking him: “How did you guess?”. “Probably should have took the cans out of the damn box first. That’s a dead giveaway.” the clown elaborates. “You’re not gonna rat me out?”. “Nah, long as you didn’t get caught, I don’t give a shit.”. “Wow, um...Okay, neat.”. Although she wondered why the trainer was so lenient, she counts her luck and refuses to press on. “So, uh where do I sleep exactly?”. “You can sit your ass on the couch for the night.”. “Whoo, thanks.”.

Clara gently rests herself upon the rickety sofa, careful not to break her temporary bedding. Although she’s thankful that it isn’t the cold hard ground, she struggles to feel comfortable against the itchy texture of the couch. Sitting up, she requests to her host: “You don’t got a blanket, do you?”. “This look like a five star hotel to you?”. “Not even one?”. “I only have one.”. From above, a piece of the roof crashes upon the scientist, making her look up towards the ceiling as she rubs her head. The roof has obviously seen better days, countless chips and cracks decorate the ceiling like broken glass. “God. This place is a war zone. How can you live in such squalor?”. “Don’t really have much of a choice. This is all the Colombian government will give me.”. “What?”. “Remember how I said how derby racing ties to popularity, ties into social statues too. Those closer to first are better off, while those near dead last are left to with next to nothing. Don’t even give me enough to feed me and Angelo. It’s why she’s so skinny.”. “So, the government here expects you not only to live and take care of Angelo, but to try and win with what little you’re given with?”. “Yep, even if there were only two racers, they lean more towards the first.”. “That’s…Bullshit!”. “Yep. But that’s the way it’s always been here. These people take derby racing seriously over the well being of others. Its why I always steal food whenever I can. If the they’re gonna try and screw me, I have no problem screw them back”. “Oh…”. That would explain how he knew about the stolen cans. “Well, why can’t you just, quit and get a different job?”. “Can’t. Not without risking Angelo.”. “What do you mean?”. “I don’t know what they’ll exactly do to her if I quit. Likely process her for her weird bear spider meat or something.” Rico concludes, looking towards the kitchen window. Clara join his gaze towards Angelo’s stable. “I can’t begin to fathom the guilt I’d feel over it. It’d to much for me to bear...Nn, no pun intended.”. “Well, how bout this. If I win, then I’ll split the prize with you. Nearly a lifetime supply of food should last you and Angelo a long while.”. She hears the clown give a light chuckles, snickering with: “Good luck with that. Competitions borderline deadly.” Rico sees the scientist laying down upon his broken sofa with a gloom sigh. He tries to lift her spirits by offering: “Tell you what. How bout I pick somewhere for us to practice tomorrow.”. “Like where?” she wonders, looking towards the trainer with a questioning stare.

Upon the morning, they arrive towards a wider, largely desolate part of the city. The larger fair of buildings around them remind Clara of lot of the homes on Rico’s streets, broken, withered, lack of color, could topple any minute, same business really. Only difference were the much more wider roads and crosswalks sharing the same motif that made the perfect  track. A much larger course than the one over at Magmor ranch, if not as clean or up kept, but thankfully not as populated with clearly overcompensating douche bags. “Ta da...” the clown presents with little enthusiasm. “What’s with this place. Has the clean up crew not got here yet?” Clara guesses. “Not really. Can’t figure out to get ride of the bigger buildings without it turning into a safety hazard. No one ever comes here. Which makes it the perfect place for us to practice.”. “You want me to race around here?”. “Yep.”. The trainer hopes off the bear spider, patting the beasts side as he tells the rider: “Now get to it.”. Staring out towards the streets ahead, she worries about the exact integral structure of some of the buildings. “Are you sure this place is safe?”. “Kid, we can’t worry about safety when we’re on a deadline here. We got two days til the big race. Gotta get in as much practice as we can before them. Beside you won’t gotta worry about safety during the race anyway.”. “Why?”. “See, thing is, you won’t just be outrunning the competition. You’ll be fighting them back for your life.”. “What!? They’’ll be gunning to kill me!? How is that allowed!?”. “Do I really need to explain the whole derby being more important than human life thing again?”. “Well, why didn’t you warn me about it sooner!?”. “God, sorry. Figured that the whole fiasco at the race track might’ve tipped you off by now.”. Upon being given this harrowing news, Clara growls aloud, echoing through the empty block. Her frustration dying down, she gives an exhausted sigh, wondering: “Can I least get a weapon to defend myself?”. “Does it look like I have any weapons on hand?”. “What about that pocket knife you carry?”. “My can opener!? Hell no! I ain’t risking losin that!...Hang on. You’re still going for the race knowing it’ll be a bloody Mary bath house ? Why?”. “Like I said back at the track, need to refresh supplies and get back on the road asap. Figure this might just be my fastest shot.”. “That much in a hurry, huh? You late for a date with death or something? Gonna catch a moving then go out to eat before 69ing each other at the end?”. “Gee, Rico. You’re such a gentleman. It’s so heartwarming how much you care.” the scientist sarcastically remarks. “Talked long enough. Time to get in some practice.”. “Fine.”. With nothing else left to discuss, Clara sets off towards the broken roads ahead.

The long stretch of cracked concrete, she figured it was safe to test how fast her steed could crawl. “Alright girl, lets she how much horsepower you got.”. The rider whips the bear spiders reins, making the ursa speed along throught the once might urban jungle Her legs rapidly crawl through the streets, carrying both of them through the streets at a surprisingly astounding speeds. The decayed buildings around them were starting to blur in their galloping sprint. Winds blowing upon the scientist face, her hair riding along the ongoing draft. The cooling breeze felt so good, tempting her to shut her eyes as she basks in the peaceful sense that the acceleration brought. Before she could fully grasp such an amazing feeling, she notices the turn quickly approaching. She snap out of her euphoric daze and swiftly pulls the reins in an effort to prevent a potential accident. Clara manages to turn about just in the nick of time, Angelo tilting upon the sudden turn. Both of them regain their balance, the mutant ursa planting her feet firmly on the concrete. That was way too close. A second too late and both of them might have wound up becoming gruesome graffiti art with excessive amounts of red.   It might be of best interest to keep herself free from distractions as much as possible when riding atop such a swift beast. A thought that crosses her mind as she continues down the ruined roads.

The block ahead of them looked far more decrepit then the rest of the neighborhood. Whole chunks of concrete road risen and fallen under the exposed dank sewer lines below. No man nor beast could practically hope to cross this horrid mess of dilapidation. She thinks about stopping, ready to pull back in the reins of her mutant steed, but something ahead catches her eye. Next to the destruction was a set of sizable buildings. In need of repair, but look stable enough. Nearing the hole down to the sewer line, she steers her arachnid towards the architect in question without halting her forward momentum. Just as she had hoped, Angelo latches onto the outer walls of the buildings, quickly crawling through their decayed surfaces. Successfully crossing over the abhorrent example of property damage, the scientist steers her steed back towards the ground and continues through the district.

The next obstacle Clara could see obstructing her path was a rather large, and toppled piece of architecture. It’s shattered and pointed rubble laid astrewn across the cracked concrete block, not a single space to squeeze through. The scientist wonder that perhaps she should brake and find a different route. But why stop now? She has Angelo climb through the broken mess of the hefty abode, the bear spider crawling along bits of rough concrete. Seemed that no matter how severely rough the rubble had become, the fuzzy arachnid could rush right through with little to no ramifications. Angelo has been proving to be full of surprises. Wonder what else she might be capable of?

Both of them loop back around towards where Rico had been awaiting. They stop right next to him, Clara mentioning: “Hey Rico, uh...So how many laps do you figure I gotta go around.”. “Laps? Oh uh! Actually, it be best if you pick different routes at random each lap. That way you be prepared for whatever random course the race is set up on.” “Random course? What do you mean?”. The trainer gives out an exhausted sigh, halfheartedly explaining to her: “Every year, the committee maps out a different route around the city. The only way racers know the where to go with is blue tape set up along the roads, informing both riders and citizens of the designated racetrack.”. “Wait, the whole city? I have ride around all of Columbus in one go!?”. “There are checkpoints that you have to stop at, but basically yes. Why do you think I want you and Angelo to get in as much practice as possible. We gotta keep the training train rolling, here. Go on, get moving!” he demands. Upon this new bit of news, she has Angelo hustle through the streets.

They burn the rest of their daylight practicing, taking little breaks every other hour. The sun setting betwixt the cracks of the distant buildings, their shadows blanketing Clara and Rico as they ride atop Angelo back home. This time, instead of the soup kitchen, Rico offers the lady dinner, the best he could muster anyway.

At the dinner table, Rico whips out his pocket knife and carves out the lid of the can. The trainer sets the can in front of his guest, presenting with a lackluster: “Bon appetit”. Looking within the can, viewing the dull noodle concoction of soup and chicken. “Chicken noodle soup?”. “Yep. Came from the box of cans you stole.”, Stabbing the top of his can, he lifts up the can of soup like a glass, declaring to her: “Welcome to socioeconomic disparity.”. Rico then downs the contents of his can like a can of beer. Probably wishes it was beer too. Clara looks down upon her lightweight dinner and thinks that a far less poisonous option for a beverage might spice up the night and soothe the nerves all at once. “You got any water?” she asks him. “Some. Why?”.

Filling two mugs with fresh clear water, the scientist deludes their drinks with the tea from her backpack. Both of them taking swigs of the homemade brew, they breathe out with a much needed relief. “Oh, man. I needed this shit. So damn good.”. “Yep. Haven’t felt like this in days to be honest.”. “I haven’t in fucking years. Where did you get this stuff?”. The scientist jumps from her seat, obviously not wanting to tell him about the less than ideal scenario she had to go through. “Uh...you know...some-somewhere.”. Rico shrugs, slouching upon the dining chair with with another sigh. “I’m going to sleep so good tonight.”. Now that both of them were far more relaxed, Clara grabs the trainers attention with: “Hey, um...Now that you’re not as...pissed, I’ve wanted to ask something that’s been bugging me.”. “Fire away.”. “What with the clown getup? Did you run away from the circus.”. “Pfft, I wish. Some assholes broke into my home one night and covered my face with permanent paint. Is why I keep a loaded gun stashed around.”. “My god. Just-Why? I-I mean, know you can’t quit, but why did you get into such a harsh job in the first place.”. She hears her trainer laugh mildly, swishing his tea around with a single hand. There’s a hint of an underline tragedy within the chortling, like a sort of self pitiable disposition. Oh god, this gonna be so depressing, isn’t it

He stops sloshing the mixture with his mug, staring down upon the reflection as he lets out a weary sigh. “I did this to my own stupid ass.”. “What do you mean?” she pries. “I got into training steeds thinking that it’d be an easy gig. Feeding, riding, cleaning, the usual. Thought it didn’t sound that hard…I was so fucking wrong. I wasn’t prepared for how demanding raising a mutant beast could be. The competition and government don’t help either.” Looking out towards his steeds outside, he continues with: “What’s worse is that I just didn’t dig my own grave, I dug Angelo’s too. Poor girl deserves better than me. Why the hell didn’t I just take the stupid store clerk job?”. The scientist could here her hosts irregular breathing, as if he was trying to keep from breaking down into tears. He composes himself long enough to drink the rest of his tea, getting up from the dining table to head down the hall. “Thanks for the tea. I’ll see you in the morning.” Rico finishes as he walks into the darkened hall. Clara can’t help but pity the guy. He really screwed himself over. Taking one last swig of her tea, she heads for bed, determined to get in all the practice she can tomorrow.

Back over at their practice course, the morning sun rises behind the horizon, brightening the twilight sky. On the road, Rico had riden Clara down towards the track, who was still very tired, leaning backwards in such a way that she’s barely able to stay on. “Alright, were here.” he grunt them. With a very audible yawn, she utters to the trainer clown: “5 more minutes, papa. I was having a nice dream about this pretty la...” the sleepy scientist mumbles. He hops off the ursa’s back, points towards the road ahead and orders her to: “Now get to it.”. “Okay, chokey, bok-bokey...” she murmurs as she rides off, Angelo exhaling a much louder yawn.

After a lap, the rider begins to awaken, shaking the sleeping daze out of her system. “Ugh...I miss coffee so much. I’d kill for a cup of joe.”. She starts to tilt back in her half wake lull, flopping herself upon the lower back of her beast. Upon impact, she hears this wet gushing sound that makes her jump back up. Now fully woken, she notices Angelo struggling to moved forward, the arachnid dragging her paws through the concrete. Clara looks back, surprised to see a thick white silk that came out from the bears backside towards an opposite building “Huuuh?”.

After bringing Rico over, he starts to inspect the string closely, twanging the silk like a banjo string. “Hmm...”. “So, you had no idea that she could do this either?” “Not really. No. Damn stuffs as strong as steel wiring though.”  the trainer admits, pulling upon the string to test its strength. No matter how hard he pulled on the webbing, it would not even splinter. “Geez, no wonder you come dead last all the time.”. “Shut up and help me pull on this.”.

Grasping hold of the sticky string, all of them pull away from the opposing building with all their might. A piece of the architecture that the string had caught was pulled out from the bottom, making the entire structure crumble down. The dust settling, nothing was left of the complex but countless rubble. Angelo’s webbing was not severed from the piece that was pulled out, unfortunately. “Well shit.” Rico astonishes. Rico begins to pull the leftover string out of Angelo’s backside. Amazed by the strings durability, Clara begins to conjure all kinds of scenarios for its utility, the vast options opening up to her. “Wow. I bet I could do all kinds of crazy stuff with her webs.” she declares. “Probably. Best to mix it in with your racing practice. Ya need as much as we can get, seeing the entire town will be against you.”. The trainer takes the string out, shaking of the sticky webbing from his hands. “Oh great. Thanks for the motivation. Can’t wait to arrive at the starting line with the whole city.”. “Oh they won’t just be booing you. That’s for sure.”. “Oh what now.” Clara worries. Hearing the trainer sigh, she hears Rico start to explain: “Okay, I probably should have warned you about this from the start. That’s kinda my bad. But see, every year during the race, its very common for people to bet loads of good on racers.” “Not seeing the bad so far.”. “Thing is, those gamblers will do anything to make sure their bet wins. Setting up deadly traps, hired snipers, exploding decoys, all to thin out the competition.”. “You’re kidding, right!? How the hell is “that” legal!?”. “Technically, it’s not. But beyond the checkpoints, there ain’t enough security around to stop them.”. The scientist lets out an upset groan, realizing how much of the odds are stacked against her.

Along the makeshift course, the scientist has her steed come to a halt, pondering how far Angelo’s webbing is able to shoot out. But how to make her spit out her silk, she wonders. Thinking about how the sticky string was shot out the first time, she decides to reenact the first incident. Clara pats the spiders lower abdomen and sure enough, the silk launches out from the ursa’s backside once more. She watches the white webbing go quite a long ways, reaching nearly half a mile along the stretch of road. The tethering attaches itself to a complex upon the opposite side. Clara is about to pull the string out, but wonders if there is a much faster way to detach from the webbing. She scans through one of her steeds legs, going down towards the ursas feet. Dismounting from her beast, she gives Angelo’s paws a much closer exam. Noting the very sharp claws at the end of them, she wonders if their strong enough to cut through the silk. Angelo herself turns, as if curious what her rider might be trying to do. The ursa witnesses Clara take her claws and use them to cleanly severe the bears spiders own webbing. “Ha ha!” the rider exclaims, Angelo letting out a surprised grunt upon this discovery. It seems even the mutant beast is taking those steps towards self discovery. After that learning experience, she wonders how the newfound stick silk can be utilized. A thought popping into her head makes her snap her fingers. She climbs atop her steeds and continues down the broken roads.

Upon coming to a pair of opposing buildings that looked stable enough, Clara finds it the perfect grounds for her test. She guilds Angelo’s to climb toward the side of one of them, spitting out the ursas silk upon a sturdy part of the wall. The scientist then guilds her steed towards the opposing complex without cutting off Angelo’s tether, having the bear spider attach the other end to its wall. Crawling back, she finds the string of webbing stretching along the opposite ends of the streets. Clara pulls back on the sticky silk and finds it to be quite strongly flexible, plucking it like a readying wood ward instrument. Given the flexible durability of the webbing, it could be quickly setup for use of an on the fly trap or a makeshift slingshot. Slingshot. Hmm… The scientists decides to put a new theory into action.

Using what strength her beast could muster, Clara made Angelo pull back on their setup as far as it would go, the silk stretching quite a ways before beginning to fracture. “Alright, ready?”. The bear spiders shows clears signs of worry about where this might be going. Once the signs of splintering start to show themselves, Clara gives her beast the command: “And...now!”. Angelo reluctantly loosen her footing upon the cracked concrete, the string flinging them high into the air.

Their velocity sends them a far ways through the blocks, gliding high into the air over several low bearing architectures. It isn’t long though before they find themselves hurtling towards a towering complex. Clara knew if they didn’t find someway to stop soon, both her and her steed would find themselves to soon be recent example of the dangers of aerial shenanigans. She spots a building ready to pass through and acts fast, making Angelo shoot out a string towards the wayward abode. Attaching itself to the complex, the flexible silk begins to slow their careen. Both of them come mere inches away from the building before being flung backwards. They’re thrown back towards the attached architecture, Angelo mistakenly severing her own string in their midair tumble. That slight error makes them fly out of the building reach, instead plummeting towards the streets below.

Angelo on a panic, Clara waits for them to near the row of buildings below until she has her shoot out another string. Once close enough, she pats the beasts back side, silk shooting out towards one of the torn apartment complexes. They swing through the streets on the white tether, Clara hanging on tightly so not to fall upon the pavement. Reaching the ark of their swing, another idea pops into the scientists head. She takes her steeds claws and severs the silk, making them once again plummet towards the ground. Once more, the mutant beast launches her sticky webbing upon another piece of architect, both her and her rider swing into the air. Just like before, once reaching the ark, she makes the ursa severe her own webbing. This repeats to a point where they’re swinging through the destroyed district like a famous spider themed hero of sort, only without as much cuddly fuzz or overabundance of limbs. Beyond the distract, Rico couldn’t help but watch both of them rise and fall behind building after building, a wondrously confused gaze painted across his makeup covered face. After several swings, Angelo cuts her string as they near the ground, crawling through the streets to of shoot any leftover momentum. Once they slow to a halt, the rider is left with an adrenaline fueled excitement, while the steed is left in a panicked shake. The feeling of swinging through the streets with the wind in her hair leads her to declare aloud as she adjusts her glasses: “That...was...intense! Imagine how fast we could go using your webbing. We’d destroy the competition.”. In here excitement, she only now starts to hear the whimpers of her steed, looking down as she find it covering her eyes. “Oh...I...guess that might have a bit much for you, huh”. Her steed stirred in a fright, Clara dismounts from Angelo’s saddle and jumps in front of the bear spider. She bends down upon the crouching beasts, comforting with: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you through all that at once. But you heard what Rico said, we gotta practice this for the race. So why don’t we dry up our tears and get back in there.”. But all her steed could muster as a response was a scarred whimper. Hearing this, Clara lets out a sigh and instead promises with: “Okay. How about we just take baby steps, instead. Nothing extreme like the slingshot. How does that sound?”. Angelo begins to uncover her eyes upon hearing the promise, slowly rising from her whimper. Standing once more, the scientist mounts her steed again, asking her: “Now, lets start off with that building over there.”. The ursa starts climbing up towards the complex in question, ready to give practice another go.

The last day of practice beginning to fade, Clara and Angelo swings out from behind the corner on a white tether. The ursa slashes the webbing loose to glide forward through the streets. Before they hit the ground, the arachnid spews out another string of silk towards another building and swing across the broken block. “Yeaheah!” the beast rider cheers, her beast letting out an optimistic groan. It seems that with enough practice, the ursa began to feel comfortable with the idea of swinging about through the streets. Seeing Rico on the sidelines, they land upon the ground within a swing and run out any leftover momentum, coming to a slow crawl upon reaching the trainer. “So, still think I don’t stand a chance or what?”. “Psh, you’re gonna need a hell of a lot more gumption and a little luck if you’re actually aiming to win.” Seeing her disgruntled glare, the clown then adds: “Buuut...You might just pull a miracle outta your ass yet, who knows.”. “Gee, Rico. I’m so thankful for your support. You’re my sturdy rock in the midst if this hellish storm of doubt.” she responds with mountains of deadpan sarcasm. “Don’t mention it. Now lets get going. Need a lot rest for tomorrow.”.

With Rico taking the reins, they start to head out as the sun began to set. On their way back, a passing wagon full of canned goods catches Clara’s eye. She tucks on the back of the riders shirt, grabbing his attention with: “Hey, Rico. Check that out.”. The trainer glances towards the wagon, questioning: “Yeah, whatta bout it?”. “What you say we dine as Kings tonight?”. “Ha ha. You gotta plan cooking?”.

The common wagon hauler stood atop his humble bullquana, riding through the patched roads in a relaxed galloping crawl, thought the waning twilight begins to worry him. It won’t be long til the night encroaches, and with it numerous thieves, ready to plunder his precious cargo. He’s gotta get to the store to drop off this sweet loot fast. He stops by a large alley, the opposing buildings casting the space in a black blanket of cold ominous shadows. The perfect shortcut. The rider begins his descent down the alley, finding a lot more room through then he first thought. It’d make a fantastic one way street. Maybe he could suggests as such towards city board. Halfway down, the hauler begins to relax. The light from the setting sun at the end contrasting against the darkness being quite the relieving backdrop. The man takes a comforting sigh upon it all, describing it as: “Beautiful.”. That calm suddenly snaps away when he feels something tug at his backside. Turning around, he finds one piece of his cargo being pull away through the air by a white string of sort. Oh hell no! The rider quickly backs out of the alley, determined to skewer whatever scoundrels dared swipe from his wagon. Out from the alleyway, he finds his precious large box of cans being plundered by a couple of hooligans scuttling atop a weird bear thing. There gonna get an ass full of bullquana horn when he catches up to them. Eagerly, he charges straight for the thieves, disregarding any public safety in his pursuit for justice. Justice dammit! Many a riders and passerby jump out from the bullheaded cargo haulers dash in hopes of not getting flattened. Swerving through street after street, the constant barrage of mutant beasts in the way makes it hard to see his target, but he is absolutely certain that they’ve turned the corner. Following his potential victims, he is drawn into a dead end, the twilight illuminating through the chain link fence. Although he looks hard, he can’t find his prey anywhere, the only thing of note around being the empty box the cans came in. Where the bleed piss did they go!? They couldn’t have broken through the fencing, its still in one piece. Did he misjudge his pursuit and took the wrong turn? He starts to turn about, but finds the police atop their steeds blocking his path. Oh perfect! Maybe they can help with recovering his goods.

Atop one of the building, Clara, Rico, and Angelo all watch as the reckless bullhead driver is dragged away by the authorities. Their fresh plundered spoils wrapped up nicely within Angelo’s silky white strands. “Good girl. Good girl!” the trainer praise their steed, Angelo herself letting out a happy groan upon being given well deserved scratches behind the ears. Looking down upon the alley, the scientist finds the wagon they plundered out to have been left behind, its precious cargo left for the taking. She turns over towards the clown, asking: Hey Rico. We got room for a few more boxes?”. “Oh hell yeah.”.

Night finally falls upon the city of Columbus, all of them drag their spoils back to Rico’s broken abode. Dozens of cans litter the backyard as everyone lays on the back porch after engorging themselves to their feast. Each one of them groan out. “Uhh...That was good. I haven’t eaten like that in weeks.” Clara maons out. “I haven’t in literal fucking years…Hey, kid?”. “Eh he?”. “That crazy ass tea the other tea might have made me leak personal shit that I wouldn’t have said otherwise.”. “You did almost cry.”. “Yeah...Almost. Anyway, think its fair to pry some info outta your head tonight.”. “Alright. What are you asking?”. “Why...Why the hell are you in such a hurry to get outta here? Why the hell are you wanting to enter a race you know might get you killed?”. Clara stood from her slouch, answering with hesitant: “Well to be honest...I trying to find someone?”. “Who? An old fuck buddy?”. “No. No. Nothing like that. I mean I’m trying to find him so that maybe I can fix this huge mess that we made. Last I heard of him, he got snatched up by Canadians and flown over the border. I don’t know what he might be doing with them, or worse, what they might be doing to him. Its why I gotta bolt it to Canada asap.”. The scientist hears the clown man laugh, watching him get up from his laughter filled slouch. “The hell so funny?” she objects. “You’re wanting to get through the northern border? Border patrol there is insane. You think you’re the first person to try? Those Canadians will eat you alive.”. Rico lets is laughter die down when he sees his statement have saddened the poor girl. “Um..well...Aside from the couple that do manage to sneak in, not many people make it through. You probably need a miracle to pull it off. And from what I’ve seen. You’re damn good at pulling off miracles.”. The scientist lets a soft chuckles escape her lips, returning with: “Thanks. You know, you’re not as bad as I first thought. Just some guy that took a wrong turn in his life. Hope that I can stay on the right path on mine long enough to fix this mess.”. “Eh, don’t worry. You got a good head on your shoulders. Sure you’ll do better then my stupid ass did.”. After that statement, the trainer rises from his wooden porch, stretching his arms out as he announces: “Alright. Let’s all haul our asses to bed. Got a big day ahead of us.”. Both Clara and Rico head inside, Angelo drags herself towards her stable. All of them rest up, for tomorrow will truly be quite the tussle.

[dustingrayves]

The sun rises on a new day

Characters: Esper, Masi WC: 3688 Rating: T AU: mermaid esper/lusa Notes: cowritten with @dezimaton!! esper meeting masi, the local rich fish enthusiast! absolutely adored working on this, both because i love this au and because i love dez!! a pleasure to work with, honestly~~ <3

The salt wind stings his eyes and he regrets pushing his glasses up almost immediately. The weather forecast mentioned some wind, but out by the sea it’s impossible to predict it perfectly, but Masi has gotten used to it over time.

He had to, especially now that he’s moving to it.

His new house towers before him, an impressive two storey house built onto and into the cliffside that had put a dent into the money he had inherited. Though the added laboratory had cost almost as much. But he doesn’t regret it one bit.

His arms, on the other hand, do, and very much so. They’d been aching for some time now, but he’s finally onto the last few moving boxes. They shouldn’t be as heavy as they feel, but the fatigue is probably getting to him. It’ll take time to unpack all of them, but at least they’re finally out of the truck and inside.

It doesn’t feel like a home yet, but as he stands in the living room and places the last box on top of another with a deep, heavy sigh, he feels pride bubbling up inside of his chest cavity. It might not feel like a home, but it’s a house.

His house. And he can do all his research uninterrupted here.

There isn’t much to make it feel more comfortable right now, but a cup of coffee would definitely give his overworked muscles a rest. Now if only he could remember which box has the coffee maker in it.

Only a three stacks of unpacked boxes remain at the front door. He's never been one to collect personal belongings, keeping only the essentials to live comfortably. Before Masi can decide which one /might/ hold his beloved coffee machine, he feels something brush between his legs.

"Nya!"

A snow white cat with grey-tipped ears peeks between his legs, brushing him with its luxurious tail. It meows at him once more, its magenta eyes glistening like marbles.

Masi laughs and reaches down to pick up apocalypse. He presses a soft smooch to the cat's forehead before cradling her in his arms.

"Now you wouldn't happen to know which box has my coffee machine, would you?"

Apocalypse stretches out in his arms and opens her mouth in a slow toothy yawn. If Masi didn't know any better, he'd think the cat understood. But that can't be, of course. He chuckles and sets her on one of the box stacks before stepping back to look at them all.

To his surprise, Apocalypse jumps over to the furthest stack and rubs her face against the top of it. She runs her paws across the box as though trying to get his attention.

Masi doesn't have a better idea, so he opens the box.

To nobody's surprise, cat treats are in there. (She must have smelled them, the crafty kitty.) But more importantly, underneath the cat treat box, peeking out just barely under the other kitchen utensils tossed in is... the coffee machine!

"You really have some hidden powers, don't you?" he chuckles, scratching Apocalypse behind her fluffy ears. She purrs loudly in content, rubbing against his hand.

Masi caves in and opens one of the treat packs, handing her a few. She grabs them with her razor-sharp teeth and trots over to where he had already unpacked her bowls, laying in front of one and taking her sweet time with chewing on them.

He watches her with a fond smile; already at home. And then he takes the coffee maker out, wrestling with the cord for a moment before he can bring it over to the unnaturally clean counter.

In only a few minutes that feel too long for his strained legs, he finally has a steaming cup of coffee, warming his hands as he sits at the table.

It hasn't been long, but he has missed the smell of it. Or maybe it just smells better now.

Masi takes the hot cup of coffee with him to the porch overlooking the ocean, sipping the bitter drink as the ocean breeze cools him. The waves lap at the shore in a calm rhythm and circling seagulls cry from above. Now that he's just about done moving in, he can finally focus on what he was really here for: the ocean.

He sets the empty mug in the sink and walks down the spiral staircase in the main hall. A multitude of glass tanks filled with colorful fish surround him as he descends to the basement lab set in the cliff. Striped clown fish peek out of their anemone homes, catfish make slow loops around the tank with the sharks and sea bass. The location affords more room for his friends to swim and fresh sea water to replenish the tanks. Masi sits down in his swivel office chair and breathes out a content sigh. Even though he just got here, it already feels like home.

The sun shines in through the panoramic window overlooking the ocean. Feeling refreshed, Masi takes an elevator to the lowest floor of the house. He steps out into the hidden cove at the base of the cliff, a perfect shelter for a small motor boat. The salty sea air fills his lungs and he runs a hand across the weathered hull of the watercraft moored there.

The boat had lived through much, and feels like a part of the family almost as much as Apocalypse does.

He can't help but chuckle inwardly as he hops into it. "How about a walk?" he asks it, giving himself an answer by starting the motor. The roar reverberates in the cove while he prepares the small transportation tanks in the back.

He already has a list of samples he'd written down, so with his trusty co-pilot, the purple writing pad, he drives out into the ocean, leaving the house and the rest of the unpacking behind for now.

Salty, stinging wind and droplets of water fling into his face and his hair wavers behind him like a flag, but he hasn't felt better all day.

Although his sore arms beg for rest, Masi steers the boat across the sea through the waves and currents with finesse. He coasts around the borders of the natural harbor created by the rocks and cliffs nearby, takes notes on where the beaches, forests, and shelf dropoffs are located. Lines and symbols populate the map attached to his purple writing pad as the day goes by.

Before he heads back home, he steers the boat out into the center of the natural harbor and lets the motor fall silent. The waves lap at the sides of his boat. It bobs back and forth yet remains in the same spot, neither drifting closer nor further from shore.

Masi closes his eyes and lays back, enjoying the boat rocking, the evening sun's warm rays on his face. It's so calm out on the ocean. He loves it. With one hand he pulls out a small bento box from underneath his seat to enjoy while watching the waves.

When he'd been a kid, he used to get seasick, and he couldn't be happier that it doesn't happen anymore. Nothing interrupts him as he eats his rice and fish, eyes gliding over the almost unnoticeable line between the horizon and the clear blue sky.

Masi finishes his lunch at a leisurely pace, putting the empty box back aside to stretch with a very feline-like sound. His muscles throb and he knows they'll be sore tomorrow, but it isn't hard to push that knowledge to the back of his mind.

The trusty pad, when he grabs it from the other seat, tells him that one of the fish specimen he's missing frequents spots exactly like these. He could call it a coincidence that he chose this spot, but he knows himself too well for that.

A big box sits by the empty tanks in the back of his small boat, and it clatters noisily when he opens it to retrieve a couple of nets. Maybe it's time to replace it, but as he looks at its beaten, scratched up surface, he can't help but feel nostalgic. Maybe later then.

Masi places the pad on his lap as he busies himself searching for the correct net. He's looking for a particularly long one with a camera attachment so he can see what's going on underwater. His hand rummages through the stack of them, each with their own unique purpose, and when he finds it, the handle is just a tiny bit out of reach.

Not wanting to stand up, walk to the back, get the net, walk back, then sit back down, Masi decides to press his luck just a bit. He stretches a little further for it.

The net handle meets the palm as expected, but his balance over the edge of the seat is another matter. Masi slips off the chair and the boat rocks severely at the shift in weight. He instinctively kicks out to avoid tipping the boat, but before he can realize exactly what he's done, the weight leaves his lap.

His tablet is launched out of the boat and lands in the water with a loud splunk.

Panic washes over Masi and he tries to recapture his device with the painstakingly acquired net in hand, but it's too late. The tablet sinks like a rock, disappearing faster into the sea than his reflexes can manage.

"Damn," he curses himself; if only he hadn't been so lazy.

He's just about to chuck the net into the water and try to capture some fish from this place to at least get something out of this, when his tablet pops back out of the water, dripping wet and turned off, possibly short-circuited.

Masi stares at it, bewildered. That makes... absolutely no sense. It should've sunk to the bottom, lost to the dunes of sand at the bottom of the sea, full of shells and crabs that would make it the floor of their new house.

He reaches out before he can think about it enough, grabbing the edge of the tablet. It doesn't budge when he pulls it back, though.

"What the...?"

Is the universe playing jokes on him? He drank plenty of water earlier and doesn't feel unwell. Masi shakes his head just to make sure it's not a hallucination anyways.

The tablet is definitely there. He decides to try grasping it more firmly, both hands cupping the edges. To his surprise, the tablet comes away easily and in the spot where it was he catches a glimpse of a hand before it retreats back into the depths.

"H-Hello? Is someone there?"

His voice is warbled from not speaking for so many hours on the ocean. Masi clears his throat before trying again.

"Hello??? I know you're there."

He feels silly speaking to the ocean, but there is, without a doubt, somebody in the water.

"You helped return something precious to me and I'm very thankful. Will you... come to the surface so i can give you a proper thank you?"

The ocean is calm and betrays no secrets. Masi is about to give up and return home to look at his waterlogged pad when something white bobs to the surface.

Masi looks in awe as a head emerges, two wide eyes blinking up at him. They stand out against the paleness of the other’s skin and hair, which both appear almost the same shade of pale gray. Or maybe it’s the lighting giving it that shade. The magenta eyes are striking, as is the thing bobbing in front of them.

He finds out he had been holding his breath. “I… Thank you,” he says, watching as the head comes out of the water only to sink back in, constantly half-buried. “What are you… doing this far out in the sea? Would you like a… ride?”

The magenta eyes blink, and Masi takes notice of the long pale lashes and the droplets of water clinging to them. They’re impressive eyes. He can’t help but stare.

“What is that? It looks weird,” the person asks, finally rising enough for their whole face to be revealed. The thing in front of them bobs with each motion, pulling Masi’s attention every now and then, no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. How they managed to make such a good prop is beyond him.

“Umm…?”

“That,” the person in the water repeats, bringing a hand up and splashing water around as they raise it to point at the pad Masi is clutching in his hand. “It’s important to you? You said that, right? What is it?”

The hand that comes up out of the water is dark and scaled. It matches the bob poking from their head and looks like a seriously nice getup. He's almost jealous of how real they look. It's like those people at anime, comic, or game conventions, except better since it's actually functional in the water.

"Oh, this? This is my tablet. It stores information for me."

He awkwardly holds it up, and the person in the water watches with shimmering eyes, as though he's never seen or heard of a tablet before. Masi scratches the back of his head, not wanting to underexplain or overexplain.

"Do you... know what a tablet is?"

Esper tilts his head. "No. What is a tabulet?"

What a funny man, to not know what a tablet is in this day and age! Masi doesn't know the person's circumstances, but he's more than happy to explain what a tablet is from the fundamentals onwards.

The man's eyes sparkle during the explanation, and when Masi starts explaining the touch surface, he swims a little closer.

"Can you show me?" he asks, kicking his legs and creating waves that rock the small boat. Which sure is a feat for a single man.

Masi's eyebrows furrow and he wipes the surface with his sleeve. "Well, I'm not sure it... Yeah, it doesn't turn on right now," he says, fruitlessly holding down the power button. "It's waterlogged right now."

"Oh... Does water kill your tabulets?"

"Yeah, it messes with the electrical circuits inside."

Esper looks completely lost and equal part intriqued. He makes a guttural, questioning noise.

"It'll probably be okay when it dries or I'll get some parts replaced," Masi reassures him, setting the tablet aside onto the seat. Hopefully he won't be doing any more lazy stunts that would endanger it further.

"So..." Masi begins.

"What are you doing out here? This place is a practically deserted because of the old ghost stories around here."

Esper slinks back into the water, waterline tickling his chin. The human hasn't realized he's a merman yet, surprisingly. Esper expected that his lure and finned ears would've given it away, but it seems this one still hasn't made the connection. Has the man never seen or heard of mermaids before? He's not sure whether to keep up the facade or let them know the truth.

Esper leans back and makes a circle around the boat. "This is my home. What are you doing out here?"

"I'm collecting fish for my rese- Wait, your home? But there's nothing for miles, no islands or anything. And I'm the only one living at the shore," Masi muses.

Just the very tip of Esper's tail breaches the surface as he stays afloat, scales glistening in the sunlight, a different shade of magenta under each different angle. Masi follows the fan shape, looking at the dark depths of the water, but it's impossible to see it beyond the surface. He looks back to the other's face, notes the bobbing thing again, now gently floating on the surface and emitting faint glow.

His eyes go wide.

"Wait-- are you telling me this isn't an elaborate get-up? You have a-- oh my god!"

Masi scrambles back in his watercraft, tumbling off the seat. The stories are true! There are sirens living in this very cove and he is one of the unfortunate few people who would be eaten my them. He'd always shaken the stories off, being a man of science, but here it is before his very eyes.

It strikes him as odd the creature didn't just sing him a lullaby and eat him right there, going through all the trouble as to fish out his tablet for him, but he must look like easy prey out here all alone in a tiny boat, far from any saving piece of land. He stutters, holding up his tablet for cover.

"Please don't eat me! I- I consume too much coffee and junk food to taste good!"

A funny look forms on Esper's face. "Eat? I'm not going to eat you."

"But you're a... a siren, right? It's not a costume, is it?"

A laugh bubbles up from Esper's throat, loud and mirthful and just a little on the inhumane side, his lips stretching into a wide smile. The sharp teeth seem threatening now.

"I'm not a siren. I'm a merman," he says, circling the boat with a fluid movement. Masi can clearly see the tail moving, the spines protruding from it, and even the beautiful, almost butterfly-like back fins. He still can't believe it. "I don't eat people. Well..."

Esper's grin turns more feral momentarily. "Maybe if you taste good~ Want me to try?"

"No!" Masi exclaims, scurrying to the other side of the boat whilst trying not to tip it over. Esper grabs the edge of it, his darkened fingers holding the craft stable.

"I'm joking, you know," he chuckles. "Your mythical sirens don't even exist. It's just that mermaids are usually so pretty humans can't resist looking closer."

"Huh," Is all the answer Masi can manage. It's not like he's an expert on how humans act around beautiful people, but it's something he can believe.

The scientist glances down at Esper's hand now propped on the side of his boat. It resembles a human hand, except the webbing between the fingers is a lot more apparent. Not to mention each finger is tipped with a long dark claw, probably used for capturing prey. It's mesmerizing to be honest.

"Well, if you're not going to eat me, can I... look at your hand?"

Esper snorts a little. He wonders if this is how humans greet each other. "Of course you can."

Permission granted, Masi beams and puts on some gloves. He gently takes Esper's clawed hand into his own and runs a finger over the scales, feeling the rough texture of it. The scales are smooth from the front but rough going back. Masi's almost caught off guard when he hears a giggle.

"That tickles, ahaha." Esper marvels at how soft the man's hands feel. The touch is feather light yet still there, and warm like the sun's rays. He doesn't know how to describe it, but it feels quite nice.

"Oh, you're ticklish?" Masi muses, "So even mermaids can be ticklish... Oh, sorry- mer... men?"

Esper giggles louder. "It's fine. I have been told I'm beautiful."

"By whom?" Masi asks, curious, as he twists Esper's wrist to look at it under different angles. The scales shimmer in the light and they're different hues, almost purple sometimes, whenever Masi traces them.

A larger fin protrudes from Esper's elbow and Masi wonders how the bone structure with that works. He traces a finger across one of the spines forming it and it flattens under his touch. It seems to be cartilage protruding from the scaled skin, with soft tissue, barely see-through, arching between it.

"By Lusa, of course," Esper tells him, completely unbothered by Masi's poking around except for the occasional giggle or heavy exhale through his nose.

"Lusa?"

"He's my mate. He says it a lot."

"Your mate?" Masi releases Esper's arm, having fully inspected it.

"Yes! He is my partner for life and I love him!" Esper's smile radiates and Masi can't help but smile back.

"Do humans have mates too?" Esper props both arms on the boat, leaning into the boat with curiosity. He watches Masi with those beautiful magenta eyes and the scientist can't help but blush a little.

"Y-Yes. I think so. We call it 'marriage', but it sounds like the same thing. The males get the title 'husband' and females, 'wife'."

"Huh. That's funny how you separate them like that. Please, tell me more!"

The words are what begin a long, fruitful discussion on merfolk customs, human customs, and how they were both similar and different. Masi and Esper slowly warm up to each other and by the time the setting sun colors the sky orange, they're like peas in a pod.

The setting sun creates a spectacle from Masi's hair. Esper still can't fathom hair looking that good dry. His own resembles a bird's nest more than anything.

"You should head back," Esper says, casting a glance at the horizon. "The sea is unpredictable at night. You wouldn't want to get caught up in a surprise storm."

"You're right," Masi sighs, thinking back to the handful of unfortunate times it had happened before. "But what about you? Will I ever see you again?"

The last thing Masi wants is to never see this merman again and start doubting whether they have actually even met in the first place.

"I'll go back to my nest. Lusa will be cranky if I miss dinner, but I'm sure he will save me a fish or two," Esper grins. "But I want to see you too. You're... funny."

"Funny?" Masi echoes, unsure whether it's a compliment or whether he should be insulted.

"Humans are weird, but funny. You especially."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Masi chuckles.

"Good. Can I meet you here again? Tomorrow?"

Masi nods vigorously, heart falling down from his throat in relief. "Yeah, yeah, of course."

Esper smiles, fins flattening against his head in what Masi found to be happiness. "See you, then," he says, offering one last sharp-edged grin before he dives underwater, tail flicking water everywhere.

[werenskheeyyy]

A Night Out, Then Back In - Derick Brassard (#3)

Numba threeeeee! Hopefully you guys like this?? Fingers crossed! Much love pals! <3

Word count: 733

Warnings: they get naked in a bath but it’s not sexual hahaha, mostly just fluff!

Request: “Hi!!! Can you please write a Derick Brassard imagine?” - @emmyxoxo13 ******** “Y/N are you almost ready yet?” Derick whined from the front door. It was date night and Derick wanted to take you out to a fancy dinner. You had happily agreed because for the most part you two ate take out on the couch in your pyjamas. It was a nice change.

“Yea babe, I’ll be ready in just a second” you called back as you finished curling your hair. You had settled on a black body hugging dress, a black leather jacket, nude lace up heels and a gold necklace. 

“We’re gunna miss our reservation and we won’t be able to get a parking…“ Derick’s sentence stopped short when he saw you. "Holy shit. You look stunning Y/N” he managed to get out.

You laughed “now that’s a reaction I could get used to!” You walked over and gave your boyfriend a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

Derick leaned in, deepening the kiss and moving his hands towards your butt. 

“Easy Derick” you laughed, leaning your head back and wiping the lipstick off his mouth. “Oops!”

Derick’s eyes darkened. He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in close “I definitely would prefer to see that dress on the floor later tonight” he growled and buried his face into your hair.

“Yea yea, maybe you’ll get dessert after dinner” you winked as you opened the front door. “Let’s walk, it’s not that far and it’s a nice night” you suggested.

“Sure, after you” Derick said as he opened the front door. ******** You and Derick had just paid for your very expensive and very small meal and were leaving the restaurant when it started to pour rain. “Are you serious?” you laughed, clutching Derick’s arm so you didn’t slip in your heels.

“I kind of like it!” Derick said and leaned his head back so the rain fell on his face.

“It’s refreshing! I just wish I wouldn’t have gotten all done up just to look like a drowned rat” you sighed.

“Wait? You look like this all the time though?” a smirk dancing on Derick’s lips.

“You better watch it Derick” you raised an eyebrow and lightly pushed his shoulder.

“Alright, alright!” he wrapped his arm around your waist. “Let’s get you home.” ******** By the time you and Derick had made it home, you were both absolutely drenched. His white button down was almost see through and your makeup was running down your face. “I look like a clown” you moaned.

“Cutest clown I’ve ever seen” Derick replied as he peeled his soaking wet shirt off his body.

“Well you’re the cutest boy I’ve ever seen” you smiled and made your way into the bathroom. “Babe, can we have a bath? I’m freezing cold.”

“I’m into that” Derick said as he followed you into the bathroom. He walked over to the bathtub and sat on the edge, turning on the faucets. Derick stepped into the bathtub first, then you, lowering yourself to sit in between his legs. 

You settled into Derick’s chest and leaned your head back onto his shoulder. 

You both sat in the steaming water for what felt like hours, neither of you saying anything.

“Why don’t we do this more often?” you asked, you voice quiet and calm. Just as soon as the words were out of your mouth, Derick reached forward and splashed water back at your face. You turned around and looked at the wide smile that was now spread across Derick’s face, “oh right, that’s why. Because it always ends like this!” You grabbed the closest body wash and squirted some onto Derick’s head.

“Y/N, that’s gunna get in my eyes!” he screeched, laughing and grabbing a bottle of shaving cream and spraying it on you.

By the end of your water fight you were both an assortment of suds and smells.  After rinsing the various shampoos and soaps off your bodies, you and Derick climbed into bed. Just as you were drifting off to sleep you felt Derick tap your shoulder. 

 “Mhm whaatttt” you turned your head to look at Derick through half shut eyes.

“Can we order pizza?” he whispered.

“Derick are you serious? It’s like midnight.”

“The food at the restaurant was really small ok? We ate like six hours ago. 

“Pleaseee Y/N?” he tried to persuade, kissing your forehead.

“Fine. But make sure you get pepperoni.”

[recentnews18-blog]

New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/fun-festive-costumes-the-purpose-of-muskogee-business-enid-news-eagle/

Fun, festive costumes the purpose of Muskogee business - Enid News & Eagle

MUSKOGEE, Okla. — You can be just about anything or anybody you want after a trip to the Aceco Party Store: Alice in Wonderland, a ninja, Uncle Sam, Hello Kitty, Tigger or Winnie the Pooh, a trekkie, a horse or Elsa from “Frozen.”

Debbie Russell and husband, David, own the costume rental store and Aceco Equipment Co. He does the heavy equipment rentals, and she manages the fun stuff.

“It can be hectic, but you need to have fun where you work, and like people,” Russell said.

The Muskogee party business began in the 1980s as a children’s costume shop.

In those days, Russell and her mom created and sewed many of the outfits. They also cleaned the child costumes as they were returned — covered in everything from birthday cake and chocolate ice cream to dirt and grime.

“There was so much laundry. My mom and I worked awfully hard and the business grew big,” she said.

Today, the costumes are mostly for adults. Vendors supply the outfits, and Aceco customers can choose from a picture book of 4,000 festive costumes, including poodle skirts, Elvis, pirates, gangsters or clowns. Many of these already hang on the racks at the shop.

If someone wants an outfit the store does not have, “I’d probably buy it” from a supplier to satisfy the customer, she said.

The most requested costume is a super hero, and some outfits have to be replaced frequently because they are worn so much and need refreshing. One in particular is Buzz Lightyear.

Others are replaced when there’s a wardrobe malfunction. One Elvis costume began to shed its decorative embellishment stones across the chest after it was cleaned. That Elvis has “left the building,” so to speak. Actually, it’s on a sale rack if you are interested.

The surroundings in the shop are festive and interesting. “Big head” Mickey and Minnie and dozens of other popular fictional characters line the shelves along the walls. Color choices for just about every costume can make decisions tough. A pink polka dot Minnie dress? Or a red polka dot one, instead?

Predictably, at this time of year, many people want to be a reindeer, an elf or play Santa.

Aceco carries 20 Santa costumes year-round, along with the proper dress for Mrs. Claus and the North Pole elves. Several Santa outfits and their accessories are wrapped in plastic bags and hang near the shop entryway awaiting customer pickup.

For Aceco, being Santa is a big business. The jolly red suits start out in a size large and increase many sizes from there.

Playing Santa is also a serious business, in many ways, and donning a red suit is just the beginning.

The Wonder Company in Washington, D.C., once hosted a seminar for the professional Santa. Joe Jeff Goldblatt, known in the nation’s capital and beyond as the Clown Prince of Special Events, taught participants how to be a role model to “believers” who hold fond childhood memories. Santa should be plump, a certain height, possess merry eyes, project with a deep and interesting voice and have round cheeks that puff when exasperated, Goldblatt wrote in his lesson plan.

Aside from the need to suit up in the proper attire and master the appropriate voice inflection, Goldblatt cautioned Santas-in-training to avoid certain subjects with children — allowance, divorce, girlfriend and boyfriend relationships, politics and religion.

Class participants also signed the Santa Oath, promising to portray the character with respect and discipline. His trained Santas have tucked children into bed at night; distributed Salvation Army presents to nursing home residents and appeared at holiday parties.

Dressing in the magical suit does not always come with special training. Goldblatt said Santa must emphasize the best qualities in every child and adult so that being in costume will bring love and hope to the world.

For Russell, she simply encourages those who don any costume to have fun. And, she and her team have done much over the years to spread the word about costumes and fun.

They have appeared in costume and character at parties, and they used to participate in costume during the Muskogee Christmas parade, winning some competition trophies.

The team still does laundry and steam presses costumes to get them ready for the next customer, but Russell said the work is always fun.

Chancellor writes for Muskogee Phoenix, a CNHI News Service publication.

Source: https://www.enidnews.com/oklahoma/news/fun-festive-costumes-the-purpose-of-muskogee-business/article_a626c065-f59d-5a63-b359-4de5fee92066.html