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momolady · 10 months ago

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Art the Orc

If you live in a small town, maybe you'll know this place. It's a little art store run by the same family for ages. It's not changed in all that time either. Picture it, feel it, you know it's the only place that sells that one supply you like. Now, imagine an orc behind the counter. Female Reader x Male Monster

The visage of the old place looked like it had once been a gas station. There was one of those big metal awnings and signs that gas pumps had once been outside. But everything else looked like the art supply store it was. The window was painted, done up with flowers and a flourishing font, but it hadn’t been touched in ages and was chipping and weathering away.

The old place had seen better days, you could tell. But you were excited to tackle such a special project with your own two hands.

Inside the place had a familiar smell of paint thinner, book pages, and coffee. You looked around the front as the bells on the door chimed. The old floor had seen better days and was worn out where you stood, even the welcome mat was hard to read.

“Welcome to Greengold Creative Station,” the deep voice came from behind the front desk where there was an open door. ‘I’ll be out with you in just a moment.”

“Take your time,” you replied. You continued to look around, noting the mismatched shelving and thrown together renovations dotting the place.

A moment later, a large orc came from the back. He was wearing thick glasses and had on a corded cardigan that covered a paint splattered t-shirt.

“Can I help you find anything?” He asked as he adjusted his glasses.

You approached the front desk again, extending your hand to him. “Hi! You must be Mr. Greengold, I’m from Regency Renovations.”

There was a surprised look upon his face as he shook your hand. “You’re the renovator?”

You smiled, half expecting some reservation based on your appearance. “I specialize in business and storefront renovations. That is what you wanted, correct, Mr. Greengold?”

He fumbled with his words for a moment, stuttering, touching his glasses until he spoke. “Call me Art, please.”

You held it in, but he knew where your mind went.

“It’s short for Arthur, but it's also my dad’s name so my mom calls me Art. Yes, I know, ha ha, very fun. A man named Art runs the art store.”

“It’s an easy target.” You tried to squash your giggling but a few came out.

He sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ll be handling the whole store. I want it updated completely. It was fine for my parents, but I need to bring in a new generation of artists and online shopping is destroying us.”

“It’s a common issue, Art,” you didn’t look at him as you said his name. “I already have some ideas brewing and I would be happy to discuss your thoughts for the business with you.”

He sighed heavily, gazing out at a store that was once his family’s legacy. “I would say I would like to keep some of what my parents did to this place, but I don’t think any of it is salvageable.”

“Well recycling is a thing.” You replied. “Like some of these old shelves, the wood can be reused to create a rustic facade for the front desk here.” You patted the worn out formica top. “And the vintage signage out from can be reused and framed, hung just right behind you there.”

Art made a face. “You can do all that.”

You returned his face, adding a smug smile to it. “I can do lots of things, Art. My father was a carpenter and my mother was a viper. Be careful of what you inflict about me.” You patted your chest proudly. You knew you were small and chubby, not many people expected much out of you, but your work spoke for itself. And that was how you told people off.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I have a lot riding on this so-”

“So you hired the best. That I can promise you. Now I know you said you didn’t have a lot of funds, but I already have my plans made for how to help you with that. I plan on doing most of the work on my own, but for heavy lifting and other things-”

“I don’t mind helping with that,” he said with a shake of his head.

You had planned to bring in your brother for help, he enjoyed the destruction part of your job and he worked for free food. “Well uh…if you’d like Art, I wouldn’t say no.”

“I wouldn’t want you getting hurt on the job. It would be best if I helped out,” he said.

You couldn’t tell if he was being kind or underestimating you again, so you brushed it off and continued. “I would also like to film the process of the renovation. Stuff like that will help reach your new audience.”

He frowned, and his thick brows pinched together. “You must be joking.”

“I am not. You’d be surprised what the kids these days are watching.” You smirked up at him. “I know what I am doing, Art. Have some faith.”

His face read: easier said than done.

Discussion and planning was always the hard bit. You had to convince your employer of what needed to be done. Art was hesitant about some things, after all it was a family business and a place he had grown up in. But for the most part he was willing to go along with some of your ideas.

Art started the clean up process by first putting away his stock and setting most of the mismatched shelves outside. Once that was taken care of you began ripping up the old carpet and ancient linoleum.

“I remember when my dad put that stuff down,” Art said from behind you.

You looked up, eyes covered by goggles and mouth surrounded by one of those thick industrial masks. “Oh really?”

Art gave you a look. “Is all that necessary?”

“You’d be surprised.” You stacked another chunk of the linoleum to the side. “Lots of debris and who-knows-what is under these old floors. Decades of dirty shoes, dust, skin, and life are stored here.”

Art’s grimace deepened. “Skin?”

“Oh yeah, we shed like mad,” you laughed. “If you have dust in your house you can be assured it came from you!”

Art looked perturbed by this revelation but he continued in moving stock to the back and other store property outside.

Once the flooring was removed, you accessed what was underneath. It wasn’t marble or granite, but it was some type of stony tile that had existed when it was a gas station.

“Mom said it was inhospitable.”

You used a dust cloth to clean off a bit of the flooring. “But it’s easy to clean, and it’ll make the whole place appear brighter and bigger.” You turned and looked back at him, taking off the goggles. “It’ll be so much better in the long run. Plus! You won’t have to buy anything new except maybe a rug or two if you wanted.”

Art’s pinched brow was becoming the norm to see, but you could tell it was because the gears behind it were working so hard to process everything going on.

Once the tiles were cleaned and all the old flooring was hauled off to the dump, you started working on the walls, taking down slapdash shelving, and anything else hanging up. The old paint job, or jobs really, were layered on so thick and hadn’t been properly done. They had painted over the trim and electrical outlets, all of which needed to be replaced. The holes in the walls needed fixing too, and there were a few dents and scrapes from the years.

“You’re not hiring a painter?” Art asked one day.

You zipped up your coveralls and turned around to face him. “Not unless you want to shell out twice the money. Besides, I’m a good painter. A great painter even! Maybe not Rembrandt or anything, but I can handle a roller better than most.”

Art looked over your paint supplies. After days of you working on freeing the electric sockets and scraping the excess from the trim you could finally start working. You were painting the wall white, but you had found cheap sticker tiles to create a great accent wall, which could then be used for photo opportunities and special displays. Then another wall would also be painted white and used to display local artists and projects from the art class that Art taught.

“Mom always wanted to put wallpaper up,” Art murmured. “But said it wouldn’t be practical with everything we needed to hang up.”

There was a melancholy to Art’s face and tone as he said this. “What kind?” You asked as you poured your paint into the tray. “We could always find something close to what she had in mind for the office.”

Art glanced over his shoulder then shook his head. “I doubt I could afford it. I tried looking already.”

You put the roller into the paint, sliding it back and forth until it wasn’t too soupy. “Was this place your mom’s idea?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze going all about the store. “I can’t believe how empty it is now.”

“It’ll be full again in no time.” You gave him a reassuring smile when his amber eyes returned to you. “Do you have any pictures of your mother you would want to hang up?” you asked. “I can plan a special place for it.”

He huffed, seeming put off by this suggestion. “Excuse me. The smell of this paint is giving me a headache.” He walked off, stomping his feet a little as he went.

Art came back by the time you were finished with the first coat of white. You were sitting in front of the checkout desk, leaned back against it so your foot propped the door open. He stepped over your leg and looked at your work.

“The white really makes this place look…different,” he murmured.

“Don’t worry, there will be some color back soon enough,” you sighed. “Is your headache gone?”

Art nodded, leaning against the desk. “Sorry if I’ve been…obstinate.”

You waved it off. “I’m used to you.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve been questioning and judging everything, all because I never really wanted to do this.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then why are you?”

He let out that heavy, burdened sigh again. “Because it was in her will.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh.”

“She left me money, but only if I used a portion of it to renovate the old store. She said it was mine after all, it deserved to reflect the new generation. Even in death she was still hinting I get married.” He scoffed at this, but he still had a smile on his face.

“Sounds pretty motherly.” You stood up from the ground, standing beside him. Not feeling much taller than you did sitting beside his great size. You motioned to the front window. “Did she paint that?”

Art laughed. “No. I did. That’s why she kept it so long.”

Your smile beamed. “Really? That’s pretty adorable.”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. “For years upon years I’ve looked at that painting and wished every day she would wash it off and do something different. But I suppose her sentimentality was far too deep for that.”

“It’s a good painting,” you offered.

“I never thought she’d keep it so I barely tried,” he grunted and crossed his arms against his chest. “Boy, was I wrong.”

“Would you like to paint the new display? I was planning on just hanging a new sign and leaving the window clean.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

You patted his arm, and his eyes darted down to your hand, his brows unpinching for that one moment.

“I’ll wait till you decide then.” You stepped away from him, but his eyes still lingered on where you had touched him.

A few days later, as you were working on putting the sticker tile onto the wall, Art came from the back and offered you a ticket.

“A friend of mine has a gallery showing tonight. He gave me two tickets so I thought-” He hesitated and cleared his throat.

“How fancy is the affair?” You asked.

“Nothing too fancy. I mean, dress up, but not like black tie event or anything.” He cleared his throat again. “I was going to get dinner at my favorite restaurant since it was close by if you wanted to come.”

It clicked and you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed and your mouth started to go dry. “Oh. Sure.” You tucked your hair behind your ear. “If that’s the case, maybe we should go in together. You know? Save the earth and stuff.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Smart idea. How about I pick you up tonight. Say…around six? Since the gallery is at eight?”

You nodded, biting down on your lip. “Yeah. Perfect. That should give me enough time to get ready after work.”

Art turned awkwardly away then back towards you. “Oh I uh, I guess I should get your address.” You traded info and the rest of the day went by in a jerky, tense sort of way.

That evening you waited in your living room until you heard from Art. You were wearing your favorite dress, and had even gotten your next door neighbor to do your makeup. You got his message and went downstairs to meet him at the front door.

Art was dressed nice in a dark purple suit and he had his long hair slicked back and tied into a bun. He didn’t have on his glasses, which surprised you. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Wow, you look great!” He said, a touch breathless.

You blushed and smiled. “Thanks. You look pretty great too. I’m not used to seeing you without your glasses.”

“Yeah, contacts tonight,” he said shyly. He then took your hand and led you to his car.

The restaurant was nice, the two of you had a clumsy start to it, but eventually you both started having an in depth conversation about color. From there, you both laughed and joked around, having a good time with great food and even better wine.

From there you walked to the gallery, meeting his friend then roaming through the show. Her artwork was lovely, but you noticed Art’s pinch brow had returned.

“A lot more nudes than I expected,” he whispered.

“I think it’s nice,” you replied. “I can see what her intent with the motif is. How it’s classic, it's natural, but also subversive.” You turned to Art, noticing him fidgeting and adjusting himself.

“Yes. I understand what she is doing,” he muttered. “I must have had just a little too much wine I think.”

You smiled at him, chuckling as your cheeks grew warm.

The car windows were fogged over, and in the dark all you could do was touch. His kisses felt rough but intimate. His tusks brushed against your skin, making your shiver. Every so often the darkness was halted by the motion light of the parking lot turning on. You’d still for a moment, then continue on with your youthful antics.

“We should stop.”

“We should.”

“Why aren’t we?”

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You kissed Art and breathed, looking into his eyes while you clasped your hands around his face. Maybe it was the wine or the nudes on display, maybe it was weeks of working so close and holding back so long.

“It’s hard.”

“Very hard.”

You smiled at him, kissing him again while his hands moved below. Your panties were pushed aside, his zipper brushed against your thigh. Big. Oh my god it was big!

You gasped softly and he stilled, watching your expression. You eased over him, taking as much of Art as you could stand. You pressed your palms to the roof of the car for balance, his strong hands kneaded into your thick thighs.

“Aren’t we a bit too old for this?” he breathed.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we.” Your laughter turned into moaning. Maybe you were both a bit too old for this, but you’d never had so much fun before! He pressed deeply inside you, and his hands couldn’t stop touching your body. He roamed over the soft curves, and plump form, his desire seeming to grow the more he did.

The next morning you came into work, seeing Art standing in the middle of the room. You held your breath, wondering if it was all a wonderful dream. He turned and smiled, his thick glasses back in place.

“Hi” he said breathlessly.

Your smile bloomed. “Hi.”

Art motioned to the desk. “I brought coffee.”

“I see that.” You smiled and took a cup he offered.

He sighed then laughed and you laughed. “So uh…last night.”

“I liked your friend’s gallery. It was very nice. I also liked your favorite restaurant.” You took a sip of the coffee, testing it before you added anything.

Art nodded, his gaze drifted until it fell back onto you. “Is that all?”

You smiled over your coffee cup. “No. Just barely.” You looked into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if it was an appropriate work topic.”

“Not exactly but uhm…I just wanted to check.” His eyes darted over you. “Were we really too old for that?”

You laughed and cupped your hand over your mouth. “A little. But I’m not too sore. Are you?”

“No. But I would prefer somewhere much comfier next time.” he leaned in close and you closed your eyes, accepting his kiss and the touch of his tusks against your cheeks.

“Yes, it would be nice.” You saw he had paints and brushes set on the front desk. “What’s this for?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I thought I’d paint the window. I got a bit of inspiration last night.” He grinned your way. “Plus, I think mom would like to see how I’ve improved.”

You grinned. “I’ll be very excited to see how you work. Outside a car at least.”

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 year ago

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I'm Irish but work for a UK based company. The English treat us the way that architecture lady did ALL THE TIME. Literally don't bother to know basic things like when our bank holidays are, what relevant laws and industry practices are different in Ireland vs England, we've been assigned HR people who don't know anything about Irish employment law, given 'benefits' we couldn't use because we weren't in the UK, hosted in-person meetings in our offices where English guests keep saying 'here in the UK', we get paid less because instead of adjusting our wages to euro they just changed out the pound sign for a euro sign in our contracts, they refuse to let us use local suppliers for office supplies etc so everything takes longer to arrive and costs more than it does for the rest of the company, during a recent rebrand we were refused a budget for (legally required) Irish-language signage, the list goes on and on.

The irony is that because of the nature of our work we have constant meetings and workshops about acceptance of different nationalities and learning not to discriminate but if we try bringing up how we're discriminated against we get laughed at.

We have colleagues in an office in Scotland who get similar treatment so at least there's some solidarity there, but it's exhausting. It feels like we're fighting a constant battle. And the response we always get to complaints is just 'oh oops silly us' if we get any at all.

English entitlement is very very real and I don't blame you for reaching the end of your rope with that woman.

Oh Jesus Christ that sounds exhausting. And yeah, very familiar. Wales often gets included with the English south west when companies try to do countrywide provision, and what really stands out is the utter lack of consideration or respect for the language and bilingual signage, and Welsh road infrastructure not allowing easy or cheap travel in the same way. "Everyone get to Bristol for this meeting" is far, far harder for mid and north Wales than anywhere else. Plus, getting called a Taffy just casually. Super fun.

My sister used to work for a nationwide charity, actually, based in London. She took over as the organiser for their eight nationwide conferences a year. And the people in the Welsh, Scottish and Northern Irish offices loved her, because she was the first one in years who remembered that they existed, and made an effort to get the conferences to them at least SOME of the time; and the English offices complained each time she did. They thought four should be London (it's easiest to get to!), three in northern England (that's diversity!), and one in Northern Ireland (different landmass so begrudgingly accepted every other year) was reasonable.

Gah. Frustrating as fuck.

#asks #celtophobia

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breelandwalker · 2 days ago

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so, I know you've been vending at a lot of different craft fairs and witch markets for awhile now (sadly, too far away for me to attend!). would you happen to have any tips for someone looking to do the same at their local fairs? thanks!!!!!! ❤️

Sure! To start, brush up on three things - networking, recordkeeping, and people skills. Get an idea of what's going in on your area, talk to the organizers, see what the particulars are for the events. Here are some questions to ask:

What's the venue like? (indoors, outdoors, parking, accessibility)

Do I need to bring my own table and chairs?

Is there electricity / wifi available?

What is the table fee?

When is the event and how long does it run?

Is there a theme or target audience?

Is there advertising being done for the event? (Signal boost!)

Based on the answers you get, you can start putting your stock and setup together.

Do as much as you can WAY ahead of time. If you need to make things, start now. If you need to buy things, give yourself at least a month before an event to make sure everything arrives in time. Get yourself a 6-foot folding table and a comfortable folding chair or camp chair for events where they're not provided by the venue. Sign for Paypal, Venmo, and Cashapp as well as a card payment processing service like Square to give your customers the most payment options possible. And of course, plan to carry some small bills for cash patrons. (You don't need a register or cashbox, a simple bag of appropriate size will do. I literally use a pencil case that says Resting Witch Face. Works great.)

You'll want to get some displays for your merchandise. The type will vary depending on what you have, but it should be simply and sturdy and preferably easy to pack in and out. Vertical visibility is important at these events, so if you can find some kind of stand or tiered display, that will help you get noticed. I'd also suggest some simple clear plastic standups that you can put a printout price list and a basic sign in. A table banner helps people notice your table from afar and you should definitely have business cards to hand out with your shop info and socials. (I use Vistaprint for both.) Decorations are nice, but don't overload the table with them. They should augment your setup, not overwhelm it.

You may also want to get an 8x8 or 10x10 popup canopy and canopy weights if you plan to do outdoor events. Also, GET A COLLAPSIBLE WAGON. Best investment I ever made was a $45 collapsible wagon. It fits in my backseat and makes hauling things in and out of venues SO much easier.

Keep track of everything you spend related to your endeavors, including event fees, supplies, stock, setup items, displays, signage, business cards, and gas and food on the day. Keep those receipts - you can deduct them on your taxes later to offset your earnings. (Because registering as a business can be a pain and comes with fees, but if you don't do it, you may owe money for not collecting sales tax. Put aside some money for that tax bill, just in case.)

Prep your setup and stock the night before an event. Check your merch, charge your card reader (and bring a fully-charged auxiliary power pack and cord, just in case), make any updates to your inventory or pricing that you need to. It really cuts down on stress when you're loading up if you know you've already get everything set. I suggest reusable shopping bags or clear plastic bins to make things easy to haul, plus they can double as storage.

Plan to leave as early as you need to in order to account for traffic and pit stops. Pick an outfit ahead of time so you don't have to dither over clothes. It should be something appropriate for the event and the weather that looks neat and clean and is easy to move around in, including comfortable shoes. (Look to other vendors for examples.)

Make sure you bring water, snacks, and anything you'll need to get through the day, i.e. medicine (headache pills and stomach medicine at minimum), energy drinks, a fan for hot days, an extra layer for cold ones, etc. Get to the venue as early as the organizers allow. The more time you have to park, load in, and set up, the less stressed you'll be. Make sure things are arranged in a way that's accessible and makes sense. Place signage where necessary to explain items and pricing.

GO TO THE BATHROOM BEFORE THE EVENT BEGINS. TRUST ME.

During the event, you're gonna have to do a LOT of socializing, so prepare for that as best you can. Try to stand if possible when there's a lot of foot traffic so you're more noticeable. Be personable - you don't have to grin constantly, just try to keep a pleasant expression and greet people as they pass, especially if they look in your direction. Don't be afraid to invite passersby over if they pause to check out your setup. Welcome them in, invite them to check out your stuff, and let them know you're happy to answer questions. (And ALL questions are good questions. There are no dumb questions. Even if the question is the dumbest thing you've ever heard or it's the fifteenth time you've been asked that day.) Chat and banter a bit where possible. If you can get people smiling or laughing, they're more likely to stick around and possibly purchase your wares. Make sure as many people as possible take your card when they leave.

Yes, you will be exhausted when the event is over, even if you're a naturally outgoing person, and you'll still have to break everything down, haul it out, load your vehicle, and drive home. If you happen to have somebody who can help you out, that really comes in handy.

In any case, know your own capabilities and personal limits and plan for that when you're deciding where to vend. If a venue is too far away for your comfort or doesn't have what you need or the table fee is too high (be wary of any thing over $75 for a single day event), don't sign up. If an event is too long or too far outside your target audience, don't sign up. If you don't have an appropriate setup or don't have the stock / can't get it in time, don't sign up. If something about the event or the venue or the organizers rubs you the wrong way, DON'T SIGN UP. Talk to other local vendors to get an idea of where to go and what to expect. Most will tell you right away what works, what's good, and what to steer clear of.

This is all just the basics. You'll learn a lot more when you start to vend, as far as what your individual needs are, where to go to find reliable business, and how best to connect with local venues and customers. Keep records of everything you do (spreadsheets are your friend!), network with organizers and other vendors, and practice that sociable game face.

And trust me - if a disorganized introvert with social anxiety and ADHD and absolutely NO sales experience can figure out to do this, I think pretty much anyone has a chance.

Good luck!!!! 😁

#A. Nonymousse #witch market #vendors #practical advice #witch tips #life hacks #Bree answers your inquiries

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thamvosads · 2 years ago

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#outdoor digital signage solutions #digital signage #digital signage design #signage manufacturing #sign board design in dubai #signage installation services #signage supply #signboard manufacturer in dubai #signboard supply in dubai #signboard repair in dubai #sign board company #signage company #window graphics

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theladyofbloodshed · 9 months ago

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SJM Romance Week - Day 6 - Romantic Gestures

@sjmromanceweek When a grouchy man starts haunting her coffee shop, Nesta's romantic gestures come in the form of insults on his coffee cups.

A drizzle had misted the glass and as the world darkened, the yellow streetlights were blurs on the other side.

At the opening of the door, a brisk wind blew in. The man it carried with it was sharp-faced in a finely made dark pea-coat with an umber and orange patterned scarf tucked into it. It contrasted starkly with his red hair and pale complexion.

Emerie nudged Nesta in the ribs: target acquired.

He’d turned up a couple of days ago, coming after the evening rush and poor Gwyn had the displeasure of serving him. His first coffee had apparently been too cool despite being close to scalding. Then he’d summoned Emerie to wipe his table despite the evidence of the previous wiping still evaporating as he sat down. Nesta would handle him today. The best part of her day was to offer up the same rudeness that was given to her friends.

‘Yes?’

The man’s odd, amber eyes snapped from the signage to her. ‘Black coffee.’

Of course, he had needed to scan the entire menu for that difficult choice. Nesta ensured he could see how hot the water pouring from the machine was lest he complain that the temperature wasn’t warm enough.

‘Anything else?’

‘A little bit of customer service wouldn’t go amiss.’

Nesta shrugged one shoulder in response. ‘When you rediscover your manners.’

He stalked away to pounce on one of the vacant, highly-popular armchairs tucked away amongst the tall shelves. It was slow that evening; they were staying open later, trying to offer an alternative to bars for the non-drinkers, but it hadn’t quite taken off the ground.

There was no need to do it, but when his coffee was ready, rather than deliver it – as she might do for anybody else – Nesta called out, ‘Black coffee for the man with no manners.’

Emerie was wide-eyed. He’d reduced Gwyn to a stuttering mess when he’d pressed her for the details of suppliers for their snacks and refrigerated drinks. Emerie had simply called him a dick at the end of her shift when she got home.

To Nesta’s surprise, he pulled himself away from his book to saunter to the counter.

‘Thanks.’ His eyes glanced at her cleavage then noticed there was no name tag pinned there. There was a slight flush to his cheeks when he realised that he’d simply looked at her breasts.

‘Want my name to complain to the manager?’

His brows raised. ‘Not interested in your name.’

‘Oh, just my breasts.’

The man didn’t dignify her with a response, merely took his coffee then strolled back to his table, plucking a different book off the shelf as he went.

‘His name is Eris,’ supplied Emerie.

‘His name is a pain in my ass.’

As the evening wore on, the shop became more subdued. With only four people left – a group of three plus a solitary Eris – Nesta ushered Emerie home for the evening.

‘I don’t like you walking home alone so late,’ she complained.

Nesta held out Emerie’s jacket to help her into it. ‘Well, I like my dinner cooking when I return home, wife.’

‘You wish.’

‘Sometimes I do,’ she replied.

Emerie leaned back against the counter, arms folded. ‘It’s Gwyn’s turn to cook tonight.’

‘Get home, immediately.’

She gave a laugh and tossed her dark braid over her shoulder. ‘If there’s anything left of the house. If a fire truck is there when I get home, I’ll call.’

‘Such a beautiful woman but she cannot cook for shit,’ said Nesta with a shake of her head.

Emerie placed a hand on her heart. ‘Thank goodness she’s got us. See you at home. Be safe. Call me if you need.’

When the group left, Eris called her over with a beckon of his fingers as if she was a hound.

‘Can I get a camomile tea?’

Nesta gestured to the counter on the other side of the store. ‘Have your legs stopped working?’

Eris gave a pinched smile in return. ‘You don’t seem particularly rushed off your feet.’

That was true, she’d give him that. Nesta swept an imaginary cap through the air, collected his cup then set to brewing a tea for him – and one for her. She dimmed the lights in the coffee shop although the candles were still illuminating the tables and soft lights were on in the bookshop area. It had been an idea that had come as a result of burnout in corporate life. She’d climbed the ladder almost ruthlessly, soaring to the top, giving hour after hour to her job then her sister almost died in childbirth and she’d not seen Feyre for nearly her entire pregnancy. Work always took precedent. After that, it felt pointless. Her life revolved around work and she didn’t enjoy a single moment. Nobody ever woke up with the dream of spending twelve hours a day in an office. With the money she had been hoarding, Nesta lived her dream. Maybe it was a little dream, but she made the place she wanted; a cosy bookshop with good coffee and better cakes. It wasn’t a fortune maker, but Nesta loved it. Emerie and Gwyn worked with her to help out in its first few months of existence, but it was going well. Nesta had made something that she was proud of.

When she carried the tea over, Eris had swapped books. She knew that merging a coffee shop with a book shop would result in patrons reading while they drank, but it wasn’t a library – so she told him as much.

‘What if I chose one book and only read that when I’m in here?’

‘Again, not a library.’

A shrug was offered, but that shrug gave her pause because she’d been there before, been that person without a spark. As Nesta went through the motions of cleaning out the coffee machine and washing up the last few mugs, her eyes continually flickered to Eris. He hardly read the book in his hands. His eyes kept drifting to the wall then he’d skip a page or two and try to focus like his heart wasn’t in it. Not once did Nesta see his attention stray to his phone. He was somewhere else – a bad break-up maybe plaguing his thoughts.

Taking pity, Nesta plated up the last few sugary items – the three of them wouldn’t shrivel up and die if they didn’t polish off the stock for once – and set them down on his table with a paper bag.

‘Yours, if you want.’

‘Oh.’

‘Thank you, Nesta. You are welcome. There, manners.’

There was an elfin quality to his face like the bones of his face was sharper, more pointed than others. ‘Your name is Nesta?’

‘No, the other person working right now.’

Her sarcasm usually cut the skin, but Eris snickered. ‘Thanks, Nesta.’

By the time he left, Emerie was blowing up her phone with calls asking why she wasn’t home yet along with a picture of the charred dinner Gwyn had made then a message asking her to pick something up on the way home for them to eat. She’d stayed open later than usual because she felt too guilty to kick Eris out when his mind seemed occupied elsewhere. He’d thanked her again before he left along with returning his plate and mug to the counter – and a hefty tip that she was not expecting.

***

Eris came in every single day that week. He’d stand, stormy-faced in the queue, awaiting his black coffee. Depending how snappy or short he was, depended what name she scrawled on his cup. Grumpy man in the coat. Man who looks like a drowned rat. Mr. Miserable. He never took much offence by it, just raised his brows, paid for his drink then stalked over to the books to sit alone. By Friday, Nesta began preparing his coffee the moment he came in from the rain. When his lips parted, she pressed the cup into his hands. Eris scanned the writing on the receipt.

Mr Can’t-even-crack-a-smile-on-a-Friday.

‘I’m going to touch your newest books with greasy fingers.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she said.

His lips quirked. ‘Try me.’

When he retreated to his favourite corner, Emerie cleared her throat. ‘Excuse me.’

‘You may be excused,’ replied Nesta.

She rolled up a tea towel and whipped Nesta across the thigh. ‘What’s that? Were you flirting?’

Her jaw dropped. ‘That was not flirting. That was me warning a customer that if he ruins a book, I will beat him with it.’

Emerie gave a slow nod, not believing it for a moment. ‘I wish I had that shield. I go home feeling bad if a customer is rude. Gwyn cries. You grow more powerful.’

‘When they ask to speak to the manager, I hit them with the uno reverse card.’

Once the coffee shop had cleared out, Nesta was left alone again with Eris. Like the previous nights, he was unsettled. No book truly held his focus.

‘Camomile tea and a brownie. If you get crumbs on the books, I will bill you for the damage.’

‘This music is awful,’ he said, not tearing his attention from the novel – although she’d been watching and this was the most focused that he’d been all evening so it was likely a façade.

‘Take it up with the manager,’ she replied.

‘I wish I could,’ he muttered.

While he drank, Nesta changed the window display. New stock had arrived that morning so she was eager to have it on show ready for the morning. Through it all, Eris murmured that a book was wonky or the colour schemes clashed.

‘Would you like to do it?’

‘Not particularly,’ he replied, sipping at his tea – but for once there was some life behind his eyes, a slight brightness that hadn’t been there all week. ‘What time does this place close?’

Nesta mimed looking at an imaginary watch on her wrist. ‘Oh, about seventeen minutes ago.’

Eris screwed up his face. ‘I thought you’d be eager to kick me out.’

‘It’s a Friday night. You’re a young, presumably single, handsome man. If this is the only place you have to go on a Friday night then I feel bad to kick you out.’

‘Well, I sound pathetic.’ He drained his tea. ‘Sorry. Your boss won’t be mad?’

‘Yeah. She’s a bitch. Don’t mess with her.’

Surprising her entirely, Eris asked if there was anything he could help with to ease the lock up process. She’d already put the day’s takings in the safe, so she handed him a cloth and spray to wipe down the tables again. Dutifully, he set to the task.

‘You after a job?’

Eris gave one low chuckle. ‘I have a job.’

This was a man that she simply could not work out. From the exterior, he seemed sour and irritable, but he took her sniped words and parried them back.

Even when Nesta locked up the door, Eris remained nearby, watching over her shoulder as revellers began to emerge for the night and stumbled down the pavements.

‘Can I give you a ride?’ He gestured to the rain then pointed to a car worth more than any she’d ever sat in before. It was a massive, gas-guzzling beast that could plough down anything in its path. If the four horsemen of the apocalypse upgraded from horses to vehicles, it would be this one.

‘I don’t make a habit of getting in cars with strange men. Goodnight.’

It was a twenty-minute walk, fifteen if she moved her legs a little quicker to avoid the drunken idiots staggering around the streets. Nesta zipped her coat to her chin then steeled herself for the walk.

Eris turned his car around and she heard it roaring behind her.

It crawled along the road beside her, keeping pace with her walking.

‘If you won’t accept a ride then I can at least make sure you get home safely this way.’

‘You’d be so cut up if something happened to me,’ she scoffed. ‘We’re strangers.’

‘True,’ Eris admitted, an arm resting on the wound-down window. ‘But it's difficult to find a decent cup of coffee around here.’

Each night, Eris had given a generous tip to the pot which was at odds with his prickly demeanour. He could continue to come and be miserable if a fat tip was pushed into the jar at the end of it all.

Nesta made a tutting noise. ‘Will you stop this? You make me look like a woman of the night, driving along beside me and calling out the window.’

‘Ah, a jezebel,’ he said with a laugh. ‘It’s pouring. I’ll drop you off. Get in.’

She slipped her phone from her pocket and hastily flung a badly typed text into the group chat telling them she was in the car with Eris and shared her location. At the sensation of the heated seats, Nesta eased out a satisfied noise. The car was not what she expected on the inside. A blanket was strewn across the back seats and it was covered in muddy pawprints and dog hair. More of it was on the upholstery.

‘You have a dog?’

‘Uh. Yeah. I did,’ he replied, face tightening. ‘Tell me the way.’

‘I’ll give you five stars if you don’t talk to me,’ she quipped but the sadness had already leaked into his expression like those first couple of nights that he’d come to the shop. Maybe not a break up at all.

In a silence that was only interrupted by her directions, Eris drove her home. He was a good driver, never speeding, never taking risks despite the engine that thrummed with power. At the house, he pulled up.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Nesta nodded. ‘Sure. Eight 'til eight tomorrow, but we have shorter hours on Sundays.’

‘Thanks for the heads up.’

Her fingers stilled on the door handle. ‘Are you alright? You’re spending every evening until close in a coffee shop. Don’t you have a home to go to?’

‘Yeah. I don’t want to be there,’ he said without expanding on it. ‘Goodnight Nesta.’

***

That weekend, they continued their strange dance. Nesta called out orders for the dude with the stick up his ass, the guy who needs to get a library card, and the neat freak who keeps re-arranging the books. Each time, Eris sauntered to the counter or waved his hand through the air expecting table service, not at all bothered by her insults.

‘You’re definitely flirting,’ murmured Emerie as she hung up her apron for the afternoon.

‘I’m harassing him,’ countered Nesta.

Gwyn shook her head. ‘He seems to like it.’

Eris was sprawled out in a chair, shoes off, socked-feet resting on the chair opposite as he read. A cookie had chunks bitten out of it sporadically as he remembered its existence. He looked well and truly at home in the alcove cut into the wall. It was Nesta’s favourite part of the shop – the main reason she’d purchased the building. They’d pinned a lattice to the wall and wound fake ivy and fairy lights through it to make it something special.

‘Are we kicking him out to close?’

Nesta chewed on her lip. ‘I feel guilty every time. He’s got nowhere else to go.’

‘It’s not a shelter for waifs and strays. It’s a business,’ said Emerie.

Sunday was meant to be a chill out day with the coffee shop closing just after lunch to at least give Nesta a little bit of free time away from it. Eris seemed far too cosy to turf him out. She convinced Em and Gwyn to go on ahead in the gloomy weather and she’d catch up. Then, Nesta plopped down on the stool beside Eris.

‘Closing time?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

Eris heaved a sigh as he closed the book.

‘You know you can buy the books,’ she said, raising a brow. ‘That’s how we make money.’

‘Sorry. Tell your boss I enjoy the ambience too much.’

She gave him a half-sigh. ‘I am the boss.’

He reached back to the shelf to slide the book – a fantasy one – back into its place. ‘I was wondering why the manager put the grumpiest member of staff on every single day.’

Nesta choked on a laugh. ‘Me, grumpy? You have an aura like a sad, wet cat around you. It sucks me in like a black hole. That’s why I stay away.’

Eris slipped his long feet back into his shoes and tied up the laces. He wasn’t particularly dressed down for a weekend. All of his clothes screamed money.

‘So, what’s the story? Why do you spend every minute here?’ Nesta scanned him from head to toe. ‘Bad break up? Don’t want to pay for heating at your own home?’

‘I just don’t want to be there.’

Under her piercing stare, Eris crumbled. He pulled his phone from his pocket and slid it across to her. She was expecting a gorgeous woman there or a cute couple’s photo. Instead, Nesta was met with a massive, black dog with masses of shiny fur.

‘My boy,’ said Eris, wincing as he spoke. ‘Fifteen years old. Put to sleep last week.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s so quiet at home. I can’t bear to get rid of his bed – or that blanket in the car.’ Eris shook his head. ‘I know, just a dog. Get over it.’

Nesta clenched her teeth together then, ‘That’s not true. Fifteen years is a long time to love something. It’s natural to grieve a pet. Sorry for insulting you for the last few days. If I knew there was a reason for this mood, I’d have left you be.’

‘It’s alright. It was fun. I just needed a place that was open late so I didn’t have to go home. Then I found you. Your insults stopped me feeling sorry for myself.’

His words, though not deep, still had her heart giving a flutter. ‘I’ve still got to kick you out, I’m afraid.’

Eris dipped his chin then buttoned up his coat. He carried his own tray to the sink and loaded the items onto the dishwasher because he was practised enough with the closing routine.

‘Black coffee tomorrow for the dog lover?’

‘Ask your manager when you can get the night off.’

‘Drop me home and you can talk to her.’

#neris #sjmromanceweek2024 #sjmromanceweek

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sjsmith56 · 28 days ago

Text

A Better Man, Part 6 - Transformation

Summary: The renovation on Andrea’s house finally begins. As the transformation of Barnes Contracting gets underway, Mrs. Parker brings up regulatory aspects they have to follow. Bucky returns home to find Andrea in bed, sick, so he takes care of her and Lily.

Length: 5.9 K

Characters: Steve, Sam, Thor, Mrs. Parker, Bucky, Andrea, Winnifred.

Warnings: Steve being suspicious. Symptoms of mastitis discussed. Andrea feeling too sick to look after Lily and Bucky worries about her.

Author notes: Some changes are happening, both openly and behind the scenes. Is it foreshadowing? Maybe.

<<Part 5

Part 6

With the rest of the stolen inventory delivered, Bucky, Steve, and Sam began transforming Barnes Contracting into a legal renovation company. While Bucky supervised the four men who moved the rest of Andrea's belongings into storage, he went up on the ladder to check the exterior brick façade, finding it in good condition. The one set of windows with the crumbling caulk that allowed rainwater in was a singular occurrence and once those were replaced and finished properly the seal on that wall would be waterproof again. He also called his roofing guy who went up his extra long ladder to inspect it and give him a quote on replacing it. Then he called in the electrician he trusted the most to look at the electrical panel and the hodgepodge of copper and aluminum wiring in the house. He came that day, shaking his head at the setup; agreeing it would all have to come out. Like Bucky, he suggested trying to recycle the copper wiring but since he would charge for it suggested that one of Bucky guys should be assigned that task to keep costs down.

Bucky phoned in a request for an asbestos test on the house with the appointment set for the next day. As rooms were cleared, he opened the ceilings up where the water stains were to look at the plumbing, confirming that several original parts of it was lead and would need to be replaced. With his mother promising the funding he began tackling the building permit forms, filling out what needed to be done and the time frame he needed to do it. By the end of the first day, he felt like he had accomplished a lot.

With the house now empty of everything he was able to picture what he really wanted to do with it. There were even some additions that he wanted like a small window alcove turned into a book nook with a window bench at the window; a perfect place to curl up with Lily to read to her. Another book nook could be put in her room as he pictured it in a cream and rose-pink colour scheme. There were several parts of the house that could accommodate a built-in storage or bookshelf unit. As he stood in the living room then impulsively pulled back the old carpeting from one of the corners, he smiled at the original hardwood floors that were underneath. No doubt there would be some areas that would be damaged, but he could always pull the old wood out of the upper floors to patch those areas, then redo the upper floors in newer materials to keep the main floor look intact.

For the first time in a long time Bucky didn't feel anxious about his work. He really wanted to do this and prove that he had what it took to be a general contractor on a legitimate job site, using honest tradespeople, and legally acquired supplies. Even though he was doing it for Andrea and Lily, he was doing it for himself as well. I'm really looking forward to this. This is what I've always wanted to do. Locking up the house he returned home, where he enjoyed another quiet evening with Lily and Andrea, after one of her home cooked meals.

While Bucky spent the first day at the house Steve and Sam began assessing what they needed to do to drum up more renovation business. Inviting Mrs. Parker into their office, because let's face it, she was an asset to their business, they threw some ideas around.

"We need to get signage," said Steve. "Advertise that we're a contracting business in general, specializing in home renovations. I know you just did your thing to get us off Google, but we have to get back on the search results."

"There are a few trade shows coming up soon," said Mrs. Parker. "You could always rent a booth in them and have some photographs of a renovation in process then of the finished job. You'll have to have a presence there for the whole day and it should be someone who knows the business, like you two. I could arrange for the printing of some pamphlets and business cards to hand out. The only problem is that your last renovation project was over a year ago and it went up in smoke because of arson so we don't have any photographs. The house project is still in the beginning stages, but we should document the process for later advertising."

The sound of the phone ringing in the office took Mrs. Parker out for a moment, leaving the other two talking.

Steve shook his head, remembering that job. "Yeah, he didn't have the money to pay us, but he did have insurance. All that time working on it, and he torched it to get the money to pay us. It didn't make sense. What a waste of time and materials. We did a good job on that place, too."

"Then he sold the property to a developer." Sam grimaced. "Didn't even invite us to be part of the rebuild." He groaned. "How many guys have building experience out of our workforce?"

Steve leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. "Five, maybe. I think Clint has the most because he's been with us the longest, but most have no experience."

Mrs. Parker returned, catching the last part of their conversation, to say it was a client from the other aspect of their business who needed them to hold a shipment.

"I told him we had to suspend that part of the business for a while," stated Mrs. Parker. "I think Bucky will probably take the more experienced guys for the house renovation. He wants to do it right. One or both of you is going to have to run a construction boot camp for the others."

The two men grimaced as it was something they hadn't even considered before.

"Do we even have enough tools for everyone?" asked Steve. He didn't wait for an answer. "Let's go get an idea of what our guys know. Mrs. Parker, can you do your magic and come up with some business cards and a pamphlet for the business? Use stock photos since we don't have a choice. Maybe once we get some jobs under our belt, we can change those up. Truth in advertising, right?"

They left her in charge of that part of their "rebranding" and headed for the warehouse where they were surprised by the sight of Thor, one of their bigger guys, who had only been with them for six months, in front of a mockup of an unfinished wall. He was in the middle of demonstrating how to fasten drywall to a stud. The others were gathered around him, listening in rapt silence as he performed the task, then handed the drill and a drywall screw to each one of them in turn. Then he noticed Sam and Steve watching, grinning at them.

"I've done drywall before so I figured I would help these others learn it," he said. "We're all in this together, right?"

"Right," said Steve as he approached. "You worked construction?"

"Summers mostly, when I was in college," answered the big man. Sam and Steve looked at each other. Thor was in college? "I know what you're thinking. How did a college guy end up in prison? I helped a buddy out when he asked me to hold a hockey bag for him. Said it was a surprise for his girlfriend. Didn't know it contained a whole lot of heroin. Got pulled over and charged with possession for the purpose of trafficking. Had a shit lawyer but I kept my nose clean in the joint and got out early for good behaviour." He looked apologetic. "I'm sorry I didn't say that part when you gave me the job. I don't want to be involved in drugs or the bad stuff in any way. You guys were the only outfit that kept their noses relatively clean compared to the others. I'm excited that you're going legit."

"Okay," said Steve, cautiously. "What else do you know?"

"Basic plumbing, finishing, taping, mudding, kitchen installation." He scratched his head as he scrunched his face up. "Window installations, deck building, roofing, painting, flooring ... I've done most of it, except for electrical because you want an electrician for that and HVAC."

"Huh," grunted Sam. "Okay, carry on, then. We're just going to take an inventory of our tools and other equipment."

"Good idea," smiled Thor. "I just grabbed this drill from the shelf. Mrs. Parker gave me some petty cash to get drywall and some studs and screws to make this mockup. Hope that was okay."

"Yeah, that was good thinking," said Steve, pulling at Sam's arm, until the latter man glared at him. "Like Sam said, carry on."

As he went into one of the storage rooms where they kept tools Sam stopped him.

"What were you pulling at me for?" he asked. "He's doing a good job in there."

"He lied!" spat Steve. "About college, about what he was in prison for, and about construction experience. I interviewed him and he said nothing about any of that. What else has he lied about?"

"What do you mean?

"What if he's undercover? How did we end up on a task force's radar when we keep such a low profile?" He pulled his cell phone out and called Mrs. Parker. "Yeah, it's Steve calling. Doesn't your call display say that?" He rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry Mrs. Parker. I didn't mean to get snippy with you. Listen, do you still have that contact in the gang division? Can you find out if Thor is an undercover cop? Yes, Thor. Did you know he went to college and that he was in prison for heroin trafficking and that he has considerable construction experience? You did? Why didn't you say anything?" He paused for a long moment as even Sam heard her tell Steve off over the cell phone even though he didn't have it on speaker. "My apologies. You are an exemplary employee who certainly knows her job very well. Thank you, Mrs. Parker."

He hung up and stood there breathing heavily for some time until Sam pushed him lightly in the arm.

"What did she say?"

"She runs an extensive check on everyone," he replied, looking into the distance. "He's exactly what he says he is. She asked him about it, and he admitted he didn't want anyone to think he was smarter than they were, and he was ashamed of being caught holding heroin." He looked at Sam then. "She knows that Natasha is a cop. Recognized her. She thinks we have a future together."

"How does she do that?" asked Sam. "I swear that she's the one who tells Mrs. Barnes all of our secrets although she manages to worm it out of us anyways."

"Just be happy she's on our side," said Steve. "Imagine if she worked for the cops."

They looked at each other for a moment then both of them shook their heads. There was no way Mrs. Parker was an undercover cop. She had been with them since just before George Barnes died, ten years before. It was her expertise in computers that got them through some sticky situations plus she was efficient, generally pleasant and her nephew was also on their payroll, although he worked for the city. Putting the thought out of their minds the two men began testing all their electrical tools, making sure they worked. They also took an inventory of what they had, knowing that they had to look the part of successful contractors to make customers willing to hire them.

🪛🔨 🪚

By the end of the week, Bucky had the word from the asbestos guy that only the insulation in the attic and the flooring in the kitchen had asbestos in it. As best they could tell there was none in the walls. It was a big relief to him as it meant the abatement process would go quicker and be less invasive. He booked the abatement guys for the following week and phoned the planning department to find out if his building permits had been approved yet. He also contacted the roofing guy to book that job. Until he had the permits in hand, he wasn't willing to do anything else that could jeopardize the project. Instead, he went into the warehouse where the construction boot camp had been underway for the week. After Steve told him about Thor's background, they put him and Clint in charge of getting the rest of the guys up to speed on their building skills. Everything looked good to Bucky when he was there.

It was obvious that some of the guys were better than others at it. After Luis sent a nail into his foot from the nail gun, and Steve took him to Dr. Banner, the doctor who usually treated people in their line of work, he insisted that everyone had to have steel toed boots immediately, blaming himself for not insisting on it to begin with. Thank goodness Bucky was in the office at the time otherwise he would have been sick on the spot. Two guys had already spent their last pay, so Bucky took them out to the work wear store, staying with them while they tried boots on. He paid for them, as well as enough hard hats and tool belts for everyone, but made sure they knew the boots would be taken out of their next pay. On his return Mrs. Parker appeared at his door.

"We need to talk," she said, closing the door behind her and sitting across from him.

"What about?" he asked.

"Well, the only people officially on the payroll are you three, me, and Clint. The others are paid cash under the table."

"Yeah," he replied, unsure where this was going.

"If they're working at a job site, you can be sure that there may be some surprise inspections on your workforce. Immigration is going to want to make sure they're legally entitled to work here, OHS is going to want to make sure they have the proper safety gear and training, and IRS might show up to make sure that your paperwork on them is all up to date. They should have healthcare coverage as well in case they get injured on the job. We have to get the others added officially to the payroll, so they need to fill out a bunch of forms. They may have to provide background checks to satisfy certain insurance requirements. They will also have to get bonded under the Federal Bonding Program to cover theft or other crimes which they may be tempted to commit at the job site." He frowned. "I can email you the details of why it's needed, but we should have it considering their backgrounds. I mean, they're all ex-cons, right? It's kind of a big deal in getting insurance coverage. No one is going to hire you for a legitimate job if you don't have that."

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his face with his hands. Then he breathed in and out a few times.

"Are you able to handle that? You already do our payroll, right?"

"Yes, but doing it for five people is easy. Doing it for 25, plus handling all the paperwork and I'm also busy getting our advertising needs set and answering the calls .... Bucky, I am already swamped. We need another person in the office."

"Part-time?" She shook her head. "More than minimum wage?" Mrs. Parker shrugged then nodded her head. "Do you know anyone who can do this?"

"I have a person in mind," she admitted. "She was sexually harassed at her other job and quit, as her official complaint went nowhere, so the guys have to know they can't come on to her or any woman that works for the company, for that matter."

"Fine, get her in here and I'll interview her just to make sure I'm satisfied she can do the job. I'll have a meeting with everyone to warn them about proper behaviour in the workplace. Is there anything else?"

"Just one thing," she smiled. Bucky looked at her with trepidation, wondering what it could be. "I think you're doing the right thing. The side business was getting a bit complicated, and I've heard rumours that Hydra was pushing the smaller companies to join them or be shut down by them. I know you don't want to be associated with them or go to the extremes they go to. You're not that kind of man."

Her words surprised him. She joined the company shortly before his dad died, as his mother had her hands full taking care of him. After his death, they were both so impressed with her that his mother asked that Mrs. Parker take over the secretarial duties completely. Her cheery nature and work skills had been greatly appreciated by all of them.

"Thank you. I just hope that we're able to turn this thing around," he said. "If we don't, I may have no choice but to get back to the other line of work."

"You'll do it," she stated, as she got up from the seat. "I have faith in you, Bucky. All of you. Even the guys, with their backgrounds, believe in you. Many of them are happy that you're going legit. They want you to succeed."

He gave her a slight smile then sat back in his chair again. When he proposed stepping away from the illegal jobs they were doing, he had no idea that trying to do the right thing was going to be so complicated. He just hoped that he could manage it.

The following day Bucky arrived at the office to the sight of a younger, dark-haired woman waiting in a chair. He said good morning to Mrs. Parker then entered his office. She followed him in, carrying some papers.

"The young lady out there is here for the other office job," she said, placing the papers on his desk. "Her name is Hope Van Dyne and that's her resume. Be nice."

"I'm always nice," he answered, as she walked out the door. "My mother taught me well. You know that."

He looked at the resume. She worked at a legal competitor's business, but the owner was a pig. Bucky wasn't surprised she quit over sexual harassment. It appeared she had all of her qualifications in order, including experience in payroll, accounts payable and receivable, as well as experience in web site maintenance. They would need a web site. Maybe she and Mrs. Parker could create one together. He called her in, just as two uniformed police officers walked in the door.

"Ms. Van Dyne, would you just wait in here a moment while I see what the officers want?" he asked.

He closed his office door and approached them.

"Can I help you, officers?" he asked politely.

One of them looked at the other and shrugged then stepped back.

"Um, are you the company that's working on the brownstone a few blocks from here?"

"Yes, we are," he asked. "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no, no problem. One of our detectives said you were doing the renovations on it. I just bought a flat in a converted brownstone not far from there, and it needs some work before I can move in. I was wondering if you had the time to do it. That brownstone must take up a lot of time."

Mrs. Parker smiled at him.

"Sure, just let me call one of my colleagues to speak with you as I'm interviewing a potential employee right at the moment. Mrs. Parker, could you call Steve out from the warehouse, please?"

"Right away, Mr. Barnes," she answered perkily, as she picked up the handset. "Would that be Detective Romanoff who recommended us?"

"Yeah, she did," said the officer. "Says you're a good bunch of guys. We had someone from Sitwell Renovations have a look at it, and that guy was slimy as fu... as anything."

"Just so you know, we do have ex-convicts for employees, but they are all in the process of being bonded under the Federal Bonding Program," said Bucky. "I can personally vouch for any of them. We don't take anyone who has been convicted of a violent crime. They're mostly family men who want to turn their lives around. Will that be an issue for you?"

"No." The officer shook his head. "I think it's a good thing that you're giving them honest work. I didn't know you were a contracting business, not having a sign or anything."

"Yeah, just never got around to it and we kind of operated by word of mouth to a select clientele but business is competitive and we're stepping up to increase our presence in the community," said Bucky. Where did that come from? Steve walked in. "Here he is. This is Steve Rogers, my second in command, so to speak. This is Officer ...?"

"Benson," said the other man, offering Steve his hand. "That's my partner, Porter."

Steve waved at him. "Come on into my office and I'll get your information, and we can set up a time to view your property."

Bucky nodded at Officer Porter, then went into his office where Ms. Van Dyne was waiting. She looked nervous so he sat and picked up her resume.

"This is all on the level? It's not padded?"

"No, Mr. Barnes. I'm good at my job. I liked it until ...."

"You don't have to tell me details," he said. "Unique Renovations is run by a worthless piece of slime. We all know it, but he gets away with it because his dad has connections. Has Mrs. Parker told you about our company?"

"She said you had a limited client base before and decided to shift your focus to general contracting and home and office renovations. She also said you employ ex-convicts, but I know May and if she wasn't comfortable working with them, she would tell me. I'm willing to give you my best so long as I'm treated properly."

"Well, I read them the riot act yesterday, because Mrs. Parker insisted I had to hire you, so I expect them to be gentlemen around you. If they're not you tell me ... and tell Mrs. Parker. She'll kick their backsides. The job is yours if you want it. I noticed you have experience in setting up websites. We're looking to have one, since we operated by word of mouth before. Would you be interested in handling that as well as your other duties that you and Mrs. Parker work out between you?"

"Absolutely," she exclaimed. "The pay?"

He wrote down her hourly pay on a slip of paper, noting her vacation time and that health care was included, although that still had to be set up. She smiled broadly and he stood up, offering her his hand to shake.

"Welcome to Barnes Contracting. I'm going to show you around and then Mrs. Parker will get you to fill in the paperwork."

The tour went well, except for Scott becoming a little weird around Hope, even for him. She didn't seem to mind him so much, as he didn't come close to being inappropriate. In fact, he seemed quite taken by her. By the time Bucky was done showing her around Steve had finished talking to Officer Benson and set up a time the next day to look at the flat for the estimate. Boot camp continued with Steve and Sam doing their part, while Bucky was shown a mockup of their pamphlet and business cards that Mrs. Parker had worked on. She ordered in lunch for everyone, and the three of them ate in his office while the guys ate in the warehouse, playing the radio loud. After lunch, Bucky started sourcing what was needed for the brownstone renovation, using many of his legitimate contacts. By the end of the day, he felt good about everything that was accomplished. As everyone left, the three of them sat in Bucky's office, while he took a bottle of scotch out of a drawer and poured them each a drink.

"This has been the weirdest week I can ever remember having," said Sam. "From finding out about Natasha being a cop, switching to becoming a legitimate business, Thor being a college graduate and an experienced construction worker, and now getting our first referral." He looked at Steve. "When are you seeing Natasha again?"

"Tonight," he smiled. "She's coming over. When are you seeing Maria again?"

Sam grinned. "Tonight. She's coming over."

"Are you guys official?" asked Bucky, sipping from his glass.

They looked at each other. "Haven't been out on an official date since we left them at the tapas bar," said Steve, grinning. "Seen plenty of her though."

"Yeah, yeah, but how do you feel about her?"

"There's something there," admitted his friend, with Sam nodding his head in agreement. "It's only been a week." He looked at Bucky. "What about you and Andrea?"

"Taking it slow. I had an episode in front of her."

Both Sam and Steve sat upright as Bucky told them the details.

"She was cool with it?" Bucky nodded. Sam smiled kindly at him. "That says a lot about the type of person she is. I hope you two can make it work."

"Me too." Bucky drained his glass. "I'm headed home. Can you two lock up?"

On the way home he thought of how he hadn't seen much of Andrea and Lily this week, except for when his mother came over for dinner. He had headed out early and returned home late most days, but Andrea always had something ready for him to eat when he walked into the apartment. As he passed an open florist's he stopped and ran inside, picking up a bouquet of flowers. When he came out of the elevator and called out that he was home, there was silence.

"Andrea?" he called out again, leaving the flowers on the kitchen counter.

He headed to her bedroom, knocking gently on the closed door, then opening it slowly. She was on the bed, not moving, and for a moment he felt the icy cold knife of fear in his stomach. Then he heard Lily fussing and went over to the crib where she was awake. Taking her out of her sleeping bag he held her and approached the bed, sitting next to Andrea.

"Hey, wake up," he said gently. "You, okay?"

"Bucky?" She turned towards him. "Oh, I must have fallen asleep. I don't feel good."

He put his free hand on her forehead.

"Sweetheart, you're burning up," he said. "How long have you felt sick?"

"A while after you left. I got a bad headache, then hot all over and just felt like I couldn't move. What time is it?"

"After six," he answered. "When did you last feed Lily?"

"I don't know, noon, maybe? She must be so hungry."

Andrea started to cry. Bucky stroked her forehead, trying to settle her.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm here now. I can feed her some of your milk that's in the freezer, right? I'll just thaw it in lukewarm water then warm it up. You stay here."

"She's probably wet, too," moaned Andrea as she tried to get up.

"It's okay, I'll change her. I'm going to call a doctor friend of mine, alright?"

Andrea laid back and nodded, too sick to speak. Bucky turned on the light and laid Lily on the change table. He didn't really know what he was doing but he had seen Andrea do it. Looking closely at how the diaper was fastened before, he unfastened it and wiped Lily's bottom clean with a baby wipe. Then he laid out the new diaper, sliding it on underneath, and doing it up. It was a little loose, so he tightened the sticky tabs then put the baby girl's legs back into her sleeper. Turning off the light he took Lily to the kitchen, holding her in one arm while he took one of the bottles of breast milk out of the freezer. Washing his hands first was a challenge but he did it, then he filled a bowl with lukewarm water and put the bottle in it to thaw the milk. Next, he called Dr. Banner, describing Andrea's symptoms.

"Do you have a thermometer?" asked Banner.

"I don't know," answered Bucky, going back into the bedroom. "Andrea? Do you have a thermometer?"

"In the bathroom," she said wearily. "It's the type that you place on the forehead."

He found it, turned it on and placed it against Andrea's forehead. It read 102.3° which he passed on to Dr. Banner, who was quiet for a moment.

"Does she hurt all over? Are her breasts hot, red, and swollen?"

He asked Andrea who answered yes to the first question, then she surprised him when she pulled her top up for Bucky to look. Gingerly, he touched the skin visible above her bra, confirming that one breast was hot and swollen. There was a reddish area on it.

"It's mastitis," said Dr. Banner. "She's going to need some antibiotics and pain killers. She also needs to express milk or breastfeed for a few minutes to relieve the pressure, not a full feeding. It's okay for the baby. I can phone the prescription into a pharmacy, but you'll have to pick it up."

"Okay, do that," said Bucky, giving him the number of a pharmacy nearby. "I'll call my mother to come sit with her while I pick it up."

After Bruce told him more that could be done for Andrea's symptoms, Bucky called his mother who did one better, stopping off herself to pick up the medication. When she entered the apartment and saw him feeding Lily, she felt a burst of pride in her son. She put the medication on the counter, took her coat off and placed it over a chair with her purse then held her hands out to him.

"Please, may I feed her?"

"She's almost done but I think she's still hungry as Andrea didn't feed her for a while," he said. "She was so sick she was in a deep sleep."

"I remember those days," she smiled, as she cradled the little girl in her arms. "What did Bruce say?"

"To give her the medication right away, get her to drink lots of fluids and to either breastfeed or express her milk to get it going again." He blushed. "I don't have to do that for her, do I?"

"I think she can manage that," smiled his mother. "Why don't you give her the medications and see if she's up to trying to feed Lily for a few minutes. If not, she can put an ice pack on it. You could always massage it for her. That helps as well."

"Ma, please, don't joke."

"I'm not," she chuckled. "Your dad used to do it for me when I got it with you or your sister. It's not a sexual thing. You're just trying to relieve the pain."

Bucky grabbed the medication, taking it to Andrea, not wanting to hear about breasts from his mother. After getting a glass of water from the bathroom he sat on the bed next to her, and read the medication instructions. Taking a pill out he touched her arm, as her eyes were closed.

"Andrea, sweetie, I have the antibiotics," he said quietly.

"Where's Lily?" she asked, as she turned over.

"My mom's here. She's feeding Lily."

He gave her the pill, then handed her the water, encouraging her to drink it all. She handed the glass back and laid against the pillow looking up at him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" he answered. "You got sick, that's all. You looked after me when I cut my knee. I'm just returning the favour." He put the thermometer on her forehead, happy to see her temperature had come down a couple of degrees since he gave her the painkillers before he fed Lily. "The pills already did their thing with your temperature."

She smiled sadly. "You're so nice."

"Thank you. So are you. I bought you flowers."

"You did? Why?"

"Because I've had such long days, and you still made me something to eat every day. No one's ever looked after me like that since I was a kid. You make me feel special."

"You are special."

Taking her hand in his he stroked it, then raised it to his lips and kissed her fingers. She didn't pull her hand away. Swallowing, he released it, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. A warm hand cupped his cheek as he pulled away a little. Her eyes stared intently into his then went to his lips.

"You're sick," he murmured, wanting to kiss her more than anything.

"I know, but I still want to. It's not catching."

"Get better first." He stroked her hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Alright," she whispered. "Will you bring Lily to me so I can nurse her?"

"Yeah. I'll send my mom in while I make you some soup."

He got up, but Andrea took his hand, keeping him near the bed.

"Thank you for looking after me."

With a squeeze of her hand, he pulled away and left the room. His mother had Lily on her shoulder, gently rubbing her back.

"She wants to try to feed Lily for a few minutes, just to relieve the pressure. I'm going to make her some soup."

When he came out of the pantry with a can and began looking for a pot, Winnifred stood near him.

"You're a good man, Bucky," she murmured. "Someday, you'll be a good husband and father."

He smiled self-consciously and opened the can of soup as his mother took Lily into the bedroom. Stirring it with a can of water, he tried to focus on that, but his mind kept going back to how natural it felt to take care of Andrea and Lily. It just seemed like he knew what to do. Leaving the soup to warm up at a lower temperature, he got a vase out, filled it with water and poured the little packet of plant food into it, using a wooden spoon to stir it up. As he arranged the flowers in the vase, he pulled a red rose out of the bunch and placed it in a smaller single stem vase.

Something had changed between them since he got home and realized she was sick. Earlier in the week Andrea said she wanted to take it slow, and he respected that, but she also wanted to kiss him when he was sitting on the bed next to her. Maybe it was the next step in their relationship. But he wouldn't do anything until she felt better. In the meantime, he liked taking care of his family. That made him smile at the realization that they were his family now. Perhaps that was the change he was sensing. Taking care of them both had changed how he and Andrea thought of each other. It was the best feeling in the world.

Part 7>>

Series Masterlist

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes romance #stepping up #suspicious

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ccest · 8 months ago

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Elevate Your Gaming Experience: Choosing the Perfect Gaming Monitor

A gaming monitor is a critical component for any gaming setup, as it directly impacts the visual quality, responsiveness, and overall gaming experience. With a plethora of options available on the market, selecting the ideal gaming monitor can greatly enhance your gameplay and immersion. In this blog post, we will explore key factors to consider when choosing a gaming monitor and highlight the benefits of investing in a high-quality display.

Screen Size and Resolution: When selecting a gaming monitor, consider the screen size and resolution that best suit your gaming preferences. Larger screens provide a more immersive experience, while higher resolutions, such as 1080p, 1440p, or 4K, offer sharper image quality and more detailed visuals, enhancing gaming graphics.

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Panel Technology: Different panel technologies, such as Twisted Nematic (TN), In-Plane Switching (IPS), and Vertical Alignment (VA), offer varying color accuracy, viewing angles, and response times. Consider your gaming preferences – whether it's competitive gaming, immersive visuals, or a balance of both – when choosing the panel technology that best suits your needs.

Adaptive Sync Technologies: Technologies like NVIDIA G-Sync and AMD FreeSync help eliminate screen tearing and stuttering by synchronizing the monitor's refresh rate with the graphics card's output. These adaptive sync technologies enhance visual smoothness and eliminate distractions during gameplay.

Conclusion: Investing in a high-quality gaming monitor tailored to your preferences and gaming style can significantly elevate your gaming experience. By considering factors such as screen size, resolution, refresh rate, response time, panel technology, and adaptive sync capabilities, you can find the perfect gaming monitor that enhances visual quality, responsiveness, and overall enjoyment during gameplay. Choose wisely, and immerse yourself in unparalleled gaming experiences with the right gaming monitor by your side.

#gaming monitor #outdoor digital signage totem #customized lcd controller board #industrial panel pc size from 7inch to 32inch #tft lcd panel supply size from 1.8“ to 100”

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mysticwolfshadows · 9 days ago

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Taken - Zutara - Part 49

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They make it to the Fire Nation with very little fanfare. It was shockingly easy, given how difficult it had been to get past the barricade when they went to Roku's temple. But there they were, landing harmlessly in a cave on one of the outer islands.

While Sokka lamented about how this was their life now, hopping from cave to cave, until the invasion began.

Zuko rolled his eyes, and shared a look with Katara and Suki. One of them had to talk sense into Sokka.

"We could try finding some new clothes?" Suki suggested, glancing at Katara.

"Zuko and I know how to blend in with the Fire Nation."

Aang was quick to jump in. "Yeah! Blending in is better than hiding out. Wouldn't having Fire Nation disguises be just as safe as hiding in a cave?"

"Plus, we can get real food out there." Toph punches a wall, making cave hoppers jump out, Momo diving after them. "Unless you'd rather eat cave hoppers in the dirt."

Sokka purses his lips, looking at Zuko as his last hope.

Zuko rose a brow, arms crossed. "We need to conserve as much of our supplies as we can. If we keep using our reserves when we don't have to, we'll run out before we reach the Black Cliffs."

Finally, Sokka caved. "Fiiiine."

They start by finding the nearest farm. There was a series of clothes lines, which they studied carefully for a moment. Aang wondered about the ethics of stealing for a moment, before Katara rushed forwards to snag a silk robe. Suki and Toph weren't far behind, and the boys soon followed.

They returned to the cave to get changed, Toph putting up walls to give them some semblance of privacy, while Sokka and Zuko scrounged together a wig for Aang to wear to hide his tattoos.

"What about your scar?" Aang whinged, as they tied the headband(?) around the wig to help keep it in place. "It's distinctive!"

"Burn scars are common in the Fire Nation," Katara said, as she stepped out. "While they aren't usually on the face, you'll probably see a lot of them, especially in outer islands with fewer resources and physicians like this one."

Zuko turned to say... He couldn't remember. As soon as his eyes landed on Katara, his mouth went dry and his head empty. She looked...

"You look great!" Aang said, beaming.

"Thanks, Aang," she said, moving to get a look at their handy work. "It looks good. Should hold for a day." She glanced at Zuko, and her own smile tugged at her lips. "You look nice."

He swallowed. "You... You too."

Over Katara's shoulder, Zuko could see Sokka making a gagging motion, as Aang watched on in confusion.

"So!" Toph called, as she stepped out of the barrier with Suki. "Where are we going for lunch?"

Heading into town, Katara and Zuko took lead, pointing out different kinds of shops. Katara hadn't had much time to explore the city when she'd been in the city before, but the signage was enough for her to give recommendations. Zuko was more straight forward with his answers, and helping steer them away from the more niche establishments.

Katara was so excited to be eating fresh and authentic Fire Nation cuisine again, she barely noticed Aang wondering off. She made sure to order something more mild for the others, giving a smile to the frowning waiteress.

"We just moved from the colonies," Katara explained, before gesturing to Zuko and herself. "We spent a good amount of our childhood her on the islands, though. We've missed it. If you could hold the spice on theirs, but maybe add a little to ours...?"

The waitress hummed, but made a note on her pad. Then she was off, and Katara felt herself begining to relax. The smells of the Fire Nation filled her. The warm ocean spray and the spices of cooking food. The feel of Agni on her skin, filling her with a pleasant warmth she hadn't felt in so long...

They ate in comfort, giving simple conversation and enjoying the food. She listened to other patrons, hearing about how lucky they were that the draft hadn't reached their island yet. Apparently, in the wake of Prince Zuko's 'death', the draft had been instated but not entirely enforced on outer islands. More prominent families, like Mai's, were voluntarily enlisting their sons as 'officers'. There was speculation, with only Azula as heir and there having never been a female Fire Lord, that the Fire Princess would need to marry, and her spouse become Fire Lord in her stead. Others thought that Azula would be skipped over, with Ozai being fairly young for a Fire Lord, and that her first son would become the true heir instead. Of course, Katara knew that Ozai would never pass on his throne willingly, much as Sozin and Azulon had before him, and that Azula would never let herself be forced to marry, much less be skipped over in succession.

As they were wrapping up their lunch that they heard about the local academy. A pair of mothers, talking about how the headmaster was cracking down on students behavior, as they passed by to their table. One was worried, as the school was so strict already, and her daughter On Ji was such a sweet and gentle girl, who had such a creative mind, and was worried that innovative thinking might get her in trouble. The other woman wondered if perhaps it was a good thing for her own son, Hide. He was becoming rather unruly and disrespectful at home, with his father gone on the warfront. Perhaps the headmaster's stricter rules would bring Hide into line.

A faint memory, of a young Zuko in a boys uniform, more militaristic than academic, tickled the back of her mind. But the FIre Nation was know for their similarities in uniforms. In the military, the main difference between a foot soldier and a captain was the more angled and spiked shoulders, with more gold accents. And Aang...

"Zuko," Katara whispered, as they were walking back to the cave. He blinked at her, inclining his head to show she had his full attention. "Do you remember what Fire Nation school uniforms look like? I only saw the Royal Fire Academy uniforms, but..."

For a moment, Zuko blinked. Then, his brow scrunched, and he cursed so venomously under his breath that a lick of flame was spat from his lips. Reaching out, he grasped her elbow, squeezing it.

"Make sure the others know we might have to run," he said, turning to look back down the road towards town. "I'll find him and bring him back. If his cover is blown, we'll need to leave immediately."

"Be careful," she said, as he let go. They shared a look, the air tense around them, before turning away from each other and rushing off.

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#fanfic idea #fanfic #atla #avatar the last airbender #zutara #katara #zuko #wip

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super-ion · 2 months ago

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The Voyages of the Padua

Chapter 2

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“Oh… I don't think we're in Kansas any more,” she whispered.

The assembly area, predictably, had been vacant when she arrived. There wasn't even any apparent helpful signage about where the hell she was supposed to go next.

What she did find was a viewport that took up a considerable section of one of the walls. What let beyond took her breath away.

The planet was massive. She supposed it was likely near the upper end of what a planet could be, but the Eosphorus was close enough to really drive home just how big it was. Striations of milky brown and white clouds churned below, filling the viewport so completely that she had to press her face against the plex and crane her neck awkwardly to even see the horizon and black space beyond.

It reminded her of milk poured into coffee, right before it got all mixed up.

Was the ship supposed to be this close? Was that why the evacuation alarms were screaming incessantly? She had some vague half recollections of gravity gradients and radiation belts and assorted other general perils of gas giants.

She concluded that it was more than likely not safe to be so close. Weren't there supposed to be navigational fail-safes to prevent this sort of thing?

Well... clearly they had not failed safe.

At least the orbit seemed stable as far as she could tell. She imagined the ship would be doing a lot more screaming and burning and just general dying if that were the case.

Even if she did locate any escape pods or shuttles or anything, what good would they do? She would just be caught in the same gravity well in something a lot smaller and probably less safe in the medium to long run.

But the ship's alarm *was* telling her to evacuate.

Why would a ship lie to a person?

Was she even a person? She thought she was, but she was also starting from first principles, so she couldn't rule out any possibilities.

Her thoughts were getting away from her once more.

Was she always this anxious or was it just all the stims the auto injector had pumped her full of?

“Focus,” she told herself. “We'll figure this out… everything is going to be fine. We'll just…”

Her eyes caught on something she had missed before. There, right at the edge of the viewport's field of view was a ship and a long docking tunnel linking it to the Eosphorus.

It was an ungainly, ugly looking thing, all bulbous protrusions and long spindly spars of comm arrays and whatnot. It looked to be the kind of deathtrap that was always romanticized in the entertainment vids, the kind held together by duct tape and a prayer and somehow simultaneously the most reliable thing out in the black.

Her stimmed up brain, still screaming at her to survive by any means, recognized it as a ticket out of here. Before she could really even think, she found herself jogging towards that one tenuous hope.

The anxiety came next.

How was this even supposed to work? Was she supposed to waltz up to whoever it was and just say, “hey my ship says it's about to die and I don't even know my own name, can I come with you pretty please?”

What if they weren't friendly? What if they were pirates or marauders? What if they said no?

Well, then she wouldn't be any worse off than she was now, would she?

Her mind immediately provided several possible scenarios which were considerably worse than the one she currently found herself in.

She didn't get far down the corridor before the sound of voices brought her to a skidding stop. Somewhere up ahead, at one of the cross corridors, someone was having a conversation.

(With the same detached awareness that had been cataloging details about herself, she noted that she could not remember ever hearing another human being speak)

“...said essentials,” said the voice, dripping with sarcasm. “So that's exactly what I was doing.”

“I didn't mean for you to raid the pantry,” snapped another voice. It was distant, distorted, filtered through a radio.

“I was requisitioning vital supplies,” the first voice argued back. “You don't eat, so you don't understand my nutritional requirements.”

“Tre, just shut down the alarm. You can steal as much food as you want after you do what I'm paying you to do.”

“Already done,” the second voice replied snarkily.

The evacuation alarm cut off abruptly, leaving the ship in deafening silence.

“Thank you,” the second voice drawled. “Now, I want a full catalog of everything on the ship, focus on-”

“Captain! Mina's got something!”

“Elaborate please.”

“Yeah… she's… hey, slow down! That's too fast!”

A pause.

Was there someone else with the first speaker? Communicating by some non-audible means?

“Okay… um… the alarms cut off and she… she hears a heart beat… oh fuck, I think there's somebody here.”

Hears a heartbeat? That wasn't normal, was it? People don't normally hear heartbeats at this distance?

“What do you mean, ‘there's somebody here’? We did a full sensor sweep before docking and it came up empty.”

“Yeah well, Mina smells them, so clearly the scan missed something.”

Smell…

Oh… they were talking about her, weren't they?

She suddenly felt significantly more apprehensive about the potential of interacting with these people. What if they *were* pirates and/or marauders?

“Okay,” the voice on the radio said with calm authority. “Just stay calm and stay put. I'm in one of the forward cargo bays right now, I'll head back your way.”

“Yeah, stay calm. I can stay calm on the haunted fucking ghost ship.”

“Mina, please tell them to calm down. I'll be there in five.”

She didn't know what to do. Did she really think she could say hello to these people? If they were even people?

It seemed like less and less of a good idea to talk to them.

She took a step back and her hip bumped something. She turned just in time to see a tool box, previously sitting abandoned on a crate, tumble to the floor. Wrenches and screwdrivers and a gamut of other tools she didn't know the name of hit the ground with a thunderous crash.

Somebody screamed. She wasn't sure if it was her or the person in the room ahead. Maybe both?

She stared at the spilled tools in numb horror. Well, if there had been any lingering doubt that anybody knew she was there, it had certainly been erased.

A moment later, she heard a hushed voice replying to something she couldn't hear.

“Hell no, I'm not going out there.”

A pause. Yes, she was definitely missing half of this conversation.

“No, you totally can. This is extenuating circumstances.”

Another pause.

“No, you… why? Because I'm small and fragile, damnit. I'm a salvage access specialist, not some fearless space explorer from one of your trashy romances. I'm not equipped to deal with crazed maniacs on abandoned starships.”

Crazed maniac?

“Please just take a look and see if it's safe? Pleeeeease.”

She scrabbled at the floor, searching for the biggest wrench she could find. Everything was fine, perfectly fine, she just needed something to hold… just in case. Her fingers closed around cool metal. There, a nice big one with plenty of heft to it.

This was fine, totally…

Everything was not fine.

The thing that stepped out into the hallway was not human. Sure, it was roughly human shaped, it was even wearing slightly modified human clothes. But it was as if someone took a human and stretched them out. It hunched slightly in the corridor, its head almost brushing the ceiling.

That in itself was not particularly strange as far as she could tell. No, it was the too long fingers that ended in sharp claws, the bony tail that whipped anxiously behind it, the digitigrade feet that ended in toes with even more claws.

The face was nearly human, but strange enough to set off all sorts of alarms in her stimmed up limbic system. Large eyes, entirely black scanned the corridor while large pointed ears twitched, also scanning. It sniffed cautiously at the air.

When it saw her, it went completely still. She had the distinct impression of a predator catching sight of its prey… a fox sighting a rabbit. And she was the rabbit.

She dared not move, her fight or flight response stuck solidly in freeze.

The tenseness of the encounter was shattered by a loud tone over the ship's announcement system.

“WARNING! UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL DETECTED ON BOARD. PLEASE SHELTER IN PLACE WHILE SECURITY COUNTERMEASURES ARE DEPLOYED.”

“Tre!” shouted the voice on the radio. “What the hell did you do!?”

“I didn't do it!” the person still cowering in the side corridor shouted back. “There's an external party-”

She didn't catch the rest of the conversation. The… whatever-it-was was distracted by the back and forth over the radio and she saw her opportunity. She bolted as fast as she could in the direction most away from the creature.

Was she being rational? Probably not. She just needed to run. Survive survive survive survive

She didn't even know what survive meant at this point. The quiet rational party of her brain recognized that she was reaching the early stages of the crash.

She was so caught up in her prey animal instincts that she nearly careened into a figure as she blindly rounded a corner. She came to a wheeling stop as her addled brain tried to make sense of the sight in front of her.

They weren't human. But they also weren't creatures. The two figures were spindly looking androids. They regarded her with blank faceplates of black plex that faded to transparent over glowing red lights that ringed an optical sensor.

Where the hell had they come from?

Then she noticed the Eosphorus mission patch or logo or whatever it was on their chassis.

And then she noticed the clunky pistols they had trained directly on her.

Ah. Security countermeasures. This stupid ship could afford to have security bots, but not helper bots to assist amnesiac cryo sleepers. Typical.

“UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL IDENTIFIED. SURRENDER TO SECURITY OR NON LETHAL FORCE WILL BE EMPLOYED.”

Unauthorized personnel? She looked over her shoulder, but she was completely alone.

Oh, it was her. She was unauthorized. That was good to know.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #scifi #original fiction #original characters #science fiction #the voyages of the padua

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