#sterling cigarette types

[nonsupe]

a peek inside everything k go

HI, a lot of this is under read more because it got hella long !!!

01.     pockets. depends on whether or not he's working that day and what he's doing. cause you could find anything from plastic gloves for Messy work or could be a knife or could be pills (that,,, you know), depending on how much of a mess he doesn't want to have to clean up that day or what kind of / how little a mess the company wants left behind (i.e. if they want to send a message or not). but it could honestly just be as innocent as a folded up piece of paper too, or his badge.

but on a normal day - to - day basis when he's not doing shady shit, its just his phone and wallet, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and his keys. if he happens to be wearing a suit for work one day, in the little top pocket of his jacket, thats where he's going to keep his keycard so that its on his person at all times cause he doesn't trust a damn one of those people to keep it out of his immediate eyeline.

02.     bag   /   purse. it depends on the job because i feel like that would be the only time he would ever actually carry a bag, and even then for the most part that bag stays in the trunk of the car for very specific reasons. but usually its whatever he needs: cash, drugs (to bribe or to... you know), he doesn't usually carry anything bigger than a handgun if he has to most times but if there is a reason to bring a shotgun or something larger to intimidate or worse then its likely he'd bring it in that. it just kinda depends.

for missions with leon specifically: its gonna be kind of the same deal, it just depends on what he thinks he might need for it, who they're dealing with and what they send with them if anything at all.

03.     car trunk. the bag if he's working a specific job, otherwise that stays at the tower and in a very specific place. but usually he carries a first aid kit at all times, a crowbar, tire iron, and various miscellaneous things that are not very specific. but under the piece that lifts to hold the spare tire, there is a little compartment that he uses to hide a little flash drive that holds only tiny fragments of information about vought and their doings. its part of his "in case something happens to me" plan: where someone of his choosing will get clear and very specific instructions on where to find various flash drives and put them together as a means to shut down vought all together, or at least start to. it has been there for many years and nobody has ever been the wiser.

04.     car glovebox. flashlight, roadmap, sanitizing wipes, various papers. a .9mm that remains as his backup in case he needs it. a notebook with various scribbles inside of it that are all coded differently for each different passage, you need a keyword in order to understand any of it. a few pages are nothing but dates but you can't tell which ones are real and which are just nonsense that he put in there strictly to throw someone off. there's only one clear address in that notebook and it leads literally out to the middle of nowhere to some abandoned lot.

05.     closet. clothes wise it's a lot of business casual stuff. thats what he feels most comfortable in, there's very few like - sweatpant type things in his wardrobe. shiloh likes to appear presentable regardless of where he's at or where he's going, its the old man in him. but speaking of old man, there is almost guaranteed to be an comfortable pair of loafers somewhere in the floor of his closet, if not out where he can just slip them on whenever he feels like it.

other than that: there is a medium-sized safe where he keeps cash in various currencies (euro, yen, pound sterling), one or two of his various passports under different names. another notebook that is coded the same way as the other in his car, this one is much more valuable than the last in many ways and shiloh went to great lengths to make sure it was undecipherable except by him and him alone. there may also be a rifle he keeps in a case in his closet too, along with some padded armor (that he really doesn't need but you can't be too careful in his line of work). he also has a go-bag with various essentials that he keeps ready at all times.

can you tell that he's just slightly paranoid?

06.     bedside table drawer. .9mm not necessarily in his table drawer but definitely within his reach, and its the same one that he usually keeps on his person when he's actually awake. when he goes to bed, he'll set it on the table closest to him out of an abundance of caution (but also habit at this point too because mans never had a break since starting this damn job). there's not a lot of anything actually in the drawers, they're too small for much of anything really.

07.     medicine cabinet. pain medications like advil and the works. a bunch of old bandages and band - aids, mostly for those times he isn't healing as fast as he'd like and still needs to dress / change the dressing over certain wounds. honestly the medicine cabinet is pretty much bare except for those things because he doesn't really have a use for anything else? he doesn't get sick because his body heals with the cva, and he doesn't get hurt too often or at least enough that he needs constant precautions in place. its kind of on a "if i need it" basis and he keeps whats left over.

08.     wallet. id (as the alias, adam conway), credit card under his alias too. no more than $200 dollars cash at all times and used only when its super urgent or it needs to be under the radar. in verses where he's involved with someone (i.e. leon), he'll carry around a picture of them with him as a reminder to stay grounded and do what he does for them.

09.     “junk” drawer. a bunch of shit that honestly he could probably stand to throw away: old wires to things that don't exist anymore, loose change for some reason, rubber bands, a deck of old ass playing cards, pens and markers that he dropped in there without a second thought and probably don't even work anymore. scissors that are ancient but still work. paperclips and pushpins that are closed up in a little box. its a mess in there, dig at your own risk.

10.     pantry. not much. a lot of things shiloh likes to make fresh since cooking is such a release for him. but there are some canned goods that are in there, little healthy snack foods, some crackers maybe. cereals for when he just doesn't give a fuck what he eats. fruits he tries to keep out in the open for grabs but there are some dried ones in little containers that he snacks on sometimes. just kinda depends. its kind of a mix of whatever he feels like keeping every other week.

11.     phone home screen. not much. mostly business stuff. he's not a phone guy so he doesn't keep a lot there for entertainment purposes. its whatever comes built in with the phone: camera, calendar, notes, clock and whatever else, and then whatever bullshit vought feels like using for business at the time that he barely uses. even his background is default.

12.     frequently used emojis. his top one is definitely: 🤬 (cursing), and a close second is: 🖕 (middle finger). other than that it really depends on who he's texting. like with leon, he probably won't use as many until he learns how to better use them himself but when he does, a third most used comes into the mix and its: 🍆 cause.... obviously.

13.     to do list. i was gonna say that he doesn't keep much of a to do list but .... i suppose its less of a to do list and more of a self check and its more for personal stuff like what he might need from the store when work is done trying to kill him, the works. but you know leon is at the top of that to do list.

14.     computer home screen. same as the phone thing, its really just basic things. whatever is needed to get his work done and maybe something like google.

15.     bookcase. shiloh has a whole collection of books that he's collected over the years. some of his favorites come from asimov, don't ask me why but that was what came to mind first, quite a few things from tolstory too. he has a few first edition dickens books. he also has a lot books on greek myth, like the iliad and oddessy, various things on their legends.

he also has one or two little old fashioned puzzle boxes from the 40-50s that are supposed to be one the the most elaborate things of the era, he uses at one of those to hide another flash drive and no, he won't say which. also on his bookshelf is a picture of his mom and dad when they got married, and one of all of them together from the same day where donna has him, tiny five year old shiloh, in her lap.

this is also where he keeps the old toy model plane that harry gave to him when he was a kid, one of his most treasured possessions and he would absolutely commit murder if it ever broke or went missing.

16.     cd collection. shilohs actually more of a record guy, comes right back to him being an old man. but he has a lot of oldies that he's just kind of collected over the years. a lot of soft, easy music that he can put on in the background when he's cooking or just trying to relax after work. a lot of frank sinatra, benny goodman, billie holiday, ray charles, etc. there are probably more records in his collection than there are books on his shelves to be honest with you.

17.     calendar for this month. "a bunch of shit i could care less about" are his exact words. probably a bunch of shit meetings and events that he'll have to play supe babysitter for, otherwise its an open take. whatever comes up comes up.

18.     secret hiding spot. one day i will do a whole meta on this to go into far more detail about his hiding spot because this is something he spent a lot of time with, creating somewhere safe specifically for him in case things got too heated with vought or something happens and it jumps the gun before he has the proper means to do what he needs to in order to bring down vought.

but this is out in the middle of nowhere, completely off grid and big enough to house one person (maybe even two, if necessary). he's spent many years in making sure that he has everything he needs to survive there for years, wait out the shitshow that vought deals out. it was created to be his safe house at its very core, and he's used it a couple times if only to make sure he could go and stay off grid for periods of time without notice. he owns the land it sits on but its buried under a gruesome paper trail that loses footing around 2004 and goes cold, as the last owners of the property had been a couple from 1910 that ended up selling it 13 years after purchase.

19.     five most recent in contact list. nobody is saved under their actual name on his phone, i just want to say that really quick. each of them have a name given to them so only he knows who they are, mostly if he doesn't like them. this is gonna sound so backwards but stick with me here: the people he doesn't care about are the only ones saved in his phone (stan, people in the tower that he stays in constant talks with, most of the supes). if he has you saved as something in his phone, he doesn't like you and there is minimum security protections for you. sorry not sorry.

the people he wishes to protect are not saved as anything, its safer that way he feels like. numbers are hidden and protected with an encryption that one of his contacts designed for him to run against anything vought puts / has put on his phone. every contact he has ever worked with and continues to work with isn't saved for their own protection, and it goes for everyone he wants to keep safe. so if you aren't saved in his phone, its not a personal thing. its his highest security.

20.     refrigerator. a lot of fresh produce items really. some meats like lamb and chicken and turkey. fruit juices (orange and apple). things you'd usually expect, nothing too fancy or odd. there is probably leftovers from time to time that are usually gone the next day but i mean ... a simple guy, simple habits.

21.     home safe. we kinda already talked about the biggest one, the one in the closet. but there is one more, a small one, thats part of his desk in a little corner of his loft that he uses mostly to keep his personal important documents (birth certificate, both his actual one and one for the alias, as well as a social security card under the alias).

22.     amazon shopping cart. probably nothing fancy. literally the most basic things on the planet, maybe a new watch he's been looking at. nothing too crazy.

23.     bank account. too much to try and guess or figure, truth be told lmao. just know that he's not gonna be struggling for anything for a very long time.

24.     first aid kit. anything you could possibly think to need. needle and stitching, gauze, bandages of all shapes and sizes, different kinds of band aids, disinfectants, scissors, gloves. and he has multiple of these. one in the loft, one in the car, and one in the safe house.

25.     five most recent in google search history. its usually an even tie between directions to various places and looking at where to find and buy old or rare records and books. he's old, leave him alone. he's not interesting.

26.     most used playlist. if he's not using one of his records, which he prefers to do, then he's listening to the relax playlist he created with most of the same artists and a few others. its either relax or cooking and those have very different tempos but the same feel, mostly just whatever he's feeling for the time being.

27.     least used playlist. literally anything else that is suggested to him or in the "related" section of any online playlist. he likes his music and won't be swayed to like anything else.

28.     five most recent sent text messages.

h0melander, saved as: fucking ugly duckling: k one of his contacts, number not saved: midnight. usual. one of "the boys" probably, number not saved: we have a problem. need to meet. leon, number not saved: work calls. be back in an hour. someone from the tower, saved as: thing #1: i get there when i get there

29.     five most recent received text messages.

h0melander, saved as: fucking ugly duckling: get here now one of his contacts, number not saved: code red a different contact, number not saved: Your order is finished! leon, number not saved: no you fucking come back to bed right now someone from the tower, saved as: thing #1: be here in 5

30.     netflix watch history. anything classic. sometimes if he's feeling like shutting his brain off, he'll watch old looney tunes (they were never on netflix but fuck it). but any number of the classics they have at any given point because its nostalgic and he loves the old movies anyway. again, an old man.

[theameliaxevans]

"As someone who grew up with just brothers, I think all the girls is pretty cool. Watching Sunny with Elise is already pretty great, so another little girlie in the mix would just be more fun? Maybe they can recreate the Spice Girls in the future or something." Amelia laughed at her own silly mental image, grinning over at her. "But a boy would be rad too. Sunny seems the type that would be ready to kick someone's ass though, so he'd have to be ready for the protective big sister thing." Or maybe it'd be the other way around? Despite being the baby of them, Amelia was very protective of her older brothers.

"Oh it's incredible. Like another world sometimes. One day in the future, you will! We can make it like a big family vacation. Might have to just rent a private plane or something, but..." Amelia laughed again, shrugging. Lord knows the Levin family and her grandparents could afford it.

And as Sterling continued to speak, Amelia's laughter faded but her expression softened, going a bit more subdued. "You guys are a really good family to be a part of. You, Liza, your dad.." Amelia looked down for a moment, taking in a long breath as her thoughts drifted to her own father. The cigarette burn on her forearm practically phantom stinging just at the thought. She forced all that out of her head though and gently cleared her throat as she nodded, "Yeah, definitely. I've uh, talked to Liza about it a bit already actually. We're hoping to get something in the works--just don't tell my brothers though."

"Almost twenty weeks." Sterling huffed out a little laugh, reeling that it'd already been so long already. It was exciting and terrifying to think about having another baby, but she hoped that the birth would go as quickly as Sunny's but everything after wouldn't be so as hard. "Given there are so many girls in the Levin family, I would say yes. Although, I do think it would be really cute to have a little boy that looks just like Arkin." Sterling smiled as she thought about it. Sterling was happy in her relationship and about life in general lately. Things were good.

"Right, I think I remember Liz mentioning something about that. Paris feels like a dream, I would love to go someday." Although with a baby on the way and a five year old, Sterling couldn't see Paris in her future anytime soon.

What Amelia said next about having good family out there made her heart ache a little. Sterling didn't know all the details about the Evans' old home life but she knew it wasn't good. She couldn't imagine not having family she was close with or could rely on so to think that they didn't have it for years was heartbreaking. "Well, you guys have family with us Levins now, but I'm really glad you guys have more. Maybe you could talk to Liz about flying them here for the holidays or something."

@theameliaxevans

[heidiscottillinois]

Consumer Tax Laws in Illinois

An accomplished attorney and certified public accountant with extensive experience in estate planning, tax law, and real estate, Heidi Scott has owned and operated her own Mt. Sterling, Illinois-based law firm, the Law Offices of Heidi Scott, since 2008. Heidi Scott provides expert guidance and counsel to Illinois clients on a wide range of tax law matters.

Consumer taxes (taxes imposed on goods and services that are consumed) in Illinois include sales tax and excise taxes. Illinois' sales tax rate is 6.25 percent in 2023. Sales tax is imposed on sales within Illinois, excluding some Internet sales, sales by nonprofit organizations, newspapers, and food purchased in certain places.

In Illinois, some excise taxes are imposed on certain goods that the state considers to be harmful to health. These include cigarettes and liquor. The tax imposed on these goods serves to discourage their purchase and use. As of December 2022, Illinois had an excise tax of $2.98 per pack of cigarettes, while liquor taxes depend on the type of liquor.

Illinois also has a gasoline tax and a gambling tax, which are part of the state excise taxes. The purpose of the gasoline tax is to help the state fund road construction and repair projects and maintenance. From January 1, 2023, through June 30, 2023, the Illinois Motor Fuel Tax will be $0.423 per gallon of gasoline and $0.498 per gallon of diesel fuel. As of December 2022, Illinois also imposed a flat rate of 4.95 percent on gambling winnings.

[boognish-worshipper]

Midnight City AU

this is an au where the main characters are all young adults!! (or millennials ig? they’re in their 20s basically) i gave a rundown of what’s what on a diff post,, i’m also splitting it up into diff chapters,, so this is gonna take a looooong time to finish. i’m posting this before i nitpick my writing to the max

it’s basically a lot of references to that point in time, artists, pop culture etc. all the chapters are named after songs from that era (including the name of this au bc i love midnight city and what better way to describe LS ‼️), and the lyrics r usually connected to what the chapter’s about, or about a character dynamic :D i hope this isn’t too cheesy, or sounds off ig. any typos in this were probably over looked bc i constantly reread my writing and rearrange stuff and make sure it sounds good 🥳 hope y’all enjoy !!! i’m also including a tag to find the chapters under :)

//Chapter 1: Crimewave

Trevor would never, ever admit it, but he had fallen into the category known as “post-hipster”. This was a strange era that began culminating, taking LS by storm. Whether he liked it or not, he could never avoid it. Even if he swore up and down he wasn’t like them, it was practically a paradox. Saying he wasn’t like them just made him a branched off version of the thing he denounced. Each aesthetic that was churned out as the 2010s rolled in were tied to a style, a sound, and Trevor couldn’t care less. It’s not like people liked what he liked. He didn’t belong to anything in particular, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t like them. If anything, he just became another obscure genre in the mix.

One of his favorite music groups was a Canadian duo called Crystal Castles. He enjoyed a good number of their songs, developing an interest for electropunk and pop punk. There was something unique about the sound, and it made Trevor feel special, like he discovered some sort of hidden treasure. He was into pop punk groups like Paramore too, but it was something about them that was just different. People knew Paramore. He often lingered around Sterling Lake, where other post-irony hipsters and classic hipsters resided, careful not to fully associate with them. After all, he apparently despised them, even though he participated in their strange… “culture”. If you could even call it that. From time to time he would find himself discussing his favorite artists with whatever semi-normal person was there, making a couple friends himself who weren’t the snooty kind he’d grown used to.

They all loved talking about how exceptional their taste in music was, a wide variety of people hanging around with their own cliques. Some liked Fall Out Boy, while others liked Blink-182, and then there were the weirdos who liked groups like Radiohead. Most of those guys were whiny, proclaiming how misunderstood they were. He knew maybe one Radiohead song at most (he definitely, definitely never cried to “Creep” and even if he did, so what) but never found himself willingly getting into their music. Then you had the nosedivr crowd, which consisted of mostly girls, and the occasional hipster guy that defected. Their taste was.. alright. Consisted of artists like Lana Del Ray and Marina and the Diamonds, who were their idols. He found almost everyone there besides the few friends he made kind of edgy, and not in the cool way. But he figured all hipsters and guys like them were kind of uncool. Don’t even get him started on those other indie rock types. God. He still came back as often as he could though, establishing some kind of routine. Most people there avoided him anyway, which he preferred. He had enough troubles with them in the past. There was one day he grew tired of the people gawking at him, and he launched a hipster right into the lake. So yeah, nobody within their right mind so much as looked in his direction. That was just how he rolled.

Today, he sat on a nearby bench in Sterling Lake’s park, watching some ducks float on water. His usual friends had been there too, seeing his clowncore buddy Wade with his cousin Floyd. Wade was extremely different than the pretentious fucks around them. He had a shit ton of piercings, and ICP was his favorite music group. Floyd on the other hand, fit right in. Almost too much, like it was something he was forced to do. But he did genuinely enjoy Weezer, of all things you could enjoy. Wade started waving at Trevor, while Floyd hid behind him. All he did was awkwardly wave back, turning his attention back to the lake. He liked Wade, but the clown stuff he wore sometimes spooked him. He didn’t pay much mind to his relative. Looking back across the water, he saw someone new, observing the area. Some dude a little above the average height, hands in his pockets walking around. He seemed a bit lost, and Trevor figured he should help if he was. After all, what was this guy doing here? New people didn’t show up often.

“Hey bud, you lost or something?”

“Oh uh, nah not really. I’m just looking for this girl I met a while ago, said she hangs out around here?”

“What she look like? I’m here pretty often.”

“Uhh kinda short, dark brownish hair? Wears fishnet stockings, high waisted shorts or whatever those grunge people are into.”

“Let me guess, she into the Neighborhood?”

“How’d you know?”

“Yeah, that’s Amanda, she’s a bit of a regular. Not too fond of me I must say.”

“How come?”

“She’s just petty towards me.” He said with a shrug. He didn’t feel like relaying his encounters with her if the guy was dating her or something.

“Oh… well d’ya think you could help me find her? I don’t really know anybody else here. I could actually use the help, since you know her.”

“Eh sure, why not.”

It’s not like he had anything better to do. The two began to walk around the park, gravel and dirt crunching beneath their feet.

“So.. what’s this place about?” The strange guy asked.

“Hm? Oh, it’s just one of those places the hipster folks meet up I guess. Don’t understand it much myself, nor do I really like them.”

“Then why do you come here?”

“Dunno. It’s relatively peaceful, those freaks keep to themselves.”

The man, who was only a smidge shorter than Trevor, glared up at him.

“Hey man, don’t call my girl a freak.”

“Ehh I don’t really count her in with the generic skinny jean wearing hipsters. More of a.. what is it called.. nosedivr type. Whatever that stupid website’s called. Why do you think she dresses like that?”

“Huh.. Never really thought to ask her.”

As he thought about the stuff Amanda wore, he took note of how the man next to him was dressed. He sported an olive jacket with a black turtle neck, and a plain pair of jeans. He wore beat up black converse to top it off, and a pair of Rimmers sunglasses sat upon his head. He looked simple, yet distinguished with the way he presented himself, hair neatly combed back. He figured the two would look nice standing next to one another. They would’ve made an attractive couple, if they weren’t dating already, the kind that turns heads. Trevor wasn’t like them. He wore a black beanie over his mullet, and his favorite pair of red Dix sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose. The rest of his fit looked disheveled. He had thrown on a wrinkled top, solid black with little surf boards and cars along the bottom- he was a sucker for Hawaiian shirts. His pants were tan colored but had some bleach stains, with old combat boots on his feet.

“Yeah, we may not like each other but I don’t really consider her a freak like those guys.”

He jutted a thumb in the direction of a circle of guys huddled around a phone. The man holding the phone had strawberry blonde hair and a clean outfit on. An expensive looking outfit.

“Who are they?”

“The people here I absolutely cannot fucking stand. The genuine hipsters.”

“Oh.. and you’re..?”

“I’m my own kind. I’m not like these losers, all uppity and shit.”

“Right. Gotcha.”

They walked around a bit more before finding the group Amanda was with. She sat on a bench, chatting with a few girls who dressed similarly to her. All of them had black incorporated into their style. She herself had a black jumper on, tucked neatly into the front of her jean shorts. Just like the guy described, she had fishnets on under them, skater shoes to match. Loose braids fell on her shoulders, and a small black choker was wrapped around her neck.

“Oh, there he is now! Babe! Over here!”

She narrowed her eyes upon seeing Trevor standing next to him.

“Hello, Trevor.” She huffed.

“Relax, I was helping your boyfriend or whatever look for you.”

Her face softened slightly, but still kept a small glare in his direction. She pressed her lips together tight before replying.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Yup.”

The man turned to face Trevor, sticking out a hand.

“Hey, thanks for showing me around. Trevor, is it?”

“Don’t wear it out.”

He shook his hand, noticing how soft it was. It was in stark contrast to his own, which was rough and calloused.

“Name’s Michael. I’ll see you around most likely? Thanks again.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Amanda huffed again, nudging Michael’s shoulder.

“Let’s go hun, Bean Machine closes soon!”

“I’m comin’ I’m comin’!”

The two sauntered off, hand in hand. Trevor stood dumbly, watching them walk away. He was right. They did look good together. He wondered if he would actually see this Michael again, kicking a rock. He went back to the bench he originally sat at, putting his earbuds in, listening to some Crystal Castles again to pass the time. The beat thumped in his ears, and all he could think was how much better this shit was compared to that club music shit that played on every radio station in a 5 foot radius. He sat there, scrolling through his own secret nosedivr account, reblogging some photo of a lit cigarette. Right before a hand touched his shoulder causing him to jump.

“What the fuck- Oh. Ron.”

Ron was another friend of Trevor’s, a guy he had met outside one of the iFruit stores talking about how “they’re tapping the phones they sell in there!” and all that conspiracy nonsense. He was a paranoid guy, but Trevor kind of liked that about him. Those were the kind of freaks he liked. He was shorter than Trevor, sort of frail in stature. He wore a bright red windbreaker over a faded tourist tee that read “I went to Liberty City and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!”, along with khaki colored cargo shorts. It didn’t help that he wore some goofy looking bucket hat, and socks with sandals. He dressed like someone’s middle aged father.

“Trevor! Have you seen Wade around anywhere?”

“Last I checked, he was with Floyd.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Uh no, but my best bet is they went to that vinyl shop Floyd’s girlfriend works at.”

“Will ya come with me to find him?”

“Now why the fuck would I do that? What do you need him for?”

“Well I- I uh- um..”

“I uh! I uh! Spit it out Ron!”

“It’s about the Merryweather Night Club.”

Merryweather was a big organization that had a wide range of private clubs all over the country, and complimentary body guards to suit. They were all expensive as fuck, and anywhere they settled jacked up the prices of everything else. A lot of neighborhoods became gentrified as a result, and people actually considered it a good thing. What a fucking joke. Trevor of course couldn’t stand it. He hated bullies, and Merryweather was no exception. He’d been wanting to dismantle the club since they settled in LS, seeing as they only amplified the fake feel of the city. Let’s just say he’s gotten into more than a few scuffles with the club. And let’s just say it ended with someone getting stabbed as a result. The guy had it coming to him anyway. Between bouncers and the clubbers, they didn’t like Trevor or his kind loitering around the joint. It didn’t stop him from plotting some sort of revenge though. Ron per usual was on board, his reason being Merryweather’s violent history that had been swept under the rug. They were rather forceful relocating people who had lived in certain neighborhoods for years, Ron being one of their victims. Wade only decided to tag along because he wanted to be included.

“Ah fuck, what’d those bastards do now?”

“They’re throwing some big party!”

“…What fucking for?”

“All I know some guy’s coming to visit, somebody they labeled important and he’s-“

“Woah woah woah wait, Ron. Who?”

“Steve Haines.” He breathed out, careful not to be overheard.

Trevor’s eyes widened, his gaze shooting over to the posse he had poked fun of before. Steve was talking to the group, all of them doing that fake laugh they always did. God, even their humor was pretentious.

“Those fucking hipsters!” He hissed.

“I abhor them, you know that-“

“I know. I know. But, that Weston guy’s gonna be there with him-“

“Weston? Devin Weston?”

If Trevor hated hipsters, then he utterly loathed rich daddy’s money boys like Devin Weston. He had only gotten that stupid fucking night club because his father paid Don Percival enough money to let Devin do whatever he pleased with the Merryweather body guards. It was an elitist club, and they only allowed the best of the best in there.

“What the fuck’s going on there?”

“Something to do with those guys he hangs out with. I think they’re doing something major, expansion maybe-”

“And him and Devin are working together or..?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear much after that, that’s why I wanted to grab you and Wade and-”

“Then let’s fucking go get him, Ron!”

The two rushed out of there, heading for the vinyl store to look for Wade. Trevor knew a shit storm was coming, and he absolutely couldn’t wait.

//the next chapter’s gonna be longer i promise lolz

[buzzdixonwriter]

The Purple Monster Strikes

Recently in an online discussion of 1950s sci-fi films, the old Republic serial The Purple Monster Strikes came up.

Why is came up I’ll mention later, but first let’s note it: 

was made in 1945 

was the last 15 chapter Republic serial

is awful

Not eyeball gouging / brain melting / soul scorching awful the way The Lost City or Gene Autry And The Phantom Empire or Captain Video are awful, but awful enough…

…yet at the same time, worthy of comment (as we’ll soon note).

1945 is a crucial year.  Despite the Nazis last ditch Battle of the Bulge, WWII is clearly winding down to an Allied victory in both Europe and the Pacific. 

American audiences feel tired of the war wand want something else in their entertainment, even low brow / low rent entertainment like movie serials.

Republic produced three serials that year:  Federal Operator 99 proved surprisingly good, Manhunt Of Mystery Island (their next to last 15 chapter serial) tried some new ideas that while interesting didn’t prove interesting enough to be tried again, and The Purple Monster Strikes brought interplanetary thrills back to the theaters, only this time instead of visiting Mars, Mars (at least two of ‘em) came to Earth.

As noted in my overview of Federal Operator 99, Republic serials of that year looked…inexpensive.* 

This is especially true of The Purple Monster Strikes which really needed a bigger budget, a better script, and adequate production time for the type of story it was trying to tell.

That story?

In a nutshell:   The Purple Monster is a one-Martian invasion come to steal the secret of the “jet plane” (the script uses the term interchangeably with “rocketship”) from Earth and take it to Mars where it can be mass produced and used to attack our world (Why?  WTF knows or cares?).  To achieve this The Purple Monster bumps off the scientist in charge of the project, physically possesses his corpse by turning into a ghost-like entity, and tries to kill a nosy investigator and the late scientist’s niece.  In the end The Purple Monster tries to escape Earth only to get blowed up real good (Did I mention this is silly, stooped, and trite?  I did?  Good).

So why am I interested in The Purple Monster Strikes?  Well, for two reasons, the second and more important one we’ll save for the end, the first is that when watched with fully informed eyes, it’s a testament to the single greatest contribution the serials made to filmmaking:  The production board.

Lemme ‘splain what that is.

In the old days of movie making it was a folder with slots for narrow strips of colored cardboard to be slid in.  The strips were color coded for interior or exterior scenes, night or day, specific locations, second unit or special effects, etc.

These strips were grouped together on the production board so all the exterior day shots at one location could be filmed back-to-back, followed by all the night shots there before moving on to a new location.

The colored carboard strips were further broken down to match production numbers in the shooting script (“Scene 37:  The bandits take the town”), key props and costumes, stunt work, but most importantly actors / characters in the scene.

You want all your most important / expensive / difficult stuff grouped together…but you also need to figure out what you didn’t need so you could pare down your budget.

For example, if you need someone to play a policeman in Scene 1 and in Scene 12 but those scenes are shot two seeks apart, maybe it’s cheaper to have two different actors playing two different policemen for one day each than keep one actor on call for two weeks.

Likewise, if you’ve got an actor in a key supporting role, put all his scenes together.

This necessitates shooting out of sequence, but shooting out of sequence is now pretty much the industry norm for any filmed or taped production.

The serials invented the production board and the rest of the industry speedily glommed onto it.

Once you know what to look for in The Purple Monster Strikes, you can pretty much break down which scenes were shot when.

Case in point: Masked heroes and villains aside, serial characters rarely change costume except to match stock footage from earlier productions.  It’s not especially notable for male characters but females typically wear The Same Damn Dress in Every Damn Scene.

So when heroine Linda Sterling gets dunked in a water tank midway through The Purple Monster Strikes, you can bet that was her last day of filming since they were no longer worried about ruining her costume.

Likewise when a female reinforcement from Mars arrives, the exact same location right down to the same car parked in the same spot are used even though the female Martian doesn’t arrive until 2/3rds of the way into the story.

You wouldn’t notice this week to week in a movie theater, but they’re painfully obvious when bingewatching.

Case in point: There are never more than four characters onscreen at any time; this was all the production could afford on any given day.  If a fifth character showed up, one of the others needed to be knocked unconscious (if they were lucky) shot and fall off camera (if they were unlucky), or disintegrated (if they were really unlucky).

For example, the hero and heroine could be talking to a scientist (day 1 / shot 1) when three baddies show up at the door (day 2 / shot 1).  The first baddie shoots the scientist, who falls off camera then enters the frame and knocks out the heroine, who conveniently falls behind a counter (day 1 / shot 2).  The other two baddies enter and a huge brawl erupts (day 2 / shot 2).  The heroine revives (day 1 / shot 3) and shouts a warning at the hero.  The hero blasts a minor baddie who falls off camera as the other two baddies flee the scene (day 2 / shot 3), then the heroine rejoins the hero (day 1 / shot 4).

Binge watching also reveals a lot of sets and props reused again and again.  The same footstool is used as a weapon more than once, a prop valve in one chapter serves an entirely different function in another, and while serials frequently reused stock special effects shots, The Purple Monster Strikes doesn’t just use the same exploding car shot twice in the same serial, not just twice in the same chapter, but twice in the same car chase!

(Speaking of which, whenever they get in Linda Sterling’s car you know the odds are 50-50 it’s going off a cliff in a big flaming fireball.  The Purple Monster Strikes has her going through so many identical make automobiles you’d think she owned stock in a car dealership.)

Anybody familiar with Republic serials is going to find a lot of reused sets and props here.  Having seen Manhunt Of Mystery Island recently, I immediately recognized their ubiquitous warehouse set, the Republic Studios loading dock doubles as two different factory exteriors, and having lived in Chatsworth several years I can practically name each and every rock in the exterior scenes.**

On the plus side, bonus points for some impressive looking props, including a rocket test engine that provides the explosive cliffhanger for the first chapter, a double-barrel disintegrator that looks like a giant set of binoculars (I wonder if it was originally a military surplus training aid), and a spaceship seen under construction for most of the serial that proves to be the most striking design the redoubtable Lydecker brothers ever created (a pity it’s glimpsed only briefly before being blown up in the last chapter; Republic should have reused it for their later sci-fi serials instead of the dull unimaginative designs they went with).

Fun factoid: Mi amigo Donald F. Glut, filmmaker / NYTimes bestselling author / film historian, knew The Purple Monster hizzownsef, Roy Barcroft, and reports Barcroft had the wardrobe department sew a secret pocket in his costume for his cigarettes! 

Speaking of Barcroft, he’s the best thing in this serial and he ain’t that good.  A perennial bad guy in serials and B-Westerns, he normally turned in a satisfying performance, but the script for The Purple Monster Strikes gives him nothing to work with.

I mentioned previously how Federal Operator 99’s script works more often than not and gives its characters something the actors can work with, but The Purple Monster Strikes?  Nada.

Every line is a clunky flat declarative sentence exposition dump of the “I’ll take this strange medallion we discovered to Harvey the metallurgist to analyze” variety.

Even Linda Sterling can’t do anything with this though she tries to find an appropriate facial expression for whatever scene she’s thrown in.

As for nominal star Dennis Moore, I won’t say he’s wooden but in one of the innumerable fight scenes Barcroft hurls a coatrack at him and for that brief moment the coatrack delivers a far more memorable performance.

Sidebar on the fight scenes: They are choreographed expertly, among some of the best Republic ever staged, but directors Spencer Gordon Bennet and Fred C. Brannon -- both serial veterans who could do much, much better -- really dropped the ball in shooting them.  They’re shot almost entirely in wide angle longshots using slightly sped up photography instead of intercutting to keep the pacing fast.

The rest of the cast consists mostly of stuntmen carefully enunciating their one line before the fists start flying, or older male actors who deliver surprisingly good performances compared to everyone else.

But that script -- oh, lordie, that script!  This was made in 1945 and they’ve got a damn organ grinder in it!  Organ grinders vanished from the public sphere with the damn of movies; by the 1940s they were found only in comic books and animated cartoons; in other words, kid stuff.***

It’s clear the writers on The Purple Monster Strikes (Royal Cole, Albert DeMond, Basil Dickey, Lynn Perkins, Joseph Poland, and Barney Sarecky) considered this mere juvenile pablum, not worthy of even the smattering of sophistication they sprinkled on Federal Operator 99.

An adult can watch Federal Operator 99 and at least feel the story makes some kind of sense and the characters, however imperfectly enacted, at least offer adult motives and behaviors, but The Purple Monster Strikes is just insulting to the intelligence (I mean, they call the female Martian invader Marsha.  Seriously?).

Okay, so why do I think this is worth writing about?

Because The Purple Monster Strikes is the bridge between WWII and the Cold War.

Most of the major tropes of 1950s sci-fi are reactions to Cold War anxieties, and those anxieties are transplanted WWII anxieties.

Before WWII, American moneyed interests waged a relentless PR campaign against communism, socialism, and labor unions (sound familiar?).

Forced to make peace with the Soviets during WWII, these moneyed interests -- now heavily invested in what Dwight D. Eisenhower called the military-industrial complex -- bit their lips as US pop culture portrayed the Russians as gallant allies against fascism (and they were; credit where credit is due).

As soon as the war ended, however, and in fact, even a little before the end (see The Best Years Of Our Lives; great movie), they were already recasting the Russians as treacherous authoritarian atheists out to conquer the world.

As noted earlier, American audiences felt weary of a relentless diet of war related entertainment and in the waning days of the war turned eagerly to non-war related stories. 

Likewise studios, not wanting to get caught with rapidly dating WWII related material nobody wanted to see began actively developing different kinds of stories.

After four years of intense anxiety, the country needed to come down but couldn’t go cold turkey.  Science fiction (and hardboiled mysteries and spy thrillers) provided safe decompression.

1945 marks a significant sea change in Republic serial production.  Sci-fi would become a more predominant theme, infiltrating other genres such as the ever popular masked mastermind (viz. The Crimson Ghost).

Federal Operator 99 would be the last highwater mark for more plausible serial stories, but crime and undercover espionage remained serial staples to the bitter end.

Only Manhunt Of Mystery Island seemed a misfire and even in that case it only meant the masked mastermind returned to more traditional origins instead of the inventive backstory created for Captain Mephisto.  

What The Purple Monster Strikes did was take a very familiar set of WWII cliches and stereotypes then recast them in a (relatively) safe science fictional context.

The closest prototype to The Purple Monster Strikes is Republic’s G-Men Vs. The Black Dragon, as racially offensive as you could hope to imagine, and turn the inscrutable “yellow” villains into malevolent purple ones (later green when colorization was added).

By making the literally other worldly alien the “other”, 1950s sci-fi sidestepped the worst implications of their own themes:  

Invasion 

Subversion 

Fifth columns 

Loss of soul / identity / individuality (personified in bodily possession by alien intellects)

Paranoia

The Purple Monster Strikes lacks the wit and wherewithal to fully exploit these ideas, but it sure could hold them up for everyone to get a quick glimpse.

As childish and as inane as the plot may be, by the end when hero and heroine realize there is literally no one they can trust, The Purple Monster Strikes dropped a depth charge into preteen psyches fated to go off six years later with the arrival of The Thing From Another World and countless other sci-fi films and TV episodes afterwards.

Did The Purple Monster Strikes create this trend?  No, of course not – but as Stephen King pointed out in Danse Macabre regarding the incredibly inane The Horror Of Party Beach’s selection of nuclear waste dumping as their raison d'être for their monsters:

“I’m sure it was one of the least important points in their preproduction discussions and for that reason it becomes very important.”

King’s point is by not giving the matter much thought, The Horror Of Party Beach’s producers simply tapped into a subconscious gestalt already running through the culture and said, “Yeah, nuclear waste, wuddup widdat?”

Likewise, The Purple Monster Strikes’ producers / directors / writers didn’t sit themselves down to analyze Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four but rather picked up on the forever war current already moving through the American body politic.

War without end, war without ceasing.

And if we can’t define an enemy by name or place, so much the better!  The war on crime, the war on poverty, the war on drugs…

The war on terror.

The forever war thrives on the faceless unknowable enemy with the unknown but clearly malevolent anti-American agenda.

“Them”…against…U.S.

As an artistic achievement, The Purple Monster Strikes is sadly lacking in nearly all aspects, but as a cultural artifact, it’s still a clear warning.

Only not about “them” but about…us.

  © Buzz Dixon 

  *  read “cheap”

** Republic’s low budget backed them into an overlapping series of sci-fi serials, loosely referred to as the Rocket Man / Martian invasion serials by fans.  The Purple Monster Strikes’ costume was reused for Flying Disc Man From Mars (which featured a semi-circular flying wing already featured in Spy Smasher and King Of The Mounties) and again for Zombies Of The Stratosphere, but between those two serials the wholly unrelated King Of The Rocket Men was released.  Zombies… is a sequel to both Flying Disc Man… and King Of The Rocket Men but Radar Men From The Moon introduces a new character -- Commando Cody -- who wears the same rocket pack as the heroes of King… and Zombies… but faces a lunar, not Martian menace then he spins off to become Commando Cody:  Sky Marshall Of The Universe in a quasi-serial (i.e., no cliff-hangers, each chapter a complete adventure) fighting a third alien invasion!

***  Or the works of Bertolt Brecht, but that ain’t what Republic’s going for here.

[lettersnorth]

FFXIVWrite 2020 Prompt #10: Avail

Some nights Aislinn just didn’t go home. Probably a selfish thing for her to do. But at nineteen, everyone thinks the world revolves around them. She’s not thinking about how her da might be out of his mind with worry. All she’s thinking about is the arguments she doesn't want to have. The tiny, one room home that can barely be called such. Two personalities so vastly different that the friction is a vacuum, sucking all the air out of the room. The cramped and crumbling four walls closing in just a little bit further every sun until she’s sure that one day they’re going to bury her. 

Those nights, she stays at the warehouse. She wasn’t the only one. In many ways it was safer than traversing the streets in order to get home. In a city like Ul’dah, there was always safety in numbers. She wandered along the darkened aisles of shipping crates -- legitimate goods meant for legitimate merchants -- the warm glow of lantern light from the back of the building drawing her like a moth to flame. From what she heard in snatches of passing conversations, the front pulled in a respectable sum. Enough to pass suspicion. But the real business, the real gil maker, would always be the machines churning away somewhere below them and the refining lab. 

Near the back offices a lounge area had been cobbled together from whatever any of their number had come across (or pilfered) in their day to day. A few worn carpets, a trio of worn round tables with mismatched chairs of varying heights, a string of mining lights. It was an eclectic collection, to say the least. Several cartel members sat gathered around one of the tables, the rattle of dice in a cup signifying there was a bit of gambling going on. A few others relaxed in comfortable, if ratty, chairs drinking and swapping stories. Altogether a low-key gathering. Anyone of their ranks were welcomed in the back lounge. Theirs was a patchwork family and U'Rahna the mother hen and iron fist by turns. She had one rule. No fighting in the warehouse. Damage the merchandise and it was on your head. There were plenty of taverns and brothels in Ul'dah if a person wanted to get rowdy. 

Sterling sat alone at one of the battered tables, passing the idle hours playing some sort of triple triad solitaire. Aislinn couldn't recall a night she had spent at the warehouse when he hadn't been there as well. She wasn't sure he had any place else to go, to be honest. He saw her coming, sharp eyes the color of ice flicking up from under black brows, and kicked out a chair for her. 

She appreciated the wordless invitation but clambered up on one of the wide crates that formed a makeshift wall near his table instead.  

"Staying here again. What's that...three nights now?" He drawled around the cigarette hanging from his mouth. 

"Don't want to get into it." She said, leaning forward on the crate to stare down at the toes of her worn boots.

His shoulders rolled in a lazy sort of shrug. Aislinn might have been quieter than most. She might have been the type to keep to herself. But even at his age he had enough experience with women to know saying she didn't want to get into it was a surefire sign she was about to do just that. Especially her. Otherwise she wouldn't have bothered to say anything at all. He waited her out, scrutinizing the cards on the table before laying another down. 

It didn't take long. It seemed the words were murmuring, insistent, rattling around and just waiting to break free from her. This wouldn't be the only time she poured a truth out at his feet.

"To this day he thinks I don't know the reason we left Ala Mhigo. He expects me to believe he's a coward and that he ran to save himself. I'm not a fool. My da isn't afraid of a fight. And he'd sooner chew his own arm off than let people think him a coward. He did it to 'save' me." 

Sterling felt like he'd entered in the middle of a conversation. In a way, he had. One she had been having with herself for years. He'd let her go until she ran out of steam.

"The irony is, it turns out I can run for the cartel like nobody's business. I'm good at it. I would have made a good smuggler of information. A runner for the Resistance. I would have succeeded if he had given me a chance. Instead...we're here." 

The way she said it, as if 'here' was a diseased sewer rat she'd almost tripped over, told him all he needed to know. 

"And he fights for the entertainment of people who have never touched a blade a sun in their lives and they call it 'sport'. And me?" She waved her arm in a wide arc around the warehouse as if it all spoke for itself. "A runner. Because U'Rahna was the only one who'd look twice at a refugee. All of this because he couldn't trust me. I am so sick and tired of being questioned at every turn."

He regarded her a moment, not sure if she was finished or if there was more coming, the cigarette firm between his lips, left to burn in the silence. Honestly, it was the most words he'd ever heard her string together. And after he was certain she was, indeed, finished, he inhaled, the ashed embers at the end of his cigarette glowing red in the subdued lantern light before he pulled it from his mouth. 

"You already know what I'm gonna say, North." Sterling said, the smoke pouring from his mouth as he spoke. 

"It's all shite." She sighed, letting herself fall back against the wide surface of the crate to stare up at the dark warehouse rafters. 

"We're just the ones stuck shoveling it." He finished. The words would come back to haunt him another time. But that particular night was still further down the line. 

It was a constant reminder of his. A misanthropic view that this was simply their lot in life. They'd pulled the short straw so here they were. Gil-less crabs at the bottom of the barrel, unlikely to ever reach the top. 

'Don't you want more? Don’t you want to live with a little room to breathe?' She could ask, but she already knew his answer; 'What is living anyway but dying slow?' Ever the fatalist.

And yet, Aislinn had to believe there was more to it. More to life than this endless cycle of running and trying to scrape by, of constantly watching her back. Where a good day was something other than one in which she had dodged the violence that erupted around her just to win the chance to do it all over again the next.

Three turns since she and her da had come to this snake pit where a person’s words could coil a noose just as well as any rope and yet it already felt like a lifetime, her nerves and instincts constantly pushed to the point of fraying. If she reached back not all that long ago she could remember a time when she didn't worry about her next meal or where she was going to sleep. Simple survival hadn't been an all consuming endeavor of daily life. There had to be a way to get back to that place again. Sans Empire, of course. 

She was too tired to think about it anymore. Pulling her legs up onto the crate, she curled up and fell asleep to the sound of dice rattling in a cup, the rumble of conversation punctuated now and again by laughter. This patchwork family was not at all the one she would have chosen, but the one in which she’d shrewdly thrown her lot. At some point during the night someone draped a thin and scratchy blanket over her. 

[falloutglow]

Heart of the City

It's been a week since the daring rescue of Vault 114. A week since Echo set foot in Diamond City. A week to discover that life in Diamond City isn’t all it's cracked up to be.

Nick Valentine & Echo

4318 words [AO3]

Echo adjusted her bag, mentally going through a checklist as she opened her door into the Dugout Inn. Vadim was busy wiping his counter. Across the room, Scarlet swept dust and crumbs into a pile as a few customers chatted away, eating and drinking. Dogmeat squeezed past her and trotted towards the exit. She gently closed her door, and as briskly as possible, headed towards the exit after Dogmeat.

“Ah, there’s our mystery mouse!” Vadim’s voice boomed behind her. She closed her eyes and sucked in her breath.

Damn it.

She turned on her toes as she heard the front exit open and shut. Wow. Ditched by her own dog too. She forced a grin on her face as she was tugged back to the counter with Vadim’s strong words and ever friendly glow.

“Mornin’ Vadim,” she greeted, pushing her sunglasses closer to her face, checking to make sure they were still there.

“Come sit.” He commanded with a hearty laugh, patting the bar, “You haven’t had most important meal yet.”

“I’m not much of a breakfast eater-.”

His laugh boomed. Echo winced. He tossed his rag onto his shoulder. “Look at you little mouse,” he wiped a tear from his eye, “You need hardy meal or you’ll waste away. Be pile of clothes.”

She quirked a brow, but said nothing as she pressed her lips together. Scarlet groaned loudly as she continued to sweep. Echo had to agree, it was much too early for this.

“Mmm, an omelette and some meat is what you need.” He nodded to himself as he clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

Echo’s mouth watered as she mentally kicked herself. That was caps and she needed to save every last one of them if she ever planned on finding her own place. Maybe she could go without dinner or eat a later, smaller, and cheaper lunch.

“Well,” she wracked her brain, trying to craft a good enough excuse, “I, uh, actually had some plans-”

“Oh?” Vadim leaned in, smiling bright and cheerful, and ever so nosy.

She bobbed her head. “Yep, uh, was gonna catch Ellie this morning.” She thumbed behind her as she slowly backed away. “Don’t wanna keep her waiting.”

Vadim chuckled. “Next time then,” he said, waving her off, “you need protein. Nothing but a twig.”

Echo saluted him as she spun on her heels. “I’ll keep that in mind~” she sang as she pushed open the exit door. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed deeply. Her fingers tugged out her hair tie as she quickly redid her ponytail. Probably still a mess, but, a hairbrush would have to wait.

After one last round of adjustments, she steeled herself for the worst part of being within Diamond City’s great green walls.

People.

Lots of fuckin’ people.

Another deep breath and she stepped out into the warming sun. Echo pushed her sunglasses closer to her face and tugged at her sleeves as she made her way down the streets. People loitered and chatted, small talk drowned by merchants as they called out, enticing folks to stop by and purchase their wares. The guards patrolled, making sly, under their helmet comments, hidden by their anonymity. Pretty sure a few of them were trying to hit on her while another grumbled about boredom.

Echo dodged and weaved around people, taking extra care to not run into anymore. She turned a corner and frowned at the lack of bright neon sign that should’ve been down this street. She thumped the palm of her hand against her forehead as she walked down the barren street. “Damn it,” she huffed. She’d been here for almost a week now and here she was once again turning herself around.

Echo stopped to place her forehead against the cool metal wall and closed her eyes.

“Got lost I take it?” a familiar voice asked followed by an all too familiar boof.

She snorted as she pushed off against the wall and leaned her shoulder against it. “Noooo, psh,” she waved a dismissive hand as she crossed her arms over her chest, “just sightseeing.”

Nick cracked a smile. “Must be an interesting wall then.” Dogmeat’s tail wagged as he boofed in agreement. “He came and got me.” Nick explained as Dogmeat nudged his face against Echo’s leg.

“Daw,” she dropped to her knees and scratched his face, “And here I thought you ditched me.”

Dogmeat yawned.

“He was leading me to the Dugout when I saw you dipping in here.” Nick pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his coat, “You alright?”

Echo’s mouth twitched as she pushed off the ground and stretched her back. “Yep!” Dogmeat pawed her hand as Nick gave her his ever famous, ‘Not-buying-it’ look. She scratched the top of Dogmeat’s nose as she adjusted her sunglasses. “Got caught by Vadim,” she shrugged as he lit his cigarette.

He hummed, clicking his lighter closed. “Figured as much,” he said as smoke billowed out of his mouth and holes in his cheeks, “Think you’re up to facing the market?” He asked, tapping the ashes off the filter. Echo chewed her lip in thought. “Could take a few back alleys instead.” He added as Dogmeat’s tail thumped against the pavement.

“Only if you lead.” Echo countered. Dogmeat stood up, trotted off, stopped, and turned as if expecting the other two to follow. He boofed.

Nick chuckled. “I believe he’s taking up the mantle.”

Echo cracked a smile. “Alright Bud, we’re coming.” She adjusted her bag’s straps and followed Dogmeat, keeping in step with Nick. “So.” She clapped her hands, “any new cases, leads, or so on?” She asked, dodging a mailbox.

“So far, no.” Nick said, “There are a few case files still left untouched while I was gone though.”

Echo frowned, tapping her knuckle against her lips as she tried to remember what all she looked at. “How many did you have?”

“Several,” he said, gesturing with his cigarette, “we’ve knocked out a few thankfully, but there’s always another case to solve.”

She snorted. “Gee, it's like your job is never done huh?”

“As long as people still come to me for help, not really no.”

She stole a glance at him as his focus was ahead of them, watching Dogmeat. Smoke curled out of his open cheek, damage, no, a scar he received some time ago, before they ever met. From the sound of others, it had been recent, but when-. She chewed her lip in thought, as she looked ahead, catching sight of a familiar neon sign.

Valentine Detective Agency.

She sighed. Crap. She forgot to look at the street signs again, or pay attention to the turns they took... damn it. Nick eyed her, but said nothing. Yep. He knew. Great. Well, at least Dogmeat seemed to know where the hell to go in this city.

Dogmeat sat at the entrance and waited for the other two to walk by and give him scratches and pats on the head.

“Good job, Bud.” Echo said, giving Dogmeat a good scratch behind the ears. She opened the door and caught Nick giving Dogmeat a well deserved scratch under the chin. She smiled and shook her head as she heard Dogmeat’s hind leg thump against the pavement. They were gonna be a minute.

Echo felt a wave slam into her as she entered the threshold. She swallowed as indistinct voices sobbed, wavered, and growled in the nearly empty room. She rolled her shoulders, shrugging the voices off.

She smiled cheerfully at Ellie. “Morning.”

Ellie typed away at her typewriter, her fingers pressing the keys in rapid succession. She glanced up and grinned. “There she is,” she said, as her eyes went back to her paper, “Nick went to check on you, Coco.”

“Yeah, he’s right behind me.” She thumbed at the door as she removed her bag and leaned it against the desk by the wall. It felt...wrong to claim it as her own. She could see and hear the ghosts of those who once kept cigarettes in the top most drawer, hid whiskey behind a stack of papers in the bottom drawer, collected knicknacks to decorate the now bare top…

Echo’s fingers brushed the cool metal surface as a symphony of voices ran through her mind. Just like yesterday...and the days before…

“I take it you got lost again?” Ellie mused as her typewriter dinged.

Echo snorted. “What?” She laid a dramatic hand on her chest, “me? Lost? Psh, as if.”

Dogmeat trotted over to Ellie as Nick stepped inside. “Really? It looked like you were asking a wall for directions.”

Ellie giggled. “A wall huh?” Dogmeat tapped her lap with his paws as if to say ‘hey, I’m here.’ “Well, good morning.” She cooed as she leaned over. Dogmeat licked her nose. She laughed and rubbed Dogmeat’s face.

Echo scratched behind her ear. “Walls can talk you know.” She said, omitting how literal she meant.

Nick smirked. “Not sure how reliable of a source you had then.” Ellie covered her mouth as laughter took over.

Echo shook her head as she struggled to contain herself. “I made it here though, eventually.”

“Sure, sure,” Nick adjusted his fedora, “Ellie,” he said, getting back to business, “what’s on the docket for today?”

Ellie patted Dogmeat’s head, opened a drawer, and pulled out a couple manila folders. One was slightly bulkier than the other. “Bubbles disappeared,” she sighed, “again. And still no word on Earl Sterling…”

Echo quirked a brow, hearing the somber tone in Ellie’s voice.

“Vadim was the one to bring up his disappearance.” Nick said, while picking up the slightly bulkier case file, “Was one of the bartenders. Went missing little before I got caught by Skinny Malone…” He flipped through the file and scanned it while humming a bit.

Echo licked her lips before she popped them. “I, uh, don’t mind checking in but-”

“Need back up?” Nick asked, as a smirk played on his lips.

“Mmmm, well that and,” she rubbed the back of her neck, “I sorta used you as an excuse this morning, Ellie.”

Ellie paused her typing and eyed Echo suspiciously. “What kind of excuse?” she asked, pursing her lips.

Echo sighed as Vadim’s cheerful, glowing smile greeted her while she remembered earlier that morning. “He tried to rope me into a massive breakfast, so, I mentioned I had plans with you for lunch…”

Ellie grinned. “Oh?” She propped her chin as she leaned on the desk, “Well this is news to me. If you wanted to ask me out-”

Echo stiffened as her face flushed. “I-uh-what?”

Ellie giggled and waved her off. “Relax, Coco, I’m only teasing.”

Echo bowed her head as she deflated. “Oh gods,” she mumbled, as the sudden panic left her.

“Think ya broke her, Elle.” Nick said, shaking his head, smiling lightly.

Echo raised her head and rolled her shoulders. “Nope. No. I’m good. Caught me off guard is all.” Dogmeat sat at her feet and tilted his head. “Bud, I’m okay.” She said, leaning over to scratch the top of his head. His tail thumped as his tongue slid out of his mouth, ready to lick her first chance he could. She caught Nick and Ellie exchanging glances, but said nothing as she focused on Dogmeat, rubbing his face and ears.

Nick closed the case file and placed it on the desk. “I have a feeling I know where our little friend ran off to.” he said to Ellie, as he patted the file, “I’ll be back in a bit. In the meantime, Ellie, why don’t you grab some Power Noodles for lunch on me.”

Echo blinked as she looked up at Nick. “Wh-the noodle stand? But-”

Ellie popped out of her chair, beaming at him. “If you’re sure Nick.”

“Course,” he tipped his hat, “I’ll be back in an hour, give or take.” he smiled, “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thanks…” Echo whispered as he left the agency.

Ellie placed her hands on her hips and smirked at Echo. “You ready to brave the market?” She teased while Dogmeat barked happily.”

Echo’s fingers tapped the top of the desk as she chewed her lower lip. Ellie’s shoulders relaxed as she took a couple steps closer. “You okay?” she asked softly. Dogmeat sat at Ellie’s feet, blocking her way. Ellie paused as her gaze shifted from Dogmeat to Echo. “Oh.” She patted his head, “good boy.” She straightened her posture and smiled, gently at Echo. “I’ll grab lunch for the both of us. How’s that sound?”

Echo felt her shoulders relaxing as a weight tumbled off of them. She nodded slowly. “Sounds good. Thank you.”

Ellie smiled back. “Of course.” She strolled across the room to the safe in the corner. “It won’t take too long. Takahashi’s quick, even during the lunch rush.” She stood up and kicked the door closed. She winked at Echo. “I’ll be back~"

Dogmeat’s tail wagged as he trotted after her.

Ellie laughed. “Oh all right,” she said, ruffling Dogmeat’s fur, “we’ll pick you up something too.” Dogmeat barked happily as the duo walked out the door.

And with that, Echo was alone.

She sighed loudly as she yanked her sunglasses off and tossed them onto the desk. She slumped in her chair and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. After a long very satisfying groan and a round of deep breaths, she let her hands fall to her sides.

Echo chewed her lip. Ellie should be back ‘soon’ with lunch… and with Nick busy… she was alone, with nothing to stop the echoes of whispers that crawled along her skin and set her hair on edge. The agency had seen a lot of foot traffic, and sob stories that lingered in the air long after they had been spoken by a distraught parent, or a worried friend. She needed to do something to distract her for a little while, something to distract her thoughts and the encroaching history that creaked in the floorboards and whispered in muted tones at the edge of her hearing. Her eyes settled for a filing cabinet towards the back, shoved in a corner and forgotten amongst the others. She licked her lips as she stood up and made her way towards the back wall.

How good of a 'detective’ would she be if she didn’t 'snoop’?

Her hands came back dusty after gently brushing the top of the cabinet. Maybe it held old case files or something? She wasn’t sure, but something about this filing cabinet tugged at her. Without a second thought, she squeezed the trigger, pulled, and with a grunt and a slight sting of metal scraping against metal attacking her ears, the cabinet gave. Inside the cabinet were photos, photos of faces she had never met, but lingered in the air like smoke off a cigarette. Names and voices coiled around her and tugged at her limbs, calling to her.

Within the pile of old Polaroid’s were broken frames held together by wonder glue and prayers, a tarnished locket, and a pre-war leather wallet. She held her breath as the voices grew louder, a crescendo on a music sheet building with the conductor’s hand. Her fingers brushed against the cold, dusty locket.

She laughed, lifting her hair as strong calloused hands clasped the chain around her neck. The locket, adorn with engraved vines and leaves, bumped against her chest. “Oh, Nick, you charmer~”

Echo stumbled back, holding her hand against her chest, grasping for invisible weight. She swallowed as she inched her way back to the cabinet. The locket stared up at her, beckoning and pleading to be heard. Echo licked her lips as she planted her hands firmly on the drawer and forced it shut.

That was enough snooping for one day.

Her fingers continued to grab at her collar, desperately searching for the pendant she never wore. Echo closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the ghosts trying to tether themselves to her. She swallowed as her eyes continued to linger on the filing cabinet.

Who...was that?

Echo forced her hands behind her head to the elastic band, removed it, letting her dark hair fall as her fingers combed through the knots. She blew a raspberry as she redid her ponytail. “Guess I’m not the only one with secrets.” she mumbled as she snagged her sunglasses off the desk and hooked them to the collar of her shirt. “I know I know,” she said aloud, waving off the imagery person she started a one sided conversation with, “of course he has secrets. I barely know him!” She dragged her hands down her face, groaning.

She needed a distraction, pronto.

Echo clapped her hands together. Right! She could look at the casefiles while she waited. Something productive! No sooner did she make up her mind and turn her chair did she notice a rolled up newspaper tucked away, finding refuge between a pair of cabinets. Her mouth twitched. No . She had a perfectly sound and very interesting case to look into.

Her eyes glanced at the newspaper again. She groaned. The damn thing would plague her until the next time she had a chance. If there even was one. She grunted as she dragged her feet over to the newspaper.

As she sat on her haunches, it quickly became clear by the yellowing pages and cobwebs clinging to it, that this newspaper was one, not made by Piper and two, had been down here a looooong time.

The Boston Bugle.

A pre-war newspaper that died with its crew when the bombs fell. She frowned slightly as she gently picked up the old newspaper. Her vision danced, white spots flickering as she stood. She leaned against the filing cabinets for support as people screamed around her. The room was hot and it took every ounce of self control to not shed her jackets. She squeezed her eyes shut, stealing an extra long breath as she inhaled deeply. She lost track of how long she stood there, eyes shut and doing her round of breaths. Her balance felt off. Maybe it was the echo...or maybe she just stood too fast.

Echo exhaled again. Slowly.

The rumbling and heat against her skin faded away as she rolled her shoulders and opened her eyes.

Another one. Another object fueled by fear of hundreds of people running from the end of their world… Must’ve been near where the bombs dropped or something.

With a sigh, she gently unfolded the newspaper and frowned at the big bolded letters on the front page.

Case Closed on Crime Boss Eddie Winter.

Why did that name sound familiar? She clicked her tongue and scanned the article.

And although nothing was proved, everyone on Widmark's task force suspected Winter in the August homicide death of their lead detective's fiancé, a miss Jennifer Lands.

Her eyes widened as she felt a lump in her throat. Jenny was her name. She swallowed and refolded the newspaper. Her gaze flickered back to the filing cabinet where the locket stayed, hidden from view, while still hanging invisibly around her neck. Her chest ached as she stashed the newspaper back where she found it.

Now that she thought about it...Nick had mentioned a few things about the Pre-war days…

She plopped down at Ellie’s desk as her mind raced with questions she was too frazzled to acknowledge. She stared at the typewriter, noticing the worn keys, and the paper left drooping, unfinished until Ellie came back from Power Noodles. Her eyes wandered to the casefiles left behind, one much thicker than the other.

Echo pushed everything away, ignoring the sound of clicking keystrokes and tiny meows as she made an empty space on the desk in front of her. She placed her arms on the desk and buried her face in her arms.

Maybe… she could tune out the world for a little while.

She lost track of time as the sound of the front door to the agency opened and closed. Heavy footsteps grew soft the closer they came to the desk. Echo didn’t move as she waited. Her eyes open, staring at the desk, hiding in the darkness of her arms. She bit her lip, waiting for the inevitable-

Mow?

She frowned as something furry and soft rubbed against her.

Echo looked up right as a gray cat with white markings headbutted her face. She sputtered as a familiar voice chuckled.

“Sorry, he jumped out of my arms.” Nick said, gently scratching the cat’s back. “You alright?”

The cat headbutted her again, rubbing his face against her cheek. “I-” Echo leaned back as the cat continued to shove his weight against her. He flopped over on the desk, on top of the case files and on her arm. He purred loudly.

“I think you’ve made a friend.” Nick smiled. “He was hiding behind the shed the farmers use to stash their tools.”

“Mow,” the cat said, cleaning his paw.

She stared at the cat as a smile tugged at her lips. “Oh,” her free hand hovered near his face. After taking a moment to sniff her, he licked her hand a couple times and rubbed his face against her. She laughed. “Dogmeat’s gonna be sooo jealous of you Bubbles.” She frowned as she looked up at Nick. “That...is his name right?”

He nodded. “Yep.” He sighed, “his owner doesn’t like him getting out and overly frets whenever he does.” He rolled his eyes, “I have yet to see a cap from that man.” He grumbled.

Echo scratched Bubbles’ chin. “You just wanted the taste of fresh air huh?” Bubbles purred louder. “Just find a nice warm spot to sun yaself.” Bubbles rubbed his face against her hand. Her eyes widened as she noticed her sunglasses still hanging off of the collar of her shirt. Panic bubbled inside as she quickly yanked her hand free and shoved her sunglasses back on her face.

Bubbles scurried off somewhere in the agency. Nick stared at her, worry clear as day on his face. He raised his hand. “Echo-” She flinched away. He pulled back. “...right. Forgot you don’t like handshakes...”

She bit down hard on her lip, mentally kicking herself as she tried to focus on breathing. Water blurred her vision. Her face felt wet.

“Oh, oh dear,” his voice was quiet, “hey, it’s okay. I’ll-”

“ I’m sorry. ” She sniffed as she dried her face with her sleeves, “I’m…” she wiped her face, “it's a lot…” she scrubbed her face with her sleeves and groaned, “I just…” What could she even say? That she didn’t like people staring at her eyes for fear of them being scared away by them? That she didn’t want to hurt Nick for her reactions? That- She swallowed. “It’s not you. I know it’s cliche as hell to say that, but it's goddamn true. It’s not you at all .” She held her sunglasses close as she looked up at Nick. “I-I don’t do well with crowds or people for that matter… not a lot of them anyways.”

Nick rubbed his wrist as he stared at the metal joints. “Diamond City isn’t for the faint of heart…” he flexed his fingers, “I noticed you seemed on edge, even deep in the vault.” His eyes glanced to match her eyesight. “Look, I know Ellie kind of-”

“I still want to help…” Echo said, quietly, cutting him off, “you and Ellie are...wonderful people and it-it feels nice being around you two.” She sniffed, and gave her face one last wipe down with her sleeve, “I think,” she sighed, “I haven’t been to such a massive settlement before. It’ll still take a bit more time for me to adjust, but I can make it work. I just haven’t,” she rolled her wrist as she grasped at the word on the tip of her tongue, “decompressed?” She frowned. It...didn’t sound right, but Nick didn’t correct her. He just watched and listened. “It’s...overwhelming.”

She chewed her lip. She should say more, but this was dangerous territory. It was always dangerous territory, being on the cusp of what she should say without saying too much. She couldn’t, no, shouldn’t say anything about the newspaper or the locket. Especially not the locket. Where would she even begin with unpacking that filing cabinet? ‘Oh, I can see flashes of memories that don’t belong to me sometimes.’ NO. She shouldn’t have snooped, just should’ve looked at the case files like she planned, but-

“Yeah, it can be,” Nick said, smiling a little, “if you ever need a quiet space, we’ve got a little area on the side. Could set up something for ya.”

“Oh...that’d be nice. Um, thank you.” Her shoulders drooped as she watched Nick rub his wrist. Here he was making her feel better and not thinking about himself.

Echo stood up and inhaled deeply. She held out her hand. Nick frowned, puzzled as his golden eyes flickered from her hand to her face.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Positive.” When he didn’t immediately reach for her hand she licked her lips, “I...I want to do better, but in order to do that I have to push myself. I don’t want you hurting because of something I did. Like...I get this gut reactions whenever someone gets too close or sees my eyes… They’ve scared folks before and it ended poorly...” She cleared her throat, “I’m sorry, Nick.” She forced a smile on her face, “I want to continue assisting you if you’ll have me.”

Nick blinked. “Well,” he chuckled a bit, “truth be told I was hoping you’d stick around.” His hand hovered near hers. “Partner.”

Echo grinned as she clasped his hand. Voices chatted and wavered as she focused the bite of cold from his metal hand.

“Partner.”

[playlistcenter]

types of people // weather

sunshine; flower crowns, leaves in hair, plants on windowsill, dreamy eyes, walking barefoot, quietly humming, tripping over their own feet, melodic laugh, sweet perfume, tye dye shirts

downpour; locking yourself out of your phone, dirt on your hands, tight hugs, echoing laughs, mysterious, disappears for hours at a time, old books, visual mind, night swimming

light shower; polaroids, silent laughing, colored pencils, a thousand hair ties, summer fruits, bright nail polish, daydreams, open windows, $2 bills, washi tape, randomly cutting your hair, sketches on napkins

thunderstorm; loud voice, house parties, never keeping secrets, basically never sleeps, screaming at the sky, messy hair, broken nails, biting your lip until it bleeds

snow; wishing on shooting stars, confetti, fields of flowers, sliding around in socks, cartooney bandaids, looks like a cinnamon roll but will kill you, dancing in your bedroom, fluffy hair, gentle touches

hail; burning alcohol, listening to Beyonce, carries a lighter, coffee maker, nose piercings, slaps across the face, spicy doritos, brass knuckles, will kick you, loud concerts, putting out a cigarette in your hand

sleet; rooftops, staying in one place your entire life, back alleys, whispered secrets, dark sense of humor, skateboards, mixtapes, firecrackers, bags under eyes, not caring what people think

cloudy; monologues, easy to talk to, philosophical questions at four a.m., head filled with ideas, knowing every word in the dictionary, earbuds in, raindrops tapping at the window, lost in thought

based off of this post by @sterling-heartache

[ginahazep]

I don’t know how to even begin to express how I feel but, I’m going to try my best because I feel compelled to share my heart, my very broken heart, in these dark and trying times we are living in. First, I’m a black woman and I am angry. I’m completely traumatized, despaired, and broken, from watching the video of Derek Chauvin,former Minneapolis policeman, kneeling on the neck of George Floyd for nine minutes, bringing George Floyd to his death-along with his three other colleagues whom were also kneeling onto George Floyd’s body and allowing Derek Chauvin to kneel onto his neck, murdering him. But, my pain and anger doesn’t begin there and it damn sure doesn’t stop there. “I can’t breathe” George Floyd repeatedly said before he was completely unconscious and then on, pronounced dead. Those words have burned in my mind since I heard Eric Garner say them on July 17, 2014 as I watched him being strangled to death by a former New York City policeman for allegedly selling loose cigarettes. I can’t stay silent anymore. I can’t have the people who love me stay silent anymore. Black lives are being unjustly taken, it is being filmed, and the proper action is not being taken. Proper justice is not being served. The violence, the looting, the terror that has transpired from not only George Floyd, not only Eric Garner, Sandra Bland, Alton Sterling, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Trayvon Martin, Walter Scott-no not only on their behalf, but an infinite amount of others brutally murdered without justice. Not to undermine the years and years of oppression that black people have endured. Generations and generations of oppression. Enough is ENOUGH. These riots, this race war, this, THIS is the result of an entire ethnicity fed the fuck up. How would you feel if you were devalued, dissimilar, dehumanized due to the color of your skin? How would you feel if your brother, father, cousin, or husband had their neck kneeled on for nine minutes by a policeman for allegedly committing a non violent crime? We are angry, we are irate, and we are tired. The burning, the looting, the vandalism is not going to stop until justice is served. Property can be replaced, black lives cannot. Let me say it again, PROPERTY CAN BE REPLACED, BLACK LIVES CANNOT. Do not let the fires and the property take away from the point here. And don’t even fix your mind to think“but...”. There is no debate here. Racism is real, it’s happening, it has happened, it still happens EVERY SINGLE DAY and we are DONE. This is what happens to any human when they are fed up, they explode. We’ve exploded. To my non black friends, whom I haven’t had these types of conversations with, who know me, love me, and respect me you need to use your platform to speak up. And don’t stop there. Talk about it. Keep talking about it. It starts with us. It starts NOW. I am not okay. I am NOT okay, I am enraged. This has to stop and we will be heard.

[nix-that-rad-lass]

here’s a list of a few of my favorite songs that nobody asked for (no really this is maybe <20% of them rip)

Talk by Coldplay, Taste The Iron On Your Lips by Fearless Vampire Killers, Telescope by Yellowcard, Third Wheel by Set It Off, Trouble by Coldplay, Hell Above by Pierce The Veil, Hope by We Came As Romans, Hourglass by Set It Off, How Far We’ve Come by Matchbox Twenty, Our Lady Of Sorrows by My Chemical Romance, Our Natures Unnatural by Fearless Vampire Killers, Not Your Type by Ria Mae, Neon In The Dance Halls by Fearless Vampire Killers, Aging Love by FVK, All The Right Moves by One Republic, Ambulance by My Chemical Romance, Ambush by Inklings, Ashes of Eden by Breaking Benjamin, At My Worst by Get Scared, Danger by FVK, Dani California by Red Hot Chili Peppers, Days Are Numbered by Black Veil Brides, Diary Of Jane by Breaking Benjamin, Disenchanted by MCR, Distance Disturbs Me by Set It Off, Don’t Fear The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult/Pierce The Veil, SCARECROW by MCR, Save Yourself I’ll Hold Them Back by MCR, Sarcasm by Get Scared, The Scientist by Coldplay, Shadows Die by Black Veil Brides, Shatter Me by Lindsey Sterling, Stumbling In Your Footsteps by Get Scared, Study in Dystopia by FVK, Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2, Summertime by MCR, Caraphernelia by Pierce The Veil, Catch Me If You Can by Set It Off, Cigarette Daydreams by Cage The Elephant, Concede Repent Destroy by FVK, Clothes Off by Ria Mae, Circles by Pierce The Veil, Clocks by Coldplay

[wild3flow3r]

Chapter Three

December 7th

“You’ve made us late,” Harry growls as he knocks on this mansion’s front door.

Lorelai rolls her eyes and checks her watch. “We’re four minutes early.”

“If you didn’t take public transportation then we would have been ten minutes early. Just the way I like it.”

“Hey, I want to accompany you on this meeting even less than you want me to, okay? Stop complaining about every small inconvenience you have, put on your big boy pants, and get this meeting over with.”

Harry was meeting a very important client today. If Harry won the case then the company would score their biggest paycheck in years. Bertram thought this meeting was too important for Harry to attend alone, so he sent Lorelai along with him to be his official notetaker. Said that she’d be his assistant for the day, and Lorelai almost threw up at those words. Never would she ever want Harry to be her boss, and thank god he hadn’t been around when Bertram had said that.

An older man opens the door. His eyes were bloodshot and he reeked of booze and cigarette smoke. He was wearing a pair of long johns and a bathrobe with his initials on it. It was only a little past noon and this man was already in such bad shape.

“What do you two want?” The man snaps as he eyes both Harry and Lorelai.

“Mr. Webber, I’m Harry Styles and this is my associate Lorelai Sterling. We work at the law firm Clemens & Son. You hired me last weekend to represent you for your divorce case.” Harry sticks his hand out for the man to shake.

Mr. Webber’s eyes light up as he takes Harry’s hand in his and shakes it vigorously. “Well fucking finally. It’s about time I get a divorce from that bitch.”

Lorelai slightly cringes at the man’s vulgar language about his soon-to-be ex-wife, but nobody notices. He lets Harry pass him into the house before shaking Lorelai’s hand as well and letting her follow Harry. He shuts the front door with a quiet thud and leads them into his dining room.

“Please, take a seat. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He nods at the two of them before heading upstairs. Lorelai hopes he was going to change his clothes and dump a bottle of cologne onto himself.

Lorelai does as told and takes a seat, Harry taking the one next to her. She opens her purse and takes out her notepad and three pens. She tests all of her pens out to make sure they’re working, which they are, and then writes down Mr. Webber’s name at the top of the sheet. Harry watches her the entire time.

“You sure you’re going to get everything written down?”

Lorelai sighs. “I always do.”

Mr. Webber comes down in record time, now wearing a pair of jeans and a white button down shirt. He did put on cologne, but Lorelai thought it made him smell worse than before. His hair was slightly dripping as if he had tossed his head underneath the sink faucet for a second to wash some grease out of his hair. He takes a seat across from Harry and Lorelai.

“Sorry for the wait,” Mr. Webber apologizes, but his voice sounds nothing like it. “You said your name was Styles right?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nods as he folds his hands together on top of the table.

“You related to a Zachary Styles? He’s a lawyer too. He did some work for my company about a year ago.”

Lorelai watches as Harry’s hands grip onto each other so tight that a vein pops out on his wrist momentarily before taking a deep breath and calming down slightly. “He’s my father,” Harry replies.

“Really? Never mentioned he had a son. Talked about his daughter and grandchildren loads though,” Mr. Webber didn’t seem to notice Harry uncomfortably shifting in his seat, or maybe he did and he just didn’t care.

“We’re not that close,” Harry dismisses the topic, his gaze not wavering from Mr. Webber. “Now we came here to speak of your divorce, yeah?”

At the mention of his divorce, Mr. Webber went into this entire tirade about his terrible soon-to-be ex-wife and about how she had been a bitch the entire three years they had been married and had only used him for his money that lasted for a solid ten minutes. Lorelai ended up writing her grocery list down in this time. She stopped listening to him after the first two minutes of his speech.

“Did you sign a prenup?” Harry asks when Mr. Webber pauses to take a breath.

He glares at Harry. “Of course I bloody didn’t. I regret every day not doing so. Now this whore is going to suck me dry and take every penny that I have to my name.”

Lorelai grits her teeth to stop her from saying anything she shouldn’t to the man. She even sees that Harry was not pleased by Mr. Webber’s word choice by the way his eyebrows raised. He doesn’t let it affect his work though.

“I promise you, Mr. Webber, I will not let that happen to you. She’ll just maybe get a dime from your bank account.”

***

Harry charmed the man in the next hour and a half that their meeting continued. Mr. Webber was so pleased with Harry that he was basically ready to throw stacks of cash at him immediately after he officially hired Clemens & Son to represent him. He left Harry with parting words that made Lorelai want to throw up on his front porch.

“Never get married, you hear me boy? All women do is complain and beg for money. Their mouths should be used for things other than talking, eh?” Mr. Webber began to laugh and shut his front door before Harry even had a chance to reply. Lorelai didn’t even want to look at him to gauge his reaction.

Lorelai walks past the front gate, holding it open long enough for Harry to squeeze through. She wraps her jacket closer to her body to fight off the bone-chilling winds before heading off in the direction of the tube. “See you back at the office,” she ticks over her shoulder in Harry’s direction.

“You’re not seriously going to take the tube back to work when I could drive us both there, are you?” Lorelai can picture him rolling his eyes.

Lorelai stops in her tracks. She turns around slightly to spot Harry standing next to his parked navy blue Bentley. He stares at her expectantly, but also slightly shocked that she was even considering his offer. Maybe if the wind hadn’t been so cold that every time it nipped at her skin she was scared she was going to get frostbite, or maybe even if it didn’t look like it was about to start pouring rain, maybe then she would have kept walking without a reply. It was because she didn’t want to get sick and die, she told herself as she marched over to Harry and his overly expensive car.

“Not scared I’m gonna kidnap ya and murder you anymore?” Harry asks, an evergrowing smirk appearing on his lips.

Lorelai sighs as he opens the passenger side door open for her. “There are worse ways to pass on I guess.”

Lorelai settles into the car seat and immediately buckles herself in. Harry lets out a dramatic sigh after he enters his own side of the car and sees her checking to make sure her seatbelt is properly buckled.

“I’m not going to get us into an accident, Sterling.”

“I will never ever ever trust you with my life, Styles.”

Harry starts his car and drives away from Mr. Webber’s house. He turns the radio on and some classical song leaves the speakers. Lorelai can’t help but to laugh.

He glances over to her momentarily before focusing back on the road, his eyebrows frowning on the top of his head. “What are you laughing about?”

“I just didn’t peg you as the Mozart type,” Lorelai says through her giggles.

“And what did you peg me as?”

“Honestly? I thought you just sat in silence every time you drove anywhere. You’re absolutely boring like that.”

Harry scoffs. “I am not boring. And it’s Bach by the way. This is The Well Tempered Clavier. Classical music is supposed to help you focus and get in the correct working mindset.”

Harry stops at a red light and looks over to her just in time to see her roll her eyes. “You’re basically like a stuffy old man who thinks making his aid cry is the funniest thing about his day.”

Harry sits back in his seat, his eyes latching onto hers. “I’m not that terrible of a person.”

“Your job is literally helping to solidify the breaking up of a family.”

“Well I’m not the one who put a crack in it in the first place. And who the hell are you to speak? You help the man who helps solidify the breaking up of families.”

Lorelai's face hardens and she refuses to let her gaze falter. “I’m working here because it was the only job that would hire me. What does it say about you that you chose this path?”

“Who said it wasn’t my only option as well?”

The atmosphere in the car was so tense that you couldn’t even cut through the air with a knife. You would have needed a wrecking ball to break it. They stared at each other until a car behind Harry honked its horn to indicate that the light was green and probably had been for a while. In that time Lorelai noticed the way Harry’s breathing picked up and his face turned into a stone cold mask. He only broke eye contact when the man behind them started calling Harry names out of his window.

“Was it?” Lorelai finally breaks the silence after another few moments of it.

Harry only sighs in response, his body hunching over as soon as he let the breath out. All of a sudden he looked very tired to Lorelai. There were bags under his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, and his body looked about ready to tip over and stay down for the rest of eternity. And then in the next second it all disappeared, the true Harry disappeared, and his mask slipped back on and he went back to the same way Lorelai’s always known him.

“What’s it matter to you anyways?”

“It doesn’t,” she replies a little too fast.

“Exactly.”

~

December 12th

Lorelai longed for a dog. Her seven other siblings, they all wanted children in their early twenties, but Lorelai was nearing her late twenties now and she is just feeling like she is ready enough to take care of her own puppy. The only problem was that her long work hours did not go along with the amount of time a puppy needs attention for, but still she could look at the shelter websites and dream what it would be like to be a dog mother.

Lorelai was smiling at a particularly cute pitbull puppy when Harry exited his office and headed towards her. He eyes her suspiciously over her desk, and even though she would have liked to have frowned at Harry, the puppy was just too cute to keep her from doing so.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks her with an eyebrow raised.

“Work,” Lorelai murmurs in response as she reads over the puppies description. His name was Rufus and he had just turned six weeks old.

“You never smile at the work you’re doing. A lot of frowning and aggravated huffs, yes, but never any smiling. What are you looking at?” Harry leans forward to take a sneaking look at her screen, but with a quick click of a button Lorelai’s screensaver pops up.

“What do you want, Styles?” Now that the picture was gone Lorelai’s frown finally appeared.

“Need you to fax something for me,” he announces as he holds a stack of papers in front of him. “Or actually, a lot of things for me.”

Lorelai rolls her eyes and leans further back into her chair. “I’m not your assistant, remember? You’ll have to get your own to do the work you don’t want to do.”

“It won’t take you that long.”

“If it won’t take me that long, then it won’t take you that long either. My schedule is just as busy as yours. I can’t be doing work that I’m not getting paid to do.”

“Come on, Sterling-”

“No,” Lorelai cuts him off.

“It’s just-”

“I said no, Harry.”

“I’ll return the favor.”

This catches Lorelai’s attention and keeps her from repeating the word she had been so adamant on.

“What type of favor?”

“Anything you want, workwise that is.”

Lorelai bites her bottom lip as she looks up to the ceiling in deep thought. She clicks her pen a few times before she finally nods in agreement. Lorelai stands up, takes the papers from him, and shuffles over to the fax machine a few feet away.

“Well? What is it that you want?” Harry asks, his voice now taking on more of concern that she had agreed so easily to his bribe.

“You’ll see.”

***

Twenty minutes before Clemens & Son closes for the night, Lorelai stands from her desk and heads down the hall to Harry’s office. Bertram left thirty minutes ago, so Lorelai knew for sure that he wouldn’t show up out of nowhere and disturb the conversation she and Harry were about to have.

Harry’s door was already open, but Lorelai knocks on it twice to grab his attention anyways. He glances up from his computer screen, his cell phone pressed against his ear, and he stares at Lorelai warily. He beckons her with two fingers to come in and to sit down at the chair across from his desk and to wait until he was finished with his phone call.

“Sorry, Uncle Xavier, but I’m just too busy with work these next few weeks. Won’t be able to see you until my mum’s Christmas party.” Harry speaks into the cell phone, although Lorelai could tell he was barely listening to the conversation by the way he was clicking the mouse to his computer screen a million times a minute, and even more so now because Lorelai was in the room.

Lorelai can barely make out the voice on the other side of Harry’s call, but she can hear the tone of it and the man on the other side sounds clearly upset. Harry doesn’t seem to care though.

“No, I can’t arrive a few days earlier. I’m way too busy with these case files. Yes, even divorces don’t take a break for the holidays. Listen, I’ll have to call you back, alright? Something's come up. Alright. Yup. Yeah. Okay, yeah. Talk to you soon. Goodbye.” Harry hangs up the phone even though Lorelai was sure the person on the other side was only in the middle of repeating goodbye back to Harry.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Lorelai apologizes as Harry places his cell phone neatly on his desk.

Harry shrugs. “I should be thanking you really. Those conversations usually take up more of my time, but your interruption gave me the perfect exit.” He clicks a few more things on his computer before he turns fully towards Lorelai to give her his full attention. “Now, I assume you want your favor done?”

“You assumed correct,” she announces before handing Harry a file over.

“What is this?” Harry asks as he eyes the file, but makes no move to open it.

“Reasons why you should give me a raise.”

Harry sighs and falls back into his chair. “You’re not due for one.”

“Actually, I’m overdue for it. Should’ve gotten one last winter, but because Bertram decided to hire you instead it was pushed back.”

“You faxing things for me and me giving you a raise do not fall in the same ballpark.”

“You said you owed me any type of favor as long as it was work wise. Well, you’re the head of the financials here, so you would be the person to go to for me to ask for one.”

Harry stares at her in complete silence for about thirty seconds, his green eyes turning harder as the time goes by. Finally he leans forward and opens the file. It listed all of the work Lorelai’s done over the last two years she’s been here, all of the overtime she put in even when she didn’t need to, all of her accomplishments here at Clemens & Son. Lorelai watches Harry as he looks at his file, his eyes glancing over everything. She blushes ever so slightly when she thinks she’s spotted an impressed look in his eyes, but she wills away her embarrassment as much as she can.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Harry finally announces. “I’ll have to take the file home and take a more extensive look. I can’t just give you a raise here and now. It’ll take time for it to process through, and I have to make sure I give you a proper one that’s in the companies budget, but as long as the things you’ve written in this file pan out, then I can probably get you a raise right after the New Year starts.”

Lorelai sits there shocked, unable to properly process Harry’s words. Honestly, she expected him to shun her away immediately, but his words were a promise that he would do what he could. That was enough for her. She stands up and straightens her skirt out, Harry rising just a few moments after her.

“Alright, well, thank you, Mr. Styles.”

Lorelai thinks that maybe his lips are trying to turn up into a smile at the way they wobble slightly, but she also thinks that it might just be a trick on her eyes.

“It’s no problem, Miss Sterling. I’ll let you know of my decision sometime next week.”

Lorelai nods once before exiting the room. As soon as she’s out of eyesight she does a small jig of happiness in the hallway but unbeknownst to her, Harry spotted her dance by a mirror placed in his office and shook his head in amusement. He watches her and she shuffles down the hall with a new pep in her step until she’s reached her desk and was once more out of sight.

Lorelai gathers her coat and grabs her card to clock out. Finally, for once, Lorelai had a pretty good day at her job.