#the finale to NaNoWriMo was supposed to be the next chapter of ''The Six Senses''

[thelastspeecher]

NaNoWriMo ‘17 Day 30 - Take Me Home

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08 Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16 Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24 Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

Summary: Stan gets to know the youngest McGucket.  [Stay-at-Home Stan AU] Word count: 1345

               Stan walked onto the porch.  He let out a satisfied sigh as he surveyed the farm.  The morning air was already warm, despite the early hour. A rooster crowed proudly at the sun peeking over the horizon.  The farm was still, and quiet, despite the racket coming from the chicken coop.

               Gonna be a hot one today.  Damn, am I glad I didn’t need to come to the market this morning.  The McGuckets had left about an hour ago for the farmer’s market, and since their children were home for the summer, Stan wasn’t needed to help sell produce.  It’s gonna get miserable outside fast.  Better get my chores done before then.  The rooster crowed again.

               “I hear ya, Carl,” Stan shouted at the chicken coop as he walked down the porch steps.  “Good mornin’ to you, too.”  He began to make his way to the barn.  As he got closer, he could see the door had been left open.  Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

               Shit, shit, shit!  Did I forget to close the door yesterday?  Oh, fuck, what if all the animals escaped?  He picked up his pace.  Within a few feet of the barn, he began to hear faint singing.

               “…take me home, to the place I belong…”

               Huh? Stan walked into the barn.  There was someone sitting on the ground, leaning against a haybale.  Oh.  It’s one of the McGucket kids.  I thought they all left to go to the market.  The McGucket continued to sing, unaware of Stan’s presence, as she was facing away from him.  

               “West Virginia, mountain mama…”

               Nice voice. She’s the youngest one, right? What’s her name?  I’ve only met her a couple times.  Stan furrowed his brow. Starts with an ‘A’.  Amber, Annette, Alice…Angie!  That’s her name.  Stan leaned against the wall.  Wonder why she didn’t leave with the rest of ‘em. Angie’s voice grew louder as she neared the end of the song.

               “Take me home, down country-”  Stan accidentally knocked over a pitchfork, cutting Angie off with a clatter.  Angie immediately jumped up and spun around, holding her instrument like a bat.

               Whoops. Stan and Angie stared at each other for a split second.  She’s kinda cute.  Recognition flickered in Angie’s eyes.

               “Oh, it’s you,” she said, relaxing.  She lowered her instrument.  

               “Nice singin’,” Stan said.  Angie cast her eyes downward.

               “Servicable, I s’pose,” she mumbled.  “Thank you.”

               What?  Can’t she take a compliment?

               “Sorry fer, ah, impedin’ yer responsibilities,” Angie said. “I’ll get out of yer hair.”

               “I just got here,” Stan said.  He shrugged.  “I don’t mind the company.”

               She’s not as annoying as Harper and Lute, so…

               “Really?  ‘Cause if I were a bettin’ woman, I’d bet ya didn’t go to market today ‘cause ya wanted some time to yourself,” Angie said, propping one hand against her hip.

               “Nah, I didn’t go ‘cause I got to sleep in an extra hour. The quiet farm’s just a bonus.” Stan nodded at the instrument she was holding.  “Where’d you get a tiny guitar like that?  I’ve never seen one before.”

               “Gui- oh!”  Angie laughed.  “You mean my uke.”

               “Your what?”

               “Uke.  Short fer ukulele.  It ain’t a guitar.  And I got it at school.  It had been sittin’ in the lost ‘n found box fer months, wastin’ away.  So I decided to take it home, give it some love ‘n attention, and see if I could puzzle out a few songs.”  She strummed the strings, a proud grin manifesting on her face.  “I never got lessons on it; I’m teachin’ myself how to play it.”

               “Damn,” Stan said with an appreciative nod.  Angie’s grin broadened.

               “Thank you,” Angie said.  Stan picked up the pitchfork he had knocked over.

               “Aren’t you a scientist?  How come you’re teachin’ yourself instruments?”

               “I study biology, yes.  And, well, if ya know the basics of music, ya can teach yourself most things. It helps that I’ve got trainin’ in fiddle and cello.”

               “No guitar or banjo?”

               “No way,” Angie said firmly, shaking her head.  “Banjo’s already in my name.  I don’t need to play it, too.  And guitar never spoke to me.  Ya want to choose an instrument what speaks to ya.”

               “I played flute in high school, but it never spoke to me.”

               “Ya didn’t dabble in guitar?” Angie asked.  She leaned against one of the horse stalls.  “Most boys do.”

               “Eh.  Wanted to, but never got around to it.”  Stan stabbed the haybale Angie had been leaning against with the pitchfork.

               “One of my brothers could teach ya.”

               “Nah.  They probably only know country songs like you were just singin’.”  

               “Don’t you badmouth John Denver!” Angie gasped. Stan stared at her.  She laughed.  “I’m just foolin’ with ya, Stan.  Country ain’t everyone’s cup of tea.  Most folks at my school don’t like it.  That’s why I play it here, at home.”

               “So what if they don’t like it?” Stan asked.  He began to scatter hay.  “That’s their problem.”

               “It becomes my problem when folks use my background as a farmgirl from Nowhere, Arkansas to not take me seriously.  Heck, even my accent is enough fer some folks to stop listenin’ to me.”

               “That’s bullshit.”

               “Yeah.”

               “Nowhere’s on the other side of the state.  The closest town to the farm is Gumption.”  Stan looked at her.  “The accent thing, too.”  Angie grinned.

               “You’ve got a funny sense of humor, farmhand.”

               “I guess.”

               “It’s a good feelin’, though,” Angie continued softly, “when I get home and can fin’ly be, y’know, me.  A country girl raised on a farm.  Makes some songs feel extra special when I sing ‘em.”  Stan frowned, trying to remember the lyrics he’d heard earlier.  

               Somethin’ like…“take me home”.  

               “I can see that.”

               “Yer not a fan of country, though?”

               “Oh, hell no.”  Stan glanced at Angie again.  “But, I dunno, if all country singers looked and sounded like you, I might change my mind.” Angie cocked her head, perplexed. After a moment, she let out a bark of laughter.

               “Oh!  That was a joke!”

               …Not really.

               “Yer quite the character, Stanley Forrest.”

               Am I?

               “I really should stop jabberin’ at ya and let ya do yer job, though,” Angie finished.  She stood up straight.  “Otherwise, you’ll just spread ‘round that hay fer hours.”  Stan looked down.  He grimaced. Like Angie had said, the hay he’d been taking from the bale was coating the ground in a disorganized mess.

               “Dammit,” Stan muttered.  He knelt down and began to scoop it up.  “But I said it before.  I don’t mind the company.  Maybe you could sing some more, try to persuade me to like country.  Or better yet, if you know any good songs-”

               “No,” Angie said shortly.  “I- I don’t sing in front of people.”

               “Stage fright?”

               “Not quite,” Angie hedged.  Stan stood up, his hands full of hay.  “Y’know, you could’ve just swept it up.”

               “Now you tell me.”  Stan dumped the hay on top of the bale.  “Seriously, though, you can sing if ya want.  I don’t care.”

               “I don’t have a good singin’ voice.”

               “That’s a lie,” Stan said flatly.  Angie crossed her arms with a huff.

               “Fine.  Maybe you don’t think that.  But I do.”

               “Sure, whatever.  Now, pick up that nuke and play another song.  Do you know anything from the Rolling Stones?”

               “No, I don’t know any Rolling Stones songs, it’s a uke, and I just told ya I don’t sing in front of other people, ‘cause I don’t sound good.”

               “Yeah, and I just told ya that I think you sound good.”  Angie opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything.  Stan raised an eyebrow at her.  “Your move, McGucket.”

               “…Fine.”  Angie slid down against the horse stall.  Once on the ground, she crossed her legs and idly strummed her ukulele a couple times. “But I don’t take requests from folks what don’t like John Denver.”

               “You drive a hard bargain.  But even country’s better than listenin’ to the rooster screech for hours.”

               “I’m flattered,” Angie drawled, rolling her eyes. “I’ll do my best to drown him out.”

[frigginwriting]

Howdy howdy! As I’ve mentioned before I changed my Nanowrimo goal to write The Tales of Kredos with @sweetfaerycherry, and we’re making fair progress on that. Only 5k words behind now.

I thought I’d put up the first chapter to see if I could get some opinions on it! We’ve written a lot more than this of course, but one chapter is long enough as it is. I’m gonna pop the first chapter under a read more here, if anyone gets the time some feedback would be delightful~

The world itself had no name, or at least the name was long lost in the tangles of vines around ancient ruins. Light from the moon peeked through dark clouds, and laid against old alabaster walls that shimmered with ancient enchantments. 

The walls stretched each way for thousands of miles, straight through the sacred forests. On the other side were massive pits where foul smelling black smoke billowed into the air. It blanketed the small rickety towns of the outer ring with an eternal overcast, as night bound people sulked around, looking to complete what they needed before the sun rose and the majority of the population was out for the day.

Further in, the smoke dissipated. Past the forest between the rings, were the second ring cities with better infrastructure and cobblestone streets. Then were inner ring towns with asphalt and oil street lamps. From there was the epicenter of the Triune Kingdoms– Centura. It was the Capital of Kredos, the walled continent safe from the savagery of beasts and monsters in the Wilds.

Centura was an odd assortment of buildings cobbled together, as the next technological century rammed full force into the past. It was the pinnacle of humanity, in all of its various forms. Near the center was a massive blocky skyscraper, metal shining in moonlight. Near there was the Palace of Power, where the four royals met twice a year. The last landmark was the capital temple, a big grand building of white marble, meticulously maintained. Inside was the large gold plated insignia of the sun, and in the still dark morning hours the new neon lights that lay over it’s edges lit the way.

Surrounding these three impressive landmarks were numerous businesses, and further out houses of gothic architecture. Down the street from the marble temple was a house that stood from the rest, small and old, unpainted wood, with sigils carved into the door and window frames. It had one large door, and on this early morning it swung open.

One person emerged with an errand to run, Runimo Avis, a seventeen year old with an array of colored hair and dark skin. As he left he carried with him his bag, one empty bottle, the goggles he wore, and the cane he kept outstretched in front of him.

The walk from his house to the main street market was more than most people in the capital cared to take, and by the time he reached it the sky was lightening up. He saw people roaming about already and felt relief, thinking he might have been too early still. As the light grew clearer with the rising sun, shapes grew clearer, still blurry and dark but with enough of an edge and enough contrast for him to tell where one thing ended and another began. 

Runimo kept a hold of his cane anyway, knowing it would make the shopping trip quicker and easier. He couldn't imagine anyone remembering all of their customers in the capital, but he of all people should have been a face one couldn't forget easily. Still, holding it, he got far less of an annoyed or irritated tone when he asked people to point him to something or read a label for him.

"Runimo!"

Focused on his own preemptive agitation, Runimo jumped at the call of his name.

"Oh, gods, sorry I didn't mean to startle you."

David, Runimo's friend. A light elf in shift, apparent by the point to the ears and to a lesser degree, his sturdy features and aquiline nose which weren't uncommon in them. The most notable trait of elves outside of the ears was the metallic, foil-like sheen to the iris of their eyes.

Runimo relaxed when he realized who it was.

"Nah, I just was thinking about stuff." Runimo said. "What are you doing up already?"

"Couldn't sleep." said David. "I suspect you're in the same boat?"

"Kind of." Runimo said. "Been up since two. I thought I'd run a couple of errands and maybe get a short nap in before. Hey, listen, do you smell coffee?"

"Coffee?" David asked, and paused to smell the air. "Huh. Yeah I suppose, do you have some, or..."

Runimo could tell from the cutoff of David's voice, that he'd come to the same assumption that Runimo had some time ago.

"I've been smelling coffee since I woke up." Runimo said. "I'm pretty confident in Granddad's wards, but I'm not particularly fond of the idea that some dark magic source has been following me all morning."

"Oh Lessers," David looked around as if he could spot the source, "have you told anyone? Have you told your grandpa?"

Runimo made a face.

"I'd rather not stress him out I think." He said, and it was obvious what he really meant.

"Hey, look," David said, "your grandpa wouldn't keep you from running the course if it wasn't for a good reason. You aught tell him, maybe he can do something about it, or at least make sure it's something unimportant. What if something messed up happens while you're out there?"

Runimo huffed a little. He knew all along, of course, that he should have told his granddad from the start. Part of him was hoping someone would say something to the contrary. His grandpa was already worried about him running the course as it was, the last thing he really wanted was to put out another excuse for him not to.

"Yeah alright, I know." Runimo said. "I'll tell him when I get back. I've just got some fish and sunflower oil to pick up for him, maybe a couple other things here and there."

"Yeah alright, mind if I come with?" David asked. "I'm just killing time until graduation."

"Haven't any reason why not." Runimo said, as he went back to browsing. "Makes my time easier."

"So Gavin says they finally told him what temple he's going to be assigned to, and you're never going to believe which one." David said, walking with Runimo.

"He wanted to go to one of those poor outer ring towns," Runimo said, "that hasn't changed has it? Is it one of those?"

"He's going to Pigsfoot, when he graduates." David said. "And he's actually excited about it, can you believe that?"

"He wanted to go to one of those poor little towns, so I mean yeah, one of the county capitals makes sense." Runimo said, and then with a teasing tone– "I can believe he's happy about it, some people are actually in this for the benefit of others."

"Listen, I want to help people as much as the next guy," David said, and placed his hand on his chest with a tilt of his head, "I didn't go through five years of priest's training because it was a cushy job. If I wanted high paying and cushy, I'd go work for Osseo... but I can smell that place just thinking about it."

"Well I mean it's a recycling town." Runimo said, and he paused to ask David to grab him a bottle of sunflower oil and leave the bottle be brought back. They paid the two gold kredits, and continued on. "I imagine you just get used to the smell after a while. It's probably not as bad as you imagine."

"Get used to the smell." David scoffed. "I tell you what, if you ever see me in a place like that, you can just assume I've lost my dang mind."

"You say that as if you aren't crazy half the time anyway." Runimo said, glancing David's way.

"Then assume I've really lost it." David said, pointing his finger at Runimo. "Speaking of crazy, there's supposed to be this new stall in the market today, we should check it out before you go home again."

"What's what have to do with crazy?" Runimo asked, and the two paused briefly in their walking.

"It's crazy because," David said, voice practically bouncing with anticipation, "it's apparently a stall for Grim Curios."

"Oh gods, that place." Runimo leaned his head back rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I know you've the tackiest taste of anyone I've ever met, yet still you continue to astound me with it."

"It's an airship shop," David said, "I've always wanted to see what they have inside, it's suppose to be real freaky. Beatrice said her aunt got her a nice necklace from there last Che'ibas, and it was enchanted so that she couldn't tell any lies."

"It was what?" Runimo asked.

"Yeah, I guess she ended up telling like half her family during dinner that she thought they were all uptight, overbearing, and ignorant." David said, and shrugged his shoulders, mirroring Runimo's surprise. "Of course she also told her aunt that her awful hairstyle looked like a nest of rats, and was probably what kept scaring away her various boyfriends so..."

"Lessers, and you want to get something from there?" Runimo asked, incredulous.

"Well at least look." David said. "Buy something if I think it's worth it, but mostly look. I don't know if it's going to be a permanent Sunday market thing or if it's just in town since the ceremony is today."

"You want to do an awful lot before... What time is it?" Runimo asked.

"Uh," David checked his watch, "six forty-five."

"You want to do an awful lot before it's even seven in the morning." Runimo said. "How do you know it's even open yet?"

"I passed it a bit ago, someone was setting up. They looked about finished to me." David said, and Runimo shook his head in the way that one did when feigning disappointment with their friends.

"Fine, if we simply must indulge in your terrible tastes." He said. "I want to get the fish first though."

"That's fair." David said, and they continued walking again. "I think it's nearer the back today."

They walked a ways back and Runimo knew they'd arrived when he heard a familiar voice speak.

"Good morning Avis, you're early today. You want the usual?"

"Yes please, Mr. Charles." Runimo said, coming to a stop beside the stall.

"Keep it cold for an extra gold?" 

"Yes as well, I think I'll be browsing a bit before going home." Runimo nodded.

The man behind the stall laid out a paper that was marked with sigils that Runimo couldn't see but knew would be there. He laid out two large fish and wrapped them, then a separate package of prawn, before wrapping them all up in the paper that had first been laid out.

The corner of the paper was pressed with a sticky seal, and for a moment the sigils lit up, before becoming dull marks again. Mr. Charles handed Runimo the package, and it felt chilled in his hands when he took it.

Runimo pulled out five gold, the usual price, and Mr. Charles tried to stop him.

"Nah, on second thought, don't worry about it. It's on the house just this once, you've got a lot to handle today." He said, and Runimo laughed slightly, pressing the coins down onto the top ledge of the market boxes.

"Let's not jinx me." Runimo said. "Thank you Mr. Charles, hope you get to see the ceremony."

Runimo and David set off once more, this time to the stall that David seemed so eager to drag him to.

When they arrived it appeared unattended, and Runimo was underwhelmed, unable to make out enough details to tell what all was there.

"Wow," David said, "they've got a pretty good collection of wands here."

"Wands are expensive as is." Runimo said, moving the goods he carried to his other arm. "I can't imagine coming from an airship shop. What else have they got?"

"Uh, some accessories, some spell scrolls, runestones, and potion and ingredient bottles." David said. "Looks like hand made foods too, probably enchanted like the rest of it all. Some bones."

"Bones?" Runimo said, reasonably off put.

"Says they're replicas." David said. "Though I'm not sure what someone would want them for."

He'd barely finished when someone spoke up behind them.

"Can I help you two?"

The voice was somewhat deep, but seemed genuine in it's inquiry. Regardless, when the two turned, they both let out a startled shout. 

David saw the details Runimo couldn't. Skeletal face paint that stood out on dark skin, a black and white pinstriped suit, and a bright splash of neon green hair.

Runimo saw the figure of a man who was no doubt nearing eight feet tall, looming over them.

"Wh– uh– Grim?" David managed to get out, and gestured a thumb behind him to the stall, flustered at his involuntary shout.

"Hex." Said the person who stood over them. "That is, Gossamer Hex. I am maintaining the stall here today."

"That's quite a name." Runimo said. 

"I'd agree it makes a bold statement. Whether it's a good or bad one is debatable," Hex said, "but I would say as far as rarity is concerned, it's about as common as a name like Runimo one would suppose."

Runimo blinked behind his goggles.

"You look like your grandfather, that's all." Said Hex. "The priest's outfit makes it a dead giveaway. Anyway, can I help you two?"

"I think we're just browsing for now." Runimo said. There was a moment of silence, a bit uncomfortable, as Runimo could only assume Hex was looking them over. Finally the guy piped up again.

"That's fine. I got a special going on today." He said. "First time with a stall here, and ceremony day and all, seemed like a good plan."

"Uh, what's the special?" David asked.

"Cracker candies." Hex said. "Of my own making. One free."

Runimo could say that neither he nor David had any real interest in children's toy housing candies, but it was free so he shrugged at David and nodded.

"Sure I guess. You make them yourself?" Runimo asked, as Hex rummaged through a bag on his waist. "Anything particularly special or just something to hand out to kids?"

"They aren't for kids." Hex said, pulling out two candies wrapped in wax paper. "They don't have toys in them. They have fortunes."

"Fortunes?" David asked with a weak incredulous laugh. "What, like you're an oracle or something?"

"No, nothing so complex. I assure you if I was I'd be living the high life in a decked out palace room, not selling candy on the street." Hex said, and handed the two each a candy. "I don't come up with the fortunes, I simply enchant the paper. When it comes into contact with a new person, the fortune writes itself. It's random, mostly a novelty as opposed to a real fortune."

"Oh," David said, looking at the candy in his hand, "that's actually pretty neat."

It was a rather fun idea, it was a wonder someone hadn't thought of it already. Runimo and David unwrapped their candies, and bit them in half. The candy was sweet and tart, firm, but not tooth breaking. Both boys pulled out the little slips of paper as they ate the candy that held them.

"So what's your say?" Runimo asked David.

David held the paper up, chewing on the candy, as the words wrote themselves onto the slip.

"...Huh. Golden eyes tell golden lies. A gentle hand means to do you harm." David said. "I don't think these make much sense. It is good as a novelty though I guess, but you might want to work on them more."

Hex only shrugged, and Runimo handed David his piece of paper. The words had already written themselves on there.

"What does mine say?" He asked. David took the paper and brought it up.

"The path to your future is paved with injustice. It begins with a ruse, and ends with a universal truth." David handed Runimo back the slip of paper. "These are kind of depressing, buddy, I don't think people are going to buy them if they just keep getting weird ominous junk."

"I suppose you may be right," Hex said, "I think I have to tweak the enchantment some. Perhaps I'll refrain from giving out the rest of them. The candy good at least?"

"Oh yeah, the candy is good." David said with a nod. "The tart sells it I think."

"Appreciated." Hex said. "How about one more thing, on me? Nothing fancy, but hopefully considerably less depressing."

Runimo and David couldn't help but snicker a little, and Runimo tucked his fortune into his satchel as Hex grabbed a couple of things off the table. Runimo didn't even have to ask what he was being handed, as David made it clear right off the bat.

"Oh lessers, wands?" He said, upon being handed one.

"Sure," Hex said, "but don't get too eager. I only do this because I make these in mass, so they're not really personalized to your magic."

"Don't these take a ridiculous amount of effort to make anyway?" Runimo asked, feeling the one he'd been handed. It was light and smooth, with a cool band of metal around the handle. He could feel a gem embedded into the band, something smooth, not cut.

"I mean I could take them back if it makes you uncomfortable." Hex said. David nudged Runimo.

"No no, we'll keep them for sure." David said. "I mean, even if quality suffers a little, I'm not going to lie, these things are usually expensive. You'd have to be a pretty big idiot to pass up free wands."

"I figured as much." Hex said. "Go easy on them now. They're made resilient, but I don't think they'll take big surges of magic. I'm still working on that."

"You sure make a lot of stuff yourself." Runimo said. "That's pretty cool. How long have you been doing it?"

"Oh, maybe about two years. I didn't start until I was seventeen."

"Wh– wait you're only–" Hex cut Runimo off.

"Oh, I think you ought to get going, haven't you?" He said. "The sigil on that packaging doesn't look like it's made to last real long, you should get that fish in your ice box before it's allowed to get warm. It'll start getting hot out here before long."

Runimo looked down to the package of fish and bottle of sunflower oil he held, and then he tucked the new wand into his bag and picked up his cane again.

"I suppose you're right." Runimo said. "Thank you again for this. I’ll give the wand a whirl, spread the word if it's good and all."

"It would be much appreciated." Hex said, and waved. "Good luck today you two."

The two boys headed off once more, Runimo ready to head home, and when they god out of earshot David spoke up again.

"Well that was weird." He said, and nudged Runimo. "Can you believe he's only nineteen? The guy was huge!"

"Gargoyle hybrid maybe." Runimo said. Very unusual to see in the capital. David scoffed as the suggestion.

"With all the free samples and not a single purchase?" He asked.

"Fair point." Runimo replied. "I'm not sure what else is that big though."

"Something we'll have to contemplate later," David said, slapping Runimo's back, "I've got to get back to dad. He wants to get as much help out of me at the shop as he can before I graduate, and I'm sure he'll be opening up any minute now, if he's not already."

"Suppose he'd have quite the fuss to find you're not there." Runimo said with small amusement. "Alright then, I'll see you and Gavin later, if you see him first let him know I said hi."

"Will do!" 

David waved, gesturing wide, before hurrying off and leaving Runimo to head home. Runimo went ahead and kept the cane in hand so that he could relax a bit more on his walk home. As he walked he passed someone headed the opposite direction, back into town.

He caught a strong whiff of coffee, as if the grounds had been shoved in his face.

He stopped and turned to look behind him, but when he did nobody was there. He paused, watching people further away walk back and forth, before turning back ahead on his path. After another beat he continued on his way, shaking his head.

Nerves, perhaps. He would be dealing with demons today after all. Someone walks by with a cup to go, and suddenly he thinks he’s smelling dark magic everywhere.

[kyogre-blue]

Nanowrimo, day 8 (wc 1596)

Day 8 - Chapter 5, part 2

A stunned silence, and then a chorus of questions (Sinbad, Drakon, Hinahoho) and sneers (the assassins) greeted this declaration, but Alibaba only gave them a placating wave and moved to the side, taking a seat next to the djinn’s alter. After all, he hadn’t even really wanted one djinn. What would he do with a second one? 

The reason he had come to Valefor’s dungeon was purely to attempt at getting back home. But the world gate in hadn’t done anything and Valefor didn’t know anything, so the only thing left was to see if the gate back might send him to the right place. ...But Alibaba did not have much hope on that point. 

Silently, he sighed to himself. What was he supposed to do from here? 

“Suit yourself,” Valefor said lazily. “Works better for me too. I don’t want to share with that stuffy old man. And as for the rest of you… let’s begin the trial!” As the djinn gestured with one paw, a small shape rose up out of the shadows. Yawning, it bared tiny fangs -- and sneezed, dribbling a bit of snot. “It’s quite simple. You just need to catch my little buddy, Minifor, before the time runs out. And if you don’t… you’ll remain here in my dungeon forever.” 

~.~ 

Carefully concealed in the icy rukh of Valefor’s dungeon, Falan watched. 

It was a rare opportunity. Very few of their number had the chance to see any part of Solomon’s king vessel system from the inside, and any information would be very useful for their future plans. King vessels possessed not only power but a unique quality within the flow of Solomon’s rukh. Using them correctly could yield great results. 

They could also become a great hindrance, however, and that was precisely why Falan had put priority on finding out more about Sinbad, the young conqueror of Baal. How to best use him -- her decision on this would determine his fate. 

What Falan and Al Thamen had not anticipated was the other one. 

How could they have missed Amon’s dungeon being raised? Who had done it? Not Scheherazade, whom they watched closely. Not the child magi Arba had claimed. Was it Yunan? He could be frustratingly elusive. And yet… 

For Amon’s king to be able to use the full equip, even if only for a moment, he had to have won his metal vessel long before. No king had ever mastered it in under a year, and most took several to even touch upon it. 

And somehow, this king vessel of several years had never even appeared in rumors? It was one thing to miss a dungeon being raised. Even Al Thamen could not monitor the entire world. But to miss a king vessel? People of that sort did not live obscure lives. 

They also did not ally with each other, at least not for long, but this boy’s first move was to build ties with Baal’s king. 

None of it made sense, and that made Falan wary. There were few things Al Thamen did not know, and the unknown was the greatest danger. It was for this that she remained out of sight and watched, instead of approaching Valefor, even at the risk of the djinn’s wrath. What could Solomon’s slave do to her, except banish her from her temporary form? What could even a king vessel do to her? No, what she was wary of was the potential of someone else behind Amon’s king, someone who had escaped Al Thamen’s eyes and ears. 

And the question of what purpose had made this backer finally move in the open. 

Most likely, it was... 

Falan’s hidden gaze lingered on Baal’s king, the child who shone almost blindingly in the rukh. A boy-king was not such a rare thing, but his capacity was unlike anything Falan had seen before. Was it possible he was the anomaly in the rukh from fifteen years ago? 

Unlike the Sham Lash rats, the Imuchakk beast, and Barbarossa's foolish little brother, Sinbad did not scramble in Valefor's petty game. From the way he watched them with a wry smile, she felt certain he had seen through it -- that Valefor had specifically made its familiar just a little stronger and faster than any single one of them, making it impossible to catch alone. Especially when they were each throwing themselves into each other's way out of desperate greed. 

"Okay, that's enough," Sinbad called out after yet another failed round of chase. "At this rate, we really will all get stuck here. We have to work together."

"Work together? Are you kidding? You think anyone's going to trust you? Or anyone else?" Ja'far sneered. 

Sinbad spread his hands. "I have an idea," he said. "A way for everyone to have an equal chance. How about this? We'll all surround Minifor and close in from an equal distance. If we get close enough, we’ll all jump in. Who it tries to run to, who manages to get hold of it -- it'll be up to chance and your own skill. But no matter what, it won't have a way out, and someone will become the king. Better than being stuck in the dungeon forever, right?" 

The others frowned and exchanged looks. But none of them protested in the face of Sinbad's confident smile. 

That was why they could only be pawns, their only purpose to be thrown away. 

“It’s a workable plan. But,” Dragul said, his lips thinning, “I can’t trust you.” 

Sinbad shrugged, unaffected. “Fine, fine. I’ll climb up and give directions instead, how about it?” 

His rukh fluttered -- smug and self assured. This was all within his calculations. 

And he calculated it perfectly. When the others closed, surrounding Valefor’s familiar, and made a final lunge, confident that it could not escape, the small creature launched itself up, out of their grasp -- and directly into Sinbad, who had used his position to intercept it. 

As he touched down on one of the massive chests scattered haphazardly around Valefor’s treasury, six furious gazes locked onto him. Shifting his grip on Valefor’s familiar, Sinbad quirked up one corner of his mouth. 

“You bastard! You cheated us!” Ja’far howled. “I’ll kill you!” 

Silver darts glinted between his fingers, before an absurd mass of unrefined magoi slammed down on him, pinning him in place. “No violence, no violence! How many times do I have to say it?” Valefor chided. 

“It’s alright, let him,” Sinbad said calmly. Finally releasing the familiar, he turned to Ja’far and spread his arms again, unconcerned with the bloodlust aimed at him. 

“He’ll really kill you, you know,” Valefor pointed out. 

“No, he won’t. I can’t die here,” Sinbad said. “I will live, because there is something I must do. That’s why I’m going to leave this dungeon alive. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen, even use all of you.” His eyes moved across the others, taking in each of them and cutting through to their hearts. “Because the one who years for this power the most is me. What all of you want isn’t really this power of unlimited possibilities. The only fate you want to change is your own. But I... I will change not only my fate, but yours, and everyone else’s.

“I will change the world.” 

The rukh around him sang, making Falan grimace in disgust. 

He was truly a king vessel. With just his words, he was already forcing the hearts of his opponents to turn toward him. Even if they were unwilling, they couldn’t stop the feeling of excitement. And more than that, a belief in him. That admiration and trust would swirl together to become a single thought. 

‘I want to follow this man! This is my master and my king!’ 

“N-Nonsense!” Barbarossa’s younger brother protested, far too weak to change the flow that propelled Sinbad forward. “You don’t even know anything about the world! Do you really think you can change just because you gained some power? The world isn’t so simple!” 

“I know,” Sinbad agreed with a smile. “I know I’m still lacking. Power, allies, knowledge, skill... I need more. That’s why I want all of you to join me. Become mine!” 

...Amon’s king palmed his face. 

In the end, this exceptional vessel was still just a child. 

But-- 

“Pffft!” Ja’far burst out into mocking laughter. “Alright! I never thought I’d see a guy crazy enough to try recruiting the assassins after his life. You’re kind of amusing. So I’ll join you.”

--his potential was undeniable. 

“Chief!” the other assassin protested. “Are you serious? And you! Do you really mean that? How can you want people like us to be your allies?” 

“Of course I want you,” Sinbad said. “Let’s build a country that bring everyone together, no matter what their past of origins. That’s my dream!” With just his smile, the darkened rukh around the Sham Lash trash began to lighten. They were already as good as his. 

With a few years and a little guidance, he would become a bright light that could drive back Al Thamen for a generation. Any kingdom he created would obstruct them for an age. And that, Falan would not allow. It was past time to put an end to this glowing farce. Reaching out, she activated the small gift she had left behind in their bodies. 

Those insipid smiles faltered as the three assassins suddenly found themselves choking on blood. Then, a storm of black engulfed them, and a furious roar echoed from within the cloud of dark rukh. 

~.~

[gashinamoon]

Stuck With Each Other - an Olicity AU

Rating: T

Words: 4421

Prompt: It’s late, everything in the airport is closed, and our flight just got cancelled. I have never met you before but I guess we’re stuck together until the next flight. (thanks to @otpisms for the prompt!) 

Notes: Another title, another song lyric. Does anyone else still jam out to the song Stuck With Each Other by Shontelle whilst thinking about Olicity? Just me? Okay.

It felt right to title this fic after that song because they kind of literally are stuck with each other.This was the original fic I started for Camp NaNoWriMo but 5k words in I started to struggle. I've actually started the next (and final) chapter so hopefully it won't be too long before I finish and post it! I was hoping posting the first part would motivate me to finish it... so yeah. I hope you like this! 

Thanks to @bokayjunkie here for always letting me muse and for reading through this and encouraging me to keep writing even when I feel like everything I write just sucks. I super appreciate it <3

This is un-beta'd so all mistakes are mine. I'm always looking for a beta if anyone wants to volunteer though! I would really appreciate the help more than I can express. Feel free to send me a message on here or on Twitter if you're interested :)

Read on AO3

“Was that your boyfriend?”

Felicity looked up, startled. Was this guy speaking to her?

“Excuse me?”

She took a stab in the dark and guessed that yes, he was speaking to her. Given that he was now smiling at her.

“On the phone. Was that your boyfriend?”

Felicity frowned. Why was he asking her that? Why were guys so hell bent on asking girls about their boyfriends before even asking them about themselves?

“No, my girlfriend actually. I date girls,” she grinned, enjoying the shocked expression that he tried to conceal by nodding his head and looking away quickly. “I'm kidding. Not that there's anything wrong with dating girls, I just… don't bend that way. And anyway, regardless of who I am or am not dating, don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop on someone’s conversation, a complete stranger’s can I just add, and then ask them who they were talking to? Don't you have manners?”

This time he looked apologetic. A little uncomfortable too, but mostly just sorry. For himself probably, for ending up stuck talking to a babble-mouth like her. Then again, he started the conversation. Somewhat rudely she might add. So on his head be it. It's not like there was anyone else who looked even remotely interesting to talk to anyway. And besides, he was cute. A tired and bedraggled kind of cute, like he hadn't slept for more than a few hours last night, but cute all the same. So she’d put aside his rudeness of eavesdropping on her conversation as long as she could keep looking at him. He definitely reminded her of someone but she couldn't remember who. Probably some model on the front of a magazine somewhere. He had the jawline for it. And the eyes. And the perfectly groomed facial hair. And definitely the shoulders. And probably also the - anyway, where was she? Right, insulting a cute, model-like stranger.

“I'm sorry. I get a little… chatty when I'm stressed.” Felicity offered, smiling apologetically at him.

“And insulting?” He grinned.

She could tell he was joking but she still felt bad. Damn this cute, model-like stranger for making her feel bad when he was the one who had been rude in the first place.

“Sorry about that. It comes with the chattiness. I'm honestly not a mean person by nature, it's just… anxiety,” She blushed, shaking her head, effectively dismissing herself automatically before she went into over sharing mode and ran her fingers through her hair.

Phew, why had it suddenly got so hot in here?!

He laughed softly, clearly sensing her discomfort. “Don't worry, I was kidding. I'm the one who should apologise. Because you're right. It is rude to listen to people’s conversations and it is rude to assume they’re talking to their boyfriend and it is rude to then confirm or deny your own suspicions by asking them who they were talking to. I guess I get a little… nosy when I’m stressed.”

Felicity laughed too. Funny and cute? Maybe he wasn't a model after all. Weren't models supposed to be boring? She internally rolled her eyes at herself at that thought. Just because people were pretty, didn't automatically mean they were boring, that's just what she’d told herself several times a day when her self confidence had been at an all time low during college. She wasn't supposed to be so bitter anymore. She’d left that part of her behind in the garbage sack with her dark makeup and jet black, box hair-dye. Well, for the most part anyway.

“You strike me as the kind of guy who would have asked a girl that question even if you hadn't been stressed.”

He held his hands up in innocence and shrugged.

“I'll just be over here pretending that didn't hurt my feelings,” he grinned.

Felicity blushed again. She probably shouldn't have said that to a complete stranger. But it was 2am and she’d been in this airport for almost 12 hours straight and if she’d had any control over her brain to mouth filter before, it was definitely wearing thin by now. She knew he was joking about it having hurt his feelings but she felt bad all the same. It wasn't really fair of her to assume this guy was like every other guy she’d ever known.

The storm that had been threatening to arrive all weekend had finally arrived on the day she was supposed to be flying home and every single news channel in the country was reporting about it. It was bad, probably one of the worst storms in the last few years, and it was causing chaos all over the state. All over a few states, actually. Airports and train stations had been on lockdown for hours now due to conditions being way too treacherous to travel in. Felicity had been almost grateful that her flight had been delayed to begin with because she wasn't the best flyer anyway, let alone flying in bad weather conditions, but 12 hours later she was starting to consider blackmailing someone into letting her fly a plane herself. It couldn't be that hard, right? She was a quick learner and god, she needed a shower and her bed. She also didn't like thinking about having to miss work, given that had she taken her flight when she was supposed to, she’d have been setting her alarm right about now, ready to get up to go in just five hours time. Even if her plane took off now, she still wouldn't make it back in time for work. And where most people would delight in the possibility of having time off work, for Felicity, it was just another thing to worry about. She’d only have twice as much to do whenever she did make it in and a miserable and insatiable boss who would never let her forget it.

She picked at her nail polish, not knowing what else to say to the cute guy who had somehow ended up in her life. She could probably leave it now, that's usually how random encounters with strangers in airports tended to go; you chat briefly about directions or the time or the weather and then you go on with your life as you were before. But if she was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. She’d been worrying herself into a ball of tension all day because she’d had no one to talk to and all her stuff was checked in so she had nothing to do. The battery on her tablet had died hours ago and her phone was fast heading the same way and the only book she had in her carry-on was one she’d already read, one she’d thrown into her bag without paying attention to in her rush from her hotel to the airport. Her rush that was completely and absolutely pointless given that her flight was now delayed by six hours. The stores and restaurants had closed a couple of hours ago and so she’d been sitting in the same metallic chair for the last four hours, not daring to stray too far from the flight gate just in case the delays suddenly cleared and she could be the first in the queue for boarding, only standing up every half an hour or so to stretch her back and legs. Sitting gave her way too much time to think. And thinking was something Felicity was all too good at. Or bad at, depending on which way she looked at it. She could think her way out of any situation, her brain was impossibly brilliant sometimes, but that same brain often worked in overdrive even when there was no situation that needed working out of, meaning she thought about things she’d really rather not think about. Like being stuck in this airport for the rest of her life. Like dying right here on this stupidly uncomfortable bench. Like her mom finding out that she hadn't bothered wearing makeup or a cute dress that day when she was called to identify her body. Hence the ball of tension she had become over the last few hours. So it would be nice to maybe have someone to talk to, even if they only slightly distracted Felicity from her overactive imagination.

Not to mention that this guy was definitely the only person around her age at this gate, and not that there was anything wrong with middle-aged and old people but if she had to talk to someone, she’d rather it be someone who could actually remember being a teenager because it wasn't that long ago, as opposed to someone who only remembered it because they talked about “the good old days” so much. And okay, mostly she just wanted to keep talking to him because he was by far one of the most attractive people she’d seen in a long time, and she’d just spent the weekend in Vegas which was the second or third home of the ridiculously beautiful. So go figure.

“It wasn't my boyfriend, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“On the phone. It wasn't my boyfriend because I don't have a boyfriend. It was my mom. She gets kinda sad when I leave. She doesn't see me often enough, she says. So she was just calling to see if I'm alright, you know with the flight delays and stuff. She knows I panic and stress myself out when things like this happen. But I'm sure she would have called even if my flight wasn't delayed. She calls a lot, especially right after I leave her. She wanted me to go back to her place and stay another night, pay for another flight and fly home tomorrow once the storm has passed but I don't think I could take another night here. The heat drives me crazy. Amongst other things about this place that also drive me crazy. At least when I'm sitting here in the airport, it feels like I'm actually leaving.”

He smiled, softly.

“Sounds like your mom cares about you a lot.”

“She does. In her own way. But she also happens to be one of the other things that drives me crazy about this place,” Felicity laughed.

“Is there a parent on this planet who doesn't drive their kid crazy?”

“I guess not. But my mum is just… she's my mom. That's all there is to it.”

She wasn't about to try and explain her mother to a complete stranger. She couldn't even explain her mother to someone who knew her.

“So. Where are you headed? After this storm passes I mean,” Oliver asked, smiling.

“Star City. What about you?”

“Me too. What a small world,”

Felicity laughed. “More like what a small coincidence given that the gate for the flight to Star City is right there.”

“Even so. Not many people want to go to Star City anymore. It's not exactly tourist hotspot of the year,”

“I'm not a tourist, I live there, and you can't help where you live. Or, well, you can, I guess. I could move if I wanted to. But I don't think I want to. I like the rain and how it's hardly ever above 15 degrees Celsius. And okay, I get that literally everyone thinks it's a dangerous place to live given the rise in criminal activity over the last few years but honestly, when you actually live there yourself it's almost as if it's not as bad as people think. You don't notice the bad stuff as much after awhile. Yeah, you don't really walk down the street alone at night unless you absolutely have to but isn't that the same everywhere when you're a woman? Then again, maybe I'm just making excuses because the alternative to living in Star City would be moving back in with my mom here. And it took way too long for me to get out of here to give up and move back just because of a few dumb criminals.”

He laughed softly.

“You sound like you've thought about this a lot,”

“I have. I think about everything a lot. And then I talk about it. A lot…”

This time when he laughed again, it was loudly and genuinely, and it made Felicity feel warm inside. She didn't even really mind that he was laughing at her.

“So what about you? You live there or are you just visiting the crime capital of the country to do some good?” She grinned.

“I live there, just like you. But I also like to think I can do some good too,”

“Do you also like living in Star City just like me? Or do you only live there because the rent is cheaper on your typical 2 bedroomed apartment due to said rise in criminal activity?”

“No, I love it there too. Everything and everyone I know and love is there since I grew up there. I kind of can't imagine living anywhere else. It’s just home. Simple as that,”

Felicity smiled. She could tell it wasn't just "simple as that" and that there was way more to what he was saying than he was actually saying but she wasn't about to push it. This guy made her so curious and she wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing. He was one of those people she imagined you could know forever and still never know everything about them.

“And I guess the crime thing is easier to ignore for me,” he continued. “Given that I'm a guy,”

“Finally! A guy who acknowledges how easy life is for them!” Felicity laughed, making him laugh too.

Once he stopped laughing, he held out his hand and smiled.

“I'm Oliver, by the way.”

“Felicity.”

Oliver. The name suited him. And now she could finally stop referring to him as “cute guy” inside her head.

He laughed again and raised his eyebrows.

“What's funny about my name?” She asked.

“Nothing. I like your name. I'm just laughing about the part where you said you’ve been referring to me as ‘cute guy’ inside your head,”

Felicity’s eyed widened and she felt herself blush hard. “I said that part out loud?”

Oliver chuckled. “Unfortunately so.”

She groaned and hid her face in her palms.

“I'm so sorry. Please just ignore everything that comes out of my mouth. I can't really remember the last time I slept or ate or breathed fresh air and I'm seriously not in control of anything that comes out right now.”

“Don't be sorry. I'll take a compliment wherever I can get it. Delirious and sleep deprived or otherwise.”

“I'm sure you get plenty of compliments. Don't try to make me feel sorry for you,”

Oliver snorted. “Not as many as you might think,” he said, almost thoughtfully.

“It sounds like there's a story behind that,”

“Not one you'd like to hear.”

She tilted her head in question but Oliver looked away, obviously not wanting to talk anymore about it, and so she let it go. She couldn't possibly imagine a world in any universe where this man wouldn't be showered with infinite compliments but if he didn't want to talk about it then so be it.

For a panicked second she wondered if she’d said that out loud too but a quick glance in his direction confirmed that thankfully, she hadn't. He was just sitting thoughtfully, a neutral expression on his face, one he definitely wouldn't be wearing if she had accidentally said out loud the part about him being showered with compliments in every single universe. For the millionth time in her life, she thanked the google gods that most people couldn't read minds. Then again, knowing her luck, she’d probably end up sitting next to someone in the 1% of the population who could. How I Ended Up Sitting Next To A Telepathic Stranger almost sounded like the title of a really embarrassing memoir she could write one day.

“So, Oliver, what do you do when you're not sitting around in airports talking to blonde nerds like me?” She asked, changing the subject and deciding that this guy couldn't actually read her mind even if her brain was insisting that maybe he could.

He smiled at that. “What I do is boring and exactly why I get on planes to random cities every weekend just to escape.”

“Every weekend?”

“Well, almost every weekend. Minus, you know, Christmas and stuff.”

“Wow. That sounds pretty pricey,”

“If I told you what I did, you wouldn't think it was much of a price to pay,”

“But you're not going to tell me what you do? Because it's boring, right?”

“Right.”

“But it's not so boring that you can't afford to fly across the country every weekend though,”

“I said it was boring. I didn't say it didn't pay well.”

Felicity snorted. She appreciated bluntness and this guy was turning out to be exactly that. And whilst he was blunt, he was also mysterious and guarded. She liked that too. She liked having something to figure out.

“Touché,” she smiled, laughing softly.

He smiled back. “So, Felicity, what do you do when you're not sitting in airports talking to ‘cute guys’ like me?” he asked, winking at her.

She blushed and had the urge to elbow him in the ribs but she didn't because hello? This guy was still stranger and she really wasn't about to cross over into his personal space any more than sharing the armrest with him.

“I actually don't usually speak to cute guys in airports. Or guys in general. Or anyone really. Hence why what I do is sit in an office by myself fixing and programming computers for a boss who probably doesn't even remember my name. I like it that way. I like to just show up to work knowing that I probably won't have to speak to anyone for the entire day. Myself being the exception. Talking to myself actually helps me concentrate. But that's the only social interaction I like to participate in. Minimal social interaction means less chance to embarrass myself. Like I’m doing right now by giving you a stupidly long winded answer to a question that only needed a 4 or 5 word reply. And I'm going to shut up now since you're clearly not going to stop me,”

Holy frack, she needed a nap. She really needed a nap. She wasn't ever going to shut up otherwise. She'd known this guy precisely 5 minutes and already given him a one way ticket to thinking she was a complete freak. Way to go, Felicity.

She glanced over at him from behind her hair to find him smiling softly at her though, and not staring at her in complete bewilderment like she’d expected. Like people usually stared at her after she rambled about something.

“Sorry… did I mention that I get chatty when I'm stressed?” She laughed, almost uncomfortably, feeling slightly awkward under his gaze.

He laughed. “You did. And it's fine. You don't have to apologise. It's kind of endearing actually,”

That made her laugh out loud. “Endearing? That's a new one. I'll remember that amongst the string of weird and freaky and annoying and irritating,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

An almost pensive look crossed his face then, but before she could question it too much he pushed it aside and smiled at her. “So you work in IT? It sounds complicated. My sister tried to teach me basic code once and I was completely hopeless.”

“It's actually kind of fun once you know what you're doing. But I get that it's not for everyone. It definitely takes a certain amount of patience and brain focus to get it. Plus, staring at a screen for 12 hours a day does jacked up things to your eyes after awhile.” She gestured quickly to her face. “Hence the glasses that I now have to wear permanently as opposed to just for reading and writing like when I was a kid. And when you're a stubborn perfectionist like I am, a 12 hour day soon turns into a 15 or 16 hour day and then all of a sudden you can't really remember the last time you slept.”

Oliver chuckled. “Yeah, I get that.”

She smiled back. He really did look like he understood. What did this man do that he felt was so boring? Maybe it wasn't boring. Maybe that was just a cover up. Maybe it was embarrassing or a sacred secret thing. Maybe he wasn't a model, but a male escort or something? He had the looks for that too. And if he was used to working 16 hour days, she was sure he must have the stamina for it as well. Holy frack, what was she even thinking?

Before she could dwell too much on what she was thinking, Felicity caught wind of her favourite smell in the entire world and it stopped every single train of thought in her mind.

“Oh my god, do you smell that?!” She asked no one in particular.

Oliver looked confused. “Smell what?”

“That. Coffee!”

Oliver looked at her then like maybe she was insane for yelling about warm, caffeinated drinks in the middle of an airport but holy frack, it smelled like the greatest cup of coffee ever and she just couldn't help herself. And okay, it probably wasn't the greatest cup of coffee because this was an airport and airport coffee tended to be so overpriced that it took away some of the taste but it was gone 2 in the morning and the last time she’d had a cup of coffee was hours ago.

“Felicity, I really can't smell anything,”

“How can you not smell that?! I can hardly remember the last time I even looked at a cup of coffee. Do you think someone has a thermostat with pre-made coffee in? Or do you think there's maybe one store open that sells it?! I thought everything was closed!”

“You should probably ask that guy over there,” Oliver said, laughing somewhat awkwardly, and gesturing to his left where a man was standing with a steaming styrofoam cup. “That is, if he hasn't already heard you yelling about it…”

Felicity ignored his sarcastic remark and didn't even think twice about leaving her bag and walking just slow enough to not look like she was running over to the man. She tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me? Is that coffee yours? Wait, I mean, obviously it's yours, you're the one drinking it, duh. What I meant was, did you bring it or is there a coffee shop open somewhere? Only I looked around earlier but I couldn't see anywhere that was open given how late it is, or early I guess, and it would honestly just be the best thing ever if you knew where I could get some? I’m really hoping you do know because if you’re smart and just brought your own coffee rather than buying it somewhere here then I'm probably going to start crying and-”

“Felicity?” She felt a hand on her arm and quickly registered in her suddenly desperately coffee-starved state that it belonged to Oliver.

He had nice hands. Why hadn't she noticed that yet? Warm and firm hands that were soft at the same time.

“Is she okay?” She heard the man with the coffee ask.

“She's just tired. And I think what she was trying to ask is if you know where we can get some coffee, please?” Oliver replied, smiling humorously, like he was trying to hold back a laugh.

Great, he was laughing at her again. Why did her brain hate her so much that she continuously made an idiot out of herself? She smiled up at the man, embarrassed.

“I'm sorry. And he's right. That’s exactly what I was trying to ask. I know it probably didn't sound like it but, alas, it was. I was getting to it. Eventually,” she shrugged, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

“There's a cafe a couple of minutes away, down that way, by the lost and found counter. They close soon but yeah, they have coffee. It's crappy but for 2am, it's almost not bad at the same time,” he laughed, pointing behind them.

The hole Felicity was imagining falling into evaporated instantly. Being swallowed by the earth could wait for now. There was plenty of time for it later. After she’d finally got her damn cup of crappy airport coffee.

“Oh my god, thank you so much!” She exclaimed, only just managing to fight back the urge to reach up and hug this man.

“Um, you're welcome? Enjoy,” he replied, turning back to look out of the window again, but she barely heard him. All she could think about was that crappy cup of airport coffee.

“Do you want one too?” She asked Oliver, practically bouncing with anticipation.

“Sure. I'm not sure I'm quite as excited about it as you are, but I could drink a coffee right now,”

He handed her over her bag, the bag she’d just completely forgotten about and left on the floor when she’d ran over to talk to that guy. It was sweet, in a way. He didn't have to care what happened to her stuff if she left it abandoned in an airport, he didn't even know her, but he’d made sure nothing happened to it all the same. She smiled and took it from him, slipping the strap over her shoulder.

“Thanks. I guess I probably shouldn't leave this lying around. In an airport of all places. I promise I'm not a terrorist. Which I guess is something a terrorist would say. But I'm serious! I don't have any bombs on me. Oh god, I can't believe I just said the B word in an airport, I'm going to-”

“Felicity? Relax. I know you're not a terrorist. You look like the kind of person who would pick up snails from the pavement and put into the grass so they wouldn't get trampled on, not the kind of person who would blow up an airport.” She chuckled at that because he was so right. She was the least terrorising person she could think of. “You were just excited. Easy mistake to make,” he laughed. “Anyway, coffee?”

Ah, that six letter word. Her favourite six letter word in the entire world.

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