#the highway boss fight is much shorter

[outerspace-iiinnerspace]

so for april fool's day the guys responsible for katana zero put out an alternate game mode called katana hero which is supposed to be a "bad localization" which consists of most of the action (they cut the prison and about half the dragon tape plus some other stuff), a few sprite edits (the flamethrower is blue!), and most of the cutscenes taken out but the ones left in "dubbed" with a nonsensical and paper-thin plot about evil spirits and i am enjoying it IMMENSELY

all the cops (plus mr kissyface, rip) are edited so they look like monsters or space aliens or something

chinatown is just called town

headhunter continues to be the coolest

it's so silly i'm having so much fun

[ahnsael]

So...we’ve got this new guy in town, just moved here from California (I don’t say that to disparage him -- a lot of locals in rural Nevada don’t like Californians moving here, but while I moved here from Washington, I’m a native Californian).

I met him yesterday morning at work, where (a) he told me that he was spending the first of his two nights in a motel across the street while waiting for the property he bought (on which he intends to raise cattle) goes through, (b) kept wanting to talk politics (he has yet to accept what I told him, that politics and religion are no-go topics in casinos), (c) told me his “real name” (he goes by Joe, but it’s actually Kenneth and I forget the middle and last names which is lucky for him because I’d be googling him to see if he’s been up to no good and needs to be reported because I do not like him and the reason I don’t like him is because:) (d) he mentioned the BLM protest we had in town a few weeks ago and threatened violence if I had any black people I wanted him to “take care of” (hence the reason I’d be googling his name to see if he needs to be reported), (e) spends more time walking around and talking to people who would rather not be bothered than he does playing, (f) refers to this area as the “wild west” on a constant basis, (g) told me this morning that he was penniless but also told me he won more money (at another local casino) than he ever thought possible and was giving money to random people -- he’s like a reverse panhandler -- but he gave me a $1 coin good at the tables at that other casino, but later asked to buy it back from me for $1 (this dude is QUICKLY going to become a gambling addict and destroy his life), and (h) after telling me he was penniless, asked if I would allow him to take a nap in the casino.

Oh, and (i) he keeps pulling his bandanna that he uses as a facemask (and with his cowboy hat he TOTALLY looks like an old-time train robber) to talk, and I keep having to tell him that he’s defeating the purpose of the face covering, since a person lets out more aerosols when speaking than when just breathing. And I’m TIRED of fighting people over masks, so I have very little patience for people who try to get around the mandate that Nevada has in place (we had a guy come in this morning holding a paper towel over his mouth and thought that was good enough -- I had him out the door in less than 30 seconds when he refused to buy an actual mask for $1).

I didn’t ask the wannabe cowboy Joe about the second night in the motel that he had mentioned yesterday when he asked if I would let him camp out in the casino to sleep. I just told him that if anyone tries to use our casino as a rest stop to catch some ZZZ’s, we throw them out. Then he told me that all his belongings were next to our dumpsters, and I had to tell him that we are not a storage facility, and that he couldn’t just stash his belongings here (at this point I’m guessing the motel threw him out). I then showed him the door, and he spent some time sitting on the edge of the highway. The next time I checked around the area (to make sure he wasn’t sleeping in some corner of our property), his stuff was there, but he wasn’t. The next time I took a look around, his stuff was gone. The last time I had a character like this, the guy won a taxable jackpot but I could not pay him because he said he didn’t have any ID. I can’t process a taxable jackpot without verifying identification. Well, that guy ended up getting arrested for Arson after burning down a historical train depot.

I get the same vibe off this new guy.

I’m hospitable to him (to a point) because that’s my job. But it seems that after his first meeting with me, he’s decided that I’m his best friend in town, and is now looking to take advantage of our casino’s hospitality.

I do answer his questions honestly, though. If I don’t want to answer someone, I say so. And this wasn’t politics, it was a legal question (and I made it clear that I’m not a lawyer and to take my advice with a grain of salt). He asked about marijuana in Nevada and I told him it’s legal in a home, but not in public, but that a deputy also told me that it’s okay to smoke it in your car if the keys aren’t in the ignition and you aren’t operating it (he told me he smokes it all day every day and I fought the urge to say “I know, you smell like you do that”). But when he told be that he stepped outside the casino to smoke some on the sidewalk, I honestly told him that if a deputy would have noticed it, he would have been in trouble. Our deputies are even more “by the book” on law than I am on casino regulations.

(Don’t get me wrong -- while I haven’t smoked it in many years, I did used to, so I get it and I don’t judge him for it, but it’s just not my scene anymore; I just wanted to be honest to the guy who is new in town and hasn’t met our deputies yet, which I have -- on most occasions pleasant conversations but I did have that one thing some of you know about where my interaction didn’t end well for me because I was in the wrong).

I am probably going to have to “unfriend” this guy soon and 86 him if he keeps coming around. The only thing that worries me is the fact that he threatened violence against black people if they cross him (he mentioned taking them to an abandoned silver mine -- of which we have plenty in this part of Nevada -- and “either they jump voluntarily or I kick them in”) so I already know he has violent tendencies.

And I need to make sure our other guests (who he is trying to be too friendly with too soon (I had to turn him away from someone last night that I KNOW doesn’t liked to be talked to [any more than a “hello” the first time I see them that night] when they play, because I saw him approaching her). When he asked if he could talk to people, I told him to “read them” to see if they were open. He obviously isn’t reading the room well. So...it’s a choice of “do I 86 this new guy who seems to really like our casino, or do I let him be and make him a fan?” or “do I let this guy possibly alienate this guy to ensure the safety and comfort of our other guests?” I think I need to try to convince him to get a player’s card. That way I can watch his play levels. He bragged about winning $40 at our casino yesterday. Then, this morning, he bragged about winning more than he thought possible at another casino, but told me he was broke. If this is one of those guys who spends $1 and hopes it lasts him hours, I will have a MUCH shorter leash than if he gambles hundreds or thousands (a person can start with $20, never put any more money in, and we see that they’ve gambled “thousands” if they win enough to keep their initial stake going for a long time, because everything they win and put back in counts towards what they have wagered). And my bosses look at those numbers when we 86 someone. So I could 86 this guy and they have no record of him, and I’m in the clear...but if I get him to get a player’s card, and his play is low, it strengthens my case with the owner on getting this guy PERMANENTLY 86′d. Because as much as our owner loves every opportunity he can get to make money, even he has a point where he will approve a permanent trespass notice (I can only trespass someone for up to 72 hours).

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Loving Paisley always felt dangerous.

She was a rich Calgary girl way out of my league, a thoughtful and compassionate little Bambi-eyed human who I longed to protect. I loved introducing her to people, driving her places, and taking her picture. For the first time in my life I had someone who was mine. I was fiercely loyal to her, sometimes to an unhealthy degree, and our temperaments were linked, which meant if she was suffering then so was I. By the time we got to Nelson we were so accustomed to our volatile, high-stress episodes that we’d learned how to ride them out, shake them off, pretend they’d never happened. 

We shared a dream of being together, but it was getting harder to ignore the bouquet of red flags we’d collected over the three years of our relationship. We were a family now, though, with Muppet and Buster, and who wanted to break that up? And what about Cora, our dreamed-about daughter? Wasn’t she worth weathering a few fights for? Paisley had been in and out of the hospital, but she was still proactively planning a way to pull us out of this rut. Eventually she came up with the idea of CrossFit.

“You spent all those years as a competitive swimmer and you haven’t done anything since,” she said.

“This could be something you could throw yourself into. Like look at your shoulders, you’re meant to be a weightlifter. It’s a class, so a bunch of people all working out together, with music and everything. It would be so good for your mental health, bear.”

“That seems boring to me, just lifting weights over your head over and over.”

“There’s more stuff than that. You do pushups and jump on boxes and there’s chin-ups and all kinds of stuff. It’s a full-body work-out, see? Come look at this. We could both get totally ripped.”

“How much does it cost?”

“Less than we spend on weed. And there’s a couple’s special, too.”

Paisley had personally transformed me over the years. Most of my clothes had been hand-selected by her, she controlled my diet, she’d chosen my cologne. When we first met I had a close-shaved beard with a tight line at my jaw, and she encouraged me to grow it out “Gandalf-style”. She took me for runs, or kicked me out of the house to run on my own, and made sure to give me a handful of vitamins every night before bed. She fed me delicious vegan meals, and prepared lunches and snacks for work. I loved how she took care of me, even if everything else seemed to be fights and screaming. 

The most important thing was that she took me seriously as a writer, and believed that I would succeed one day. She was invested in my novel, intimately involved in all my decision-making, and would routinely encourage me to pivot away from the TV to get writing. Sometimes she would read passages and then give me spot-on notes. She had a sharp eye for detail, a cynical intellect and a twisted sense of humour. We spoke to each other in ridiculous baby voices, making up words like shabona and badoyna. 

“I don’t think my antidepressants are working. I don’t feel any sort of difference and every single morning I feel like it’s this Herculean task to even get out of bed. Maybe I need to switch brands,” I said.

“Or maybe your dose isn’t high enough. My doctor doubled my dose six months ago,” Paisley said, rolling over in bed to put her hand to my face. “Tell him how you’re feeling, and see what he says.”

“I don’t think I can take this anymore.”

“I’ll make you an appointment, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah.”

“You have to remember it’s all connected: diet, exercise, mental health. If we want to get legit healthy we need to do all of them together. And I still think you should go full vegan.”

“I can’t do it, I can’t. You know I’d love to.”

She sighed, disappointed like always.

One thing we relished was our weekend sojourns, the days we would load the dogs into the RAV and take off with the canoe strapped to the roof. We’d hiked together in the Yukon, in Portland, in Nova Scotia and on Vancouver Island, but the Kootenay wilderness had a special magic all its own. History seemed to come alive before your eyes when you’d wander around some new corner and find a hulk of ancient mining equipment, or the foundation of some long-forgotten settlers’ cabin. Out in the Slocan Valley, right off the highway in Winlaw, there was a bunch of derelict infrastructure sinking into the woods. Paisley and I spent a Sunday afternoon taking pictures and smoking joints there, listening to the Slocan River swish by through the trees.

“Will, look at this. We gotta get some pictures of this graffiti over here, come look!” she yelled, while I struggled up the hill twenty feet behind her. At the top of the rise was a towering mural of two giraffes, their necks curving towards each other so they can kiss, with a bright red heart hovering between them. The colours were ultra-vivid, creating a stark contrast with the earthy tones of its surroundings. I would later learn it was the work of local muralist Matty Kakes. Muppet and Buster had tangled their leashes, so we both leaned down to help extricate them, pleasantly stoned.

“Those giraffes?” Paisley said. “That’s us.”

A week later I arrived at my appointment. I’d recently found a new doctor, a kind-faced Thai woman a foot shorter than me. She breezed into the room, sat down at her workstation and set a clipboard in front of her while she half-sung her greeting. We bantered back and forth for a few moments before she asked me why I was there. 

She raised her eyebrows and held her pen ready. 

“Well, there’s just been some really intense stories at the Star lately and I’ve sort of been having this conflict with my boss, right? And lately I’m feeling just overwhelmed and depressed, like I’m barely holding shit together. I was hoping the antidepressants would help, but they don’t really.”

“You’re on citalopram?”

“Yeah, I’ve been on it for almost a year now.”

She asked me about side effects, asked whether I was taking the pills consistently. Was I drinking? How about smoking pot? I told her I drank a little bit, like maybe some whiskey on week nights and beer on the weekends. As for pot, I lied and told her I only smoked a joint or two a day, radically under-selling my actual intake. She told me it might be that the cannabis was interfering with the drug’s effectiveness. Would I consider cutting back? I nodded good-naturedly, all the while knowing there was no way I could. Not while Paisley and I were in this particular morass.

“She went for it,” I told Paisley, as we left the doctor’s office. “She doubled my dose.”

“Oh, good.”

“And that CrossFit thing, babe? I’m in.”

She jumped up and down, kissed me, ran her fingers through my hair. We were across the street from Nelson City Hall, with late afternoon traffic humming past, and we hung in each other’s arms trying to believe in the future. Back in Dawson City we’d once passionately made out in the middle of the street at like 2 a.m., her legs wrapped around my waist while cars motored past on either side. Could we get there again? We were still that couple somewhere deep inside us, we just needed to dredge that feeling back out again. Being in love with her made me feel sick to my stomach, even a little dizzy. It was the same feeling I experienced the first time I went sky-diving, the moment my body lurched out of the plane and began to free fall. With her lips to my ear, she whispered her next words.

“I think we should get married.”

The Kootenay Goon

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Big Bad Dean Winchester (Part 1)

Request: Hey. Could you do an Endverse Dean x Reader where the Reader is alone and one day saves Dean's life and he is super annoyed. The others invite her to stay at their camp. Dean hates the idea and hates her more because she still has a positive outlook in this messed up world. Can it be angsty, fluffy and smutty?

Big Bad Dean Winchester Masterlist

Pairing: Endverse!Dean x reader

Word Count: 4,700ish

Warnings: language, injury, slight horror themes

Terminology: Croat - A person(s) infected with the Croatoan virus, similar to what you might think of as a zombie 

A/N: My first time doing endverse!Dean. Enjoy!...

“Yes,” you said, finding a stash of old chocolate bars and medicine in someone’s kitchen cupboard. About half of it was expired but the pain killers and allergy meds were still good for another six months. This house had turned out to be a gold mine. You’d already found a sturdy hooded jacket that had a removable liner to replace your thinning one. You’d started out this whole thing out in it, now stitched so much you couldn’t tell what was original and what wasn’t anymore. 

Your backpack got an upgrade too, a nice big camping one that could hold more food and you didn’t have to worry about the bottom falling out. Not to mention these people had fuzzy wool socks. When the apocalypse hit, a lot of the small things fell to the way side so today was definitely proving to be a good day.

They had no guns, not that you needed anymore. You were running low on ammunition for your Glock and your shotgun but you could make due for a while longer before it started getting worrisome. There were other ways to deal with the Croats. This husband and wife had been, besides being pretty cute from their wedding photos on the wall, avid outdoors people and finding a knife belt that wasn’t meant for a guy twice your size was like Christmas morning. It hung through the belt loops of your jeans, the knife just behind where your thigh holster was, your shotgun crossed on your back as you made one final sweep of the house. There wasn’t any food left to scavenge and you were good on water. There was a warm looking blanket on the couch but it wouldn’t do well in the wilderness. You went over to their bookshelf, leaving the one you’d finished and grabbing a Nicholas Sparks one. Maybe it was cheesy but at least you got to end your days on a happy note. 

You slung your pack on and clipped yourself in, hand testing out your knife a few times before you opened the door, even if you knew the area was mostly clear when you came there. You stuck to the middle of the street, hand on your hip always as you looked back and forth. It was too dangerous to attempt to take one of the cars, not when you were this far in suburbia. On foot you could slip by unseen until you got to the edge of town and had more time to work on something.

You saw a green mudded up jeep on the outskirts that looked perfect for the taking. Until you realized it belonged to someone, no car in that good of condition unless it had an owner. You made it a habit not to steal unless you were crossed first. Then again, that philosophy had left you shot once, stabbed twice and with more than a few scars. It was better to find a different car and avoid the person altogether.

“Fuck!” you heard a man shout from a building half a block down. 

“Dumbass,” you mumbled, running in that direction. At this point in the game everyone knew you did not make a sound, not unless you wanted fifty Croats on you like that.

You slipped in through a side door, your knife already out as you snuck up on two Croats, putting them down before they knew what hit them. You could hear someone grunting, fighting some off from the sound of it as you made your way towards the source. You got three more before they started to notice you and you heard what sounded like a head being smacked against the pavement. The Croat nearest you grabbed your arm as you swung, hitting it square in the face as the man stopped fighting back from what you could tell. You kicked the one on your other side and sprinted over to the Croat about to bite the unconscious dirty blonde on the ground, stabbing it fast before lunging up and getting the last one.

“Hey,” you said quietly, the man mumbling but not coming out of it from the looks of it. You sighed and stretched your arms out. “Lift with your knees.”

You grabbed hold of his arm and leg, trying to carry him but stumbling straight onto your face. You knew you didn’t have time for this, trying again and getting to your feet, crouching to get his bag nearby on the floor as you slowly made your way back to the jeep you assumed was his.

“Shit, you owe me a back massage after this buddy,” you said with a smile, knowing the adrenaline was the only thing helping you lift so much weight. You had to duck behind a car near the jeep, hearing the other Croats in the area start to converge on the building you were just in. You got the guy in his passenger seat and both your bags in the back. You pulled away quietly and didn’t stop to check him out until you were a few miles down the highway, free from anyone and anything. 

There was a first aid kit in his glove box as you stitched his cut and wrapped up his head, pulling his seatbelt on before fishing around and finding a map. There was a mark for “Camp” in what looked like one of the national parks. You’d heard rumors of a place like that, a safe place but no one seemed to know exactly where.

“Let’s get you home.”

When you pulled up to the front gate, you were not expecting walls that high or sturdy looking. Or to see a red dot on your chest as someone barked for you to turn off the jeep and get out.

“Hey so, I saved this guy and I think he’s from here? If not, that’s cool,” you said, holding up your hands as a few people opened up the gate. One of them slid into the jeep and drove it inside, someone else pointing for you to come with them as the gates closed behind you. There was a difference being in there, just in the air. It felt safe and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Give us your weapons,” said someone and you raised an eyebrow. “Now.”

“Just because the world ended didn’t mean manners did,” you said.

“Give us your weapons, please,” said the man. You undid your knife belt and pulled off your shotgun and thigh holster. You pulled the one out of your shoe and gave him a smile. “Put the lady’s things in quarantine until we get her story.”

“Benny, I got this,” said a shorter man. “Walk with me?” he said to you, motioning you to follow through the parking lot of the once state park, now an impromptu motor pool from the looks of it.

“Your guy got smacked around by a Croat pretty hard. He’s been out for about thirty minutes, mumbling sometimes when he comes close to waking up. I cleaned and stitched him. No other injuries from what I can tell,” you said to Benny. “If you have a doctor they might want to know.”

“Thanks,” he said a hair softer, jogging off to catch up with where you could see they were moving the guy you’d saved on a stretcher down a road, their camp just down a little ways you guessed.

“I’m Chuck,” said the short man, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Y/N. I hope it’s nice to meet you, Chuck,” you said, giving him a friendly smile he returned.

“Well you saved the boss so it’s very nice to meet you, Y/N,” said Chuck.

“The boss?” you asked, Chuck nodding his head.

“Yup. Dean Winchester. He’s our leader around here, runs everything. I’m his second in command. I’m more the business side while he does tactical if that makes any sense,” said Chuck. “What happened out there? Dean doesn’t make mistakes.”

“I just heard the dude yelling and went in the building to find about six or seven Croats on him. I’m sure he could have handled it but he was half conscious when I got there so...” you said, shrugging your arms, looking around at the park as Chuck slowed his walk before heading down the road. “If you give me my stuff back, I’ll leave. I’m not in the mood to start a fight.”

“You don’t want anything in return for saving Dean?” asked Chuck. You shook your head.

“Humans look out for other humans. Or at least we should. It’s not right to take advantage of a situation like that,” you said, Chuck staring at you strangely. 

“Dean’s the kind of guy that would take that as a weakness you know,” said Chuck.

“Well I’m not Dean. I’m Y/N and I don’t think the world has to be as bad a place as everyone makes it out to be. If being a good person is weakness then I’m weak,” you said. “Am I allowed to go, Chuck?”

“Do you have a camp?” he asked. You shook your head and he smiled. “Do you have anyone?”

“I used to have a dog, Huxley. A couple Croats got him,” you said. “Always figured he’d get hit by a car or something. He wasn’t the smartest but he was a good dog, loyal and-”

“You’re not a spy, not someone from that Crooked group, right?” asked Chuck.

“No. I wouldn’t call myself their biggest fan,” you said, pulling your jacket and shirt away to show a scar. “Big guy tried to bring me back to their camp once. I didn’t exactly like the way he phrased it so he shot me.”

“You could be lying about that scar,” said Chuck.

“Alright. I could be lying. Your options are to either let me leave with my stuff or kill me because you don’t trust me. Either way, fate’s out of my hands now. No use in getting upset about it,” you said, Chuck tilting his head at you. “I mean obvioulsy don’t kill me. I won’t be so nice if you try to.”

“Why aren’t you jaded if you’ve been on the road alone so long? You’re a bit of an odd one,” he said.

“I don’t know. It must be all the romance novels sticking with me,” you joked. “I still have hope I guess. Or as Dean would say I have weakness.”

“Come with me, I want to introduce you to some people.”

“So, Y/N, do you want to stay on?” asked Bobby. You were surprised when Chuck brought you to a room full of people, each of them asking you different things from where you grew up to the worst action you’d seen. “We’d normally confer with Dean but he’s being a lazy ass in his bed.”

“He got hurt,” you said, taking a second to realize he was only joking. “Um, I don’t know, I haven’t been in a group since everything started really. My first one got cleared out that first week and I’ve been on my own since then.”

“It’s been over a year. That’s a long time to be by yourself,” said Benny. “We don’t bite.”

“I...I don’t know. What can I do? I’m just another mouth to feed and body to take up space. I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said, not sure why you were pushing them away when all you’d been looking for was a place to settle down for the past year.

“You’ll be assigned a job,” said Chuck. “Everyone has one apart from the kids. You have a wide skill set so Dean’ll probably put you on whatever kind of detail you want really. You contribute and we take it one day at a time. Come on, you know you want to. You’ve been smiling the second you stepped foot in here. We could use that around here.”

“I guess I can stay,” you said. “But I told you before, I don’t want anything for helping Dean. Just treat me like anyone else.”

“Whatever you want,” said Chuck. “I’ll show you around and by the time we’re done, hopefully Dean’ll be in the mood to talk.”

Chuck returned your belongings to you as he walked you around to the front service cabin, the map on the wall showing they’d secured about a third of it and even had some domestication of the land going on near the river that ran through the park. There were about fifty people there, some families but mostly individuals that had come along the way. When Chuck showed you your own cabin, you frowned.

“You said I wasn’t being treated special. I should get bunked up with someone,” you said.

“If you want a roommate, we can put you on the list but we don’t force people together unless we run out of cabins and we haven’t yet. It’s not Caesar’s Palace but it’ll do,” said Chuck, opening the door to show you the small space. The bed was tucked up against the wall, a small kitchenette in the corner, a wood burning fireplace and small love seat in the other, a bathroom behind a door taking up the remaining space.

“I get my own bathroom?” you said, Chuck nodding.

“There’s no hot water, it comes straight from the river but we don’t worry about getting thirsty here,” said Chuck, checking his watch. “Dean should be ready for visitors by now after getting debriefed. Want to go say hi?”

“Sure,” you said, following Chuck to Dean’s cabin, a bit isolated from everyone else, Chuck knocking on the door and coming inside to find Dean swallowing down a big glass of water with a gulp. 

“Dean this is-”

“Excuse me but since when do we invite people to stay without my say so?” he said, shooting daggers at Chuck and then you. “We have rules for a fucking reason, Chuck.”

“Y/N did save you Dean. That should count for-”

“Get out. I want to talk to her. Alone,” said Dean, Chuck saying he’d be at the front cabin for when you were finished. Dean pulled out a chair from his table and put it in the middle of the room. “Sit.”

You weren’t a fan of his grumpiness but did as told. Maybe he was having some PTSD after what happened earlier and-

“I’ve heard you’re just a little ray of sunshine around here,” said Dean, staring down at you, arms crossed. “Coming in and saving the day.”

“I’m sorry but are you mad at me for saving your life?” you asked, Dean bending down to get in your face.

“I have a reputation around here and it certainly isn’t the nice guy. So yeah, I got a problem with a little mutt off the street coming into my house uninvited,” said Dean. You didn’t have a comeback for that, instead Dean just giving you a dark smirk as you glanced at your lap. “But you’re already in and it doesn’t look good if I throw you out so puppy gets to stay. Good for you.”

“Why are you being so mean?” you asked. “I didn’t do anything but-”

“Do not talk back to me. I might not have a reason to get rid of you but there are plenty of rules around here and if you break even one, I’ll dump your ass out in the middle of nowhere so fast you’ll realize how nice I’m being right now,” he said, glaring at you.

“You don’t like that I’m kind, do you,” you said, looking up to see dark green eyes searching yours.

“How the hell something like you made it this long I have no idea. We live in the real world here. People understand that today might be their last day in this hell hole and you’re here for an hour and people are making fucking weekend plans like the world is suddenly full of rainbows and unicorns. So shove that shit down and get with the program, sweetheart,” said Dean.

“Sounds to me like you with all your big walls and guns are the scared one, not me,” you said, Dean walking behind you and grabbing a notebook, walking to the counter and flipping through it.

“What’s your last name?” he asked, grabbing a pencil. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

“Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, Dean jotting it down and shutting the book.

“Y/N, you’re on sanitation duty. Second and third shifts to start,” said Dean. 

“What’s that?” you asked, not thrilled with having to work all night but knowing what he was up to already.

“Clean up around camp and composting. Laundry duty for the fighters. Cleaning the weapons. Cleaning the trucks. You see anything that’s dirty? You clean it,” he said, wearing a frown.

“Does that include people’s cabins?” you asked, Dean’s hard gaze almost breaking for a moment.

“No. People are responsible for cleaning their own cabins. You start work at 4 pm. You get an hour of break time to use as you please. You’re expected to keep your own cabin clean and-”

“I’m going to prove you wrong you know,” you said, standing up and stretching.

“Excuse me?” he asked, shock on his face.

“You’re going to try and break me. I get it but it ain’t going to work babe. You’ll be wearing a smile long before mine goes away,” you said. You started to leave as you heard him move across the room and spin you around.

“Where the hell are you going?” he demanded, eyes like fire when you gave him a smirk.

“Well unless the clock on your wall is wrong, I have work in twenty minutes. I should go settle in and eat something. Wouldn’t want to make the boss unhappy be being late on my first day, would I?” you teased, patting Dean on the chest. “Later Dean.”

You caught sight of Dean a few hours later as he munched on a bean burrito that they were making for dinner, sliding in to take a spot across from him.

“Did you know that Chuck said we don’t have a third shift for sanitation? We don’t have a third shift for anything beside security which is already maxed out. Isn’t that funny?” you asked, giving Dean a big smile.

“Well you caught me. Doesn’t mean you’re off sanitation,” said Dean.

“Oh I actually like it,” you said, Dean nearly choking on his food.

“You like it? You like cleaning?” asked Dean.

“I like helping. I’d like any job really,” you said, Dean growling under his breath. “How’s your head? You aren’t allowed to sleep tonight with the-”

“Yes I’ve had a concussion before, I know the drill,” he said. “Go away before I come up with a new assignment for you.”

“Is the trying to break me thing not working out for you?” you asked, Dean ripping your plate away, taking a bite of your food before shoving it back. “You know that’s reportable. I could have you thrown out for that severe violation.”

“You are so freaking...I wish that Croat had killed me so I wouldn’t have to be anywhere near your annoying ass,” said Dean, getting up to leave. You didn’t let his comment bother you until you were lying down in your bed just after midnight, doing your best to shove it to the back of your mind. He wasn’t going to get you down.

You woke up to a loud knocking on your door, just after seven. You trudged over to find Dean on the other side, looking you up and down, half asleep in your clothes.

“You’re off sanitation. I need ‘backup’ on a scavenge mission apparently. Chuck won’t let me leave without any,” said Dean. 

“And you willingly want to bring someone you openly hate?” you asked, cocking your head.

“Rather you than one of my friends. If I have to shoot you I won’t even bat an eye,” said Dean.

“You know how to make a girl feel special,” you said, turning around to grab your boots. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Be at the mess hall in five,” he said. You pulled on your shoes and used the bathroom quickly, tidying up your bed before throwing on your thigh holster and knife belt, throwing some water in your empty backpack and jogging to meet up with Dean before he got more pissed.

“Bean burritos again?” you asked, Dean raising an eyebrow at you as you walked in for an early breakfast.

“We eat a lot of bean burritos around here,” he said. “Eat while we walk. I want to be out of here soon.”

You munched down breakfast as you went to keep up with him, Dean getting flack from Benny when he tried to take the keys.

“Seriously? I’m fine,” said Dean.

“And you haven’t slept in forever. Y/N’s driving or you’re not heading out boss. Doctor’s orders,” said Benny.

“You’re not the fucking doctor, dip shit. Cas is, ” said Dean, grumpily getting into the passenger seat.

“Take whatever’s shoved up your ass this morning out. You’re with a lady. Cute one too,” said Benny to Dean through the window. “I think she even likes you. Hasn’t slapped you in the face yet.”

“Does that happen often?” you asked, Benny nodding, Dean pointing for you to get in the truck.

“Dean’s good for a lay but not much else from what we’ve heard,” teased Benny.

“Watch it or I’ll put you back on medical duty. You know how much you fucking hate blood,” said Dean, Benny rolling his eyes.

“Watch this one,” said Benny, shutting Dean’s door. “He’s a softie if you can get to know him. At least he used to be one before the Croats took over.”

“If I can get him to smile, I’ll call that a win,” you said, Benny giving one in return.

“Told him we needed someone like you around here. Better get going before boss man hot wire’s his own truck,” said Benny as you ran around to the other side and got in.

“Are you girls done gossiping?” said Dean crossing his arms.

“Where are we headed captain?” you joked, Dean rolling his eyes.

“A neighborhood about twenty miles from here. Chuck said you found hunting provisions in a house. We could use what you didn’t take,” said Dean.

“We shouldn’t take a truck in there. It’s too-”

“I know that. We’ll cut through the woods, piece mail supplies back to the truck. If that house was relatively untouched that neighborhood probably is too,” said Dean.

“Why haven’t you ever gone there? I was just passing through but it seems close to camp,” you said, Dean shaking his head.

“It’s been a hot spot for the past year. The Croats have spread out enough it’s not as bad to go in now. I need you on your best game. If it might be useful, bag it,” he said. You raised an eyebrow and he sighed. “I don’t have to teach you to scavenge unlike some of them. No talking out there. You get separated, make your way back to camp.”

“Understood, boss,” you said, the rest of the thirty minute drive done in silence. 

You got the house you’d originally gone through cleared out and in the truck with relative ease, Dean pointing out for you to search a colonial while he took a ranch across the street. You found some more useful supplies and were going through your second run of the basement when you heard the stairs creak. You glanced around, knife out, stairs creaking again, a sneaker appearing that made you swear under your breath. There was another set of shoes and then another and another, moving too groggily to be humans. There was no where to go in the small space as you hid behind some shelves, at least ten down there now and more on the way. One tilted it’s head and sniffed, craning it’s neck in your direction and you knew you were screwed.

You got at least eight shots off, clearing away a mess of them as more poured down the stairs, backing you into a corner, trapped there. You got another bunch before you had to reload, the basement filling up with bodies fast as you really had no where to turn to. When you pulled the trigger and it clicked empty you grabbed your knife, swiping away at the ones closest, the Croats too near now as you felt a few hands grabbing, one shoving as you heard more than felt your skull hit the metal shelf. You slumped down, dropping your knife, unable to see anything as the blinding pain made you lose track of everything. By the time you got hold of the blade again, hands were tearing at your backpack and you waited for them to start doing the same to you.

Instead seven very clear rounds shot out, the hands on you going limp, one dragging you up a few moments later and pulling you up the stairs fast. You had no idea if you were even inside anymore, the hand twisting and tugging and pulling until you were being forced up more stairs and then another flight, a loud thud as something was pulled shut. You forced your eyes open, in an attic of some sort with Dean locking the pull down stairs in place, turning around to see you trying to stand.

“Sit down,” he said, going to the window and looking outside. “We’re stuck here until they clear out. Probably all night from the looks of it.”

“What?” you asked, a hand on your head where it felt warm and sticky. Dean picked you up and set you down in the light, ripping off your backpack as he moved your hair to see the gash there. Dean looked you over twice before determining you hadn’t been bit, wrapping a bandana around your head as a makeshift bandage until you could get to camp. “Where’d they come from?”

“No idea. They came running once they heard the shots,” said Dean. 

“I’m surprised,” you said, wincing but giving Dean a smile.

“Trust me. I didn’t expect you to be that good of a shot either,” he said.

“I’m surprised you didn’t leave me there considering you hate me and all,” you said. You were fully expecting a wise crack back, another round of him spewing nasty things at you. Not the hurt green eyes that were staring at your own.

“You’re a member of the camp. We look out for each other. Out here, you’re my responsibility. I don’t leave people to die, especially not like that,” said Dean. You opened your mouth to speak but he shook his head. “Stay awake. Keep an eye on the street. We’ll head back to the truck when there’s a break.”

“Dean I’m sorry for-”

“Watch the street, Y/N,” said Dean, moving to sit on the other side of the attic, back turned to you. You would have groaned if you didn’t think it’d make him more angry. 

“Thank you...for saving me,” you said.

“We’re even now,” he said, your hands shaking some. It’d been a while since you had that close of a call. Not since Huxley gave you the chance to get away. Even then that stupid dog had a big smile on it’s face as it saved you. You wondered when the last time Dean actually smiled was. Not out of some anger or sarcasm or to be dangerous. Something happy and kind. “I said watch the street, not your lap.”

“Yes sir,” you said, lifting your head.

As soon as you were able to, maybe you should get out of there before Dean sucked all the joy from your life too.

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

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[zachsgamejournal]

PLAYING: Final Fantasy VII

Still having fun. I’ve played this game a million times, but for some reason I’m having “extra fun” right now. The Remake kind of wore me out. It may be like a Hobbit situation. The Hobbit is a rather short and easy book. Then they stretched it out across three movies. Was that necessary? Did it truly add anything? Right now, for Final Fantasy VII (and The Hobbit) I don’t think the extra length has added extra depth.

Starting the second mission and I saw Johnny in the slums. I hadn’t realized the Remake was using an old character. That’s pretty cool. Is this the same guy chilling outside the Honey Bee Inn later? Really wish I had spoken to more NPCs after the first mission. We hop on the train. Barret seems a little more relaxed with Cloud. They’re not friends yet, but I think he trusts in Cloud’s abilities and that gives him confidence in their mission. The train alarms go off and we race to beat security. Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge are dressed in disguises and it’s hilarious. Tifa says things are scary and Cloud asks why she’s here. Maybe Tifa was more timid than I remembered? Either way, she commits. Quick walk down the tunnel and we hop into the platforms. I paid extra attention to the fact that these platforms were dangling over the slums. Nice. Getting past this section is a few measly minutes, not the hour of wandering, backtracking, and light switch flipping of Remake. It was interesting in the Remake how they brought up the idea of sun lamps. I don’t feel Shinra would actually provide the slums with even this luxury--but Tifa does point out that turning of the lamps is hurting regular folks, even if it’s helping their cause. It was a good point where they acknowledged the good and bad of their actions. BUT not worth the extra 45+ minutes the section added...especially after that tunnel. Timing wise, it was kinda funny to look at the game clock and see I was just hitting one hour. The Remake introduced some side quests (which were fun) and some bonus story about a protective landlord and creepy neighbor. These weren’t bad additions--especially since I wanted to learn more about Midgar. But then the time getting to the second reactor took forever: visiting Jessie’s Parents, the motorcycle sequence to get there, attacking the Shinra Complex, long tunnel section, followed by long platform section, and then, FINALLY, we’re at the second reactor. Whew...that was about 5 hours worth of gameplay representing about 10 minutes of the Original. I prefer the original... Inside the reactor Cloud has a little episode: he remembers watching Tifa curse Shinra and Sephiroth over the corpse of her father in another reactor. It was confusing in my first playthrough, but it’s a strong moment knowing what it means. Cloud is struggling with his identity and memories--so being in a reactor is causing some crossed-signals, especially triggering because Tifa is here. I’m happy to see Sephiroth mentioned. Bomb set and we try to escape, President Shinra approaches us at the exit. This is a good scene. Shinra expected us, and basically let us out...why? Barret confronts Shinra with all his hatred, which is very much Barret. Cloud steps forward, acting as though they know each other. Shinra doesn’t recognize Cloud, “Sorry, hard to remember names unless you’re another Sephiroth.” Boom. 1. Sephiroth is important, emphasized here. 2. Shinra doesn’t recognize Cloud cause he’s not really a Soldier 1st Class. 3. Cloud kinda is another Sephiroth because of Hojo’s experiments... 4. Cloud actually defeated Sephiroth...so Shinra doesn’t realize he’s underestimating his foe here. President Shinra is a total jerk here, and clearly not concerned about saving the reactor. The Boss fight was a little tougher than I expected, but it didn’t last long. That was a blessing, Tifa was down to 54 hp. As Cloud is dangling, Barret seemed a bit nicer toward Cloud than he had been in the past. Guess the spikey headed punk is growing on him. Down we fall, two billion feet to land gently on a church roof. So realistic. But let’s get past that. It’s Aerith! She seems like a chipper person and doesn’t play Cloud’s games. As in, he acts mopey and she teases him. I think Tifa is a little soft on Cloud, which gives Cloud the space to retreat into apathy. Aerith challenges him. He has to respond. She also has a strong will of her own. Cloud is constantly struggling to keep up! And...she makes him laugh. Reno arrives with the troops and we get an awkward conversation, but a cool mini-game! So glad there’s no stupid destiny-ghosts here! We get out and Aerith admits the Turks are tracking her. Cloud warns that they’re up to no good. She’s glad to have Cloud as a “body guard”, being afforded with a date. I don’t hate that the remake had a boss fight with Reno, but it’s not necessary. We meet Aerith’s mom. She’s worried about the girl but realizes she can’t “control” her. So she encourages Cloud to leave without her. Aerith is not so easily fooled. I took some time exploring Sector 5, including the weird guy with a No. 2 tattoo. It’s a subtle setup, but I think it was smart of Remake to make these guys more front and center. We go through the single screen that is the broken highway, with only one fight. So much shorter than the lengthy BS remake puts you through. So when Aerith has her playground talk with Cloud, everything is fresh and not forgotten under tons of combat and repetitive puzzle solving. I enjoyed this short conversation. Aerith is interested if Tifa is a girlfriend of Cloud’s (I said no). She also shares about her familiarity with Soldier because of a previous boyfriend. Cloud asks about him, but Aerith changes the subject. Little does anyone know, her ex is Zack--the very Soldier that saves Cloud and the person whose memories Cloud has adopted. It’s a small world. Then we see Tifa... I’ve been playing for about two hours now and we’re already at the Wall Market. God, the Remake takes forever. I wish they had just filled it with tons of Side Quests and not stretched out all those sections. Ah-well. Time for the Wall Market.

[misszarves]

timeline of my spiral for anyone who wants to laugh react

july 2019: hit a wall with sleep deprivation, anemia, gut problems and probably plain burnout, started having conflicts with my boss especially around my lateness (our workday started at 5:00 AM, he refused to simply write me up or suspend me but instead wanted to “talk about it” and this became extremely intrusive and uncomfortable fast)

also july: had my first encounter with an animal in a sticky trap, outside my apartment, a bird who I was able to rescue

also july: quit that job, went back to the golf course to bartend a couple of days a week

august: moved back in with my parents as a result of my changed employment situation

late august: read that shockingly graphic article in the NYT about child porn that some of you may remember (do I need to put a trigger warning or can y’all use common sense and refrain from looking it up). sharp spike in anxiety, making it worse than it had been in six or seven years

september: picked up more hours at the golf course, was able to make some investments in myself -- a new sewing machine and some singing lessons. had my two-year cake. 

mid-october: found out I was pregnant. on a friday (K, not J, was the father -- some people do ask). made the quick decision to have an abortion but was unable to get in touch with any abortion provider until the middle of the following week (due to phone/email tag, etc), giving me enough time to start Feeling Things about the pregnancy

november: continuing to live with my parents and work full-time as a bartender, succumbed to angst and anxiety as expected -- but family, friends and coworkers with the glaring exception of my mom (who still pretends she didn’t even know I was pregnant, lol) were very supportive. for a brief period, we settled on keeping the baby, and told my dad and picked godparents. when I changed my mind again, my boyfriend was devastated. that pretty much hasn’t changed

late november: in a last-ditch attempt to fend off the crushing dread, I took a trip north to see a friend and her husband (to be clear, I would have visited them anyway lmfao). it helped a little. on the way back, I stopped to see some of my mother’s cousins, who tried to rope me into a pyramid scheme.

november 28: abortion day! my aunt took me to the clinic and then out for burgers. while we were eating, one of the cooks, who my aunt knew, fell off a ladder and onto his back.

first two weeks following the abortion: the normal feel-like-shit-no-matter-how-secure-you-were-in-your-decision period

dec 3: relapsed! 

dec 3 onwards: since the relapse went on for about three months, I can’t nail down when that “two week” period actually ended. pregnancy hormones resulted in waves of anger and teariness, but no satisfying “mourning”. I drank more heavily than I ever did before, routinely got shitfaced or even blacked out while on shift. I told people about the relapse, but the actual inebriation mostly went unnoticed.

christmas eve: after convincing J to come spend christmas with my family, got drunk again, we got in some sort of argument. I don’t remember.

christmas morning: J left as soon as possible.

the blurry period between christmas and mid-January 2020: 

more drinking at work, and a peak in the mouse and rat problem my workplace had been managing badly for several months. saw and heard three tiny, dying, bloody mice on two separate sticky traps (two different days). on a slow ~pasta night~, knocked back a couple of drinks so I could ask one of the cooks at the pasta buffet to leave his post and euthanize the second and third mouse. which he did as humanely as possible -- with a shovel. at this point I wrote a letter to my GM telling him how unacceptable it was to make his hormonal, post-abortive employees deal with sentient animals in their dying agonies, and could he please come up with a different pseudo-solution. about a week later, he came up to me and, with great diplomacy and tact, told me to shove it up my ass.

powdered bait laced with rat poison was placed on the floor in and around the bar and kitchen. I called the health inspector, who brought the hammer down on both the poison and the sticky traps. the poison was cleaned up (part of that job went to yours truly, with no protection) as were some but not all of the sticky traps

I developed a small crush on a long-time coworker (cook #1) who began behaving in what I assumed was meant to be a flirtatious way (eye-fucking, going out of his way to talk to me in a way he hadn’t before, etc). this included some pointed questions about my mental health (the abortion and the relapse were public information at this point). bizarrely, he refused to tell me anything personal about himself. he started dating one of the banquet girls. he eventually told a mutual friend (cook #2, and our shovel-killer from above) that he “got [a] vibe” that I “wanted to fuck” but (as cook #2 gleefully reported to me) made a face and expressed disgust at the possibility of ever being involved with me in that way. (WHY ASK ME ABOUT MY FUCKING ABORTION THEN, YOU WEIRDO)

cook #2 started trying to fuck me. I did not reciprocate. he then told me he thought I was a “six” and that he wasn’t interested. a few weeks later he tried to fuck me again

early january 2020: got both a yeast infection and bacterial vaginal infection

january 6: J had a grand mal seizure on my kitchen floor. I had never seen a seizure and the tremors were so severe that my dad, who had seen many, thought he may also have been having a stroke (turned out, just a seizure). he was hospitalized overnight and kicked to the curb -- but the process was begun to get him back into rehab

january 7 (?): employee gift exchange at work. I was on shift and wasn’t participating, but there weren’t a lot of customers and my coworkers asked me to come join them. there were five-gallon buckets of old sangria to which we were given unlimited access (and remember that I was the bartender, so I took the trips to the fridge and back). I blacked out. cook #2 called my mother and I vaguely recall getting in her van.

the days following that “party”: cook #2 and several other coworkers told me I “didn’t seem that drunk,” ie was not a horrible embarrassment. however, cook #2 told me that I’d made out with him. then I started to hear rumours that I and a third cook (cook #3) had disappeared for half an hour to “go have sex”. let me be graphic for a moment: I was wearing a panty-liner that night because the spotting from the abortion hadn’t stopped, I had a yeast infection, and I hadn’t trimmed my pubic hair in about a month -- no matter how drunk I was, I cannot see myself agreeing to take my pants off around a random coworker. someone told me that I had a cheeseburger in my hand when we disappeared and was still eating it when she saw me again so she doesn’t think anything happened -- but I was suspiciously sore the next day. was it the yeast infection or was I sexually assaulted? I don’t know because I was blacked out and I never asked cook #3

january 10: actual staff holiday party. cook #3 introduced me to his long-time girlfriend. we all smiled and shook hands.

mid-january: mac miller’s circles album dropped. I decided I wanted to live. I continued to drink until the end of february, but stayed sober for much longer periods between much shorter binges

late january: I put in my two-weeks’ notice at the golf course and borrow some money from my dad. stinky came to live with us.

february 1: k, stinky and me moved into a small house my parents’ church is renting

most of february: fighting, gossiping, and faction-forming in my AA homegroup, culminated in a member being expelled and a series of “group conscience” meetings which involved yelling, fighting and crying. a relatively new arrival to our group (but a longtimer in the program) started to power-grab, which wouldn’t have fazed me except that she started openly singling me out as a “newcomer” whose vote did not count. this despite other members relapsing in the same period I did, and said power-grabber having been in attendance at my fucking cake five months previous. things got awkward.

mid-february: J went back to rehab

also mid-february: I got pulled over driving drunk in washington state. ironically, the confidence and ease I got from the alcohol kept me from being rude and short with the officer as I usually am, and he told me in a very friendly way that the speed limit would increase by 10 mph a little further down the highway, so perhaps I was confused, and I should take care out there. no ticket. a sign from god?

also mid-february: I got formally assessed for ADHD and tried ritalin for the first time. this did not end up working out.

mid-february: I was invited to dinner by the much older man who does the irrigation on the golf course, through one of the gardeners, a woman a few years younger than me with an established father-daughter type relationship with the irrigation guy. the three of us ate dinner at his house, and she proceeded to pass out from drinking too much. irrigation guy took the opportunity to feel me up.

end of february: I took my last drink and decided to start applying for jobs

also end of february: my ADHD symptoms as well as my anxiety began to spike, throwing a wrench in my resume-writing and hand-shaking plans

march: something else threw a wrench in my hand-shaking plans, as it did with all of yours. it goes without saying that I have been terribly anxious. the upside is that I know for certain that the abortion was the right idea.

also march: I switched to vyvanse and began to see better results.

mid-march, at the very beginning of shut-downs where I live: I see irrigation guy again and he takes the opportunity to pat my ass. 

end of march: J relapsed in rehab, was discharged and will see at least a ninety-day delay in his plan to complete the program and then get into secondary housing. he was briefly hospitalized, during which time the doctors did so little for him that he would have literally been just as well off in a drunk tank. service canada lost some of his paperwork so he still doesn’t have his medical EI money.

yesterday: J moved into my shed. he spoke to his counsellor, who will try to get him into a recovery house. I am confident that some things, particularly his EI money, will work out very soon. but whatever happens I have felt a reduction in the second-hand stress. as I said, and now he agrees: it’s a pretty nice shed.

[maverickprime]

Gun Viper #8

The Growing Tempest

No matter the time of day, whether it be late night or early morning, the pounding never stops. The violent sights of bodies pounding one another into the edges of a cage had long since been etched into his mind. There were times in which he was one of them, throwing punches and kicks against whoever and whatever came against him in the cage. It was exciting, but you probably didn't need a psychiatrist to tell you that. After all, what Kremian doesn't like to battle?

But those days were behind him now. Nowadays, he was far too good to get a challenge out of anyone, and thus the fights just became... boring. And for a Kremian, a boring fight is just... worthless.

WHAM!

“AAAAAHHHHH!!!”

The crowds roared with excitement, as a burly Kremian man found his head slamming against the steel cage of he battled in. His face was battered and bruised, blood seeping from his nose and whatever new scars adorned his face. His vision was blurred, his ears ringing, his nose fairly broken. His opponent was a speedy foe, and though he had more than a hundred pounds of weight on him, his enemy's fists felt like cinder blocks.

It was exciting! Blood pumped through the older Kremians veins like a speeding highway. Despite having so much pain in his face that he could barely think, he felt a rush of joy and even ecstasy flow through him. Spitting out a bullet of blood, the burly Kremian raised his fists and began to grin. Without hesitation he rushed for his opponent.

“RAAAH!

WHAM!

“AAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

Once again the crowd roared with excitement as they began to slam their bodies into one another. Punches and kicks were traded between the two alongside grapples and tosses, all in an attempt to overpower and defeat one another. The crowd was more than excited, roaring as they watched the vicious battle unfold before them.

But too the man sitting at the bar counter who was casually drinking a deep brew of gin, it was like music to his ears. The same music he had heard every day for so very, very long.

He was a Kremian man, hair that was a pitch black with an appropriate black tail. He wore a juniper trench coat which was zipped up and closed, his under body being covered. He was young, perhaps between the ages of 21 to 25, and like all Kremian's his figure was rather toned. No, he was not overly bulky and muscular like the man in the cage, nor was he as skinny and lithe as his opponent. He was somewhere in between, acrobatic and fit.

But really, did it matter? If he didn't have anyone fun to fight, he might as well have been as fat as a pig, or as skinny as a twig. It was unfortunate; the people he wanted to fight didn't want to fight him, and the people who wanted to fight him he didn't want to fight. It's complicated, yeah, yeah.

“Everything okay?” said the barkeep as he approached him, an older yet still burly Kremian, “You're looking a bit more down than usual, Vintorez.”

“Ahh... it's just another day,” the young Kremian replied as he took another swig of his gin, “It's so, so bothersome...”

WHAM!

“AAAAAHHHH!”

He didn't flinch, nor did the bartender. When the day is filled with violence, one grows desensitize to it sooner or later.

“Well, Vintorez, just keep downing those sorrows of yours,” said the bartender as he continued to clean the cup in his hand, “Oh yeah, the boss said he wanted you. Said something about some job or something...”

“A job, eh?” said Vintorez as he stood up from the counter side, “Well... here's to hoping its actually worth a damn...”

Quickly he downed the rest of his gin, slamming it on the counter top when he was finished. Stuffing his hands into his coat's pockets, he walked away from the counter and began to push through the people who watched the fight. He left the party floor, returning to this hidden club's lobby before slipping through a door too the side.

He trailed through the back halls of the club, the roars of the crowd easily piercing through the walls. He didn't care; once again, it was nothing more than white noises to him. Pointless, pointless white noise.

Eventually he came to his boss' door, opening it up without hesitation.

“Aaah! Ruger~! Huh?”

His eyes did not fall on the silver-haired man who was his boss, but instead upon the half-naked body of a slender Kremian girl. She pulled back, her short black hair bouncing slightly as she looked at him. But she wasn't scared or otherwise embarrassed by his sudden appearance, quite the opposite really. She appeared more annoyed than anything else.

She was laying upon the body of the man he came to see. The titanic, powerful, silver-haired Kremian man commanded a certain presence with him whenever he appeared, even when he had a girl who was far shorter and far younger laying upon him. When he realized they were no longer alone, he leaned up from his swiveling chair in order to see him. She continued to cling too his neck and shoulders, annoyance wrought on her face as their moment of pleasure was cut far too soon for her liking.

“Ah.. Vintorez. Just the man I wanted to see,” said his boss, his powerful voice booming.

“What!? Ruger! I thought you wanted to see me!” said the Kremian girl on his lap, her hands pounding into his chest.

“Oh I'm sorry Fasha,” said the man as he gently stroked his thumb down her cheek, “I promise, I'll get back to you. I just need to have an important chat with my man here.”

“Hmph... you'd better not keep me waiting,” she said as she stroked her finger down his broad chest, “Or else I'll pull your tail...”

“Oh ho ho ho... you know what that does to me,” Ruger remarked, his thumb stroking along her cheek.

She smiled at him in a wily manner, before skillfully leaping off of his lap. Waving goodbye to to the burly Kremian, she made her way towards the door with her hips swaying in such a sultry manner. Her dark burgundy eyes were so teasing, so sexy and cool... that is until they fell on Vintorez himself. She glared at him, clearly annoyed by his interruption of her fun. When she walked passed him, she forcibly bumped her hip into his hip, though Vintorez did not move. He just looked at her, watching as she exited through the door.

“Haaa... young girls, again?” Vintorez said as he approached the desk Ruger sat at, “I thought you got that out of your system...”

“What can I say?” Ruger said with a crash chuckle, his singular closing with glee, “This old lion just loves young pussy.”

“Aiaiai...” Vintorez muttered as he scratched at the back of his head, “Whatever; I'd be lying if I said I don't mind girls younger than myself every now and then...” he raised an eyebrow, “What's up? Why'd you call me?”

“Oh... I'm surprised,” said Ruger as he cocked his head, “I thought Beretta would have told you.”

“Told me what?”

“We were hired to do a job,” his boss stated casually, leaning forward on his desk as he did so, “Someone wanted someone dead, so I sent Beretta to take care of it.”

“Aaah... annoying humans,” Vintorez remarked as he shook his head, “Always hiring us to clean up their messes. Why don't they just kill the people they themselves want to kill? Why do they gotta hire assassins to do it?”

“You know humans work differently from us Kremians,” Ruger said casually, “That's just the way things are.”

“Whatever, sure, fine,” Vintorez grumbled, “What does that have to do with me? You sent Beretta to kill someone already, so what's up?”

“That's just the thing... I already know Beretta's not good enough.”

“What?” Vintorez replied.

He watched as Ruger's hand moved too his desk, pulling open one of its shelves. Inside laid a photo, one he pulled out to lay on his desk. Gazing at the photo with an eyebrow raised, Vintorez eyes fell on a dark-skinned Kremian woman with long black hair and green eyes. She was in a black dress, one which had cuts and tears on it in certain areas, as if she got in a fight.

Who was this woman? Vintorez couldn't help but to think that thought to himself as he overlooked the photo. His fingers ran along it, a certain tinge of excitement running through him. This woman looked like a proper warrior, and not some random fighter like those outside in their carriage. But before he got too excited he calmed himself down, raising an eyebrow as he looked up towards his boss.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Cassava Pheros,” Ruger replied with a coy grin, “Ever heard of that name before?”

“No...” Vintorez said as his eyes slid into a confused squint, “She... has a last name?”

“She's married, according to what our informant tells me,” his boss said as he cracked the bones in his neck, “To a human male named Ethan Pheros.”

“She's... mar... ried?” Vintorez repeated, having never heard of such a term before.

“Ah, it's some human ceremony,” Ruger claimed, “To explain it quickly she's... mated.”

“Mated, huh? Too a human?” Vintorez said as he stuck out his tongue, “Strange and disgusting... what, does she boss him around like her slave?”

“The hell if I know,” Ruger replied as he shrugged his shoulders, “I don't know them, and honestly, I don't care. Allow me to explain; a few days ago, a human woman came here asking for me specifically. As you've already figured out, she wanted us to kill someone; Cassava herself. Why she wants Cassava dead, I couldn't tell you, and really, it doesn't matter.”

“Then why are you talking to me about it?” Vintorez asked, “Haven't you already sent Beretta after her? Mission accomplished...”

“Remember,” Ruger said as he tapped his desk, “I told you I already know that Beretta isn't good enough to stop this woman.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Her name is Cassava Pheros... her moniker is 'Gun Viper.'”

Vintorez's eyes grew wide. A Kremian's nickname is more than just that; it's a title, a legend. Their names may be lost to time, but their feats will forever be etched within the stories told by Kremians galaxy wide. That's the power a Kremian's title has.

So when Ruger said 'Gun Viper', it brought forth the stories he had heard of her. Of a woman a part of a mercenary group, one raised by the group's leader himself. How she was a deadly warrior of an untouchable level; countless lives had been lost to her hands and her deadly, deadly chain guns.

Vintorez would be lying if he said the prospect of fighting the Gun Viper wasn't tantilizing. While she may not have been the most storied Kremian warrior among the stars, she certainly had made a name for herself. That already made her better than all the no-name Kremians who came into this club for a fight.

Ruger could see it in Vintorez's eyes as he looked at the photograph. It made the older Kremian chuckle, causing his subordinate to look up at him.

“I can see it in you, Vintorez,” Ruger said as he grinned, “You're excited aren't you?”

“Well... maybe...” said the young Kremian man as he continued to gaze upon the photo, “The infamous Gun Viper. Slaughter of a thousand men. At least, that's how the stories go if I'm so inclined to remember them...” he smiled, his eyes traveling too his boss, “And you're telling me you sent Beretta after her alone? Aren't you afraid the Gun Viper may kill her?”

“Hey, hey, hey now, I'm no idiot!” Ruger replied with a chuckle, “Beretta's always jumpy and feisty, but she's not going to die fighting this woman. Besides, you and I both know she can use a solid ass kicking; she's been incredibly cocky as of late. But more importantly, I want to use this little fight as a litmus test.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Ruger smiled.

…

Let's see if retirement has slowed the Gun Viper down.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Beretta suddenly dashed at her, her feet pounding against the concrete ground. Cassava pulled back as she was suddenly rushed, the teal-eyed Kremian leaping through the air. She swiped with her blade, the weapon careening just pass Cassava's face in a vertical slash. Beretta continued her attack however, slashing at her opponent with a horizontal slash. Cassava ducked it, the blade flowing along her black hair. Quickly she retreated, leaping backwards onto her hand, and then from her hands she leaped back onto her feet. Beretta did not stay distant for long.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

She continued running towards Cassava, slashing at her once she returned to proper footing. She barely had enough time to dodge the first slash, the blade instead striking a concrete beam to her right. Cassava watched as Beretta's blade tore through concrete, slicing through solid stone with ease. Quickly she slashed as Cassava again, this time with her bringing up her arm.

Clang!

Beretta's blade slammed into Cassava's gauntlet, stopping her in place. When she tried to pull back, Cassava reached forward, grabbing her by the wrist. Pinned in place, Beretta quickly slashed at her with her free hand, only for it to be stopped in place by Cassava's other hand. She held her in place, the two not budging an inch as the space between them got smaller and smaller.

“No more games,” Cassava said as she pushed Beretta away, “Either come and make this fun, or just go home...” she began to hop up and down on one foot, her hands taking a more boxer-oriented stance as she did so, “Heh heh... alright,” she grinned, her green eyes a glow as she began to beckon to Beretta with her fingers, “I'm ready for you!”

Beretta grinned herself, twirling her pistaggers around her fingers before gripping them tightly. Fighting, violence; they're like spices to life for a Kremian. The thought of battling excited Beretta, even if it was against her supposed target. Cassava felt the same as blood pumped through her veins.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!

They rushed each other, twin blurs colliding like magnet trains. Cassava threw the first blow, lobbing a punch aimed squarely at Beretta's jaw. Skillfully she leaped over the punch, but Cassava was ever the wily woman. The former mercenary spun around 180 degrees, delivering a quick kick aimed up at Beretta. She brought her arms up, blocking the blow. It launched her too the left, where she tumbled on the ground just to quickly recoil upon all fours. Cassava did likewise, leaning forward on both feet and one hand as she glared at her enemy.

Again!

TAP! TAP! TAP!

CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!

They leaped into one another, Cassava's hands slamming on Beretta's shoulders, pushing back as she attempted to stab her. Due to the impact and her larger frame, Cassava tackled Beretta to the ground. They rolled on the concrete in a ball of flesh and clothing, with Cassava landing on top. Hand pinned down on Beretta's chest, she pulled her right hand back in a savage fist. She was just about to punch the teal-eyed assassin square in the face, only to have her fist meet the stainless steel of one of Beretta's pistagger.

Skillfully Beretta rolled her legs up, gripping Cassava by the waist. Taken aback by this, the ex-mercenary found herself being tossed away by Beretta's legs. Despite being so small and tiny, the assassin clearly knew her stuff. Cassava recoiled from the tossed with ease, landing on her hand and rolling onto her feet.

Beretta stood up just as quickly, her pistaggers twirling in her fingers before she took deadly aim.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Cassava bolted, bullets whizzing by her as she ran from Beretta's gunfire. She leaped behind a tool box, then from the tool box towards a concrete beam. Hiding behind it, she waited to hear the telltale sound of Beretta reloading.

Clink!

There it was

Quickly she appeared from her cover, taking aim at Beretta with one of her chain guns. She was just about to fire but...

She didn't.

Still, the sight of her aiming at her alerted Beretta, who quickly leaped behind a nearby machine of unknown origin. There she reloaded, dropping her spent magazines and quickly replacing them with full clips of ammo. With her pistaggers fully loaded and ready, the assassin glared over her corner towards her enemy.

“Afraid to shoot me, eh?” Beretta said in a teasing manner, “You had perfect time to shoot, even though I'd dodge it!”

“Aren't you a bit talkative for an assassin? Why don't you just hurry up and kill me already?”

“Oh? Where's the fun in that?” Beretta retorted, “We're Kremians; we love a challenge. Do you know how many humans I've killed, and how utterly boring it's been? You hit humans a couple times, and they die; just like that. Even the tougher ones don't put up much of a fight. But you? You...” she giggled, “It's gonna be fun breaking you!”

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Her bullets pelted Cassava's cover, though she was relatively unscathed. Nevertheless, she was pinned, unable to move without the threat of death lingering so close by. Looking left then right, Cassava's eyes fell on tool box. Big, red, sturdy, it would be perfect.

Grabbing it by one of its handles, Cassava pulled it over. Then she leaped from the beam, using the tool box as a makeshift shield. Beretta's bullets pounded into red metal box, with Cassava being left protected. Slipping open one of the slots, she quickly pulled out a wrench then tossed before tossing it at Beretta with precise aim. The wrench flew right over Beretta's head, due to her dodging just in the nick of time. But Cassava wasn't finished yet.

When Beretta looked forward, the ex mercenary came at her with a savage flying kick. It struck the assassin clear in the face and sent her flying back, though like usual she was quick to recoil. Rolling back onto her feet, Beretta faced Cassava with a growling snarl. Without hesitation, she ran back towards her opponent on all fours.

Her bladed handguns struck at Cassava in a flurry of strikes. The rapid stabs – while appearing random too the naked eye – was anything but too the ex-mercenary. Beretta was well trained despite her youth, and took precision aims at Cassava's eyes, throat, and face. But she was just as skilled as her enemy, easily dodging the attacks left and right until...

Clang!

She blocked one.

Clang!

She blocked another.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

Over and over again her slashes met Cassava's chain guns, her gauntlets deflecting the strikes time after time. And then...

Wham!

“Ooof!?”

Cassava kicked Beretta square in the chest, knocking her back. The teal-eyed Kremian rubbed her tone stomach gently from the blow, but her enemy didn't give her enough time to properly recover.

“HAH!!!”

Cassava performed another leaping kick, flying right over Beretta's head as she ducked it. Landing behind the teal-eyed assassin, Cassava quickly turned around to perform another kick in her direction. Beretta blocked it, but Cassava's kick was strong enough to knock her hand aside. Cassava quickly kicked Beretta again, striking her face. Then she kicked her again, once again striking her face. Performing one final kick, the blow flew right over Beretta's head as she finally leaped back.

She palmed her face, feeling the blows that struck her while she walked back. Cassava wasn't even panting, and didn't look tired in the least bit. It made Beretta grin from cheek to cheek.

“I really wish you were shooting at me,” the assassin remarked with a grin as she rubbed her knuckle against her lip, “It would've made this more fun if we were really trying to kill one another.”

“If you just came over here, I'd gladly choke the life out of you,” Cassava said as her eyes slid into a glare.

“Ahh... that's no fun...” Beretta groaned as she rolled her eyes, “Where's your hunger for battle at?”

“I'm just getting tired of people showing up out of random to try and kill me,” Cassava stated, “Albino Kremians, robots and now you...” she shifted her stance into a more battle oriented pose, “Now let's finish this!”

The two glared at one another, standing in the drab gray construction hall with the gray cloudy sky of Avalon framing the backdrop. With Cassava's green eyes locked on Beretta's teal eyes, the fight was on.

TAP! TAP! TAP!

CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!

This time, Beretta struck first. Her pistagger swiped horizontally at Cassava's head, forcing her back to dodge the slash. She quickly countered with a hooking punch aimed at Beretta's belly, but she lifted her leg to block the blow. Cassava followed that up with a kick of her own, with the assassin quickly ducking the blow just in time. She quickly countered with a series of wild gun fire which flew from her pistol, striking nothing but the floor and ceiling though it did force Cassava back.

Beretta pulled up, her pistagger aimed at her target, only to find another rolling tool box flying towards her. She quickly leaped over it, but while she was in the air, she was suddenly stricken by a launching kick that actually knocked her up into the ceiling overhead. Beretta bounced against it where she fell on the floor, but Cassava wasn't finished.

Grabbing the assassin by the shoulder, the ex-mercenary pulled her up into the air. Beretta attempted to free herself but--

WHAM!

Her head met Cassava's elbow in a savage strike. The blow dazed her, eyes rolling back into her skull. She wasn't out, not yet anyway. Cassava would correct such a thing.

She dropped Beretta who fell too her knees, still trying to regain her thoughts and senses. When she looked up, her face met Cassava's foot, who struck her with a savage ax-kick.

THWAK!

Her foot met the ground in a savage blow, her life out like lights. Cassava stood tall above Beretta, her green eyes laying on the young Kremian's silent body. Finally she let out a deep breath, one she did not know she had been holding. With Beretta unconscious, the fight was over. Mission over, right?

Well...

Cassava walked over to the young Kremian, kicking her so that she'd roll over upon her back. Looking down towards her, Cassava's eyes first laid on her neck before slowly traveling over towards her twin pistaggers. She picked one up, cocking it back to see if it was out of ammo. Nope, there was one more bullet left in the chamber. One final shot was all it would take.

She took aim at Beretta's head, her finger laying on the trigger.

“Cassava...”

Her finger stopped.

Looking over to her right, Cassava's eyes fell on her mother-in-law. Isabelle had emerged from wherever it was she was hiding, her dark blue eyes somehow glowing in the darkness of the construction building. Approaching Cassava, she looked down to Beretta's body then back up at her.

“Are you... going to kill her?” she asked, to which Cassava nodded.

“Well... yeah...” her daughter-in-law replied, an eyebrow raised, “Why, is something wrong?”

“It's just that... haaa... I... I understand that you're a Kremian but...” she shook her head, “Could you... spare her.”

“What? Why!? She tried to kill me, Isabelle!”

“I know, I know but... look at her...” she tapped her waist with her foot, “She's out like a light; she's not going to bother you any more.”

“Yeah, now she wont! But later she will!” Cassava stated, “She's an assassin, Isabelle! She came to kill me! She's probably got some friends waiting somewhere to attack me next!” she took aim again, “I should off her!”

“I understand your thought-process, I do,” Isabelle said as she took in a deep breath, “But killing her won't fix anything, I swear...” she then smiled, “Besides, don't Kremians have some code of honor? If you spare one in battle, they'll be indebted too you, right?”

“That's just old archaic bullshit,” Cassava stated, “No young Kremian obeys such a thing nowadays...” she shook her head, “If I spare her, she'll just be back to try and kill me later...” she growled as she looked back, “She's dying, Isabelle.”

“Please... Cassava...” said her mother-in-law as she clung too her arm one more time, “What I ask of you... do it not for her, but for me... please?” she took in a deep breath, “Please spare her. For me... please?”

Cassava looked over to Isabelle, peering into those deep and dark blue eyes. She was smiling such a lovely smile, a beaming one that was filled with a certain since of love. A smile like that helped lower Cassava's guard, because she couldn't really pinpoint if she'd ever seen such a smile on someone's lips. She'd seen smiles of love from Ethan, but they weren't quite the same smile Isabelle was giving her. If there was ever a person whom Cassava could say she'd seen such a smile come from, it would be Winchester.

A parental smile. A parental smile.

Parental...

“Haaa... Isabelle,” Cassava muttered in defeat, her arm falling, “Dammit, dammit, dammit! Shit! Fine!”

“You'll... spare her?” Isabelle said, her smile suddenly growing brighter, “Honestly?”

“Yeah, I'll do it,” her daughter-in-law begrudgingly bemoaned, “But what's gonna stop her from showing up at our condo tonight and fighting me there, huh?”

“Oh... I have an idea,” said Isabelle as she reached her hand into her purse.

Cassava watched her rummage through it for a few moments, before returning with a pair of handcuffs. And these weren't a pair of regular silver handcuffs either, these were fuzzy and pink. The Kremian woman was taken aback by such a thing, wondering why her mother-in-law had such a thing. But then she remembered that Isabelle was a former prostitute, and realized it was probably better not to ask.

“Hmm... let's get moving,” Isabelle said.

…

Pit... pat... pit... pat. Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat. Pit! Pat! Pit! Pat!

“Hmm... it's raining...”

Cassava's eyes flew towards the window of her home, green eyes wide. She wasn't alien to the concept of rain; it wasn't new to her. But rain here, in Avalon? That was new to her. Walking over to the panoramic window doors which separated her home from the balcony, the Kremian woman gazed through it with a look of pure wonder and amazement.

They were back home, having returned too Silver Hills after her harrowing battle against Beretta. They were going to cook dinner together, but the sudden downpour had taken Cassava off guard.

Gripping the sliding door, she pushed it open. The air of the balcony was appropriately cool and jut the right amount of windy. It blue along Cassava's body and tossed up her hair, while her hand cupped into the air. The water struck her palm, forming a tiny puddle that glowed in a manner she had never seen before.

“It can... rain here?” she said, before looking up to the gray skies overhead, “But I thought... the dome...”

“Rain's important,” said Isabelle as she walked up behind Cassava, joining her on the balcony, “Avalon's inner rings are monitored by a system that can control the weather. You know the towers that stand over everything? They can cause things like rain. Rain's necessary for certain agricultural needs. Besides, it would get pretty boring if everyday was always so bright and sunny, wouldn't it?”

“So its... synthetic rain?”

“Indeed...” Isabelle answered as she rubbed the rain into her palm, “It feels so nice... the rain of Gear City is so... disgusting...” she looked over to Cassava, “It's all brown and dingy. Getting it into your skin is like having mud splashed on you. Gear City's so dirty and polluted that the rain has become just as polluted. Some times it's even acidic.”

“Hmm...”

“Ah... but now I'm ranting,” Isabelle said as she smiled, her hand beckoning to Cassava as she walked back into the condo, “Why don't you get out of the rain? We wouldn't want you to catch a cold, would we?”

Cassava nodded, following behind Isabelle as they returned inside. The sliding door shut, the Kremian watched as rain pelted her window. The sound was blissful, a noise she naturally enjoyed. Reminded her of days where it rained in her old apartment. When she closed her eyes, she could see Ethan sitting at the window, reading some sort of scientific book that went well over her head. She'd take it, tease him about it, then laugh as he chased her all around their tiny, tiny apartment.

She laid her palm upon the window, gently stroking her hand down it. The raining got stronger, the sound of it increasing in volume. Cassava's tail straightened up, before gently falling loose at her legs. West City looked so gray and so sad as she saw rain fall upon every inch of it. Not even the neon lights which often came a life at this time of night were strong enough to bring joy too the land.

But that's not all. Gazing into the reflection of the windows, Cassava's eyes fell upon Isabelle. Her mother-in-law was looking at her, a calm and warm smile on her lips. The Kremian woman turned to face her, her expression a fair bit forlorn and even regretful.

“Isabelle...” she said as she walked towards her, “I want you to know that... I don't dislike you.”

“Hm?”

“You asked me earlier why I don't like you...” Cassava stated, before shaking her head, “I want you to know that I don't dislike you.”

“Oh... I did ask that, didn't I?” Isabelle said as she chuckled, “I forgot after all that excitement earlier...”

“Well I didn't,” Cassava said as she shook her head, “I want you to know that I don't hate you, or dislike you. In fact...” she smiled in a sheepish manner, “I still want to thank you for all the things you did for me when I was preparing for my wedding. If you weren't there... I don't...” she shook her head, “I don't think I would've been able to go through it.”

“R... really? Why would you say that?”

“I love Ethan, you know that,” Cassava stated, “I love him more than anything in the world; I wouldn't have married him otherwise. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared, ya'know?” she looked down, “To be married to someone. Heh... and I had never really dated someone before, well, other than Ethan himself, I guess...” she closed her eyes, “I was going to be connected to himself for the rest of my life. I was scared, because I'd never been in such a position before. But... but...” she looked back up to Isabelle, “When the wedding was ramping up and I was looking for dresses, you were always there. You always had that smile on your face, always had such encouraging words. You called me beautiful and lovely and.. heh... a lot of words I've never heard of come from someone who wasn't Ethan. You were so... so... reassuring. You helped me know that I was making the right decision. That I wasn't just jumping on the marriage bandwagon because it was something new to me which... in all honesty it was but...” she shook her head, “I want you to know that I probably wouldn't have married Ethan had you not been there to help. All my mercenary buddies kept trying to convince me that Ethan wasn't worth my time, or that he was some stupid human, or I could find a much better Kremian. But you? You always had my back. You were a lot like a... like a...”

“Mother?”

Cassava looked back up to Isabelle, gazing into those dark blue eyes. Her mother-in-law was smiling in such a loving and kind way. Cassava shifted herself, a blush of embarrassment forming on her face. The sight of it made Isabelle chuckle in a teasing manner, her hand reaching up to clutch the Kremian woman's cheek. Cassava said nothing as she did so, instead focusing on her mother-in-law's blue eyes.

“You're such a beautiful woman,” Isabelle claimed.

“Thank you...” Cassava whispered, her eyes closing as she focused on Isabelle's touch, “I think... I think I know why I've been avoiding you ever since my wedding to Ethan.”

“Why's that?”

“My parents are dead, did you know that?” Cassava asked as she looked up to her mother-in-law, “I was born on planet Katar but... I don't really remember it well. At sometime between my birth and when I was two, there was a civil war on Katar. Hmm...”

She closed her eyes. The smell of fire and stone still flowed through her nose. So too the smell and feeling of blood, and the sounds of wicked explosions in the distance. It was like she was transported back to that day; she quickly reopened her eyes to stare into Isabelle's eyes. She still had that loving and reassuring smile on her face.

“My parents were killed in that civil war,” she claimed, her voice getting hitched up a bit, “Mmph! But I was fortunate enough to be found by my future captain, Winchester.”

“Aah... Winchester,” Isabelle said, “I met him at your wedding. I thought he was your father.”

“In a way, he is,” Cassava said as she nodded, “He taught me everything I ever knew. I'd be dead if it weren't for him. But even then, I remember not trusting him. So when you came to me, asking me to call you 'mom' or 'mother', because you're my mother-in-law, I... didn't know how to react to that. But now that we're here, together and after all the things you've said to me and done for me...” she nodded in a more affirmative manner, “I want to thank you. I want to thank you for trying to be my mother. Because I've never had a mother before, and I'm not sure how to act now that I have one... now that I have you...”

“Wh... what?”

“It's going to be weird but... but...” Cassava closed her eyes and nodded, before reopening her eyes with a certain sense of resolve and confidence, “I'll try it. I'll try to call you... mom.”

“Cassava...”

Reaching up, Isabelle laid her hands on her daughter-in-law's cheeks, framing it with her own face. Cassava – unable to move – gazed down into her mother-in-law's eyes. Isabelle was giving her that same beaming mile, the one filled with warmth and that sense of parental love. Cassava wasn't sure how to feel as she looked at her, though her heart did beat in a new and irregular manner. She felt strangely emotional as she gazed into Isabelle's eyes, all while her mother-in-law began to tear up in response.

“Cassava...” Isabelle whispered as she closed her eyes and moved in, “Thank you...”

Her arms wrapped around Cassava's torso, Isabelle gave her a deep and emotional embrace. At first the Kremian woman was taken aback, but she soon began to hug her mother-in-law back. Her eyes closed shut and she leaned forward, head resting along Isabelle's shoulders. The woman smelled distinctively of apples, at least in Cassava's eyes. It was an oddly warm and inviting smell and feeling, causing the Kremian woman to deepen the embrace. Isabelle didn't seem to mind.

“Haaa... mother...” she whispered.

So this is what it was like to hug one's mother, huh? Is this what Ethan felt every time he hugged Isabelle? It was... nice. Really, really nice.

Seehhnn!!!

Cassava opened her eyes, her vision shifting over too the front door of her home. Ethan was standing there, his bespectacled eyes wide as the scene unfolded before him. His overcoat was folded over his left arm as usual, while his right hand held his metallic suitcase. He looked slightly disheveled after his day of work, which only enhanced his shocked and confused face as he stared at the two.

At first, a few babbles escaped him, while a warm blush appeared upon Cassava's face. Isabelle herself also turned to face Ethan, appearing more calm as she broke the hug she had with her daughter-in-law.

“You're... hugging...” Ethan muttered, “Hugging... like...” he raised his finger, pointing at them, “Like... really hugging...” eventually his expression morphed into a more tired one, his suitcase falling too the ground, “My wife and mother are hugging one another. Well... I guess there's far worse things I could've come home too.”

“Oh shut up!” Cassava replied as she approached her husband, her fist raised to jab him in the shoulder, “What did you think I was going to do; kill your mother?”

“Weeeeelll...”

“Ethan!”

“Fufufufu! It's so cute!” Isabelle said as she walked up too the two, her dark blue eyes closed with glee, “I promise you, Ethan, Cassava was a pure joy all day long. We ate, talked... bonded.”

“Ehh, bonded?” the scientist said, making his mother nod.

“You say that as if it's impossible, Ethan!” Cassava growled, making her husband chuckle.

“I'm sorry, dear, I'm sorry,” he said as she began to pull on his collar, “Haa haa... haa... honestly, I'm happy if you two have indeed... um... bonded...” he shrugged his shoulders at such a statement, “Such a strange way of describing things, but...” he shrugged his shoulders, “Considering what I came home too, I'm happy you guys are so close now. Can I ask what brought this about?”

“Why don't you go and change, dear?” Isabelle said as she stroked her son's cheek, “You look tired. Work must have been tiresome...”

“Well... no more tiresome than usual,” Ethan replied, his mother chuckling.

“Fufufu... just relax, dear. Cassava and I will make dinner.”

“You... will?” Ethan muttered before staring too the distance, “I am in the right home, aren't I?”

“Ethan...” Cassava growled, her annoyance at his sarcastic tone rather blatant, “Don't worry, I won't make your food too spicy. Your mouth probably couldn't handle it anyway...”

“Well...” he shrugged his shoulders, “You're right about one thing...”

Ethan smiled, his blue eyes gazing up to his wife as he pursed his lips. Moving in, he kissed her cheek, a sight that made Isabelle giggle in a mirthful manner. Her hand danced gently along her husband's chin, leaving only as he walked off.  She followed him with his gaze only until Isabelle gripped her shoulder.

“Come on, come on,” she said, “Let me teach you how to make mac and cheese.”

…

“So... your father was a police officer, huh?”

“Hmm... how much did my mother tell you, Cassava?”

She pulled the blankets of their bed up her nude body, using it to cover herself as she gazed at him with a face of concern. Her husband was stepping out of their bathroom, his gray robe on his body and his glasses slightly foggy. As he walked towards their bed he looked at her with a dismissive gaze, but Cassava knew her husband. It was just a mask, one he put on whenever he didn't want to discuss something. But she didn't feel like this was something they could just brush beneath the rug.

“Why'd you never tell me that, Ethan,” she asked, still looking at him in a concerned manner as he got into their bed.

“It never came up in conversation,” he answered quickly and flatly as he walked over to the curtains of their bedroom, his blue eyes looking out over the neon lit sky of Avalon. The rain was gone now, so everything had this nice and wonderful glow too it.

“Never came up in conversation, huh?” Cassava muttered as Ethan turned to face her, now walking towards their bed, “That's strange because... you never hesitated to talk about your mother around me, but your father?” she shook her head, “All you said is that he died when you were young. You never even told me his name.”

“Do you know his name?” he asked as he removed his robe, revealing his night shirt and night pants.

“Yes... it's Devin...” she answered as Ethan got into their bed, “Are you surprised I know?”

“No...” he replied as he shook his head, “You've spent all day with my mother. I'd be foolish to think she didn't tell you anything about our life.”

“She... she seemed to have such great things to say about your father,” Cassava stated, “About how he was such a wonderful and amazing person. How kind he was and how caring he was. How he could never pass up a person who needed help. He was... was... damn... what's the word? He was...”

“Selfless?” Ethan said as he looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah... that's the word...”

She could tell Ethan wasn't too pleased with the conversation. Her husband raised his hands, removing his glasses from his face. His expression did not shift; it was the same dismissive visage he had on just moments ago. But it did begin to quiver. Vulnerability started to show through Ethan's cracks, though he himself attempted to hide them.

Cassava frowned alongside him, not enjoying the sight of her husband in pain, even if it wasn't a physical pain. She reached her hand over to stroke his face, coaxing him to look at her. His stoic visage returned, though it wasn't as strong as before. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, while Cassava's thumb intimately stroked along his lips.

“Ethan...” she whispered, her hand moving down to his chin, “How... do you feel?”

“How do I feel? How do I feel...” he repeated as he shook his head, “Cassava. I've always hated my father.”

“Wh... what?” she said, eyes wide. To put it lightly, she certainly didn't expect those words to leave his lips.

“You heard me,” he said, pressing the issue, “I hated him. And honestly, how couldn't I?” he closed his eyes and shook his head, “Cassava. Everyone's always told me how much of a great person my father was, how much of a hero he was,” he began to growl slightly, “But I couldn't see it that way. I didn't see a man who was heroic, and honestly how could I? I never even met the man. All I have of my father are pictures and... faded memories of a blond man.”

“Ethan...” she shook her head, “How could you hate your father?”

“Gah... that's the same thing my mother said and I'll tell you the same,” he said as he looked at Cassava, “How could I like a man who left his family in the shit-hole that was Gear City? How could I possibly care and have love for a man who left his wife and son to survive out there by themselves?”

“Ethan he died,” Cassava said as she tugged at his arm, her face still being one of concern, “It's not his fault.”

“Yeah, tell that too the little boy who had to watch his mother leave in the middle of the night with such shady and... disgusting men,” he shook his head, “Or the times that boy's mother came home with bruises, but she kept smiling. How she sent that boy too a school as best she could. And why? Because his father wanted to be... had to be a hero?” he scoffed at his own words, “What's it mean to be a hero when you leave the people whom you love to suffer?”

He stopped speaking, his hand balling into a fist. Ethan hated this; he hated letting his feelings loose. Perhaps it was wrong to bottle them up like he had done for most of his life, but that didn't care. It was his way of coping with this for decades now, and nothing would suddenly change that. Nothing could possibly change that. Nothing but...

Ethan stared into his wife's eyes, his expression morphing from his restrained anger too a more... saddened face. He let out a sigh, feeling regretful. Not over his father, but more because he felt like he had – somehow – hurt his wife. She looked so concern, a sight he wasn't used to seeing on the face of the normally boisterous Kremian woman. Frowning he closed his eyes and looked down, a exhaling deeply as he did so.

“I'm sorry...” he whispered.

“It's not 'I'm sorry'. It's 'I apologize',” Cassava stated, making her husband look over to her.

“My... mom told you that?”

“Yeah, she did,” Cassava stated, making her husband chuckle.

“She used to tell me the same thing all the time...” he whispered, “She absolutely hated it whenever I said 'I'm sorry'... haa...” gently his eyes began to close, “Said it made me sound pathetic, and that I wasn't pathetic. That I was... strong...”

“I think you're strong...” Cassava said as she snuggled up closer to her husband, her arm wrapping around his shoulders, “Sure, you're not strong in the traditional, but you're incredibly smart and...” she looked up into his eyes, “You're so... resilient. You don't let things bother you; you always retain that level of cool that I love and...” she chuckled, “That infuriates me but... your mom's right. You're not pathetic,” she smiled, “I wouldn't have married you if you were pathetic.”

Ethan smiled back.

“I know dear... I know...”

…

Ba-dump... ba-dump... ba-dump... ba-dump...

That noise was like a nightmare too the doctor. For years he had studied this phenomenon, the one they called the Quartz Singularity. And for all of those years, it was nothing more than a mysterious white energy. So why now, why of all times, did it start to do something so... irregular?

When it first began to pulsate, it was low and almost went by unnoticed. But now it was far stronger, with its affects also being stronger. With each passing day, the energy they called Quartz grew in power. His studies and scientific research yielding results that he himself could not even fathom. Should he be excited? Should he be fearful? He did not know. He just wanted to know why?

“Long day, Dr. Pear?” a snarky voice echoed from over his shoulder.

“Yeah... yeah... it's been a long, long day...”

His mind shattered from his thoughts, the amber-eyed doctor turned to face who spoke to him. It was the blonde, snarky and rather cocky Kremian scientist who was his colleague and superior, Dr. Saturn. She stood before him in her typical lab coat, casually sucking on – of all things – a popsicle right now. Was it not already cold enough in the deeper areas of the Institute; did she really need a popsicle on top of that?

The room they were in was pure and white, being Jonathan's personal office where he often conducted his research on the Quartz Singularity. Compared too his office upstairs where most of his subordinates would see him at, this room was messy and dingy. Paper was haphazardly tossed about without rhyme or reason, all of them adorned with notes and blueprints detailing different things.

More alarming were the signs of destruction which laid in the room. From dents in the walls to scorch marks and everything in between. There was even a plate of reinforced titanium – the type that the Panzer Units were made of – that had been viciously crushed. Nothing in the Garand Institute was strong enough to destroy reinforced titanium like this, nothing but...

“How goes your studies...” asked Dr. Saturn, breaking Jonathan from his thoughts once again as he turned to face her.

“Same old, same old,” he muttered as he picked up a few papers from off his desk, “Ever since the Quartz started to... ahem... throb, as you so eloquently put it, it's powers have increased exponentially. I'm running out of things to practice on, honestly...”

Looking across his table, his eyes fell upon a cylindrical contraption. It was black and bulky, with bright blue lines running along it. Leering at the machine, he could feel a certain energy resonate from it. Pen raised, he tapped it, where he could fee lit push back.

“This is getting deranged,” Jonathan's muttered as he faced Dr. Saturn, “Is it really ethical to create weapons based around the Quartz Singularity when we still aren't really sure what the hell it is?”

“We're not making weapons based around it, at least not yet,” the blonde Kremian replied as she slurped on her cherry-flavored popsicle, “We're just trying to find what use it can best be applicable too. Perhaps it can be a new energy that will replace fossil fuels... or maybe it's only worth is to destroy things. We'll never know without extensive studying...” she shrugged her shoulders, “Besides, what can I do to change things? So long as they sign our paychecks, we do what we gotta do.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Jonathan replied in a rather disappointed manner, “Still...” he faced the container across from him on the desk, “It's so... strange... the Quartz is throbbing, there's that albino Kremian out there somewhere, and someone's trying to kill us inside of the Institute. Speaking of which...” he raised an eyebrow, “Do you have an idea of who it could be?”

“I have a few ideas,” Dr. Saturn replied before shaking her head, “But no concrete answers, not yet. And I don't want to say anything out loud, less my assumptions be correct and I alert our mysterious attacker...” her eyes slid into a squint, “Just know that the number of people who were aware of my Hellcat model was very, very small. There's you... Dr. Galivan and--”

Zzzt!

The two of them turned, eyes falling on the canister which laid on Jonathan's desk. Eyebrow raised, he raised his pen to tap the canister. Nothing happened, not at first anyway. But a few seconds later...

Zzzt!

Cocking his head in confusion, Jonathan witnessed the canister surge with a wisp-like mist.

“Is that thing closed?” Dr. Saturn asked.

“It should be,” he answered as he reached out for it with his palm.

Zzzt!

“Ah!?”

Jonathan didn't touch it, though he came close. Regardless, the canister did... something. It jolted his hand like a static shock, forcing him back with minor pain. Looking at his palm, he saw no injury or marking of the shock, though the stingy pain remained.

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” Dr. Saturn asked, actual concern in her voice.

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” he replied as he shook his hand, “It just took me off guard is all.”

“Don't mess with the Quartz like that, you idiot,” the blonde Kremian scolded, “You know how dangerous it is; you've seen what it's done too some of our fellow scientists!”

“I know, I know, I...” he shook his head, “I just... did something stupid is all... that's it...”

“Be sure it doesn't cost you your life,” she replied as she bit the end of her popsicle clean off, “Now get upstairs to the infirmary. Check that hand of yours out; I'll dispose of the Quartz Canister...”

Jonathan nodded, his thumb running along his palm in a cursory manner as he soothed the lingering pain he felt. Honestly, he felt foolish for what he did, like a child playing near burning stove. While he didn't feel any lingering pain, he knew it was best to get his vitals checked out less something happen. Considering the things he'd seen the Quartz do to the living flesh of animals... yeah, a quick visit to a medical doctor would do him some good.

As he quickly left the area, Dr. Saturn leered at the canister. They were specially designed canisters created by yours truly in order to properly contain the Quartz. Over the many years they studied the Quartz, Dr. Saturn could count on one hand the number of times it slipped through its confines. She wondered if the pulsation of the Quartz Singularity allowed it to escape the canister, but she wasn't sure.

Reaching into her lab coat, Dr. Saturn pulled out one of her pens. Reaching out with it, she tapped the canister with her pen. In doing so, she knocked it over the desk's edge where it fell and bounced against the floor.

Clang... clang... clang...

It was empty.

…

“So you know what she says to me? She says 'I'm sorry Shen, you're an amazin' guy but... your accent is just too much for me...' Like... what the hell is that supposed to mean? My accent is 'too much for her'? What? My accent? What?”

The cool brown eyes of his partner could only roll about, annoyed by what the blond said. He clearly did not care about the love life his friend had, finding it to be nothing more than an annoying distraction while there were far more important things to deal with. But by now, he had grown more than used too this. Riding in their hovercar, while the blonde talks and talks and talks and talks.

And talks...

It was a glowing morning in Avalon, doubly so after yesterday's rain. The city streets were beaming, puddles having formed about upon the roads. Said roads were also calm this morning, with very few other hovercars on them. The sidewalks were more populated, but even then there were rarer people on the streets. Hey, it was a workday, and mostly everyone was either at school or, ya'know, working.

“That blows my mind, Alen,” said the blond police officer as he drove their car, “I'm not like Officer Conello who's datin' a different girl every week; this is the first date I've been on in months. And she says that too me by the end of it?” he looked over to his black-haired partner, still confused, “Like... what happened?”

“Ha... I don't even know why you're so bothered by this, Shen,” said the black-haired officer, his brown eyes leering at his partner, “She obviously sounds stuck up if she's complaining about your accent. If she's like that, then it's best you two don't date each other.”

“You really think so?” Shen asked as he looked at his partner, his blue eyes glowing, “I'm not being annoyin' with my accent, am I?”

“The only person you're annoying is me, Shen,” Alen grumbled as he looked through the front windshield of their hovercar, “But it's not your accent that does it.”

“Awww... thanks Alen!” Shen said as he gave his partner a beaming smile, “I'm happy you feel that way! I'm afraid that my accent's stoppin' me from gettin' a girlfriend, but maybe you're right! I just have to date the right kind of girl!”

“Yeah... not stop talking about it, jeeze,” Alen said as he looked over towards one of the computer screens in their hoverar, “Focus on our mission at hand.”

“Right, right... what is it again?”

“Haaaa... we're supposed to find a Kremian girl who was locked up to a gate, remember?” Alen said as he looked at him, “We've been getting calls about it all morning.”

“Oh! Yeah! Ha ha! Right!” he nodded, before looking at Alen with an eyebrow raised, “Where is that again?”

“By God...” he grumbled as he returned his gaze to the computer screen, “She's supposed to be on Eckers Street, where the construction building is.”

“Oh! Right! Right! Let's hurry it up!”

They continued along the roads, hovering by at calmer speeds as they now had a destination in mind. Shen's attitude shifted, becoming more professional and serious as he focused more on finding Eckers Street and this Kremian woman. Following their map, it did not take long to find the street in question, as well as the construction site. A small crowd had formed around the gates of the site, probably where their target was.

“Do you think it's the same Kremian woman we ran into a few weeks ago?” Shen asked as he parked their hovercar on the side of the street, “She saved all those scientists at that lab didn't she? She's a virtual hero! Heh heh! Who'd a thunk we'd be meeting a hero when we nearly arrested her that day?”

“Remember, she was arrested a few days later,” Alen said as he began to undo his buckle.

“Yeah, but we released her later that day as well...” Shen said as he wagged his finger, “You can't judge a book by its cover, no matter how angry it gets.

“Whatever... just focus on the task at hand,” Alen said, “Let's go.”

The blond police officer nodded as he grabbed his glasses, sliding it on his face to constrict his eyes. Together he and his partner got out of their squad car, the crowd of people looking over to the two officers. They didn't need to say a word, merely raising their hand to disperse the small crowd as they walked towards the construction site's gates.

And behold, a Kremian woman. A really small one, though no less muscular. She was like an acrobat with her toned body, and looked like she could easily leap clear in the air. Had it not been for the fact that she was chained to a gate, of course.

“Naaaaggghhh! Nagaggghhh!”

Her teeth were lashing at the handcuffs, attempting to bite them apart if need be. Of course it wasn't working; she was still bound to the gate and couldn't move. She pulled on it, bit it, yelled at it, but nothing was working.

“Damn fuzzy handcuffs...” Beretta groaned as she gave up, groaning. Hey, hours of pulling will do that to a person.

“Excuse me, ma'am...”

She turned around, eyes falling on Shen and Alen. Their shaded eyes leered at her with an unflinching gaze. Raising an eyebrow at the two men in uniforms, she felt more annoyed than scared.

“Hey! Who the hell are you guys?” she said as she looked at them, “Can't you see I'm trying to get out of these cuffs here!?”

Stopping for a moment, Shen and Alen looked at one another. They said nothing, instead silently trading glares between each other that only they understood. Eventually, the blond chuckled and smiled, his shaded eyes returning to the captured Kremian as she looked at them in a nonplussed manner.

“Hmm... crazy night, eh?” Shen remarked, noting the pink and fuzzy handcuffs.

“What do you think?” Beretta replied, annoyed by his cheesy remark.

xXx

Haa... there... okay!

Hey guys! I say, even though I think no one's reading my story. But, whatever, I guess I'll keep going on as if a lot of different people are reading this. It should be good for my sanity, if nothing else.

Heh heh.

So what can I say about this episode? Well... nothing much. It is the shortest episode I've written so far, so that's something, right? We also get the fight between Cassava whilst hinting at a future battle against Vintorez. I love hinting towards things in the future, uhuh!

Speaking of which... well... I think I'll leave that for later.

But other than that, not much happened in this episode. I do love Cassava and Ethan's talk about his father though. It's clear Ethan has some resentment towards his father's death, which is a bit sad. But, well, that's just how things are. I love the slower moments between Ethan and Cassava; they're all so very sweet in my opinion!

Anyway, next time Vintorez begins his quest to challenge Cassava, while Ethan has an interesting altercation of his own. See you there, guys.

Maverick out!

[jaxxonpollux]

seattle ramble

not as nauseatingly hipster as i expected it to be, not as portlandy. still has a ton of young people in beanies with old timey mustaches, composting and diy culture. i guess i just have a bad taste in my mouth with those types of people from my run-ins with hip sects in columbus. but the waterfront is beautiful, and the mountains on either side. the big cranes down next to the highway, the drawbridge, the "hollywood hills" feel, wealthy folks' houses tucked up there on display. the waterfront especially is awakening some real love of the sea in me, something my dad left in me from his yacht club sailing days. makes me want to move someplace by the water, or be a fisherman, something like that. a class of preschoolers was having lunch down at the sculpture park, and they even had little signs put up on the walkway to say they were in session. it was quaint, slice of life

downtown was nice and busy, not very many businessmen like i would expect, a ton of places to eat. i guess it's not much different from downtown columbus, but it feels much wider and spacious. the roads all have bike lanes and trolley lanes, and the hills make everything seem so dynamic. a lot of construction, like you'd expect. city's always growing and changing

went past an argentine steakhouse with tango classes. went past a cat cafe with little pawprints on the sidewalk leading to it, from a few blocks away. a lot of graffiti and vandalism in some spots, but none of it feels gang-related or anything. and most of it is really nice and polite? stickers that say "love yourself" and "sissies rule!" soft anti-police warnings in a place that doesn't seem like it needs heavy policing to begin with. i can only imagine it comes from high school and college kids posturing, practicing their tags, flexing their conceptual art muscles. ran across a few sprayed graphic art portraits too, some of which were repeated here and there, someone's character. whiffs of pot every now and then when you walk down the street. lax rules about people riding their bikes on the sidewalk, like really lax.

and then there's oddfellows, which i wandered to again on the second day. it seems like it's a pretty well-established place; they have their own building with a few different businesses and it's a multi-purpose type of place. bookstore, coffee shop, and apparent student study hall on one side, bar and restaurant on the other. cup of coffee for 3.50 which is where you wanna be for students (i only say that because this place is packed with students right this moment, and maybe like one old guy reading the paper).

i still don't know shit about coffee. seattle is horny for coffee. i ordered an americano because that's what annie ordered yesterday. it's more bitter than a standard coffee, i think. i think? but i would need to probably line up an americano, a cortado, a macchiato, and a cappuccino for a taste test before i could tell the difference between any of them. it's like wine, every type tastes different, and every brand tastes different, and they often overlap. one man's malbec might taste just like another's pinot noir. same with coffee. there's probably someplace in this city that has the perfect coffee for my tongue, "the best coffee in seattle!" if i even liked coffee. but there are so many places that serve their own brand of coffee, trying to find that place would be like trying to find a droplet of pepsi in a bottle of coke.

yesterday annie insisted i try a wine from the bar, a rose. not as dark as others i've had, not as mild. it was nice enough. my first actual drink at a bar too, a glass as expensive as a cheap bottle from the grocery store. actual selected and curated alcohol (side note, curator always makes me think of charlotte from sex and the city for some reason, even though she was an art dealer not a curator. whatever!)

also had a sip of some alcohol the bartender was chattering about, in a conversation i couldn't really keep up with at the time. a lot of jet lag and a little disoriented trying to take it all in, meeting my friend for the first time and whatnot. the alcohol, the name of which i've already forgotten, was apparently really popular in (chicago?) and some lady started making it in her basement after the original dude died because it was so beloved. anyway it tasted alright at first, and then coated your mouth and throat with this weird bitterness that developed into all sorts of terrible flavors over the next few minutes. it was a fun drink at the very least! but not a go-to, i don't really know what the hell people in (chicago?) think is a good time.

they (bartender, annie and etc) also had a very animated conversation about a restaurant with wood paneling that baffled me just a little bit. that must be some seattle-ism, i can't remember the last time i got excited over interior design, if it ever happened at all. the bartender seemed like the kind of guy at which i could get really infuriated and jealous. he seemed a little bit like the "have you even heard of that?" type. showoffy, i guess, but my impression of him was so brief that it would be really unfair to skewer his character like that. still a stranger to me. i'm sure he's the nicest guy in the universe, or whatever.

and annie! is a sweet girl, and more attractive than she is in pictures. a little shorter than me, seems like she's growing up into a very stable adulthood, like, mentally and physically i mean. actually i don't know what i mean by that. like she has the manual for her 30s, she has drive and standards and takes care of herself as well as she can. not married yet, maybe not even of interest to her, maybe still not completely in love. or maybe in love but the rest of daily life doesn't make any sense for marriage yet. she said she had a crush on that bartender, which i thought was kind of funny. but it makes sense, like her brain is still shopping around for excitement and success and something fresh and new all the time. and other adult stuff too, health insurance, sensible habits, trying out nicotine patches again. some concept of where she wants to be in ten years, a commitment to baker's life, a love of creating and inventing recipes. not as harebrained and scattered as she thinks she is, i've known people way worse. studious attention to her plants, like trying to put together the puzzle pieces of having a successful and thriving houseplant (side note, houseplants seem really symbolic sometimes??). it's cool when someone has little projects and it doesn't make you feel envious, just glad for them.

her boyfriend is nice, seems a little trodden down, like a lot of depression under the surface. not like me, wearing my depression right on my dumb face. he seems kind of your average sort of intellectual composting seattle young guy, nothing outright offensive about his character. also seems like he has a few big ideas tucked away, again, diy things, projects he wants to work on if the universe ever found a way to give him the time and money to do it. seems like the kind of guy who likes hiking but gets bored of it after a while. stuck in the same kind of situation as annie (and myself, to some degree), works as a line cook, or probably any kind of cook he wishes to be depending on where he wants to work. never making enough money. seattle is so highly saturated with restaurants, becoming a chef seems like something you could slip into easily if you're drawn towards food at all.

by the way, when did money get so stupidly important? sometimes all i can ever talk about is money, and i just hate the stuff. the only times i care about money are when i see my friends talking about needing investors to get their dreams started. or when i see those preschoolers at the park and start thinking about my own future kids and the opportunities i could give to them. or when i see the waterfront here and get a huge wanderlust boner, half wishing i could hit a reset button and grow up all over again in another part of the country, try to do it better than i did already. it really makes me seriously consider going all-in on a pure money-making job. i told annie i spend all of my money on my friends, and hearing stories and having so many talented broke people in my life really makes me wish i could help. i wanna finance things and put my eggs in every else's basket (which could easily lead to me like, losing everything, but it's just the kind of person i am).

--

it's really weird every time i see couples squabble. it always feels like a precursor to something kind of bad, because the fights are always something that... like, they're something that you have to have been working at for a while. like your personalities have to be grinding up against each other for long enough for little things to really start driving you crazy. like when one person has the day off and doesn't do the dishes, which is something my boss literally complained to me about her husband the other day. small deal things that get amplified by feelings that have nothing to do with whatever it is and become Very Sizable Deals. i can't tell if annie has a bad temper or if there's just like a vague upsettedness bleeding into places where it doesn't really belong. we talked a lot about our careers and life goals at lunch and there's a lot of frustration there on both ends. probably a lot of people our age feel that way, feet stuck in the mud.

i hope it's some comfort to annie that i still really look up to her in a lot of ways, and in my eyes, she really has accomplished a great deal. i do still look to her as a mentor, even though that part of our relationship is still in development. really bummed i couldn't get to work with her the other day, i wanted to see what she was like in her element. i wanted to see what would make her raise her eyebrows about what i do in the kitchen and show me Her Way of doing it. she's just threatening enough to be a good teacher, i think. and she's had enough bad mentors to know what to avoid when she's consciously in that zone. i'm bummed!

i sometimes wonder what it would be like if we ever got together, during that minute we had the hots for each other. either she would have shaped up to be a very different person or i would have. i think she made right decisions, and she dated guys that could show her things i couldn't have, experiences and hobbies and new passions and friend networks and generally stuff that intimidates me entirely. like going to bars and shows, or being handy with a screwdriver. maybe it's just my low self esteem talking again, but i'm glad i didn't have the chance to drag her down.

i still want to be a better person, i just live a very slow life. half the things i discover make me feel like a newborn baby, i've spent so long isolated in my own head. i can't even really appreciate seattle in the Big Picture sense because i get caught up on really stupid small

details with such bright eyes. like when i was trying to cross the street and the crosswalk sign kept audibly telling me "wait!...wait!...wait!" and then when it was time to walk, it started playing what seemed to me like the beginning of a techno song. people back at home are going to be so disappointed when i tell them the story of the techno crosswalk sign, but those are honestly the things i paid attention to. i guess i get a really limited sense of seattle by noticing those sorts of things, i'm not gonna be able to tell people what seattle is like with any accuracy. i hope people don't ask about the trip too much. i'm failing miserably at taking enough pictures to accurately portray the place so that i don't have to explain it...

i act so idiotically flippant with money when i travel. i literally throw it in the garbage. i'm not like, a wealthy dude or anything, i just stop paying attention to prices when i'm "vacationing," and i let future me worry about it. i wonder if that leaves a sour impression in people's mouths, that i spend money like it's poisonous to me and constantly say stuff like "don't worry about it" when people tell me something's expensive. who am i, the great gatsby?? mediocre gatsby maybe. the truth is i'm just so violently eager to treat people to something nice when i have the opportunity, and i never want to spend on myself. i desire so little, and i only really value companionship and love and dumb poetic things like mountain views and puns in barbershop windows ("y'all comb back now, ya hair?!"). i hope i don't come off as a huge cunt, anyway.

i should probably walk back to the hotel now. need to remember to take pictures of oddfellows in case people ask about it. it's been giving me an inordinate amount of anxiety for some reason.

--

stopped at the bookstore at oddfellows walking out, why the heck wasn't i shown this before? took a peek at the cookbooks, they all seemed really good quality, unlike the ones you find at half price books, and in the poetry and fiction section, i started to notice all these little tabs on the shelves; they were notes written by (other customers? seemingly) who wanted to promote the books they had read. it made my fucking english major heart melt. look! there is still a place where people are excited about reading! maybe i'm just really sheltered and these places are all over, but it was the first time i came across it. i guess i've seen employee recommendations at barnes and noble back in the day, but this was a different level of adorable. anyway i got really horny for reading and spent 90 bucks on books.

and a tote bag. i don't know what it is about seattle, but i've been feeling like a huge asshole when i don't have a tote bag with me. i went to the grocery store for snacks and was really miserable when they asked "if i needed a bag." there's only one grocery store in columbus that i've been to that really expects you to bring your own bag, and i always dismissed it for just being in a self-righteous neighborhood. but i get the impression that most of seattle is pretty eco-friendly, or uh eco-award, so i feel like a real sore thumb when i go around like your average terrible human.

maybe i just don't walk often enough, but i've found myself very much in disagreement with about half of the crosswalk signals i've come across today. it's comforting seeing that just about everyone else out on the streets shares this view; i witnessed a great deal of jaywalking today and committed it quite a few times myself. walking around all day really kind of inspires me to do the same in my own city. i'm always complaining that i've lived in columbus all my life yet i've experienced so little of it. maybe that's what it takes, a long walk in a neighborhood that isn't my own. poke my head into a restaurant or antique parlor every now and then. the areas i've lived in are not very friendly to walkers. i used to get threatened walking home from high school, back when skinny jeans were popular. some people are just really, really not a fan of skinny jeans, for reasons i don't really wish to decipher

[theupsidedownunderblog-blog]

FORGET CROCODILE DUNDEE - NOW WE'VE GOT KANGAROO DUNDEE!

No doubt you've heard of Mick "Crocodile" Dundee but what about Australia's real-life "Kangaroo Dundee" - Chris 'Brolga' Barns? It's early morning and a human call travels across the red, scrubby earth of central Australia. Little heads begin to pop up all over the landscape. Soon, a mob of red kangaroos is bounding towards a tall man in an Akubra, holding a feed bucket. Breakfast is up at The Kangaroo Sanctuary, just outside Alice Springs.

Chowin' down at the Kangaroo Sanctuary Chris 'Brolga' Barns established the kangaroo sanctuary near Alice Springs, in the middle of the Australian Outback, in 2009. An animal lover since he was a child, the 41-year-old worked at various zoos and sanctuarys before devoting himself to saving joeys (baby kangaroos), whose mothers are frequently killed on Australia's roads He is now widely known in Australia as the joey rescue man, and often gets calls from people who have found animals in trouble hundred of miles away from where he lives. The distance never deters him, however, and if he can't pass the joey on to a carer closer by he will drive to collect it.

A trio of joeys at the Kangaroo Sanctuary There are currently about 30 kangaroos at the sanctuary, run by Chris 'Brolga' Barns. Most were brought in as orphaned joeys. A few were once kept as pets. Some joeys have been brought in by Aboriginal people after being orphaned by hunting. Mr Barns told One Plus One's Jane Hutcheon... "When they heard about this tall skinny bloke (who) set up this place in town where people can drop a baby kangaroo, they would travel out of their way - In the car with 10 people and three dogs is a baby kangaroo that they're bringing in to give me" The Kangaroo Hospital The Kangaroo Hospital has been a dream of Brolga’s for over a decade. Brolga has always seen a need for a hospital in the centre of Australia, as the nearest wildlife hospital is over 1,500km away. The Kangaroo Hospital provides specialised care for kangaroos.  It is also a place where many baby orphan kangaroos will be cared for and raised by volunteer wildlife carers until they are ready for release back to the wild.

The Kangaroo Hospital has been a dream of Brolga’s for over a decade. Brolga has always seen a need for a hospital in the centre of Australia, as the nearest wildlife hospital is over 1,500km away. How you can support the Kangaroo Sanctuary The Upside Down Under rarely promotes causes however if you feel like supporting this most worthy cause then please feel free to do so.  Your donations are directed to the rescue and care of  orphaned baby and adult kangaroos at the Kangaroo Hospital. Donations are debited in $AUS.  Click here to  be redirected to the kangaroo hospital donations site..

The Kangaroo Hospital How it all began... Brolga grew up in Perth in the 1970s. By his teens he was already 6 feet tall (1.82 metres) which may have contributed to a little shyness. He says he did not shine at school, but was always drawn to TV shows featuring the outback. "I remember rushing home from school ... to watch Skippy," he said.

Skippy the Bush Kangaroo had an impact on Brolga's life. "Just the thought of a kid (Sonny Hammond who befriended Skippy the kangaroo) out in the open space ... he's got all that freedom and an animal that I didn't get to see ... a kangaroo - that was just a dream for a kid. "We always see the outback on TV and the farmer talking about how he's had endless years of drought and the windmill creaking - but it's a lot more to it than that. As a kid I did see this adventure, that's something I really wanted." Barnes, who also worked part-time as a bus cleaner, set up his sanctuary in 2009 after finding a newborn joey in its dead mother’s pouch by the side of a road. “There was a family of kangaroos that was about to be shot because they weren’t well enough to be set free,” he explains. “I couldn’t let that happen. I decided to build my own sanctuary for animals to rest and recover.” So, over two years, working seven days a week, he did it. He dug a 2.5-mile long trench and fixed 4,000m of fencing over 90 acres. Barnes now raises 200 joeys every year. To be near his beloved marsupials, he lives in a tin shack with no heating or running water, surrounded by snakes, dingoes and camels. The call of open space and his love of animals saw Mr Barns leave home at the age of 17 to make the move to Broome in the Kimberley region of Western Australia, to become a zoo keeper. He worked at several wildlife parks before trying his hand as a tour guide. Driving long distances between Alice Springs and Uluru, he remembered what other zoo keepers had told him about leaving dead wildlife on the highway. So he decided to stop and check the 'roadkill' to look for little survivors. "I'd stop to check the kangaroo for a joey. But (it's also) really important to drag it off the road."

Joeys don't stand much of a chance after their mum is killed. He said other animals, such as eagles, are often killed or injured near roadkill sites as they search for food. "When I was a young zoo keeper I used to check wallabies in Broome and one day found a joey, and then years later being a tour guide - met with a very big, remote outback between here and Uluru - and no-one was doing it. "So I starting doing it ... then I wanted other people to do." Mr Barns then realised that it was not enough for him alone to save the lives of helpless kangaroos - he needed to spread the message. "That's why I decided education would be my life - teaching people how to become kangaroo rescuers themselves," he said. Forget Skippy - meet Raging Roger! Barnes found Roger in his dead mother’s pouch and raised him in his Kangaroo Sanctuary. Not being able to let Roger into the wild helped Mr Barns come up with the idea behind the Kangaroo Sanctuary. Mr Barns explained that finding a living joey in a carcass that had been left on the side of the road 'transformed his whole life.' 'I look at it like the lotto, going around checking the dead kangaroo's week in, week out. You might not have any luck…but then one day you find this little one . Sometimes they're still alive in the pouch of the mum who has been dead 2 or 3 days,' explained Mr Barns. 'What comes to you is how vulnerable the baby is. I thought, 'I'm going to have to keep this.' I knew education would be my life and I could teach people how to become kangaroo rescuers themselves,' he continued.

Barnes found Roger in his dead mother’s pouch and raised him in his Kangaroo Sanctuary. “Roger has recently been recognised as one of the ten most famous animals in the world. Photos and videos of Roger go viral all the time because he’s world-renowned as being really muscular, with a great physique.” Says Barnes.

Roger's muscular physique is capable of crushing a steel bucket. The ripped 'roo measures more than 6 1/2 feet from head to tail and weighs almost 200 pounds. Chris "Brolga" Barnes states that Roger's got a knack for crushing metal buckets and seems to enjoy sparring with other males. Roger shot to international fame after a photo of his large arms appeared on social media.

Roger's 'ripped' appearance caused a social media meltdown! So why are his muscles so big? According to Dr Natalie Warburton from the Murdoch University of Veterinary and Life Sciences the size of a kangaroo’s arms is a key factor in their ability to attract a female. "Forelimb measurements showed that whereas female musculature growth was proportional to body size, male musculature was overwhelmingly exaggerated," she says. "It has to do with youthful sparring. Much like humans, youthful kangaroos play fight and wrestle. Building their muscles as they get older and the activity becomes more aggressive "Male kangaroos establish and maintain their dominance hierarchy through sparring contests that involve grasping their opponent and using their back legs to box them. "The stronger they get, the more wrestling matches they win which make them stand out in a crowd of potential partners.

Kangaroos like to fight and wrestle. Dominant males spend a lot of time posturing to ward off physical challenges. Dr Trish Fleming explains: You'll usually have a couple of really large individuals, and they'll be very bulked up, If you look at them from front-on, they look like they're body builders and they'll spend quite a bit of time posturing and displaying to females, but also to other males. Obviously, that's part of their competitive success. Unfortunately the bulkier the kangaroo, the shorter the lifespan. The team from Murdoch University believe this has to do with the higher body mass that the kangaroo has to maintain. So if a drought or a bout of famine strikes, it will hit the males harder than the females. Sadly, Roger is nearing the end of his lifespan.  Brolga said of the tired looking red kangaroo.. ..although he is still big and strong, he is an old man and old man don't fight,' 'So  his last few years, or year, to be happy out here in the bush and I'll be keeping a really close eye on him, but is my best mate, he is my son and I love him so much.' Brolga has a run-in with Roger – once a helpless orphan, now the mob boss, and even Brolga has to watch his step. Sources: The Kangaroo Sanctuary Website http://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-09-11/kangaroo-rescuer-chris-brolga-barns/6759582 http://www.telegraph.co.uk/telegraphtv/10549234/Chris-Barns-being-a-mum-to-orphaned-baby-kangaroos.html http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3227235/Man-nicknamed-Kangaroo-Dundee-reveals-despite-finding-wife-priority-life-rescuing-orphaned-joeys.html http://www.huffingtonpost.com.au/entry/kangaroo-crushes-buckets-roger-photos_n_7512016 http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-life/9852888/Tie-me-kangaroo-man-down-girls-why-women-are-lusting-over-animal-lover-Chris-Barnes.html http://www.nationalgeographic.com.au/australia/rodger-the-kangaroo.aspx   Read the full article