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argumentl · 3 years

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The Freedom of Expression - Ep 36 The banning of snacks and sweet drinks displays from next to cash registers.

K: Hi, this is Dir en grey's Kaoru with this week's episode of The Freedom of Expression. Joe san, Tasai san, welcome. Ok, today lets get straight on with it. Joe could you please...

J: Yes, lets have a look at this news. Snack and sweet drinks displays next to cash registers banned in Berkeley, California, USA. In the university city of Berkeley, northern California, a law has been passed this week banning the sale of junk food next to cash registers in supermarkets. According to local media, this is the first of its kind in America. The law, unanimously voted for by Berkeley City council, targets cheap, unhealthy products next to cash registers which 'encourage impulse buying, and burden parents of children who want them', with the aim of promoting healthy lifestyles. Products with over 5g of added sugar or 250mg of added sodium, and drinks containg a lot of sugar or artificial sweetners have been banned from sale next to cash registers. The ban will come into effect from next March. In the city of 120,000 people it will be imposed in 25 large scale supermarkets. The progressive city Berkeley, on the outskirts of San Francisco has been taking health initiatives before now. In 2014 they imposed a tax on soft drinks, and according to a survey from last year, consumption of soft drinks had halved by 2017.

K: Its true though, the cash registers over there have so many snacks near them.

J: They do, don't they?! They are really colourful. But banning it by law is really stepping in, isn't it?

T: Yeah.

J: The supermarkets aren't stopping it through self-restraint, its been forbidden by law, so if they do it will they be penalised?

T: Yeah, wow.

J: I think this is a warning that in America this kind of health damage caused by excessive additives and sugar in food is becoming a serious problem.

K: Yeah, people just end up picking it up.

J: When im waiting in line at the supermarket, its the same in Japan...in the convenience store in Japan, I wait till the last moment and always end up picking up those little Tirol chocolate squares.

K: Oh yeh, they have those out, don't they?

J: They do! Don't those chocolates just call out to you at the last minute? I always end up buying a few.

T: I buy 'Bikkuriman'. For the sticker.

J: Oh yeh. Still?

T: I just sometimes get the feeling like I want to open it. I reminds me off old times, haha. I throw it away straight away though.

J: Kaoru, what about you?

K: I don't buy that stuff.

J: Oh, you don't?

K: No, I just buy what I was intending to buy before I went. If Im walking around the store and I see an interesting new product or something, I might buy it, but the stuff near the cash register seems more like left over produce to me.

J: Ah, close to expiring?

K: Yeh, it looks like they really want you to buy it, so they put it there. I don't really feel like picking it up.

T: Ah, I see.

K: But in supermarkets they have gum and stuff near the registers, don't they?

J: Yeah.

K: I do buy gum.

J: Ahh, yeh...Kami? What do you think?

Kami: I pick all of it up.

T: Nice, Kami.

Kami: I get tonnes. 1000yen worth.

T: Haha

Kami: Maybe 500yen, not 1000.

K: Do you like sweets, Kami?

Kami: Yeh, i do. I pick them up straight away. Um, there's often drinks on display too, right?

J: Yeah.

Kami: If there's cola or fanta, I will buy both.

T: Haha

Kami: If I go to buy tea, I will buy all that.

K: You like sweet stuff, right?

J: Yeah.

Kami: No, its not that. Its just that it all looks delicious. It makes you forget *1

T: I see, yeh.

J: In that sense, its part of the store's strategy.

T: Yeh, Kami seems like he would hate that kind of strategy, but he still falls for it.

J: Yeh, he seems like he would be opposed to it, but he still buys tonnes, right Kami?

Kami: Yeh, I really jump on the bandwagon.

K: This stuff must sell a lot.

J: Yeh, I think so. This kind of food looks visually fun, right? Colourful and stuff. Kids get pulled in by it. Like, 'I wanna eat this!'. Its pretty amazing to pass a law in this. That would be impossible in Japan, right?

T: I feel like Japan has more freedom. I had the image since I was small that America is the country of freedom, but recently if you look at America, there is ban after ban...it seems like life there is getting more restricted. And in Japan, even with covid we can still go outside, or go to restaurants and stuff. It made me think Japan is quite free. Its a weird feeling.

J: Ahh, the rules in America are stricter?

K: Overseas, they were quite strict about indoors. Japan is only just getting like that recently, right?

J: Yeh, America was a lot quicker to regulate indoor smoking.

T: Its like that with alcohol too. When one of my best friends was in America during his student days, he once wore a Budweiser tshirt and he was told, 'Its illegal', and he had to change it. I thought that was pretty strict when I heard.

K: You can't carry it around with you either, can you?

J: Yeah, you have to put it in a bag.

K: I stepped outside a venue without knowing this while I was holding a beer can once, and I was told that isn't allowed.

J: Yeh, yeh, yeh. Well, it does depend on how you look at it. Its often said that in Japan, rather than having rules...well, in America there is a kind of society that is governed by rules, but in Japan its more about community, so rather than having rules, peer presure is very strong. People worry about what others think. Its very Japanese, 'other people are saying this, so...', or 'other people are doing this, so...'. People adapt themselves to that first of all.

T: I wonder which style is better?

J: Yeah. They are both different.

T: Its not nice being told by the government to stop something, is it? I understand the reasons though.

K: Well, people do protest that kind of thing.

Kami: But I think this law is good.

J: It is good.

Kami: I think its really good, because you can finish up without buying stuff.

K: Well, it is good.

Kami: Its really good. I thoroughly agree with it.

K: Kids won't pine for sweets either.

J: Yeh.

Kami: I do think its good to buy sweets for kids though.

J: Oh really?

K: Yeh, but just not there, right?

Kami: I wanted sweets when I was a kid.

K: Me too.

T: Yeh, me too.

Kami: I really wanted all those sweets by the register when I was a kid, but I never got them.

K: There are those socks full of snacks at Christmas, right? I wanted one of those.

T: Yeh, me too.

J: If you think about what made you excited as a kid, basically its the sweet shop, right?

K: Yeh, I used to go there.

J: Whenever I ate sour plums and stuff from the sweet shop, my tongue went bright red *2

K: They were crunchy, right?

J: Yeh! I would drink up all the syrup.

K: Haha.

J: I bet that would be no good under that tax in Berkeley.

T: Yeah.

K: Ahh, sweet shops...

T:???

J:???*3

K: I still feel like eating those kind of sweets sometimes.

J: Yeah. There aren't many sweet shops around these days, in the Tokyo area.

T: Yeah, there aren't.

K: But there are sections in other shops that sell those kinds of sweets.

T: A long time ago there was an izakaya in Sangenjaya that only served sweets as beer snacks.

K: Oh, there was, wasn't there?!

T: Yeh. I went a couple of times, cause its unusual, but sweets...

K: You can't withstand it?

J: After you become an adult, right? At first you are like, 'Woah, so nostalgic', but ..

T: Yeh, it gets boring.

J: You start to think halfway, 'this needs to be more tasteful!' Uh, in the precincts of Kishibojin there is apparently Japan's oldest sweet shop or something still there. Its a famous old man, or old woman who runs it.

K: I recently went to Kawagoe.

T: Oh, Little Edo!

K: Yeh, there is a sweet shop street there. The people there were amazing. Well, I mean they were all wearing yukatas and stuff, and eating.

T: Its made me want to go to a sweet shop!

J: Ah, there is a tonne of good places to eat there, isn't there?

K: Oh, is there? In Kawagoe?

J: Yeh.

K: As for sweet shops, the ones that have a downtown feeling are the best.

J: Yeah.

K: Its nostalgic, going to the sweet shop in the evening, and getting those colourful squeezy things to drink...

J: Yeh!

K: And eating sweets at the same time.

J: Which was your favourite sweet, Kaoru? From the sweet shop?

K: From the sweet shop? I liked Curry rice-crackers, and 5yen chocolate, and those gummy type things in a box, that you pick up with a little stick.

J: Oh yeh.

K: I used to eat that kinda stuff.

T: What about you, Joe?

J: I liked plum jam, I sandwiched it between those kinda soft rice-crackers. And I liked the Castella.

T: Oh yeh, they had those small ones.

J: Yeh, they were on a skewer. I used to eat them a lot.

K: Tasai?

T: I used to get those squeezy things too. And wasn't there always like a 10yen game outside sweet shops? I would win more sweets with that.

K: You won?? More sweets came out of the game?

T: It was like a 30yen ticket, right?

J, K: Ehh?

J: I never saw that.

T: Didn't you? Like, where you try to get the ball in the hole for ten yen? And if you win, you get a ticket?

K: Ah, I remember something like that where you can win, but I don't remember tickets coming out. It was little freebies. Ah, its nostalgic. Should we try going to a sweet shop on this show?

J: A sweet shop?? Should we??

K: Yeh.

T: Thats a good idea. With 100yen in change.

K: Actually, that place in Kawagoe was closed.

J: Haha, really?

K: I went all the way there, but..

J: Just for that?

K: Yeh.

J: Really?

K: Well, lets go to one on this show.

J: Yeh, lets do it! Film on location!

K: Ok, lets plan something. Lets fill ourselves with unhealthy snacks.

J: Ah, but it won't be that much.

K: Well, yeh.

J: It'll be limited to what you can get at the sweet shop.

T: Sounds good.

K: Is this ok? Us ending up talking about this?

T: Its ok, it feels good to talk about it.

J: It does, haha.

K: Ok, well, we'll finish here. Please subscribe. Thank you very much.

*1, 2 Difficult to hear, but i think its this.

*3 Couldn't catch.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression #tfoe #kaoru #薫

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romewritingshop · 4 years

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A welcome interruption

Fandom: Choices, Perfect Match

Relationship: Detective Damien Nazario X Antihero F!MC (Name: Peach Park)

Warnings: Fight sequence, capitalism? Corruption. EROS, Guns.

Word Count Total: 2915

A/N: I had an idea and @ravenpuff02 is such an inspirational help. She helped me with her reaction and I was aIso was thinking about the Halle Berry Catwoman movie. Peach is a vigilante by the name of Eclipse.

I was inspired by the prompt for the Monthly Challenge for August. This is for day 17 prompt: SURPRISE / PLOT TWIST.

Hopefully it fulfils the prompt and is a different take on Damien. Thanks and I hope you enjoy.

There is a part 2: A not so welcome interruption

CHOICES MASTERLIST

Tagged: @ravenpuff02 @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesmonthlychallenge @kimmiedoo5

Tonight was meant to be a day off for Peach Park, as she sat on the building ledge a little distance away from the EROS warehouse. Her eye mask scanned the building for entrance and exit routes because Sloane was unwell to do recon this week. Peach didn’t mind because Sloane was amazing at what she does so Peach owed it to her. It was early morning, around two a.m as Peach absorbed the details the digital mask presented. Ten storeys high, lots of windows and metal support beams which could help her with stealth.

The breeze was a welcome feel as she munched her packet of blue Sour Patch Kids. That blue raspberry just hit that spot and it made her recon all the more exciting, plus she expected that the Sour Patch Kids company put some additives to help her fight better and faster. So far nothing was happening at the warehouse but the guards switched positions every half an hour which was both stupid and smart. Stupid because it gives Peach more windows of opportunity to infiltrate but smart because different guards with different skills take the place.

One guard wouldn’t have spotted her but the other guard would notice something so she couldn’t take a guard out during rotation. Peach was alone because Sloane was resting and Hayden was taking care of her so she did not have any back up. Her earpiece picked up the low rumble of a lorry as she sat up attentively, turning to the direction of the sound and spotting the lorry driving straight towards the warehouse entrance.

It seems like her night was going to get interesting as the lorry parked and the warehouse doors opened. A couple of men stepped out of the doors with metal crates, and they were loading them into the back of the lorry. She creased her eyes slightly, so the mask would zoom in and switch to x-ray mode to scan the contents of the crates. It was just as she expected, special ops grade weapons which were illegal across various nations.

EROS were a lowly corporation that sold high grade weapons to terrorists, who take over a country and EROS step in as a support charity that ‘help’ the people with relief aids. Pretending to good yet doing even worse as Peach shook away thoughts that would incite her rage. She needed to keep a cool head because tonight was only to gain information, no interference even though she wanted to intercept the lorry.

After an hour or so, the lorry was filled and the doors closed, it began driving away and Peach’s eye darted from the warehouse to the lorry. Although she was only supposed to formulate a plan to break into the warehouse, following the lorry could help her establish the route EROS take to selling their illegal weapons. Her mind was made up as she downed the rest of her tangy sweets, the tanginess sending a rush of adrenaline through her body. She blinked twice to get a lock on the licence plate of the lorry.

She bagged the rubbish in her belt and walked off the edge of the shipping container, landing on the seat of her motorbike which automatically inflated with a cushion to prevent damage to Peach. Hayden was an absolute genius with the gadgets and vehicles as the cushion deflated, and she pressed her palm on the body of the bike. Connecting the data of the mask to the bike and she locked on a signal to follow the lorry.

Peach pushed her foot down hard to start her motorbike and drove through the containers with a little distance away from the lorry. She pressed a button on the side of the motorbike handle which unfolded a plastic panel in front of her bike, a camouflage shield that allowed Peach to follow the lorry without getting spotted. Hayden really thought of everything, silent engine and a shield to camouflage. Plus a compartment to store Sour Patch Kids which was the best gift she got for her birthday. After a good hour drive from the warehouse, she entered the city.

It was slightly quiet as the roads were empty save for three / four cars. An almost perfect night for Peach and it wasn’t long before the car turned down a street and Peach turned after, the lorry drove through a gated underground car park, as she parked a few meters away. It was an hour and a half long journey and this building was EROS’s offices. Peach smiled at the surplus of information she gained tonight. Her heart was demanding her to break into EROS and burn it to the ground but it wasn’t time yet.

The path she was on was the best way to ensure EROS’s permanent death. Peach deactivated the shield and drove out the street, stopping on the side, to upload her data to Sloane’s computer. Her mask vision flashed red as the sound of a broken glass echoed, she glanced behind her, her vision zooming in to see four crooks, dressed in all black breaking into a bank. Peach sighed as she took a note of the upload progress: twenty five percent. She had time but she had to wake up early the next day for work. She could not afford to fight these guys and wake up with soreness.

After a few seconds of deliberation, the Sour Patch tanginess hit her and which made her head towards the bank. This was a terrible decision but it would take off the edge from the recon she did. Approaching near the buildings, she noticed that the entire glass wall was shattered and the four perps were inside, breaking into four ATMs. The alarm hadn’t gone off which was a smart thing as Peach stepped over the broken glass and behind the guys. One bag was filled with cash and she was tempted to just take it but her fists were aching for a fight.

She straightened her eye mask and black wig, looking down at her outfit. A black bodysuit underneath deep red plastic armor which helped her withstand bullets and knives. She folded her arms and exhaled loudly which caught the attention of the four guys. They were wearing masks of the cast of Ocean’s Eight which was just demeaning to the actresses. Peach smiled as she fanned herself.

“Oh my god! It’s Sandra Bullock. You were amazing in Miss Congeniality.”

They didn’t seem to appreciate her joke as they all raised their guns at her, one of them noticed her.

“It’s that Eclipse chick that broke into the West Anderson Bank on twelfth street. She ain’t taking this job from us.”

That bank job was going to haunt her for the rest of her life as she rubbed her face with disappointment.

“Look. That was one time, and I needed money for upgrades. So fellas, we have two options here: We split the money and walk away from one another. I won't beat you up and you can settle life in San Diego. Or you shoot those guns, I beat the shit out of you and I take the money. Your choice.”

Her eye mask scanned their heart rates steadily, as the one with the Helena Bonham Carter, Cate Blanchett and Rihanna masks lowered their guns slightly. The eye mask vibrated as the Bullock mask brought his finger to the trigger and took a shot at her. A loud bang erupted as the bullet zoomed and got Peach in the left chestplate. The impact of the bullet caused her to stumble. 'Sandra Bullock' lowered his gun to see his bullet didn't even make a dent in her armor as Eclipse brushed off the bullet, standing straight and shaking her hands.

“Okay, now that’s just rude.”

At that moment, time slowed, Peach ran up to ‘Sandra’ and slid on the floor, jutting one leg out and kicked ‘Sandra’ underneath his legs to make him land on his back. He was the obvious first target because he insulted Peach and with that, she grabbed his collar to rip away the mask and send a powerful punch down onto his jaw which immediately knocked the perp out cold. Her fighting has definitely gotten a lot better and she needed to thank Hayden for his help. ‘Cate Blanchett’ decided to take a shot at Peach to avenge his fallen comrade, bringing his gun and taking a shot from the back.

They never learn as Peach felt the vibration of the bullet hit the back shoulder armor. She rolled her eyes, looking over her shoulder at ‘Cate’. Peach stood up to run at her next victim, sending a jab to his gut before swinging her elbow across his jaw which also knocked him out. She turned to find her two remaining perps running out of the bank and towards the getaway car. Wusses. She took a step when she heard the familiar sounds of police sirens approaching the open bank. She groaned at her fun being ruined as the driver door opened.

Seeing the person come out of the car made her smile widen like a cat as she took in the familiar black boots and tight fitting dark jeans, trailing up to a familiar red shirt under a black leather jacket. Long stubble and the slick backed brown hair as his tan skin glistened and she took in the fine specimen. Her favourite police officer, Detective Nazario. He had the familiar grimness to his face and he strutted towards Peach, stopping just before the wall where the glass would be, hands on his hips that made him look like a delightful menace.

“Papi! I was just wondering when you were gonna make your entrance.”

“It’s Detective.”

Peach would take any chance she could to mack on Detective Nazario: he was tall, grumpy and authoritative. Absolutely Peach’s type and the one good thing about being Eclipse, was that she could flirt without feeling embarrassed. The mask hid her real face and the truth was was that she would never have been able to go out with Detective Nazario in real life. He was too sleek and stylish to go out with her.

Detective Nazario just finished up with a day of reports which were a nightmare. They had been piling up for a week and since today was a quiet day, the Chief thought it was a good idea if he just typed up all his reports. Boredom struck him hard and after several cups of coffee he managed to finish his reports. He was driving home when he heard a report ring over the police scanner installed in his car: some fancy dress woman was breaking into Lowell bank in the Canarsie area. Damien rolled his eyes and pulled out a siren light, placing it on his dashboard and driving towards the location.

Stopping and parking the car just in front of the bank, stepping out to see Eclipse there with two guys by her feet. A black duffle bag by one of the ATM’s as he exhaled like a disappointed parent. Eclipse was a pain in his back as she would constantly break into EROS offices and now it seems to be banks. Clearly she broke her promise as Eclipse grinned at him with arms outspread. She welcomed him with ‘Papi’; although it sounded like rich whiskey dripping from her mouth, it was totally inappropriate because she was a criminal vigilante.

Peach raised an eyebrow as the Detective stepped into the bank and took in the scene. Two guys on the floor and a bag of cash must have looked dodgy to him and before he could scold her, Peach held her hands out to gesture at the guys on the floor.

“Before you say anything, these guys were stealing the hard earned money of the people of Brooklyn. They had a little accident with the glass.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Come on, you know I only steal from EROS and rich assholes.”

“Yeah, you’re a real robin hood figure. Does this mean you’re confessing?”

Peach enjoyed the game of debating morals with Detective Nazario, he would try to psych her out into confessing a crime so he can slap the handcuffs on her wrist and drag her to the police station. Soon as they would get to his car, she’d have picked the lock and run away by scaling the building with her grapple gun.

“It’s not a confession, it's a hypothetical opinion. Ever heard of ‘Eat the rich’? Same attitude, plus you need evidence.”

“Me and fifteen other cops saw you with a bag of cash at the West Anderson bank.”

The West Anderson Bank was EROS’s bank and Peach broke into it to steal all the important documents which highlighted their dealings with extremist leader, Daanish Sayeed. When she broke into the bank, the documents weren’t there but their money was and Peach was not going to give up the opportunity to take their cash and use it for good. She stole around a million from them but the place was surrounded by the cops and Detective Nazario. She scraped by to get out and stay under the radar for two months.

“That was for a good cause. Do you ever get my emails about EROS’s shady dealings with extremist leaders of the Middle East and Asia?”

“You sent those emails?”

Damien had been getting a few emails of documents from an anonymous source about EROS. He wasn’t sure who and from where but he did take it up to the Chief. The Chief then dismissed these papers false by having a forensic examiner show Damien the documents were altered. Since then, he never bothered to look into EROS. A small part of him believed she was right about EROS but the reality was, was that she was a criminal and she was accusing a charity of being some sort of organized crime organisation. She was in the wrong.

“Yes I did and I really hope you -”

Before she could carry on, they heard a car door open. The both of them snapped their heads to Damien’s car as white paws hit the gravel. Damien’s face contorted to a bitter grimace as the face revealed floppy brown ears and black beaded eyes. A shiny black nose and an innocent aura as the beagle puppy bounded it’s way towards Damien’s feet. He had forgotten that he had picked up his sister Carina’s dog from the sitter’s. Carina had gone on holiday for a few weeks and Damien ‘kindly’ offered to dogsit with a bit of bribery.

His sister’s dog, Peanut was a small beagle pup of about fifteen weeks of age. Small for her size but she was a bright curious creature, right now Damien was confused about how Peanut opened a car door. Peach held her breath at the sight of the small puppy padding it’s way to Damien’s feet. Just when she thought he couldn’t get sexier, had a freaking dog. Correction: puppy and Peach was ready to throw her mask away and fall at Detective Nazario’s feet.

“Oh my god! It’s so fucking cute! What’s its name?”

Damien relented and told her the name, as she made her way towards the puppy to take it in her arms. Peanut welcomed her touch and brought it’s wet snout to her cheeks, it’s sandpaper rubbing on her cheek. At this moment, Peach felt she had died and was ready to go to jail if it meant seeing Damien and Peanut.

“Is she your new partner?”

“No. I’m dogsitting.”

Damien’s breath got stuck in his throat as she threw a soft smile towards him and for a moment he ignored the fact that he was a police detective and she was a vigilante. She was close and he noticed the way her costume fit snug on her body, it wasn’t bulky like he assumed it was. He wanted to take off her eye mask and absorb her face, examine the details and maybe brush his lips - wait! She was a criminal.

“You know, I’m almost tempted to throw away my mask.” Damien raised an eyebrow at her and she could tell he was amused from her words. “Almost.”

“Well maybe next time, I’d have to bring Peanut with me to get you into the car.”

“There’s a next time?”

“Although it’s against my job, I am intrigued by our encounters.”

Peanut was magical as Peach felt her guard relax. This was the closest thing to a date she had as she smiled at Detective Nazario. His face was threatening to break out into a smile and they felt a warm air swirl around them. Unfortunately their charged atmosphere was interrupted by a low groan as Peach and Damien turn to the perps on the floor. Both of them having forgotten the bank job. Damien wanted to spend more time with her and that moment he decided to let her go, he could always get her next time.

“Go on, make a run for it.”

Peach was stunned at his encouragement but gave a nod, handing Peanut back to Detective Nazario, completely ignoring the spark of electricity when her gloved hand brushed against his wrist. She sent a quick salute and jogged over to her bike, pushing the pedal hard before sending one last look to Detective Nazario.

“See you next time, Papi.”

“Don’t make me shoot you, Eclipse.”

#Damien #damien nazario #damien x mc #damien nazario x mc #damien elvis nazario #perfect match #choices fanfiction #choices #choices fic #choices perfect match

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perfeggso · 4 years

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Noir (yutae)

Week II pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 4.5k (will progressively get way longer)

A “foot soldier,” as it turned out, was the smallest of small fry in the syndicate. They were mostly responsible for manning the many front businesses that Inagawa used for small change, low-level intimidation, and charity work. Taeyong found that he did get to carry a revolver around with him but was forbidden from using it in non-life-threatening situations because he had only been a yakuza for about a week and had only gotten the opportunity to practice firing the thing twice. This was both for his own protection and for the protection of the gang; almost nothing could have been more damaging than the misfiring of an illegal gun by a rookie.

All Taeyong had needed to do to leave his mechanic job was to submit a letter of resignation, which in honesty was the most obvious solution. People were allowed to resign without a specific reason – his boss didn’t own his soul. And Taeyong wasn’t too sad to leave since he hadn’t been close to anyone working there.

After a week, Taeyong found himself leaning over a yellow plastic desk at the entrance to a miscellaneous electronics shop in Akihabara, bored to death and resigned to people-watching. Taeyong usually avoided Akihabara because he wasn’t particularly interested in electronics nor in otaku culture. More than that, he hated how the few times he had come to the neighborhood in the evening he’d been approached by creepy middle-ages men trying to entice him to go “chat” with some “lovely young ladies.”

But now he was here among the neon lights with nothing more to do with himself but try to look inviting to customers. If he was being honest, part of him wanted to sabotage the whole racket by looking purposefully glum and driving people away. Despite his sweet face, Taeyong did have an aggressive streak in him but he always considered himself principled about those who got hit by it. For instance, swindling major corporations out of millions of yen, as he was vaguely aware that Inagawa did, seemed perfectly ethical to him. Selling faulty electronics to innocent working-class people on the other hand…

“Taeyong!” Mark yelled from behind him, forcing him out of his contemplative rabbit hole of Robin Hood ethics.

Taeyong turned around to see Mark walking up to him, a stack of colorful business cards in one hand and a badminton racket and shuttlecock in the other. What a fuckin’ weirdo , thought Taeyong, although he couldn’t help but like the guy.

Mark had been the first person Taeyong had spoken to as an unofficial member, he supposed, of the Inagawa-kai, as he was the one responsible for escorting Taeyong back to his apartment and spending the night there to ensure that he did not try to run away or go to the authorities. Taeyong didn’t sleep that night because his head was full of too many questions, and Mark wasn’t allowed to, so the two instead got to talking – as much as they could given the supreme awkwardness of the situation, anyway.

“What do you need?” Taeyong asked and in response, Mark passed him the stack of cards as if that were an explanation. Before he got around to illustrating his intentions with words, he began bouncing the shuttlecock against his racket, twisting the string bed 180 degrees between each contact.

“I need you to stand on the sidewalk and hand these out to people,” he finally said, still focused on his game. “They say we’re having a promotional sale. It’s supposed to drum up more business which we can handle with the three of us here instead of two. But for this to work, you need to stop scowling. Show off that charming smile of yours.”

Mark was sure a cheeky bugger. If Taeyong did stick around in this gang, he’d eventually use his age advantage to mess with the kid once their gap in experience wasn’t so large.

“Was this your idea?” Taeyong asked.

Mark shook his head no, pausing his game of hand-eye coordination. “It was our Shategashira ’s.”

“Nakamoto?”

“Hasn’t he told you to use his title? Or just Yuta if you want to use his name.”

Taeyong huffed a sigh. This ‘ Shategashira ’ of his had really become an exasperating figure in his life over the past week. They’d barely interacted, but the coolness and ease with which Yuta always addressed him made him feel funny; as if he truly had no control over the trajectory of his life anymore simply because he was dumb enough to follow some sounds in an alley. But who was he kidding? His life might as well lead him to being in a gang. Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted? And anyway, there was a reason the Inagawa-kai had an entire Korean division and some Korean leadership. Taeyong had just imagined more bombastic motorcycle rides and fewer junk computers.

“Yeah I remember now,” Taeyong said, shuffling the business cards in his hands and making his way out from behind his desk. “So how do I get people to take these?”

Mark walked with him to the front of the shop, his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Just smile and say ‘promotional sale: premium consumer electronics. This week only,' or some shit and try to get these into the hands of everyone who walks near you. I think you can handle it.”

“I will try,” said Taeyong.

He found it was easier to get people to take the cards than he had expected, although his success didn’t seem to go further than that, as most people who took a card only regarded Taeyong with a confused scowl once they had it in their hands. After about an hour, a woman came walking towards Taeyong on his side of the street, and she was truly the first person Taeyong fully noticed his whole shift. He noticed her because no one could have not: she was slightly taller than average, especially in heels, with long black hair blown out, a green bodycon dress, black heels, and a gold chain necklace. Taeyong thought she might have the prettiest face he’d ever seen on a woman. He also noticed her because she was staring right at him as she approached. Taeyong wasn’t fazed because he was used to nice looking girls coming onto him. They would inevitably be put off either by his ethnicity or by his lack of interest in them – whichever they perceived first – and then bad things would happen. However, the intensity in this woman’s gaze felt different as she came to stand just a few feet away.

“Momo-hime??” Taeyong heard Mark yell from somewhere within the store. Huh? Soon enough both he and Jungwoo had emerged and were greeting the gorgeous young woman. Taeyong stayed frozen to his post because he didn’t know what to make of the situation nor of his role in it. She was a ‘princess’ anyway. What business did a street rat have introducing himself to her?

Soon, though, Taeyong found he didn’t have to. She exchanged a few words with his coworkers, and they nodded, pointing her his way.

“Lee Taeyong,” said the woman, bowing once she had finally gotten close enough to greet him. “I’m Hirai Momo. It’s good to meet you. Yuta told me you had been brought on.”

Taeyong was so confused he felt like he was floating, but he bowed back despite himself. “Nice to meet you too.” The name Hirai sounded familiar but Taeyong took a moment to place it. Then, like being slapped in the face, his brain found the missing puzzle piece that allowed him to make an association. The Hirai family ran the entire operation, didn’t they? Shit .

“Why are you here, Neechan ?” asked Jungwoo.

Momo smiled. “Yuta sent me to retrieve you, Taeyong,” she answered, causing Mark and Jungwoo to raise their eyebrows in unison.

Taeyong could feel the blood rush through his veins, and it felt cold. “I – did I do something?”

“Don’t worry,” Momo assured. “Everything’s alright. Yuta-san just wants to make sure you’re adjusting alright and to have you get some more target practice in with your new piece. How does that sound?”

Yuta was turning out to be the most involved boss Taeyong had ever had. He still had no idea what was going on, but at least he wasn’t in trouble and if he was being honest, he liked firing the gun and looked forward to another sanctioned opportunity. Taeyong chided himself as he noticed a piece of his mind wondering churlishly what this girl was to Yuta. That doesn’t pertain to you , he told himself.

“That’s fine,” he said.

“Great,” said Momo, winking like a girl from an animated television show or something. “So, you’ll go to headquarters and meet him right after your shift, got it?”

Got it.

***

The Inagawa-kai Tokyo headquarters was located in a simple, box-shaped black building on the edge of Aoyama. It wasn’t a short structure – it had about seven stories – but compared to much of Tokyo’s architecture it remained strategically unassuming. Once inside the building, a tall man with dark hair and a patchwork of tattoos and scars across his exposed skin approached Taeyong and told him he would escort him to the meeting. At first Taeyong didn’t recognize him because he hadn’t gotten a good look the first time, but he soon realized that his companion was one of the men who had essentially arrested him a week ago, a fact which made his throat tighten. Taeyong also cautiously noted that the man had a fresh stump of a pinky finger on his right hand covered in bandages. Must have gotten in a bad fight.

The man led Taeyong down a series of identical concrete hallways until they reached a sliding door made of oak, at which point he left Taeyong to enter the room by himself. Taeyong hesitated for a moment but was stunned into action when he heard Yuta’s expressive voice anticipate his presence from inside with the simple utterance of two syllables.

“ Douzo .”

Within, Yuta sat at the same desk where Taeyong had first met him, surrounded by expensive Scandinavian furnishings, walls of glass and concrete, and a pristine bonsai tree on a ledge behind him. Yuta himself wore black pants, a silk shirt, and a yellow velvet smoking jacket of all things. Taeyong felt something twist in his gut at the sight of him and his intent gaze but decided to file the feeling away somewhere very deep for the purposes of later contemplation.

“ Shategashira !” Taeyong greeted with a salute, as he was now pretty sure he was expected to. “Would you like me to sit, sir?”

“At ease,” said Yuta, waving him off and letting Taeyong relax a bit. “No need. I’ll accompany you to the range right now, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, Shategashira .”

And with that, Taeyong let himself be led back under the florescent lights of the complex’s maze-like hallways.

“How are you adjusting, Taeyong?” asked Yuta.

Taeyong was constantly surprised that the couple times he had seen Yuta since their initial meeting, he always made sure to check up on him. He didn’t know what to make of this. He guessed it was just standard practice – a measure to make him feel protected and ensure his devotion, or something of the sort.

“It’s alright, I guess,” Taeyong responded. “I like Mark and Jungwoo. Johnny seems like a good guy too. In all honesty, I don’t have a lot to do right now. But I do appreciate having the position at all!” Taeyong’s tone was absolutely all over the place, not knowing where to stand between familiar and deferent. Taeyong thought he saw his little speech provoke a smile in Yuta, and suddenly that knot in his stomach was back. Well, fuck.

Yuta spoke. “I acknowledge that you don’t have the most exciting posting. But that’s partially why I wished to speak with you today. After you.”

Yuta left that tease there. They had come to the end of a hallway to an orange door with chipping paint and a black symbol indicating that protective equipment for eyes and ears was recommended inside. Yuta held it open and Taeyong passed through.

Once in the vestibule of the shooting range, Taeyong set himself up where he was supposed to stand and aimed his revolver at the target on the other end of the room as Yuta leaned against an acid-white wall with his arms crossed and his chin raised slightly.

“Relax your shoulders,” Yuta said, and Taeyong cleared his throat, shimmying his shoulders lower on his back in response. He took a deep breath and focused on the red bull’s eye placed on the heart of a human-shaped target, both hands on the gun. He had to refrain from grinding his teeth.

“Wait until you’re ready,” Yuta coached, voice low and commanding, “then focus your energy and count down from three before you pull the trigger. Simple as that.”

“Yes, Shategashira .” Taeyong did as he was told, steadying himself, focusing his eyes on his target, and counting 3…2…1… BANG!

Taeyong felt himself sway backwards for a moment after firing but regained his balance quickly – something he had not done the first time he had shot the thing. That time, he ended up on his butt, confused and embarrassed as Mark thrashed around on the wall in a fit of performative laughter. The practice he’d had since then had helped, but so did the pressure of Yuta’s gaze.

After a moment, Taeyong heard clapping coming from next to him and he realized he had been closing his eyes. When he opened them, he saw that a chunk of the wooden target was missing on its inner thigh.

“We can work with that,” Yuta remarked, finishing his short round of applause. “Certainly enough to cripple, and that’s important. However, I get the sense you weren’t aiming there, hm?”

Taeyong’s breathing fumbled when Yuta began to stalk towards him. “What we need is to teach you some precision and confidence,” he explained. “We’ve got to work on your kill shot. Do you mind?”

Yuta was asking for the gun, so Taeyong handed it over with an “of course, Shategashira .”

Yuta took a sideways stance, holding the revolver out with one arm, and proceeded to shoot five times in fast succession, obliterating the plywood head of the target cutout until it was nothing more than splinters. Taeyong did not care to imagine it as belonging to a real human. When he had finished, Yuta turned to regard Taeyong, and to Taeyong’s surprise and horror, he broke out into a wide grin. God , thought Taeyong, I’m alone with a psychopath and a gun . Although, once that thought had passed, Taeyong couldn’t help admiring the princely charm of the way the smile had spread like a sunrise over Yuta’s face. What the fuck was going on?

“You see?” said Yuta, ebullient, “you’ll be doing that soon enough.”

Soon enough . Right, Taeyong would need to sort out his future, and soon.

“Let’s try again. Go back to your stance. We’re going to stay with two hands for now.”

Taeyong took the gun back and repositioned himself in his starting position, holding the weapon with his outstretched arms and lining it up with his sternum. Yuta came up beside him and held his hands over Taeyong’s shoulders.

“May I?” he asked, and Taeyong nodded, allowing Yuta to press down onto his shoulders and straighten his spine. Taeyong could feel the other man’s breath and it was sending his nerves into a state he did not need them to be in, heat crawling up his neck.

“Do the countdown again,” Yuta instructed, “deep breath, and then fire. Don’t let your eyes close, alright? And try to stay still as much as possible. You can if you really engage your core.”

Taeyong nodded at all the advice and tried to follow it – attempting also to avoid noticing the watchful smile blooming on Yuta’s face in his peripheral vision. He took in a deep breath of the room’s stale air and counted down again, eyes trained on the cutout’s heart and intent not to shut.

A BANG rang out once more throughout the vestibule.

Taeyong did narrowly refrain from closing his eyes, but they seemed to have gone out of focus. Once he blinked the fuzziness from them, as if erasing an etch-a-sketch, he could see that he’d succeeded in blowing a hole through his target’s crotch.

Yuta giggled and slapped Taeyong over his right shoulder. Taeyong’s head spun. Was he supposed to be scared of this literal mob boss or not?

“I have a hunch you weren’t aiming there either, huh?” Yuta asked, and Taeyong shook his head no. “That’d definitely be an effective shot though, wouldn’t it? Might actually be better than aiming for the heart in some situations because you can make them talk while they bleed out.”

Holy shit. In an instant, Taeyong became painfully aware of his reality. He was practicing shooting because he might be in a situation where he’d need to – where others would be aiming at him the same way he was aiming at this outline of a man. What if it was him who got shot in the heart, or worse, shot in the dick and forced to bleed out horrifically? Taeyong felt lightheaded but managed to squeeze enough air from his lungs to speak.

“Do you mind me asking you a question, if it’s not too forward?”

Yuta raised an eyebrow. “Shoot,” he said, obviously amused by his own word play.

“Why am I here?” asked Taeyong. “What am I doing here now? What am I training for?” That was three questions, but oh well. Taeyong didn’t feel like being measured.

Yuta sighed and cocked his head, eyes fluttering to regard the floor.

“I had a feeling this would come up,” he said, smiling wryly this time. “Keep practicing and I’ll fill you in.”

Taeyong nodded and prepared to shoot again, hitting the target’s left shoulder this time when he pulled the trigger.

“Getting closer to the heart,” Yuta observed, appreciative. “You see, Taeyong, there are only two favorable outcomes for you now that this ball has gotten rolling.” Taeyong relaxed his arms and watched Yuta begin to pace, his face steeled by caution.

“The first, which would be preferable to the family, is that you stay on with the Inagawa-kai and devote yourself to our line of work. However, I understand that what has happened was not your choosing, and you may want to return to your normal life as soon as possible. Whichever path you choose eventually matters little to what I need you to do for now, so don’t worry about it yet.” Yuta paused, giving Taeyong a moment to recover from the way his emotions had just gone topsy-turvy like his image in a funhouse mirror. Then Yuta gestured towards the gun Taeyong was now pointing at the rubber floor. “Please continue,” he said. Taeyong hit the target in its stomach and caught a hum of approval from Yuta.

“Either way,” Yuta went on, “you will need to establish trust here. Even if you want to leave, you will have to stay on long enough and perform well enough to prove that we can trust you to be an ally even in the civilian world. Does that make sense, Taeyong?”

Bang! Left hip.

“It does,” Taeyong replied, resigned. This was all his own fault anyway. He couldn’t help his curiosity though. “Is this something that happens often?”

Yuta chuckled slightly. Bang! Sternum. Taeyong was quickly gaining enough balance and confidence to keep himself still while firing.

“Similar situations have occurred although we obviously try to avoid them. For instance, the two men who brought you in to me have been duly reprimanded for their carelessness.”

Taeyong was preparing to fire as Yuta said this and was immediately thrown off when his mind returned to the image of his abductor’s freshly severed finger, putting two and two together. Is that what a mistake gets you here? Worse, did Yuta purposefully assign that guy to escort Taeyong as some kind of warning? Taeyong was already pressing down on the trigger when this thought came to him and it caused him to misfire wildly, hitting the wall on the other end of the range a few feet from the target.

“Fuck!”

“Do you need me to stop talking?” Yuta asked.

Taeyong held the gun in his left hand while shaking out the wrist of his right, as if the problem had been purely physiological. “No! Er – sorry, just give me a moment please, Shategashira .”

“That’s alright,” said Yuta. “You’re doing pretty well for a beginner. Take a break for a bit.”

Taeyong nodded, feeling defeated but somewhat relieved.

“Similar situations,” he mused “Like what? If you don’t mind telling me.”

“Take Jungwoo, for example. He worked for a circuitry and computing firm that was under our thumb. He knew nothing about it – he was simply a technician and didn’t have access to the books – but when the small company had defied our understanding with them one too many times, Jungwoo happened to be unlucky enough to witness the consequences. We gave him the option to make it up to us by working for us. It was difficult for him at first, but now his closest friends are in our ranks and he gets to do what he loves while never needing to worry about money. So, it worked out in the end.”

Jungwoo, huh? Taeyong had thought the guy seemed a bit too cheery to be a natural gangster.

“I see. I don’t really have a thing though, that I love doing, you know?”

Yuta shrugged, then smiled in a way that was meant to be reassuring.

“Well, you may not love it, but you know about vehicle mechanics, right? That will be useful to us. However, to be honest I do feel for you, Taeyong, I really do. You caught my attention immediately and have weighed on my conscience. I want to help you make the best of this, and the best thing you can do now is quickly prove your loyalty both to me and to the people I work for. That way, you will get the most flexibility in the least time. That’s why I’m scheming to fast-track you to that point.”

Taeyong was mystified as to why his superior, who had implicitly threatened him into becoming a yakuza in the first place, was being so nice to him; so reasonable.

“What does that mean?” Taeyong asked, eyes going wide in anticipation.

Yuta leaned back against the wall and watched Taeyong from under his bangs. “I’m in the middle of a project that it would be nice if someone helped me with. It’s not inherently dangerous and it’ll give you a good idea of how we operate. If you do a good job you will both understand the world you’re now living in and if you want to stay in it, and hopefully, gain enough trust to be allowed to make that decision when the time comes.”

Taeyong’s thumb skimmed nervously over the textured handle of his revolver, eyes searching the vestibule for some sense of reality. He felt almost dizzy with exhilaration at the idea of helping Yuta out and spending more time with him - studying him. “What’s the project?” he asked.

“An investigation.”

“An investigation…” Taeyong repeated. What did he know about investigations?

“Yes,” said Yuta, “I’m gathering information on a certain executive at one of the nation’s largest companies. For blackmailing purposes.”

Taeyong almost laughed at how upfront Yuta was about this.

“Okay…”

“Is that a yes?”

“Do I have a choice?” Asked Taeyong. Yuta smiled, something almost predatory in his expression. “What would I have to do?”

“Accompany me when I go out following leads, be my lookout and my sounding board for ideas when no one else is free to help. You can be more involved depending on how well you do with that. Think you can handle it?”

That didn’t sound too out of the box for things Taeyong could do. Besides, Yuta had said “lookout” not “bodyguard” or something. Taeyong was used to fighting, but his dustups were usually with hoodlums from Shin-Ōkubo, not with armed career criminals.

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah I can.”

Yuta pushed himself off the wall. “Perfect. Before we finish here though, I’d like to get you to hit your target.”

The way Yuta said it so flatly made it clear to Taeyong that this was a command, not a suggestion.

“Yes, Shategashira .”

“I think I know how to help,” said Yuta, “it’s something I used to do when practicing. Do you have someone you want that to be? Someone you hate so much it makes your toes curl? Makes you want to smell their blood?”

Taeyong pictured the leader of the Specters – the boy who’d beaten him black and blue until he couldn’t hear or think; the boy who had only refrained from dragging Taeyong from a chain on the back of a car when he heard sirens coming for him, and all because Taeyong had dared to be zainichi . Sure, Taeyong wouldn’t mind a little payback. He nodded at Yuta, both men’s eyes going dark and focusing on the target.

“Good,” said Yuta, placing his hands on Taeyong’s shoulders and squeezing. This time, Taeyong’s mind had gone too cold to let the contact affect him. “Now, don’t let them get away with anything less than a bullet to the heart.”

With that, Yuta pushed away and Taeyong imagined his victim, ugly smug face and rising sun headband appearing in his mind’s eye with chilling detail. Relax, breathe out, 3, 2, 1, BANG!

Taeyong was steady as the bullet passed an inch or so from the bullseye and the sight caused a great sense of relief to wash over him, like stepping into a hot tub on a snowy day.

When he turned around, Yuta was watching him with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest.

“When do I start, Shategashira ?” asked Taeyong.

Yuta’s smirk morphed into what Taeyong could only describe as a proud grin. “You start now.”

14 notes · View notes

empyreanwritings · 6 years

Text

Tender Surprises

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (biker!au)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: language, Brock Rumlow gets a well deserved punch in the face

Summary: On Bucky’s birthday, your son has a very important question to ask him. And it may just be the greatest gift anyone has ever given him.

Feedback is always welcomed and encouraged! (:

Bucky collapsed on the couch next to you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side. You leaned up, giving him a light peck on the cheek before resting your head on his chest. It had been quite the day for both of you.

Today was Bucky's thirty-sixth birthday. You and your son, Tyler, had planned the whole day out for him to celebrate. It started with an early morning breakfast in bed; Tyler claimed he made most of it, but he couldn't work a toaster to save his life. Once breakfast finished, you packed up the car and headed to the beach. Bucky had told you weeks in advance that he didn't want to do anything too crazy for his birthday, so you agreed a family beach trip would be perfect. And it was.

You spent most of the time lounging in a beach chair with a book, while Tyler kept Bucky busy working on "the biggest hole in the universe." Even if Bucky denied it, you knew he was just as excited to see how deep they could dig together.

You stayed at the beach until the sun began to set. Tyler whined about not wanting to leave, but he passed out quickly on the drive back home. Bucky held your hand the entire ride home. The best of Journey played softly in the background. It was incredibly peaceful. You, yourself, could have fallen asleep right there, but you didn't want to make Bucky drive all the way home with no one to talk to.

But now that you were back home, it was time for presents, and Tyler was already bouncing off the walls again. He was excited to give Bucky the present he picked out.

"Before you open the box, you have to read this letter first!" Tyler handed him a haphazardly wrapped box with a piece of paper taped on top of it. The letter had been your idea. You thought it would be the perfect lead up to what his present was. "And read it out loud!"

Bucky carefully pulled the tape off of the paper and cleared his throat. "Dear Bucky, when we first met, I was seven years old. Mom and I had moved in across the street, and you were the scary biker guy that our real estate lady warned us about. Mom and I didn't believe her, by the way."

The sun was brutal today. There was not a single cloud in the sky to block it out, and it had been beating down on Bucky all day. His shirt stuck to his back, and he knew he was dripping with sweat, but he had to finish working on the motorcycle for one of his clients. They were paying him extra to get it done before the weekend. And he could never turn down money.

He groaned and pulled his shirt off, using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Even with his hair up in a bun, sweat still managed to drip down into his eyes.

He really hated Florida sometimes.

"Are you in a gang?" Bucky's head snapped up in surprise at hearing a kid's voice.

A young boy stood on the other side of the motorcycle. His big brown eyes stared at Bucky curiously. There wasn't a sense of fear or worry about being so close to a stranger in them. Just idle curiosity.

"Where are your parents, kid?"

The young boy pointed to the house directly across the street from Bucky's. "My mom is making lunch right now. And my dad, well, he went to the store to buy milk. That was 4 years ago, so I think he might have gotten lost."

Bucky coughed, trying to hide the obvious shock that hit him. For a kid, he was very observant.

"We prefer to call it a club," Bucky chuckled. "We'd have to do a lot more illegal stuff to be considered a gang. I think we're pretty mild."

"Marcy said that my mom shouldn't move into our house because you and your gang sell drugs on the weekend."

"And what did your mom say about that?"

"She laughed and asked what kind of drugs you sell. She made a joke about brownies that Marcy didn't find amusing at all."

Bucky let out a loud laugh. Marcy had been a pain in his ass the day she started selling homes near his. She spread all sorts of rumors about him and his club to try and get the neighborhood to rally against him. Some days he'd be a pimp running an underground prostitution ring, and others he'd be a drug lord who kept sharks in his pool. It was ridiculous.

The locals knew The Winter Riders were a tame motorcycle club, though. They met at the VFW on Saturdays, played some pool and occasionally got rowdy if they had one too many drinks. Most of its members were veterans, and they didn't want to start any trouble if they didn't have to. Of course, they had been caught dealing a few beatings to well deserved men. Sometimes they'd get a little too handsy with the bar staff and needed a reminder on why they shouldn't do that. No one ever got arrested though; Bucky knew the right people down at the police department.

"Tyler, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?" You stood at the end of Bucky's driveway, your hands on your hips.

Tyler shrugged. "You said only to talk to strangers if they're a good person for you to have sex with."

Your eyes grew wide, and you could feel the embarrassment crashing down on you. Bucky bit his lip to keep himself from laughing and looked over at you. He raised his eyebrows in amusement, but you weren't looking at him. You were trying to look at anything but him.

"I said that as a joke!" You groaned. "Just. . .get inside. I have a surprise for you on the table!"

"Is it an Xbox?" Tyler gasped.

You gasped as well, keeping a huge smile on your face, and placed your hands on your knees so you were eye level with him. "No! It's your overdue homework that you need to turn in tomorrow!"

The smile on Tyler's face dropped, and he grumbled a quick goodbye to Bucky before storming off into the house. Your relationship with your son intrigued Bucky. You didn't seem upset by the sex candidate comment. Embarrassed, but not upset. Most parents wouldn't even let their kids know what sex was before the age of eighteen.

"Sorry about that," you apologized. "He and I have an open communication policy. I don't hide anything from him, and he doesn't hide anything from me. Apparently, that bites me in the ass sometimes."

"It's okay, really. He seems like a great kid."

Bucky used his shirt to wipe the grease from his hands and stood up. You eyed his shirtless body, trying not to make it obvious that you were loving the sight of his tattoos. He walked over to you and held his hand out, which you gladly shook.

"I'm James, by the way. Most of my friends call me Bucky." He flashed you a smile that had your heart stop in your chest.

Oh boy was he going to be trouble for you.

"Y/N. I don't have a nickname as interesting as yours," you said as you turned to head back to your house. "I should get back inside and make sure he's actually doing his homework. It was nice to meet you, Bucky."

"It was nice to meet you too."

Bucky smiled at the memory of meeting you and Tyler. He never would have expected that encounter to change his life. He couldn't even believe six years had passed since that day. Time sure did fly by.

"I knew you were going to be in our lives for a long time when mom came back smiling that day," Bucky continued. He glanced down at you, but you hid your face against his chest to keep him from seeing the cheesy smile on your face.

"There are a lot of moments that I appreciate, so I'm just going to list off the ones I enjoyed the most. One: the day you let me ride on the motorcycle with you. Two: the fishing trip with you, Uncle Sam, and Uncle Steve where you ended up tipping your canoe. Three: that one time I found the naughty video of you and mom, and you paid me not to tell anyone."

You jolted up and glared over at Bucky. You knew about the video - you had been the one to suggest you tape it - but you didn't know that Tyler stumbled upon it! Bucky's face turned red, and he kept his focus on the paper in his hands. He really didn't want to see the death glare you were giving him.

In his defense, you labelling it as a kid's show in hopes of disguising it was probably not the best idea.

"Four: the day you took me out for ice cream and asked for my permission to marry mom. And five: the day you punched my real-but-not-real father in the face."

Sam and Steve were sat on Bucky's couch, laughing about something that happened with Clint at the VFW last night. They hadn't gotten to the full story yet because they were laughing too hard. Whatever it was, Bucky hoped they got it on video. If it was as funny as they were making it seem, he wanted to see it for himself.

Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell going off repeatedly. Bucky sat up and tried to see who was at the door through the window but couldn't see anybody. When the doorbells went unanswered, the person on the other side began knocking.

"Just a sec! I'm coming!" Bucky shouted as he walked over to the door.

When he swung it open, his gaze fell to Tyler, who's chest was heaving up and down like he had just ran over here. His eyes were wide with terror. Bucky had never seen him like this before, and he suddenly felt terrified about what the kid was going to tell him.

"My," Tyler paused and tried to catch his breath, "My dad. My dad is here. He's fighting with my mom."

As soon as he said this, Bucky heard you shouting from your driveway. He couldn't make out what was being said, but he saw the way your ex was towering over you - trying to intimidate you. Anger bubbled inside of his chest. He was going to end up doing something he'd regret later, but it'd be worth it.

"You want us to come with you, Buck?" Steve asked as he helped Tyler through the door.

Bucky shook his head. "No. You and Sam watch Ty. I've got to take care of this myself."

He gave Tyler a comforting look before stomping down the driveway. As he got closer, he could finally hear what you two were yelling about.

"I have a right to see my kid, Y/N!" Brock shouted, pointing towards the house. He obviously didn't know Tyler already took off to Bucky's house.

You scoffed. "You haven't tried seeing him or speaking to him since he was a toddler! He doesn't even really know you! And in case you don't remember, you signed away your rights when you decided to move in with your eighteen-year-old secretary and realized you didn't want to pay child support!"

Brock shot his hand out and gripped onto your arm, eliciting a small whimper from you. His grip was so tight, you could feel his fingernails starting to break your skin.

"Do not talk to me like that again, you bitch. I deserve to see my son, and I don't care what I hav-"

His threat was cut off by Bucky slamming his fist into his jaw. You gasped. In the year that you had known Bucky, you had never seen him act violently towards anyone. It had caught you by surprise, but you didn't mind. Brock deserved getting socked in the face. He was a dick.

Bucky pulled Brock up by the collar of his shirt and pressed his back against his fancy SUV. You thought Brock was going to fight back, but he just stayed limp in Bucky's grip. You should have felt bad for him, or at the very least pretended to, but you didn't have the energy to muster up that much face emotion.

"Don't ever put your hands on her again, you got that?" Bucky growled. "She's told me enough about you, and I will not hesitate to knock your teeth out if I even see you look in her direction right now."

"But she-"

"Is a vital part of this town. As soon as everyone hears about what you did, you're never going to be welcome here again. So, do yourself a favor and get lost, pal. And don't come back. Tyler doesn't want you in his life, he's got a new family now, and you didn't make the cut to be in it."

Bucky shoved him backwards and stepped in front of you, making sure you were shielded if Brock tried anything stupid. He was probably trying to debate whether taking Bucky on would be worth it or not. Brock was just as fit as Bucky, but the look in Bucky's eye warned him not to try it.

You both watched in amusement as he scrambled into his SUV and took off down the road. Bucky turned to ask if you were okay, but he was cut off by your lips pressing against his.

You quickly pulled away and slapped your hand over your mouth. "I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have done that, but I-"

Bucky gently wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and pulled your lips back onto his. You melted into the kiss almost instantly. He felt the little sigh you let out and knew you were okay with this. It had caught you both by surprise, but boy was it worth it.

That day changed your lives, literally, forever. You and Bucky started dating after that day, and Tyler had been in complete awe of him. He looked up to him. He constantly told other kid's in his class that Bucky was secretly a superhero who saved his mom.

Brock stayed away after that. You weren't sure what sparked his sudden interest in wanting to get to know Tyler, but the pit in your stomach when you saw him told you that it couldn't be for good reasons. You figured since it was around tax time, he was going to try and claim Tyler as a dependent to get more money. Tax fraud was something you wouldn't be surprised about him doing.

Bucky took a deep breath. He could already feel the lump in his throat starting to form. He didn't want to get emotional, but the kid knew how to pull at a man's heartstrings.

"You have been in my life for six years now and married to mom for three of those. You have spent those years showing me how a real dad treats his son. You're open and honest, even when I ask uncomfortable questions. Like that time I asked about the scars hidden under your tattoos. You never yell or hit me. You're only grumpy in the morning when you haven't had your cup of coffee. You also love me. You show it- you show it-" Bucky sniffled and covered his face with the letter. A few tears fell from his eyes as he let out a shaky breath.

Reading this was a lot harder than he expected it to be.

You smiled up at your husband and gave his shoulder a comforting rub. Tears were already prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you were trying to keep it together for him.

"You show it in more ways than one. You show it when you leave cool drawings in my lunch box. You show it by reminding me to put on my seatbelt or tighten the straps on my helmet, if we're riding the motorcycle. You always make sure to tell me you love me, too. You say that it's important for us guys to be comfortable with showing emotion, so you always make sure I know that."

Bucky reached over and pulled Tyler close to him. He placed a tender kiss on the top of his head before continuing with the letter.

"I'm running out of time and my teacher is glaring at me, so I think she knows I'm not doing my vocabulary work. Do you remember the time I first called you "dad"? It had been an accident, but I'm not sure if I wanted to take it back."

It was just a few days after Tyler's ninth birthday. You had been putting so much work into making sure it was perfect that you were still exhausted. Since it was your day off, Bucky offered to watch Tyler while you caught up on your sleep. You did not need to be told twice.

Tyler had gotten home from school and was working on his homework in the living room. Books were spread out over the coffee table, and Bucky occasionally heard a grumbled complaint from him about how stupid math was. He thought about explaining the importance of math but decided to stay quiet in fear of distracting him.

Tyler was too good at getting Bucky to rabbit trail and turn a five-minute story into a thirty minute one.

"What's the Py-thag-o-ree-in thee-o-rum?" He asked, looking up at Bucky in desperation.

"It helps you find the slanty edge, also called a hypotenuse, of a right-angled triangle," Bucky explained. "It's A squared plus B squared equals C squared."

"Oh. Okay! Thanks, dad."

The word made both of them freeze in their spots. It had felt so natural to be called dad, but he never expected Tyler to actually say it. It wasn't a bad thing at all - just very unexpected.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know why I said that. That was stupid."

Bucky shifted off of the couch and took a seat next to him on the floor. "Woah, hey, no. I don't want you to be sorry for that. I know me and your mom aren't married yet, but I consider you to be my son. You don't have to call me dad if you don't want to, but you can. I'm not going to get upset by that. You call me whatever you're comfortable with."

Tyler nodded slowly and returned to his homework. He didn't press on the issue anymore after that. Bucky knew that when the time was right, he could talk about it again. All he needed was a little bit of reassurance.

"I knew that day you were my real dad. I spent a lot of time talking to mom about it, and we both agreed that it was time to make it official. Will you adopt me?"

Bucky reread the last part more than once. His hands shook as he did, and he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing now. Tyler wanted to be adopted by him. He couldn't believe it.

You gently took the letter from his hands and placed it on the coffee table. You gestured him to open the box in his lap. No words felt good enough to say right now, so you stayed quiet, but your heart was bursting with joy.

Bucky opened the box and saw the stack of papers that were waiting for him. It was all the paperwork that was required to go through with the adoption. Everything was already filled out, though. All it needed was Bucky's signature.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, a strangled sob escaping his lips. Tyler looked over at you, worried that Bucky didn't want to do it, but you gave him a reassuring smile.

He's crying because he's happy, you mouthed to him. He nodded in understanding.

"C'mere," Bucky cried as he pulled Tyler into a bone-crushing hug. "Yes, yes I will adopt you. Are you kidding me? This is the best birthday present anyone could ever give me, kid."

And it was. It really, really was.

Marvel Tag: @killcomet

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thecompostpile · 4 years

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Ice Cream Essay 5- Fuck Cops Eat Ice Cream

It was just something a friend told me in passing. They had worked at an ice cream shop one summer just a way to make a little money to buy weed and gas. Working with ice cream, from what I’ve heard, isn’t a very glamorous job but I imagine there are worse summer jobs. That will be a conversation for another time. This story goes to a time we were just hanging out smoking and shooting the shit. He told me a story of why his day had been crummy.

“I made this cop an ice cream cone and he just walked out with it. Didn’t pay, didn’t tip nothing.”

“Wait no way”

“Yeah it was so fuckong weird. He didn’t even ask if it was free he just walked out with it.”

That was probably the better part of a decade ago and I don’t think about this story a lot. At the time it was important to me though. I was in the middle of getting a political science degree from a liberal arts college in upstate Connecticut and it was being broken down in front of me why cops were bad. Here was another small but perfect example of why cops scared the ever living shit out of me. Cops have no shame. If they want ice cream they literally just take the ice cream and walk out. And what are you supposed to do? Call the cops.

The police force in this country is completely unchecked. It’s disgusting. A mad dog so insane with hate and rabies it doesn’t remember cuddling with anyone on the couch it only wants to bite anyone that comes near it right in the leg. This is the case for as long as I have been politically conscious but it has been happening much longer than that. I was in college when Freddy Gray happened, I had been in a jail cell around the same time police murdered Sandra Bland. I argued in my class about how Eric Garner being choked out on the street was unconstitutional with a conservative freshmen who I would bullshit with. His argument still sticks in my brain.

“He was murdered for selling cigarettes on the side of the street.”

“Well it is illegal.”

That’s what the other side of this thinks. He was a smart kid in a sense that he understood things and could speak elegantly. BUT how fucking stupid do you need to be to say that. Is it even stupidity or is it just pure cold hearted hatred. The man was choked out on the side of the street. I’ve wandered off here though. I am trying to keep the ever consistent theme of fuck cops and fuck every bootlicking chump that likes cops.

Let’s bring this back to ice cream. So this pig just thought it was okay to walk into an ice cream shop, one that he was supposed to both “serve and protect”. Let’s say he ordered a hot fudge sundae with some nuts, whip cream, a cherry. He’s a fat cop obviously with a stupid 90s tv dad walrus mustache. He’s a slob so some of the hot fudge dribbles onto his chin while he takes the first bite. Then on his heels he just turns and slides out whistling while he doesn’t hold the door for a lady with a stroller.

A cop in my town starts off at 59,000 dollars a year so he certainly has the money to pay for this ice cream. But you know maybe he comes in a lot right, he has something worked out with the dipshit owner who licks boots as much as he licks ice cream. To not even tip for your free ice cream though is so fucked up.

Note: tip at least a buck for your ice cream people. More if you can.

It was free, you paid nothing for it. At the very least acknowledge the labor that went into it. Cops aren’t workers though. They are the state mandated protection of only rich white people and stolen property. We absolutely need to abolish the entire police force. There is no other option; it is rotten to its core.

Now let us just quickly think of what would happen if that police officer was in the store and a black man did the same thing, walked out with ice cream for free. There is a highly likely chance the black man would be shot. Black men have been shot for much less in this country. At the very least the man could be arrested, placed in jail and lose his right to vote once out. What makes this cop special that he is allowed to break the law.

There is a system behind it too. The Frank Capra ideals of an old timey america. The 50s when you had the milk dropped off, took a date for an egg cream at the drugstore, hot rods and segregated schools. Cracking a joke with your high school buddy who was one of the cops in town but never did much but twirl his baton around and whistle. Then if something surprising would happen his eyes would pop out of his head. You know the America everyone loved. Jimmy Stewart is there laughing it up with someone he hasn’t seen in a while. You only feel that way because you aren’t Emmit Till though.

There is this patriotic ideals behind loving these dumb moron cops. It could come from wearing it like a badge of honor that you are not considered a criminal to them. That is an optimistic outlook though when the real answer is more than likely just racism.

How else could a man just grab an ice cream and pretend it was free to him. Think of the other things this person must be able to do with his god complex given to him because of a badge. How any stupid fucking bully is able to go to school for six minutes, promise to beat up and harass black people and other people of color to keep a billion dollar free labor industrial prison system going, can just put on a ugly light blue button up shirt and some shinny badges that mean nothing and now they think they can do anything they want.

Some stupid asshole was just farting up his police car by himself and laughing is bored enough to harass a black women with a tail light out. When she is tired and sick of his obvious bullshit that she has been aware of her entire life, he is too dumb to realize that his wife is mad because he forgot to flush his turd down the toilet. Then when he doesn’t like her response he can arrest her. What scares me about police videos is how powerless it looks. There is no arguing with these gooey cupcake batter mother fuckers. They do whatever they want. They walk in order ice cream and walk out without paying for it.

This becomes even more terrifying when you see they are killing people on the streets. They are killing children on the streets. They are tear gassing protestors. Shooting rubber bullets at journalists. That same cop who stole ice cream, is fine using his badge and light blue shirt to walk out with free ice cream, breaking the own rules set by capitalism he was set to enforce. Obviously he has on reason for breaking other rules set up by capitalism. He has no rules he will do whatever he wants. Kill, beat and humiliate anyone he wants. Take whatever he wants and walk out a free man, ice cream in hand, hot fudge on his chin.

#ice cream #acab #cops #fuck cops #ice cream essays

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sternentinte · 5 years

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Emogust 2019 - 07. 08.| In which character A. is searching for a cat, and character B has found a cat around their windowsill

„Let me get this straight”, Shinichi says, slowly, “you lost the cat. How in the world did you manage to lose the cat?”

“Hime-chan got scared while I was working in the lab and slipped out.”, Haibara states, “you need to get her back.”

“You lost the cat and I need to get it back?”

“We lost the cat, of course you need to get her back. You are already in disguise anyway and I need to finish this up.” She gestures vaguely around the chemicals in the room.

Shinichi gives up trying to argue. He knows Haibara adores that cat and he himself is actually kind of fond of it to—there is something about stealing a cat out of an illegal research facility both of you were trapped in that makes you like it, simple as that. That’s the short version of the story of how they adopted a cat even though they are technically still on the run.

On the run is a pretty loose term, since, as of now, they even have a (secret and FBI-protected, but nonetheless) apartment. Compared to the last five years, they are pretty safe right now—maybe not as save as they’ll ever be, not yet, but considerably safer than just a few months ago. Not quite safe enough that Shinichi could go back to his actual real identity and his actual real life. Not yet.

That is what he is hoping on though, as soon as all the loose threads are collected and, more importantly, convicted. As soon as everything gets out.

But, as of right now, he is a small boy with a silicon mask on his face that is looking for a cat.

He doesn’t find the cat. Not that day.

Bringing down a criminal syndicate, as it turns out, includes a lot of waiting time. It’s weird, but now, now that he has prove, now that he has done this, they actually don’t want him to finish it up.

“You’re a civilian, Kudou-kun”, Megure tells him, “You need to let law enforcement work it’s way through.”

Shinichi sighs, but only so he doesn’t scream. He hasn’t been a civilian for ages and that is his case, dammit. But he knows the only reason Megure is telling him this is that his higher ups know that Shinichi knows him, that Shinichi trusts him.

The problem with not being able to help, or at least, not being able to help all of the time, is that Shinichi has free time now, and after four years of constantly switching between running from and towards criminals, he doesn’t really know what to do with that.

It gives him too much time to think. Too much time to regret. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it’s Haibara’s turn to be the adult of the family for this week. This way, he can’t go and do anything impulsive. Stupid, as Haibara would put it.

Instead, he looks for the cat.

It doesn’t seem to be in the immediate surroundings anymore, or at least if it is, Shinichi can’t find it. So, he does the obvious thing and makes posters. They are probably not the most effective, since, due to a total lack of pictures (“Pictures are dangerous.”, Haibara says at the back of his mind, along with his own general paranoia) he has to rely on descriptions.

Megure also gives him an exceptionally weird look when he asks him to print them at the department, but Shinichi really has endured worse. Also, if Haibara worries less about the cat, things are going to get done sooner.

He still doesn’t find the cat.

He begins asking people, children, old couples at the park, store owners. It’s risky. They might remember him and tell someone else about him, but on the other hand, he is a little kid and wearing a disguise, so there is a pretty low chance anyone could trace this back to him. But he doesn’t dare asking any of his neighbors either—better when they don’t know anything.

After a few days he’s not all to hopeful. It makes him sad in a way he doesn’t expect. He had never really thought he’d keep the cat, not even in the best possible outcome, the one that seems so close that the hope is killing him every time he thinks about it (so, pretty much all the time).

It was always going to be Haibara’s cat. But still. It was an act of being to hopeful, of trusting this to work. Relying on a future. And now the cat is gone.

Haibara is going to flip her lid, he thinks, but then he thinks better of it. If he has realised the cat is gone, Haibara’s probably known it for a while. She tends to hope less than he does.

He still doesn’t want to say it to her face.

He sighs. In front of him there’s a news parlour selling proper newspapers along with trashy gossip magazines. Shinichi steps closer and asks the boy behind the counter about the cat.

The employee leans down to him and tells him that, sadly, he hasn’t seen the cat. As he promises that he will keep an eye open, Shinichi realises that the guy is younger than him. Not younger than physical-him, of course, but still. The thought gives him a chill.

He distracts him by gazing over the shiny covers in front of him and immediately does a double take. On the cover—it’s Ran.

Its not new, not really. Ever since the band took off—Ran, Kazuha and that other girl he doesn’t actually know, Nakamori-san, Inspector Nakamori’s daughter—they’ve been in and out of celebrity gossip. Nothing particularly nasty that he heard of—but his access to news hasn’t really been all that regular at times. Also, he doesn’t want Haibara to know he’s paying attention to it—he knows her well enough to know it would only make her feel bad. But she probably knows anyway. They’ve learned to know each other way to well.

“Cuteness Explosion! Gosho Girls’ Ran-chan charms fans with new cat!”, the headline reads.

The picture has Ran posing, smiling slightly, friendlily, Shinichi with an obviously very satisfied black cat in her lap. It seems to have been taken from her social media and Shinichi wonders who took it. Maybe Uncle Kogoro or Sonoko or another one of her friends.

Maybe she has a secret boyfriend somewhere, he thinks, one the media doesn’t know about yet. He almost wishes for it, except he doesn’t, because he just isn’t that good of a person and he wants to be her secret boyfriend from back in high school forever. Well, but he also isn’t really delusional enough to hold out for that, so…

He looks at the picture again, only now really paying attention to the cat. But—How is this possible? Shinichi shakes his head and looks again. Maybe he is wrong. There are plenty of black cats around. He glosses through the article to find out more.

“According to Ran-chan, she found Maki-chan on her balcony…”

So apparently Ran found the cat, had tried to look for a former owner, but since it was neither chipped nor had a collar, she had ultimately been allowed to keep it. Of course Hime isn’t chipped. They can’t go around disclosing their location like that.

Shinichi sighs. Then he tries to look at the picture from another angle. Is it really Hime? Maybe he is paranoid.

Scratch that, he knows he’s paranoid. But this is ridiculous.

Well, there isn’t a lot he can do now. He buys the magazine.

Haibara is still in her lab when he comes back to the apartment.

“I’m back!”, he yells, and she answers with an affirmative.

He steps towards her and leans into the doorframe of the lab. He knows for a fact that Haibara hasn’t left the apartment in almost a week. She never does, when she is tall, too scared of being recognised.

“Any news, Kudou-kun?”

She seems almost cheerful. Maybe the research is going well.

“So…”, Shinichi starts, “I might have found the cat.”

She turns back to him, clearly surprised, but also weary. He was right, then, she didn’t expect him to find it anymore.

“But?”, Haibara presses.

“I might just be crazy.”

“Well, that’s certainly not news.”, Haibara huffs. She rotates her open palm in the air, a sign for him to just say it already.

“Look at this.”

He opens the magazine at the right page for her, but she flips back to the front.

“A gossip magazine.”, she says. Then she looks closer. “About Mouri-san.”

She looks at him. This is what Shinichi wanted to avoid.

“You know, whatever it says is probably not even-“, she starts, quickly.

“No, just look at the picture.”

Shinichi opens the correct page again and points at the cat. He doesn’t want to hear her advice. Not now. Really, he doesn’t want to need it.

“Am I crazy, or… Tell me I’m crazy.”, he says instead.

“You’re crazy.”, Haibara complies, but he can see her eyes widen at the image.

“That’s Hime-chan.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well yeah. That’s what you meant, right?” Her suspicious look is back, even though this is precisely the reason Shinichi bought the damn magazine.

He nods. “It doesn’t make any sense though, she doesn’t even live near here…”

“How do you know that?”, Haibara asks, flatly.

“Well, they put us far away from anyone who could have recognised us, remember? Also, she would probably have heard about Hime missing if she was near, especially if she asked around.”

Haibara shrugs “I guess Hime-chan is really good at running far away.” She pauses. “It’s probably for the best she is.”

Shinichi thinks of the last place all of them ran from and finds himself agreeing. “So, what are we going to do?”

Haibara shrugs again. “What can we do? At least we know Mouri-san is a good person. It’s better than Hime-chan just being a stray.”

Shinichi nods. Even though he found the cat, in a way, he feels defeated. And tired. So, so tired. He sighs, closes his eyes and concentrates on not falling apart. He’s gotten good at it, but it’s harder in quiet moments.

“Oi, Haibara!”, he calls back, “I’m gonna make some food.”

Haibara gestures him to go ahead. She’s right. There’s nothing to do but to hold out. Just a little longer.

“She really is cute.”, Aoko sighs.

Ran nods and pets her cat over the head. “Maki-chan.”

“Maki like true hope?”, Aoko asks.

“Maki like true hope.”, Ran confirms. “I’ve always had a thing for hope.”

——–

So this could be seen as sort of the other side to my story for the heart break prompt. (Still not sure if I’m doing the genre thing right)

@mintchocolateleaves, @sup-poki

#DCMKEmogust2019 #shinran #girl band au #platonic coai #haibaraxcats #I mean this could be fluff #but like #angsty fluff #nevermind #that's not how it works #i think

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docholligay · 5 years

Text

Smoke and Ashes

This is a fic I wrote mostly for me for once but also for @rosepetalrevolution and anyone else who is interested in These Western Fucks, namely Yael, McCree, and Ashe. You can find it in the timeline: here. 3,300 words I would love to know if you enjoy it!!

“Please don’t!” Tears ran down his face. “For Christ’s sake, please!”

“Wrong audience, motherfucker.” Yael cocked her gun, and fired, an impressive spray of blood spackling across McCree’s boots.

He looked down at them and frowned. “I just polished these, Yael.” He picked some of the brass off the ground. “That was quick.”

“Easy when it’s a bunch a little boys pissin their pants.” She knelt down and rifled through the dead man’s pockets, “Jacinta! You done over there? Quit bein’ so fuckin’ dramatic.”

The echoing fire of a gun was the reply, and Jacinta walked around the end of the truck. “I would think you’d appreciate lingering on this a little bit.”

“It’s not about enjoying the job, it’s a practical matter,” Yael took the cigarettes out of the dead man’s jacket, tapping one out of the pack and lighting it, taking a long drag as she leaned her elbows back onto the dead man’s chest, “Though I don’t hate it. Goddamn, even their cigarettes are terrible, Jesus fucking wept.”

She sat up and put the cigarette out in his cheek.

“Nice cache a weapons, though.” McCree set an AK to the side of the truck.

“Welp,” Yael slapped her knee, “Alls well that ends well, then.” She gave a chuckle and slapped McCree on the shoulder. “We’ll eat good tonight, tell you what. Already have a buyer.”

“Didn’t you,” McCree pushed the brim of his hat back a touch, “Specifically tell me, more n once, not to sell anything you ain’t got in hand?”

“Yael thinks the rules don’t apply to her.” Jacinta put a crate of ammo into the back of the truck, “Thinks she is special.”

“You’d know.” Yael grinned.

Jacinta tried to scowl, but smiled anyhow, as she checked a rifle for a round. “You are not cute.”

“Yael you ever think that the people we sell these to, are gonna go back and sell em to these poor fucks again?” McCree had said it quite without meaning to.

Yael’s internal compass was its own creature, and McCree could never quite puzzle it out. She was happy enough to take the boxes of illegal arms from these people, but the suppliers they sold to probably didn’t exactly ask for an essay on intercultural exchange before they sold them. It’d just fall back, that they’d be back where they started.

“Not those poor fucks,” she tipped her head to the one on the ground, his head split open, flies buzzing around his brains, “cleared that right up.”

And that would be the end of the debate, McCree knew, in the way he knew he’d never stop thinking it. There were certain things, rhythms, in the gang, that flowed through everything they did like a bends of a river, and McCree knew how to point his canoe by now.

McCree had come to them three years ago, but it might as well have been a lifetime. Cody Stenslund was an old man with a scraggy group of hungry young kids, and a smaller band of old men like him. It was the assumption they’d picked up these kids to pass the torch to someone, and it had proved successful, and he hadn’t wanted McCree. No one seemed to, back then.

But Yael was clever, and she was a connoisseur of people who survived when they weren’t meant to, and she’d stood for him. He’d been with them ever since, through his own training and scrapes and Cody’s retirement, and he couldn’t see leaving. Yael was Yael about near everything, but McCree never worried about where he was going to go, what he was going to eat, and the drifting tumbleweed decided this was a fine fence to be caught upon.

Besides that, he’d reflected at Jacinta and Yael’s wedding, it was a kind of a family, and McCree needed all of that he could get.

Carey loaded on an unopened crate to the back of the truck, and flipped up the tailgate, leaning against the back of it and giving McCree a grin, the soft green of his eyes flickering with excitement.

“Yael said beers are on her tonight.” He tapped out two cigarettes, and offered McCree one, which he gratefully accepted.

“Better be,” he lit the smoke and took a deep drag, “much as she’s had us all runnin around Hell out here.”

Carey chuckled softly. He was a few years older than McCree, like most of the gang, tall and thin, his dark brown hair clipped neatly. He had no idea about McCree. McCree barely had any idea about McCree, even when he thought about walking over to Carey’s bunk in the night and kissing him as the moonlight streamed through the window.

There was nothing for McCree to be ashamed of, and he knew that, but somehow he still couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yael had done it. No one questioned her or so much as said boo about it.

But the rules didn’t apply to Yael, you know.

“Well boys,” Yael circled around and tossed the keys to Carey, who caught them handily, “let’s get to gettin.”

_____

Ashe stood outside the bar, adjusting the collar of her shirt and trying to get the right angle of the hat on her head. She’d known the Deadlock Gang was going to be here, it was an open secret that they protected this bar and the bar did the same to them, a scrappy outpost at the edge of the world that no one seemed to much care about and that seemed fine to everyone inside.

She walked in the door, the dark and agining place exactly as she’d imagined it, and found the gang immediately. The leader was just as she’d read, when she decided this was the career path she wanted to take, when she got sick of everything her parents expected for her, tired of being a show pony and ready to take it on her own. She was a scary story to tell in the dark as much as she was a person, and Ashe wanted that for herself.

She strode confidently to where she sat, and a lean, green-eyed man to Yael’s right put his hand on a gun.

But Yael just watched, leaned forward onto her elbows, as Ashe approached.

“Yael Rabin?” She cleared her throat, puffing her chest out. “Been looking for you. “I’m here to join the Deadlock Gang.”

No one said anything for a moment, and Ashe wondered if the entire concept of sound had gone from her, the chatter and music fading away from the space and leaving only Ashe, standing there.

Then Yael drummed her fingers on the table.

“You just looking for trouble in alphabetical order or somethin’? Barstow Boys turn you down already?” Yael picked up a toothpick from the holder and on the table and placed it between her teeth as she studied Ashe.

It was the sort of look Ashe had not yet become accustomed to, though she would learn it for herself, in time. It was a look that scanned over every inch of her, that took the information and made conclusions, and locked it away until it was needed. It was the searing eye of a hawk setting on a rabbit, and Ashe squirmed underneath despite herself.

“Nice boots you got there, Tex.” A sly smile crept across her face and her collected gang spit out hoots of laughter.

Ashe didn’t give her the satisfaction of looking down, but she noticed the beaten and scuffed hat Yael wore, the way her shirt had faded in rings from being pushed up to her elbows in the sun, and had a sudden moment of realization that the same things she wore that impressed the folks when she did barrel were a mistake here.

Didn’t matter. She was a trick of a rider, she could shoot a gun, and Ashe knew, above anything else, that the infamous Deadlock Gang could only profit by adding her to the group, even if they did make fun of her bright silver buckles.

“Name’s Ashe.” She jutted out her chin and extended her hand.

“Sure it is.” Yael chuckled and leaned back in her chair, and Ashe crossed her arms, her mouth forming into an angry twist, which Yael handily ignored, “You even old enough to be in here? Go home, kid, I ain’t got time to play dolls.”

“How old’s he?” She motioned her chin to the man at her left, though it was hardly fair to call him man, not yet filled in, still gangly with the edge of teenagerhood.

“Jesse?” She turned to him and smiled, “I dunno, how old are you?”

“Forty five this July.” He took a drink of his beer.

“That’s about what I thought, why, thank you Jesse.” she picked up her own beer, “Well, there you have it.”

Ashe popped like a corn kernel.

“You were younger than me, sixteen! When you joined the Deadlock Gang, and now you’re only afraid--”

“I ain’t afraid of shit,” Yael laughed, “You think you can compare yourself to me, Tex? What’s the worst thing ever happened to you, Daddy tell you no new pony this year? Shiiiit.” She chuckled again. “Swear to god, they get stupider every year.” She stood up. “You ain’t hungry enough. You don’t need it enough. You got a net, girl, and we perform without one.” She turned back briefly to her gang. “Gonna go find Jaci and have a smoke.”

She turned her back to Ashe as she left, completely unafraid of anything Ashe could do, and all she could do is stand stock-still, fuming and furious and embarrassed and ashamed and hungrier than Yael could ever know.

___

McCree didn’t ask too many questions, at this time in his life.

It would sound stupid to say it out loud, as he heard the dogs barking in the distance outside the shitty honky tonk, the party having briefly broken up from their reverie, but the last three years had been the most stable in his life since his mother had died. It wasn’t much of a life, rolling along the backroads and still-quiet ways that barely seemed to exist except as corridors anymore, but it was his, and it was consistent, and he knew what he was meant to do and why, and what he brought.

He wasn’t interested in shaking up the flow he’d come to understand in his life, and he wasn’t sure what someone so rich would want with the Deadlock Gang anyhow. Could be that she was an agent trying to infiltrate, but McCree hoped they’d send someone a little better than some little blonde thing fresh out of the ranchwear store. Maybe that was the trick, that they thought it was so stupid Yael’d fall for it.

They didn’t know her very well.

Ashe breezed by him after Yael, having had a few moments to think to herself and still not giving up, and he chuckled. She had plenty of sand, that much was sure, and if he was going to be so stupid as to tell Yael her business, he’d say that a sparrow who’s willing to chase after a hawk with no fear of nothing wasn’t the stupidest idea for the gang. Yael had a kill count that rivaled a small army, and there was no way Ashe didn’t know that. It just didn’t seem to matter. She had an idea of what she wanted, and maybe Yael would have to shoot her to get her to find another one.

They didn’t usually meet people like this, who wouldn’t take Yael’s no for an answer. Yael was particular about her crew, even at the best of times, and though she’d help other hard up folks set up complimentary organizations, or reinstall them their lives back home on their farms and ranches and wilds, her Deadlock Gang was a tightly closed group, only people she would happily sleep with her back to. And this girl was in no way Yael’s kind of people. This was all more stuff she should’ve known but didn’t seem to care much about.

There was a part of McCree that respected that.

Carey walked up next to him and sipped his beer. “What’s the over under on Yael shootin her where she stands?”

McCree smiled over at him. “She’s had, what, three beers? Say ten minutes.”

“You’re a regular optimist, Jess,” Carey clapped him on the shoulder, and McCree looked away from him into the night, “say that much for ya.”

McCree wasn’t sure he’d call himself that, but there was something that told him this girl who called herself Ashe was gonna be a thorn in everyone’s side for a long time.

___

Yael didn’t seem to be listening to her, just walking along and tapping out a cigarette as she looked up at the half-clouded moon.

“You don’t know what I can do!” Ashe spat, the injustice of the situation, the hopelessness of it, drilling into her head.

“But I do know that it’s my gang, and, I don’t like you.” She put the cigarette to her lips and flicked her lighter, shielding it from the wind. “Don’t need no prissy little rich girls whose daddies bought em their titles.”

What Yael needed and what Yael ended up getting could be very different indeed.

“Elizabeth Ashe?” A voice came out of the darkness, and Ashe’s hair stood up at the sound of her name.

She turned around and her eyes met with dark brown ones, ones she did not know but clearly knew her. It was not a question so much as a confirmation, but whatever it was, it furrowed Yael’s brow.

“You know her, Jacinta?” Yael stood up from where she leaned against the beam.

Jacinta took her eyes off Ashe for a moment, meeting Yael’s gaze, and let out an exclamation of rapid-fire Spanish, which Ashe suddenly wished she had opted to take in all of her private schooling.

“Huh,” was all Yael said by way of hint, before asking Jacinta a question Ashe could not understand, and receiving an answer Ashe wished she could know. “I dunno, Jaci, bad idea to me.”

Her ears perked at the English, and she looked back to Jacinta, wondering where she could possibly know her from. She was a handsome woman, dark with glossy in a low, tightly wound bun at her neck, but Ashe could not quite place her name, or where they might have seen each other.

Yael walked over to where she and Jacinta stood, and waved Ashe off. “Git.”

It was the first command of Yael’s Ashe would obey, and it would not be the last, and at her hand she would learn how to give a command so it never seemed like a request, to men twice her size, but right now all she could do was back up until she nearly hit the two young men who had been sitting beside Yael in the bar.

Carey shrugged at her. “Jaci’s your best chance, rich girl.”

Ashe fumed, but didn’t say a word. There was someone, for whatever reason, who was fighting for her, and the argument seemed to be growing more heated, Yael shaking her head, her eyebrows in a knot as she looked to Jacinta, who waved a hand in fury even as she tried to cross her arms in front of her.

“If she wants you,” McCree drawled, “well, Jaci’s the only one Yael’l ever listen to.”

“I don’t know why she does.” Ashe hadn’t meant to say it, but it had slipped out, her thoughts as to all the reasons why filling the space in her head meant for a tough showing.

McCree looked over to her, a brief recognition of her inability to understand that made her blood boil, and chuckled. “Best not to.”

Yael threw her arms in the air and kicked the dip bucket by the side of the back porch, spraying wet tobacco across the wood. Jacinta seemed unimpressed.

“¡Bueno! Christ,” She took her hat off and nearly threw it into the dirt before reconsidering. “You win, alright?”

Ashe felt a swirl of excitement rise in her chest, and pride. She was going to be a member of the Deadlock Gang, the kind of gang that people whispered about, the kind of gang that even someone like the Barstow Boys held in high regard. And she would be, in no time, she was sure, be at the right hand of the hawk, Ashe, a legend in her own right.

These fantasies of her own grandeur were quickly brought back into the reality of the situation as Yael walked up to her and grabbed her by the collar, almost pressing their faces together. Yael and Ashe were nearly the same size, but Ashe was shocked by the sheer strength of her, the grip of her claw next to Ashe’s neck.

“Now listen here. This is against my better judgement or will, Tex, so I want you to take very careful notice of what I’m bout to say.” Ashe nodded as Yael stared deep into her eyes, but she did not break her gaze or let her lip quiver, “You want to be a part of this gang, you’ll come to find there’s work to be done that ain’t all in the papers and glory, and when I say jump, the only thing I wanna hear out of your goddamn mouth is how high. I will teach you to be a gunslinger and an arms runner and every terrible thing you wanna be, and you had better pay me back with your unending goddamn loyalty or I’ll shoot you myself.”

She let go of Ashe’s collar and half-tossed her back into Carey and McCree, who caught her gently by the shoulders.

“Married life’s a whole thing, ain’t it, Yael?” Carey laughed good naturedly.

“Carey, I will leave you in the ditch I found you in.” But she sighed, seemingly forcing herself to make peace with the new, shiny-booted, crisp shirted, silver trimmed reality in her life.

“You won’t regret it, I promise.” Ashe tugged at her shirt, rolling her shoulders back.

“And I ain’t callin you Ashe, so best get used to that idea.” She grinned, and her voice turned sickly-sweet, “Elizabeth Caledonia, pretty little miss of the Texas debutante set. Jesse!”

“Yeah?” he took off his hat and ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair before looking back to Yael.

“You’re off smoker duty tonight, other’n showin Bitsy here how to scrub it.” She waved her hand to McCree, “God knows you’ve earned it. And God knows you will, us having to teach her an honest day’s work.”

“She’s alright once you get used to her.” Carey gave his usual casual grin and shrugged. “Give her a year or two to warm up. Carey.” He gave a tip of his hat.

“Jesse.” He nodded to her.

She gave a snort, jutted her chin out, and looked at the two men who were now her teammates.

“Ashe.”

Carey chuckled as he turned to go. “S’not what Yael said.”

Ashe crossed her arms across her chest in frustration. When she had planned out the life she was going to create for herself, the infamous legend and outlaw she was going to become, this was not how she’d seen her first day on the team. She would learn, at Yael’s hand, how to scramble, how to deal, how to play a low card, but now she was a frustrated trainee.

“Welcome to the team,” McCree said, tipping his hat, “Come on then.”

Ashe gave the smallest smile, and she remembered she had won a victory today. It didn’t matter if she were Tex or Bitsy or whatever Yael wanted to call her today, because she had to call her one very important thing.

A member of the Deadlock Gang.

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stacyprivett · 6 years

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Cont. On Luis Ruiz case & now I need help with another.. .

As I watch now how the ditrict attorney's & the police force are doing things it reminds me of how much more corrupt are system can be.. , Many people are being charged falsely, or with too harsh a punishment of prison for one mistake which could of not been something you realized even. But then there are those who are let go for something simular, .. or even worse, just because of thier status. Who decides fair punishment for the crime.. ? Peoples lives are not for sake of politics.

Let me tell you about a case I worked on because back then I was too messed up with not believing that there could be such a thing as police conspiracies. When I wrote what i wrote on the internet it was solely because I knew that arrest was wrongly done & somehow I felt like I needed to speak up.

In the Luis Ruiz case the system falsified the evidence that they blasted all over T.V. announcing that they had. This was to show the public they had a reason for that arrest & if you make people believe it then you can usually get away with it . !. They knew that it was fake & at one point i know this led all the way up to the District Attorney office & David Prater himself.. who even signed those papers & gave them that warrent for arrest knowing these facts.

During this case does anyone remember the story i had written in "'before the news'".? The one titled "Investigate this" & it shares the fact that on that date that girl was killed that Luis Ruiz was incarcerated & that the reason i knew of this was.., because i had actually learnt that from the Bethany officers themselves before they arrested Luis for that murder.".

In that case I had learnt that the reason it goes from one place the girl killed., to another place the girl was supposedly killed at., is because the cops were raiding houses & busting them without warrents by using that case for the reason they were able to so. (Because they have to make it look good to the public). Whoever thinks just because its on the news then its true, is stupid,.

At one point I knew that everyone knew these facts listed on that arrest warrent were fake & there was none of those things they stated they had, but yet they were not letting him out of jail.. Luis told me that they told him that they could not let him out until after elections. Come to find out that David Prater at that moment was fighting a case they called the tea party event & it included Luis Ruiz's lawyer, David Chance,.. I guess they needed this case to help that & I guess everything the government does is really for elections.

When they arrested someone for that murder they stated there was evidence which was not there & that warrent was still signed by our District Attorney David Prater. In order for David Prater to save his ass they fired those 2 police officers but I am sure they get paid leave. Because thats how the government works. Its all politics.

The government & the news is about manipulating the public for thier own power & they keep themselves up but also keep the lower class down. This is what that causes.

While I was working on this case I ended up broke down in front of this house of an old friends I had not seen in awhile. As I walked up to the gate a girl asked me if I was Stacy & she told me what happened in that case. But thats a different story.. . Although I remember one thing she stated & that was that the original detective, who worked the original case, & who spoke to all the witnesses in the beginning; had known everything but it all seemed to have disappeared. This girl also stated that she herself had been out to speak to the parents of Carina Saunders & she also said that Carina's own cousin set her up.

This leads me to the other.., they are sending people to prison for messing up once & deciding they dont care for someone & giving them sentences they dont deserve. I have a friend who been in trouble once. They sent him to 18 months in R.I.D. & recently he got a simple possession charge, (& it was after the July 1st change of law to a misdemeanor), but yet he is being offered 15 years in prison right now. That is 15 years of ones life. Does a bondsmen who was caught do drugs really look at 15 years time & I think not.. ,

We have attorney's with D.U.I's & thats mentioned in the article called the 'tea party event' when they began to investigate the Ditrict Attorney & his actions. The reason he was being taken to court himself was not only the tea party event, but it had to do with the friends of his with power getting away with crimes & not having to serve any sentence. So is that fair.. ? (https://ymlp.com/zAFher)

Recently, someone I DO CARE about greatly was arrested & thats the case I need your help with. The police here are always wanting him & he is 42 years old now & spent his entire adult life in prison. Each time he is released they make sure he goes back. And the reason they hate him is because of something he was involved in back in 1995 when he was barely 18 years old. Him & a friend were running from police & his friend got into a shooting match with the officer. I think the officer got shot & I have heard officers mention it a time or two when Richard first had got out of prison this time. Richard was never the one who shot the cop; but he was still part of that case. Richard has spent about 4 years now, of his adult life, actually out of prison & I am determined to either watch him go back for doing more than just drugs, or keep him outta there altogether.

About 5 months ago we had both been stopped when 4 cop cars came rushing in the front of us. They came in all at once & we had not even seen them coming. They jumped out & pulled guns & had us put our hands up. They told me that they just wanted to talk to him & put me in one car & him in another. Not very long after I was in back of car they were about to let me go an officer supposedly found a rather large bag of meth which was many many feet away from where we were even arrested at that moment. They tried to get me to say it was his. Otherwise, they told me, I would be arrested for possession also & we were both going to jail. I was scared & cried, but I cant lie on something that I never seen to be true; & so they arrested me & him on that possession charge. Of course they came early next morning & released me, & the officer at the jail who walked me down to book out actually told me that they decided not to file charges. That was odd. But they kept him. They even mentioned to him at his arraignment that they decided to let me go & weren't keeping my charges. Of course I fought those charges as well.

The Sante Fe police division told me once that they were gonna make sure that he went back to prison. At that time they had & he went back for 5 years. Its shows Burgalery 2 but really it was just grabbing a toolbox out of the back of a truck. Got caught with drugs twice but 5 years for grabbing a toolbox.? This actually happens alot & too many people. He has been out almost a year now, or 10 months really, & has been doing good & working alot. We been together 7 months of the 10 he has been out. We split up about 2 months before his arrest.

What happened this time is somebody we know got a truck, supposedly, she told me that it was from her ex-mexican husband she says. We watched her driving this truck for atleast 2 days time. He had rode along with her a few times, as well as others I know. That afternoon after leaving my place, I guess she allowed him to drop her off & take the truck someplace. Right after he left from her he stopped at the nearby gas station to pump gas & while he was inside the store the cops approached him & asked if he driving that truck. They handcuffed him, searched him, & arrested him, although he said he wasn't driving that truck. He was not pulled over in it., nor seen driving it by the officer.; but yet he was busted immediately & handcuffed before even leaving that store. When they searched him they found this credit card & when she had handed him a card that morning before he left, she said it was hers, but now it wasn't. The names of those mentioned is Esther Richter who prostitutes near SE 44th & Byers ave., & Officer Luna of the Sante Fe task force.

As the officer arrested him he stated that he was going to give him the highest charge possible & got him for trafficking of illegal drugs although it was really a simple possession. It was just one sack he had & he had no other signs for even selling drugs.., let alone trafficking them. The sack was on his person & not even in the vehicle. But is it even legal to handcuff a person & search them for supposedly driving a stolen truck which they were not even in, or seen driving it niether..? There was other people in the line at that time & why did the officer not pick one of them?

Whats worse is that I am starting to think it was literally a set-up & the reason I began to think this was a set-up is when I looked to find the truck owner though the address listed on the police paperwork, & I went there, it was an empty place. I asked the apartment people how long that place been empty & it had been a minute. They said people all the time fake thier addresses to police officers.., but how & why would the victim fake the address if he wanted his truck back.? And when you call to report it stolen they ask for your address & they tell you they will send an officee out to make that report. So where did that officer go for that report to be made & shouldn't that be the address listed.. !

Its bad enough to get caught in a stolen ride which you had no earthy idea about it, but its even worse when the cops set it up so they can take you down. I have asked Esther many times about that truck & she everytime begins to act crazy & says the same thing about it. When I ask where she got it from.., she still says it is hers.

This guy I speak about is now locked away in Oklahoma county & he is a good man. His name is Richard Urrutia & I will share this story & fihht this case until its dropped. DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY INFO TO ADD OR KNOWLEDDGE, OR HELP MAYBE.. .. .

#luis ruiz #pico #richard urrutia #okc police #police set-ups #police wrongdoings #fuck the police #se okc #sante fe division

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likikoari-home · 6 years

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The Abduction Down on Hyperion Road

Description: Alternate London, 1860. Things are going well all around. Business is booming and For the first time in a long time The Inventor is making money again. On to the scene is Jack, A star in town that a great many adore and a great many fear. Things seem like they couldn’t go bad until at least the voyages across the ocean return (or don’t). That is until a report appears in the News: Angel, Jack’s Daughter has gone missing. Many suspect murder, many suspect she ran away. Either way, something must be done to bring her home. and So the adventure begins as investigator team Nisha and Tim are hired to locate and bring her home Borderlands Steampunk London AU

Hi, This Fic is Written in conjunction with Borderland Big Bang/ Borderlands Reverse Bang. an Event that took place on tumblr where Artist and Authors work together to create stories! I do apologise for this incomplete state, I do however plan to continue working on this fic, I also apologise for any Formatting or Paragraphing issue, half of this was written on a phone and the other half written on a computer. Thank you very much for reading my fic and for checking out my Paired Artist Dauverney My Fanfiction.net post (if you prefer reading it there): https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12883032/1/The-Abduction-Down-on-Hyperion-Road My Wattpad post: https://my.w.tt/IaPX1c59DL My Artists Tumblr: http://dauverney.tumblr.com/ Borderlands Big Bang: https://borderlandsbigbang.tumblr.com/

Smoke and flashes, These are daily events for star actors like him. The Handsome Jack, Male lead role in the play, Death’s Dances with Gods. He raises his hand in a wave to the crowd, thanking all for their attendance and praise and finally escaping into his house after such a long day. “You’re late.” “What else you expect kiddo? Me to be on time?” The actor let out his loud laugh and picked up the girl, spinning her around. She laughed and screamed until he put her down.

“You’re getting heavy Angel.” “That’s very rude to say to a girl you know.” Angel crossed her arms with a humph, playing up how she was annoyed by the comment. “Oh cut me some slack cupcake. You’re growing. Any day now you’ll be a big girl and I won’t even be able to lift you!” Jack laughed as he lead her back into the study. “That’s right! I’ll be turning ten soon~” She light up, her face bright and excited. “You have to promise me you’ll do something special for me okay!” “Like what?” “uh…” She paused to think for a bit about what she could possibly want. “I know! You should bake me a big fancy cake. just like mom would have” “Do I have to bake it myself? Can’t I just buy it?” “You gotta do it yourself! But don’t worry, I’ll help” Angel said as if she was the best cake maker in the world. “Alright Pumpkin, but for now let’s check up on how your schoolwork is going”

–

A knock rang through the office where Nisha sat, feet on the desk reading the paper. “Tim! Can you get the door? I’m busy!” The man peaked into her cubby. “Busy with What?” “Busy. Now stop makin? the customer wait” she flicked a cigarette at him to get him moving, and he quickly did. The door opened with a loud commotion. A shriek from Tim and a shattering crash. Nisha grunted annoyed and stepped out to see what happened. Standing over Tim was a man everyone in town knew, Handsome Jack. Standing this close she could see how similar the twins really looked, similar angular Features and heterochromatic eyes. “Whatever it is you want Jack you need to calm down and not break anything else” The agitated twin shot around and went over to her, desperation, fear, in his eyes. “Nish you gotta help me! Please!” “You know we’ll help, just calm down so you can talk. Take a seat.” “Now, what happened? Why’d you attack Tim?” “Angel. He took Angel. I know it!” His voice was still shaky and panicked. His thoughts couldn’t be clear, especially if he was saying what she thought. “I told you. I haven’t seen Angel since last week” The ginger stood and rubbed his neck, voice hoarse from the shriek. Jack gave a harsh glare to his twin, his hands clenching again. “Bullshit! She went to your house last night to bring you an invite to her birthday!” “Tim?” “I didn’t see her Jack” “She must have been grabbed somewhere between your places. We’ll go get searching. Tim get ready to go out" Tim nodded and grabbed his Jacket, heading out to the blocks between his house and Jacks as Nisha stayed to keep a watch over him. “You want a drink or anythin’?” “Huh? Uh yeah. Whiskey would be fine.” Even though he was still antsy Tim leaving seemed to help him start to clear his thoughts.

“So, start from the beginning. What happened?” Nisha walked over and sat by him, setting down the platter with drinks and ice. One of the drinks Jack quickly took and downed as he began recalling the events of the day. “I had come home from the theater, the final showing. I spent the evening with Angel helping her with homework and planning her birthday. Once we finished making the cards she convinced me to let her go out on her own to deliver them. While waiting for her to return I fell asleep. When I woke up it was morning and I couldn’t find her anywhere. I went to every house that an invitation was to be delivered to and she hadn’t been to any of them. Tim would have been the first she’d have gone to cause his house is so close. How could she get snagged up so quickly? God, I’m an idiot. Why did I let her go out on her own!?” He was crying. “My little angel…” Nisha sighed. If Jack wasn’t so needlessly angry at Tim, right now he’d have been the one here instead of her. This was nowhere in any way her field of expertise and it was draining to see the grown man crying. “Jack look, everything will be fine. Tim is out there looking for Angel right now, or at least some lead that could get us going in the right direction. You’re not a bad Father.” She would do anything to get out of this, or at least get the man to stop crying. Which slowly, and after a refill of whiskey, he did. “Is there anything I can do to help at all?” “Yeah. You can go back home and stay calm. This panicking thing does not help you, her, or us. You can also prepare a list of people for us to visit and look for her. Also, crying ruins your looks and there’s very few in town that enjoy that.” the last line she added with a laugh, trying to clear the air of the lingering dread. “What would staying home help? I should be out looking for her.” “No, if she got lost somewhere last night the first thing she’s gonna do now is try to find her way home. Or worst case scenario if she was captured by some east city creep she’s tough, and if she escapes the first place she’s gonna try and run is again home. So you have to stay there. Now get going.” She practically booted him out the door, and as she closed it she could hear his mutterings of what he’d do to the dickbag that stole his little girl… and quietly agreed in her mind that she’d bring him there to do it.

The pair had been scouring the streets for a few hours when Timothy finally turned up with a clue. A simple bag filled with invitations. It was found in an alley near a shop selling magical wares, ‘Brothers Atlas’. Entering the store Nisha and Tim looked around. Everything ranging from burglar warding tins to ingredients to enchanted weaponry. “Hey Welcome! Anything we Can help you with today?” The detectives both jumped a bit, startled by the shopkeep’s sudden appearance. Nisha spoke up to the short man first. “Yeah. We’re investigators, searchin’ for a missin’ girl. We found a pack of letters by here. You hear anything last night?” The Irishman shook his head. “Ma’am We’re set up on the east side. We hear everything at night every night.“ Nisha rolled her eyes at the short one’s sass. “Alright, did you hear a little girl scream and get dragged away?” “I don’t think so, but I sleep like a log so let me go ask my brother” The man walked up into the back room.

“So Nisha. Where you think they get all this stuff?” Tim was inspecting a small ivory cat, some kind of luck charm. “Don’t really matter. Not like they got anything illegal in here. Not like we’re cops” “Yeah but It’s still something to think about” They heard bickering coming into the room. Accompanying the short one was a tall one. Silver arms and an eye patch. “Hey, investigators? Who you working for?” “Private investigators. We don’t give that info out. Anyway We’re looking for a missing girl. You hear anything like her getting captured last night” Tall one shook him head. “Sorry Ma’am. Last night was pretty quiet” Nisha grunted annoyed. “Alright boys. Thank you for your compliance “ Before Tim could further question the pair Nisha ended the conversation and lead them out.

Tim stumbled behind her as they left. “Woah slow down- Why’d you leave so soon? We didn’t even get to question them” Nisha kept walking, not missing a beat. “1. You really think those boys would have taken her? 2. You really think that if they did, they’d tell us anything and 3. There more shops around to question. Let’s not waste our whole day in one location, otherwise we might as well not look for the girl. “ Tim thought about it, and nodded. As they Headed into the next store, a place Called Scooter’s Steam Stables.

Jack sat at home, cooped up in his house at the demand of the investigators. But it still felt wrong. “I should be out there helping!” He stood up and went to the closet to pull out his jacket. “But I can’t! What if she does manage to come home? Damn it!” Jack slammed on the closet the pulled it open, pulling on his Jacket and opening the door. “Hey handsome, you going somewhere?” A startled yell and Jack jumped back from the door. “Crap Moxxi What the hell!? Knock when you come over!” The woman gave a loud laugh. “I would but you seem to have gotten to the door first. Now are you going to show me in or not?” Jack stammers a bit but welcomes her in, taking her coat and hanging his. It probably is best he stay and wait for angel. Especially with his manager here now. “So where were you going?” That wasn’t a good question right now damn it. “Uh. To the store.” “In a fervent rage? Also you never go shopping alone. Jack tell me the truth. You know I care for you.” “You care that I make you money" Moxxi gave him a whap on the head. “Wasn’t I your girlfriend before I was your manager?” Jack flinched and glared at her then sighed. “It’s Angel, she went missing and the investigators told me to stay home, But it feels wrong! Angel’s my sweet little girl, I need to be out there, helping her….” “Well then get out there. I’ll hold down the fort for you.” Jack looked at Moxxi to see a rare expression, a heartfelt smile and empathy. Jack nodded and without another word slipped on his jacket and dashed out. Heading straight to Timothy’s

Tim and Nisha Poured over what they had gathered for evidence. Which was honestly just a pathetic amount of one bag of dropped letters. No snow or soot meant no footprints, back alley on the east side of london meant that even if there were signs of a struggle it would be impossible to know if they were from Angel or not. No one claimed to have heard anything. The trail was going cold. Nisha downed a whiskey and looked at Tim. “How are we out of leads already? This Is THE Handsome Jack’s Daughter. The News has already printed her absence in the paper! There has to be some sort of lead somewhere!” “Thanks for pointing out the obvious Nisha. It Really helps the process” Tim sorted through the letters, checking for if there would be any clues or ‘A-ha!’ Moment’s hidden in them. “Also could you Not drink right now. It’s not helping anyone” “Tim shush. Your Sarcastic assholeness is way to Jack right now. And the whiskey helps me think” Tim just continued looking. “Why was she even out delivering these on her own? It’s not very like Jack to let her do anything unsupervised… “ Nisha leaned back in her chair. “Don’t ask me like I know. Maybe she convinced him it was some kind of right of passage in to growing up” Tim looked at his own invitation with confusion. “That just doesn’t make sense Nish. She was only turning ten.” Nisha suddenly sat up. “Wait how old?” “Uh Ten?” Nisha shot up from Her Chair and grabbed tim dragging him out the door. “Woah Nisha Slow down! What did you figure out?” Why did she always have to do this… “Ten! You had a hunch about that Magic shop didn’t you? Well now it’s starting to make sense. Magic Powers start to manifest at the age of ten! If hers started to show while she was out on the street, maybe near a magic shop that claim they didn’t hear anything…” Of course “So We’re going to go on a stake out and see if we can find any evidence?” ”Exactly”

#borderlands #borderlands reverse bang #good dad jack #oh know angel #sorry about my mess ups

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derenyanai · 6 years

Text

Araquu Journal Session #10- So Here’s The Plan

Time: Sometime after Session 18 Characters: Maska, Cecily, Yue, Aldrid, Navi

Posts indented like this were typed by the GM.

Posts that were not indented were typed by the player(s).

After the incident at Floradai Park, the DISC Unit discusses what to do next...

Yue was laying on a couch in whatever meeting room they be in kicking her feet in the air as she lays on her stomach hands on her chin supporting her head, "Sooo, we're out of leads then huh guys? No more relics to go after then? Is there some Small crime going on we can handle then?" she wonders out loud.

Maska is sprawled on whatever table they have in the room, head resting on the hard wood. With a laptop in front of him i guess "I could look up news article of the past few days..."

Cecily is only standing up and leaning near a corner of the room, having her arms crossed. "I could call one of the council members and see if they have any more info on relic locations," she suggests, pulling out her phone.

"Is there any thing else we should be doing aside from relic searching?” Yue asks. “I feel like that's a fun pass time searching for relics and all, but isn't there some more important other things we should do? Like finding the person actually stealing the relics, then we don't have to waste time to look for the hard to find artifacts."

"I could look up the year they were made in," Maska blows his single strand of hair of his face, "What year was it again? 18 something?" He sits up and brings the machine closer to him.

"1944," Cecily corrected.

"Ah yes, the 40s" Maska said, in a mocking old timey voice "Where showing a single ankle was like hardcore porn to men" He typed up ‘City of Araquu, 1944′ on google.

Some furious Google searching is enough to yield some rather interesting results. You have learned the following! • 1944 is the same year that the current Emperor became, well, the Emperor, having formerly been a part of the (then) council. • Several businesses and attractions were established in that year; Café Bleu de la Lune, Yinxiu Trinkets, Floradai Park, and Shimmering Fabrics are all familiar names. Attractions at the Park of the Lady, and a few recently discovered things (exhibited at the History Museum and Museum of Modern art) are mentioned. • Several powerful mage families also emigrated into Araquu at that time. Listed are the Summers family, the Noah family, and the Meyers family.

"Woah what?" Maska gasp, "Wendy comes from family of mages?"

"This is Araquu, most families here are families of mages, why are you so shocked by this Masky?" Yue wonders.

"Even my father's side of my family are mages," Cecily offhandly mentions.

"Yeah, but they're pleabians" He opens the Powerful Mage families emigrations on a different tab, "Says here they're crazy powerful, this I gotta see."

Which one(s) are you looking into?

"Hrm, let's start with Wendys family" He clicks on the Summers Family.

The Summers family is currently composed of: • Mikhal Summers, aged 58. An expert at tracking magic and capable of using various other assorted magics. • His son, Matthew Summers, aged 26. Rather talented in the art of plant magics. • Matthew's husband, Mark Summers, aged 25. Rather talented in the art of song magics. • Their adopted daughter, Wendy Summers, aged 10. She's too young to practice magic.

"I'd expected the current family be bigger, then again Wendy’s fathers are gay" Maska rubs his chin, "Plant Magic, Song Magic and Tracking Magic... her grandfather's magic could be useful provided he lend us a hand, what do you guys think?" He turns to Yue and Cecily.

"Well we can certainly add that to the things to consider," she cuffed her chin. "...Check to see if there's anything else worth looking into to broaden our options."

"Let me check to see if I can find a connection to the Summers Family and those darn relics," Maska searches the entirety of family to see if there’s a link.

You search the article for a while but don't manage to find anything. Apparently it's not online for everyone ever to see?

"Nothing, let's check the Meyers Family" He goes back on the site and clicks on the Meyers "Never heard of these people."

You have learned that an old lady named Geraldine Meyers is the owner of Shimmering Fabrics.

"Oh hey, it's that old lady from Upper City" Maska shows Cecily the picture of Geraldine, "The one we got the pin from."

"I recall her," Cecily said, flattening her expression. "Reminds me of something else I plan on doing later. Anyways, see what it says about the family."

"Oh right, I should actually look up the actual history of the family." Damn it Maska, anyways he reads the history of the Meyers outloud.

Geraldine lives on her own with like, 50 dogs, she has no family.

"50 dogs? Living the dream right there, good shit." He looks over Geraldine's profile once again, "For someone who comes from a powerful mage family, doesn't seem like she has magical abilities."

"So you're saying that they're nothing to note besides working at one of the locations we've been to?" Cecily asks.

The problem is, no one really knows much about her. She lives on her own and doesn't socialize that often. There's not much information available online.

"Nope, well if you count that she had the relic in her shop and having come from a prestige family" He goes back and clicks on the last family to emigrated to Araquu, "But I don't think that's a connection."

THE NOAH FAMILY, aka Councilman Noah's family, probably his parents or grandparents? That's like all you can find, the council is pretty damn secretive.

"I forgot how secretive mages were with their history, it's really fucking annoying" Maska lets out a sigh with a grimace on his face. Fucking mages.

A sigh only comes from Cecily. "Great," she says. "In terms of people that doesn't leave us with much. How about any other places that relate to the date? Some we haven't visited?"

"Give me a sec, you know you can come and look see yourself instead of trying to blend into the wallpaper" He closes the tab of TreeAncestry dot com and goes back to the google one. He clicks on the page relating to the business that open during 1944.

Before you can investigate any further, the door opens and Navi walks in. "...WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK WHY IS MY HOUSE YOUR HANGOUT!?"

"Hey boo, we just invited ourselves in hope you don't mind" Maska waves at her.

"...if it makes you feel better, I brought food over," Cecily says, pointing to some left over donuts in a box. "You can help yourself."

Navi mutters something about having sworn she locked the door before going to grab a donut. "Any luck with those last few relics we don't know about?"

"No, but I did find out that Wendy’s gonna be a powerful mage when she grows up" Maska stretches a bit, "Right now we're looking into the business that open during the 40s."

Navi takes a few bites to eat her donut, munching as Maska searches. Unfortunately there are too many Dank Memes on the interwebs right now, so he can't find anything that they don't already know.

Cecily, it suddenly dawns on you that perhaps it wasn't so much businesses that were given relics, so much as people who were entrusted to take care of them and put together something they could use to hide it. A lamp at a cafe isn't something that draws attention; nor is a hatpin at a clothing store.

"...There is a connection I do notice," Cecily thought to herself. "Perhaps it's not so much as locations, as it's actually people we should be more concerned with paying attention to. Like, people the Emperor must of knew or trusted."

"Huh- oh uh" Maska quickly closes the Bill Wurtz video he accidentally clicked on, "Right Emperor, question; how do we figure out who he knew? The guy is a well guarded secret."

"That... is the tricky part," Cecily sweatdropped. "I mean, we could ask one of the councilmen. After all, Councilmen Noah is tied to the year 1944."

"Hang on I'm gonna check this article for a hot minute" He clicks on the search result on how the current emperor became as such.

It seems to be a 'picked by the council' thing; and they usually have a sort of trial of their own design to figure out if the person trying to become Emperor is capable of the tasks that would be set before them. Also, you've found a forum where people try and theorize what kind of magic the Emperor uses.

"They do a trial to see if they're fit to be the Emperor, huh i always thought it was more of a 'who the most powerful mage of them all' cue lightning crackling-" He pauses at what he found "Oh hey! Look, conspiracy theorist!"

Navi groans. "Maska for the love of god no, when has anything useful ever come from conspiracy theories-" boom shakalaka

"Shut up! I'm listening to crazy people!" He clicks on the link to the forum.

Cecily facepalms. "...So, Navi," Cecily says, deciding to small talk while Maska is wasting time. Maybe he'll get back on track soon. "What have you been up to while we were in the Upper City?"

Maska, you can't find any signs of intelligent life here. There are approximately thirty different theories about what kind of magic the Emperor uses, although only two of them seem to be actually trying to present any evidence. There's also a running poll and betting pool about what gender the Emperor is, which is basically neck and neck for Male/Female right now.

"Mostly been runnin' deliveries and what not for Willow. Helpin' her out. She's expectin' a new shipment in soon and wants to be careful it doesn't get stolen again."

"Hm.... I should come back and bet on this when we find out," He mutters to himself and opens both theories that are at least trying their best in their own tabs.

"Robbed?" Cecily asks. "What was stolen?"

"It happened a while ago, she said it was some or other ingredients she doesn't actually sell 'cause they're usually illegal to hang onto," Navi explains. "Said she has permission to use 'em in her own private work though. Actually, she spoke to Aldrid 'bout it, I'm surprised he hasn't told y'all this happened."

Maska, the two primary theories are that the Emperor either uses some form of Body Manipulation Magic (that is, manipulating their own body) or that they use some form of Time Magic. The argument for Time Magic seems to have more proof - various photos of things and locations in places the Emperor has apparently been that indicate time changed somehow - although a lot of the photos and things are "I took a picture here with my mom at this point in time, and then a thing happened and now it looks like THIS" or something similar so it's hard to verify the validity of any of those; on the other hand, Body Manipulation Magic has a very strong following and many people have pointed out that surely it HAS to be that because of all the photos of the various damaged areas from the scene, or the fact that no one fucking knows what the Emperor looks like so they have to be able to change themselves at will... tough to say, really! However, based on your own investigations of these things, you're more inclined to think the Emperor is some sort of time mage; a lot of the things being argued as going under Body Manipulation can actually be viewed as time magic if looked at from the right angle, and with how secretive the council is it's really no surprise that people don't know what the Emperor looks like either; especially if he or she could just, I don't know, pause time and go where they need to go and then unpause it or something similar!

"Pft maybe Wu Hou is the Emperor, or maybe related," He re-reads the time magic theory again. Hypothetically, a egg inside of Maska’s head begins to crack, crack, crack, and hatch to reveal a chick. Maska stands up and shouts "OH MY GOD WE NEED TO FIND WU HOE" frantically.

"AAAAH, JESUS!" Cecily replies, jumping a foot into the air.

"AAAAAHHH!" Yue falls off the couch and sits up looking around. “I'm awake totally.... what happened who's yelling?"

"It makes somewhat sense" He re-reads both theories on the forum he found "Maybe we really need to find Wu Hou..."

"Huh? Why?" Yue asks standing up and brushing herself off.

Maska explains to her the theories he found and his after thoughts on how the Emperor could be using it, also he brought her up to speed on what they had found out "...So, if we do find her, not only could we find more about people that are connected to 1944, we could find out more about the Emperor themselves."

"Assuming that this Wu person would be interested in even bothering to help us. What makes you so sure we can count on her?" Yue puts a finger to chin in thinking form.

"Same goals? Cecily did mention she was trying to 'save the city.'" Maska opens up a new tab and goes to youtube. Might as well get some music in the background, the silence is the deafening, "Besides, I trust this Hou person very little but I do trust Cecily's judgement. Most of the time."

"Huh, Well, glad to see you're not taking that at face value." she smiles, "I've run into so many people that claim the same thing in this line of work that it's hard for even me to trust everything someone says. Besides how would we find someone that could travel through time, and not alert HQ?" Yue sits down cross armed, "What about talking with the council again, maybe they can help us figure something out?"

"I think that’s the point, even if the Emperor would use time magic, wouldn't their magical signature already be notified by the police?" He clicks on some random music and lets it play on low volume, "And true we could take it up with them again, but remember they can't always help us. When was the last time we even met them again in person? Still, not denying that we could go talk to them."

"Did you have a reason to meet them again in person before now?" Yue wonders leaning in.

"Beside seeing Fira again, not really" He leans back on his chair and yawns, "So we can either find the Hoe person or talk to the councilmen."

"I feel like it would be in our best interest to go after the councilmen, if we wanna continue finding the relics. I feel like we could stop this relic running round thing easier if we go after the person hunting them down first. Any ideas on who we could try and track down?"

"I don't know about them anymore, it feels like we're going on a wild goose chase." Maska scratches his head. "What would that even accomplish? We have the Relics then what?"

"I don't think we should be collecting the relics right now." Yue flat out states.

“Well, what do you suggest we do then?” Cecily turns to Yue, while rubbing the back of her own head. “I know we’re a police force that also deals with small crime too, but that still doesn’t mean there’s no sense of urgency either.”

"No no, hear me out here, why would we need to collect all of the relics? Can't we use what we have now as bait to lure out the enemy instead of gathering all the trinkets to make things easier for the opponent?" Yue smiles.

"That sounds flawed, you want to use all of the relics we have to bait out the bad man?" Maska pipes in.

"Pardon my askin'," Navi pipes up from where she's cleaning up a bit, "But have we figured out WHY these guys want th'relics?"

“Nothing concrete if that’s what you’re asking,” Cecily groans. “The only thing I could think of is someone destroy them because of that ritual hiding warehouse we came upon. The relics are tied to the city, right?”

"The relics are tied to the shield that protect the city" Maska leans back on the chair, "If you destroy one the shield weakens."

"Finding the reason as to why they wish the barrier destroyed..." Aldrid starts to say as he walks in "May be part of our primary objective."

"I didn't say use all of the relics Maska, why are you jumping to that conclusion? We would only need to use 1 of them like my hairpin." Yue is stuck on that conversation, "It would help us try and figure out why they're going after these relics and determine if we'll be falling into their plans by just taking all of the relics ourselves."

Cecily crosses her arms and only looks downward. “It could also give us the chance in catching my mother as well...”

"So, we're doing that instead?" Maska rocks himself on the chair he was already leaning on, "We're going to lure out the baddies?"

"I don't see why not, and I have an idea on how to get the word out about the bait too." Yue smiles.

"I swear to fuck if you tell me you're gonna make a god damn video about it then I'm leaving."

“You’re gonna leave your own house?” Cecily deadpans.

"WELL WHY THE FUCK NOT YOU PEOPLE HAVE TAKEN IT FOR YOURSELVES"

"You seem upset," Maska observes.

“Were the donuts not enough as an apology?” Cecily asks.

"Yeah we brought you donuts, isn't that enough?" Maska asks.

Yue goes over to Navi, "Aw, come on, So, what's your bright idea then?"

“Correction: I bought donuts,” Cecily looked at him. “You just shrugged and walked about nonchalantly.”

"Yeah, but I got her this laptop so suck it" Maska that's your own laptop.

“I’m not sure Navi wants whatever you already have stored in there,” Cecily assumes.

Aldrid just kinda stands there, awkardly, like usual.

Navi lets out a deep and clearly frustrated breath through her nose. "We're trying to keep people from panickin', ain't we? Publically announcing something to an audience that may not even include who we're looking for isn't a great idea," she points out. "Also food as a bribe only really works when I actually taste things."

“Fine, I’ll just make it up to you another way then,” she sighs. “But... Navi does have a point. We don’t want a city crisis, and given your popularity...”

Yue sighs then smiles with a thumbs up, "Do you really think that I would state something like 'This is a relic, one that holds the city barrier together. Protecting us from the outside world. Hey baddies come and get it if you dare.'" she states the script like statement in the most sarcastic tone she could muster making sure to emphasize that if this is what you guys were thinking then you're kind of dumb. “I was going to make a video about showing off this pin that could resize clothing. It's a cool parlor trick and any bad guys that seem to know exactly what each of the relics are, would know that this is a relic. Also on the point of if they would watch the video, I have a big following in the city and people do talk about my videos, so while yes it is a long shot that the opponents would hear about this, it is still worth the shot. This way no one knows about any relics that shouldn't know, also they won't know about who the baddies are or heck about the barrier. There wouldn't be a city crisis or anything like that with this idea."

“Okay, so stating you have a relic, but not flat out saying it is one,” Cecily followed along. “And the only people who would know about and make it known, that’s how we know the bait worked.”

"Well, the word would get around, and we would probably have to make a location known of where I'm live streaming or something... and we'll know if it works if the enemy shows up either at my home or on the stream, I guess really we'd have to wait and find out if it worked." Yue nods.

Navi stares at them. "...well, it's more thought-out than I thought it was, but it still seems stupid. Where would you be broadcasting from, first of all?"

"Unless you have a place, or we could use one of our houses," Maska rocks too far back and ends up flat on his back.

"Oh, I have a place we could use." Yue grins.

"Do y'all need me along or can I opt to NOT participate in this stupidity?"

"NO! You've been gone too long!" Maska struggles to get up a bit.

"It would be nice to have you along, Navi You're our friend, but if you don't want to join I won't force you." Yue says.

“We’ll need all the friends and help we can get,” Cecily says with a reassuring smile. “Please?”

Navi's eye twitches. "All right, all right, fine! I'll tag along on this stupid idea, but only so I can bail you idiots out when it backfires."

"Yay!" Oh he finally got up, "Thanks boo"

“We’ll owe you one if you have to,” Cecily smiles warmly.

"Can I use that to request that Maska never calls me 'boo' again?"

"Fine"

Yue does a quick hug on Navi, "Thank you, Navi. You're a true pal." she lets go with a smile.

"Let go of me," Navi bluntly says.

“Well in the downtime, might as well prepare for confrontation,” Cecily says, grabbing her sword and turning to everyone. “Need anything from me before I head out?”

"Let Eiriol know what's happening, then tell Willow I won't be able to make it to work for a bit, since I don't know how long this'll take."

“Sure then,” Cecily nodded. “Anyone else?”

"Nope, I'm good in fact I need to set up! See you around everyone." Yue smiles as she waves goodbye then leaves.

[[END OF JOURNAL SESSION]]

#text #araquu #journal session #maska #cecily #yue #aldrid #navi #magic and masterminds #magic & masterminds #mutants and masterminds

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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

Text

Fic: The Darkness Within (9/?)

Summary: When washed-up paranormal investigator Rum Gold meets Belle French, he does not quite know what to make of her claim of a supernatural presence in her life, but sensing her genuine fear, he begins to investigate. What he uncovers shakes the cynicism he has so long held to its very core, and he calls in the help of disgraced ex-priest Father Macavoy to help him lay some demons to rest…

A slow burn, eventual rumbellavoy. The rating may increase in later chapters.

Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: references to attempted suicide and prescription drug abuse

Please note: Dormex is a fictional medication, any similarities to existing drugs are entirely coincidental.

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Nine

The afternoon after he had spoken to Joseph in the morning found Gold in the pharmacy on a completely unrelated errand, thoughts of the supernatural far from his mind as he searched for his usual brand of toothpaste, which appeared to have vanished from the shelves. It was only when he heard the beginnings of, not a dispute, but definitely a pointed discussion, that his attention was drawn out of the immediate environs and back into the periphery.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t sell you that many in one batch,” Tom Clark, the pharmacist, was saying.

It was the other voice that caught Gold’s attention, because having spent so much time with its owner over the past couple of days, he would recognise it anywhere.

“Please.” Belle sounded wrecked, her voice hoarse. “Please, I need this strong a dose. I can handle it, believe me.”

“Miss, I’ll lose my license if I sell you that many. One pack at a time, that’s your max. I don’t want you to do yourself harm.”

“Please,” Belle begged. “I used to take prescription Dormex, that’s triple the strength of these and I was on a double dose.”

Gold slipped around the end of the aisle so that he could see the counter. Belle was standing there, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as if she was trying to physically hold herself together. Tom gave her a sad, sympathetic smile and pushed the pile of sleeping pill boxes off to one side.

“Miss, I suggest that you go to the doctor and get him to put you back on Dormex if you’re having trouble sleeping.”

Belle shook her head. “No, you don’t understand… I just want a good night’s sleep for once in my life.”

She looked up at that moment and saw Gold standing off to one side. The dark circles under her bloodshot eyes were even more pronounced than they had been before, and Gold could tell that she had not slept the past two nights since he saw her last at the diner. She left the shop without another word, stalking past him with shoulders hunched, protecting herself from whatever might be out there. Tom watched her go, then gave Gold a worried look.

“D’you think I ought to call Hopper?” he said. “When someone looks that desperate and tries to buy that many sleeping pills…”

Gold shook his head. “No. I don’t think she has any intention of doing herself harm. She just needs some sleep. Whether she’ll get it or not is a different matter.” He paid for his toothpaste and followed Belle out of the shop. It took him a little while to find her as he had no idea which direction she might have gone in, but he decided that going towards the library was probably the best idea, and sure enough, she was sitting on the bottom step of the staircase that led up to her little apartment, still curled up on herself.

“I take it you heard my little performance in the drug store,” she muttered, not looking up at him and addressing his feet and the butt of his cane.

“Yes.”

“I’m not trying to kill myself.” Her voice was hard and brittle, and it sounded as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“I didn’t think that you were. But you are desperate, and desperate people do desperate things that they might not always think through entirely. May I?”

He indicated the step beside her and Belle slid to the side to allow room for him without a word. He settled next to her, resting his cane between his knees.

“I’ve never heard of Dormex,” he said, by way of continuing the conversation.

“It’s very new. I was on the clinical trials, it’s only just been approved for mainstream release. It’s a very powerful sleeping drug, about as near as you can get to full on surgical sedation without going intravenously.” She sighed, but she still did not look at him, instead staring out into the middle distance. “When I started sleepwalking, it was suggested that I try sleeping pills to really knock me out properly so I could get a good night’s rest. Because sleep is the time when your body rests and recharges and repairs itself, but if you sleepwalk then you’re expending all your energy on being up and active whilst you’re asleep, so you don’t get the proper rest you should be getting. That was the problem I had. Of course, when I was younger I just thought it was straight up somnambulism, I didn’t realise that all the rest of the freaky stuff was happening.”

“Did it work?” Gold asked.

Belle nodded, then shook her head. “It worked for a little while. Every time I tried a new pill, it would work for about a month or two but then the sleepwalking would start again and I started getting side effects. I think that was the Dark One trying to fight against this drug that was making me so heavy and lethargic and physically unable to get up and do its bidding. So I kept getting stronger and stronger pills, larger and larger dosages until I was at the very limit of what I could take over the counter and on prescription safely. My doctor couldn’t understand how my body could be so averse to restful sleep; he said he’d never seen someone as active in their sleep as I was. That was around the time of the fifteen miles with broken glass in my feet incident. Then came Dormex. The two months of that trial, I had the best sleep I’d ever had. Before or since.”

“Why did you stop taking it?”

“The trial finished and my insurance wouldn’t cover it on prescription.” Belle let out a long sigh. “So that was the end of Dormex, and since then, nothing’s even come close to it. So in the end I stopped taking the sleepers altogether, because they just weren’t working. Now though…”

“You just want to sleep.”

“It’s more than that. I just want to sleep without fear. Unlike most other people who take part in sleeping drug trials, I don’t have insomnia. I have no trouble falling asleep. I can lay down and put my head on the pillow and I’ll be off within a few minutes. But I don’t want to fall asleep. When I stay awake it’s by choice. I haven’t slept since I woke up in your garden because I’m just so afraid of it happening again. The thing inside my head, the Dark One – it’s getting stronger, I can feel it. Perhaps because it’s now where it wants to be. All the time before, it’s focussed all its energy on trying to get north. Now it is north, and it can do whatever the next stage is.”

Gold really didn’t want to think about what that next stage might be, and he thought again of the handprint on his study window. It was probably time to come clean.

“Belle, I have to say this. That night I found you in the morning, that wasn’t the first time you’ve been to my garden in your sleep.”

She looked at him then, her gaze sharp despite her obvious wearing fatigue.

“What?”

“You came the night before as well, after our first conversation in the bar.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

“Well, I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t even know that you’d been until I found a handprint on my window that had definitely not been there before.”

“God, Gold, you’re freaking me out and I’m the one who did it. How did you know that it was me?”

“Fingerprints matched.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure it’s highly unethical if not illegal to take someone’s fingerprints without their permission but I’m going to let that slide.” Belle ran a hand through her limp hair. “Wow. That’s… I don’t even know what to say. That’s scary.”

“It is a bit, yes.”

“Well, at least now you know why I won’t go back to sleep.”

“I know. But I’m not worried about your midnight excursions into my garden.” That was a lie, Gold was extremely worried about her nocturnal visits but he figured that thus far she had not actually made it into his house so he was fairly safe from whatever intentions towards him that she might have had. “I’ve had an idea.”

Belle looked at him warily. “Go on.”

“I was speaking to an old friend of mine. He lives in England but we did some work together a few years ago, back when I was still working. He’s something of a specialist in cases like yours.”

“Cases like mine? Can I meet this specialist?”

“I’m not sure that would be entirely a good idea, he’s not actively practising anymore and I don’t want you to freak out.”

“Gold, I’ve been permanently freaking out on a subconscious level ever since I was twelve and I realised that there was something very wrong with me. I am never not freaking out. I’m freaking out right now but I’m too tired to actually show it.”

Gold conceded that point.

“So who is this friend of yours and what does he do?” Belle asked. For all her fear and internal freaking out, she seemed calm and composed, and interested by what he had to say.

“His name’s Joseph Macavoy and he used to be a priest.”

“A priest? What does a priest…” She tailed off. “Good lord. Do you really think I’m being possessed by a demon?”

“I’m not sure what I think just yet,” Gold said, trying not to commit himself to anything before he’d been able to do some more research and experimentation. “I think that I’m going to have to accept that it might be a possibility, and one that I would like to prove conclusively true or false before I move onto the next hypothesis.”

In spite of it all, Belle gave a little giggle.

“From what I know of you, Mr Gold, I think only you could turn demonic possession into something so harmless and scientific sounding.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but thank you.”

“So, tell me what did Joseph have to say?”

“He advised us to communicate with whatever it is in your mind directly. Which is why I want you to sleep tonight and try to let it come to the surface.”

“How am I going to communicate with it if I’m asleep?” Belle pointed out.

“Well, it’s a fairly crude solution, but I want to try it. Right down three questions on a big sheet of paper and stick it to your bedroom door so that it’s the last thing you see before you close your eyes and the first thing that you see when you open them. With any luck, the subconscious thing should notice them and take them in, and answer them, and you might have answers when you wake up. Or if it’s feeling particularly helpful then it might write down the answers for you.”

“Or another hypnotism session,” Belle said. Her voice was ponderous, she was evidently giving the matter serious consideration. “When I sleep I don’t remember anything, but even before I blacked out in the session with Dr Hopper, I was remembering things that I wouldn’t ordinarily recall. It might bring up some kind of repressed knowledge.”

“I’m willing to try anything to get to the bottom of this if you are,” Gold said plainly. Belle nodded her agreement.

“Yes. I’m willing. What do you want me to ask myself?”

“These three things: ‘What is your name?’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘What are you looking for?’”

“Got it.” Belle stared down at their shoes again for a long time, then finally looked back at Gold. “Do you think that this is going to work?”

“I have no idea, but I think we ought to try it. If it doesn’t, then we’ll just try something else.”

Belle smiled weakly. “Thank you. For your dedication. And for, well, listening. I guess we’ll just have to see what happens tonight.”

“We shall see.”

Gold hoped that the experiment would bear fruit, and he very much hoped that he would not find Belle in his garden come the next morning. Although, he amended, if she could tell him the answers to those three questions then perhaps it would be worth it, for both of them.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Fic: The Darkness Within #cw: attempted suicide reference #cw: prescription drug abuse

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greatplanettahoe · 7 years

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Japan Log Day 1

I kind of want to create a log of my time in Japan. I think it’d be fun, and from what I’ve heard, I’d be able to remember my trip better! There may be a day delay for me, at least for day one because that was all flying and lemme tell you, after a 13 hour flight, a 3 hour flight felt like NOTHING, haha. I felt like I played on my DS for a half hour and it was over. So, I don’t know when entirely I’ll post these, or if anyone cares, but I don’t. Because it’ll be fun for me to look back on and remember ;)

Day one - The day of insane travel

Our journey began as most other journeys do, of sitting at home, counting away the hours and having panicked thoughts of what you still need to do and what’s been done. My way of coping was to blast music - sorry Tegan - and stare blankly at a wall. Not productive when packing was half done. Luckily, I got everything ready about an hour before my friend came to pick me up. About ten minutes before, I began to stress clean. I guess that’s exciting? Lilia’s parents graciously took us to Vancouver In'tl Airport (YVR)- Canada. The car ride felt short. Shorter than I thought it was to get to the border. Right before we hit, we got to see the tiny little peace arch. Cool! Going in, the border guard is looking over our passports, doing the routine questions.

Then, he leans in and goes “Alauna?” and I sheepishly correct him as he clearly wasn’t quite sure how to pronounce my name. He informs me that I need to sign my passport and I need to do that before I check in at the airport otherwise they may not let me fly. OOPS! Luckily Lil’s dad had a pen that I could use otherwise I’d have to hunt for somewhere to sell a pen at the airport at MIDNIGHT! Getting into the country, I receive a text from my mobile provider. CONGRATS! T-Mobile works in Canada text/data free, call 20c/min. Neat!

After a pretty good wait in line - China Eastern is apparently a very popular company - and chatting with the nice lady in front of us we reach the airline official. Neither of our passports scanned into the computer. Probably because Lilia’s is 9 years old, mine’s 1 month. He was very kind, making sure that we knew our layover was between two different airports in Shanghai (more on that later, ugh) and asked us if we had any illegal items to which we both said no. He smiled and said “I trust you two, you both look very trustworthy”. He then noticed that we were seated at least 10 rows away from each other. With our permission he changed our seats to be together. Once he got our tickets, he pointed out what information we needed to know. Lilia got seat C, he was going to be in seat B, I in A …. wait. There is no seat B! :P With a very heartfelt thank you, we asked where the gates were and said our farewell.

Getting up to security, was a very small line with a long wait. It looked like the officer’s battery had died on his scanner and had to get a new one. Oh well. After that, it took about 2 seconds to make sure our tickets were valid - phew! and go onto phase two with the bag screening. They instructed us to put laptops in a separate tray. Confusedly, I ask the man why. He mentioned because laptops could be bombs. Which, I never thought about and by the look on my face, he must have understood and had a small smile as we thanked him. Lilia got through security fine. The metal detector beeped for me. Contrats, I’m wearing a bra, because that was literally why the detector beeped for me. Past that, we walked through a small mall with a bunch of stores, and very glittery flooring. Our gate was easy to find, and had a subway near us. We just got chips and ginger ale as we both weren’t feeling fantastic.

There’s not much meant to be said for the flight. Although, as it took off, Lilia looked at me and said; “I regret every jet I crashed in GTA 5”

It was nearly 13 hours and insane. Neither of us slept much, which sucked. But, at least it was quiet as pretty much everyone else did sleep. Except for one guy in the row beside us whose entertainment screen wouldn’t turn off and he was trying to sleep so he had his jacket backwards to cover his face LOL. I did kind of feel bad for him since it was legitimately malfunctioning. Their movie selection was pretty bomb. Lilia and I synced up our screens so we watched Furious 7 together. The airline provided us dinner. I accidentally got shrimp noodles, which thank you that my medicine works, and Lilia got some sort of beef patty and rice. There was also some sort of custard that was similar to cheesecake, but not entirely. It was delicious. We both tried to sleep for a while. Gave up. We got breakfast which was two adorable hash-brown patties, an omelette, and a very undercooked, disease sausage link which neither of us touched. At that point, Lilia started up Day After Tomorrow, and I started Secret Life of Pets … which got interrupted a total of a billion times. I managed to finish SLoP right before they cut off entertainment for landing purposes.

The drive after landing and getting to our gate was probably half the time of our flight. We get another text from T-Mobile. Welcome to China! Your phone has free texting, call 20c/min, and 2g unlimited data! AWESOME!

Immigration was easy, whom also informed us that our connecting flight was in a separate airport, security was easy (they have thermal screening, so that was definitely interesting!), and getting our luggage was SUPER easy. Customs, we had nothing to declare so went through that line no prob, and exited the airport into a throng of people all shouting ‘taxi!’. One guy dogged us for a long time and we eventually rolled with him as the bus to take us to Honquaio was in another hour and we only had four before our other flight. Driving in Shanghai is terrifying. Our driver nearly creamed 2 people on mopeds, and almost hit countless other cars. I never want to drive in Shanghai. As nice as the city was, there was no telltale building style, and all the buildings were insane colors. I saw an apartment complex that was hot pink. OK. We arrive at the airport, to where the cabby swindled us out of a little more money than what we agreed on, but both of us were tired and didn’t care at that point. The line in this airport was about two times longer than YVR, but went quickly enough. Again, getting to our gate was super easy, and we had about an hour of downtime before boarding.

Second flight felt way too short, and they provided us with spaghetti and another of those delicious cluster squares! Hell yeah. I think I played my DS for the entire time, but it was hard to tell since the flight felt super short.

Getting into Japan, immigration was NUTS. The line was insanely long, although it went quickly. Got fingerprinted so if I crime in Japan, they’ll know it was me. Shucks. Too bad I wasn’t planning on anything anyways. We both had our first experience with a Japanese western toilet which I’m now convinced they all have bidets since our hotel toilet has one too. FYI, the seats are very warm when you sit on them, and the one in the airport played gentle music to mask the fact that I had the best racehorse pee in the universe. Sorry, TMI? We get ANOTHER text from T-mobile. HOORAY! Your phone works! Free text, 20c/min call, 2g unlimited data! WHAT?! I wasted $40 on SIM cards before we left, and now we don’t need them! Oh well, lol.

Hitting up the international ATM, my card was declined. WHAT!? I had called my bank, so they should know I’m here! I managed to get the attention of an airport lady who graciously tried helping, but it declined for her too. Lilia was able to get out some cash. What the heck?! We asked the airport lady where the Keikyu line was and if Pasmo was over there, and she instructed us what to do. We thanked her for her time and assistance. Meanwhile, there was another American having the same problem as I. I noticed his card had a chip. Lilia’s didn’t. Ding ding, it’s the chip. We got sodas and some Japanese candy and a fruit cup, got Pasmo’s and went to the station towards Kawasaki - after a little help as we didn’t see our stop.

The train wasn’t too terribly crowded. But, went approximately the speed of a fighter jet. My shoulder and back is still sore for hanging on for dear life while making sure my luggage didn’t go anywhere. There was a lady I kept bumping into and I kept apologizing whenever I did though she just smiled and told me it was OK. There was also a nice man there who watched us to make sure we were OK and whenever another train passed us, make a slight thunking noise, probably had a great internal laugh at my face whenever I had a slight panic about it.

Getting off the station and heading down some steps, there are apparently designated sides which you move. We went down halfway the wrong way, realized, and moved over with our luggage. Sorry! Walking here is definitely interesting. There’s people crossing the streets, not even really looking. I think we saw 1 personal car on our walk to the hotel.

Getting into Noanoa was easy. Manager was SUPER nice, got our luggage taken to the room, and let us stay in the spa room while we waited the last hour before the official check-in time. While there, Lilia opened up her fruit cup, which has jello instead of juice, and I had my candies which were DELICIOUS, and apparently limited time, so guess what I’m buying more of once I get cash? Because Japan is a very cash-heavy type of country.

Our hotel room is a little small, but nothing we can’t handle. I’m sure Lilia feels weird actually being on par or taller than most the people we’ve passed walking to the hotel. We spent half the day exploring the tiny room, seeing what was on TV and being very confused over a child’s show before turning it off. We figured out google translate, and have translated pretty much everything in our room. We still need to figure out the unit on the wall, but we at least know lighting, what the controls are on the bidet, and how to work the mechanical nightmare that is the shower. We put on a Youtube show that we both like, and I crashed just before 7PM after roughly 24 hours of travel and not sleeping. Lilia poked me awake and we officially went to bed around 7PM.

We have not eaten since at least noon on the flight, and it’s going on 14 hours. Yeesh.

Our plans today, as I’m finishing this up around 2PM, is to visit an actual bank so I can hopefully withdraw cash, find somewhere to eat, and hit up a couple parks and museums. There’s also the Keihin Fushimi Inari shine that we’ll probably explore. Today is slotted to be a low-key day as we’re both pretty tired even after sleeping for a solid 12+ hours.

Note: Edited for easier reading

#Japan Log #Day 1 #Japan Trip #This blog is a day behind just fyi

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judefan842-blog · 4 years

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notsdlifter · 6 years

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Kill Hollows: Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO:

THE FACILITATOR

Robert Warrington’s Journal

Token-Oak, Summer of 1996

8888 days before the Syndemic

I didn't see Jacob again for a long time. He spent two years committed at Shadow Mountain. They taught him, according to the grandparents, the “tools to cope.” By the time Jacob got released, he was equipped to “handle the peaks and valleys of life.” Unfortunately, those peaks were too high and those valleys too low.

I moved from Token-Oak to live with an Aunt Gina in the “big city” 300 miles away. Gina was a domineering woman who worked the night shift at a local hospital making beds and mopping floors. She lived in a mobile home nearby the hospital. Even though her house had four wheels and no yard, she kept it meticulously clean. No matter what the excuse, I was not to wake her from sleep. I spent my days tiptoeing around a rickety trailer barely grabbing door handles and plates just trying to survive. The only thing that didn’t wake Gina was reading, so I devoured books on my twin bed at the end of the trailer.

Aunt Gina and I visited Token-Oak on holidays, and even that became rare. The grandparents sent me cards on birthdays, and we had the occasional phone call filled with the truncated dialectic between the elderly and children: “[question]: how was [blank]” . . . “[answer]: it was good.” About once a year, the grandparents would visit. Most of the news I heard about Jacob was cliched mundanities about how he was “finding his way” or “the Lord’s plan for him is different.”

It wasn't until I was in high school that I saw Jacob again for any meaningful stretch. I'd bought my first car and itched to take my first trip. Vegas was out of the question. Even a day trip to the Lake of the Ozarks made my aunt nervous. Eventually, she agreed to let me stay with family. One summer morning, I loaded up my car and headed back.

Token-Oak had been calling me home ever since I left. On the drive back—my teenage nervousness with driving on the highway in full bloom—I thought about all the things I hated about the place: the smallminded bigotry of the town, the anger everyone seemed to wear around their neck like 7,000 scarves, and those fucking oak trees, dying everywhere. The broken fingers of their limbs reaching up into the sky like the tiny fingers of long-dead children. Most of all, though, I thought about that man on the driveway. I’d had dreams about his black gums for years. Waking up sweating, breathing in short puffs to avoid the ammonia stench, I’d curse the thought of Token-Oak.

I had to see it again. I had to.

Jacob was living in a dilapidated home on the south side of town. As Token-Oak’s first neighborhood, Old Town houses were built at the turn of the nineteenth century. Big houses with sprawling lawns, there was a time when well-to-do citizens lived in Old Town. In 1955, the tire plant was built nearby, and a smoky haze blanketed the area. A few years later, an oil drilling company bought a plot of land across the road from the tire plant. All through the night, the clanging of pipes and the smell of burning rubber filled the air. Families left nice cape cods and Tudor homes to flee the nuisance. Over the years, Old Town buildings and homes turned black from the smoke. Rough necks and immigrants working nearby filled the neighborhood.

Jacob bought a home there, an L-shaped two-story in between a flop house for illegals and a home with all the glass broken out and no front door.

I met Jacob one Saturday, and he was raving about his new business on the outskirts of town. The tires of his new pickup thumped as we drove over railroad tracks into a neighborhood with single room cinderblock houses. A few of the houses were ashen-black with burnt roofs and shattered windows. Many others sat abandoned like open sores on a very sick patient. The lawns were dust patches littered with trash and dilapidated automobiles. Front doors of many of the houses sat wide open like amazed faces. The smell of ether singed the air.

A pregnant dog with enlarged teats darted out of a leafless bush. As we rolled through, I felt suspicious and alert and nostalgic at the same time.

At the edge of this neighborhood, there was an aluminum building with a steel door. It was surrounded by a ten-foot razor wire fence with a remote gate. In the back of the building, there was a garage door with two commercial padlocks. White gravel was thickly spread throughout the storefront. On a long, skinny piece of plywood, a sign outside hung under the peak of the roof that read “Buy, Sell, and Trade.” It was an old-style sign, a pure anachronism that should have read “general store” or “saloon.” The remote gate slid open, and Jacob and I pulled inside.

“What is this? A pawnshop?” I said, looking up at the sign.

“Better,” Jacob said, striding to the entrance.

He pulled out a ring of keys and plucked one from a set of two dozen. After inserting the keys in the lock, he looked left and right then leaned to glance around the back of the building. He raised his eyebrows when he saw me watching him “C'est la vie,” he said. When the door opened, he turned off an alarm near the front and hit several switches of lights. There was a large sign at the entrance that read “NO MORE THAN EIGHT PEOPLE IN THE STORE AT A TIME” in block letters.

The store had shelves on every wall. On each, as best I could tell, sat jugs, glass pitchers, rubber tubing, and all kinds of chemicals. The wares displayed were a mixture of garden supply store, indoor pool cleaning agents, and farming chemicals. In the far corner, there were generators of various sizes. In the back, there were two, 2,000-gallon trailers marked with anhydrous ammonia.

There were no prices listed on any item.

As I walked around the store, Jacob stepped behind the counter and pulled up a bar stool. He smiled while nodding his head. He spread his arms and swept the shop with his eyes. After a deep breath, he blew it out like a puff off a $50 cigar. He pulled out from behind the counter a double-barreled shotgun. He broke the gun open, looked in the barrels, confirmed it was loaded then snapped it shut.

“You know what it is now?” Jacob said, standing.

“It’s a store for chemicals?” I said.

“Am I going to have to spell it out for you?”

“He touched a shelf near the door that had smaller bottles and batteries. “You got your lower rung shake and bake stuff here.” He stepped a few feet to the right next to matches and a series of plastic jugs and tubes. “Here is your Nazi Cold/P2P cook.” He stepped back a little further to a steel tank and near the generators. “I can even provide the necessaries for an industrial cook. Top quality shit, too.” And he banged a 500-gallon steel drum that reverberated through the room in a loud wobble.

“You can legally do this?” I said.

“What’s illegal here? Name one thing. Hell, I am even a licensed dealer for the fertilizer. Check the name on the jeans, broseph! That says it all.” He pointed to the back of his jeans at the Levi’s logo.

Jacob told me about his hero: Levi Strauss. During the 1849 California gold rush, hundreds of thousands of miners hit the hills and streams of rural Cali looking to strike it rich. Only a few of them found gold and fewer still made money. Most ended up broke, desperate, and dead in pursuit of the dream. But “Uncle Levi” was a visionary, instead of focusing on the unlikely profits, he outfitted gold rushers with new pants, double stitched with denim fabric. He made a killing, and his empire grew, according to Jacob, by “feeding the frenzy.”

“Sutter’s Mill is now in shambles. But Levi’s has a corporate headquarters on the San Fran pier that ships clothes worldwide.”

“So, you’re outfitting the meth crisis?”

“Nah. I’m a facilitator,” Jacob said as he grabbed the shotgun on the counter and rested it on his hip. Jacob was posturing again, and the message he wanted to convey was clear: he was not to be fucked with. He explained his profit margins and how he tipped the police to “unusual purchases” so they never gave him any trouble. There was a specific dealer, a “skinhead with a bridge piercing and facial tattoo” that bought over half his supplies each month and paid for information about any new cooks.

“Who is this guy?” I asked.

“He is quiet—comes late—after dark. He pulls his truck in the garage and takes a tank of anhydrous and some parts. Pays cash and asks who’s cooking. Some weeks, I make three or four thousand off of him alone.”

“Four thousand… in a week?”

Jacob laughed and slapped the counter.

Jacob walked to the window and pulled the string on a neon open sign. He pressed a button to open the front gate. A razor wire chain link on wheels rattled backward. Jacob walked back to the barstool on the counter and sat down with his shotgun within reach. “Watch this,” he said with a wry smile. In less than ten minutes, the place was filling up with “customers.”

The first person to shuffle in was a woman in her mid-thirties. She had wild, red hair and her freckled skin was pockmarked with sores. The skin on her face sagged in flabby pouches so I could see the outline of her skull. She blinked often and hard. A blue T-shirt that had holes across the belly had a picture of a grey wolf. It took me a while to realize that these were cigarette burns.

Her focus was in the shake and bake section. She picked up a two-liter bottle and a few packages of batteries. She shuffled to the counter, set them down, and stepped back with her eyes on the floor.

“Fifty,” Jacob said, staring a hole through the woman.

She pulled out a fifty, slid it across the counter, and picked up her supplies. She shuffled out the shop without making a sound. There was a rhythm to purchasing materials from the store, and she knew it well. In less than a minute, she disappeared between two houses.

“You see that?” Jacob said, smiling. “That’s respect. First time, she gave me trouble. But I put that shit down quick.”

“Fifty for a bottle and two batteries? That’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” he said through a pride-filled smile. “She’s going back to her house to start a batch in her little bottle. In a few hours, she’ll have a thousand dollars’ worth of “dirty meth.” He said she was a “small-timer,” but a steady customer. “In a way, she’s smart,” he said. “She does just enough to avoid being tracked by the cops or put down by the big timers.”

A few minutes later, the shop filled up with more customers. Several of which looked like they were in high school. They were looking in the “Nazi Cold” area. One of them, a kid with a backward cap and skinny jeans below his waist, picked up a jug and some tubing and brought them to the counter.

He leaned in close to Jacob and said in a suggestive whisper, “So . . . I need heat to break down pseudo or can I do it cold?”

Jacob’s face contorted into a snarl so intense his eyebrows covered half of his eyes. The kid stepped back and exchanged a glance with his friends. This question, it was clear, was not part of the well-established shop etiquette. Jacob reached up and grabbed the materials from the kid’s hands. He set them behind the counter. And walked around and seized the kid by the shoulder.

“Get the fuck out of here. I don’t know what you think, but we don’t do that here.”

I saw then that Jacob had indeed matured into a man. It wasn’t a display of force—I have no doubt he would have hit that kid if necessary—it was the fact he showed calculated restraint in handling the situation.

Jacob watched them all leave. He sat back down and explained that high schoolers just getting into the trade often wandered in the store. He did not allow store customers to discuss the making of meth inside—“no synthesis talk, no exceptions.” Most importantly, he explained, he did not make scenes with the kids. According to Jacob, they had “parents, people that cared.” A corollary to the rule, Jacob treated full-blown addicts differently.

A man walked in wearing a dirty wife-beater and itching at a ragged beard. There was an instant tension when he entered the shop. His eyes were glazed, and his fat tongue bulged in his mouth. He looked fifty but had the bouncy movements of a younger man. The skin on his arms hung in flabby rivulets riddled with acne. He had a tattoo, an Aztec chieftain astride a pyramid of skulls, with bold lettering, the phrase “Aztlán” coiling up one arm to the base of his chin. There were seven black teardrops tattooed on a single cheek. His eyes connected with the two tanks near the back of the store and he shifted in that direction.

Jacob saw the man walk past and stood behind the counter and scowled.

“Those are ag only!” Jacob said loud enough to grab everyone’s attention. The man stopped and looked Jacob up and down. Two tweakers near the door slipped out. Another customer froze and started shaking. I noticed a bulge in the man’s belt at the base of his spine. When he turned to square up with Jacob, I saw it was a gun. Guns tell the truth. You can tell a person’s experience with firearms by the way they walk. This man had been carrying for a long time.

I held my breath as I stepped back from the counter towards the back of the store. My nerves took over, and my knees shook.

The man smiled at Jacob, exposing a row of golden teeth.

“Necessito… fifty gallons,” the man said in Spanish accent.

“Motherfucker, that’s AG-RI-CUL-TUR-AL only.” Jacob’s hands reached under the counter and his fingers wrapped around a shotgun.

The man looked at the tanks and back at Jacob. There was a stillness in the room as the man’s eyes danced over the store. There was a calculus occurring in his head. When he reached the end of his conclusion, he chuckled. I heard confidence in that laugh, a sound that said he had no problems putting blood on the floor.

He reached behind his back while exposing his horsey teeth.

I hoped to make it to the back of the store, but I knocked into a pallet of aluminum cans, sending them crashing to the cement floor.

An electric snap of a tazer vibrated through the room. There was a hollow moan that mimicked the sound of the electric current. The man grabbed his chest while going down to one knee. Jacob jumped the counter with his shotgun, landing with both feet. Raising the butt of the shotgun, Jacob struck the man in the face with the butt of the gun. He caught him clean on the right cheek. The bone-chilling sound of cracking teeth preceded another moan.

The man collapsed backward clutching his face. Jacob pulled the handgun from behind the man’s back and pistol-whipped the man across the forehead. The sound of metal smacking a skull bone produced a dull “thwap.” The man balled up on the floor in exquisite pain. The man’s desperate hands grabbed the handgun and Jacob pinned his wrist to the concrete.

“Let it go!” Jacob commanded. But the man, even on his back, was defiant. He held on. He clenched his teeth and glared up at Jacob, who towered over him with the shotgun.

“Libre Soy!” Jacob said. Jacob aimed the shotgun at the soft part of the man’s throat.

The man spat through cracked lips. Blood ran down his forehead and across his face. He pulled himself up, as far as he could with his wrist still pinned, and screamed, “jódete hijo de puta!”

Jacob took the butt of the shotgun and brought it down on the man’s knuckles. I heard the man’s bones breaking against the floor. The man screamed, and Jacob shoved the barrel of the shotgun several inches down his throat. The gun barrel separated more teeth as it destroyed the man’s tonsils. There was a desperate gasp of air as the man took sharp breaths through his nose. Blood covered his face and neck. Each breath was a hollow gargle. In less than thirty seconds, Jacob had obliterated the man’s face.

Jacob grabbed the pistol off the pavement. He slid it into the pocket of his pants. Jacob released the man’s wrist. The broken fingers of the man’s hand contorted into directions in which they were not meant to turn. Jacob leaned into the butt of the shotgun pressing it into the man’s tonsils and cracked teeth. The tearing flesh caused the man to whistle a muffled howl through the gun barrel. It reminded me of how we used to blow on the bottles of our soda pops as a kid. Jacob held the gun in that position until the man was entirely out of breath. Jacob pulled the shotgun free, the barrel dripped a river of blood and mucus on the floor. Jacob raised the dripping barrel and pointed it directly at the man’s head.

There was a calmness to Jacob, though he held an intense stare. His fingers tightened over the trigger as his lips stretched over his teeth.

The man rolled to his stomach and broke into a run. He hit the steel door of the entrance so hard he tumbled to the ground in the white gravel outside. In his wake, he left a bloody trail through the shop and on the door.

Two customers stood silent, watching Jacob. Their mouths agape in shock.

I could not stop shaking. I crouched in the corner surrounded with aluminum cans. I had come so close to death. One wrong move, one fumble of the finger—hell, an unexpected sneeze—and that could have gone much differently. I forced myself to breathe in through my mouth and out my nose, counting each inhale. One . . . ahhh . . . two . . . ahhh.

Jacob walked over and handed me a spray bottle. “Calm down,” he said and asked me to clean the blood from the floor and on the door. Before I could refuse, he pulled out his cell phone and stepped past me to the back of the shop by the anhydrous tanks. He spoke in a hushed tone into his iPhone.

“The Mexicans are back.”

The voice on the other end asked a question that I heard vaguely mumbled.

“Guy’s wearing a beater—face all smashed to shit—driving a Black Silverado heading south on MLK.” There was a short pause as Jacob looked up front. He mumbled something into the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Jacob took the spray bottle from me and asked me to sit behind the counter. He cleaned up the blood on the floor and the walls quickly. Bleaching it and then soaking it up with a mop. He brought in a leaf blower and had everything dry in a few minutes. He had a system for cleaning up such a mess and the tools at the ready. The store never shut down, even for a minute.

I sat inside watching customers for another two hours, focusing on my breathing. During that time, over fifty people wandered in. The clear majority of them were full-blown addicts and cooks. They overpaid for parts without a word. Throwing down twenties and fifties for things they could buy from Walmart—which Token-Oak did not have—for a tenth of the price.

Jacob didn’t speak again until late afternoon. The customers shuffled silently about. The shop filled up, there were people in front of every shelf, perhaps eight, maybe ten. All were veterans of the trade. One more walked in, and Jacob stood. He refused to let an additional person in the store and kicked one more out.

In that day alone, Jacob netted over $2500. By five, he locked the front door, padlocked the garage, and we drove out of the gate. He had this little grin on his face, a quiet satisfaction as he turned the wheel, guiding his truck back across the railroad tracks. We turned south on MLK.

As we drove over the bridge into Old Town, Jacob looked over to the passenger seat and said, “It’s not for everyone.”

“It’s not for me,” I said, still rattled from the incident. Jacob laughed and whistled to the radio. “You beat the hell out of that guy. Once he sobers up… heals up, he’ll come back.”

Jacob cocked his head to the side and looked over at me with a toothy grin. There was something he understood behind that smile, something he would not share. He turned the wheel and took a deep breath.

“He won’t.”

I thought about asking more questions, but I let it slide. It was one of those feelings people get, perhaps a conversational cue. I didn’t want to know more, so it sat. And we drove down Main Street listening to the radio as we headed towards Jacob’s home.

“Why only eight?”

“Huh?” Jacob said in response. “Eight what?”

“In the shop, why do you cap it at eight people? There is enough room.”

Jacob explained that, for whatever reason, once the shop filled up with over eight tweakers, they displayed unusual behavior. They seemed more standoffish. He felt they were “doglike” and when they “packed up” they felt fearless. So, he kept the number of customers searching the shop small at eight.

Once we arrived at Jacob’s house, we walked upstairs. He said he wanted to “show me something I’d appreciate.” We climbed out a second-story window onto an old shake shingle roof. And we laid on our backs in between two half-dead oak trees looking across the rooftops of Token-Oak. The sun set behind the buildings of downtown. Jacob lit up a joint as he looked out across the quaint tableau of the small town. He took a long draw while watching the fading daylight for a long time. It wasn’t comfortable, not exactly, because there were no comfortable moments with Jacob, but it was a pause in the madness.

Token-Oak, like so many small towns, was built around a courthouse. The building had four columns and a clock tower at its apex. Though not the tallest building in town, it was the most commanding. Blazing white and set upon a slight hill for all to see, the courthouse evoked a Grecian heritage.

In the center of the courthouse square, there was the Token-Oak. The old oak had a way of making people stop in mid-stride to take in its twisting branches. They say that the beautiful old oak on the hill was the reason the first settlers stopped in the town. The pioneers named the village after the tree, viewing its strong trunk and vast branches as emblematic of the town’s inevitable future success; a “token” of good times that were sure to follow. Every town event dating back to the 1860s was held under its branches. For a hundred and fifty years, the “token oak” symbolized manifest destiny and the rugged frontier spirit of its founders.

“It’s dying,” Jacob said. “The Token-Oak. It started dropping leaves last year, and they say they are going to leave it alone.”

We both looked out at the old tree for several minutes.

Set off from the high school, there was a football field with enough stadium lights surrounding it that gave it an ethereal feel. At night, the field glowed as a bubble of brilliant light. It made you understand the fascination so many youths had with the game.

On the outskirts, north of town, there was the meat packing plant surrounded by feedlots of soon-to-be slaughtered cows. Nearly every night, you could hear the wailing of the herd, and if you really listened, you could feel the cattle calling to those headed into the plant. Those yearning bawls were Token-Oak’s background noise

Far in the distance, about two miles northeast, some hills rolled together into each other leaving deep ruts. The view of the setting sun above those hills with the bright clouds just above was spectacular. The townspeople called these deep roots the Hollows. The forest of oaks surrounding Token-Oak was exceptionally thick, but it was a veritable riot of tangled branches along the Hollows. So thick, that some claimed, sunlight couldn’t touch the ground.

The dark lines of the Hollows meandered to a rare bald spot on the tallest hill in the county. People called this bald spot the Hilltop. The Hilltop held a macabre lore that never lost its power to scare. Back in the day, it was rumored that Osage Indians used to come from all over America to die up there. They would sit Indian-style and pile fist-sized rocks in a ring around their legs and let the elements do the rest. They were sick or old or just too sad to live anymore. They would die out in the open, sitting upright enclosed by the rock circles. And the sun and the wind would dry their skin tight, and the skeleton would stay upright in that position for months. The Osage believed the Hilltop was a conduit to the dead. A rally point for the living to meet with deceased loved ones.

There were hundreds of rock circles sitting up there undisturbed. And they weren’t all old-school circles, either. Every year, a teenager, a mother who lost her daughter to a drunk driving accident, a depressed middle-aged man, walked into the dark of the Hollows and up to the Hilltop. They sat down in a circle of rocks and “died.” Anyone who went into those woods, townsfolk said, rarely came back. If they did, they were different, disconnected from their family and friends, they might wander the town for a time, but they eventually disappeared. That fact, more than the weird stories, prevented people from fucking around up there.

The Hollows were full of off-the-grid types and had its share of meth labs and murders. Supposedly, a collective of dealers and ne’er-do-wells ran the Hollows. No one went into the Hollows for a stroll. At the crossing of two dirt roads at the base of the Hollows, someone had been dumping dead town dogs there for as long as I could remember. It was a message, a not-so-subtle reminder to anyone that might wander into the dead oaks. It worked, too. Few went in those woods. Not even the cops. Unless they were going to drag out a body. Even then, they walked in at noon, eight deep, fully loaded.

To Jacob and me, the Hollows held a nervous fascination. It was more legend than story. There were town kids that claimed to have a circle rock from the Hilltop that would whisper to them at night. Every few months, there was a fire lit in the darkness of the Hilltop. I knew a kid with a telescope who claimed to see pagan-style dancing around the fire. Everyone had a story from McClintock’s Tree Farm claiming to see lines of people in the woods. When the wind blew in from the Northeast, which was rare, a haze drifted into town that reeked like ether. There were bits of truth braided with exaggeration, yet the Hollows were real enough. It was the one thing that Jacob was scared to face.

Jacob had been trying to get me to go to the Hilltop since we were little kids. But it held such a mystical fear that we never made the trip.

We sat on the shake shingles of his roof, staring at the Hilltop. As the sun was setting, the ring of the horizon—especially north of town—was dotted with eighty-foot-tall oil rigs. Each one lit up in the shape of a Christmas tree. It gave the little town a bustling feel.

As I looked over at Jacob, he was doing it again. That weird ass thing he did when he knew people were watching him. It was his “deep-thinking-stare” and he was looking right at the Hilltop.

“We should go tonight,” Jacob whispered.

I took a long pull of my beer and shook my head in the negative.

“We should,” he said again with more force, but still no real motivation.

“People don’t come back,” I said in quick response.

“That is bullshit. That lady came back. The teacher with the two twin girls. What was her name? Amanda something.”

“She came back for two weeks. Remember? And she got a motel room and didn’t speak to a single person. Not even her kids. A few people saw her around town. She was all freaked out. Right before she disappeared. And her family moved away a few weeks later.”

“Well, the point is, she came back.”

I laughed at this, and we both looked up at the Hilltop. An October wind was blowing across town. A dust devil spun leaves along the ditches of MLK.

“We could sneak in from the north. That old creek bed that runs through Miller’s pasture. It's low and dry and rounds straight up to the Hilltop. Come on, Bha-aab. It’ll be fun. For old times’ sake?

That nickname. I hadn’t heard it in years and, hearing it now, it brought back all the old insecurities. For the briefest of moments, I had relaxed with Jacob. That silly moniker wrecked any rapport that was building. I realized, looking at Jacob, that he was waiting for the right moment to insert the jab. It was the first of many insults, I was sure. I let it pass.

Jacob took a quick pull of his beer and emptied the longneck. He threw it off his roof in a twisting parabola over the reaching fingers of the dead oaks. The bottle hit the street below and shattered.

Old Town was full of older homes with big porches. Jacob’s immediate neighbor had couches in the front yard. Another had two bumper pull campers sitting on blocks with an extension cord running to each. The house across the street had a hole in a wall the exact size of a car. It was the kind of neighborhood where breaking glass bottles was an everyday occurrence.

“You think that’s true? You think a person can talk to the dead?” he said, looking at me with squinted eyes.

I didn’t answer. We both stared out across Token-Oak. Out through the dead branches of the trees near his house. I heard the bawling of the cattle as they shuffled into the slaughterhouse plant. Faint cries floated on the wind. Just to the North, I saw roughnecks on oil rigs twisting pipe thousands of feet down into the earth. Each pipe spinning into the liquefied remains of ancient life buried beneath eons of geology.

It was a Friday night, a half mile away the football stadium was glowing. There was a helmet crack, and Jacob and I listened to the roar of the crowd. From such a distance, it sounded like an exasperated moan that twisted into the night.

Courthouse square was bathed in brilliant moonlight. A twisting string of low-lying clouds floated above. It was a beautiful side view of the town. From the third story of Jacob’s roof, you could see about everything: the Elks Lodge, McGuillicuddy Mortuary, Zion Lutheran Church, and the open ground around the massive white columns of the courthouse. You could even see the alleys between the principal streets of the town.

I took a long pull on my beer. It was my fifth, and I felt a little loose. So, I threw it in the same spinning parabola that Jacob had. I tossed it a little too hard, and a rictus of alley cats erupted as the glass of my longneck shattered below. Jacob looked at me in a broad smile, though his lips never parted. He was well past five beers, and it showed.

Suddenly, he was up on his elbows looking out at the courthouse square. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened in a perfect circle. He raised his index finger to point out. “Watch this,” he said.

There were people on every corner of the courthouse square. All of them standing in front of back alleys. The sun dipped below the horizon, and I didn’t remember seeing so many people moments before. But I didn’t know. I was sixteen and drinking longnecks on a roof. It wasn’t my best moment for memory.

“Who are those people?” I said, looking at Jacob. Token-Oak had several dozen town drunks that wobbled around at night. Shuffling between two dive bars on opposite sides of the courthouse like seasonal birds. They hit the Elks for happy hour, the Moose Bar for quarter beers, and then migrated to McSmitty’s Bar (a local dive named for its owner, so the drunks called it McShitty’s bar) for closing time. It wasn’t uncommon to see a few drunks slouching about. But looking out at the square that night, there were at least two dozen. All of them stumbling around.

“Tweakers,” Jacob said, “Now watch.”

Jacob had gone from leaning on his elbows to sitting, to a full stand as he looked out on the town. He was moving his index finger and mouthing numbers with a Shiner Bock still in one hand.

“Twenty-nine,” he said without looking at me. “And there is another one by McGuillicuddy’s and the cemetery, so thirty.”

“Twenty-nine?”

“Thirty,” Jacob said, correcting me. “. . . wait for it . . .”

They were all moving in various directions, at least it seemed that way at first, but as I stared out, I saw something unique. All thirty took a step at the same time, in a weird shimmy. They moved a quarter block in a few seconds, each of them with curled hands and their necks contorted way to the left. We were too far away, but I swore it looked like their teeth were shut, yet their lips curled back. They walked a few more gamboling steps. Then, as if on a cue, all thirty did the same thing again.

“Whoa . . .” I said raising to a stand, “that is fucking spooky.”

In a few seconds, most were blocked by our vantage point and disappeared behind buildings. In a few more, they were all gone, as quickly as they came.

He only nodded. “This place is full of surprises.”

And he sat and glared out at the square for at least an hour. A few groups of people wandered underneath the Token-Oak in the square. There was a rowdy group of town kids smashing pumpkins. We watched the cops give a half dozen sobriety test to patrons leaving the Elks. But the tweakers didn’t come back. Not that night, at least.

#Kill Hollows

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thlim2017 · 6 years

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The Feds Shamefully Persecute China's Huawei For Being Too Successful

As is well-known now, American authorities asked Canadian officials to arrest Huawei CFO Meng Wanzhou last week. The Canadians complied, and that on its own should have readers a bit terrified. Financial commentator Zachary Karabell observed that the arrest was “somewhat like the Chinese arresting the daughter of Steve Jobs if she had helped run Apple.”So while officials in the Trump administration claim President Trump was unaware of the pending arrest when he had dinner recently with Chinese President Xi Jinping, let’s be serious. Of course Trump knew, or was soon to know. He would have had to know simply because the arrest itself was so outlandish, and so outside any reasonable norms.And since the arrest was more than outre, it’s useful to state emphatically that Trump and the Administration he leads is playing with serious fire. Markets reflect this previous truth. Protectionism on its own is boneheaded, and runs counter to the interests of American workers and companies alike. Protectionism combined with the arrest of prominent business leaders in other countries is truly dangerous. Channeling Karabell, imagine the arrest of a prominent U.S. business personage in China (think Apple’s Tim Cook, as an example), particularly given the present occupant of the White House. The Trump administration has crossed a serious line, and yes, the Trump administration should be blamed here. Something like this would never have happened without approval from the highest of the high. Almost as bad as what the Trump administration plainly called for has been the reaction among Republicans who should know better. Normally reliable Nebraska Senator Ben Sasse told the New York Times that “Americans are grateful that our Canadian partners have arrested the chief financial officer of a giant Chinese telecom company for breaking U.S. sanctions against Iran.” So up in arms was Florida Senator Marco Rubio that he promised legislation meant to ban Chinese telecom companies in the U.S. More on Rubio’s desire to vandalize basic economics in a minute.For now, it’s more than worthwhile to focus on Huawei’s alleged flouting of American law through its sale of telecom equipment (equipment that includes American-made components) to countries including Cuba, Iran, Sudan and Syria. This is what has some in the U.S. political class riled up, and it’s a loud reminder of just how microscopic is that same class’s understanding of economics.To put it as plainly as possible, U.S. companies trade all the time with “Cuba, Iran, Sudan and Syria.” They just do so through intermediaries. To understand this simple truth, we need only return to the 1970s and the toothless Arab oil embargo “imposed” on the United States. History books tell us that Arab countries stopped selling us oil, but they did no such thing. “Arab oil” continued to flow into the United States; albeit via producers in countries not embargoed. Going back further in time to World War I, the U.S. placed a trading embargo on Germany. No problem, U.S. exports to Scandinavian countries soared. American producers were still trading with Germany, only through intermediaries in countries near Germany.The above is how so-called U.S. trade controls can be understood. They’re utterly meaningless. So long as American companies are productive, and so long as there is demand from inside countries known to be enemies of the U.S., then U.S. companies will be trading with the enemy. They may not be breaking the law “directly,” but production itself is a signal of trade with everyone simply because there’s no accounting for the final destination of any good. In sports terms, while the San Antonio Spurs made a point to not trade all-world forward Kawhi Leonard to a Western Conference foe, they ultimately can’t block the Toronto Raptors from trading Leonard to one of their Western Conference rivals.Looked at through the prism of Huawei, it’s presently the world’s #2 maker of smartphones, and is the global leader when it comes to telecom equipment. What this tells us is that persecution of the corporation for sales to enemies of the U.S. is for federal officials to make a distinction without a difference. Short of Huawei hoarding all of its production, its smartphones and telecom equipment will ultimately reach Iran et al for the prosaic reason that Huawei sells so much in the way of smartphones and telecom equipment. It can’t be repeated enough that there’s no accounting for the final destination of any good. Translating what is completely mindless, the federal government is ultimately persecuting Huawei for being successful.Which brings us back to Rubio’s proposed legislation. On its own Washington’s blockage of Huawei is notable when we remember how U.S./China trade is framed stateside. Supposedly they block all of our companies from selling there, while we’re fully open to them. Not so with Huawei. One doesn’t find its phones at AT&T stores not because they’re not high quality, but because they’re illegal. The why behind the latter is really and truly suspect.Huawei, a wildly highly successful telecom company can’t place its goods on U.S. shelves because it is viewed as a national security threat. The laughable argument offered up by members of the political class to defend the indefensible is that Huawei’s close ties to the Chinese government mean that American use of its phones and equipment imperil us stateside because we could be spied upon. Crucial here is that vague references to potential spying is all American official have to offer. Even though AT&T saw it perfectly reasonable to enter into a sales deal with Huawei, U.S. officials disallowed the move. "National security" once again, but no concrete explanation. Furthermore, it wouldn't really matter. Huawei phones are sold in 170 countries around the world. If Americans want to use them, they need only transact with individuals residing in locales where they're sold.The real threat here is U.S. telecoms that are close enough to our federal government such that they can convince federal officials to pursue always damaging protectionism. Luckily for U.S. smartphone makers (Apple sells 20% of its iPhones in China), the rules against our best and brightest in China aren’t so stringent.But the main thing is that national security types are wrapping themselves in a false argument that the Chinese will spy on us through our phones. Ok, but what will they do? As President Trump’s endless Tweets about China remind us, we’re a huge market for Chinese companies. So, we’re supposed to believe the Chinese government will spy on us in order to war against the biggest market for companies close to that same Chinese government?The whole Huawei story is a ridiculous one. And a protectionist one. And one rooted in flamboyant confusion about economics within the U.S. political class. But the worst thing about this story is how dangerous it is. When protectionism leads to arrests, it’s not unreasonable to assume that shooting could be next.The above in mind, we’ve heard since Trump entered the White House that he’s surrounded himself with people who understand diplomacy and the importance of trade to world peace. It’s time for those people to stand up in the Administration, and to show a willingness to depart same unless sanity prevails. Because make no mistake about it, the arrest of Meng Wanzhou was truly insane.I'm a speech and op-ed writer, Director of the Center for Economic Freedom at FreedomWorks, editor of RealClearMarkets, and a senior economic adviser to Toreador Research & Trading. My new book is The End of Work: Why Your Passion Can Become Your Job. Other books by me.. (Ori. from https://china-observer.blogspot.com/2018/12/the-feds-shamefully-persecute-chinas.html?spref=tw)

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