#was this all an elaborate plan to swipe the smoothie?

[thesimplicitydoctrine]

Title: "The Great Awakening: God's Grand Heist and the Thief Who Forgot the Memo"

In the cosmic realm of celestial comedy, there's a tale unfolding—a divine caper orchestrated by the ultimate trickster, God. As the ancient scrolls foretell, a thief is poised to strike in the dead of night, and this time, it's not your ordinary burglar with a penchant for swiping earthly possessions. No, my friends, it's the one and only Awakening Thief, and it seems even God is scratching His celestial head, wondering when the rascal will show up.

You see, God, in His infinite wisdom, decided to keep this whole awakening business hush-hush, creating a cosmic game of hide-and-seek. He even dropped a subtle hint in His divine handbook, stating that "no one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." Translation: It's a surprise party, and the guest of honor is none other than your own enlightenment.

Now, you might be thinking, "Why the clandestine approach, Almighty Creator?" Well, rumor has it that God wanted to spice things up a bit. He figured, "Hey, if I tell them exactly when the great awakening will happen, where's the fun in that? Let's keep things interesting."

So, as we mortals scurry about our lives, completely unaware of the cosmic chuckle fest happening above, the Awakening Thief tiptoes through the collective consciousness, pocketing epiphanies and snatching away ignorance with the stealth of a cat burglar on a moonlit rooftop.

But here's the real kicker: Each of us has our own personalized awakening schedule. It's like a divine lottery—except everyone's a winner eventually. Some folks get their light bulb moment in their teens, while others might be on the receiving end of cosmic wisdom in their golden years. God's celestial slot machine is always spinning, and when your number comes up, brace yourself for a spiritual jackpot.

Now, you might wonder, why the variability? Well, my enlightened friend, it's all about free will. God, being the cosmic stand-up comedian, wants us to choose our own adventure. He's not going to force-feed enlightenment down our throats like a celestial spinach smoothie. No, sir. We get to decide when we're ready to ditch the blindfold and see the cosmic magic show.

In this divine comedy, the punchline is simple yet profound: Life's grand heist, the awakening, is a personal journey. You can't outsource it, and there's no express lane to enlightenment. It's a bespoke experience tailored just for you.

So, the next time you feel a celestial whisper or catch a glimpse of the cosmic cat burglar in action, know that it's all part of the grand plan. God, the ultimate prankster, is orchestrating the most elaborate heist of all time—the theft of ignorance, the pilfering of pettiness, and the cosmic caper of consciousness.

In the end, when the great awakening thief finally arrives at your door, just offer a wink to the heavens and say, "Took you long enough, old friend. Let the enlightenment party begin!"

[unorthodoxsavvy]

A Small Passion Fruit Sweet Tea

(And A Little Something More)

Summary: Phil is a barista at Starbucks and Dan becomes a customer

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: G

Warnings: The tiniest, littlest bit of angst

Written For: @phandomreversebang (Phandom Reverse Bang Summer 2019)

Summer was in full swing in London. For Phil, that meant a lot of customers coming in and out of the small, humble Starbucks he spent his summer afternoons baristaing. 

Not only was the air inside the coffee shop chilled, but so was the coffee itself, along with their teas, smoothies, and more. That didn’t stop Phil from working up a sweat during his shift, however.

On this June afternoon, Phil consistently checked the armpits of his Pride Starbucks shirt for sweat stains while he brushed his bangs from his eyes, sweeping them back underneath his visor.

“Hi, are you ready to order?”

“Hi, how may I help you today?”

“Hello, how’s it going?”

The greetings, the faces, the orders, all blurred until the clock struck 5pm and Phil’s shift was over. Of course, he never got to leave until after 5. Some days it was 5:03, some days it was 5:17… but of course, it could be worse, and Phil reminded himself of that fact every day.

Phil took a glance at the clock now. It read 3:32.

Not too bad, he thought to himself.

Phil moved back to the front counter where a man about his age was waiting. “Hi, how may I help you?”

Phil watched his brown eyes trace the menu above Phil’s head in silence.

He was wearing a grey V-neck, black skinny jeans, and Vans, all of which Phil could see as he had taken a step back to read the menu. When he seemed to decide on an order, he stepped back up towards Phil.

“I’ll have a small passion fruit sweet tea and a birthday cake cake pop.”

Phil smiled.

“Will that be all?”

“I don’t think what else I want is on the menu, so yes,” The man grinned.

Phil decided to ignore that comment.

“Alright, that’ll be six fifty-two.”

The man pulled out his card and swiped it, giving Phil his name. Dan Howell. There was no reason to remember it, but Phil wasn’t sure if he wanted to see this name pop up on his screen again or not.

“I’ll be right back with your order,” Phil continued, and Dan smiled politely at him.

Phil turned around and headed to their machines of iced tea, grabbing a “small” cup and placing it under the spout while he pulled the lever down. It took the cup to be filled up before Phil realized he’s forgotten to put the flavor in first. With a sigh, he dumped it out, grabbed a mixer, poured the flavor syrup in, and then started to fill that up with iced tea. When he was satisfied with how much he’d poured, he started to shake. He could feel Dan’s eyes on him. He turned ever so slightly and noticed Dan watching his arms. Phil wasn’t built, but he wasn’t in the worst shape, either. Once again, he wasn’t sure how to feel.

When Phil was done shaking the mixer, he poured the liquid into the small cup he had used before, grabbed a lid and a straw, and put it together.

“Here’s your iced tea,” Phil informed Dan, quickly moving away to get the cake pop for Dan before he could respond.

“Thanks,” was all Dan finally said before exiting the store.

“That dude was totally checking you out,” his coworker leaned in and smiled.

“Yeah. Happy Pride Month,” Phil responded dryly as another customer came in to order.

*-*-*-*-*

The next day at exactly 3:30pm, Dan showed up again.

“Hello again,” he smiled at Phil. “You seem familiar.”

“Welcome back,” Phil put on his best customer service smile.

“I’ll take the same as yesterday,” Dan grinned.

This time, Phil grinned back. He knew it was a test, and he was determined to pass.

Phil once again grabbed a small cup, remembering to mix the flavor in this time, and poured that mixed with the iced tea into the small cup. Slapping a top on it and shoving a straw through the top, it was ready to be delivered.

“I see you didn’t mess up this time.”

Phil went to the display case and removed a cake pop with pink frosting. “It seems I made an impression,” Dan smiled, inserting his card to pay.

Phil continued to say nothing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Dan called over his shoulder as he walked out of the coffee shop.

“See you tomorrow,” Phil grinned in that customer service voice.

*-*-*-*-*

On the third day Dan came in, a Thursday, he wasn’t alone. In fact, he was very  not alone.

“Love, not now,” Dan giggled, batting the man whose hand he was holding. “Hey, Phil,” Dan smiled when they reached the counter.

Phil put on his customer service face, trying to decide when he had had a harder time remaining neutral: when the cheerleading mom with her three daughters had yelled at him about her order four times, or now.

Now was winning.

“Hello. How may I help you guys today?”

“I’ll have the usual,” Dan smiled, as if he had been coming here for months. It’d been three days. Three really, long, painful days.

“And for you?” Phil asked, basically ignoring Dan to turn to his partner.

“I’ll take a vanilla iced coffee, grande, and a chocolate scone, please,” he smiled.

“A grande? Who said you could have that much sugar?” Dan scoffed.

“They aren’t that big,” his partner countered.

“They aren’t really,” Phil pitched in, earning a glare from Dan, as if they were friends or something, and Phil should be on his side. This was ridiculous.

“One small passion fruit tea, one grande iced vanilla coffee, one birthday cake cake pop, and one chocolate scone coming up,” Phil read their order back to them before moving to prepare the drinks.

While at the drink station, Phil’s coworker came up to him again.

“Seems like loverboy was just being a tease,” she smiled.

“Good, I’m not interested,” Phil muttered back, not taking his eyes off preparing the drinks.

“Well, if he was single then I’d take dibs on him if you don’t want him,” she grinned.

Phil took a glance back where he met Dan’s eyes, staring at him once again, while his partner talked to him.

Dan was cute, Phil thought. He just didn’t like being advanced on while he was working.

Dan brought out the drinks to Dan and his partner and then grabbed their pastries from the display case.

His coworker had taken over the cashregister to have them pay so she could get a chance to talk to Dan and his partner on her own.

When they left, Dan turned and gave a wave to Phil, who forced a wave back.

“You’ll never guess what I learned,” his coworker leaned in once again to tell him.

“Probably not, and I don’t want to or plan on knowing.”

*-*-*-*-*

The universe, it seemed, however, had other plans, for that Friday, Dan strutted in at 3:36, by himself once more.

Phil was about to use customer service speak to ask what the hell was going on when Dan placed his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the counter.

“When do you get out?”

“Why do you want to know?” Phil huffed, deciding to finally drop the friendly employee facade.

“I want to take you out.”

“I thought you were seeing someone?”

From behind the display case on Phil’s left, he could see his coworker standing on her tiptoes to watch what was happening.

“Oh, Ryan? That’s nothing really- well it’s- it’s-”

“If I let you take me out will you stop bothering me here at work?” Phil asked blatantly.

“Maybe,” Dan grinned.

“Fine. I get out at 5. Don’t be late.”

Dan grinned and pulled out his card while Phil left to make Dan’s drink.

“He asked you out, didn’t he?” His coworker grinned, swooping in for the fresh tea- and not the tea Phil was pouring.

“Yeah, he did.”

“See, I told you that-”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to deliver this customer his drink,” Phil cut her off, moving back towards the counter to Dan.

Phil yanked a cake pop out of the display holder and bagged it to hand to Dan.

“See you at five then,” Dan smiled.

“See you at five.”

*-*-*-*-*

The closer it came to the end of Phil’s shift the more he wondered about and regretted agreeing to this mysterious date.

At 4:45 exactly, Dan showed up again, giving Phil a little wave before sitting down at one of the tables to pull out his laptop and work on something.

At 5, Dan glanced up as Phil started to clean up.

Phil disappeared into the back 4 minutes later, and soon after emerged in a different shirt and a backpack slung over his shoulder.

Making his way out from behind the counter, he weaved between the tables and chairs to Dan.

“Shall we?” Phil asked.

“We shall,” Dan replied, getting up and offering Phil an arm.

Phil ignored it and went to the door, holding it open for Dan.

“I’m parked in back,” Dan mentioned, and Phil let him step in front of him to lead the way.

“Sorry it’s a bit messy.”

Phil couldn’t help chuckling at the amount of empty Starbucks bags and cups.

“Are these all from me?” he joked.

“No,” Dan answered, putting the car into drive.

“So, where are we headed?” Phil asked. “Or is it a surprise?”

“It’s not a surprise.”

Phil waited for Dan to continue, but he didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

After a few minutes of silence, Dan pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant that boasted “Street Food” in colorful letters.

“Have you ever eaten here?” Dan asked.

“Have you ever taken a date here?” Phil countered.

“Touche.”

Dan made sure to hold the door open for Phil this time.

There was a receptionist beyond the two sets of doors with a waiting area in between. Phil stayed one step behind Dan, who asked for a table for two. The receptionist grabbed two menus from the pocket in her podium and led them off to a table. Phil glanced at the other patron’s food as he passed, even though he had in fact been here before, and knew the basics of what was on the menu.

They sat down facing each other, and the receptionist placed a menu in front of each of them. 

“Your waiter will be right with you,” she smiled, and departed to seat other guests.

“So,” Dan began, “tell me about yourself, Phil.”

“Shouldn’t it be your job to find out about me yourself, since you’re the one who asked me out in the first place?” Phil inquired.

“True,” Dan agreed. He leaned back in his chair, thinking of a better, more direct introductory question to ask.

“What’s your favorite thing to order at Starbucks?”

Phil rolled his eyes, but before he could answer, their waiter arrived.

“Can I start you off with some drinks?” he asked them.

“Water is fine with me,” Phil smiled, and looked to Dan while the waiter scribbled in his notepad.

“I’ll take a lemonade,” Dan said once the waiter had turned his attention to him.

“‘I’ll be right back with those.”

When he was gone, Phil picked up the menu, suggesting they should actually look at it and see if they could decide on their orders before the server got back.

“The fried doguh sounds pretty good,” Dan mentioned.

Phil gave a little hum in agreement, but didn’t look up. In fact, Phil didn’t look up from his menu until their waiter had arrived once more.

“A water for you, and a lemonade for you,” their waiter smiled politely, placing each drink in front of the pair respectively. “Have you made your decisions on what to order?”

“Yes,” Phil replied, finally looking at Dan once more.

Dan’s face split into a smile, although it looked almost forced. “I’m ready too.”

“Wonderful,” their waiter commented, and turned to Phil.

“I’ll have the turkey wrap.”

The waiter turned to Dan.

“I’ll take the grilled cheese.”

“Sounds good,” the waiter said once he was done writing in his notebook, and then once again took his leave.

“So, where were we?” Dan pushed.

“Water.”

“We were in water?”

“Water. My favorite drink to order at Starbucks.”

Dan started to fiddle with the straw wrapper from his drink.

“I get the feeling you don’t like me that much,” he mentioned casually, but it was clear it was bothering him.

Phil looked up at him.

“I do like you. I’m just not sure how much yet.”

Dan nodded solemnly, and prayed for their food to come sooner rather than later.

*-*-*-*-*

“That was a good meal,” Phil thanked Dan.

“Yeah?” Dan smiled.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed.

“So should we do it again sometime?” Dan grinned sheepishly.

Phil’s smile tightened.

“It was nice, but, maybe not,” he said.

Dan’s face fell.

“I decided to give this a shot and see if I felt anything. And, well, I’m sorry, but I don’t.” Phil shuffled awkwardly. “I’d still love to serve you your tea and cake pop, though,” he lied.

“Thanks, haha.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Well, um, I guess that’s that, then,” Dan perked up, trying his best to get over the crushing feeling in his chest. “Have a safe drive home, and I’ll, uh, see you sometime.”

“Thank you, you too,” Phil returned, and unlocked the driver’s side door of his car, sliding in.

He waited for Dan to pull out of the empty Starbucks parking lot first, and then followed into the dark.

*-*-*-*-*

It’d been two weeks since Dan and Phil’s date, or whatever you’d call it. Phil tried his best to carry on with his job as normal, but the awkward encounter had definitely put a wrench in his work flow. Every encounter he had with anyone his age was suddenly over-analyzed; any man with a similar shade of dark brown hair suddenly induced a panic. Phil’s overly-involved coworker picked up on it and started talking to the others on their shift about it. Suddenly this wasn’t a place he wanted to be any more, and he woke up with dread every day before his shift, until finally one day it happened.

It was a Tuesday, just like the very first time. It was 3:30, and Dan was not alone again.

It was a guy Phil’d never seen before, but they seemed close.

“Hey Phil,” Dan greeted flippantly, which stung Phil just a bit.

“Nice to see you again. Wasn’t sure if you’d be back.”

“Well, you know, I’ve been doing some traveling, and this wasn’t the nearest Starbucks anymore.”

Phil nodded. “What’ll it be?” He asked, returning to his job.

“I’ll take an iced mocha, small,” Dan ordered, and glanced at his partner.

“I’ll have the same,” his partner smiled tightly, glancing between Dan and Phil. Phil wondered how much he knew, and if he even wanted to know.

“Coming right up,” Phil smiled politely, and gestured to the card reader.

Dan’s partner went to pull out some cash from his back pocket, but Dan placed a hand over his and pulled out his own card.

“I’ve got this.”

Phil rolled his eyes and went to make the drinks.

“So.”

Phil turned around to spot his coworker.

“Listen, I really don’t need to be discussing this right now,” he tried to shut her down.

“So you’re not at all jealous that’s he’s strutting in here to show off his new man to you?” She asked.

“No,” Phil lied. “And besides, I’m the one who turned him down, anyway. I don’t have feelings for him. This isn’t some juicy love triangle.”

“Whatever,” she tossed over her shoulder as she went to take the next customers in line.

Phil grabbed the two iced mochas he’d finished making and handed them over to Dan and his partner at the pick-up area.

“Have a nice day,” he said in his best customer service voice.

“Thanks,” replied the other guy genuinely. 

Phil felt like smacking his head against the ice machines.

*-*-*-*-*

Of all the starbucks in London, Phil happened to work on one that was on the street that London Pride took place on, which was great for them, as the summer sun and fun activities made a lot of gays thirsty- for drinks.

They had double the amount of workers going during Phil’s shift on that 26th day of June, 2019, 50 years since the iconic Stonewall incident that had started it all.

All the chaos, however, didn’t stop Phil from noticing when Dan came in.

“I’ll have the same,” he said quickly, looking around at all of the colorful half-dressed customers, whom he was one of which.

“Would that be the same as before or after you came to rub your new relationship in my face?” Phil spat. He hadn’t meant for it to come out, or at least not sounding so mean, but he was tired, goddamnit, he’s had a long shift so far, and it was still dragging on. Behind the counter was crowded and they’d already had three spilled drinks today, and by god if he wasn’t repressing feelings of resentment towards Dan for his dick move last week.

“I’m sorry about that-”

“Just give me your order.” Phil cut off, cutting off all emotion from his expression.

Dan sighed.

“A  small passion fruit sweet tea and a birthday cake cake pop, and whatever you want when you’re done with your shift.”

Phil looked up in surprise from where he’d been typing in Dan’s order.

“I’m sorry, and I hope you don’t hate me. And I’d like to make it up to you, at least with a drink when your done with your shift, which I know must be a pain today, if not a drink and maybe meeting up before this parade is over.”

“I’ll think about it,” Phil mentioned, typing in his own order as well.

“Thank you,” Dan said.

Phil took half a second to look him in the eye. He did look sorry. And he looked sad.

Phil sighed and left to prepare Dan’s drink.

“Have fun at the rest of Pride if I don’t see you,” Phil dismissed Dan, handing him the bag containing his cake pop.

“Thanks,” Dan returned, and went to go sit outside.

Phil watched him through the window of the cafe as long as he could before returning to making and preparing orders.

*-*-*-*-*

By the time the end of Phil’s shift came, it had felt like he’d been standing on his feet and working for days. In all honesty, the last thing Phil wanted to do was more walking around, but he’d be damned if he missed pride for work, so when he had cleaned up as best he could and there was someone to relieve him, he took off his apron and, still in his pride Starbucks shirt, headed out to the street, drink in hand.

“Hey.”

Phil turned to his left, startled.

“Dan!”

“Yeah, that’s my name,” Dan laughed hollowly.

“You’re still here?”

“Well I did say we could meet up after you got out of work before the parade is over.”

Phil smiled. “Is there even a parade? Or do people just come and go?”

“You know, I don’t think there is actually a parade,” Dan smiled back.

Phil offered an arm to Dan, who took it.

“So, what happened to your man?” Phil asked casually as they walked.

“It didn’t turn out.”

“Like us?” Phil joked.

Dan smiled, but it was sad.

“Not really.”

Phil looked around for a place to sit and led Dan over.

“So what’s the story?” he asked after they had sat down.

“I tried to move on to another casual thing and found that it was a bit more difficult than I had expected,” Dan answered, watching the crowd.

“Is that so?”

“Yup.”

“And why is that?”

“What are you, my shrink?” Dan joked.

“No, just a concerned and curious friend.”

Dan continued to watch the crowd.

“Probably because the I’m still holding on to the last guy I tried to go out with.”

Phil nodded wisely.

“What if that concerned and curious friend offered to try again with the last guy he tried to go out with?”

Dan didn’t move, but responded “That would probably cheer up the last guy he tried to go out with.”

“So what say we try again?”

Dan finally looked over at Phil.

“If you’re for real, I’m down.”

“I’m for real.”

They smiled at each other.

“So, you were going to show me around?” Phil pushed.

Dan’s smiled turned into a grin.

“Yes, there’s a booth over there that has pride Harry Potter wands, you’ll love it,” he pointed.

Phil stood up. “Lead the way then, Dan.”

[lifeoffthehill]

Busy is an understatement. ...and a state of mind.

7:00AM. I’m up like clockwork every morning. If it’s a teaching day, I head straight for the shower. If it’s not a teaching day, I head into the kitchen and make my tea and breakfast. Breakfast is my favorite meal, but even so I usually keep it simple during the week: egg and toast; egg and oatmeal; egg and roasted potatoes; egg and garlic fried rice. I make the oatmeal or potatoes or rice in large batches ahead of time and portion them out over a week. On the weekends, that’s when I’ll do pancakes from scratch, eggs banh mi; omelettes or quiche. I love to linger over breakfast and casually sip the tea--I prefer black, but occasionally dabble in green. 

8:00AM. If it’s a teaching day, I’m out the door at 8:30; I like to walk or take the bus to campus which helps with hitting the 10K goal on my Fitbit. If the weather is bad or if I have a lot of books/the computer to carry for the day, I’ll drive. If it’s Tues/Thurs/Fri, this is when I like to hit the gym - where I run on the elliptical or use the water rower. I’m in and out of there in less than an hour. If it’s Sunday, this is when I head to grocery store, while they still have decent stock and before all the after-church shoppers and the undergrads stocking up on bottled water show up. 

9:00AM. If it’s a teaching day, I’m in the office checking my email, making any final adjustments to my lesson plan, printing things if I need to. On a gym day, this is the time slot for my shower and afterward, I typically make a green smoothie.

On Monday and Wednesday: 10:00-11:30 AM. Teach Advanced Composition 11:30 AM-12:50 PM. Office hours and eat lunch 1:00-2:30 PM. Teach American Lit Survey (Post-1945) (Monday Only) 2:30-4:00 PM. Staff meeting at the Humanities Center 4:15 PM. Snack time / Nap time. 

On Tuesday and Thursday, most Fridays: I work from home. 10:00AM-12:00PM. Work tasks. I like to knock out the least desirable work tasks first. Depending on the week and my mood, this can mean grading, or a difficult theory reading, or the reading assignment I gave my students. Some days it’s my lesson plans.  12:00-1:00PM. Lunch break. I like full lunch breaks. If it doesn’t take so long to eat, I fill them out with listening to a podcast or going for a short walk (if the weather is nice).  1:00-5:00PM. Continue with work tasks until to-do list is completed to satisfaction. Check email last. This is a trick I’ve learned, especially since I started working from home more often, because if you check email first thing, it has the potential to de-rail your whole day. Though that’s rare. Most of the time, the emails I get each day are pretty fruitless. In either case, if anything urgent is happening, the right people should have my phone number(s) and so email increasingly falls to the very bottom of my priority list. 

Evenings go something like this: 5 or 5:30 PM. Start dinner prep, if cooking. I usually cook on Sunday nights and again on Wednesdays, eating leftovers in between. If I’m not doing dinner prep, I might use this time for a nap, some light reading, a walk, social media catch up, or house chores.  6:00PM. tune into the local news followed my the 6:30 national. I like NBC’s broadcast with Lester Holt. I usually multitask, listening to rather than watching the broadcasts, so I may be continuing any of the activities listed above.  7:00PM. Dinner time.  7:30-8:30PM. TV time. I used to binge watch on Netflix and Amazon Prime, letting episodes autoplay while I was multitasking (as described above). In early February, though, I made a TV schedule. I assigned each day a different TV show and set out to stick to it for two weeks, filling the quiet hours when I can multitask with music or podcasts instead. I was surprised at how quickly it stuck. I found that I liked looking forward to the hour of TV time and whatever show I had put in the slot, taking in a show slowly rather than all at once.  8:30PM. Wash dishes/clean kitchen. A dirty kitchen is my biggest pet peeve and I have a hard time sleeping if I don’t clean it. I hate nothing more than waking up to a fresh day, but seeing a sink full of dirty dishes. Whenever I have plans to go out, I try so hard to wash dishes before I leave; and if I don’t, I’ve been known to stay up and wash them, no matter how tired or how drunk I might be.  9:00PM. Start winding down for bed - except on days I video call with these guys. I’m still working on this bedtime routine part. I want to set a ritual of washing face, brushing teeth, putting on pajamas, unplugging from technology, and a de-stressing activity, like reading a cookbook or coloring in an adult coloring book, or listening to soothing music. Some days I do these things; most days, I am still actively attached to my phone - texting, swiping left on Tinder, Twittering or Tumblring. There are also some days when I am still doing a work task this late, because I’ve forgotten it or because a scheduled meeting had me shift my day around or because it was particularly time consuming that day. This is definitely not ideal for me. 

11:00 PM. Ideally in bed and fast asleep, but this can be in flux when it comes to the weekend or on weeknights, seizing those moments that are #worthit.   

Graduate school and academia are hectic and grueling. Paradoxically, academia--at least for the humanities--is incredibly flexible and it is a huge privilege to spend only a small percentage of my time confined to a space at a very specific time (class/meetings). Yet, we feel busy all the time precisely because there are no clear boundaries between work and not work, both in terms of the time schedule and work space. In the past, when friends or colleagues tell me they would like to be more involved in student organizations or study groups or attend any of the many interesting events on campus from week-to-week, they often follow it up with “but I just don’t have time.” If I feel particularly frustrated and unsympathetic, I will condescendingly say “We don’t have time, we make time,” and probably leave the room. I would have this attitude because the implication often feels like “you don’t understand because you’re clearly not as busy as me” which is also an implication that “you aren’t using your time right if you have time to...” ...be involved in the grad students of color organization... attend the Thursday afternoon lecture... go to the monthly grad association meeting... make a two-hour round trip to Costco on Friday afternoon... make elaborate dinners on Sunday... 

I may never stop reminding people and getting into a huff over my have time/make time philosophy, but what I’ve learned in the past year, especially, is that busy is a state of mind more than a lived reality. Being busy all the time had me feeling run down and depressed last fall. Even before the onslaught of my breakup and the election, I would close my books in the late afternoon and wonder why on earth I had signed up for a career that involved reading books for 6-8 hours a day which would have to be followed by making lesson plans and, if I could squeeze it in after feeding myself, saying hello to my then partner while still getting to sleep by my self-prescribed bedtime. Pushing pause on my academic work during Thanksgiving week in Denver, during the 10 days I spent at home over Christmas really threw into perspective how much I needed to make time to connect with my people. Engaging with them--instead of watching the clock and wondering “if I leave now, I can squeeze in one more chapter of [insert soul crushing theory reading here] before bed”--has helped me manage my time more wisely, motivating me on a Wednesday to “get this to-do list done by 5″ so that I can video chat long into the night, laughing and crying with my favorite girls and boy. 

[prowlpetrex]

“Absolutely not.” Shere Khan intoned, voice flat. His face was fixed in that “I cannot believe I’m even bothering to expend the merest fraction of my time on this nonsense” look. It was so well performed, he was willing to bet the average person usually only saw it on TV or in movies. He’d found through his own practices in the mirror that conveying the correct amount of sass, exasperation, and self-important superiority without sliding down one side or another to be surprisingly difficult. He wasn’t too worried, his progress made for great selfies, and the tiger was way older than him with years of experiences beyond the bird’s own. He’d get there eventually. Still… he snapped a quick shot of the cat’s expression for prosperity and his online presence’s sake alone. It wasn’t every day you got to see a master of the art of condescending bitch face at play in its natural environment. He felt the tiger’s gaze hone in on him, a frown forming where a tolerant smile had begun to take form when he’d been speaking with Glomgold. A few seconds trekked by, and he relaxed when nothing was said, and the other man’s focus was once more on Glomgold. Onto twitter you go, he thought happily, clicking the ‘post’ button after attaching the perfectly chosen hashtags to it. He smiled and waited eagerly for the ‘likes’ and ‘retweets’ to come rolling in. “And why not?”  Glomgold practically yowled, raising both his fists and stamping up and down like a toddler having a tantrum. Snap and post. Both of them were creating some great material for his blog. He had become more certain of it when the first shot of Khan had reached over 20 likes in less than five minutes. The people had spoken and they were hungry for more. “You are not the acceptable age for one.” Khan said, face devoid of emotion. “And let yet you let Scroogie in on your little game, no questions asked?” Flintheart said, he crossed his arms, face scrunched up into a childish pout. “You two thought you could start a wee bit of an adventure together and leave ol’ Flinty in the dark, did you?” the old duck marched forward, an angry shade of red visible through his feathers. “You are mistaken, my friend.” Shere Khan said shortly, clasping his hands behind his back. His back was straight and firm. He looked the model of patience and serenity, which was enough to tell Mark he was beginning to become annoyed. He didn’t need to know the tiger personally. He was 110% percent sure nobody in their social sphere would tolerate being talked down like that for very long. “Am I?” Flintheart hissed, pushing himself forward and one of the footrests forward and hopping atop it so that the tip of his beak nearly touched the nose of the feline’s muzzle. To the cat’s credit the only sign that this had affected him, was a slight furrowing of his eyebrows before smoothing out his face once more. Seeing perfect blogging material, Mark subtly captured the scene before him. His followers were really in for a treat today, he thought with a chirping giggle. All those old Scottish games had provided him with great material for those who were into historical gameplay, reenactment, or just wanted to keep tabs on what Scrooge and Glomgold were up to now. Their rivalry was infamous enough that it would keep most of them satisfied. Especially since Flintheart Glomgold was perhaps the sorest loser Mark had ever had the privilege to chronicle. It had been hilarious, but for the elderly duck to then follow that up with an argument with Khan Industry’s reclusive founder and CEO over Scrooge McDuck? It made for the kind of material he could only dream of. “Do ye mark me for a fool?” the outraged growl was loud enough to make even Mark flinch, making it all the more impressive that the tiger’s facial features made no outward response. “In your own words you’ve admitted that you’ve allowed Scrooge in on this little game of yours only to shut the door in my face the moment I asked to play along!” Mark smiled, as Glomgold stamped his feet. It was moments like this that made him feel right at home in the Billionaire’s club. Glomgold was an old man, if he had less money people would have expected him to act his age. Instead he was perfectly content to make a feather-brain out of himself on the suspicion that Scrooge and Khan were purposefully excluding him from some sort of secret game they’d planned on playing together. His behavior made Mark feel mature in a respectable way, instead of a dumb “on the way to becoming obsolete” way. When they had all left, Beaks had done a little Q and A to cool down a bit from the earlier excitement while listening to music from on another tab, and watching the cooking channel as he progressed. Staring at a screen too long tended to make him feel exhausted and he didn’t feel like waking up with phone lines on his face again, so he liked to multi-task. Doing more than one task at once kept him awake and aware. Particularly if it was something he enjoyed. Scrooge had reentered the room after some time, and as was typical of the stuck up old guy, he ignored all of the greetings Mark sent his way. He felt his feathers rise up in annoyance, but took to passive-aggressively slurping his Mango puree instead of doing anything he might regret later. He wasn’t at his company where he could do anything he wanted without suffering much consequence. He was among his peers now and that meant playing nice. Besides, who cared what freaking Scrooge McDuck thought of him? He’d sighed to himself. Adulting was hard. It meant you weren’t allowed to be as Extra™ with peopling as you wanted anymore. You had to bide your time for the inevitable takedown to avoid facing the consequences. So he’d silently watched the McDuck leave, head down as if he’d been in a daze. When Khan had returned next, Mark had thanked him, and offered up some constructive criticism on the drink he’d been made. The Tiger hadn’t made his mango puree the way he’d liked it. No shade. No tea. Just facts. The drink had been smooth and silky instead of thick and pulpy like it should be. He hadn’t ordered some Crème Frappuccino, Jen. However, he could tolerate it, knowing he had gotten someone who had a higher net worth than he did act on a request he’d made-without getting all salty about it, well, that was something that just did not happen to Mark Beaks every day. The cat had raised an eyebrow at him before apologizing profusely, his voice thick with obvious sarcasm that had left Mark feeling just the slightest bit annoyed. But he’d shrugged and rolled with the mild sarcasm. Shere Khan had acknowledged him and that was important. The big cat had apparently returned to retrieve the smoothie he’d made for himself, and, having located the objective, stalked slowly towards the couch where Mark sat. He’d stood behind him, drinking the frozen beverage, and suddenly feeling uncomfortably hyperaware of the predator behind him, Mark had felt himself being assessed. For what he did not know, but whatever it was thankfully brief. As if unaware of his discomfort, Shere Khan had simply tossed the cup gracefully into the trash, and bid him a polite farewell when Glomgold had barged into the room with a loud bang. The elderly duck had clearly been in a rush. He was out of breath, gasping loudly and growling out angry Scottish curses. “I have done no such thing,” Shere Khan said, quietly moving away from his conversation partner, apparently on the lookout for another disposable cup. “Really?” Glomgold laughed as he followed the other man, an ugly mocking noise filled with derision. “What was it you were saying just minutes before then, an elaborate lie to make me jealous?” The Scot had first sounded incredulous, but, as he spoke the words had begun to sound increasingly doubtful but its finish. He’d moved closer to Khan, and if Wiktionary had face claims his would be filed under “suspicion”. It was as if the idea, now that the idea had been expressed, the likelihood of the content having been a lie had exponentially increased. “No.” The cat had located the disposable cups that had been placed inside one of the lower cupboards. “Please do not accuse me of falsehood where miscommunication could easily be the culprit.” Exasperation had begun to leak into the feline’s tone, making his words flatter than they would have been otherwise. in a move Mark would never personally have had the temerity to make, the Scotsman took advantage of the tiger’s decision to lean over to grab one of the cups to seize hold of the other businessman’s tie and yanked it hard enough that their faces were now touching. It was also apparently one move too far for the carnivore’s patience because he had stood suddenly and with the swipe of one furry claw pried the feathered hand from his neck clothing with brutal efficiency. Mark checked his phone and sighed in disappointment. He’d expected Shere Khan to do something. There was only so much the typical person would tolerate m\before they either fled or went on the defensive. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been quick enough to catch the scene in action and had captured only blurry outlines from the two of them. Dang it. He deleted the worthless photos from his phone with a little more force than necessary, and waited for the next moment to strike. “Ah, I see.”  Glomgold drew out the final word. “A miscommunication error on your part was it?” The old duck had crossed his arm in a pout. It gave the impression that he was unaffected by the tiger’s growing agitation. “So it would seem.” Shere Khan allowed, making an attempt at civility. “Then what are the two of you getting up to together?” Glomgold made it sound like he half expected the two Billionaires were carrying on with an illicit love affair behind everyone’s backs, and it was perhaps this tone that made Shere Khan sigh in annoyance. “If everything goes as PLANNED, HE WILL AGREE to provide me with the location for an upcoming reality show I intend to produce.” He said slowly, pinching the bridge of his muzzle. There was a clatter and Mark felt the combined gazes of both men focus solely on him. Mark Beaks gave a start then retrieved the phoned he’d accidentally dropped with an embarrassed chuckle. McDuck and Khan would be hosting a Reality TV show together? He felt himself practically salivating at the interest this news would surely generate. Earlier that day, Khan had seemed on edge about people knowing he was into cooking shows. Maybe what had really been bothering him was that he hadn’t wanted any similar ideas between his show and anything currently existing to be seen as an act of plagiarism or a willful violation of trademarked concepts. He didn’t really know anything about the laws governing reality TV shows to be honest. He just liked watching them and, as he did with most of the fine print corporate paperwork, left the majority of the heavy lifting to his legal team. But that hardly mattered when he’d just gotten front row seating on some juicy gossip way before the newsies could sink their own talons into it. This kind of coverage on the lives of the rich and powerful more than made up for the hefty membership fees new members like him had to pay to get their own piece of the action. He fired off a couple of posts in rapid succession and grinned triumphantly as activity skyrocketed on his feed. With any luck, his posts would go viral and his account would get a mention on TV. He answered a few of the more frequently asked questions, then paused. The foreboding feeling that he was being watched washed over him and when he looked up he found himself once more staring into the predatory yellow eyes of Shere Khan. Feeling nervous self-consciousness well up inside of him, he gave the tiger a friendly little wave. The other man seemed to smile before turning his gaze back onto Glomgold, who, after a moment of useless flailing, had rallied magnificently from his initial surprise. “Why not me own property?” The duck said pointing a finger at the significantly larger mammal. “I’ll have you know---” “---Because these contests will be a competition geared toward locating a child of exemplary business acumen.” Shere Khan interrupted, the words logical and cold, but the fact that he was losing the will to remain polite, spoke of his decreasing patience. “Mr. Scrooge owns an actual living thriving city, populated by potential customers.” Glomgold made an indignant grunt, as if to interrupt but Khan wasn’t finished talking yet and spoke over him. “This is something neither you nor I possess, which is why he was sought out, and I refuse to settle for anything less.” Glomgold slumped, defeat splashing across his face. Mark grinned and took another snap of the almost defeated expression on the old Duck’s face. “There must be something I can do.” Flintheart said, he looked like he was wanted to argue, but had no clue what to say next. Shere Khan only shrugged in response. “I am open to suggestions.” He turned to leave. “If you think of something, I SHALL CONSIDER IT.” The words were short this time as he once more turned to leave, clearly intending to make a hasty retreat before Glomgold came up with anything else to pester him with. Before he’d left, Mark seized upon his own opportunity. “Have you decided on the Judges?” the tiger paused then raised a sleek eyebrow at him. “Pardon?” the word was said politely, no emotion crossing his face. “You know, the duderinos who decide whether these kids suck or not?” He asked with a careless expansive sweep of his hands. “I will be looking into potential candidates at a later time.” The tiger said softly. “Auditions will have to be made, and---″ “I volunteer.” Mark Beaks said immediately. Khan shook his head, but the parrot was not letting him off the hook that easily. “C’mon, Shere Khan, my buddy, my guy, my amigo,” he said beseechingly. “You’re going to want these judges to actually be successful businessmen and women, not some small town reject wearing rose-colored glasses and an over-idealistic idea of how the world works on their sleeves.” Shere Khan paused, evaluating, then--- “My answer remains the same.” the words were almost regretful. Glomgold smirked at him. “Sorry new guy,” he laughed. “You’ve got to wait for those feathers of yours to dry before you depend on business reputation alone.”  Glomgold faced Shere Khan with a grin. “I would like to offer up my considerable experience to this project of yours.” He had placed one palm upon his chest giving off the impression that he was a high profile politician swearing into public office. “I’ll have to decline that gracious offer as well.” The tiger said brusquely, and Mark burst out laughing as Glomgold visibly deflated. “What?!” The laughter from the duo’s audience had clearly rankled, offence born of an injured ego. “No one says no to Flintheart Glomgold!” Mark wiped mirthful tears out of his eyes and grinned at the Scottish Duck. “Really, man?” he laughed brightly. “I’d have thought all those years spent as Scrooge’s quote end quote ‘Arch-nemesis’ would have taught you a thing or two about rejection.” Glomgold glowered in his direction but Mark didn’t care. He didn't like it when people were condescending towards him, and he refused to tolerate it from anyone without saying anything in return. “Be that as it may” Khan directed the conversation back onto its previous conversation, perhaps worried the two would cause a scene if they didn’t. “If what you say is true, then I apologize that necessity must force me to be the first.” He looked so genuine Mark almost believed him. “But after the events I witness earlier I really must refuse.” Glomgold looked like something distasteful had found itself lodged in his mouth. The older man clearly believed what was being said was true, which made Mark wonder what had happened that would give a normal person logical reason to decline such an advantageous offer but he could tell it was just an excuse. Mark knew an actor when he saw one and it was clear Khan was after something from Flintheart he felt he would not get by being direct with sharing his desired outcome. The tiger looked ever so regretful before stretching out till his back cracked satisfactorily and once more heading to the door. The limp in his gate was more pronounced than ever as he head out the doorway that would eventually lead to the entrance hall “What if,” Glomgold began, words choked and desperate. “What if I paid you to let me be the Judge?” There wasn’t any visible change in the tiger’s expression but Beaks could feel the other man’s attention zero in on the heavyset duck. “I’d want to know what you intended to contribute.” he said slowly. Glomgold frowned, “I don’t know what's needed for this project of yours.” He confessed. “I don’t even know where to begin.” Shere Khan smiled, pulling out his cell. “That, dear fellow, is what legal teams are for.” Glomgold nodded in agreement and pulled out his own. Shere Khan had requested the assistance of an employee to set up webcams and before long the two were sitting on the stools near the bar, busy ironing out arrangements. Their distraction left him with his own thoughts. Mark wanted to be a judge but it was clear to him Shere Khan didn’t want to pay the exorbitant wages reality TV shows usually afforded their judges. Like many wealthy people Mark had known throughout the years, the man was quite stingy with his own wealth. This contest was probably just a publicity stunt meant to last one season then cancelled after it had drawn more public attention back onto Khan and his company, and honestly speaking here, Mark wasn’t all that comfortable with the whole pay to play concept. Actually paying someone to become a job when most shows would have paid him randomly didn’t sit well with him. Glomgold obviously found it an easy choice because of his long history of defeat at scrooge’s hand and this was a way to one-up the old timer. But for Mark, the choice was not so easy. He didn’t have the same relationship Flintheart shared with McDuck. What he did know made him dislike the guy, and, sure, he considered himself an “antagonist” to the old man because his behavior towards Mark had made him feel things about himself that he’d found...unpleasant when he’d wanted to impress the richest duck in the world and had been summarily dismissed as unimportant. That title was one of many measuring sticks he used to assess his own self-worth. This one for his own personal wealth, which, sadly, wasn’t in the same margin as old man McDuck, but he was willing to bet much of that was due to age. Mark Beaks was still a young man and there was plenty of time to catch up with the man if he was patient. Trouble was he didn’t want to be patient. Another, even more important method of judging his amour-propre was his follower count… which had dropped since the two failures, first the BUDDY system robot and then his brief but highly destructive stent as Gizmoduck, he was ashamed to admit were now attached to his name. Judges on popular TV shows got a crazy amount of followers, so joining this game of theirs could potentially help him regain what he’d lost. His followers were the lifeblood of his company. They were a very big part of the reason waddle had done so well in the first place. But as he watched Glomgold and khan finally reach an agreement with the promise that the duck would for the catering in addition to the promised cash donation, he shook his head with a frown. It was obvious why Flintheart was the second richest duck in the world despite the fact that Scrooge wasted money on stupid superstitious stuff like supernatural defense if his sources. Glomgold, whether it was spending obscene amounts of money attempting to one-up scrooge or building death traps that ultimately failed was just a lot looser with his money than Scrooge was. These were issues born of a raging inferiority complex, and one that would likely doom himself to an eternal position of second place. On the plus side, his flaws made the duck more entertaining to be around. He was that short angry guy nearly every successful squad seemed to have on the TV shows of his youth who was getting himself and his friends into some stupid mess nearly every other episode because he literally couldn’t control himself for more than ten minutes. Sure, he’d yet to reach “friend” status with Flintheart, but it was all part of the plan he’d first conceived on the night of Scrooge’s birthday. It was another waiting game which required him to have patience if he wanted to see it come to a successful fruition, but the idea of developing a tie between himself, Glomgold, and Ms. Beagle was a good one. He was confident that, if he could get Mr. Graves to start returning his phone calls they’d be the perfect quartet. But that would require him to spend more time around Glomgold first. So far the older man seemed content to ignore him in favor of Scrooge McDuck. It had been irritating to be ignored constantly but Mark Beaks was a master at rolling with life’s disappointments and he’d be banned from the internet before he let the old duck’s brush-offs get to him. But, the dawning realization hit him as he watched Shere Khan summon one of the many moles who were employed by the Billionaires club to fetch him the head representative of his legal team, who was currently waiting at the front gate to be permitted access to the exclusive club. If he were to become a judge, not only would his follower count skyrocket, it might give him the opportunity to get Glomgold alone, possibly developing, if not a friendship, then a camaraderie between the known enemies of Scrooge McDuck at least. But it was also important to read the obvious clues Khan was leaving that more or less stated in no uncertain clues that he expected to be given a pricey little nest egg in exchange for their participation and finely made one at that. Going by what he was witnessing with Glomgold, it seemed as if he was not satisfied with accepting monetary bribes alone, which left Mark in a bit of a pickle. What, beyond money, did he have that he could easily part from without much sacrifice on his part…that Shere Khan might actually want? He thought it through as he watched a smartly dressed…canine… of unknown species introduce himself as Tabaqui as he took out several sheets of paper that had very likely been printed on site. The neat rows of printed words were visible but not legible from his position across the room. Taking stock of the new occupant, Mark vaguely thought that there were times when he found it frustrating that it was considered offensive to ask what species someone was. This was one of those scenarios. For the life of him, he couldn’t tell what species the guy was supposed to be, it could be anything, really, from dog to jackal to dingo or even a hyena with really muted coloring(in which case he wasn’t a canine at all since the hyena breeds were a family class all there own), but he was letting himself get carried away. It really didn’t matter what species the guy was so long as he didn’t turn on Mark randomly and ask him what he was. Yup, it didn’t matter at all. He was totally going to Google it later just so he could have that question answered though. Even though it meant nothing. Glomgold, in a rare display of maturity, had actually picked up the sheets of paper and was reading through them in their entirety as he asked questions and had the language edited as he saw fit. They were at it long enough for another waiter to ask if anyone would like something to drink. Khan wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to the man but the lawyer was the only one to take the employee up on it and before long he was unlocking the wine cabinet and pouring something dark and purple into a glass. The canine(?) thanked him and the guy had returned to the counter to lock the cabinet again. He left the room shortly after, the note the tiger had given him still in hand, but it was enough to have the figurative ball start rolling in his head. B.U.D.D.Y. When he’d seen the notes and blueprints for the machine online, the user had mentioned the robot was useful in locating keys. His first batch of the models had proven to be a failure as the robot had shown itself to a temper that exceeded their actual size, but perhaps that could actually make them useful in this little contest Khan was throwing down. One of the most important skills an up and coming business owner needed was customer service skills. It paid to be seen as charismatic. The B.U.D.D.Y. robots would required delicate handling if the contestant was to avoid setting off the robot’s rebellious ‘KILL’ mode. Anticipating a high consumer demand, he’d had ten robots made. Following the trial run, they’d been scheduled to be decommissioned and scrapped for parts he’d use on any one of his other projects. However, if his robots got Khan’s attention, well, maybe they wouldn’t be considered quite the failure after all. Following the contest he could even have them sold as souvenirs from the show. Provided the customer signed a lengthy contract stating he and his company were in no way responsible for any damages that might occur following the sale. Mind decided, he approached the table where the three men were reaching the finalization of whatever it was they’d agreed upon Khan’s man noticed his presence. “Your witness, I presume?” The canine(?) asked with a rakish grin. Glomgold grunted a short unimpressed “He’ll do.” and before he knew it papers were being foisted on him by the lawyer as he translated the agreements between Khan and Glomgold from legalese into plain English, and a pen was being pressed squarely into his palm by the old duck, demanding that he sign the firms stating he had seen the deal between the two take place, that they’d both been of sound mind, and neither had threatened or otherwise coerced the other man into action. It had. It had been altogether too much. “Now, now.” Khan laughed amiably, watching the spectacle in amusement from his corner of the table. “I do believe you’ve frightened the poor chap.” Mark Beaks would have liked to have refuted it, and some part of his mind did object to what the tiger had said because it really wasn’t fear that he felt now. His mind was dissociating which was an entirely different than fear, but his mind had gone temporarily numb and he had frozen in place. But the tiger’s words did have the desirable effect of getting both men to stop talking, and more importantly cease touching him. So he could not bring it in him to despise the feline too much for his words. “As you both are aware,” Khan continued, a passive smile crossing his face. “A witness is not required in a contract such as this, however,” the last word was spoken over whatever Glomgold had tried to say. “I took the liberty of requesting the presence of notary.” Khan said shortly. “Ask the manager of this establishment to give the surveillance footage of this arrangement, and pass it to him, so that he might do his job properly.” Khan stood and Mark Beaks was suddenly made very aware of how very tall the predator was. “And Glomgold,” he said, smile as sharp as his teeth. “Do remember to pay the men.” The mallard left the room muttering darkly under his breath, and Mark was left staring after the two other men who were preparing to head after Flintheart as he wracked his brain for a way to say he still wanted in. Normally, he wouldn’t have had a problem volunteering himself for anything that was of interest to him. He’d just done it not too long ago. But he truly hated rejection, especially by people who were higher up on the corporate totem pole than himself. Nowadays that wasn’t as many people as it once was, but…Khan was among that rare clique of people he wanted to impress, and the tiger hadn’t even seemed to think his usefulness was even worth debating. That had been a royal burn to his ego, man. But the decision to say nothing wasn’t one he wanted to make either. If you wanted to be successful in life, you had to seize the opportunity wherever you might find it. Even if you failed it was better to have failed than to have done the task with anything less than a full set of tail feathers. So, when both men had gathered the papers and seemed set to leave. He stood up with them, and summoning all the confidence he could muster told them he still wanted to participate as well. Two sets of eyes locked on his as he explained what he thought he could bring to the table. He might have understated just how dangerous the B.U.D.D.Y.s could be, but otherwise he had stuck to the truth as he internally called out to a higher power than he that they realized how good he was, and how much they needed him to be on their little panel of judges.  The discussion went on longer than he’d like. It was always important to keep up a positive public image and the direction their conversation was going made it difficult for him. The fact that the robots were rather dangerous and uncontrollable when provoked did seem to be a sticking point for Shere Khan, “But,” Mark Beaks reasoned, “We can make both the parents and children themselves sign a release of liability form.” He shrugged carelessly. “It’s not like they’re going to be unaware of the danger and if they sign anyway they can’t sue.” But still Khan hesitated before he admitted for the children’s emotional well-being in addition to how it would affect the little one’s friends and family. The words themselves were practically an antithesis to everything he had thought about Khan and he might have been shocked by the admission if it hadn’t been spoken in a voice, dry as a desert, and so lacking in any sort of concern whatsoever, that he wasn’t actually concerned for the children for their own safety. No, he might as well have admitted that the only thing that mattered to him was how potential customers would feel and respond if a child was injured during a competition hosted by Khan Industries. Realizing that he was quickly losing his audience, and that he’d been correct when he’d theorized money, or at least not money alone would not be enough to get him in a seat on the panel of judges he’d gotten desperate, and kinda, maybe, sorta, well…. promised Gizmoduck would be there to halt and protect any Child from a rampaging B.U.D.D.Y. if the situation called for it. There’d been a frosty silence between the two of them after that announcement. Mark had desperately wanted to take back his words. Gizmoduck no longer obeyed and his commands so he was in no position to promise anything, and Shere Khan, well… ceiling cat alone knew what he was thinking, but Mark had heard some stories on the grapevine that Khan had an issue or two about people that had lied to and broken promises with the man in the past. The older businessman had request-no, that didn’t quite describe the way the words were said, commanded seemed a better fit, he produce said he’d need to produce said hero before they discussed the conversation any further, let alone have a contract drawn up for him to sign. He had been left spluttering after him as the Tiger and his lawyer left together, the former giving the later a respectful distance, head bowed submissively for the first time that evening, and leaving no room for doubt who called the shots in that relationship. After his business with the notary was finalized, Glomgold had returned to wait behind the door to see how the situation between Khan and Beaks resolved, and had been witness to the whole sordid affair. When Mark caught the elderly avian staring at him from behind the door, he’d tilted his head to the side, wondering why the other man was lurking in the shadows. It hadn’t been until Glomgold had pointed a figure at him and laughed like a loon that he realized the other was laughing at his miserable failure like it was a joke. Maybe it was, in a way. He’d tried to bribe someone using killer robots and had been surprised when it failed. He kept his shoulders squared and head held high, doing his best not to show anyone that Glomgold had gotten to him. The task was more difficult to do than he’d thought. The mallard had clearly returned to make fun of his misery and rub his beak in the fact that he’d gotten the contract and Beaks hadn’t. He wanted to get under Mark’s skin and he’d been more successful than he would ever realize the parrot thought took one final look at the other man mocking him, than taking out his camera and snapping a photo for his blog. It wasn’t everyday someone of their economic status willingly took time out of their schedules to check in on him, and, even if Glomgold had only been their to see him fall on his face, it was hard not to let the fact that the old man had viewed him to be worthy of so much of his time get to him. He’d felt cheerful enough that he almost forgot to be upset about Khan. If Mark had been half-hearted about the venture before, he’d definitely committed himself to the mission now. His anger wasn’t quite the result of having been rejected, although those feelings changed and stung at his pride. No, it was the way hed been rejected as if he, his resources, and his money had meant nothing to the old tiger. The man’s attitude had been what had stuck up inside his craw like nothing else. He hadn’t longed to be invited to join the Billionaire’s club only to be treated like a nobody once he’d finally been inducted. And honestly? He refused to put up with that attitude from anybody let alone some uppity feline with delusions of grandeur. He wanted to prove he could get the man on board, and this is why he’d broken the window latch on the second story of the Fenton household. He preferred to go about things legally but if the door was barred to him he had other ways of getting what he wanted. Fortunately he hadn’t needed to enter the room without permission as M'ma Cabrera was surprisingly welcoming once he expressed an interest in hiring her son to work with children in need. It hadn’t even been much of a lie. The children didn’t know it yet but they were in need of being terrorized by killer robots who would teach them proper customer relations. The self-styled ‘hero’ was currently working on something for Mr McDuck she’d said but he’d soon return home. In the meantime shed told him he was welcome to wait in the guest room which was across the hall from her sons room if he didn’t want to stay and watch soaps with her. He’d thanked her and made his way up, entering Fenton Crachshell’s bedroom to fix the lock he’d broken. He gave the place a curious once-over, finding nothing particularly out of place. Outside of a small shrine devoted to bandages and first aid supplies, it was a normal bedroom one would expect to see from a man of average financial means who still lived with his mother. Mark didn’t know if he should be disappointed or not. He shrugged and got to work, broken windows weren’t in the habit of repairing themselves. He frowned at it for moment looking at the information he had pulled up on the waddle phone and after making a quick call to his office, got to work. It wasn’t a difficult task, just not one he did often. He had just finished fixing the mechanism when he heard the front door open and a familiar male voice tiredly greet his mother. The volume on the television was lowered and the couch made a loud creaking noise as she presumably stood up to greeted her son in turn before the two began speaking in Spanish. Mark took that as a sign to beat a hasty exit and propelled himself into the guest bedroom as fast as his legs would allow. That proved to be a wise decision as he heard footsteps bounding loudly up the step and a wild-eyed Fenton appeared in the doorway looking harassed. Mark grinned and lifted his arm in a friendly wave. For his part the parrot looked as if he had been patiently waiting where Ms Cabrera had directed him, one leg folded over the other, the portrait of a relaxed guest that had every right to be where he was. Mark’s apparent ease within the environment seemed to have the opposite effect on Fenton, so he continued to smile amiably at him. It was fun when people were easy to provoke. Fenton was less than thrilled to see him. “You” the word was drawn out and filled with enough venom to kill a fully grown elephant. “Me.” he agreed pleasantly, waving off the former intern’s irritation like a tiresome fly. “Why did you come here?” Fenton growled darkly. Well somebody hatched the wrong nest of eggs this morning he thought, watching in bemusement as Fenton threw his arms up, looking for all the world like he wanted to rumble. Mark almost laughed, Perhaps when he wore the suit it looked a little more frightening, but at this moment he looked like a scrawny little nerd with fantastic cranial plumage. His face was the kind that looked friendly even when angry, he wondered if anyone had mentioned it to him but he doubted it. Otherwise, his face wouldn’t look so intent. Mark wondered if the reaction would be worth it if he was the one to break his heart by telling him. Probably not. “I don’t know what your game is but you’re not welcome in my home.” jeez the guy really was buying into his own hype. He really did sound like one of those Saturday morning cartoon heroes from the 80s. Mark was glad the duck wasn’t wearing the suit or it would have been more difficult to focus on what he actually wanted. “Game,” he repeated dropping his voice to a near purr, as he approached Fenton steadily catching his gaze. “I’m not the one who’s playing any games.” The answer was, of course true. At the moment anyway. If something like this had occurred during his childhood he’d have jumped at the opportunity with all that he was, but it hadn’t, and now he was jumping at the chance to have something lesser but still significant. His only response was a long-suffering sigh. “Hey, think all you want but out of the two of us, its Mr McDuck who comes the closest to gameplay right now, sport."Mark’s tone was light as he watched Fenton react to his words."What do you mean by that?” As if he were a small child, instinctually hesitant out of fear of adult reprimand. “Wait,"Mark said slowly , widening his eyes for dramatic effect. "Could it be that you don't know?” The last was spoken in a theatric stage whisper. Fenton looked puzzled. “M'ma said whatever this is had something to do with children?” Fenton said slowly, beginning to look frustrated. “Yes,” Mark agreed, then went for the kill. “Scrooge McDuck and Shere Khan are starting a contest and they'll be using my B.U.D.D.Y. robots to help teach them proper customer service skills.” “What!” The look of shock on his face was priceless. He had to resist the urge to take out his phone and take a selfie with him and Fenton’s face, but at the moment he was cleverly disguised as a concerned and compassionate adult. Somehow he didn’t think that would go with his act. “So you really didn’t know I–” they both startled in alarm when they heard knocking on the front door, and for one wild moment he worries that it was Scrooge, or Gyro, or even Khan on the other side of that door. Both men sat quietly as someone spoke to M'ma Cabrera and then left. The silence between them was heavy as her steps leisurely ambled up the stairs before the woman knocked on the door and her son got up to meet her in the doorway. The two had another brief conversation in Spanish, some of which Mark understood from linguistic osmosis to be thanking her for the papers she had passed to him, but the majority of what was said had been lost on him. The duck returned to his seat and passed the papers to him, which he immediately recognized as the legal documents he’d sent for prior to fixing Fenton’s window latch. “I believe this belongs to you.” Fenton’s voice was several shades colder than it had been and Mark was now holding the obvious culprit. Clearly the paperwork had reminded the duck of the train wreck that had been last time he was employed by Mark Beaks and the parrot cursed the lawyer internally for his less than optimal arrival. “It does.” He admitted slowly, as there was little else he could say. “Why, and no lies now or I’m kicking you out.” The duck said, pointing a finger threateningly in his face. “Did you really come here?” Mark thought for a moment, then changed tactics. He’d gotten this far, he was certain he could get the other bird on his side with a bit of prodding. “Lets call a truce.” He said offering his hand and rolling his eyes when the duck eyed it as if it were covered in some particularly disgusting infectious disease. “Truth is, i need your help, amigo.” The fact pained him but that wouldn’t stop it from being true, no matter what he may have thought. Fenton frowned “Why haven’t you gone to Doctor Gearloose instead?” Mark laughed. “You’ve worked for the man, I’m sure you know how well that would’ve worked out.” His voice adopted a drawl that was a very good take on Gyro’s, if he said so himself. “Oh, the disgrace to proper scientist’s everywhere needs my help.” He pretended to straighten Gearloose’s imaginary glasses. “Words fail to describe my amazement.” He settled once more on his normal voice. “And that's if he didn’t decide to have me thrown into a recycling unit and used as fertilizer for the landscapers.” Fenton laughed . “The Doctor wouldn’t do that,” he defended, but in a more teasing voice “Right now Mr Gearloose is being watched too closely by the board of directors, and I really can’t see them letting him get away with coldblooded murder.” Mark tugged absentmindedly on the nape of his neck. “You’re probably right.” He said in amusement. “Murder tends to be bad for long-term public policy.” Fenton fidgeted at that. “So you’ve never considered–” “–No.” Mark said, interrupting the sentence before it had been fully asked. He’d like their brief camaraderie before it had slipped away. He regretted its absence. “Doctor Gearloose would probably have more respect for you if you didn’t steal so many inventions from other people.” Fenton shrugged. “If you, y'know, acted like a ‘proper scientist’.” Mark was partially tempted to laugh in the other man’s face. Science as they knew it today had been built on people borrowing, stealing, and taking credit for the work of others, often doing utterly deplorable things to the original creators in the process. Mark had never done anything that would be especially awful to a rival, so as far as he was concerned he was actually one of the nicer guys out there. But he had a feeling that if he were to actually admit that he and 'the hero’ would be debating morality forever, so he chose to ignore the statement. “That's one way of looking at it.” He said instead. Fenton raised his eyebrows. 'Oh, and what do you think would get him to change his opinion on you?“ There was just a hint of challenge in his voice and Mark smiled in response. "I have money, Doctor.” He coaxed, pulling out his briefcase to reveal said currency, flaunting it before the other bird as he traced the edges in an almost seductive manner. “And I’m willing to finance a few of your pet projects if you help me settle a simple problem of my own.” He shrugged amicably, closing the briefcase. “You know the man better than me but I’m betting his view towards me would be improved, even if its only by a little.” Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera was left absolutely speechless. Mark chuckled softly at the hungry desperate look that had entered his eyes and twisted his mouth before he checked himself, and pretended that little slip hadn’t happened. But he couldn’t prevent his eyes from darting back to the briefcase like a pet denied its favorite snack. “Why did you bring that here.” Fenton frowned, clearly suspicious. “I need to borrow Gizmodu–” “–No.” Fenton didn’t even bat an eyelid before responding. “You didn’t even let me finish!” Mark protested, the former intern could not be allowed to prevent him access to his super robot self. “I am not here for you to use however you see fit!” The parrot blew air through his beak in frustration, he’d really made things needlessly complicated for himself when he tried to take on the mantle of Gizmoduck, hadn’t he? “Look, this isn't about me trying to take on your mantle again, okay?” Mark said, trying to sound reasonable and hoping like hell he was successful. “In fact, if you get a call requesting your help you can leave at any time, as long as you return when it’s over.” He sighed. “I just want to prevent a few dumb kids from breaking a few bones on live television.” Fenton paused then stared at him. “Run that by me again?” Mark hid a smile confidence returning. “Oh, just a reality show Scrooge and I are involved in.” He said before giving a brief description of what they were planning, fudging only a few specific details a centimeter or two. It was only with this duck’s help that he’d be part of the game. “And I’m going to be a judge!” He finished brightly, watching as Crackshell-Cabrera slowly absorbed the information he’d just divulged. “I… I wouldn’t have thought Mr. McDuck would be interested in starting such a thing.” Fenton admitted, looking more than a little lost. “Me neither!” Mark confessed. Neither Khan nor McDuck seemed like the type of man who would think of doing something like this, let alone act on it. But truthfully he didn’t know either of them well enough to make an accurate judgement call, and when he got down to the wire, he honestly didn't care as long as he somehow got in on it. “But getting back to the topic at hand, Scrooge might not be willing to call in the big guns for something like this, but I’m not him.” Mark grinned all relaxed smiles and casual grace. “I’m thinking of hiring you as Robot manager.” This got Fenton’s attention.“Would you need to make modifications on my armor?” Mark had to cover his mouth to prevent a string of giggles from escaping it. The memory of event, the lack of control, the pain, the humiliation, the fear…it was, well, frankly too soon to try it again. Maybe later he’d warm up to the idea again, but right now he had no desire to chance it and found it hilarious that someone would think he would. “No.” He said after finally settling down. “We both know you don’t trust me as far as you could throw me, and I"d rather avoid the looks, and well, everything else Gyro’s going to throw at me if i altered one of his precious specimens on live tv before a live audience.” Fenton snorted inelegantly and Mar smiled, each knowing the parrot would certainly need to watch his back if he ever tried it. Fenton cocked his head to the side, a small smile reaching his beak. “And i still get decently paid?” “Of course.” Mark assured him, as if even considering to do anything but that would be a crime befitting the worst of punishments.“Good.” He said and had begun reading the contract he had been given to sign. Unlike Glomgold he made no changes, edits or additions, but on some parts he would pause an ask for an explanation when he didn’t understand, listening intently while Mark patiently did his best to answer. This went on for about an hour and they were interrupted only once by M'ma when she insisted they eat something, declaring it was bad to do business on an empty stomach. Mark hadn’t complained. The food had been quite good. About thirty minutes later and Fenton, looking nervous but determined, said he could agree to the terms. Part of the arrangement included shifting Fenton into Gizmoduck and signing the contract while Mark recorded everything using his cell “Neato!” Mark exclaimed once it was all finish. “All that's left is to turn this into a lawyer and get you all nice and paid.” Fenton paused and gave the briefcase a significant stare. Reading the duck’s expression he laughed. “Nope, sorry to say it, but ” Mark said shaking his head. “That's all fake, my man.” Fenton stared at the parrot like he’d grown a second head.“Why do you have a briefcase full of fake money.” “Mugger bait.” Mark said with a shrug. “They think they’re stealing a small fortune, but I’ve got a tracker in this baby, so what they’ve really won a quick trip to the slammer.” He preened for a moment, expecting praise, but drooped slightly when none was forthcoming. “I mean, why would someone have a briefcase with actual money in it? Fenton shrugged looking terribly foolish all of a sudden. "I don’t know, i guess I’ve just seen enough movies that it didn’t seem so strange.” Mark laughed. “I’ve been there, buddy.” He gave the contract a once over, then stood up stretching for a moment before retrieving his briefcase. “If this all checks through, I’m going to be wiring the money into your account later tonight.” Fenton nodded for a moment before looking him straight in the eyes. “I like to think people are mostly good, and I want to believe the only reason you’re doing this is to help the children, so…” Fenton stopped, seemingly unable to provide the words for how he felt. “So, just don’t betray that trust, okay?” Mark smiled and gave him an easygoing salute. “You have my word.” He said, before finally taking his leave of the house. He would send a copy to Tabaqui’s office and he would finally get to arguing terms of his own contract  with Khan. If all went well he would be a judge. He could hardly wait.