#why did it have to be a black and white old-timey costume when my last hyperobsession was

[almost-born-in-1893]

I hate it here.

[thepointoftheneedle]

Happy New Year!

I wrote a little New Year’s Eve one shot.  It’s below the cut or you can read it on AO3 here.  (I’ve started a collection of short pieces just to keep things tidy.) I hope you are all able to celebrate safely and I wish you a healthy and happy 2021.

It was obvious that the party was going off the rails as soon as Archie started lining up shots along the whole length of the marble counter top.  He called Reggie out and Reggie never backed down from a challenge to his machismo so they both worked their way along the little bullets of stupid until, breathless and belly laughing, they slid to the floor, their eyes swivelling in their dumb skulls like cartoon coyotes that had just been smashed over the head with an Acme anvil.  It was nine fifteen. Betty had wondered if Veronica would be mad about it but she seemed in the mood for some chaos as she set up two more lines of glasses opposite each other on the counter and challenged Cheryl who had never met an unnecessary drama she didn’t like.  

Betty had drunk a very pleasant glass of good champagne and had been contemplating having a couple more before midnight.  She’d never been a big drinker so for her that was cutting loose.  It had been, to put it crudely, a shit-show of a year and she was glad to see the back of it.  At the last New Year’s party she had been showing off a dazzling engagement ring, about to start the job that she had been expensively and laboriously trained for and she and her intended had signed the lease on a cute and well appointed apartment in Sunset Park which everyone said was the up and coming neighbourhood. The world had been unfolding for her like a flower.  Then the frost had come and scorched the petals with its chill. This year she was single, her job sometimes felt like it was eating her up and that cute apartment burned through every cent of her pay check now she had to make the rent alone.  It was possible that she was the saddest girl in a cocktail dress on the whole island of Manhattan, she was certainly the soberest person at the party.

An hour later the shots were completely out of hand and Betty had only just prevented Ethel from throwing up into the piano.  Moose made some half hearted effort to restore order, offering glasses of water, trying to start a game of Charades, but Kevin was in too mischievous a mood for his efforts to bear any fruit and instead they were embarking on Drunk Jenga, the rules of which seemed to be that you took a shot whenever you removed a block and then another when you placed it on top of the stack.  She imagined you took a shot if the tower fell but she didn’t stick around to find out.  She sidled over to where the Pol Roger was stacked, neglected,  in its very own champagne refrigerator and helped herself while everyone else was supporting the economy of Mexico by the prodigious consumption of Patron Silver.

She took her recharged glass to the window and looked out at the snowy expanse of Central Park far below.  It looked like the idealised interior of a snow globe, the air glassy and still and a huge yellow moon surveying its domain.  Betty remembered walking through the park with Trev last Christmas, bundled in a thick coat and scarf.  They’d held hands inside one of his mittens. They’d made snow angels.  They’d skated at the Wollman Rink and drunk hot chocolate afterwards.  Her life had been a cover image from a romance novel. This year she had spent Christmas being patronised by Polly’s constant offers of introductions to a succession of Jason’s frat brothers and golfing buddies.  Eventually she’d pointed out that if she’d wanted some obstructionist, bigoted blowhard she could have found one herself, without Polly’s oh so sympathetic intervention.  Polly cried and Betty apologised but she still wasn’t going to go on a date with a junior vice president of acquisitions even if he did have a weekend place in Connecticut.  She wouldn’t tolerate being paraded in front of prospective suitors like a prize dairy cow at the county show, not by Veronica and certainly not by her sister.

As she reminisced she became aware of Archie and Veronica deep in conversation in the corner of the room.  “We have a teeny emergenshy,” Veronica said, her hand on Archie’s forearm.  Veronica was never less than perfectly composed but that slur at the end of her word and the ramped up sincerity gave her away to her best friend. She was sozzled. “Only two bottles of Patron left and then the cupboard is bare. I may have over-ordered on the fizz and neglected the tequila.”

Archie nodded, taking the situation as seriously as his wife.  Then some kind of light dawned on his handsome face.  “We’ll get the magic doorman to get us some.  He’ll be on duty now.  I’ll go slip him a fifty and he’ll take care of it.”  He turned to reach for his wallet and promptly fell on his face. It was ten to eleven and all was decidedly not well.

Betty went over to help Archie off the rug.  He grinned even though his nose was bloody. “Ronnie, Betty’s all sober and sensible.  She can go talk to the wizard.  Here Betty, here’s fifty for a tip and Ronnie’ll give you her credit card for the booze.  Okay?  Shit I’m bleeding… still it’s not a party til something gets broke.”

V was looking at her imploringly now.  Somewhere there was the sound of glass smashing and Monroe’s attempt to do chin ups on the kitchen doorframe seemed to be bringing plaster down on the floor.  Betty would rather be almost anywhere than right here so she nodded at her friend.  "What do you need V?”

V explained that the building’s night doorman was a kind of fixer.  When Tom in 204 had forgotten his wife’s birthday Jones had got him a gluten free chiffon cake iced with her name at two thirty on a Thursday morning along with a bouquet of out of season narcissuses....narcissi? When the little boy in 116 had told his mama at midnight that he needed a George Washington costume for school the next day the night doorman had sourced it, complete with powdered wig, before the little tyke had finished his cheerios.  When V had realised an hour before her 5.15 a.m. flight to Miami that she had completely forgotten her niece’s confirmation gift he had sourced a personalised Catholic Bible bound in white leather which he handed to her as she got into her cab.  “He’s a miracle worker B.  Just tell him we need a case…no two cases of Patron Silver before midnight.  Give him the fifty but tell him I’ll make it a hundred if he can fix it by eleven thirty. OK?”

“Sure.  On my way.”  

She travelled down in the elevator imagining the doorman.  He’d be some old guy in a uniform with gold braid on the chest. He probably knew all the residents and their dogs by name and had one of those old timey extended families so that he could reach out to Cousin Ike for last minute birthday cakes or get his nephew’s wife to sew a costume at no notice.  She needed a fixer herself since her life seemed so broken.  She wondered what he could do for a lonely woman who was trying to work out if getting a cat was too much of an admission that she had given up.

As she stepped out into the lobby she was slightly taken aback by the mismatch between her expectations and reality.  He was behind the reception desk, dark head bowed over a laptop, no braid in evidence, no grey whiskers or paunch, just this dark, poetic looking guy in a black sweater.  She approached the desk and he looked up at her, fingers still flying over the keys without him needing to glance down.  He seemed to reach a natural pause, closed the lid of the laptop and smiled politely.  “Yes ma’am, how can I help?”  His eyes were blue.  They seemed to look through her probably thinking she was just another rich girl bringing him problems.  He must get that a lot.

“Yeah, hi, I’m a guest of Mr and Mrs Lodge Andrews up in the penthouse.  They’re having a little New Year's Eve party and they’re running low on liquor.  They wondered if you could source them a couple of cases of…”

“Patron Silver?  Yes ma’am, of course.  Who should I charge it to?”  She had no idea how he could have known what she was going to ask for.  It made her want to say that they wanted Stolichnaya or absinthe or something, just to surprise him but she’d been sent for Patron and Patron she would get.

“Oh, yes, I have a credit card.” She handed it over,  “and Mr Andrews said to give you this for the trouble.”  She passed him the fifty, embarrassed.

“No incentive to get it here before the coaches turn into pumpkins?” he asked, eyebrow raised.  She thought he was making fun of her but she couldn’t be sure.  

“Oh yes, that’s right.  Veronica said another $50 if it’s here by eleven thirty.”

“Okay ma’am.  I’ll buzz up when it’s here.  If that’s all.”

“Oh please don’t call me ma’am.  I’m Betty.”

“I’m Jones... Jughead. Nickname. Long dull story.” He raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering why she was still standing in front of his desk.

“Look, it’s a little crazy up there.  Would it be okay if I just stay down here for a minute? Just say if it’s inconvenient. I don’t want to disturb you if you’re busy.” She didn’t think she could bear to be the responsible adult at Veronica’s party for a moment longer. Here it was quiet and no one needed her to hold back their hair while they were getting sick.

“Busy getting hold of twelve bottles of good tequila on New Year's Eve but that’s all.  I just need to make a call.  Excuse me.”  He stood and walked away from the desk, his back turned to her.  It was a good back.  He was wearing the black sweater over grey slacks with a key chain hanging from one of his belt loops.  He had broad shoulders but his neck was fine, not thick and meaty like the guys who needed to lift weights to manufacture some self esteem. He was slim at the waist and the hips, long legs, tall.  The hair was the USP though, dark waves of it tumbling freely as he dragged long fingers through it, waiting for someone to pick up his call.  Finally he yelled “Hey Toni.  Yeah, two cases of Patron Silver asap.  Yeah, I’d noticed that but mark it up. Can Sweetpea drop it over?  Yeah right now.  Hey, ask him to get me a burger on the way too.”  He turned and looked at Betty with a questioning look and she shrugged and nodded, “Two, make it two.  Ok, thanks Toni.  Yeah you too.  See you Sunday.”

He ended the call and made his way back to the desk.  “My pal Toni runs a bar,” he explained with a grin. 

“Veronica says you’re magic, a wizard,” she told him.

“Nothing occult about it.  I’m just observant, that’s all.”

“Seems magical to produce a George Washington costume overnight,” she countered.  

“Oh well, that was a lucky break.  My sister’s a textile artist.  A struggling one.  I gave her the brief and she knocked up the costume in a few hours.  Now all the upper east side mommies have her business card and she can afford to buy materials and pay her rent.  She had to pull an all nighter but it paid off pretty big in the end.”

“Birthday cake?  Out of season flowers?” 

“The husband’s kind of a dick.  He forgot last year too. They had a fight about it in this very lobby so I wrote down the date and got ready to save his bacon.  If he’d remembered the date I’d have had cake for my breakfast and sent my sister a bunch of flowers.  As it was I made a couple hundred bucks.”

Betty was laughing now at the smug look on his face.  “So you could have reminded him beforehand?”

“Could have, but maybe the expense’ll help him remember next time.  Anyway if the doorman knows more about your wife than you do it might be time to review your priorities.”

“Ok but what about the Bible?  That seems pretty miraculous.”

“Actually it’s kind of the opposite. The kid’s confirmation name is Maria. Hardly original.  My buddy Joaquin’s little sister was confirmed a few months ago.  Her confirmation name’s Maria.  She hadn’t made a whole lot of use of the Bible.  Your pal paid me three hundred, Joaquin’s kid sister got two hundred in her college fund.”

“Seems like the side hustles are more remunerative than the pay check,” Betty observed.

“It’s all a side hustle.  I’m a writer.  This job’s kept me supplied with characters and plot lines and given me eight hours of mostly uninterrupted writing time.”

Betty flushed pink and jumped up from the corner of the desk where she had been leaning.  “Oh I’m so sorry. Here I am wasting your time.  I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait,” he reached out and put his hand on her arm.  It tingled.  “I didn’t mean it like that.  This is research.  Maybe I’ll put you in my next book.  The sad girl in a party frock who’d rather be in the lobby than with her friends at a party being kissed for New Year.”

“There’s no-one to kiss up there,” she confessed with a sad smile and then, without having any idea why, she said “I broke up with my fiancé last February.”

“Aha,” he said.  “There’s the plot.  Tell me.”

“He’s great.  A really good guy.  Kind, loyal, handsome.  Everything I should have wanted. Any girl would be lucky to have him. I think I broke his heart.”

“Why?”

“We started to plan the wedding and I wanted to run away.  I couldn’t bear to think about it.  Then one day I found myself imagining what I’d do if something bad happened that prevented it, like if he got sick or if I was in a car accident or something.  It was pretty clear that I couldn’t go through with it if I preferred the idea of one of us being in a coma to the idea of my wedding day.”

“Cold feet?”

“Oh freezing but it wasn’t just nerves.  When I imagined being married to him I couldn’t see myself, I was just a blank. It was… I don’t know how to say it…like I was finished.  I’d never be anything more than I was, never change or grow or struggle.  It was all too easy.  No grit in the oyster.  I know it’s crazy.”

“You didn’t say it was you not him did you?  You didn’t do that to him?” He was smiling at her, sympathising not mocking.

She blushed.  “I did.  All the clichés.  How could I explain?  I don’t even understand it myself.”

“I understand it.  You want to find out who you can be and he couldn’t give you that.  He was happy with who you were, didn’t want you to change.  He was probably scared of losing you. Anyone would be.” He looked at her with an intensity that made her nervous so she tried to change the subject.  

“A writer then?  What do you write?”

“Mostly mystery stories.  Magazines and online so far but I’ve just got a publisher for the novel.  I’m going to quit this next year.  What do you do?”

“I’m a psychologist.  I work with kids who are in trouble.  Try to get them back on track.  I love it but it’s hard sometimes.  I hear things that it’s tough to leave at the office.”

“You need to take care of you first.  You can’t save someone if you aren’t safe yourself. ”

“Writer or life coach?” she smiled.

He chuckled.  “Sorry.  I’m not good at small talk.  I get too intense too fast and freak people out.  Oh hey, cometh the man, cometh the tequila.”  

A tall guy in a leather jacket was pulling boxes out of the back of a truck that he’d illegally bumped up the curb outside..  He looked a little scary.  Once he was in the lobby she saw that he had a snake tattooed on his neck.  He fist bumped Jughead and then pulled him into a side hug. “Hey man.  Happy new year and all that. Hey,” he said, noticing Betty for the first time. 

“Hey.  Thanks so much for bringing it over. There’s a whole apartment full of drunk idiots upstairs just waiting to make themselves sick on it. Oh!” He turned back to Betty, aghast at what he’d said. “Sorry Betty.”

“You’ll not get an argument from me.  That’s why I’m down here talking to you.”

Neck tattoo laughed and held out his hand “Sweetpea.  Pleasure doing business with you.”  He turned back to Jughead,  “So I have to get back, I’m supposed to be on the door at the Wyrm.  See you Sunday?”

“Burgers?” Jug reminded him and his friend nodded, trotting back to the truck to grab a take out bag and toss it back to Jughead who snatched it from the air like a dolphin snatching a fish at Seaworld.

Betty buzzed up to the penthouse to get one of the assembled jocks to come and collect two cases of tequila and bring down a bottle of Pol Roger and the promised fifty dollars. It was eleven twenty four.  Ten minutes later she was sitting on the reception desk eating a burger, washing it down with $200 champagne.  “This is the best New Year's Eve I’ve ever had,” she grinned, a little disinhibited by the bubbles.  

“Weren’t you engaged last year?”

“This is much better.  I was pretending last year.  Now I’m just being me.”

“I always find that works better.  The not pretending bit. Especially not with someone you can love.”

She certainly wasn’t pretending at eleven fifty nine when she reached out to him and he took her in his arms and kissed her softly as cheers and yells rang out from the parties all over the city and fireworks exploded high above the park, casting confetti of coloured lights across the marble lobby. 

As the kiss ended she looked up into his blue eyes, wondering if it was the champagne that was making her blurry and relaxed or if it was him.  She thought she’d have to keep on kissing him to know for sure.  He really was a fixer though.  Her heart felt lighter, hopeful.

He grinned.  “Spectacular as that was, this is probably the most surveilled lobby in the city.  Can we schedule the repeat for when I’m not actually on the clock?”  He gestured at the security cameras covering every inch of the space and she blushed to think that somewhere there was taped evidence of her trying to seduce the sexy doorman.

“Can I stay here and talk to you some more if I promise not to touch?”

“I wish you would.  I get off at six and I know a great diner for breakfast.  We can tell people our first date was breakfast.  They’ll be scandalised.” She couldn’t hold back at the mention of the first date, of them telling people about it, so she kissed him on the cheek before retreating back to the edge of the desk with her hands up.

They talked about her work, his writing, they compiled an ultimate New Year's Eve playlist and top tens of movies and books.  She found herself distracted by the fullness of his lips, the expressiveness of his face, the heaviness of the locks of hair that fell forward over his eyes only to be pushed back impatiently.  They agreed on almost nothing and that was exactly how she liked it.  When she crept up to the penthouse at five thirty to collect her coat and change her party shoes for snow boots, she was met with a scene of devastation.  Prostrate bodies sprawled on every flat surface.  The two cases of tequila sat unopened in the kitchen, clearly surplus to requirements by the time they had been manifested.  She picked her way through the carnage and found the coat closet where Archie had put her things when she’d arrived the night before.  Opening the door she noticed the cases of liquor stacked inside, three unopened boxes of Patron among them.  She realised that Jug wasn’t the only fixer in the building.  She made sure to lean over her sleeping friend to place a kiss on her forehead before she let herself out, locking the door behind her.

[aion-rsa]

The Star Trek: The Original Series Episodes That Best Define the Franchise

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By the time my generation got to watch Star Trek: The Original Series, the episodes often were being presented in top-ten marathons. When I was ten-years-old, for the 25th Anniversary of Star Trek, I tape-recorded a marathon of ten episodes that had all been voted by fans as the best-ever installments of The Original Series. Later, I got lucky and found Trek stickers at the grocery store and was able to label my VHS tapes correctly. But do I think all the episodes that were in that marathon back in 1991 were really the best episodes of all of the classic Star Trek? The short answer: no. Although I love nearly every episode of the first 79 installments of Star Trek, I do think that certain lists have been created by what we think should be on the list rather than what episodes really best represent the classic show. 

This is a long-winded way of saying, no, I didn’t include “Amok Time” or “The Menagerie” on this list because, as great as they are, I don’t think they really represent the greatest hits of the series. Also, if you’ve never watched TOS, I think those two episodes will throw you off cause you’ll assume Spock is always losing his mind or trying to steal the ship. If you’ve never watched TOS, or you feel like rewatching it with fresh eyes, I feel pretty strong that these 10 episodes are not only wonderful, but that they best represent what the entire series is really about. Given this metric, my choice for the best episode of TOS may surprise you…

10. “The Man Trap” 

The first Star Trek ever episode aired should not be the first episode you watch. And yet, you should watch it at some point. The goofy premise concerns an alien with shaggy dog fur, suckers on its hand, and a face like a terrifying deep-sea fish. This alien is also a salt vampire that uses telepathy that effectively also makes it a shapeshifter. It’s all so specifically bonkers that trying to rip-off this trope would be nuts. Written by science fiction legend George Clayton Johnson (one half of Logan’s Run authorship) “The Man Trap” still slaps, and not because Spock (Leonard Nimoy)  tries to slap the alien. Back in the early Season 1 episodes of Star Trek, the “supporting” players like Uhura and Sulu are actually doing stuff in the episode. We all talk about Kirk crying out in pain when the M-113 creature puts those suckers on his face, but the real scene to watch is when Uhura starts speaking Swahili. The casual way Uhura and Sulu are just their lovable selves in this episode is part of why we just can’t quit the classic Star Trek to this day. Plus, the fact that the story is technically centered on Bones gives the episode some gravitas and oomph. You will believe an old country doctor thinks that salt vampire is Nancy! (Spoiler alert: It’s not Nancy.)

9. “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield” 

There are two episodes everyone always likes to bring up when discussing the ways in which Star Trek changed the game for the better in pop culture’s discourse on racism: “Plato’s Stepchildren” and this episode, “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield.” The former episode is famous because Kirk and Uhura kiss, which is sometimes considered the first interracial kiss on an American TV show. (British TV shows had a few of those before Star Trek, though.) But “Plato’s Stepchildren” is not a great episode, and Kirk and Uhura were also manipulated to kiss by telepaths. So, no, I’m not crazy about “Plato’s Stepchildren.” Uhura being forced to kiss a white dude isn’t great.

But “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield,” oddly holds up. Yep. This is the one about space racism where the Riddler from the ‘60s Batman (Frank Gorshin) looks like a black-and-white cookie. Is this episode cheesy? Is it hard to take most of it seriously? Is it weird that Bele (Frank Gorshin) didn’t have a spaceship because the budget was so low at that time? Yes. Is the entire episode dated, and sometimes borderline offensive even though its heart is in the right place? Yes. Does the ending of the episode still work? You bet it does. If you’re going to watch OG Star Trek and skip this episode, you’re kind of missing out on just how charmingly heavy-handed the series could get. “Let that Be Your Last Battlefield” is like a ‘60s after-school special about racism, but they were high while they were writing it.

8. “Arena”

You’re gonna try to list the best episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series and not list the episode where Kirk fights a lizard wearing gold dress-tunic? The most amazing thing about “Arena” is that it’s a Season 1 episode of The Original Series and somehow everyone involved in making TOS had enough restraint not to ever try to use this Gorn costume again. They didn’t throw it away either! This famous rubber lizard was built by Wah Chang and is currently owned by none other than Ben Stiller.

So, here’s the thing about “Arena” that makes it a great episode of Star Trek, or any TV series with a lizard person. Kirk refuses to kill the Gorn even though he could have, and Star Trek refused to put a lizard costume in a bunch of episodes later, even though they totally could have. Gold stars all around.

7. “Balance of Terror”

The fact that Star Trek managed to introduce a race of aliens that looked exactly like Spock, and not confuse its viewership is amazing. On top of that, the fact that this detail isn’t exactly the entire focus of the episode is equally impressive. The notion that the Romulans look like Vulcans is a great twist in The Original Series, and decades upon decades of seeing Romulans has probably dulled the novelty ever so slightly. But, the idea that there was a brutally cold and efficient version of the Vulcans flying around in invisible ships blowing shit up is not only cool, but smart.

“Balance of Terror” made the Romulans the best villains of Star Trek because their villainy felt personal. Most Romulan stories in TNG, DS9, and Picard are pretty damn good and they all start right here.

6. “Space Seed”

Khaaaan!!!! Although The Wrath of Khan is infinitely more famous than the episode from which it came, “Space Seed” is one of the best episodes of The Original Series even if it hadn’t been the progenitor of that famous film. In this episode, the worst human villain the Enterprise can encounter doesn’t come from the present, but instead, the past. Even though “Space Seed” isn’t considered a very thoughtful episode and Khan is a straight-up gaslighter, the larger point here is that Khan’s evilness is connected to the fact that he lived on a version of Earth closer to our own.

The episode’s coda is also amazing and speaks of just how interesting Captain Kirk really is. After Khan beat the shit out of him and tried to suffocate the entire Enterprise crew, Kirk’s like “Yeah, this guy just needs a long camping trip.” 

5. “A Piece of the Action”

A few years back, Saturday Night Live did a Star Trek sketch in which it was revealed that Spock had a relative named “Spocko.” This sketch was tragically unfunny because TOS had already made the “Spocko” joke a million times better in “A Piece of the Action.” When you describe the premise of this episode to someone who has never seen it or even heard of it, it sounds like you’re making it up. Kirk, Spock, and Bones are tasked with cleaning-up a planet full of old-timey mobsters who use phrases like “put the bag on you.” Not only is the episode hilarious, but it also demonstrates the range of what Star Trek can do as an emerging type of pop-art. In “A Piece of the Action,” Star Trek begins asking questions about genres that nobody ever dreamed of before. Such as, “what if we did an old-timey gangster movie, but there’s a spaceship involved?”

4. “Devil in the Dark”

When I was a kid, my sister and I called this episode, “the one with giant pizza.” Today, it’s one of those episodes of Star Trek that people tell you defines the entire franchise. They’re not wrong, particularly because we’re just talking about The Original Series. The legacy of this episode is beyond brilliant and set-up a wonderful tradition within the rest of the franchise; a monster story is almost never a monster story

The ending of this episode is so good, and Leonard Nimoy and Shatner play the final scenes so well that I’m actually not sure it’s cool to reveal what the big twist is. If you somehow don’t know, I’ll just say this. You can’t imagine Chris Pratt’s friendly Velicrapotrs, or Ripper on Discovery without the Horta getting their first.

3. “The Corbomite Maneuver” 

If there’s one episode on this list that truly represents what Star Trek is usually all about on a plot level, it’s this one. After the first two pilot episodes —“Where No Man Has Gone Before” and “The Cage”—this was the first regular episode filmed. It’s the first episode with Uhura and, in almost every single way, a great way to actually explain who all these characters are and what the hell they’re doing. The episode begins with Spock saying something is “fascinating” and then, after the opening credits, calling Kirk, who is down in sickbay with his shirt off. Bones gives Kirk shit about not having done his physical in a while, and Kirk wanders through the halls of the episode without his shirt, just kind of holding his boots. 

That’s just the first like 5 minutes. It just gets better and better from there. Like a good bottle of tranya, this episode only improves with time. And if you think it’s cheesy and the big reveal bizarre, then I’m going to say, you’re not going to like the rest of Star Trek. 

2. “The City on the Edge of Forever”

No more blah blah blah! Sorry, wrong episode. Still, you’ve heard about “The City on the Edge of Forever.” You’ve heard it’s a great time travel episode. You’ve heard Harlan Ellison was pissed about how the script turned out. You heard that Ron Moore really wanted to bring back Edith Keeler for Star Trek Generations. (Okay, maybe you haven’t heard that, but he did.)

Everything you’ve heard about this episode is correct. There’s some stuff that will make any sensible person roll their eyes today, but the overall feeling of this episode is unparalleled. Time travel stories are always popular, but Star Trek has never really done a time travel story this good ever again. The edge of forever will always be just out of reach.

1. “A Taste of Armageddon”

Plot twist! This excellent episode of TOS almost never makes it on top ten lists. Until now! If you blink, “A Taste of Armageddon” could resemble at least a dozen other episodes of TOS. Kirk and Spock are trapped without their communicators. The crew has to overpower some guards to get to some central computer hub and blow it up. Scotty is in command with Kirk on the surface and is just kind of scowling the whole time. Kirk is giving big speeches about how humanity is great because it’s so deeply flawed.

What makes this episode fantastic is that all of these elements come together thanks to a simplistic science fiction premise: What if a society eliminated violence but retained murder? What if hatred was still encouraged, but war was automated? Star Trek’s best moments were often direct allegories about things that were actually happening, but what makes “A Taste of Armageddon” so great is that this metaphor reached for something that could happen. Kirk’s solution to this problem is a non-solution, which makes the episode even better. At its best classic Star Trek wasn’t just presenting a social problem and then telling us how to fix it. Sometimes it was saying something more interesting — what if the problem gets even harder? What do we do then? 

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The humor and bombast of “A Taste of Armageddon” is part of the answer to that unspoken question, but there’s also a clever lesson about making smaller philosophical decisions. In Star Wars, people are always trying to rid themselves of the dark side of the Force. In Star Trek, Kirk just teaches us to say, “Hey I won’t be a terrible person, today” and then just see how many days we can go in a row being like that.

What do you think are the most franchise-defining episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series? Let us know in the comments below.

The post The Star Trek: The Original Series Episodes That Best Define the Franchise appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[studiobeebo]

Cops N’ Robbers (College AU!Shinsou Hitoshi x Fem! Reader)

My first piece for the BNHA 13 Days of Halloween challenge from @bnhalloween-challenge!!!

Challenge | Day 4 - Matching Costumes

Category | Writing - Scenario 

Word Count | 2,149

NOTE: This is a college AU and it involves a party so there is mention of drinking!

If you were being honest, you really had no intentions of somehow picking a matching costume to another person at the party you were currently at, but at this point it didn’t really seem like honesty mattered much.

For starters you were never huge on parties, but you didn’t hate them and you knew a good handful of the people that would be going to this one so you figured why not? You’d been studying your ass off for a big exam the day prior for weeks, it was the weekend, and it was Halloween at that so you figured you needed something fun to let loose. Sure you could have just relaxed in your dorm room instead, buuut your friends teased you into going by repeatedly mentioning that they knew you still had that cute cop costume from the year before. So there you were, sitting on a ratty old couch that was surely drenched in liquor by this time at night and chatting with a friend, though when the same topic of conversation came up that you had heard a million times already, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Oooo you’re matching with Shinsou, huhhh? Didn’t know you two were a thing.~”

“We aren’t.” You said sharply with a sigh, letting out a groan when all you got was a shrug in response.

When you had first gotten asked if you came with Shinsou to the party, you were honestly a bit confused and slightly flustered. It wasn’t that you were in love with him or anything, but at the same time you had to admit that you did sort of get excited for those few classes you had with him. He was cute and sarcastically funny, plus driven and smart to a point that you were surprised more people weren’t chasing him. You could understand how his blunt personality could be seen as a bit abrasive as you had heard from some other friends and classmates, but somehow you found it charming. It was embarrassing to have such a lame crush since you were an adult, but sometimes you couldn’t help but stare or be a bit overly enraptured when he’d stop you to talk in the hallways. Of course the color that filled your cheeks and the way you’d practically hold your breath until he was out of sight led to endless teasing from your friends, but there was nothing much you could do but smack them and tell them to buzz off.

Just thinking about some of your closer interactions with him was enough to send your heart into a frenzy, so when it was explained to you that he came to this dumb halloween party dressed as a classic old timey burglar, which so happened to make a perfect match for your cop outfit, you became even more awkward about it. The idea of people seeing the two of you as a...pair, of sorts, only reminded you of all the childish daydreams you often got caught up in that happened to include him and you together. You brushed it off, telling them that you two weren’t really matching...well, you were, but it was only a coincidence. They didn’t seem terribly convinced, but eventually they let it go and you were able to enjoy yourself without worrying about embarrassing yourself or your crush who you had yet to even see. Of course the longer the night went along, the more drunken and loud comments you got about it, the worst ones being about the fake handcuffs and baton strapped to your belt and the many possible ‘uses’ for them in bed. Of course you could have just ignored them but then again you didn’t want rumors spreading about Shinsou’s apparent...interests just because a bunch of drunken idiots thought you were together, so you promptly told them off.

You were lucky enough to enjoy the party somewhat though, having a couple drinks yourself just to loosen up the mood a bit and spending some time joking around with friends, but it seemed like every conversation led back to Shinsou no matter how hard you tried to avoid the topic. It was a bit ironic that neither of you had even seen each other yet, but you weren’t the only one dealing with quickly spreading rumors, however Shinsou’s introduction to said rumors was a lot more excessive than yours.

“DUDE!!”

Shinsou honestly had no idea how Kaminari had managed to be so damn loud amidst all the other noise, but the mischievous look on his face only told him that whatever news he had to give wasn’t good.

“First you said you weren’t coming and then you show up with (Name)?! What the fuck man!!”

“What?” Was the only thing he could think to say as his brow furrowed in confusion in regards to what Kaminari said while slinging an arm over his shoulder.

For starters he never said he wasn’t coming, he said he wasn’t sure if he could. And secondly, he definitely didn’t come to the party with you. Would he have wanted to? ...Maybe, but he wasn’t even in a spot where he could just man up enough to even ask you to grab a coffee with him, so asking you to go to a party with him was way out of the question, so he had no idea what Kaminari was referring to.

“Yeah man!!” He practically yelled in his ear, “You guys have matching costumes, didn’t you come together? She’s like a FBI agent or somethin’..” He trailed off, his eyes scanning the room to see if he could spot you to point you out.

‘Matching costumes?’ He thought to himself, or at least he tried to over all the music and loud chatter. Sure he talked to you almost every day, but he didn’t even know you were going to be here and he was positive he’d remember discussing wearing matching costumes with you if he had.

“We aren’t matching, it’s probably just a coincidence…” he muttered, his patience for social interaction already beginning to wear thin, but if you were here…

“Whatever maaan, you should just tell people you’re matching anyways, then you’ll have to grow a pair and ask her out!”

Kaminari ducked away just in time to avoid an attempted whack at his head and harsh glare from Shinsou who only shook his head and let out a sigh once Kaminari was out of sight and back to being an idiot somewhere else. He’d heard his annoying attempts to try and get him to ask you out plenty of times and he was starting to get a bit sick of it, but still, the annoyance of one friend wasn’t something maybe a drink or two couldn’t fix and if you were around here somewhere he didn’t have trouble convincing himself to stay just a ‘little’ longer just to get a chance to talk with you and maybe put his alcohol-loosened personality to use. Of course his plan had a few bumps along the way as he ended up actually talking to a few other classmates and friends, his usual disinterest in crowds dissolving a bit into the liquid confidence he had received, and for a bit he completely forgot about his original plan to talk to you unless someone brought up your ‘matching costumes’. Luckily for him it was when he was doing his last wander about the crowded house that he found you seated on one of the couches, scrolling through your phone with tired eyes, your own party fueled excitement haven given way to a bit of exhaustion, but when your eyes lit up and a smile broke out on your face upon seeing him seat himself beside you, his heart could have melted instantly.

“Well hey, I heard you were around here somewhere.” You said with a laugh, scooting a bit closer to him so you could hear him over the noise as he gave you a small smile of his own.

“Guess I’m the man of the hour then.” He said with a shrug before gesturing to your costume. If anything he at least somewhat understood now why he heard so much about it. Maybe an average cop didn’t wear a cute navy blue pencil skirt with a light blue button down to match, but you looked good anyways, but then again, when didn’t you?

“You’re probably the only officer any of the people here would want to see tonight.” He said in some awkward attempt to flirt while gesturing to the fake badge pinned to your shirt, but again, without the liquid confidence he wouldn’t have even tried so it was better than nothing.

“And you’re probably the only criminal I wouldn’t arrest.” You teased in response, nodding your head towards his own costume. It wasn’t anything outlandish, just a black and white striped shirt with a black eye mask that he pulled down to hang from his neck a while ago, but it was enough to know what he was. Part of you wished you had planned to be matching in the first place, but since it ended up happening anyways you had to think it was fate, though that may have just been wishful lovestruck thinking.

“I guess I wouldn’t mind, at least if it were you locking me up.” He spoke before clearing his throat awkwardly, immediately regretting his choice of words despite the small laugh it got out of you.

“Er- I just mean like-“ He muttered under his breath, reaching a hand back to nervously rub at the back of his neck before deciding to just change the topic of conversation. “Parties aren’t really my thing…I guess I prefer less people.”

“Now that I can understand.” You spoke in reply, “Hanging out with one or two people is fine but after a while crowds can get annoying.”

“Yeah..” He mumbled, not really sure where else to lead the conversation now that it had started.

This always happened, he’d stop you to talk for a little bit but then he’d start getting nervous. He’d get that annoying feeling in his stomach of knowing damn well that he wanted to say more, to get to know you better, but he’d always end up chickening out and just bidding his goodbye’s before heading to his next class or wherever it was he was going. He was tired of that cycle, and while he knew there was no way he could be suave or ‘cool’ about it, he decided now would be a chance to break that cycle, or at least try to. He didn’t want to think about it, but at least if you rejected him then maybe he could finally get over this whole childish crush of his and move on.

“But, uh,” He stopped, shifting awkwardly in his seat before clearing his throat once more. “Well if you’re fine with one person we could hang out sometime. I usually end up going to the cafe across from the library after classes anyways, you could always come with..If you wanted.”

The nonchalant shrug he gave hopefully gave off the impression that this was a ‘no big deal’ sort of thing, but the tight feeling in his chest was definitely there to remind him how nerve wracking this was no matter how slightly tipsy he may have been. He tried his best to avoid eye contact or even looking at your face in general, knowing that even getting a glimpse of disappointment before you had even said anything would break his heart, but instead he was met with laughter that sounded as adorable as ever yet only served to confuse him as his eyes finally met your own.

“Sorry.” You muttered, quickly ceasing your laughter since you really didn’t want to explain that you only found it funny in some sad way since you never thought he’d ask you something like that. All this time you’d been avoiding trying getting to know him better, thinking he’d find it weird, yet here he was asking you to hang out with him. Plus even if his intention wasn’t to ask you out on a date per se, a girl could dream, right?

“Oh, but yeah! I’d-That would be really cool. Sometime. Er, sometime soon then?” You finally responded, trying and hopelessly failing in trying to hide your enthusiasm, but Shinsou was far too concerned with himself to even notice.

“Yeah, Cool, then..” He stopped, trying to somewhat organize his thoughts. A ‘yes’ was all he could have hoped for, but if he were being honest he was more so preparing to get shut down. Still, even if he weren’t prepared, just this once he was more than happy to just go with it, and hopefully, you’d be going with it to. “Then yeah. Sometime soon for sure.”

[pitifulmagicalocs]

Scene: Halloween Flashback

Canon Year: 2006

Characters: Zoey Huber (POV), Kyle Hausman, Zac Salgado, Mick Salgado, Crystal Angioli, Spencer Green, Nathan Blanchard, Janet Hausman-Scott.

Words: 2965

Commentary: I don’t love this one. I need to work on the child versions of these characters more. But it’s cute and I still want to share it.

___________________________________

Zoey scooted closer into the circle, shifting uncomfortably. Her belts dug into her waist and her wig was hot and scratching at her scalp, but she couldn’t take either off. They were vital pieces of her costume. At least she got to click her beaded necklace against her teeth as she sat and listened to her friends babble on about the events of the evening.

“How do you think Lori’s family got their pumpkins to look like that?” Zac, clearly not in the same mindset as Zoey, had long-since set aside his Spiderman mask, and was shaking his fingers through his sweaty, flattened curls, to try to fluff them up again.

“Glow-in-the-dark paint.” Kyle took his old-timey fedora off of his head and spun it on his finger as he sat cross-legged at the edge of the circle.

“That’s a thing?”

“That is a thing. You can buy it at party stores.”

“Huh.”

Crystal turned her body towards Spencer.

“Hey, Spence? Do they have Halloween in Jamaica?”

Spencer shook his head, his helmet sliding down over his eyes.

“Not like here. Not really.” He pushed the helmet back up his forehead with a sigh.

The group gave subtle nods of interest, and then fell quiet for a while.

“So—“ Mick spoke up. “What are we gonna do on this spooky evening, under the light of the full-moon?”

“The moon is a waxing gibbous tonight,” said Crystal.

“Shut up.”

Zoey snorted, then broke into a giggle, until Crystal squinted over at her, and she forced herself silent.

“Alright, guys!” Kyle’s Mom called from the top of the stairs before sound of her clacking heels on the creaking stairs thumped above their heads.

Moments later, Ms. Hausman appeared around the corner. In her hands, a bowl big enough to need both of her arms around it to keep it steady.  

“I sorted the candy for you guys. Here you are.”

She crouched down at the edge of the circle, sliding the bowl to the center of it.

“It’s all safe. Now, Kyle, don’t overeat and make yourself sick again, okay?”

“Oh man!” Mick boomed. “I forgot about last year! Remember when he horked all over the bathroom at Crystal’s house? That was awesome!”

The group broke out in a chorus of “Oh yeah!” and raucous laughter. Even Kyle, who was clearly trying to sulk, had a flicker of a smirk on his cheek as he watched his friends lose it.

Janet rolled her eyes with a warm smile on her otherwise tired face. She reached over and gently smoothed her son’s hair beneath her fingers, then her eyes trailed over to Mick.

“Mikail, honey? I’m so sorry, but—what in the world are you?”

Mick looked down at himself. His ‘costume’ consisted of a mutilated raccoon costume with the tail chopped in half, fake blood drenching the fur and a dark tire-mark painted across his chest.

“I’m uhh—half Chilean and half Tunisian.”

Janet closed her eyes and blew a laugh out her nose. A much smaller reaction than Zac, who doubled over, squawking out a laugh of his own.

“No, sweetie, your costume!” Janet said with great patience.

“I know, I know,” Mick laughed. “I’m roadkill!”

Janet’s eyes popped open, and then she slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god.” Her voice came out muffled by her palm.

“He’s a very special little boy, Mom,” Kyle said, making Janet laugh out loud.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Janet sighed, tearing a bit at the corner of her eyes. “You guys have fun. I’m going to just be upstairs.”

“Wait, Mom!” Kyle reached out, pulling the bowl of candy towards himself. “—You didn’t take the Raisinets. Take them.”

“No, that’s okay, hon. You have them.”

“But they’re your favorite.”

“It’s okay.”

Kyle shook his head, picking a handful of yellow packages out of the bowl and jumping up, forcing them into his mother’s hands.

“You always eat them! You love them!”

Janet laughed, rolling her eyes and opening her hands for Kyle to fill them with candy.

“Sweet little angel,” she said softly, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Kyle’s forehead, leaving behind an oily, red stain.

“Oh shoot, your costume.”

Kyle went cross-eyed, trying to look at his own forehead, then he shrugged.

“I’m Frank Sinatra. I think it works.”

Janet grinned, smoothing her hand over Kyle’s hair one more time before nodding to the group, and turning to leave.

“I’ll be right up here if you need me.”

“Okay, Ms. Hausman!” the kids called.

“Thanks, Ms. Hausman!” Zoey added on.

Kyle returned to the circle, and dropped down, raking his fingers across his bangs and messing his hair back up again, trying to undo the damage his mother had done to his bed head.

They all stayed quiet until they heard Janet’s footsteps trail off, and a door click shut. Then, immediately, Mick threw himself against Kyle’s side.

“Oh, my sweet little angel! Thank you for this gross candy that nobody wants! Muah! Muah!” Mick leaned in close, making a kissy face that Kyle strained to escape from.

“Dude, fuck off!” he laughed, shoving Mick back with a small burst of red magic. “I like Raisinets!”

“Yeah, me too.” Spencer nodded.

“I’ll eat anything,” Nathan added on.

“You have no idea how gay you guys are.” Mick climbed off Kyle and straightened himself up, folding his legs up under himself and picking a strand of magic off of his fur, flicking it into the air and letting is disintegrate.  “Especially you, Kyle.”

Kyle’s eyes flew open. “You were just trying to kiss me!”

“Yeah, but I’ve never eaten a raisin on purpose, so.”

“That—“ Kyle froze. “—Whatever, dude.”

“I’m not gay!” Spencer huffed. “I love ladies. Ladies love me!”

“Raisins!” Mick raised his voice to a squeak, and once again—Zac burst into laughter.

“Okay.” Nathan slapped his hands together, silencing them. “Candy time!”

He dumped over the bowl, and they all set to sorting out candies, flicking each-other’s favorites at them. Mick frequently tossed mint-flavored things into Zoey’s lap, winking at her when she went to thank him.

“Hey, Hausman,” Nathan spoke up. “I’ll pay you to puke again.”

“I can’t vomit on command, Nate.” Kyle rolled his eyes, dropping a handful of candy into his upturned hat on the floor. “You’re the one in the witch costume. You do it.”

Nathan grinned widely.

“Okay!” he said, pulling a white box from out his pocket. Everyone collectively groaned. He had pulled this stunt ten times already that night.

He tilted the box, which read ‘Candy Rot!’ in big, black letters, into his mouth. Then he leaned forward and snarled, letting the inky, gel-like candy seep between his teeth.

“Rrrrah!” he roared, the fake rot dribbling down his chin.

“Watch the carpet, dude!” Kyle hissed, and Nathan quickly swiped at his chin with his sleeve.

“You’re a shitty witch, Nate,” Mick said. “—You smell too gross.”

Nathan fake laughed, and then he jolted forwards, spitting the candy out and all over the front of Mick’s costume.

“Dude! Ew!” Mick shrilled, pulling at the neckline of the costume and twisting his head down to try to see the spot.

“Why are you a witch every year, Nathan?” Crystal asked. “—It’s kinda insensitive.”

“Disgusting!” Mick whined, jumping up and rushing to the desk in the far corner of the room, snatching up a Kleenex box and immediately getting to work, wiping an ugly combination of fake rot and fake blood off onto the tissues.

“A lot of people dress as witches, Crystal,” Zac answered when nobody else did.

“Just saying. It’s like dressing up as a cancer patient.”

“Cancer patients that kill!” Nathan wailed dramatically, lunging at Spencer, who grabbed his foam sword and whacked him on the top of the head with it.

“No!” he barked, and then they both burst into laughter.

“Maybe that’ll be my costume next year!” Nathan suddenly gasped. “—Cancer witch!”

“That’s unrealistic,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “Rot kills cancer cells. They both can’t survive in the same body. They’re actually trying to find a way to use that to cure it.”

Nathan got quiet for a second, then he lunged at Kyle in the same way, snarling and squealing, doing his best ‘witch’ impression. Zoey backed up out-of-the-way and snickered as Kyle went down with a loud ‘thud’.

“Ah! Fuck off!” Kyle laughed, squirming underneath Nathan, who grabbed at the corners of his jacket and shook him violently.

“Zombie!” he called to Crystal. “Help me! Know-it-all brains taste better!”

Crystal rolled her eyes, and then laughed. “Okay, okay!”

She lifted her arms and groaned, dragging her knees across the carpet and then collapsing on top of the two boys.

“Braaaaains! Nerd braiiiins!”

Zoey threw back her head and cackled. Spencer shifted in closer and stared for a moment, before poking at the pile of friends with the tip of his sword.

“I’m helping!” he announced, making Zoey laugh even harder, enough to make her ribcage ache.

Zac jumped up. “Look out, citizen! I’ll help, too!”

“I’m not a citizen! I’m a knight!” Spencer argued.

“Look out! Sir. Citizen! I’ll help, too!” Zac threw himself into the pile, and a couple of voices groaned out in response.

“I can’t feel my fucking legs, assholes!” Kyle choked out.

“I ate them!” Crystal said.

“Oh. That’s okay, then.”

Zoey fell over onto her side, her eyes burning along with her lungs as she squealed out in a giggle-fit. She kicked at the floor and threw her hands over her eyes. Not looking up until she felt a hand tapping on her shoulder. She uncovered her face and blinked her teary eyes up at the ceiling.

“W-What?”

Mick stood over her, a finger pressed to his lips. His other hand, he held out to her. She gripped it tightly and he pulled her back up into a seated position. Then, he dropped down next to her side and leaned in close, whispering a bit too loudly into her ear.

“Grab some candy and run!”

“What?” Zoey gasped. But Mick just winked, and then he dove onto the floor, scooping up armfuls of candy and dropping them into the bowl before leaping to his feet, bowl-in-hand, and charging for the stairs. Zoey blinked in confusion for a moment, then shrugged and grabbed a couple more handfuls of candy off the floor.

She stood up, still a little light-headed from the laughing fit, and she leapt over the pile of kids on the floor, rushing to Mick’s side.

Mick balanced the bowl between his arm and his hip and he reached up, grabbing the dangling string attached to lightbulb overhead and flickering it on and off a few times.

“Later, later, raisin eaters!” he hollered.

The group broke apart, Kyle still laying on the floor, gasping for air. The others stared in surprise up at the ceiling, then over to Mick and Zoey, and then to the near candy-less spot on the carpet.

“Oh hell no!” Crystal shouted.

“Go, go! Get them!” Nathan jumped up.

“Come on, Kyle!” Spencer grabbed Kyle’s arms and yanked him up off of the floor.

“Go, go, go!” Mick blurted out, gripping the bowl in both hands and tearing up the stairs. Zoey squealed in delight and took off after him, careful not to fall and whack her face off of the steps.

They broke out into the upstairs kitchen. Kyle’s mom, who sat, straight-spined, on a stool at the kitchen-counter, an unkempt pile of papers littered before her, darted her eyes up at them.

“What—?” she started.

“Hide us!” Mick whispered.

Janet squinted, then flinched as the sound of thundering footsteps started up the stairs. She slowly smirked, and then pointed down beneath the counter. Mick snickered, and he hurried around, Zoey at his back. They both dropped down behind the counter and hid there, next to Janet’s stool. Zoey wrapped her arm around her mouth to keep herself quiet.

Moments later, the others loudly tore into the kitchen, their feet shaking the floor beneath Zoey’s knees.

“Mom! Where’d they go?” Kyle asked.

“They took the candy!” Zac added, sounding a bit winded.

“Well they didn’t go upstairs,” Janet spoke slowly. “That’s for sure. Hmm.”

Mick pressed his back against the side of the counter, squinting his eyes shut and clearly trying so hard to keep from laughing out. Zoey buried her face in the inside of her elbow, trying so hard to do the same. At the same time, constantly re-adjusting her fingers to keep the candies from falling out of her grasp and onto the floor.

There was a long moment of silence, save for a bit of shuffling, and then the sound of multiple pairs of feet rushing out of the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, they could hear the group starting up the stairs, all jeering and calling out Mick and Zoey’s names.

“You are so awesome, Janet!” Mick whispered, dropping a couple candy-bars on her lap.

“Thank you. I try,” she answered, taking the candy and noisily unwrapping it above the counter. “You know, I heard you call my son gay.”

Mick’s jaw dropped open, and Zoey snorted, dropping her arm.

“You’re not just awesome, though,” Mick patted Janet’s knee. “You’re also just—such a beautiful woman. You know, if I weren’t ten years old—“

“You are so your father’s son, Mikail.”

Mick grinned proudly, his cheeks dimpling. Then, he caught Zoey’s eye, and mouthed out ‘Oh my god!’

“We’re in s-so much trouble!” Zoey whispered.

Mick slowly nodded, a wild look in his eye. As if he’d just robbed a bank, and not a candy-stash.

The thudding sound of feet on stairs returned, and not long after, the group was in the kitchen again, murmuring and shuffling.

“They weren’t up there!” Spencer announced.

“Yeah, what gives?” Crystal added.

“I said they weren’t upstairs,” Janet said. “—You kids chose not to listen to me.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said. “—But you said it in a way that—“

Everything fell quiet, and Zoey put her face into her arm again, biting hard on her bottom lip and watching Mick, who shrunk in on himself with wide-eyes and a nervous smile.

“Hang on.” Kyle’s voice lowered. “—I didn’t give you chocolate bars.”

“Hm. No. I guess you didn’t.”

“Oh my god,” they heard Nathan whisper, then saw Kyle’s legs move around the counter.

“Mom, I—“Kyle stopped to drop down and peer under the counter. His eyes fell on them instantly, and his face dropped into a frown.

“Hey, buddy! It’s my good buddy!” Mick cheered with a quavering voice.

“Hi, K-Kyle. What’s up?” Zoey held out her hand. “—Want a Tootsie-Pop?”

Kyle scoffed, and shook his head. In a quick motion, he lunged forward and grabbed hold of Mick by the ankle.

“Wee!” Mick cheered as Kyle dragged him out from under the counter by the leg, still balancing the candy bowl on his stomach. Zoey saw Crystal’s arms come down and snatch the bowl up.

“Yeah, why don’t you take that for me? Thanks.” Mick’s head turned left and right, probably taking in all the others who stood over him. Zoey did her best to fight back laughter. Simply because she couldn’t tell if anyone was actually, genuinely angry with them.

“Zoey, you’re safe, because you’re new,” Kyle pointed to Zoey, reassuring her with a quick smile before turning his attention back to Mick.

“You’re dead.”

“Yeah! I’m roadkill! That’s the point.”

“Nah, we’re gonna kill you,” Nathan said, nudging Mick’s side with his foot.

“You can’t kill me, fools!” Mick threw his arms up, kicking his legs free from Kyle’s grasp. “I will only steal again!”

“Let’s put him in the couch cushions again; sit on him for a while.” Crystal suggested, and the others gave various sounds of approval.

“That sounds awful, let’s do it!” Mick agreed.

Kyle licked his lip, and then jumped to his feet, grabbing Mick’s leg and dragging him again. This time, out of Zoey’s sight.

“Bye, Zoey!” Mick called as he disappeared around the corner.

“Bye, Mick!”

“Don’t drag him down the stairs, guys! You know better!” Janet called after them.

“We’re not, Mom.”

Then came a few more shuffling, thumping noises, followed by a loud “Ow!” from Mick. But seeing as Janet stayed in her place, it couldn’t have been serious. After a while, the kitchen became quiet again, the only sound being the ticking of the clock on the wall, Janet’s pen scratching at papers, and the distant sound of struggling from the basement.

“Are they going to—to sit on him?” Zoey asked, still crouching under the counter.  

“They’re going to put him under the couch cushions and sit on him, yes.”

“Weird. My new friends are really weird.”

“They’re sweet kids.” Janet tapped her heel on the floor, making Zoey jump. “—They’re good to my boy.”

“Kyle’s one of my favorites.”

“Thanks,” Janet chuckled. “I worked hard on him.”

Zoey giggled softly, slipping out from under the counter and straightening herself out, fixing her skirts and itching at her wig. Janet quickly flipped the papers over, ink-down, and she turned in her seat, smiling warmly over at Zoey.

“Why don’t you go sit on your friend with everyone else, Zoey?”

“In a minute,” she answered before lifting her foot and digging a finger down beneath the tongue of her sneaker, fishing out a couple crinkling packages.

“Do you like M&Ms?”

Janet gawked at the candy in Zoey’s hand for a moment, and then she threw her head back and laughed, her blue eyes squinting to slits. Zoey hopped up and down on her heels, giggling excitedly.

“Absolutely,” Janet finally answered, shaking her head, still beaming.

[antiqueland]

LAST MEETING

I used to dream of you often. Often they were different versions of the same dream, always excruciating, always ending with you running away. But just one time, we did things differently. And I never knew—I'll never know—whether it was me or you who designed how it happened. I know that sounds crazy. What I mean to say is, it was so enduringly you, the way it unfolded. By that time in my life I'd forgotten so many details about you that the vividness in this particular instance almost felt vulgar. 

It’s a beautiful day. It looks like a screen saver brought to life; there are endless rolling green lawns, and a sky that looks whipped into a blue baked Alaska, covered in the most luxurious Italian meringue. The clouds drift casually, fat and fiber-optic in their whiteness, like they would emit a hum if you got close. Your van is parked on a little hill, the only thing for miles and miles. It is the same Dodge Caravan, but its insides are flooded. I can see this because there is a constant fountain pouring forth from the door cracks. There are wet curtains kissing the tinted windows. 

I am afraid, but I knock on the door. I know I mustn't open it, that it would upset you somehow, but then I hear your voice. It's a tired version of your voice, like you've been crying, but it's putting on a cheerful costume. Your telephone voice in those last years. 

"I’ll be out in a minute. Just wait for me.”

I hold my breath as you open the door. More water, a comical deluge of your things: some books, fancy shopping bags, your favourite scarves, and then a dark river of mud. You step out unscathed somehow. It’s just like you to emerge from such a scene looking pristine. 

I notice your feet first. White, satin Ferragamo ankle-boots with blue jewels studding the ankles in little clusters that look like flowers. I don't even know if Ferragamo made boots like that, I just know that's exactly what they are. And you're wearing a blue dress, perfect Yves Klein blue. If the sky had feelings, it would be ashamed by this dress. But your face is covered by a hooded veil. I can sort of still see you're wearing your hair in the fashion you liked best, when it was jet black and wavy from a fresh perm. You smell like Thierry Mugler's "Angel." You take my hand and we sit down on the grass. 

You're embarrassed of the veil, but you softly explain why it's necessary. You laugh a genuine, musical, but still pained laugh. "Drowning doesn’t do much for looks." I start to cry. I ask if you hate me. I ask if you can ever forgive me for wearing a navy dress to your funeral. I wanted to wear lace because I knew you thought lace was pretty, but they didn't have any modest, lace dresses in black for 10-year-old mourners. You squeeze my hand and say that navy is one of your favourite colours in the whole world, but we both know you are lying. 

The sky dims a bit and you say: "Let's play a game before I have to go." You pull out a little spiral notebook, the kind that old-timey journalists use. "Write down everything you wish I had said to you before I died, and I'll say it. Anything you want," you say, and pat my leg encouragingly. 

"Do I write them all down at once? Or should I write one line and you say it and then we keep going?"

You seem to survey the sky even though the veil doesn't move a millimeter. "I have a little more time, let's do one by one."

I write quickly, but I'm shy when I hand you the notepad. You ham it up, shrugging your shoulders, and gnarling your one free hand as you read:

"I should've taken you to the hospital sooner when you cut your foot on the broken glass from the vase I threw. Are you sure I did that? Are you really sure?”

I take the notepad back. I’m mad at you for making fun of me. Then I write two more things. You are suddenly serious. 

"It must have been so hard to eat all your meals alone."

And then quieter:

"I didn't mean it when I said no one could love you but me."

The sky dims. The wind starts up. It's going to rain soon. We keep going. 

"I'm sorry your father wasn't stronger for you."

The sky darkens. Your voice gets flat. The air is thinning out. 

"I'm sorry I ruined all of your birthdays."

You point one finger and run it under the writing like you're casting a spell. 

"I'm sorry that I got drunk and drove with you in the car so often."

Your voice trembles for a split second before you recover and read the next one. 

"I'm sorry you spent so much of your childhood being scared."

It is now raining. Your shoes are getting filthy and you're shivering. We're both very sad. You tell me you have time for one more. You put your cold hands onto my face and pull me to your shoulder. You smell like earth and ocean. You say I don't even need to write it down because you already know what I want to hear. This is how the game is supposed to end. The whole world is falling water and you. The rain on the van makes it sound like the popping of microphones. You sit back slowly. I let myself cry as hard as I've ever cried in my life, but I don't let myself look away in case you disappear. 

All sound stops, and the sky opens up to a great, blinding sun. You take off the veil. You are perfect underneath it. Your eyelashes are wet with tears and you are smiling a big, sad smile. You tilt your chin down like you did whenever you were about to tell me a secret and you move your mouth, your eyes are sparkling wildly. Your lips move very slowly because you want to make sure I hear every word. 

"It wasn't your fault."