ecto-mochi

[ecto-mochi]

Ectober Day 1 - Past/Present/Future

It hurt. That’s all he knew at that moment, that’s all he remembered minutes later- waking up on that cold steel laboratory floor, echoes of pain lacing through his veins with the lack of a heartbeat pounding in his ears. It hurt, and it was his fault. If he was just a bit more careful. If he had just not listened to Sam. It wasn’t just the physical pain either. His friends were crying. It was his fault. Was it relief? Was it stress? He couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were so glad he was alive? Were they? Were they really? If that was truly the case, then why were they so upset? 

It hurts. He knows they’re hurting, flames licking their legs, ropes digging into every inch of their torso. He’s hurting too - after all, it’s his fault. It always is. It was back then, and it is now. As they scream, as the damned Nasty Burger comes down around them, he can’t help but think to himself- why didn’t he just listen to them? They’re crying. Their lives are ending, heartbeats pounding in their ears, pain dancing throughout. Life was so delicate, wasn’t it? Was it worth it, he wondered. Was he really worth all those tears?

It will hurt. Daniel will not heal from this, Clockwork knows. At least, this Daniel won’t. He’ll become his own downfall, relying on someone who he should never trust. He’ll become something that even Clockwork fears, someone capable of rending timelines apart. And through it all, the hurt will never stop. It will become something more, yes. It will transmogrify into rage, rage at himself, rage at his friends. But through it all, Clockwork knows the truth. He’ll be crying, when it ends. When a bright, hopeful child, the one who listened, the one who believed, the one who knew he did wrong comes about, the Daniel of the future will be frozen in time. And he will never stop crying.

[ecto-mochi]

Trick or treat! 🍭

um ah er well hmm okay crouton.jpg

[ecto-mochi]

Ectober Day 1 - Will-o-wisps

Words: 630ish

Don't follow the will-o-wisps. 

They appear every year in Amity Park, right on October 1st. Like starlight, flickering in the rough autumn breeze. Floating on rooftop's edges, in damp alleyways, congregating in the darkness of the nasty burger's back lot.

Don't follow the will-o-wisps. The teens say you can hear them whispering, that if you look too closely at one's flame you can glimpse the blinding, oxygenated burn of a life lived so brutally fast that there wasn't enough tinder left to keep it going.

The brighter the flame, the harder they fall. The highschoolers put them in glass mason jars and shake them around like fireflies. Hold a piece of cardboard close, too close, until it begins to smoke a dark chemical green, the smell of rusting copper filling the air.

The adults never try to stop them - not until it’s all burning down. Before anyone knows better there’s nothing left but cinder and debris on the scorched and ashen ground. Another family in ruins, the most recent headline reads. Overnight, the obituary has gained yet another unfamiliar face.

The wisps don't hurt when you touch them; not at first. But they leave a hollow scar, one that lingers in the depths of your soul and burns away at your hope and being until only ashes remain. The parents never see that, and the kids never seem to care. After all, they aren’t truly following the wisps, and who are they to heed that old and superstitious warning? So they play games in the brief reprieve of a passing period, on the floors of dirty bathrooms and after-school clubs. Who can stare at the flame the longest? Are you brave enough to slowly unscrew the lid and lift it up and away, as far as you can go before the wisp jolts and you slam it down with all your might? How hard must you try to be strong and fearless? Is it ever enough? Can you see the wisp lightly tapping against the glass, how it taps and taps and taps and taps until finally 

crack 

and now it's too late. The rooftop is empty and the alleyways are full and wet and reek of gunsmoke and iron.

Don't follow them, it’s really just that easy! The high school puts up posters that tell the kids just the same, in bright friendly fonts that wield fearful statistics and overblown facts. Use (buy) a Fenton will-destroyer, it'll keep the wisps away for good! Talk to a friend (a trusted adult) if you see one, they'll know how to handle it, handle you. This doesn’t stop the kids; who collect them nonetheless. How many can you fit in that little glass jar? Cram them together like pills in a bottle, keep them on your bedside table for whatever silly little story you've decided to fear. 

(But don’t keep too many - or else the school will call a meeting. They’ll see you for what you are, you damned delinquent. They’ll look your parents in the eyes and tell them how problematic you are, how much help you need.

You don’t need help, though. Right?)

The next day, the entire school is called to the auditorium. They all file in, exchanging gossip, cramming themselves down into poorly padded theater chairs. Above the careless chatter of the students, a teacher begins to speak. Another fire. Another child lost to the wisps. They meant so much to us, we must keep their friends and parents in our hearts. Make sure to tell us if you see a wisp, if you hear it calling. You’ll be safe with us, with whatever choices we make for you. Just don’t burn down and it’ll all be okay.

So yes, don’t follow the will-o-wisps - and to think - today is only October 3rd!

[ecto-mochi]

do you guys think clockwork could yeet danny at .8 the speed of light. would it be an effective punishment for a 14 year old pranking you

[ecto-mochi]

Hey guys,

As a Phandom, can we not depict w*ndigos as some cryptid or ghost thing?

The native cultures the folklore is from by and large don't want them to be used or depicted by the general populace. Additionally, the general populace doesn't know them or depict them as the original sources do - rather, they are stripped of their context. Because of this, using them is disrespectful.

Using them is cultural appropriation.

I know a number of people don't realize this - heck, I didn't know it was disrespectful and cultural appropriation until the backlash against Supernatural using them, because most the sites I visited that had them just didn't mention it. (The same goes with s**nw**kers, by the way - the folklore they're from says we shouldn't use the name, and the cultures the folklore is from don't want us using it.)

I know this has come up in the Phandom before - Phanniemay nearly used it as a prompt several years ago, but it was quickly removed once the situation was explained.

I'm not naming any names - but I'm starting to see terms and folklore we shouldn't appropriate crop up in Phandom again, so I wanted to spread the word.

Here are some sources on the actual folklore, and why we shouldn't use it:

Stolen Spirits: The Appropriation of the Windigo Spirit in Horror Literature (Kallie Hunchman, Ball State University)

More Than Monsters: The Deeper Significance of Wendigo Stories (Kaitlin Smith, Facing History and Ourselves)

A Creature Without a Cave: Abstraction and (Mis)Appropriation of the Wendigo Myth in Contemporary North American Horror (Francesca Amee Johnson, University of Warwick)

[ecto-mochi]

sometimes I like to play a little game with myself called "will they choke on boba" it's pretty simple you play by giving a blorbo some boba and seeing if they choke on it

[ecto-mochi]

adn glowing green eye s

[ecto-mochi]

Obsession

    It started out as a necessity. The opening of the portal was his fault; his brash, stupid, dangerous mistake. So it was only right for him to do damage control. That’s all it was at first. Danny cleaning up the shrapnel of his errors, nothing else.

    And even if it somehow wasn’t his fault, even if the portal would have opened without his intervention, be it through the sheer idiotic determination of his parents or through the awesome strength of an overzealous ghost���

    Well, if that was the case, then this outcome was inevitable. He would’ve needed to take up his parent’s mantle at some point, halfa or not. His father always said that ghost hunting was in their blood. At first, that simply wasn’t true. Danny didn’t capture rouge ghosts because he enjoyed it, he did it because it was his burden to bear- it was only right for him to correct his mistake. After all, if he didn’t, an entire town would suffer.

    Soon, it became routine. People began to know his name, began to look for him in the skies when the ghosts were close enough for even a human to feel its otherworldly chill. There was a thrill to it, along with the weight briefly lifted off his chest. Each ghost caught was another life saved and an iota of guilt temporarily relieved, but it was also proof that his actions were necessary. It was proof of the damage he had done all those years ago, and proof that the fallout would never stop.

People would just keep getting hurt because of him, fighting in their honor wasn’t a choice. With these powers, he could, no, had to, help, even though (no, because) he had caused so much destruction. Even though he would continue to do so. 

And anyways, maybe his dad was right, maybe ghost hunting wasn’t all that bad. Sure, it hurt sometimes, but he always made it through, saved the day, made a few witty jokes, et cetera. And he could always smile through the pain if it meant a few less disgusted glares at his snow white hair and ethereal glow. After all, Danny wasn’t human. He deserved to suffer. So why was he trying so hard?

    Now, he isn’t quite certain what it is. He has so much help and so many friends. He could take a break. He doesn’t have to keep fighting, keep hurting; keep spending those late, late nights sewing together his own skin, trying so hard to not let his parents see the old green and red stains crusted between the bathroom floor tiles. But he’s having trouble sleeping now, when the nights are quiet, when there’s nothing otherworldly about Amity Park. Even through his exhaustion, he feels the need to get up, to protect everyone, to come home yet again, bleeding and bruised, hiding secrets that don’t need to be hid. And anyways, he can’t stop now. Since, after all, this is his fault. If he let other people help, opened the door to his rotting heart, then what would he be? Just a ghost boy with human powers? 

Or maybe just a freak- somewhere between ghost and human, lost in the misery between living and dead.

[ecto-mochi]

Wrote a quickie this morning in class, I'll upload it later today after I have some time to sit on it and reread it for errors. It's angsty :3

[ecto-mochi]

HES A GHOST KID SQUID!!

[ecto-mochi]

super busy with Science Things but do you guys think danny would just lurk around radio telescopes and sorta just. do his homework there

scientists go out to build more of FYST or whatever fancy telescope and just find a teenage boy sitting in the middle of the construction site bc he got lost on his way to his parent's private observatory (which he also is not supposed to have access to). what's he doing in chile he doesnt have a passport. someone get him out. please. he keeps asking for help with calc and we are 5k meters up and he has no oxygen tank.

[ecto-mochi]

Hello everybody, I just realized (thanks to @daiyu-amaya tysm dude) that I left the very last sentence out of the upload. oops. The fic has now been edited to have the last sentence so please enjoy those last 16 words for me lol

Dannymay Day 10: Wires

Words: 422

Wires. Wires snaking to and fro, emerging from a countless number of bags and drips. She traced the wires back to their sink; she had done so for all of the wires in the room, time and time again. So many different medicines, pain relievers, hydrating fluids - all coursing through those wires, all of which led to a pale-skinned boy, eyes shut and breath labored. 

    Wires. Her life was awfully full of them. The damned wires in her gun, the wires in the portal, at every twist and turn there were more and more to untangle. Some wires were frayed, some were stripped and crackling, but most had been neatly snapped in half by her own doing. When was the last time there was current flowing, when had the voltage gotten so low? When had her power source disconnected? Just a day ago, she was happy. Her son, her daughter, smiling at her. They had secrets, she knew that, but that was okay; she was there for them. She always would be. 

    That same evening, she was taking blood samples and energy readings from a cold body laying motionless in a sterile room. 

    As it turned out, ectoplasm was an incredible conductor, a far better one than copper could ever aspire to be. She had wondered while attaching those alligator clips to that pair of washed-out hands if it would simply be more efficient to use the substance as a conduit from generator to machine. 

    Only now did she realize how achingly sanguine that sounded. 

    A sense of dread began to coil around her, wrapping tight and refusing to let go. The sluggish beep of the heart monitor kept time with his staggered breaths. This was her fault. She cut those cords herself, and only time would tell if they could ever be soldered back together.

    As she sat there, crying, staring at the scars she had wrought, she felt a clammy hand brush hers, and looked up to see dull blue eyes staring back. There was no flinching away, no fear at seeing his mother’s face once more.

    Only a blank gaze greeted her. No sparks behind those eyes, as, ah, she had almost forgotten the most important wires, the only circuitry that mattered. 

    Danny’s wires had been tampered with, that was right. And as Maddie recalled the previous night, taking samples from that pulsating lump which startlingly resembled a human brain, a thought came to her.

Wasn’t it absurd, how easy it was to trip on a wire and never stop falling?

[ecto-mochi]

Dannymay Day 10: Wires

Words: 422

Wires. Wires snaking to and fro, emerging from a countless number of bags and drips. She traced the wires back to their sink; she had done so for all of the wires in the room, time and time again. So many different medicines, pain relievers, hydrating fluids - all coursing through those wires, all of which led to a pale-skinned boy, eyes shut and breath labored. 

    Wires. Her life was awfully full of them. The damned wires in her gun, the wires in the portal, at every twist and turn there were more and more to untangle. Some wires were frayed, some were stripped and crackling, but most had been neatly snapped in half by her own doing. When was the last time there was current flowing, when had the voltage gotten so low? When had her power source disconnected? Just a day ago, she was happy. Her son, her daughter, smiling at her. They had secrets, she knew that, but that was okay; she was there for them. She always would be. 

    That same evening, she was taking blood samples and energy readings from a cold body laying motionless in a sterile room. 

    As it turned out, ectoplasm was an incredible conductor, a far better one than copper could ever aspire to be. She had wondered while attaching those alligator clips to that pair of washed-out hands if it would simply be more efficient to use the substance as a conduit from generator to machine. 

    Only now did she realize how achingly sanguine that sounded. 

    A sense of dread began to coil around her, wrapping tight and refusing to let go. The sluggish beep of the heart monitor kept time with his staggered breaths. This was her fault. She cut those cords herself, and only time would tell if they could ever be soldered back together.

    As she sat there, crying, staring at the scars she had wrought, she felt a clammy hand brush hers, and looked up to see dull blue eyes staring back. There was no flinching away, no fear at seeing his mother’s face once more.

    Only a blank gaze greeted her. No sparks behind those eyes, as, ah, she had almost forgotten the most important wires, the only circuitry that mattered. 

    Danny’s wires had been tampered with, that was right. And as Maddie recalled the previous night, taking samples from that pulsating lump which startlingly resembled a human brain, a thought came to her.

Wasn’t it absurd, how easy it was to trip on a wire and never stop falling?

[ecto-mochi]

hello gamers I am alive and well!! And working on something small now that school is less kicking my ass!!!!! happy April hopefully I can get some angst out before 🌟dannymay hell yeah 🌟

[ecto-mochi]

I'm breaking my "no politics" rule for a minute. Apologies to those who use my blog for escapism, but this is important.

Russia's attack on Ukraine is abhorrent—obviously. There hasn't been a land invasion in Europe since WW2 and Hitler, so this is a nightmare scenario. There are also other powerful countries watching from the sidelines, waiting to see how we will (or won't) respond. It's all very very scary, and far more terrifying for those directly affected in Ukraine and in eastern Europe in general.

I saw someone on reddit today say, "Only cowards invade in the dark," and I can't agree more.

My heart breaks for those who are both being currently displaced from their homes, and those who are living in countries too close for comfort, who are currently watching from the sidelines. My heart also breaks for those who are living in "safe" countries but have family in Ukraine who they can't get in contact with, people who are trapped in this war.

I also wanted to make this post to gently remind everyone that Russia is masterful at internet disinformation and manipulation. You CANNOT trust anything that's not directly from a verified news source that is under legal journalistic standards. I know people have their own beef with "mainstream media fake news/political bias," but please, in a situation like this, news reels and articles from verified stations and papers are the only news sources you should be relying on for information about troop movements, political escalations, etc. Read multiple sources and cross-check as needed, but you cannot—and I repeat, cannot—take anything else as credible.

Once again, I'm keeping those affected by Russia's invasion in my thoughts, and I wish everyone safety and security in their future.

Edit: Thank you @ecto-american for providing me with this list of resources that have been verified by journalists that will directly help Ukraine and its citizens. Donate to them if you are able to!

[ecto-mochi]

Okay so it turns out that Danny Phantom was the worst possible old show to get a sudden and inexplicable hyperfixation on, because apparently the fandom's been going full tilt since 2004.

Usually when I get a hyperfixation outta nowhere for a completed series, I spend a week, maybe two going through old fanfiction and fanart, and then I burn through what's left, and then I'm done.

Danny Phantom has a pile of fanfiction and fanart that's been growing steadily since, and I cannot emphasize this enough, 2004, and there are still people putting out multiple things every single day. I'm already like 20 AUs in and I've been up till 2:00am every single night this week because I've found a new enormous fascinating fanfic that was so good I could not physically make myself sleep until I finished it.

Help?

[ecto-mochi]

An Honest Talk

(Got to the episode where Valerie gets the ghost hunting stuff. I just want her to be happy and not Filled With Vengeful Rage so, here's this.)

Jazz sees the whole thing.

Really, Valerie isn't even good at hiding it. As soon as that Ghost Hunter shows up at that school game, Jazz figures it out. Not just because her voice is the same, but because of the insults she shouts while hanging in that basketball hoop. Sure, Jazz is in a higher grade, but she's heard that A-Lister group plenty of times in the hallways and after school.

They're real jerks. But not murderous jerks.

So she decides to do something about it. No-one attacks her baby brother. ... Well, except other ghosts. But Jazz can't always help with those.

This? No problem.

"Hey, Valerie."

Valerie jolts, yelping and almost dropping what is clearly some kind of ghost-detecting device. "Who are- ugh, aren't you Fenton's sister? What do you want?"

"To talk to you," Jazz says in her most empathetic voice. "I noticed you're having kind of a rough time."

"Why do you care?"

"Because my brother does." Cares about not being pummeled, at least. But Jazz is sure Danny hopes the best for his schoolmate, even with the attacks.

Valerie huffs. "Great, pity from the loser kids."

"Come on, it won't hurt to talk about it?"

"Talk about what? That some ghost kid and his dog ruined my life? That we're broke, and all my friends hate me for it? yeah, talking will fix everything."

Jazz sits down on a bench, and pats the seat next to her. Valerie looks away.

But then... she sighs. And sits. "I keep thinking about that five hundred dollar shirt I ruined. Maybe if e hadn't bought that, or I hadn't worn it to school, we'd be a little better off right now."

"It's not your fault."

Valerie grits her teeth. "Yeah. It's that ghost kid's."

"Ghost kid?"

"... You believe in ghosts, right? Because of your parents?"

Jazz nods. "Plus, that thing during the school game,, Kind of hard to deny."

"Heh. Yeah. ... That dog broke into the place my dad was working for. he was showing off what he did for their security, and none of it stopped the dog or the kid. And then they showed up again at the garage sale and wrecked our moving van, and the dog stole my lunch after all my friends rejected me!"

Valerie wipes her eyes, scowling. "It's not fair!"

Jazz hands her a tissue. "It's not, not at all."

"I wanna destroy that kid," Valerie growls. "Like he destroyed me."

"... Valerie... how old is he?"

"About my age, I think."

"And he's a ghost."

"Yeah. And?"

"So... how do you think a ghost kid comes to be?"

Valerie doesn't reply. But after a moment, her eyes widen a little. "Oh... no, no, but... but he's a kid. He can't be any older than me."

"Yeah," Jazz says softly. "So something horrible must have happened to him already."

Valerie looks at the device in her hands. "... But... he still ruined my life." She sounds a bit unsure now.

"Maybe he didn't mean to. I mean... imagine one day you wake up and everything is... different. Suddenly you've got no gravity, and-and no-one can see you sometimes and you're this weird thing-"

God, how scared was Danny when it happened? She's pretty sure by now that it was The Accident that did it, she can't think of anything else that explains it. What was it like for him, waking up as something different?

"It would be tough," Jazz finishes, looking at Valerie.

Valerie still won't meet her eyes, looking at the beeping device. "Then why is he following me around?"

"... Well... does he show up first, or the dog?"

Valerie thinks for a long moment. "... The dog. It's always the dog."

"So maybe he's trying to catch it."

"... I mean, I guess that could be it. But he's been fighting me!"

"And you've been fighting him."

"But-! ... Aw, geez..." Valerie deflates. "What do I do now, then? I can't... I can't keep attacking some kid who... we've barely lived, I can't just make it so that he's barely lived twice."

Jazz stands up and offers her hand. "How about we try talking to him?"

Valerie looks at her. "For real?" She's skeptical.

Jazz nods. "For real. Maybe we can clear some things up."

Valerie turns away again. And then, with a hefty sigh...

Takes Jazz's hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Cujo?" Danny calls out. "Cujo! We need to get you back to the Ghost Zone, buddy! Come on, where is he?"

Someone clears their throat behind him, and he yelps as he shoots up in the air.

He turns around, and sees possibly the worst thing he could see right now.

His sister, and his hunter.

"Hello, Ghost Boy!" Jazz calls out.

"Um... hi." Danny waves, still looking startled.

Jazz nudges Valerie, and Valerie huffs. "Hi," she says shortly. Jazz smile at her, though.

"I'm here to mediate a talk between you two," Jazz says, walking closer (and somewhat pulling Valerie along behind her). "I figured there might be more to this story than we all three think."

"Um, you're not- I mean, I'm a ghost, you're just... casual about this?"

Jazz nods. "My parents are well-versed with ghosts, this is nothing."

A straight-up lie. Jazz hadn't even believed in ghosts until she peeled Spectra. But maybe it's to save face for Valerie? Or maybe Jazz recognizes him as the ghost from that day.

"Anyway," Jazz says, "Valerie here has something to say."

Valerie, arms cross and back hunched angrily, glares at Danny. "Who are you, and why are you out to get me?"

Danny floats back down to the ground, standing on it now. "I'm, um... Phantom-"

Valerie gives him a disbelieving look.

"Uh, Ghost Names are uh, different! It's this whole thing. And, I'm not out to get you, I swear. It's all been terrible coincidences."

Valerie scoffs.

"Val, we're here to listen," Jazz reminds gently. "Let him explain his side of things, and then you can explain yours, and we'll come to a solution. Trust me, I read a book about this."

Danny doesn't doubt it. "I don't own that dog, I found him wandering around outside. I thought he was cute at first, and then he turned into the big dog that keeps haunting you."

"And why's he doing that?" she snips.

"I don't know yet." Danny rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I'm trying to send him back to the Ghost Zone, but he keeps coming back out! I'm starting to think it's some cliche 'unfinished business' thing. But until I can figure it out I don't know how to get rid of him. All I can do is try to minimize the damage."

"Doing a great job." Valerie rolls her eyes. "Ruining my father's business, ruining our garage sale, ruining my lunch!"

"I swear, I was trying to help! He's really, really hard to get under control! He's like five times my size!"

"And you can't grow bigger and handle it that way?" Valerie retorts.

"No! I'm only a few months into this, I-"

He cuts himself off at the look on Valerie's face. "What?"

"A few months? ... So... so I could've known you?" Horrified, is the best word for her expression.

Danny shrinks, holding his bicep and hunching a little. "Um, nevermind. I just mean I'm not super powerful."

"No, no, we're going back. Did I know you? Is this a revenge thing?"

"What? No! I already told you, I'm trying to help prevent things from getting worse! And... no. I'm a loser kid, and you're popular."

"... Was," Valerie says quietly. "... All my friends ditched me when I lost my money."

"That's awful."

Valerie nods. "I don't know why I thought they liked me for more than money, looking back. But it still hurts. Being a lonely loser is the worst."

"Tell me about it," Danny mutters. "I mean, I have friends, but sometimes some stuff just makes you feel alone no matter what."

He thinks he sees Jazz tear up at that, but he's not sure. He's distracted by Valerie letting out a sob.

"I don't have anything left," she says, voice quavering. "I don't have the popularity, I don't have money, I don't have the grades..."

"... So you turned to revenge?" Jazz's voice is soft.

Valerie sobs again, and Jazz gives her some comforting slow pats on the back. She looks at Danny, nodding at Valerie.

Danny gets the hint. "You... you could, um, make something, more?"

Valerie gives a somewhat bitter teary chuckle. "What is that supposed to mean, huh? I'm already hunting ghosts. It's... something."

"... You could try to make new friends."

"Oh sure, that's easy. I'm a social pariah."

"So am I. But even just one or two friends helps a lot."

"You got a lot of ghost buddies?"

"... Humans, actually. An if I can make friends with some high school kids as a loser and a ghost, you can make friends too. You just might have to lower your social radar a bit."

Valerie rubs her arm. "... You're really not out to get me, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I want to protect people, not hurt them."

"... I'm sorry I shot those missiles at you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep the dog contained."

"... I'm sorry you're a ghost so young."

Danny snuffles a little. "... Thanks." Sometimes he is, too.

Valerie looks at her hand, and then holds it out to him. "Truce? I won't mess with you. I can't promise the same about that dog if it keeps showing up, but I won't mess with you."

Danny sighs. "So you're keeping the weapons."

"Oh, you know I am. Even if I'm not hunting you, now that I know about ghosts I want to be prepared."

"I guess I understand that." Danny shakes her hand. "Truce."

Jazz grins. "See? Just needed a real, meaningful talk!"

Valerie laughs a little, wiping her eyes again. "Yeah, I guess. But... now what? Who do I blame for this?"

"Probably the boss who decided that Ghosts Suddenly Existing was your father's fault," Danny says.

Valerie's eyes harden. "Yeah. Yeah, I can go with that."

"But," Danny and Jazz say at once. They look at each other, and Jazz let's Danny speak.

"But," Danny says again, "Maybe focus on making some more friends, first. One thing about us losers, is we don't ditch someone just for money reasons."

"... I'll give it a shot." Valerie smiles a little at Danny. "With better aim than the ones I took at you."

Danny chuckles a bit.

They both wave goodbye, Jazz and Valerie leaving Danny to continue his search.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hi."

Danny, Sam, and Tucker all look up. Valerie is standing nervously with her brown paper bag of lunch. Tucker brightens up, and Sam gives a little, slightly suspicious, wave.

Danny scoots over. "Wanna sit with us?"

Valerie looks over at the A-Lister table. They're all staring, smirking, whispering.

Mocking.

She looks back at the 'losers'.

They're looking at her with... openness.

"Yeah. Sure."

She sits down, and gets out her lunch. For a minute, she just listens to them talk while she unpacks the sandwich.

"Hey, is that peanut butter and honey?" Sam asks. Valerie nods.

Sam holds up a thick roast beef sandwich. "My parents are trying to get me to eat meat again, but I'm staying vegetarian. Want to trade?"

Valerie blinks. "Uh... sure?"

They swap sandwiches. Valerie looks at the sandwich, mentally trying to figure out the carbs and calories and fat content-

She looks around the table. No-one else is analyzing their food. Or, judging hers.

She takes a bite. It's pretty good.

This... is pretty good.

She smiles, and laughs a little at a joke Danny makes.

Yeah. This is pretty good.