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stoney-siren · 4 years ago

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May I Have This Dance? PART 2 (Sal Fisher x Reader)

Link to Part 1

Summary: After you confront Ash on your crush on Sal, she takes you to some friends who she believes to have good advice on what you should do. Meanwhile Sal is trying to work up the courage to asking you out.

Warnings: Swearing, possible mentions of drug use, slight angst?

It had been a few days after your conversation with Ashley, that day she had taken you to go meet up with Maple and Chug, who were somehow excellent advice givers. Not only that, but they knew how to keep a secret too, you weren’t too trustful of them at first, but after a couple of days with their lips sealed, you started to trust them a bit more.

So there you were sitting in your apartment with Ash, your mom was out getting groceries, so it gave you two some time to try and plan out how to ask Sal to the prom. Little did you two know that Larry and Sal were doing the exact same thing on the fourth floor in Sals room.

“I was thinking of either wearing this purple dress I have, or a green one.” Ash commented as she messed with her polaroid camera.

“I think the purple would really compliment your eyes.” Ash smiled at your feedback and nodded her head in agreement.

“What do you think Larry, Todd, and Sal are doing?” She questioned, getting up and sitting beside you at your desk and taking a look at what you were writing.

You have been spending almost the whole day writing down ideas on how to ask out Sal, but everything that came to mind just sounded either cheesy, dumb, or both.

“Probably playing some video game on Sals gear boy.” You responded, sitting next to Sal and watching over his shoulder as he attempted to beat a video game was one of your favorite things to do, you found it adorable how he celebrated every time he beat a level.

“Speaking of Sal, these ideas of yours are starting to get pretty creative!” Ash took the paper you had been scribbling on from the desk and started to read what you had been writing.

Quickly, you snatched the paper back, even though you appreciated the compliment, you couldn’t help but imagine every way Sal could turn down every idea you came up with.

Sal stood in front of a mirror in Larrys room, messing with his hair and thinking of how he’d style it for prom.

“You should do a bun, I heard a lot of people find those attractive.” Larry commented from somewhere in the room, he himself was occupying his time with a painting he was working on.

“Nah dude.” He let his hair fall to his shoulders as he removed his pigtails, messing with the blue strands in his face.

“They’ll probably like your hair regardless what it looks like! If you wanna go with something mature then maybe you should just wear your hair down.” He continued to suggest from his easel.

“Yeah maybe,” he began, touching his prosthetic. “Larry, what if I want to kiss them?” That caught his attention real fast.

“Then do it bro! Nothings holding you back, unless of course they don’t want to.” He set his brush down and made his way over to the mirror, putting his hands on Sals shoulders.

“Yeah but.. They’ve never seen me without my prosthetic before, what if I scare them?” This was Sals usual nervous thoughts, always afraid of how his appearance would affect others.

“You’re not gonna scare them, trust me. You know (Y/N) better than that, they’ve gotta be the most kindest, and accepting person we know!” Larry tried to reassure his friend as Sal lowered his hand from his prosthetic, turning his gaze to his feet.

“I guess.” Deep down he knew Larry was right, but all the anxiety pent up inside just wouldn’t budge.

“The dance is in two days, you still have time to think of what you want to say to them.” And that’s all Sal thought of for the next two days, practicing in the mirror, even asking his dad for advice, which ended horribly since Henry was more proud of the fact that Sal wanted to ask someone out rather than giving him advice.

“Mom, I have to get going soon.” You tried to exclaim as your mother snapped another photo of you in your prom dress, part of you was feeling disappointed that you never got to ask Sal to the dance, but he had been avoiding you for the past few days now.

In fact, you actually started to grow worried that somebody might’ve told Sal about your little crush on him, your bets were on Chug. You could see him somehow spilling the beans on accident and then immediately trying to take it back and playing it off as a joke.

“Oh just one more photo!” Your mother cheered, snapping you from your thoughts, but before your mother could continue on with her photo shoot, there was a knock at the door.

“Those are my friends, can I go now?” You asked in a more harsh tone, trying to hint that you were getting impatient. Honestly, your mother could probably fill a whole scrap book with the amount of photos she had taken of you.

“Oh, fine! Maybe I could get a picture with you and your friends though?” She attempted one last time to get a few more pictures out of you.

“Mom!” You whined as you stepped over to the door, opening it to see your dear friends, Larry, Ash, and Sal.

“Heya (Y/N)!” Ash chirpped, she was wearing that purple dress that she spoke of a couple days ago. Larry and Sal were both in suits, and even though Sal still wore that blank prosthetic mask, he looked nervous for some reason.

“Hey (Y/N), y- you look nice.” Sal spoke, and wanted to punch himself for stuttering. Larry nudged Sal lightly and did his best not to burst into laughter right there.

“Thanks Sal! You look lovely too, are we ready to go? Where’s Todd.” You questioned, looking around for that brainy friend of yours.

“He’s helping Chug out with his outfit, he’s kinda nervous since he wants to ask Maple out.” It was Sals turn to nudge Larry back and give him a look from behind his prosthetic.

“Dude! We weren’t supposed to tell anyone!” Ashley and you both laughed a little, and honestly it was because you both knew Chug liked Maple from the start.

“Trust us, our lips are sealed!” You commented, stepping out of her apartment and waving your mom behind before closing the door before she could come attack you four with her camera.

You and the others stepped out of the building into the night, Larry pulled some car keys out of his pocket and unlocked Lisa’s car, which wasn’t far.

“We’re taking your moms car? Please tell me she’s okay with this.” You asked Larry, he only laughed and patted your shoulder.

“Yeah, she’s completely chill with me using her car tonight as long as I don’t wreck it! Only problem is that one of the seats is unavailable, and there’s six of us.” Larry explained.

“I call shot gun then!” Ash shouted as she rushed to the car in heels, it amazed me how fast she could run in those, even if they weren’t that high.

Chug and Todd had made their way out of the apartment just as Ash got to the car, you could now see what Larry was talking about when he said Chug was nervous. The poor guy was sweating bullets.

“Two people are gonna have to sit in the trunk.” Larry continued to explain, and Todd immediately spoke up.

“Chug can’t sit in the trunk, this nervous wreck will throw up all over Lisa’s car.” Chug tried to protest, claiming he wasn’t nervous, but it was clear to everyone that he was.

“I don’t mind sitting in the trunk.” Sal finally spoke, he seemed less nervous than before has he proceeded towards the car.

“Well then it’s settled I guess, (Y/N) and Sal will sit in the trunk, Todd and Chug will sit in the back, and Ash and I will sit in the front!” Before you could even try and argue with him, Larry was following Sal to the car with Chug and Todd close behind.

Why would you even try to fight with him on this? Being stuck in a small space with Sal Fisher? It was the perfect moment to try and make a move, you supposed you just didn’t want the others to overhear you, or end up having Ash tease the both of you.

“So you decided to join me?” Sal joked as you climbed into the trunk and laughed.

“Guess so!” You sat beside him as Larry closed the trunk and got into the drivers seat, starting the car and putting on some heavy metal music. Nobody really seemed to complain since he was giving everyone a ride.

“How are you feeling, (Y/N)?” He continued to conversation as the car was too noisy for anyone else to hear the two of you.

“Fine I guess, a bit nervous.” He seemed to relate to that as he nodded and stared up at the ceiling of the car, the both of you sat side by side, with your hands dangerously close. His nails were painted black, his hand looked so soft and holdable.

“What are you so nervous about? We’re gonna have fun tonight.” He stated that with enough confidence that it almost felt like a fact.

Silence fell between the two of you as Larry’s metal music started to overtake the car, the sound of Todd reassuring Chug mixed into the ambiance of the car. Slowly, just ever so slowly, your hand creeped closer to Sals, your mind raced with thoughts both positive and negative, what if he pulled away? What if he held your hand? Before your hand could even touch his, Larry took a tight turn, and Sals body crashed into yours.

“Larry!” You could hear Ash yell from the front of the car, your head hit the floor of the trunk rather roughly.

“What!” Larry cackled as he continued to drive the car, the pain in your head instantly faded when you made eye contact with the blue haired boy on top of you in a rather intimate position.

“U- Uh- I- I’m so- so sorry (Y/N)!” He immediately sat up and pulled himself off you as you sat up yourself. Before you could try and say anything, Larry took another tight turn and this time you fell against Sals chest, his back colliding with the side of the trunk.

“Larry! Sal and (Y/N) are in the trunk without seatbelts! Could you be a bit more gentle on those turns!?” Todd spoke up this time, you were just praying he wouldn’t turn back and take a look at the two of you, now smushed together.

“S- Sal I’m sorry!” You could feel your face practically about to burst into flames as you tried to pull yourself up, and his hand wrapped around your wrist to help support you.

“I- It’s okay, it’s neither of our faults, just Larry’s reckless driving.” He chuckled off the tension between the two of you as the car started to come to a halt. Todd turned back in his seat as Chug exited the car.

“Hey, we’re here.” He stated bluntly before leaving the car. Larry opened the trunk for the two of you as the both of you climbed out, Sal gave Larry a punch on the shoulder.

With that, most of your friends vanished into the crowd of students you have known for a while, you stuck close to Larry and Sal though as you made your way into the schools gym, which was now decorated surprisngly nicely by your peers. Students were dancing, chatting, and overall having a nice time.

“Hey, hey (Y/N)!” Ash shouted over the music, she looked relieved that she finally found you. It had been almost an hour into prom, and you have just been standing to the side and dancing to some of your favorite songs. Maple had came by a few times to ask you about the Sal situation, but you didn’t have much to say to her. You just didn’t know how to approach him after that moment in the car.

“Yeah Ash?” You responded to her, you knew your voice was gonna be a bit soar after tonight, but who cared?

“I got the DJ to play a slow song after this one! You need to go find Sal!” Ash yelled to you, instantly your face heated back up almost similar to that moment in the car.

“Why would you do that!?” Now beginning to panic, Ash took you by the shoulders and looked you in the eyes.

“Because the both of you need to just get your shit together and dance!” And with that she pushed you off into the crowd to go find Sal.

Instead of finding Sal, you found Travis Phelps, school bully and your friend groups worst enemy. You couldn’t help but sometimes feel bad for the guy though, since you heard his dad was a preacher and he was always looking a little beat up. Travis gave you a disgusted look.

“Oh, it’s you, I overheard you and that bitch.” He sneered, you wanted to defend Ashley, but he went on. “Do you really think that freaks gonna wanna dance with you?”

“Shut up Travis, all you ever do is pick on us, I don’t understand what we did to deserve your cruelty!” You replied, clearly upsetted by his comment.

“Whatever, can’t wait to hear all about how Sally Face rejected you tonight!” His final remark made your heart sink, as you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Sal was standing there with Larry close behind, looking ready to beat the crap out of Travis.

Waves of embarrassment washed over you as Sal just seemed to blankly stare at you, was Travis right? Did he really not like you like that? You didn’t want to think about it, you did the only thing you could think of, which was to run away from the three of them and escape to the outside of the school.

You hated Travis for doing that to you, he let everything you worked so hard on just slip out right in front of Sal. Hot tears filled your eyes as you collapsed to your knees, attempting to frantically wipe your tears.

“Stupid, stupid..” You mumbled, the music from the gym had made its way outside the building now muffled though and more quiet, you always hated how loud school gatherings would play their music. As you attempted to contain yourself, you heard the door you exited from open and close, and a soft and gentle voice call out to you.

“(Y/N)?” Sal called, the sound of his shoes against the concrete floor rang in your ears as you lifted your head.

“Sal.. I’m sorry. I..” You were lost for words, what were you suppoed to tell him? Try and lie? Tell the truth? You soon snapped out of it again as you heard slow music begin to play from inside the gym, and Sal offered his hand out to you a bit hesitantly.

“(Y/N), may I have this dance?” Your heart sank as you quickly took his hand, he pulled you onto your feet and wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping his other hand entangled with yours.

The both of you were so close that you could hear him softly breathe against his prosthetic, your heartbeats were almost in sinc as he began to lead you passively with the song. His eyes remained on yours, and yours remained on his.

“Sal,” you began, he was all ears, “Do you like me?” He lightly laughed at your comment, which made you a bit nervous until he responded.

“(Y/N), I’ve had a crush on you for like, three years. I’ve been waiting for a moment like this since forever.” He spoke softly, you never knew that he could be this romantic, it made your heart just want to burst from your chest.

The song eventually ended, but Sal continued to hold you, slowly he untangled his hand with yours and touched the bottom of his prosthetic. You had always silently theorized what Sal may have looked like under his prosthetic, so excitement overcame you as Sal slowly lifted his prosthetic off his face.

“You’re.. A work of art.” The compliment escaped your lips before you could even process them, his cheeks grew deep red as he sheepishly smiled.

“Thank you, (Y/N), would you.. Or.. Could I um.. Kiss you?” He softly asked, of course you responded with a nod before pulling him into a light kiss. Sal instantly dropped his prosthetic and carressed the side of your face with his now free hand, you wrapped both your arms around his neck as he kissed you back lovingly and passionately.

When the two of you separated, you both were blushing messes, and lost for words. Your moment was at and end when you heard Larry open the door and call out for you two, Sal took your hand and gave you a caring smile.

“We should head back now, okay? Enjoy the rest of the night.”

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read this :) if you want more Sally Face content lmk!

#sally face #sal fisher #sal fisher x reader #sally face x reader #larry johnson #ashley campbell #todd morrison

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 5 years ago

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Missing Pieces

for @buckybarnesbingo !!!

by: Lira (me)

square filled: U1 - galaxy

main pairing: bucky/clint

rating: T

major tags: emotional hurt comfort, childhood memories, angst with a happy ending, established relationship

summary: When Clint becomes down and distracted, Bucky takes it upon himself to discover what's bothering his boyfriend. Even though Clint won't talk about it. Even though Bucky has too many missing pieces. Or, In which Bucky goes to great lengths to make Clint smile.

word count: 2942

“He’s on the roof again, isn’t he.”

Natasha nods, eyes flicking almost imperceptibly to the ceiling. Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets, his face drawn down in a scowl.

“He still not talking about it?” she asks.

He glares, she quirks an eyebrow. He almost laughs; they rarely have to resort to words to communicate.

Bucky walks back through the doors, heading up to the roof.

“He’s sad,” Natasha says with a sigh. “He just doesn’t know how to show it.” Then, softer, “Please find a way to help him. This doesn’t seem to be a take him to the gym until he punches it out or tease him until he screams at me kind of situation. I’m pretty sure it’s boyfriend territory.”

“I–” He stops, unsure how to go on. He knows it pains her to admit she can’t solve a problem on her own. “Thanks, Natalia.” He doesn't look back, but he can feel her downcast, almost-smile.

He finds Clint on one of his rooftop perches, the one that sticks out over the edge of nothingness and makes Bucky’s stomach do a little flip-flop to see Clint so easily sprawled there. His lithe, muscular body looks relaxed, like he could roll off any second, but Bucky knows he’s in perfect control. Bucky takes a moment to just look at him: straw colored hair turned silver in glow of the rooftop lights, head leaned back so he can stare at the cloud-streaked sky, a band-aid on the back of his hand. His hand… The rest of him looks relaxed, but the hand Bucky can see is balled into a fist.

Clint holds his tension in his hands.

Bucky makes sure his steps are loud enough that Clint isn’t startled when he says, “Hey doll.”

Waiting until Bucky’s standing almost behind him, Clint swings his body around so he’s straddling the perch, his feet hanging down in the air, arms folded on the top of the metal post that had been his backrest, chin resting lightly on his crossed wrists.

“Heya sweetheart.” The easy smile is missing, but there’s a softening around the eyes.

Bucky eases up close, kissing Clint’s forehead and taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his hair. “Nice night,” he murmurs. “Spy anything interestin’?”

Bucky feels the tension radiating from Clint. “Nothing to see.” His voice has a bitter edge. Waving a hand at the sky, he adds, “There’s nothing but clouds. Not even those, really.”

The sky above them is a hazy muddle of black and grey, with some of the grey being a little brighter and streakier and cloudier. Clint’s right, an airplane could fly directly overhead and they wouldn’t see it.

“Guess not,” he says. “Still, it is a nice night. Almost warm, for September. You mind if I sit up here with you for a while?”

Clint shrugs, then turns back to face the city and the sky again. “Be my guest. It’s Stark’s rooftop anyway.”

It feels like a wall dropped down between them, but if Clint says he can stay, Bucky’s staying.

They don’t talk at all, just sit in silence. It’s awkward at first–not because they’re uncomfortable with each other anymore, but because they both know Clint’s hiding something. Clint’s giving off angry-embarrassed-melancholy vibes that practically chime in the air around him, and Bucky’s projecting “caring boyfriend” as hard as he can. But after twenty minutes or so they both figure out how to calm down and just…be. When Bucky steals glances he notices that while Clint’s hand is still clenching and unchencing, worrying at something, his jaw is relaxed again.

He notices other things too. Clint’s breathing is easy, but every once in a while there’s a slight hitch, as if his breath catches on a stray thought. Whenever there’s a particularly strong gust of wind, he squints at the sky, as if it might reveal something previously unknown. And although his bow and quiver are in easy reach, they’re propped up on the roof behind him, not actually on his person. So whatever’s eating at him, it’s not an outside threat.

Not the kind you can shoot with an arrow, anyway.

“I think I’m gonna head down to bed,” Bucky says, feeling his knees pop as he gets to his feet. He may be a supersoldier, but his body still reacts to being in a semi-uncomfortable position on a hard rooftop for several hours. Not that he hasn’t done it before, in far less pleasurable situations than this. He gives his head a tiny shake, a physical reminder that he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. He looks at Clint. “You comin’ anytime soon?”

Clint swallows, looks down at his hands, then turns his face away. “I, ah, was thinking I’d maybe sleep up here tonight. The last few nights our bedroom, our floor, the whole Tower, really...it’s all been feeling a bit…” He sighs, then finally turns to look at Bucky. “It all just feels too small.”

Small?

Keeping his voice as even as possible, Bucky says, “Clint, at least fifty percent of the time you spend in the Tower is spent crawling through the vents.”

Clint looks back at the sky. “And yet.”

Bucky presses his lips together, holding back the urge to shout, “What is wrong?” at the top of his voice. After a beat he says, “I’ll go get you some blankets, then. Or,” he adds, inspiration striking, “I could send Natalia?”

“Got everything I need.” Clint gestures vaguely over his shoulder, and Bucky sees a muddle of darker darkness he’d missed before among the other shadows on the roof. There’s a cot and a sleeping bag and a pillow, even a thermos Bucky’s sure is full of coffee.

“Say, were you a Boy Scout?” Bucky teases.

“Just because I wasn’t a Scout doesn’t mean I can’t be prepared.” There’s an almost hurt tone to Clint’s voice, hurt and maybe a little reproachful.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he just lets the silence stretch for a few more minutes. Then he puts his hands on Clint’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “Night, doll,” he murmurs into Clint’s hair.

Our bed won’t be the same without you, he wants to say.

Pretty sure I won’t sleep tonight, thinkin’ about you up here in the cold, he thinks.

Do you know I hold onto a pillow when you’re not around to hold at night? he doesn’t ask.

Instead of saying anything at all, he takes one more breath, waits one more moment, then turns and walks away.

Bucky doesn’t get much sleep. He thoroughly examines their darkened ceiling, the shadows on the walls, the thoughts bombarding the inside of his skull. He’s trying to put together a puzzle with too many missing pieces. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach at the image; it’s too much like a look back at his own past. There are too many things he still doesn’t remember, even after all this time.

He dozes off a little after three am, sleeps for about an hour. He’s not restored when he wakes, just cranky and tired because the bed is–of course–empty, and all he can think is that Clint must be cold without his own personal supersoldier to warm him up. After a few minutes of attempting to kick the blankets and pillows into submission he gives up and stomps to the bathroom to shower; Tony won’t be happy if he breaks another of their beds, even if he breaks this one on his own.

Although he wants to take breakfast to Clint on the roof, sense wins and Bucky waits in the kitchen. He knows Clint will be down fairly early; that thermos might last a person with an average coffee habit a whole cold night, but Clint’s coffee addiction is far from average.

Bleary-eyed from less than stellar sleep and rosy cheeked from wind, Clint stumbles into the common floor at 5:27. Bucky’s waiting with a mug of coffee, hand outstretched.

As expected, Clint doesn’t speak. His grabby hands speak for him.

“Mornin’ doll,” Bucky says with a grin. As Clint slumps onto the stool Bucky flips pancakes and bacon onto a plate and slides it in front of Clint, along with the butter and maple syrup. “Thought you might be needin’ a little pick-me-up.”

“You gonna pick me up?” Clint says with a sly, sleepy wink. He punctuates the wink with a jaw-cracking yawn.

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “Even exhausted and half frozen you can’t help a good innuendo, can you.”

“Never,” Clint says, digging into his breakfast; with less alacrity than normal, maybe, but at least he’s eating. After a few bites he looks up at Bucky, leaning against the counter a few feet away, and smiles. A real smile. “Thanks. This hits the spot.”

“You’re just sayin’ that cause I made coffee,” Bucky drawls.

“I’m able to speak because you made coffee. I’m saying thank you because you made bacon.”

It’s a nearly normal day in the Tower: the usual breakfast and light-hearted bickering, target practice on the range, working out in the gym, playing ridiculously competitive games of MarioKart in the afternoon. Clint is there but not there; he participates, and even though his shooting is flawless as usual he’s clearly distracted, at least to Bucky’s trained eye. Clint’s not fully engaged in anything, and so much of Bucky’s attention is focused on Clint that when they’re sparring Sam lands a punch Bucky could have easily blocked. Everyone in the room collectively gasps a breath.

Almost everyone. Clint doesn’t even notice.

Later in the day, from the corner of his eye, Bucky spies Clint peeking down from one of the vents.

His mind keeps coming back to the puzzle with too many missing pieces. There’s no way to see what the picture is with a bit of the border and a few scattered center pieces. The vents are okay, but the Tower at night is too small? And how does any of that connect to Clint’s air of melancholy, his distraction? It’s bewildering.

Clint sleeps on the roof again that night.

Bucky’s a little jittery with nerves when, two nights later, he joins Clint on the rooftop again. When he stands behind him, resting his hands on his shoulders, he feels Clint relax, minutely, at his touch. Just that tiny thing calms him, and when he speaks his words are even, without a hint of a tremble.

“Will you try something for me, doll?”

Clint swings around to face him in that easy, graceful way he has. Bucky’s seen it a hundred times, a thousand, but he’s still in awe. He moves like the world had been built as his playground, like gravity is something to be toyed with instead of taken seriously.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Clint’s smile is slight but true, so Bucky barrels onward.

“Come downstairs. You don’t have to stay,” he adds quickly, seeing the smile on Clint’s face ebb away. “I promise. I just want to show you something.”

Bucky can see Clint pulling bits of himself inward, building that protective shell that’s been coming up more and more the past week or so, but still he climbs onto the roof, snagging his bow with one hand and reaching his other out to find Bucky’s in the glow of the rooftop lights.

“Alright,” he says, trusting.

Squeezing Clint’s fingers, Bucky says, “Yeah. Alright.”

The lack of typical Clint chatter is glaring, somehow shouting in the empty, echoing stairwell. But neither of them hesitates. Bucky, for one, is too focused on getting Clint to their bedroom, keeping him tethered to the earth when his ever-increasing nerves threaten to carry him away. Clint is probably miles away, in another state if Bucky’s guess is correct. He’ll find out soon if he’s found the missing puzzle pieces.

In the doorway of their bedroom Clint says, “Huh. It’s clean.”

Bucky fights to resist and fails. “That’s what happens when you’re not here to throw everything everywhere,” he says, his voice dry. “Half of this couple knows how to put things away. Maybe you’ve figured out which half that is.”

Clint chuckles. “Aw, Buck, you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

Leading him to the bed, Bucky asks, “But isn’t it nice to be able to walk across the floor without tripping? Maybe we could use as many as ten fewer bandaids per year if you just put your dirty clothes in the hamper.”

Clint sits willingly enough, but when Bucky tries to pull him down so they’re laying side by side on their backs, Clint resists. He’s laughing, but there’s an edge to his words when he asks, “Was all this just about getting me to bed?”

“Doll, we’ve had sex on that roof more times than I can count.”

He feels Clint relax beside him. “Remember when Tony caught us under the quinjet? Ah, good times.”

Sitting up, Bucky rests a hand on Clint’s thigh, rubbing soothing circles. “Jesting aside. If you’re uncomfortable you can go, but…” He’s looking for the right words to say when he feels Clint’s hand on his. “It’s alright,” Clint says. “I trust you.”

It’s moments like these Bucky fought for–still fights for. Tiny bits of closeness, of another human being reassuring him he’s still human himself, still true, still worthy of love. He kisses Clint’s forehead–he rather desperately wants to do more but this particular bedroom visit is not about sex and he doesn’t want to give either of them the wrong idea–and sprawls beside him, tangling their fingers together. “Ready, JARVIS?”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Wha–” Clint starts, but his question is answered almost before he can ask it when the room plunges into darkness.

“Oh.”

Just one word and Bucky knows it’s going to be alright. Awe and wonder and no more walls between them.

“Stevie helped, but it was my idea. I just asked him ’cause he’s used to holding a paintbrush.”

Laughing, Clint squeezes Bucky’s hand and scoots closer on the bed. “How’d you do it?” His voice, soft, is lighter than it’s been in days.

“Glow in the dark paint.”

Clint elbows Bucky in the side. “I can see that. I mean…” He waves at the stars on the ceiling, the patterns and constellations mimicking the sky they can’t quite see through the light pollution of the city.

“JARVIS projected the, ah, map, I guess you’d call it, onto the ceiling, and Tony rigged up some hover platforms for us to lay on while we painted. Just call me Michaelangelo,” Bucky deadpans.

Clint turns his head and presses a kiss into Bucky’s shoulder. “Thanks, Buck. I–” His breath hitches; he takes a minute, then starts over. “When I was a kid I used to climb out my window onto the roof, when things got to be...too much. The sky was so big, I could look at the stars and just...get lost. Forget about everything else in the vastness of the universe.” He chuckles, though it sounds a bit forced in Bucky’s ears. “Not that I was thinking like that back in those days. Mostly I was just thinking that I was alone on the roof, but I’d be really alone if I could get to the stars.” After a shaky breath he adds, “Alone and safe.”

They look at the stars together for one breath, two breaths. Then Bucky says, “I’m sorry it had to be that way for you.”

“I’m not.” Before Bucky can object, Clint says, “Don’t get me wrong, there are times–many times, if I’m honest–I wish my childhood could have been brighter. Warmer. Safer. But all that crap is what made me who I am. Would I have ever picked up a bow if Barney and I hadn’t run away and joined the circus? Would I be an Avenger? Or would I be married with a dog and two kids and a white picket fence?”

Still staring up into the galaxy spread out above them, Bucky says, slow and soft, “Without my own hellish past I’d be an old man now. Or…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but they’re both thinking the word. Dead. A word they both think often enough, in their line of work, but try not to think about each other. Or say. Almost as one they move closer together, heads clunking almost audibly.

“Ow!” The sound Clint makes is half laugh, half bark of pain.

And then Bucky’s laughing; loud, full laughter that eats away all the tension that’s been building for days. Soon they’re clinging to each other, laughing so hard tears stream from their eyes. Laughing until they can’t even remember why, until they’re only laughing because it feels so good.

“So,” Bucky says when their laughter fades to the occasional gasp or giggle. “Is it okay to say I’m glad you walked down the path that led to me?”

With barely contained laughter in his voice, Clint says, “Only if I can say I’m glad you made it all the way to my present to be struck by Cupid’s arrow.”

Clint does not sleep on the roof that night...but he and Bucky do sleep under the stars.

***

We are made of stardust– every atom in you, in me, once came from Sirius, or Alpha Centauri; they hung from the buckle of Orion’s belt or fell from Cassiopeia’s fingertips.

So together we make up a galaxy an ocean of stars with islands of planets

and where our lips meet, a supernova.

#lirael writes #winterhawk fic #buckybarnesbingo2020 #bucky barnes #clint barton #marvel fic #emotional hurt/comfort #childhood memories #angst with a happy ending #stargazing #(kind of)#feels #established relationship #i love these two so much #also includes a bit of my poetry #because i couldn't help it

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spacebrick3 · 4 years ago

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WHG Day 3: OSHA Regulations Get Ignored.

In which there is just Emma.

“No, this is a great idea, there’s no way it can possibly go wrong,” a thoroughly fed-up Emma mutters, trudging through foot-deep snow and trying not to notice the way it sinks into her shoes, or that she hasn’t really felt anything from her toes in the past half hour. Still no sign of her sister. “Look, look, there’s no way—God, I should have seen it that there was no way you were backing down, should have stopped you instead of letting everything go to—this souped-up, frozen-over hell!”

She shouts her criticism to the sky, voice echoing through the canyon beneath as if it will have any effect. Besides shaking a few drops of snow from the overburdened trees, it doesn’t. “Wonderful. Just great. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be doing, save not dying, and that’s more a dice roll than anything else. Capitol decides to set a pack of hounds, of damned wolves out here and then…then…”

Her words falter, then stop. For the canyon’s echo works both ways, carrying another voice up to her. “…the general duty clause places heavy restriction on weapons like those…check Section 5(a)(1)-“

“…Alice?” It’s hardly a question. Only one person would be fool enough to be reading off about ‘general-duty clauses’ in the Games. And though her speech is carried on the wind, faint, cutting in and out of hearing range, it must be close. She drops to the ground, checking the descent down the canyon walls towards where she guesses it’s coming from. Steep, slippery, but manageable, and then Alice is perfectly welcome to lecture her about how having such a dangerous drop violates some regulation or another.

She barely makes it a foot down before slipping, grabbing a tree branch to stop her fall. Her concentration on the descent slips, too, and she realizes that something is wrong. Alice is still talking, but her words are rushed now, almost panicked, evident even in their half-heard state. And Alice—Alice is the steady one. Alice never panics.

And then she stops. Abruptly.

“A-Alice?” she calls, dreading what will come or what will not.

A cannon shot cracks through the air, shaking the rock around her—and, more pressingly, the snow and ice from the canyon walls. She barely has time to look up, to see what looks like a fractured white wall descending upon her before it hits, dragging her grip from the beleaguered tree.

***

The canyon walls do not contain enough snow for an avalanche, or Emma would drag herself out of it in a much worse state than she does now, lucky to be only cold and sore and with an arm that aches in the wrong places. “Goddamn it,” she manages, rubbing at her head. “I—I mean they had to have known that would happen, right, they had to have known-“

The pieces fall (back, after having been rudely jostled out of) into place. “ALICE!”

She dashes across the canyon floor, steps irregular and limping, guessing at where she heard the sound. Everything is so very quiet now, muffled and still, even the wind flat between the two high walls. But it was here, it was close, and once she finds where it came from then—well, then—it has to be, it will have to be—it must have been-

She heard Alice’s voice, and then she didn’t.

There was a single cannon shot. One death.

Alice would never, ever, kill anybody.

“God damn it all,” she growls. “I swear, if you got yourself killed before me, Alice, I’m going to—well, something. I don’t know. I…hope you’ll be able to stop me, I really do.”

Her foot lands on packed-down snow, trampled and marked with bootprints. Whoever the tracks belong to, they’re too scuffed to tell—but people have been here, more than one, and recently. Her breath quickens as she glances around, one hand reaching to her side for the sword. Picked it up from the camp last night, nobody there would’ve noticed. Never thought I’d use it, but if they’re still here…. “ALICE!” she screams again, the words and the bitter air beginning to tear at her throat. “ALICE! Please.”

A glint of iron-black metal catches her eye, a small cylindrical object stuck into the snow. She walks over, half her mind already recognizing it before she pulls it fully from the snowbank. A pen. Alice’s pen.

Next to it, like some strange, bright winter flower is a bloodstain, still a brilliant red. Not much—not a lot of blood. She grasps for that fact, tries to cling to it as some last desperate hope, but…well, she’s too much Alice to believe it. The hovercraft would have descended and taken her away, and they don’t leave anything behind. A stroke of luck that she found the pen at all, discarded as it was.

She heard her die. She heard the moment it happened.

But…no, it can’t be. There’s something else going on. Nesri told me—they had a plan. There was a plan. Wasn’t there?

A plan. Alice would have laughed at it. “Unless it’s written in 12-point Times New Roman and accounts for every contingency, there’s no plan,” she’d have said. “Just a bunch of hopes tied together with string.” But if this half-cooked plan, with so many variables and so many unknowns and so many ways it could go wrong that it’s barely worth counting is Alice’s only chance at being alive, then…isn’t that hope worth something?

***

She stays there, waiting for who-knows-what. For a plan. For something which will let her know that her sister is still alive and not simply another statistic on the list of those who the Games have killed. And just like everything else here, she gets nothing. Radio silence, save a name and face in the sky that tells her nothing besides the fact that the Capitol thinks she’s dead.

Was that the plan? Or do they know something I don’t?

Her ears prick up at the sound of careful footsteps, someone else seeking shelter from the wind she can hear howling past. Or returning to the scene, where they don’t think anybody else will be, where they think they’ll have scared everybody off. Her fingers, worn numb by the cold, tighten around the sword’s hilt, digging into the leather. As she draws it, she realizes she must look a fearsome sight in the dimming forest, hair matted with snow and blood, eyes wild and bloodshot with lack of sleep.

Whoever it is, they know how to be stealthy. Tall and surprisingly well-kept, he barely makes a sound as the blade digs into his chest. Not drawing blood, yet. “Was. It. You,” she growls.

“Ah…sorry? Was what me?”

“Did you kill her?”

“Again.” He holds up his hands in the characteristic ‘just look at me, could I really have done it?’ pose. Golden eyes, dulled but still reflective, glint as he speaks. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about.”

She doesn’t have the time nor patience for this. “Alice. My sister. Did you kill her?”

“I haven’t killed anybody, so I’m afraid not. You, though…” He looks down again at the sword poking at him, and back to Emma. “You’re not planning to kill me with that, are you? There’s a whole…thing going on about us not dying, and I’d rather survive this. So if you don’t mind-“

He tries to push the blade away from his heart, only for her to jab it in further. He backs away and she follows, pressing him against a tree. “Stay. You said there was a plan. For people not dying. I’m not—I don’t-“ She accidentally slices a line down his chest, the sword shaking in her head. “Shit! No. How does it work, the plan?”

“You know, that hurt.”

“Plan. Now.”

“I don’t know! They don’t tell us these things,” he says, wincing. “I think it’s the trackers, though. If the Capitol doesn’t have those, they have to assume that we’re…dead.” He glances around, looking for a way out.

Well, she can damn well give him one, then. “Where’s yours?”

“I don’t-“

“Where.” She’s starting to sound like Alice, all monosyllables and terse sentences. Curt and no-nonsense, and whatever sort of arrogance this man is spouting is certainly nonsense.

He sighs. “Shoulder. Right one. Don’t be-“

Without daring to think too much about what she’s doing, Emma pulls the blade back, spinning it in her hand before cutting deep into his shoulder. Beyond the blood—that’s a lot of blood, more than she expected—she’s rewarded by a hiss of electronics and a brief, sparking flash. The blade stops against his neck before she pulls it back.

“-too harsh.” He hisses out a breath, pressing a hand to the wound. “Was that really necessary?”

“Get out of here,” she says. “Your tracker’s gone, so go.”

“If it means you don’t kill me, then gladly.” Another grimace of pain. “Although if you weren’t planning on doing so, don’t think there was much reason to be that harsh with it.”

“When you get out.” If you get out, she amends. He’s…competent, but annoying. “If you find someone, Alice—black hair, glasses, will gladly lecture you about safety regulations so don’t let her start—then tell her she’s awful and I hate her and I’m very, very glad that she’s not dead. In those exact words, understand?”

He nods, slipping slightly on the snow as he stumbles away. She watches him go, hoping that Alice did the same only a couple hours ago, that the pen and bloodstain were left behind from the tracker and nothing else.

Taglist: @concealeddarkness13, @rhikasa, @knmartinshouldbewriting, @maple-writes, @aeslin, @pen-of-roses (thanks for Lynn! Hope I got him right!), @makeitmonstrous, @the-moving-finger-writes, @nightskywriter, and of course @ratracechronicler!

#writeblr hunger games #character: alice #character: emma #finally back into the groove of writing these #so here's day 3!#with all the angst it entails

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antiquechampagne · 5 years ago

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Antique Champagne - CH39 - Turning Up the Heat

Payne was surprised the man sitting across the table was not sweating bullets, given both herself and Fahrenheit were glaring menacingly at him. The ease with which he sat and talked, confidently expounding each chem he pulled individually from an oversized cooler placed at his heels, spoke to his gift for words that rivaled Hancock’s in pure effortless charisma. The idiom ‘selling maple syrup to a Canuck’ stuck in Payne’s head, even though she hated that prewar turn of phrase.

Payne studied his travel-stained clothes and honeyed words, searching for anything out of place or ingenuine. From his hole-riddled boots to messily patched trench coat, he seemed every bit the road-weary trader he claimed to be… even if no one had ever seen him before.

“So, Bryan,” Hancock rested his chin on his fist, surveying the goods laid before him. “You’ve got a decent range of chems here, both medicinal and recreational, but why should Goodneighbor strike a deal with you? You must be pretty new to these parts. I’ve never heard of you. Who exactly are you selling for? What makes these chems better than what we can make ourselves?”

Bryan grinned, a wide shit eating smile. “Listen to this guy!” he turned as if to joke with Fahr, who was having none of it. “Who am I selling for?! Who am I selling for?” He leaned forward on his elbows. “I am selling for you! From what I hear, you guys are hurting for chems. We wouldn’t want a real shortage to make waves in this good-ol’ party town. Second, my supplier is an up an’ comer in the chem trade but the eggheads got lotsa ideas, shit that is bleeding edge!” He darted his eyes around the room. “Things like this little baby right here…” He pulled a Jet canister out of a pocket, but this one had a light-yellow band circumscribed around the dusty red canister.

“This ain’t your momma’s Jet!” He placed it down on the table before the Mayor. “And don’t mistake this for your everyday Ultrajet, either. It’s something brand new.” Hancock picked up the palm-sized inhaler, inspecting it as the man prattled on. “This little lady doesn’t even have a name yet, that’s how new she is… but she’s got a smoother, longer high than anything else out there. Great for blasting through those tough patches in life, if you know what I mean.” Hancock shook it next to his ear, listening to the liquid inside before setting it down on the table.

Bryan leaned back, spreading his arms wide on the back edge of the couch. “Now, I won’t say the formula is perfect yet, it’s got a nasty aftertaste… and it’s difficult to produce. That’s why I only have a few canisters ready for sale… but I’m the only one in the whole Commonwealth who has any. In fact, you are the first person I’ve had the pleasure of showing her to.”

“So no one else in the ‘Wealth has tried it?” Hancock pointedly asked, a naked brow arching.

“Like I said… no one outside the lab has any idea that she even exists.” Bryan absently twirled a strand of his long greasy hair. Payne wondered if he had found a cache of hair grease somewhere and slathered his head with every jar, given how saturated his hair looked. At least, she hoped it was some product and not something else.

The Mayor picked up the chem, quizzically examining it again. “I only let in chems I’ve personally tested.”

“Sure thing, boss… you can have my whole supply,” he leaned in and stuck out a hand, “If we have a deal.”

Hancock eyed him over once before grinning, shaking his right hand while keeping the new chem with his left. The deal struck, the inhaler quickly found its way to his lips and he took a generous hit. Immediately he coughed.

“Damn, that tastes like ass!” he spat.

“Told you it needs some work in the flavor department. Just give’er a moment.”

Hancock’s grimace turned to a gradual light, smirk as he sunk back into the couch cushions. “There it is…” With a little chuckle he turned to Fahr. “Fahr, can you take our new friend downstairs and work out the details, please. Clear my schedule, this little lady and I are going to need some time to get intimately acquainted.”

Fahr nodded, motioning to the door.

Bryan gestured to the cache of chems on the table. “I’ll just leave these here, if you don’t mind. I’m sure they will find a good home.” He got up and followed Fahr out the door.

“You going to be okay, Boss?” Payne asked.

“Oh yeah, I’m going to be just fine. I think I’m going to retire for a bit.” He stood up and started to walk across the hall to his bedroom. “Why don’t you avail yourself to the shower? Get all freshened up after last night. The hot water should do you some good.”

Payne was about to decline, but she realized that he was right. The night had been particularly stressful. A hot shower would indeed help ease her nerves.

“You know, that does sound good,” she agreed.

With a tip of his hat, Hancock disappeared into his bedroom.

Back in her room, Payne gathered the things she needed to shower. She picked up each item almost robotically. Clothes. Towel. Hairbrush. Toothpaste. On her way back upstairs, something started to take shape on the edges of her mind. As she closed the creaking door, a thought niggled in the shadows of the bathroom mirror. She stared silently at her reflection as she let her hair down and stripped to her tank top. The constant lazy drip from the makeshift showerhead hitting the galvanized water trough turned tub grated her nerves.

What is it? She frowned at herself. Focusing, she reran meeting Bryan through her mind. He easily schmoozed with everyone, seemingly completely at ease in a place he had never been. Granted, Goodneighbor tended to be a welcoming place, given you did not underestimate the inherent danger of the town. But that wasn’t it. She moved on to the end of the deal.

In her mind Bryan sat there, cool as a mutfruit, shaking the Mayor’s hand full of smiles and twirling his greasy hair. His eyes followed Hancock, never leaving him, his fingers twisting his hair. They didn’t stop until the Jet inhaler left his lips.

He was nervous! He wanted… needed… to see Hancock to take a hit.

WHY?

Unnerved, Payne turned and padded across the hall. She didn’t know the why, but she had to tell Hancock about this. As she reached up to knock on the peeling wooden door, she heard a crash.

“Boss?”

Nothing.

“Hancock?” Payne pushed open the door. There, on the floor, she saw Hancock laying face down in a crumpled heap. Before she could move, the first thing to hit her was the smell, a wall of putrid fruit.

“JOHN!”

Rushing to his side, she turned him over, finding him covered in frothy purple-tinged vomit, his eyes rolled back in his skull. Even through his long coat, she could feel the heat radiating off him. Immediately she began stripping him out of what clothes she could, sweat pooling and dripping down his clammy scalding skin.

“I NEED SOME HELP UP HERE!” she called out. His shirt and coat removed, she picked him up. He was too hot, almost boiling alive in his skin. She had to get him cool. As she reached the hallway, she heard boots pounding up the stairs, two watchmen racing up.

She issued ordered without halting her steps. “You: don’t let that dealer leave. You: get Amari. NOW!”

Payne crossed into the bathroom and gently put the unconscious ghoul on the floor, his limbs twitching sporadically. “Stay with me, John,” she whispered.

She turned the shower with the cold water on full blast, carrying Hancock’s overheating body under the stream. Quickly, Payne realized that his lifeless figure could easily slip under the water. Pulling him on top of her, she slid into the tub, holding him under the icy-cold water and his head up and away from the spray. Repositioning her own tense body slightly, Payne sat in such a way to occlude the drain, causing the water level to begin to rise up the sides of the trough.

Payne didn’t hear the footsteps over the gushing showerhead. Luckily, Dr. Amari’s distinctive infuriated voice preceded her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she stepped through the bathroom’s threshold.

“Something’s wrong. He’s burning up, bad,” Payne answered.

Sliding to her knees next to the tub, Amari quickly examined Hancock. She recoiled slightly as Hancock started to shake before releasing another deluge of fragrant vomit.

“He sampled some kind of new Jet.” Payne struggled to keep her employer’s head from slipping under the spray, her extremities starting to go numb for the cold.

Amari nodded. “This appears to be escalating quickly. We need to stop his body from reacting to whatever is causing this, or there will be nothing left to save.” Her face was grim. “Addictol. Where is it?”

As succinctly as she could, Payne described the location of Hancock’s reserve stash of the powerful anti-addiction drug. Returning with the innocuous looking inhaler, Amari again kneeled beside the soaking wet pair.

“I’m going to need you to assist.” Payne nodded. Amari readied the canister. “Hold his head still and cover his sinuses as best you can. We need to keep as much of this in his system as we can.” She grimaced. “The body’s reaction is going to be immediate, possibly violent.”

Payne adjusted her grip, steadying herself for what was to come. She had never seen the results of a dose of Addictol, but she knew its reputation. Amari’s warning proved prudent; the inhaler was barely out of his mouth when fierce muscle spasms wracked Hancock’s body, causing him to thrash wildly in the metal tub. In short order, his body, aided by the drug, began expelling anything foreign in his system via the fastest route.

Once the worst was over, Amari checked his vitals again. She reached over and turned the water off, his fever breaking. Nearly without words, the two worked in unison to strip Hancock out of his sodden and soiled clothes, laying him on the bathroom floor. Payne wrapped him in the towel and clothes she had brought for her own shower, looking to Amari for guidance.

“He’s not out of the woods yet. I need to examine him more thoroughly. Who knows what kind of damage may have already been done.”

Payne thought for a moment. “Go. Have whoever is nearby hold open every door from here to the Den. Tell people to stay out of the way. I’ll give you a minute’s head start. After that, I’m getting him to you as fast as I can.” Payne would get Hancock to Amari’s lab and she didn’t give a shit about anything or anybody in between.

Amari nodded and left. Silently, Payne counted, shivering and dripping in the claustrophobic bathroom. Nothing about Hancock’s prone body changed as she finished. Gently, she lifted him off the floor, securely holding his warm body against hers before sprinting full bore down the stairs and into the street. The town passed by her in a blur.

Bursting through the open doors of the Memory Den, Payne stopped just feet from Irma who let out a small gasp. She had been pacing behind the doctor when Payne appeared holding a nearly naked Hancock.

“Down here,” Amari commanded, not skipping a beat. Payne followed her down into the basement. As she walked, she tried her best to ignore the blisters and cracks flowering on her uncovered face and shoulders. It was a strange sensation; her clothes were still icy cold from the water but the sunburn seared across her skin.

As Amari opened the door, she motioned to a large couch along the wall. “Put him here while I get the machine ready.”

From in front of a terminal, Curie’s shining white chassis whirled around. “Oh, mon Dieu! What has happened?”

“That is what we are going to find out.” Amari stated. “I may need your assistance. Your knowledge of organic chemistry and drug synthesis may come in very handy soon, but right now, I need to examine Hancock.”

“Of course!” Curie buzzed optimistically. “I will go and procure appropriate accommodations for Monsieur Hancock.”

Payne stepped back, allowing the doctor to work. Amari toiled away swiftly calibrating some contraption while taking fastidious notes as she went over the events that lead to Payne discovering Hancock on the floor. Payne’s heart seemed like it would burst through her chest. She felt completely useless, standing idly in the corner, relegated to only watching and waiting. The only time she could help was when Amari asked her to move Hancock to the glass covered lounger so she could examine his brain activity. The very thought that something might have damaged his brain made Payne internally recoil.

Soon Curie returned with Irma and Kent in tow. The pair managed to manhandle an old hospital gurney down the stairs and into the room. The time seemed to move agonizingly slow, especially since Payne could do nothing to help.

After a while, Amari took notice. “We can take it from here, Payne. There’s not much for you to do for now.” Payne didn’t move. Amari put down her clipboard. “Payne?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Payne stated very matter-of-factly.

Amari rubbed the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she motioned to a folding chair resting in the corner. “At least sit down. We need to work on him.”

Taking the hint, Payne walked over. Just before she reached out, she heard heavy boots on the stairs and turned around defensively. Rushing through the door, Fahrenheit looked around, her stony face etched with stress.

“Doctor.” Her address Amari was more of a demand than a greeting.

“I don’t know anything yet. I’ll update you as soon as I can.”

“That dealer? Did you find him? What did he say?” Payne asked.

“Of course, I found him.” She angrily scoffed. “I found him in an alley after he decided to eat a 38 from his own pistol, the slimy fucker.”

Payne’s thought shifted. “Anything on him? Could you tell where he came from?”

“Like what? You think was he carrying a fucking calling card? He had jack squat.”

“What about the caravan guards?”

“They are detained, but they say they were hired from Bunker Hill. We’ll double check if that is true.”

Payne digested the info. “Make sure to gather up any of the chems this guy had. Lock’em up and post a guard. We have no idea if any or all of the chems are contaminated with something. We don’t need any townsfolk to carry some off. The doctor will need some for testing too.”

“Good thinking!” Curie piped up. “It would be extremely advantageous to be able to test any substances that may have been administered to Monsieur Hancock that lead to this condition.”

Fahr nodded in agreement. She looked expectantly to Payne.

“You wanna get going on that?” Fahr urged, pointing with her thumb to the door.

“No.” Payne stated simply. Payne stood and crossed her arms.

“What?”

“I’m not leaving him.”

Fahr rolled her eyes. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. Take a hike. That’s not a suggestion.”

Payne stayed rooted in place. She may as well have been welded to the floor. “No. I’m not letting him out of my sight. Not until he’s up and around again.”

Fahr started to argue, but it was Amari who cut in. “Payne, we have no idea what kind of shape his brain is in, let alone the rest of his body. With the Addictol coursing through him, we can’t even administer a Stimpak. Whatever his recovery might look like, it is going to be a long one.”

“Then I’ll wait.” Payne grabbed the folding chair and sat, ignoring the colorful insults hurled at her from an enraged Fahrenheit.

Amari finally snapped, her nerves worn thin. “Listen! I don’t care what you two do! Either get out or shut up… unless you don’t want the mayor to wake up!”

Curie stepped in, trying to cool things down. “Madame Fahrenheit, from what I have observed, may I suggest you take over the daily tasks of the mayoral office? You seem the best suited for such a job.”

Fahr glared furiously at Payne, but conceded to Curies point. “Fine, sit your lazy ass down here forever for all I care. It’s not like you could handle running this place anyway!”

“Maybe,” interjected Curie “If we sent word to Monsieur Nate, he would surely be willing to lend a helping hand. He has accumulated quite the impressive resume when it comes to the organizing and administration of settlements.”

Fahrenheit huffed, but agreed. Before leaving Fahr stepped closer to Payne and leaned in. “If anything happens to him while you’re down here, it’s your head on the block.”

#antique champagne #fallout #fallout 4 #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #hancock #fahrenheit #amari #ao3

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imagining-sio · 6 years ago

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Escapism VI

A/n: I saw endgame... I'm feeling a lot of things. This story does not reflect it however so everything is fine. Not really but still.

Chapter VI:

Banana Pancakes

I felt the morning sun beam through my sheer curtains, lighting up my eyelids. I moaned in discomfort at the sunlight, turning over in my bed, revelling in the warmth. I hummed in contentment, moving closer to the warmth object. I felt a weight on my side, further envolipng my body in the sensation.

“Hey,” I heard a faint whisper, followed by a small peck on my forehead. There was a lingering sensation trailing up and down my spine, making me abscentmindedly squirm.

“Mmm,” I mumbled sleepily. I heard a small chuckle in response.

“You aren’t a morning person are you?” My neighbors voice rung in my ears. I felt a pair of lips on my exposed neck, kissing a sore spot as gentle as possible.

“Not particularly,” I groaned, my voice hoarse, finally opening my eyes. I smiled at the face before me, not caring for the fact I had realised that the only thing I had on was my bedsheets. My neighbor, now lying in my bed, in the same dishevled state I was in, propped his head up on his elbow.

“So,” he said.

“So?”

“Waffles?” he arched a brow. I rolled my eyes, a fond smile forming on my face. I mimicked his position, pulling the crisp white bedsheet up to cover myself.

“I arleady saw everything, you don’t really need to do that.” he drew circles on the small of my back. I laughed, lazily pushing his shoulder.

“I was thinking banana pancakes.” I eyed him. His eyes lit up.

“Okay!” He got out of bed, the gust of wind from the sheets sending goosebumps up my spine. He put his boxers on, and walked out of the room. I gave a puzzled expression before realizing that he had no idea what I was actually insinuating. I rolled out of bed, grabbing my underwear, which were hanging on the corner of my dresser. A risdual of the events that happened the night before.

I snatched a strewn shirt on the floor in the hallway leading to the stairs. Upon putting on, I found it was indeed not my own, as the hem hung down around my thighs. I took a small sniff of the material, the scent of my gorgeous neighbor prevalent. I could only smile walking down the stairs barefoot.

“Hey, where do you keep the pancake mix?” Bucky peeked his head out of the pantry, his dishevled hair hanging to the side. he had bruises on both sides of his neck, a result of my own accord.

“Third shelf from the top.” I said, walking over to the coffee machine, placing a pod in the brewer. I opened the cabinet above, pulling out two white mugs.

“Ah, thanks.” He grabbed the box, shutting the pantry door. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Bucky took down one of the hanging pans, setting it upon a burner of the correct size. With the flick of his wrist, he turned the dial of the stovetop. The crackle of the electricity like a rhythmic snapping until a flush of flames was heard. Bucky stood beside me as he baegan to mix the pancake batter, bumping my hip in attempts to get my attention. I bumped back.

“So I gotta question for you.” I said, setting the now filled mugs upon the counter top. I pulled out a stool, giving me a glorious view of his topless back. His skin glistened in the mid morning sun, his tattoo sleeve a stark contrast from his toned, taught back. The sizzling of the pancakes was the only sound between us.

“Go ahead.” he replied, bobbing to a tune in his head.

“Do you know what Banana Pancakes is?”

“Yeah, They’re my favorite. Why?” He peeked over his shoulder. I spurt in my coffee, bursting into a loud cackle admist my coughing. Bucky turned around, pan in one hand and spatula in the other.

“I take it that it means something completely different than actual pancakes.” He looked down at the pancakes that were sizzling in the cast iron pan.

“You could say that.”

“So what does it mean?”

“Not telling.” I sipped my coffe, hiding the smirk.

“Just don’t tell Sam.”

“No promises.” I chuckled. I eyed his behind as he turned around, finishing off the pancakes. It was a comfortable silence between the two of us. Nothing needed to be said. After ten minutes, he set the plates down, not before walking to the pantry and grabbing the maple syrup.

“So are you gonna tell about them?” I stared at his left side as I munched on my pancakes.

“Hmm,” he looked at me quizzically.

“Your tattoos.” I elbowed his arm lightly. His expression faded.

“I got them to cover up a scar. Steve actually was the one who inked me.”

“Wait, steve did this?”

“Yeah, turns out he’s pretty good at this stuff. There’s not enough income here for a tattoo shop though. So a friend of ours who went to college withhim let him borrow his shop a couple times.”

“Did you get the scar when you were deployed.” I asked tentitavely. He could only nod his head.

“I wasn’t paying attention. Lost some good people. I paid for it, though.” He pursed his lips. I couldn’t help but empathize with him, taking his left hand in my right one.

“I got tired of looking at my failure. Wanted to make something good out of it.” he shrugged, taking a bite of his pancake.

“And this spot?” I turned his arm, pointing to the blank spot on his arm.

“I’m saving it.”

“For what?”

“Dunno yet, something good, though.” He pecked my forehead. I hummed, letting my head fall to his tattooed arm, planting a kiss on the bicep.

“So, are we gonna talk about the whole sleeping with each other thing?” Bucky asked, his body tense. I looked back at my empty plate, contemplating what to say. I shurgged, finding myself without a thought on the subject.

“Do you think we should?” I looked back at him.

“So you’re saying that this isn’t a big deal?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying I think we’ve expressed ourselves enough. Though, I would love to see how you try to explain why you look like you got mauled by a vampire to the others.” I giggled as his hand came up to his neck rubbing the numerous marks I had left hte night before.

“I could say the same for you.” He shot back, a smile growing on his face. I laughed in response.

“I highly doubt you even know what concealer is; or how to use it.” I arched a brow. I didn’t even resist when he planted his lips on mine, his arms moving me to his lap.

“Do you really wanna do this?” he asked, tentative in his voice. As if he was scared I would actually say no.

“I really think I do, Barnes.” I cupped his cheek, my other hand carding through his hair.

“Alright then.” He wrapped my legs around his waist, abruptly standing up. The stool hit the floor with a hard thud, and I gave him a questioning look as he walked back up the steps.

“You knew the whole time didn’t you?” I said between the passionate lip locks.

“I’m not a hundred, (Y/N),” he smirked as he kissed me.

“You sly bastard.”

“You have no idea, doll.”

6 months later…..

At this point, I was living on both sides of the street. Almost half of my clothing was in Bucky’s home, and his in mine. There was a mish mash of items as well. He had bought me a toolbox, and was insistant that I learn how to fix things on both my vehicle and his motorcycle. A white helmet was an exact contrast against his black one. The only thing connecting them was a red star on the side as they sat together on the counter.

That wasn’t to say it didn’t go both ways. There were far more succulents in his home now, in little metal wine glasses sans a stem. They were scatted across his home, whether on his counter, window, or beside table. There was a lot more color in his home than the dark tones he had been using since he moved in. Red was most prevalent, given it was now his favorite blanket in the house. It was his only blanket, in a house he kept at sixty-five degrees farenhiet. I needed to work on that.

I no longer worked at the coffee shop, I owned it. Edna and Thomas had finally decided to retire, and left the buisness with me. I took on new help, a local teen, one of Tony’s little geniuses; Peter. He was an absolute sweetheart, took his job way too seriously at first, but he was starting to mellow out. I kept the same work ethic as Edna and Thomas would have, keeping it open mostly in the afternoon. When Thor’s brother moved to town, he asked if I could place him to work here. I obliged.

At first, Loki was extremely difficult and found the job beneath him. But after a stern talking to, and maybe hitting him with a book, he warmed up a bit. He stated that he had gone to culinary school, and I was adamant that he be incharge of the kitchen remodel of the back room, making it so that he could actually cook meals. He was elated at the idea, and had been wokring withhis brother to get the job done. As soon as it was, he hadn’t had a bad day at work since. It was like magic.

Today was no different. The midday rush was crowded, but nothing the three of us couldn’t handle. As peter would take orders, Loki cooked, and I would bring them their desired meal and payment. It was a well oiled machine. Of course, I would be sure to deliver coffee to the shop, every morning upon opening like clockwork. It also helped that I knew evryone’s orders by heart, and I had a wonderful someone to help bring the coffees over. Of course, he practically lived with me so it would seem natural that he would walk me across the street to my work.

As the midday rushed died off, we were left cleaning the dirty dishes, setting the vast amount of plates upon the rack. The bell chimed, signalling someone had entered. I strode out of the back kitchen drying my hands on my apron.

“I’m terribly sorry; but were closin-“ the words caught in my throat.

“Hi, Miss. Do you remember me?” Detective Danvers and her partner were standing in the room.

“Yes, Carol was it?” I closed the room to the back kitchen discreetly as possible.

“We have been mounting the evidence. And the time for the trial is fast approaching. We need you to come with us so that you can testify.” She pursed her lips, her hands shoved in her slacks’ pockets.

“Everything will be paid for. I know this is a dificult subject for you.”

“When do I need to leave with you?” i asked, taking a deep breath.

“Saturday.”

It was Friday.

I nodded my head, gnawing on my bottom lip. She pulled out a small buisness card, a number and an address on the blank side.

“Here’s where we are staying. Our room number is listed below. Don’t be afraid to call me.” She and her partner walked out the door. I looked down at the piece of cardstock, a sinking feeling seeping through my skin.

“Who were they?” Peter walked out the back kitchen. I shoved the card in my back pocket, turning to face him with a smile.

“Just people passing through. They were very sweet. Tell you what, you two can go home early today. My treat.”

“Really!” he almost dropped the plate, his extremely fast reflexes caught it before it fell to the ground.

“Thanks Ms, L/N!” he hugged me bfore he went back into the kitchen, “Hey Loki!”

I tuned out the rest. The small card in my pocket felt like I was withholding a bomb. I waited for them to both leave before I sat at one of the tables, holding my head in my hands as I could only stare at the card. I didn’t stop the tears at all.

I drove home, beginning to set aside clothing that would look professional for a trial. Something that wouldn’t make me look how I portrayed by the media. I was the informant for Danvers, not Rogg’s pet. I was essential to the investigation, not his toy. I went through hell, not his heaven. I woudl show him I wasn’t afraid of him, all while still being petrified.

“Y/n!” Bucky’s voice coudl be heard through the house, the echo reverberating all the way to the bedroom where I was. Each step he took made my stomach sink lower and lower. Dread filled my veins.

“Hey, Peter came by and said you closed early? Is sommething wrong?” He stopped in the doorway, processing the view of my clothing upon my bed, the suitcase of the floor, and my tearful expression.

“Hey, hey, hey” he envoloped me in his embrace, letting me cry into his chest.

“C’mon babe, you gotta talk me through this,” He echoed the words I would use when he had nightmares. His hand stroking the top of my head, his other rubbing along my back.

“I have to go.” I sniffled.

“Where, babe?”

“You know where.”

He pulled back, a hardened look on his face.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t be going.”

“Without me he goes free Bucky! I can’t let someone else face the same fate.” I rubbed my eyes. He backed away, hands on his hips.

“You wanna relive all that?”

“I have to.”

“No you don’t. You know it.” he pointed at me, his tone becoming harsh.

“I don’t trust him. After everything you said he did to you, you’re going back? You don’t think he’ll do that all over again, once he finds out what you did?”

“I’m in witness protection Bucky!”

“Then why was he here!? Explain that to me! Why was is it that I met that bastard? How are you safe closer to him than you are here!”

“I’m not arguing over this again! I made up my mind.”

“You’re safer here.”

“What would I be if I stayed?”

“Mine.”

I slammed the suitcase shut, holding back the tears.

“Get out James.” I said emotionless.

“Y/n-“

“Get. Out.” my lips quivered, I couldn’t look at him. I heard him mutter under his breath, stomping down the stairs.

“If something happens to you, don’t come crying to me!” He shouted from the front door, slamming it behind him. The thud echoed through the house, the reverb felt like a bomb went off.I stooped down to my knees, letting the tears flow like gysers. I spent the remainder of the evening alone, and packing what would last for the three weeks that I would be witnessing. Deep down I knew I wasn’t ready, I knew there would be a lot of tears to come. More than ever. Not having him with me would make it worse.

Still, I was done being afraid. I had to take a stand against him. If this was how I had to do it, so be it. My conscience is clear, he needed ot be put away. I did not care.

I dragged my suitcase down my steps, careful not to slip or fall. It was far more difficult with out the help of my boyfirend. I dressed in one of Bucky’s many band shirts and a pair of leggings, my hair in a ponytail. I oulled the card out of my jacket, pluggin the address into my phone for navigational purposes. With my phone in my waistband, I grabbed my cardigan and purse. I took one last look at my interior before walkingout my door.

A simple gaze across the street and I knew he wasn’t home. There was no life from his side of the street, the fog making it appear all the more dead. I sighed before walking to my vehicle. I opened the passenger door, tossing my cardigan and purse in the seat. I set my suitcase down, plugging my phone into the updated radio Bucky had installed in the classic car.

I shut the door, walking toward the trunk, opening the back door. I hauled the suitcase up, the heavy, hard-shelled object landing with a thud; making the car shake slightly. I shut the door with a thud, wiping the sweat off with the back of my hand. I looked up at my humble home. I knew I would return, but a gut feeling in me said I wouldn’t.

I walked back up to the passenger side, pullingout my keys from my purse. I strode up to my front door, triple checking that it was locked.

Just as I was about to turn around, I felt a hand upon my mouth, a cloth covering his hand. Colorform.

I held my breath, elbowing the assailant in the gut. He dropped the cloth, and I swatted it into one of the bushes near the door. I ran toward the car, desperate to grab the pepper spray I still kept in my purse. The man grabbed my torso, forming a chokehold upon my neck. I sturggled to break out of it, flailing widly in order to try and hit him to make the man break it. I pushed on my feet, sending us tumbling backward to the cement driveway with a thud.

I scrambled away from him, my lungs desperately clawing for oxygen. I got to the drivers door, opening it sluggishly. As I stood up, I felt a hand on the back of my head moments before it rammed me into the side of the bronco as hard as they could.

I was out before I even hit the pavement.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #marvel x reader #Biker!Bucky #biker!bucky x reader #escapism #biker!au #marvel!au #whee #I saw endgame and am dead inside

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96percentdone · 6 years ago

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The Moonlit Prince and the Lying Thief (Part 4)

@oumasaiweek I’m a day late I’m so sorry! I couldn’t finish this chapter on time yesterday I got burnt out and it hit like 3am and I was dying inside. I’ll try my best to keep the daily schedule from here on out though!

But Happy birthday Ouma! This is the fourth entry in a series. If you’re interested, go on my blog and check the tag v3 tangled AU. Thanks!

“I have so many regrets,” Shuuichi groans, voice muffled. His face is starting to hurt a little from the way he flopped right on top of a hedge, leaves and twigs poking and digging into his cheeks, but the darkness the bush provides matches his emotional state, so he stays. If Tsumugi ever found out about this she would be so hurt. He’d never earn her trust back. She’d probably punish him for years, and he’d deserve it. “Why did I do this.”

“Beats me.” Doukeshi leans on a nearby tree, tossing a grey stone up and down. At this rate this side-quest of his will be over sooner than he thought. “Guess you can’t handle this after all, huh?”

“I can do it!” Shuuichi jumps back up, determination in his stance. “It’ll be fine! She’ll just never find out!”

“She?”

“My aunt.” And with that Shuuichi whines again, and falls back to sitting on the floor. “She’ll totally find out…” He’s in so much trouble if he does this. If he goes back right now, he can probably dodge it, right? He’ll tell her he jumped out the window, regretted it, and ran right back in. Does he leave the thief part in?

“You could just lie.” Doukeshi points out. Lying has gotten him out of so many conundrums. There seems to be just a whole lot of backstory here, and while he’s curious, he’s not planning on diving into it. He just wants to get this over with as soon as possible, so he can go home.

“I can’t just lie to her! She’d find me out, and it’d be wrong.” Never mind that Shuuichi is a poor liar, but to betray and then deceive her? No, absolutely not. He needs to just tell the truth, and go back, and this whole thing was a mistake. “I’m going back.”

“Suit yourself.” Doukeshi keeps tossing that rock, staring blankly up at the sky. “Toss me my satchel while you’re up there, will ya?”

“No!” At that, Shuuichi bolts up, and starts marching away from the tower. “We’re not doing that. I’m—I’m going to see those lanterns. You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

“Okay~” Tossing the rock aside, Doukeshi strolls along behind him. He doesn’t point out that this is the wrong direction, just watches as Shuuichi walks several more feet and abruptly stopping.

“I don’t know which way we’re supposed to go,” Shuuichi says, and Doukeshi can’t stifle his snorting, which earns him an embarrassed glare. “Very funny. Lead the way.”

“As you wish, detective-chan.”

They don’t get very far, maybe another few feet, before something rustles nearby. “What was that?” Shuuichi asks, eyes darting around before landing on the bush up ahead.

“I dunno.” Doukeshi shrugs. “Bandits?”

“Bandits?!” The rustling continues. Frying pan armed in sweaty hands, he freezes, eyes glued to the bush.

“Thugs?” Realizing that Shuuichi stopped moving, Doukeshi turns around.

“Thugs?!” Shuuichi takes a small step backward, eyes never leaving the bush.

“Axe murderers?”

“Mur—murderers?”

Something jumps out of the bush, and Shuuichi finds himself hovering behind the thief. After a few seconds, he peers over Doukeshi’s smaller, vest clad shoulder, to see—“It’s just a rabbit.” Small, and furry, and brown. Oh. That…that’s perfectly normal and harmless. He puts the frying pan away.

“You do know we’re outside, right?” Doukeshi asks, glancing behind him, and they both resume walking. “Maybe you can’t handle this.”

“I’ll be fine!” Of course, he knows that. He knows about animals too, but there’s so many other things out here besides just those. Even so, “It was just because you scared me.”

“Nishishi~ Sorry! I can’t help myself!” So Shuuichi is easily scared, huh? Maybe that works in his favor. They only just started but it might be time for a small detour. “Hey, you hungry? Cause I seriously need something to eat!”

“Um, sure.” Beyond the cave, there’s a seemingly endless array of trees. Every tree passed takes Shuuichi one step closer to his dream.

Tsumugi stops in her tracks, scanning the forest for the seventh time in the past half hour. There’s something off about these woods. She’s never been truly alone here—there’s that tavern on the way to town, and there’s always been the occasional child playing dangerous games—but there’s too many people out today. What happened?

The sound of hooves galloping across dirt approaches from behind, and on instinct she hides behind a large maple tree. Citizen? Or worse? A black mare flies past her. Tsumugi only manages to get a brief glimpse at the woman riding it, but the shining chestplate tells all. “No.”

What is a royal guard doing out this deep in her woods? The crown was stolen by someone, but if they’re this far in, they might find him! The trees blur together as she tears through the woods, knocking aside any stray branches or vines in her way. She has to go back. She has to go back!

There it is. The tower. “Shuuichi?” No response. “Shuuichi, let down your hair!” Still nothing. Where is he? Did they find him? She needs to get inside now. Wrenching away at the stones that make up the backside of the tower reveals a hidden stairwell. As soon as there’s enough space for her to crawl through, she does, sprinting up the stairs.

But there’s no one in the main room. “Shuuichi?” And there’s no one in his room. “This just plain isn’t funny!” And there’s no one in her room. No matter where she looks, there’s no sign of silver anywhere in the dark tower. She’s alone.

The noon sun shines through the window, and something shimmers under the stairs to her missing “nephew’s” room. What is that? Pulling the stair reveals a bag containing the stolen crown. But that’s not all. Slowly, Tsumugi pulls out a mask, black and red and resembling a joker’s hat. So Doukeshi took Shuuichi away.

Opening a nearby drawer reveals a glimmering dagger. She’ll find him. She’ll find them both.

“To your right, as previously stated, is more trees,” Shuuichi rolls his eyes as Doukeshi narrates their same-y surroundings. He’s been doing this for at least 20 minutes now, for reasons Shuuichi can’t understand. “But to your left is, voila!” With a grand gesture, the thief showcases a quiet trail that leads to a small building. “Our destination, Saishuu Tavern.”

“Final Tavern…?” What an ominous name. “What happened to the other taverns?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Huh?” What does he mean by that? Did something happen? What could have possibly—“Are you messing with me again?”

“Nishishi~ You make it so easy.” Doukeshi pushes and holds the door open as Shuuichi makes a whining noise in response. “After you.”

“Thank…you…” Shuuichi trails off upon seeing the interior of the pub. It’s…a lot to process. There’s a hodgepodge of stuff furnishing the somewhat-circular room. Some of it is innocent (a portrait or two, a piano), some of it is strange (the steering wheel of a boat, a racket), and some of it…terrifying. The array of knives and spears, a taxidermy deer head, a guillotine, and god there are just so many people. All their eyes are on him. Shuuichi freezes in place.

Except they’re not on him, but on the purple vested man behind him. “Doesn’t that gremlin by the door look familiar to anyone?” Miu wipes her messy blond hair away from her goggles and squints.

“Hmm…Tenko agrees, but she just can’t quite place it,” says Tenko, walking up past Shuuichi to Doukeshi. He’s just glad a woman that buff doesn’t have those threatening eyes on him.

“Who, me? Nah, I’m no one,” Doukeshi waves her off, strolling into the tavern without worry. He takes a seat in a nearby rickety wooden chair. “Sides I think my partner here is the weirder one.”

And everyone is staring at Shuuichi. This time for real. Nobody says anything, they just look dumbstruck at the sheer amount of hair. Until Rantarou pipes up, pressing a finger to his lips revealing the anchor tattoo running down the length of his arm. “No, I know who that is. That’s that thief. Doukeshi.”

“With the hair?” Miu shouts.

“He’s talking about the short one,” says Ryouma who isn’t much taller than the wooden table he’s standing around.

“You don’t get to call me short, dwarf-chan!” Doukeshi pouts, folding his arms and turning away. He looks like a petulant child when he does this, but despite this, is entirely unconcerned about being called out. He’s been in worse situations.

“Nyehh, shouldn’t someone get the guards then?” Himiko says, uncaring that her cape and hat are getting in the way of her attempt to nap on the table.

“It would seem like a logical source of progression,” says Kirumi from behind the bar. Without even looking, she catches the empty glass sliding back her way in her gloved hands.

“I’ll go get them! They should still be nearby!” Kiibo jumps up, one leg made of metal.

“Um—” Shuuichi starts, but the boy is already out the door. Great. He just got here, and he’s already going to lose his guide.

“Heyyy, barmaid-chan, can you get me the most disgustingly sweet drink you have?” Doukeshi waves his arm from his corner table, but she just ignores him. Even better: the thief doesn’t care at all.

“Um, Doukeshi-san, maybe we should—”

“Relaaaax, Detective-chan. I’m not getting caught. ‘Sides,” Doukeshi looks around the room with an easy-going grin, and Shuuichi is once again reminded of the weaponry on the wall. What kind of place is this? Is he in danger? “Don’t you wanna take in the experience? This is a five-star joint!”

“Actually, I think I really don’t—”

“Excuse me,” blue eyes bore directly into Shuuichi’s own, cutting off his line of thought, “but Angie was wondering why you’re with a wanted thief?”

“Gonta wants to know that too.” Lumbering over from the back, Gonta stares curiously at Shuuichi’s hair. “Also, why do you have so much hair?”

“Is it not possible that this menace is one of the accomplices to the crime?” Tenko says.

Ryouma scans Shuuichi briefly, and says, “Doesn’t seem practical with this much hair.”

“Obviously it’s a fuckin’ wig,” Miu says. “They’re both just trying shitty disguises.”

“They definitely don’t make wigs that long…” Himiko mumbles.

“Even if they did, I heard there were two accomplices,” Rantarou says.

The debate goes on around Shuuichi, with numerous voices piping in with their theories or suspicions. He wants to take Doukeshi and leave, but the thief shows no sign of leaving, kicking his feet back on the table and even egging them on. Not helping! The room is stifling. It’s so hard to breathe. Why did he leave the tower? He wants to go home. This was a mistake. There are so many people, and they’re all getting closer, and arguing, and arguing, about him, and Doukeshi, and his hair, and him and him and him—

“Hey guys, maybe we should let him talk,” Kaede says. She gets up from her seat at the piano, and walks over to Shuuichi, who all this time was still paralyzed at the door. With a gentle smile, she asks, “What’s your name?”

Deep breaths. Shuuichi exhales, slow and long, before finally speaking up. “I’m um, Shuuichi. Just Shuuichi.”

“Shuuichi-kun then. Then you can call me Kaede.” Her voice is warm and reassuring, like Shuuichi always imagined his mother would be like. He nods. “Do you want to explain why you’re here?”

“Well…” How does he begin with this? Obviously, Shuuichi can’t say anything about the hair, but the rest? Can he tell them about the deal? Probably not. So all that’s left is his dream. Are they really going to accept something so simple? So childish? It’s worth a shot. “I wanted to see the lantern festival. I’ve never gone, well…anywhere, before, so I need him to take me.”

“And the hair?” Miu asks. Crap he’s not out of this after all. What does he say? Does he lie? Can he lie? Should he lie? The longer he stays silent, the more suspicious this looks. But he doesn’t know what to say! What should he do—?

“He’s going for a world record,” Doukeshi answers. He’s not looking at Miu, but Shuuichi, and winks. A rescue; thank god. “I want in on the cash prize, so I struck a deal with him.” It’s a lie, but it saved him. Shuuichi will have to thank him for that.

“Stealing the crown wasn’t enough?” Gonta exclaims.

“Is the lantern festival really that important to you?” Kirumi asks. Nobody says it, but the question is implied: is it worth getting tangled up with a thief for this?

But to Shuuichi, that’s something he doesn’t even have to think about. “Yes.” It’s resolute, something he hasn’t been since he arrived. Maybe even before that. “I’ve been dreaming about them my entire life, so now that I have that chance, I need to take it.” And maybe he’s working with a thief, but he thinks that Doukeshi isn’t all that evil. He didn’t have to help. In fact, he could have probably snuck out while they all focused on him, and ran back to the tower, but he stayed. He’s risked a lot just to be here.

But they’re going to turn him in if Kiibo gets back before they can leave. Shuuichi’s chance ends right here, unless he does something. He can’t let that happen. “So…I need you to let us leave.”

Doukeshi raises an eyebrow. Is he serious? Does he really think they’re just going to let him leave? Let Shuuichi go, maybe, but not him. Doukeshi is pretty sure he’s going to have to think fast to get out. Is he really that naïve?

“You can tell the guards where we went, if you want,” Shuuichi continues, looking around at the skeptical group, “I think that’s perfectly fair, but please just let us go. I’m sure all of you have dreams, right?”

“Oh? What makes you say that?” Angie asks, leaning over to the side. On her belt he can see a bunch of painting supplies.

“All of the stuff in the room,” Shuuichi explains. He’s been wondering about the eclectic collection this whole time. The knives, and spears, and taxidermy, all scream ‘thug bar’, and so do the tattoos some of the patrons have, but the other things? “Like Angie-san, you painted all the portraits hanging here, right?”

Angie lights up. “I did!”

“Kaede-san plays that piano.”

Kaede nods.

“And I think you—” Shuuichi points to the green-haired man.

“Amami Rantarou. You can call me Rantarou.”

“Rantarou-san’s a sailor. That wheel on the wall was your idea, right?”

One by one, Shuuichi wanders through the tavern, going through all the items in the room. He matches them from person to person, based on things they’re wearing, or things nearby where they were. Even for Kiibo, who is no longer in the room. And one by one, he captures the interests and names and hearts of every single person he figures out. He thought for sure that if Shuuichi came here, he’d be so overwhelmed he’d want to go back home, and yet. It’s kind of amazing, Doukeshi thinks, that someone so naïve is still so capable. Despite himself, he finds himself a little impressed.

“What about his dream?” Kaede asks, pointing to Doukeshi, and once again everyone’s attention is on him.

“Eh, don’t bother,” Doukeshi says, getting up from his seat. “It’s to be insanely rich so I can lord it over everyone else.” That’s a lie, of course, but nobody here needs to know that.

“That’s horrible,” Tenko says, and everyone nods in agreement, making their own judgmental remarks amongst themselves.

In that instant, the door bursts open, and Kiibo returns with around five or six guards. “I found them!”

And just as suddenly, he’s being grabbed, dragged behind the bar along with Shuuichi. He looks around bewildered, just in time to see Kirumi pull a lever, and the wooden floor beneath them lowers into a ramp, leading into a tunnel. An escape route. So all that touchy-feely stuff paid off. “Go. And don’t come back, or we’ll have to turn you in,” she says, with a stern gaze.

“Thank you, Kirumi-san.” Shuuichi bows a little from his spot on the floor. He didn’t think he’d be able to sway them, but he did. Somehow.

Her stern gaze turns soft, and she smiles at him. “Make your dream come true, Shuuichi-san. I hope it’s everything you’ve imagined.”

“Where is he?” Kaito is talking to the patrons about their disappeared thief while the other guards patrol outside, but they seem to be giving mixed stories. Maki tunes them out.

Those stories never mattered, because he definitely didn’t leave through the door. She has her own witness confirming it. So how did he escape? She’s examined every square inch of this room, but she doesn’t see that pesky thief at all. There has to be some trick. Going up to the bar, she runs her hands along the taps, until she finds one that moves. A lever. A yank, and the floor opens up to reveal a tunnel. “So that’s where he went. Momota. Get everyone. We’re leaving.”

“Harumaki—” But she’s already gone. Kaito sighs. “Fine, I’ll get them.”

Tsumugi watches from the window as Maki storms into the tunnel. It was quite easy to manipulate such an impulsive guard. She needs someone to catch that thief, after all, and dealing with a pest is their job. But she has to get to Shuuichi first, before they do.

He was traipsing around this tavern—carelessly—happily. She saw him. He had the audacity to betray her like this? Oh no. She’s not having that. He’ll have to be punished too.

“Oh, hello Miss.” She finds herself being addressed by a young boy with a metal leg. “Can I do anything for you?”

“You can actually,” Tsumugi replies with a plastic grin, before pointing the dagger right between his eyes. “Tell me where that tunnel lets out.”

Shuuichi will get his punishment, she just has to catch him first.

#oumasaiweek #oumasai #saiouma #Ouma Kokichi #Saihara Shuuichi #hope.txt #v3 Tangled AU #my fic #dangan ronpa #ndrv3 #I feel bad I'm late #I'm so sorry y'all #I fucked it up #BUT HERE IT IS #I HOPE ITS WORTH IT

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years ago

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Wan High Weeping (Part 42)

It was both thrilling and startling to hold the ball in her hands again. Exhilarating and pleasantly daunting, a challenge of sorts. Azula had forgotten how much she enjoyed a challenge. She supposed that getting things back in order was a challenge in and of itself, she had never backed away from a challenge so she would take both of them on. If things went her way she’d have two successes born from one action.

She tossed the ball from one hand to the other, waiting for the rest of her team to assemble in the gym. It would seem that she had even beaten her coach. She was beginning to see why the team was as unskilled as they claimed, they couldn’t even make it to practice on time. For a brief moment, she considered that she had come to the wrong place, she was, afterall, in a new school--she could see the possibility of Xi River having a second gymnasium. But it couldn’t be so, Azula had made sure that she had all of the directions and details clear.

She was in the right place.

They were late.

She took the time to readjust her kneepads and elbow pads to her liking. She had gone out and bought them the other day so she would have something to match her new uniform; of course, she had yet to receive the uniform itself.

The squeak of sneakers on polished maple wood let her know that the rest of her team, or at least a few of them had finally made it. Zirin and Chinami come to join her. Soon Ryoko was there as well.

“Hey, Azula.” Chinami greeted.

“So have you changed your mind yet?” Ryoko asked.

“In the hour between sixth period and now?” Azula asked. “No.”

“You’re still on about that, Ryo?” Zirin asked.

“Of course we are.” Ikue replied. “I think that we need a splash of bright red in this group. Or maybe electric blue.”

“Pink?” Ryoko put in.

Azula rolled her eyes. “Why don’t we just dye my hair all three? Hell, let’s throw in purple.”

Ryoko’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!”

Apparently, Ikue was feeling extra ambitious, “we can add some green too.”

“I don’t think she’s gonna let cha touch her hair.” Shoko put in.

“I like my hair the way it is.” Azula muttered as their coach stepped into the gym. She was a tall and chiseled woman with chalky brown hair and deep brown eyes. Having only heard it one, Azula tried to recall her name. Ruka, she believed. Truth be told, she had put more focus into discussion matters of her joining the team than investing it in remembering names. It was a pain enough to confess that after this week she’d have therapy sessions every Tuesday and Thursday. Missing two days of five was an agitating prospect. She supposed it would be for the best that way as her body recovered and adjusted to the spike in activity again. Still, she was going to have to get used to playing for leisure rather than competition.

Ruka looked to Azula first, “your uniform should be in by the end of the week.”

Azula nodded.

With that out of the way, Ruka addressed the entirety of the team. “Alright, ladies, we’ll start with a warm up--laps around the gym for five minutes and then a couple of stretches--after that you’ll get into pairs and practice our spikes and sets.” She paused. “From there we will have a mock game. I expect the five of you to leave our new member with a good impression.” She gave Zirin a pointed stare. She spoke to Azula more quietly. “If you need a break, let me know. I don’t want to overwork you so soon after your hospital visit.”

The woman meant well, but Azula found herself rather vexed by the coddling. “I’ll be fine.”

Ruka nodded. “I don’t doubt that. I’ve seen you play when we versed Wan High last year.”

And now there were expectations.

Ruka punched a few buttons on her stopwatch. “Five minutes begins now.”

The first minute or so went over rather well, she had a few laps on the rest of her team--which was nothing out of the ordinary for her--but she was growing winded quickly. She held her pace well into the second minute, but doing so was taking its toll. This should have been easy for her. The last time she had done something like this, she could hold her pace for a good ten minutes before becoming only slightly short of breath.

It would seem that she would have to start slower. Yet she didn’t know how much slower, she found herself completely unaware of her own limits.

How had she become so out of tune with herself?

Resentfully, she slowed her own pace. And then slowed it more still, feeling almost dizzy. She had taken herself from first to the last to finish.

“You don’t have to run so fast, during the warm up.” Shoko noted.

Shoko didn’t realize that what Azula was doing had been her version of a warm up at one point.

“Besides, we’re not the track team.” Zirin laughed.

It took a very meticulous effort to remind herself that it was an innocent remark. That Zirin wasn’t trying to provoke her. It set in that, perhaps, physical activity wasn’t the only thing she’d have to get reacquainted with. The concept of light-hearted jokes seemed so foreign.

Azula worked through the stretches trying not to think about how strenuous they were juxtaposed against the ease at which they use to come. She tried with even more effort to ignore the way her tummy looked when she bent over. She hoped with just as much vigor that the rest of the team ignored it too. She wondered if this was a good idea after all. She was better off getting back in the swing of things in privet.

She couldn’t help but compare herself to Zirin who was as toned as she used to be. Or to Ikue who was ridiculously tall and every bit as slender. Their stomach didn’t stick out the way hers did. She found it hard all over again, to imagine why they wanted her on the team. She was certainly going to mar their aesthetic.

They worked through a final stretch, one that seemed to drag, and then they broke into pairs. Ikue and Ryoko had ran straight for each other, Azula had no doubts that they would. The remaining three looked amid each other.

“Who wants to work with Azula?” Zirin asked.

“I will!” Chinami volunteered.

How generous, Azula thought to herself. She supposed that someone had to take one for the team.

“I wanted to work with her.” Shoko mumbled.

“See, I was just asking, to be nice.” Zirin noted. She hooked her arm around Azula’s.

“Oh wow. Okay, Zirin.” Shoko grumbled.

Zirin gave a bursting laugh and then turned to Azula. “I like practicing on that side of the gym.” She lead her to a spot near the right corner. “I’ve been practicing in this exact spot for three years now!”

“Congratulations?” Azula muttered.

“Do you want me to grab the ball?” She looked to the ball cage.

“I have one.” Azula moved to her duffle bag where she had tucked her ball away. She took it out once again. She took a moment to appreciate the metallic blue material. It was a custom make and she thought that it was a shame that she hadn’t got to use it until now.

“Ooo, fancy.” Zirin snatched it from her hands. She sputtered an apology and handed it back. “Sorry, coach told me I need to remember to ask first. Can I see your volleyball.”

She was going to be hitting it around anyways so Azula handed it over.

“Ikue! Ryoko! Less talking, more spiking!” Ruka barked.

“Oh, shit!” Zirin hissed, quickly spiking it over to Azula. Her reflexes were as sharp as they ever were, but her body couldn’t keep up with them. She managed to return the hit with a bump but managed to pull something in her leg in the process. She winced but powered through it, returning a second spike.

Declaring that everyone should get a feel for working with Azula, Ruka had them go through a full rotation before proceeding with the mock game. By the end of it she was already feeling sore and sluggish.

Zirin tossed her a water bottle. “Don’t push yourself so hard.” She said softly. “We want you to have fun here.”

Azula took a rather greedy sip from the water bottle. “I’m not pushing myself.”

“And our team is going to state this year.” Zirin rolled her eyes. “Seriously, take it easy, I’d feel awful if you got hurt again.”

“I’m not going to hold the team back.” Azula refuted.

“Well of course not.” And with more volume she added, “It’s Ryo’s job to hold the team back!” Her lopsided grin was stolen by a ball thumping her on the head. “Ow!”

“Holding the team back is a team effort.” Ryoko insisted.

“Well you’re the MVP!” Zirin insisted.

“And you’re the runner up.”

“See,” Zirin put a hand at the corner of her mouth and muttered into Azula’s ear, “you’re going to have a lot of competition as far as holding us back goes.”

As comforting as the prospect was, Azula almost felt bad. She wondered what dipped their confidence so low. At least they were good humored about it, unlike her.

.oOo.

Zuko turned the chip over in his hand, admiring the glinting blue. He was feeling better than he had in a long time. And better still, knowing that he’d be getting a second chip--red, like one of the ones Hahn showed him--very soon. As soon as he had the month milestone chip in his hands, they would switch him to outpatient. It was a possibility that both rattled him and thrilled him in equal part. He would be free. But also free to find his way back to heroine.

“You ready for some exciting and wholesome group therapy?” Hahn asked.

“I’m bursting with joy.” Zuko grumbled.

“You better be, because we have to walk all the way to the other end of the building this time around.”

“You mean the psych ward?” Zuko asked. “Why that way?” Perhaps he had no room to talk being as he considered himself to be a bit of a basket case but the thought of passing through the section of the facility that housed the more sever of the disorders chilled him. He felt like an asshole for thinking it too.

“Pipe broke in our regular room.” Hahn informed. “Bit of flooding going on. Ya know, the usual mishaps. A change of scenery might be nice, ya know?”

He guessed that he wouldn’t mind a little kink in the routine. He still wasn’t particularly looking forward to this session. From the sound of it, today they were going to be discussing what had led the to drugs or alcohol in the first place. Zuko’s desire to talk about Ozai was about as real as a flying bison.

Hahn led him down a series of hallways. Even after being in the institution for a little over a month, he still couldn’t get use to the staff personnel who consistently monitored the halls. Their watchful eyes kept him in line.

They came to the second floor lobby where many halls conjoined and went their separate ways. This was where the elevator was, they’d be taking it a floor up to where most therapy sessions were held. For the elevators, this area had the most traffic, he scanned the crowd for any familiar faces from his last group session. He picked out a boy named Rin and a girl named Emi. He didn’t know them well enough to approach them. He didn’t know anyone there enough to make a greeting.

He caught sight of someone walking his way.

He couldn’t imagine why, so he assumed she was simply walking in his general direction.

“Still a little disorienting, huh?” Hahn asked.

“A little.” Zuko admitted, he had always been an introvert but these days he seemed to be sinking further into it. He only really talked to Hahn anymore.

“You’re not dead, after all.”

He jumped.

“And you’re as easy to scare as ever.” Though it was some hoarser than her remembered, he recognized that silky voice. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t recognized her face. But then, it had been so long since he’d seen it.

“What are you doing here?” Zuko sputtered.

“I have therapy too, dum-dum.” She settled a hand on her hip. “Mother sends her regards.”

“Y-you’ve talked to mom? What are you in therapy for.” He didn’t know which he was more curious about. He was going to be late. It didn’t matter, the group could wait. So long as Hahn stuck around, he wouldn’t get in too much trouble.

“It’s a long story, Zu-Zu. After you made your depart, CPS got involved, I’m living with her now.”

He knew it was a lie. He was of age, what he did was no concern of the CPS. He knew that she and their father weren’t exactly on good terms. But, then, he didn’t really expect her to disclose anything about that situation. He had a good feeling that her new living situation and whatever was going on with she and Ozai went hand in hand with the reason for her therapy.

“Are you going to be living with her or staying with Iroh when you get cleared?”

“I. I was going to live with Iroh...but…” He paused. “I can see mom again?”

“That’s what I said.” Azula rolled her eyes.

She sounded more like herself than she did before he ran away.

“She’s worried about you.”

“Were you?” He asked. She had to have been, otherwise she wouldn’t have called Iroh.

“Absolutely not.” She frowned. He didn’t believe that either.

He was worried about her. He didn’t realize it until then, but he was so worried for her with the state he had last seen her in. Quiet and quite visibly unsure of herself. Despite her posture and her high held head, he could see it in her eyes that something was wrong. They were missing their usual spark and he was almost certain that she still wasn’t comfortable with herself. Not entirely.

“Enjoy rehab, Zu-Zu.”

He watched her head for the elevator.

“Oh!” He called.

He didn’t think that she heard him, but she came to a stop and peered over her shoulder.

“Thank you. For calling uncle.”

She waved it off.

“Really, I think that you might have saved my life.”

“Good to know.” The elevator doors opened.

“We going inside too?” Hahn asked.

“We’ll wait for the next one.” He didn’t want to draw out some sort of awkward silence.

“Really, I think that you might have saved my life.” Hahn mocked as the entered the second elevator. “I didn’t realize you were so sappy.”

“Shut up, Hahn.” Zuko jabbed him.

Hahn pulled the door open and motioned him inside. It looked like he was the youngest of the group again. “You’re late.” The session leader noted.

“He ran into his sister.” Hahn vouched. “It’s been a while since they’ve seen each other.”

The man sighed, “let’s get into it then. Ki, would you like to start us off?”

Zuko tried not to nod off as listened to various addiction origin stories. Ones that ranged from crippling depression to a friend hooking them up back in high school and still not being able to climb out of it. One story in particular stood out to him, “having children took its toll.” The woman spoke. “I had the first one, thought I could handle a second…” She trailed off. “Drugs took the edge off of the crying and fussing. I wanted to be a good mom, I really did. But I’ve failed as a parent.”

“You couldn’t have failed worse than my father.” Zuko didn’t mean to cut her off, he hadn’t even realized that he’d spoken out loud.

“I take it you’d like to share share next?” The therapist commented.

“Not particularly.”

“Well you interrupted Mrs. Wansabi’s story so I assumed that you had something to say.”

“It’s fine, I was done talking.” Mrs. Wansabi smiled.

“No matter, we still need another person to share and we didn’t here from Mr. Kasai last time.”

Zuko gritted his teeth. This therapist was agitating, he was going to have to talk to someone about seeing someone else, before this man made him snap. “You want my story?! Fine! I have an abusive sorry ass excuse for a father. He beat me regularly and heroine took the pain away. It’s not that special.” He turned to Mrs. Wansabi. “At least you’re here and trying. That’s more than my father can say. You feel bad and you haven’t even hurt your kids yet. My father...I think he enjoys hurting me.” He couldn’t help but think of Azula too and that more somber look in her eyes. “Hurting us.”

“So you ran away.” Hahn finished for him.

“It was the best thing I could have done for myself.”

“You’re lucky that you ended up here and not in a drug ring.” The therapist put in, unhelpfully. “That kind of impulsive…”

Zuko cut him off. “I could have ended up here, like I did. Or I could have ended up dead. Which still would have been better than living with him.”

The room fell quiet.

He hoped that he hadn’t landed himself an extended stay.

.oOo.

Yue beckoned Azula to sit. “Water?” With a nod from Azula, she filled up a small glass. “How has school been treating you?”

But Azula wanted to start with something different. “I ran into my brother today.”

“On the way here?”

“Ursa--my mother told me he was in the rehab sector here.”

Yue took a sip for herself. “Was this encounter a good thing?”

Azula shrugged. “It was an encounter.” She paused. “He told me that I saved him.”

“Did you?” Yue asked.

She shrugged again. “Maybe in a manner of speaking. I just called uncle for him.” Yue continued to stare so she added, “he ran away.”

“Your father?”

“I know. It’s hard to believe that anyone would run away from such a compassionate man.”

Yue chuckled. At least someone shared her sense of humor, that joke hadn’t gone so well with her mother who used it as an opportunity for more hugging and tears. The kind of affection that still made Azula squeamish.

“It was probably nice to hear. That you were able to help your brother.”

Azula considered. “It’s a start.” It had made her feel like, perhaps, she wasn’t as dreadful of a person as she initially assumed.

“A start?”

“He left on bad terms.” She wasn’t entirely certain of this. “Rather, we had some unfinished matters.”

Yue nodded. “Do you want to talk about those?”

“Perhaps another time.” It was a subject so layered, that it may have take many sessions to cover. Truth be told, this time, she wanted to talk about her other problems. It was easier to talk to someone she didn’t know very well. Someone who she wouldn’t have to see every day.

“Would you like to tell me how you’re adjusting to school?” Yue asked. “Have you found any new friends.”

“A few.” Azula replied. “My new volleyball team and Nagako--she quit the team.”

Yue smiled. “I’m happy to hear that you decided to join after all!” The woman sound very genuinely thrilled. It instilled some sort of pride within Azula. “Did you have practice already?”

“The first one was yesterday.”

“How did it go?”

At this Azula’s face fell.

Yue’s own expression darkened. “What happened?”

Azula tightened her grip on the glass. “I couldn’t…” She paused. “I knew that I wasn’t going to be as good as before, I’ve been out of practice for so long…” She trailed off. “I didn’t think I would perform that poorly.”

“Did someone say that you weren’t doing good?”

“Yes.” Azula mumbled. “I did.”

“I’m sure you performed better than you think.”

“You were not there.” Azula held her ground. “You wouldn’t say that if you had been.”

“Azula, you’ve put a lot of strain on your body in starving it. This has nothing to do with your skill set. You made it sound like you were a natural. So let things happen naturally. Treat it right and your body will recover and you will most likely find that you haven’t set yourself as far back as you think.”

It sounded so good aloud. But Azula wasn’t sure if she believed that. Even so it didn’t alleviate the sting she was feeling in that moment. Nor would it lift the burden that came with noticing just how much her figure had changed. Before joining the team, she hadn’t considered how much the stretches would annunciate that. “You don’t understand.”

“I would like to. What were you thinking about?”

She didn’t want to say it out loud. It was embarrassing enough in her own headspace. Yet she wanted to say something. She kept quiet.

“Would you like to come back to this subject later?”

Azula almost took her up on her offer. She held her silence until she found a less degrading way to say what was bothering her. “I almost did it again...”

“Did what?

She set her cup aside and brought her fingers to her mouth.

“What stopped you?”

“I don’t like losing.” She replied. “Not to anyone else. Not to myself.”

“What made you want to throw up?”

Another uncomfortable question. She had dug herself into it. “I don’t look the same.” She gripped the edge of her chair. “I got to see myself from many new angles yesterday...” She would let Yue fill in the blanks. “I don’t look like the rest of the team.” Save for Shoko, but somehow she always managed to gloss over that.

Yue nodded seeming to think things over. “You’re going to have to stop comparing yourself to other people. You are you. They are them.”

“I don’t look how I used to.” She was being difficult, but not cunningly so.

“That’s fair.” Yue muttered, leaving Azula quietly flabbergasted that she would agree. “You’re going to have to be patient. I promise you, that you will get there again. Remember when I told you that you are a pretty girl?”

“Yes. So?”

“I’d like to say it again. There isn’t one single way to define beauty. How can there be when there are so many different body types out there?”

Azula swallowed.

“If I may be up front?”

Azula waved her on.

“I think you are putting way too much focus on yourself. Your team, they aren’t paying as much attention to you as you think.”

“Are you sure? We’ve only had one practice together and Zirin already has a habit of reminding me not to push myself.”

“They aren’t paying attention to you for the reason you think. You are putting a lot of focus on your weight. Your friend seems to be focusing on making sure you don’t hurt yourself. She isn’t thinking about your weight, she is thinking about your well being.”

Azula considered.

“I’d like you to try something else for me.” Yue spoke again. “I don’t usually say this, but, try to think of how others see you instead of how you see yourself. From the sound of it, they are happy to have you on their team. Do you really think that your weight matters?”

She wanted to say yes, but Yue had left her ample time to think and she was struggling to find one concrete example to back that.

“There are more profound aspects of yourself. I’ve seen you only two times now and I can tell that you are strong, determined, and persistent. If you really want to think about the physical, you have beautiful eyes and nice hair.” She paused. “If you want to make this process easier for yourself, you’re going to have to break the habit of valuing yourself based on a number. One that isn’t even that high, all things considered.”

Azula chewed the inside of her cheek, determined not to shed even one tear. Yet, that was exactly what she had needed to hear. A solid confirmation that she may have been exaggerating what she saw in the mirror. “I’ll, try.”

Yue smiled. “Speaking of trying, have you been sticking to the meal plan?”

“I have.”

“You’re doing yourself a very big favor.” Yue said. “It’s refreshing to have a patient willing to cooperate.”

“I want things to go back to how they were. Your plan is the only one I have right now.” And besides, she had already stated that she would go through with it. Surrender wasn’t a flattering action.

“They will. Sooner than you think.”

Sooner still seemed so painfully long. At least now she was actually doing something. At least being on the team was a way to feel her progress as it happened. And yet, progress seemed so hard to acquire.

“It isn’t going to happen over night.” Yue noted.

But it would happen. Azula decided so.

Her mind was made up.

And when it was, it couldn’t be wavered.

#Avatar #Azula #Zuko #Yue #Zirin #Katara #Sokka #Suki #Toph #Aang #Mai #TyLee #Fanfiction

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lillaxtrigger · 6 years ago

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Faded Land: Chapter 14 (Pt1)

Along the stretching scenic route, Clara travels atop her trusted bear spider steed; the rising sun to the east beating upon their backs reflect its blinding glow upon the neighboring lake Erie. Above her be the stretch of concrete road alongside the ruins of a once proud city. Within her sites stood the appropriately named city of Niagara falls, the imposing stature of the fabled barrier coming into view. Even more of a surprise being some of the restored structures near the closing edge, varying in differing quality as if the city was slowing pulling itself back from the brink. Even from afar, the scientist could tell the blockade that divides the continent stood tall, estimating the structure to be around at least 250 meters in height. Such a monumental wall proves ever effective in dividing the harsh wastes that make up a majority of the once mighty nation from the mysterious northern lands of maple and pine. To most, it would truly be a wonder how one could cross through such a great divide, but not to Clara. She theorizes that a break from the barrier might be near; for no matter strong it may be, it can’t possibly rival the natural might of the iconic roaring falls. No doubt that the Canadians can never cap a waterfall of that size; for its unending flow would forbid such construction. A massive opening like that may provide a way to squeeze into the country, just have to find a way to give the border patrol the slip. Though with all the rumors she heard about how merciless the immigration control is, the latter might prove more difficult than the former. Even more of a growing concern being Angelo, the poor girl growing and slowing more and more with each passing day. Her thorax swelling evermore like an infect boil, its a wonder what ails the ursa arachnid. Given her mutant biology, it could be quiet literally anything. But scientist knows for sure that its not her eating habits, being very careful not let any overindulgence sneak past. This matter might go beyond the realms of midnight snacking, unfortunately. Though the mystery of her steeds sickness will have to be put on hold as another site stops them in their tracks. Beyond the city limits stood a gate, two armored trooper standing to its sides with strange rifles in their arms. Not a doubt a single site of the woman riding atop such a terrifying mutant will cause them to fire on site. It’s a miracle that neither of them have been spotted them yet, one that the scientist plans to take full advantage of. On the sides of the gate, the two armored soldiers stand watch, ever ready to open fire on whatever rouge marauders decide to show their sorry anarchy asses. The outside world may try to deal a harsh hand, but little does it know that these Canadians have the better card in the form of advanced weaponry. As they concentrate on whatever the road ahead may serve next like well trained military dogs, their insane focus ironically proves to be their downfall as they fail to realize the mutant scuttling under the freeway above them. The scientist and her sickly steed crawl under the concrete freeway, taking every step cautiously so that their sly efforts to sneak past would not be noticed. Surely, Clara has drawn a royal flush in this hypothetical game of poker; she got this game in the bag. But to her surprise, a new hand is dealt. Echoing from behind, the sound of a roar engine closes in. A glance back reveals the site of a rusty truck coming out from the horizon. The bed on its back full of armed anarchists and raiders swiftly on the approach, their numerous firearms aimed down upon the two guards of the gate. From the back of the truck, the oncoming pillagers berated the two troops with a barrage of constant gunfire; many of the bullets that hit simply ricocheting off of their titanium armor. A few of the bullets that bounce off almost hit the hanging bear spider above, striking the sides of the concrete highway. Unflinched by the approaching assault, one of the soldiers looks towards their partner. A single nod is all that exchanges between the two before one of them aims their high tech rifle down upon the oncoming truck. Installed on the side of the rifle is a single dial labeling the weapons output, the wielder of the weapon turning it to the maximum setting. The soldiers rifle charges with a low hum as the truck full of armed raiders closes in. Finally, the advanced rifle is soon fired, a deadly beam erupting from the barrel of the gun. The ray races towards the approaching truck, the vehicle in its path attempting to evade. The laser proves faster however and engulf the truck and all of its passenger in a fiery explosion upon impact. Clara watches in astonishment as both metal and body parts scatter alongside the resulting bang. A single victim of the disaster crawls out from the fiery wreck as his body lights in a blaze, desperately dragging himself towards the edge of the road where the river flows. His efforts to save himself prove in vein however, as he succumbs to the flames consuming him, mere inches from the side. The scientist witnessing this failed siege comes to the realization that the Canadians forces that she may have to face are far more advances in technological firepower then she dared to imagine. The power difference was on full display, like a pissed off hillbilly with a rusty shotgun trying to fight against a horde of hungry grizzlies. Might be able to get a few lucky shots in their drunk induced rage, but sooner or later, your gonna have your insides eaten out. That in mind, she makes her own ursa hurry across the bottom of the freeway to avoid the same fiery fate. Once the scene of the highway was clear, they jump from the roads to the rooftops when heading deeper in. From leaping across the small alleyway, to weaving across large stretches between roads; the duo travel along the skyline of the city of Niagara, Clara taking note of the populous from below. Along the streets walked numerous citizens, their garbs not poor rags and thin sheets, but clean shirts and tidy pants on them all. Through the roads drive past several vehicles; some rustic, others clean, all seemingly repaired and driving as smooth as the silk Angelo spews out. Truly an oasis from the hovels and ruins that she’s seen throughout this war torn nation. But what truly stands out is the overall population of the city, being far bigger than she had initially predicted. A sort of estimate close to half the number to the big apple if she had to go off. Guessing its not that far out of the question, being so close to the border and all. Bet some of these people are hoping to escape this hell hole for promises of greater tomorrows. And given her journey throughout the once proud land of the brave and free, can’t exactly blame any of them. Though given the massive amount of people here, its safe to say that immigration process might be kind of a slog. Don’t really have that kinda time, unfortunately. Need to find a way across the border ASAP, whether legally or not. In her venture through the rooftops of Niagara, a strange pattern from below begins to peek her interest. Merging alongside the streams of walking citizens be the occasional Canadian trooper, armed with rifles and all. Some of the surrounding citizens prove scared, but not outright panicked. The soldiers themselves don’t seems all that eager on firing the whopping heat their packin either, few just carrying their guns on their shoulders. Guessing their kind of like the police officers of this joint, making sure no one threatens anybody or something extreme like that. Even the roads aren’t free from this phenomenon. Odd vans stand out among the river of grounded vehicles, hovering along the ground with no wheels along their bottoms. Their designs being sleek and simplistic compared to the partially restored cars and trucks surrounding them. Likely to guess that these futuristic automobiles belong to the Canadian military given the similar color scheme. Honestly, this shouldn’t be that surprising, given the two soldiers guarding the gate. And even though the law around here might be kinda strict, it is more then a welcomed change to the scientist. She’s seen first hand how wild and merciless the untamable lands beyond can be and is thankful that some social structure is erected this near the border. Though given that some of the social cities she visited fell victim to some kind of horrible secret, like mutating outsiders, or segregating social class based off some dumb animal race; its best to keep laying low. Even more of a concern being all the extra heat wondering around. No doubt that they can’t go any deeper into the city without attracting some unwanted attention. Can’t exactly just gallop into town atop a mutant bear spider and warrant a few wayward shots. No doubt that such a mass panic would spell doom for the both of them. Guess Clara’s gonna have to stash her steed somewhere if she wants to scout deeper into the city. Need to find a place free from the eyes of the Canadian authorities, somewhere dark, secluded, and where no rational person without a pair would dare to look. And its gotta be soon; Angelo looking that she might collapse any minute. Panting breaths leaving the bear spiders maw as she scuttle across the rooftops. During her voyage across the numerous rooftops of Niagara, she makes a quick stop at the edge of a building, catching quiet the interesting view. Beside the streets below stood one of those futuristic Canadian vehicles, parked beside a partially restored building. Between the van and the premise, both citizens and troopers could be seen carrying out boxes of cans out from the back of the vehicle. From there, the line of haulers make their way through the door of the structure, coming back out seconds after they enter with empty hands. In the ongoing effort, one of the citizens trips over a crack in the street and drops the box that he carries, the cans within scattering across the pavement. The surrounding people stare down upon him, looks of fright forming upon the masses as some watch the canned goods roll by. Worry is all the man can let out upon the site of his mistake before an ominous shadow looms over him. Turning from his blunder, he finds the darkness blanketing his figure to belong to one of the troopers; their glowing gaze silently staring down upon the man through their heavy plated helmets. Their grasp reaches towards the downed man, the citizens worry grows as soldiers palm nears. Paranoid with what the trooper might do to him for his blunder, the man tightly shuts his eyes and braces for the worse. Seconds go by with next to nothing happening, the citizen slowly opening his peepers in a wonder what the Canadian was doing. Surprise overcomes him when he finds not an angered fist, but an inviting palm awaiting him. Cautiously, the grounded citizen meets with the Canadians grip, the soldier softly grasping the mans hand. In one motion, the soldier lifts the man of the pavement and helps him land in his feet. The citizen still wearing a worried gaze, something nudges the troopers boot. A glance down revealed a discarded can had rolled aside the Canadians feet. Kneeling down, the soldier picks the can of off the crack concrete streets, the good soon coming to the citizens grasp. Feeling the troopers gentle grip on his shoulder is all that he needs to relax, reassuring the man that all is well. Having witnessed this act of mercy and kindness in person, Clara begins to think back about the countless tales of the Canadian forces unending ruthlessness and scorning brutality. Should have known that those rumors were simply the byproduct of political bias. Can’t believe I almost bought into such silly old hoaxes. Right on that thought, Clara witnesses a wayward by passer jerk the can out from the citizens grasp, causing the man to fall to the pavement once more. His ripped garbs flowing in the passing wind, the woman scampers through the streets, hoping to get away with her newly pilfered prize. Her dreams are soon to be cut short however as the Canadian trooper takes aim of his lethal laser rifle. Their line of site clear, the soldier pulls the trigger and fires their beam down the street; the ray piercing through her chest in one fell swoop. Struck in the midst of her escape, the petty thief collapses upon the concrete. A pool of crimson slowly forms below the fresh corpse; the growing scarlet staining the label of the dropped peaches. The surrounding populous is horrified by the sudden demise, several gasps escaping into the air due to the scene of brutality. In the aftermath, the soldier that done the deed approaches the cadaver, the edge of their boot stepping upon the woman’s ruby red blood. From the pool do they retrieve the piece of pilfered good back to their possession, the red soaked into the label trickling down from the base of the can. The good retrieved, the soldier returns to the citizens front; a gaze of horror etched on the mans face. Presented by the soldier be the can that was knicked from his grasp, the citizen takes back the can in a weary fashion. The cherry red liquid trickling between his fingers, he looks back to the soldier; the trooper giving him a simple thumbs up. Not wanting to seem grateful, the man forces out a less then enthusiastic grin. Seems all those nasty rumors might hold some ground after all; the scenes that just played out before the scientist showing more evidence to their truth. On that note, Clara realizes that it might be smart to skedaddle while she’s still hidden from the public eye. Don’t want to wind up with the same empty feeling in her chest. Traveling a reliable distance within the limits of Niagara, Angelo continues to gallop across the rooftops of the city. Coming to a stop, Clara looks down the edge of the building they stand, a smile beaming through. Below was the dead end of a winding alleyway, concealed beneath a shroud of shadows. The dark hollow free from the eyes of the public, it was the perfect place to stow away a sickly spider. She guides her steed down the building, crawling her way into the secluded darkness of the alley. After parking her ursa arachnid right into the deepest part of the dead end, she dismounts from the chimera’s backside. Landing on the concrete ground, she starts to dig through her pack intent to leave something for her steed to munch on while she’s gone. To that end, she pulls out a can of peas and another of beans. Might as well let her have those; starting to get sick of the taste of both. With Angelo though, she’ll take whatever Clara will give and scarf the stuff down like a birthday boy with cake all over his face. Just shove your whole face in there, sure that nobody else would want a piece. Before she departs into the dangerous streets, she gives her trusted steed one last word. “Afraid your gonna have to camp out here for a while, Ange. Can’t really go any further with ya.” On that does her ursa arachnid let out a low moan in response, her six eyes gazing upon the departing scientist. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. Just wait here for me.” Making her way out from the shadows of the alley way, she finds herself in the middle of the Niagara streets, alone. She soon merges with the passing crowds traveling along the walkway, ready to set out into the unpredictable city. The beginning of the urban voyage proves itself to be quiet smooth sailing, having not ran into any trouble thus far. And though the occasional Canadian trooper shares her path, she does her best to act as unassuming as possible. Don’t how much their bullshit threshold can take before they feel like giving their fancy firearms a good old test drive. Could be at the sound of a sneeze, could be when the falls explode; who honestly knows at this point. In her travels through the jungle of stone and steel, a sudden sound of an explosion could be heard not to far away. Looking back towards the direction of the blast, she spots a black van speeding out from behind one of the buildings that shoves many of the other cars out of its way. Upon the turn does the van start to skid across the roads, aiming to slam into the streets. Acting fast, she dodges into the out of control vehicle, evading the oncoming death machine. Weaving out between van and the wall, she manages to dodge her demise by mere inches; the van slamming into the opposing stone brick building. Taking a glance back towards the black vehicle, she watches as it takes off with a spurt to its tailpipe; the smoke blowing into the scientists face. The puff of smoke clearing from her vision, she finishes her coughing fit and looks upon the aftermath of the crash in complete horror. Mangled bodies, broken limbs, mashed corpse, the whole site sent shivers down her spine. Those left alive moan and weep in agony, while other surrounding the accident panic and cry in distress. In her shock, Clara begins to back herself away from the scene of the crime, when an approaching alarm reaches her ears. Turning back, two Canadian vehicles come racing out from the corner. Best guess is that they’re in the midst of pursuing that black van that crashed here a moment ago. While one continues to race through the streets in pursuit of the hit and runner, the other stops aside the scene. Out from the back of the futuristic van burst out a team of those armored soldiers, ready to tend to those left alive after the accident. While the living are carried into the back of the vehicle, those unfortunate are stuffed in a bizarre, bin like box. Its opening emanating a strange pink glow, it swallows whatever is stuffed in its mouth, taking in the corpses whole despite its small stature. Its in this moment of recollection that Clara decides to flee from the scene. Best book it the hell outta there before people start asking questions. Thankfully the rest of the trip proves uneventful, turning the corner to find the world famous falls themselves in the distance; passing between the great divide itself. Looks like her guess was right on the money. No man made wall of any kind gonna put a cork in a torrent of that size. The mythical Poseidon proves ever the victor in this everlasting boxing match of man vs nature. Gazing out into the roaring waters, she wonders how exactly she can get a closer look at the wondrous landmark. In her search for a better vantage point, she turns the corner for her eyes to catch a luscious green island standing near the falls. A such beautiful site indeed; one that would make quite the vantage point. Crossing the bridge leading to the island lets Clara behold its beauty up close, the plants and flowers scattered across her site in full bloom. Not overgrown blue wood, not mutated plants, not weird velvet grass or any other strange botanical bullshit like that. Just the warming site of the natural beauty set before her. After the literal miles of lifeless wastelands and cracked earth that she had walked across in her venture, to come to such a luscious garden such as this was truly a dream. Taking a little stroll through this slice of heaven wouldn’t take up too much time. Wasting not a second further, she runs through the stone trail leading deeper in with a relaxed breath and a joyous smile. Across the carved stone trail she walks, the scientist looking upon the island park in all its natural green wonder. The stretches of grass along the sides of the walkway, countless leaves decorating the lengthy branches flowing in the wind, the flower garden depicting a floral rainbow of roses, lily’s, and orchids. All of it acting as a sort of retreat from the cold and sometimes dead atmosphere of the cruel wastes and cities. Even the very air feels fresh and free from horrible despair and rotting corpses, Clara savoring every inhale she takes with a hearty breath. For a brief moment, she ventures off the stone trail, coming to the scene of one of the many flower gardens set throughout. A closer look upon the garden portrays its botanical residence to be alive and healthy, just like the flowers of yesteryear. The scent of the surrounding orchard reaching her nose, she helps herself to the many mixing aromas that hover through the air. The smell of the blooming scene gives the scientist a feeling of euphoric relief that she desperately needed. Out from the garden, Clara lays eyes upon a glorious stone statue, its stone carved into the form of a young woman, garbed in combat gear. Upon its base be a gold plaque, reflecting the light of the shining sun on its surface. Engraved on its gold, a noble epitaph is told: “To commemorate the brave accomplishment of Sally-way Marigold. War Hero of the U.S. Smasher of the Canadian Army front. The first times of young men and women everywhere. Good game, Lassie. Good game.” Huh…Must have been one hell of a woman to get a whole statue of her. Moving from that memorial, Clara fancies a closer look at one of the many solid hard trees planted across the park. The scientist traces her palm across the rough bark of the oak, the touch letting her know that this wood is far healthier than the many rotting stumps and withering tree scattered across the wastelands. It’s lush tops enforcing the claim; the many green leaves flowing in the wind. Given its full grown size, she’d wager that these babies have been here for a long while. Wonder when exactly they’ve been planted here? Though fascinated by the magnificent oak, something beyond its bark truly catches her eye. A site that she thought her eyes may never partake in again. Atop a small mound stood a lone tree; faint spots of yellow stand out among its green leaves. Curious as to what the yellow could be, she ascends the little hill with but a dozen climbing steps. Baring across its thin branches, the lone wood sported rich fruit Actual fruit! Not some kind of weird mutant variant with sixty billion eyes or something more disturbing. Regular bright yellow lemons so juicy and plump that you could take hold of them with but a single hand. For so long, Clara was force to satiate her ever present hunger with nothing but canned goods, fruit being a rarity among them. But now, she can satisfy her tastes with a juicy bite of the fresh fruit before her. The temptation was too much for her to bare, she begins to reach towards the low hanging citrus. Her grasp inches closer and closer towards the natural delight, her mouth watering like the very falls that stood from behind. Its not until the sound of an approaching scream reaching her ears does she snap out of her hunger induced trance. From nearby, she notices a lone man charging for the tree, a strange lance like device in his hands. Swiftly climbing up the small mountain, he jumps towards the fruit filled tree. From the tip of the lance onward does the man begins to disintegrate before the scientists very eyes, the gaze of overwhelming horror painted across his face as the random man is quickly consumed by an unknown force. Having witness this horrible scene first hand, Clara swiftly backs away from the lemon barring wood, soon finding herself tumbling down the mound that the tree stands upon. After rising from her fall, the scientist takes a glance back to the top; tree and its fruit rocking in the wind. Tons of questions begin to flow through her mind upon this curious event; but ever curious herself, begins to conduct her own test. Plucking a single blade of grass from the ground during her ascent back up, she approach the tree once more with the utmost caution. From the pinch of her finger, she blows the blade of grass towards the wood; finding the green to burn on approach. Seems like this miracle of botanical engineering is being guarded by something on par to a force field. Funny, figured this kinda science fiction horse shit would be akin to something from Independence Day. But given the Canadians weaponry that she’d had bare witness to time and time again today, it might as well be science fact at this point. Should’ve figured that this fruitful oasis would be too good to be true. Standing out here in the middle of the open, its no wonder it hasn’t been picked clean by now. The better question being why there isn’t any kind of signs warning people of this kinda bull. She fancies a trip around the small mound for any kind of literal sign depicting a warning of the dangerous field among this tranquil public park. Her efforts do manage to suss out a single sign upon the bottom of the mountain, quickly jumping down to wonder what it mentions. And sure enough, it does foretell of a warning to not approach the tree, depicting a stick figure being torn apart. Alright, that checks out. Guess she wasn’t exactly paying attention, was she? Damn the tempting allures of the yellow citrus, their sour juices were nearly her end! And speaking of paying attention; this quick, but terrifying near death experience reminds the scientist to get back on track to the mission at hand. Poor Angelo can only hold out so long after all. Though tempted to stop in awe at the parks wondrous beauty, the scientist swiftly passes through the natural scenery, determined not to halt in her goal. With this drive, she manages to make it to the scenic view of the landmark in no time flat. Standing near the edge of the railing, Clara beholds the roaring Niagara falls in all of its flowing majesty; the descending waters crashing upon the dividing river below. From this point of view, she has a much more detailed look of the blockade separating the country. As expected, the well known landmark dividing the near impenetrable blockade is far from free in terms of security, boasting two lofty towers upon its side. The top of those towers sport armed turrets, ready to fire for any moment security is breached. Even with the stationed guns so far apart, it’ll be quite the challenge to squeeze through; Angelo’s condition not making things any easier. Leaning onto the railing, Clara wagers to gauge as deep a look she possibly can in hopes of strategizing. Her figure edging along the safety railing, her hips slide against the sleek metal. From her perspective, she realizes that although there is a ton of climbing room for Angelo to scuttle on, there’s very little in terms of cover. No doubt people are gonna notice a massive mutant bear spider climbing along the walls hard steel. Might as well just paint a massive target on their asses while they’re at it. Still, there’s gotta be something to work with. Can’t be completely impassable. The roars of the falls echoing in her ear drums makes a brilliant idea spring to mind. All the scientist has to do is have her steed climb upon the wall from an imperceptible distance, then slowly approach the landmark without catching a single eye. With next to no one even noticing their presence, she can safely ascend the Niagara falls from behind the descending waters themselves. Then when nearing the top, she squeeze out from the waters and quickly scuttle between the towers. Might take some timing, some skill, and for the fickle whims of chaos theory not to knee her in the beans; but she might be able to pull off this illegal border crossing without a single hitch. Right in the midst of her formulaic planning, her shifting position and lack of attention prove to be her literal downfall as she begins to slide off the slippery railing. Her gaze quickly shifts down upon the cascading river below, the scientist finally realizing her plummeting situation. Thankfully, she fails to fall far, as her ill desired drop come to a sudden halt. Dangling upon the distant river, she gazes up towards the edge and takes note of a pair of arms grasping tight at her leg. Attached to them be an over coated individual, their face shrouded in darkness by their wide rimed fedora. Swiftly, the figure pulls Clara back up from the hefty drop and drags her back to safety of the cold hard concrete. Her feet back upon the ground, she pulls herself out from her initial fear and terror with hyperventilated breathes. In the midst of her heavy breathing, she utters out her appreciation for the coated figure. “Thanks...a bunch...back there...” Though his features are well guarded by a vial of darkness, a responds come out of him on the form of a noir like tone. “No sweat, little lady. Just watch yourself next time. N’kay?” His advice having been given, the overcoat individual takes his leave back into the park. Just what was a weirdo like that doing here anyway; not that she ain’t thankful or anything. But people dressed like that don’t just go for leisurely stroll through places like this without cooking up some kind of scheme. The scientist knowing to be a prime example of that suspicion. Selling illegal drugs? Weaponry? Or maybe just primed and ready to flash his sick figure to some unsuspecting children? Who can really tell? Ain’t got time for that nonsense anyway. With her breath having calmed and a tactic glued in her mind, she quickly hurries out of the park and back into the heat of the jungle to rendezvous with her spider bear. Hopefully, Angelo will be okay enough to go on with the daring stealthy shenanigans scientist has in mind. Out of the park and into the city, she retraces her steps back towards the alleyway she had left her steed in. Along the way back, she gets another peek of the van crashes aftermath, this time with neon pink glow straps akin to police tape blocking the way. A couple of the Canadian troops were already on the scene, investigating the corpses of the crash and cleaning up whatever blood was spilled. Hate to be one of those poor bastards on clean up detail. Must be a really shitty position to get stuck with. Scrubbing off gallons of blood and scrapping up flattened intestinal tracts and livers off the walls. Still, not the most morbid thing that she’s seen today. And given the overall brutality of this whole city, clean up duty sounds kinda peachy, dare say relaxing. Anyway, best get moving along before people start to recognize her. Away from that horrid mess, she comes to the alley where she parked her furry steed. Descending into the dark depths of the corner, Clara comes to bear witness to a surprising site. The sickly bear spider that the scientist had left in the shadows of the alley had vanished. Puzzled at first, the scientist wondered what might have happened to her bear spider. The first thought to form in her head is that maybe she wound up going down the wrong alley. It’s quite possible that she might have been distracted by the cleanup scene from beforehand and mistakenly took a wrong turn? A glance towards the corner of the dead end showed otherwise however, the two cans that she had left behind lying upon the concrete were cleaned out; bits of bean and peas scattered around the tin containers. Yep. This was definitely where she had left her spidery steed. Only Angelo could leave behind a mess like that. That being the case, just what the hell happened down here? Wondering that very question, the second thought that worms its way in her mind is one of worry and paranoia. What if someone spotted her down here and called the troops on her fuzzy thorax? Ain’t no way she could have put up a brawl against their armored hides, not in the terrible condition she’s in. No doubt that they probably forced her out and dragged the poor girl to some kind of experimental lab, or worse yet, just shot her on the spot. Though reviewing the empty alleyway set before her, she fails to see any signs of a struggle. No claw marks, no scorch spots, no gun shells, no webbing, not even a single drop of blood to be found. She...She couldn’t have just up and left, could she? It was obvious she wasn’t feeling well, but was it that bad? Thinking this, she hunches over as her eyes glue to the spot she had left her sickly steed behind; her knees falling to the cold hard pavement. A horrible feeling begins to swell in the scientist very core, one that forces self deprecating thoughts into her conscious. Soon, drips begin to splash upon the concrete next to her legs, her face flowing a trickle of tears. It was obvious to anyone that Angelo wasn’t feeling well, but had it gotten that bad that she was forced to flee? Dammit! Why didn’t she stop at a doctor or something on their way? Would it even be possible to treat a chimeric creature such as her? Why did she have to leave her like this? What have I done? Upon this, all goes quiet. Clara slowly picks herself off the concrete, wiping away her tears with an audible snort. As her hands begins to ball themselves, her arms tremble alongside them. The seeds of doubt begin to sow themselves into the scientist very being. That ungrateful arachnid has been taken care of, fed, even saved a couple times, and she has the gall to just up and abandoned her in a place like this. You know what. If that damn spider wants to fuck off and leave her behind in the dust, fine! There’s plenty of alternative methods that the scientist could easily take that comes to the same results. Don’t needs her sorry spinneret to cross the border, anyway. With that fresh rash resolve does she turn back towards the way to the open streets, something in her way making her short lived stomp come to a sudden halt. Between her and the open streets stood the figure in the overcoat that had saved her from taking a deadly dive. “Hey there, little lady.” he kindly greets. “What the-...Have you’ve been following me, you creep!?” “Whoa harsh! Now is that any way to thank someone for saving your life?” “...What do you want?” “I was just comin to give you a little offer. One that you’d be dumb to turn down.” That odd statement makes the scientist aim her squinted eyes down upon the suspiciously dressed individual. Just what exactly is this weirdo trying to offer that she’d be hard pressed to refuse. Swear, if he turns out to be naked under that coat, Clara’s gonna pull her knife out on his privates. “You want on the other side, don’t ya?” Uttering that single question, the scientists eyes widen. The anonymous individual letting out a light chuckle. “Though you did. Couldn’t hide or lust for the fable green pastures on the other side of that wall from me.” “Get to the point.” “Right. Right. Me and a bunch of friends of mine have been leading a resistance group against the Canadians. Help us knock those maple leaved monsters down a peg and we may find a way to get you across the border in one piece. But best think fast now. As this one time offer ain’t comin back. What do you say?” It takes the scientist a fair minute to wonder if she should accept his proposal, weighing the limited options before her. Of course a skeevy son of a bitch like that would be a wild card to place your bets on any day of the week. Even with such an enticing prize on the line, it’d be a miracle to have your head intact with someone like him. Then again, given how her steed up and went a wall on her lab coated ass, it might be a bet that she’s gotta take. Can’t really see herself sneaking across the wall like an FBI intelligence agent. Probably end up with more holes then an example of trypophobia. Having next to no choice, there’s only one option left for Clara to take at this point. A heavy sigh escapes from the scientist lungs before she gives the man a question of her own. “Just where is this little resistance of yours at?” “Hang on a minute, sweet cheeks. Can’t just tell you where our base of operations is at.” That having said, the man digs into one of his many coat pockets. From one of them, he pulls out a long black sash and tells the scientist to: “Now stand still while I put this blindfold on you.” “Yeah...Fuck that. You think I’m dumb enough to fall for that stupid trap? I ain’t putting that anywhere near my head.” “Aw fine. We’ll just take the alternative route. People never wanna do it the fun way anymore.” Guided by the over coated individual, the scientist travels across the streets of Niagara. Soon, the two come to an abandoned dock along the rim of the city. Both stop at the edge of the pier, overlooking the rapids of the river below. “Alright, you dragged us to the end of some dead docks. Now what?” the scientist pushes. “Okay, see that lakeside in the distance out there?” Gazing in the direction the man pointed at, Clara looked towards a small island parked along the side of the wall. “You mean that isle right there?” “Yeah. Look closer and you’ll see it.” Cautiously, the scientist approaches the edge of the dock, focusing her attention on the tiny isle in the distance. “I don’t see anything.” “Just a bit closer.” Upon that suggestion, Clara leans out towards the dock, trying to spot this so called “Base” the guy was mouthing on about. “Still nothing.” “Little more.” Her feet just mere centimeter from the edge of the pier, she leans over the rapid waters of the river. The man soon takes the moment to grasps one of the scientist ankles and attempt to tilt her off the dock. But Clara proves the wiser however and counters with a kick to his stomach. “You honestly thought I’d fall for that cliché crap?” she boast, her shoe still in the anonymous figures stomach. As she tries to withdraw her foot to escape, the man in the overcoat tightly grasps at her ankle and keeps her foot near his stomach. Without a moment of hesitance, the man takes a mighty leap off the docks, dragging Clara down into the river with him. Taking the plunge into the Niagara waters, Clara is swept along the rapids of the river as she struggle to keep her head above the water. “That...mother...fucker!” As she attempts to keep herself afloat, the scientist notices the man in the overcoat swiftly swimming in her direction. Try as she might to escape from him, the anonymous individual soon catches up to Clara and grabs hold of her midsection. The scientist struggles in his arm as he begins to swim back to the edge of the city. “Hold still! I might drop you!” he tries to warn. “Let go of me, you freak!” Both of them come to the bottom of a cement cliff, the stone far too tall and smooth to climb. They careen along the side of the river, until coming to the open mouth of an outflow pipe. The man in the overcoat grabs hold of the mouths edge, both him and Clara struggling against the current of the river. The over coated individual pulls against the flow and throws the scientist inside the pipe. Tossed into the dank opening of the waterway, Clara coughs up the river water that she had swallowed as the over coated man behind her soon pulls himself out of the stream. As she regains her breathing, she hears from him: “Right. Sorry about the deceitful dive I made you take. But you were the one who didn’t wanna wear the blindfold.” Rising from the slimy floor of the sewer opening, she looks towards the man from behind to find his back turned as he wrings out the water from his coat. “Now, if you’d kindly follow me, I can show you the way to the base.” Turning back towards the scientist, the anonymous individual witnesses her bolt deeper into the metal caverns. “Stop! If you go now, you might wind up dead.” The walls of the sewer widening in her escape, she looks back down the light of the waterway and sees the man in the overcoat struggling to keep up. All that water his coat soaked in must be slowing him down. Lucky she’s wearing thin clothing, ain’t it. As if she’d stop for that asshole after the stunt he pulled. Hell no. Getting as far as she can from that nutcase. With that in mind, she begins to notice the tunnel growing darker the deeper she goes. She digs into her pack for anything that might light her way. Hoping that some of her stuff didn’t get washed up. To that end, she pulls from her pack a flashlight. A relieved breath escapes her lungs when she finds that it still works upon the flick of its switch, the end shining its light down the damp darkness of the sewer tunnels. The sound of her rapid footsteps echoing through the brickwork caverns, she makes a lot of tight turns in hopes of losing the man in the overcoat. In her moment of escape, she feels a slight resistance against her foot and stops. Crouching down, the scientist finds a little string at the foot of her shoe. At that moment, she notices a mechanism go off and launch out a barrage of knives. Seeing the collection of cutlery's sharp ends heading towards her head, the scientist hits the deck as the knives pass over head. Seems these tunnels are lined with boobytraps. No doubt that these man made caverns are stuffed with them. Gotta find a way to keep from tripping them, but how? Its then that she turns her attention to the sewage waters below. As regretful of a choice it may seems, she may have no other one to take. Just pretend its not a river of hazardous biological waste made up the potential thousands of people from the surface. Just trick the brain into thinking its something you love, like cola, or pink lemonade, or liquid lime cream. After taking a moment to psychologically prepare herself, she takes the plunges into the underground river. A moment in the waters and Clara soon resurfaces in utter disgust. Oh god! It’s not working! The self psychological trickery isn’t working! It’s still a river of piss and shit! Her plan to evade the life threatening traps fails anyway, as countless pikes begins to spring out from the waters. Quickly, she flails back to the edge of the river, evading any spikes that pop out from the depths of the sewage. All around her, wooden pikes erupt from the waters, some of them tearing through her clothes as feeling their wood brush past her very skin. She swerves past any that poke out in front of her, using them to push herself closer to safety. She manages to dodge the springing spikes by the skin of her teeth and climb back to the concrete walkway. Upon the side of the sewer does her entire body drip liquid sewage down her lab coat. Well, that seemed to be an utter waste of time. Not only does she smell like shit, she looks like it too. Damn shame. Liked this coat too. Oh well, its intact enough to wear it. Just gotta tear off the torn bits. Oh well. If she can’t take the dive down in the river, the scientist will just have to take things slow. However, right on that very thought does a familiar voice ring through the brick tunnel. “Where are you!? Come back!?” Hearing the voice of the bastard that thrust her into these smelly escapades pushes her to make haste. Hoping to elude the overcoat dressed maniac, Clara bolts deeper into the sewers, cautiously watching her footing as she hurries. She takes plenty more random turns to try and lose her anonymous pursuer. Any tripwire she sees coming, she swiftly hops over. For any pressure plates she spots, she leaps across. The scientist manages to evade most of the death traps scattered throughout the cavernous sewers, that is until she makes an inconspicuous turn. Around the corners, she comes to a screeching halt, wide eyed at what was at the dead end. Dozens and dozens of cages, filled to the brim with feral, crazed eyed rats. All of them lose their minds upon site of the scientist, their squirming bodies squeezing against the bars of their cages Such a site makes the scientist take a wary step back, wishing to gain as much distance from the flesh hungry vermin as possible. She feels her heart quickly sink however upon the sound of a small click reaching her ears from below. Taking a glance down, she’s found herself having stepped on a pressure plate beneath her feet. She hears the sound of the cages doors unlock, the countless rats pouring out as their cage doors open. Clara doesn’t waste any time to the flee from the swarm and darts down the tunnels of the sewers. In her efforts to loose the approaching pack of rats, the scientist takes every corner she can and jumps across every river of sewage she comes to. But no matter what methods she uses to outrun the oncoming swarm, the rats always manage to find a way to close the distance she gains from them. Soon, the fuzzy pack of rapid vermin begin to encroach near Clara’s feet in their pursuit, the scientists breath beginning to wain. Nearing her moment of demise, she manages to spot a sign of salvation in her path. A gloved palm, open downwards and awaiting for her own accepting hand in escaping the approaching horde. The countless vermin nearing her feet, she eagerly jumps towards the open palm. Leaping towards the awaiting hand, she reaches out towards her unknown rescuer with her grasp mere inches away. She begins to drop back down towards the awaiting horde of rats, ready to devour her flesh and bone. Right on the verge of descending into the waiting teeth of the plague below, the hand reaches out and takes hold of the scientist grip. The arm swiftly pulls Clara up from the swarm, the scientist herself lifting her legs out from their reach. She watches as the stream of vermin eventually travel away from the hanging pair, Clara letting out a massive sigh. “Thanks a bunch. I don’t know what I’d-” Clara begins to thank, but stops her gratitude once she looks up to the identity of her savior. “You!” Grasping at her palm be the anonymous man, dressed in the body sized overcoat. The very same one she was attempting to elude. Both of them land back upon the clear concrete walkway, Clara beginning to backing away from the man. “Hang on minute! I’m not gonna hurt you! I swear!” he tries to mention. “Oh yeah! Like I’d believe that after you dumped me in a death trap filled sewer!” “If you didn’t run, I could have guided you safely to our base.” “Your base is in the sewer of all places?” “It’s the only way we can hide from the Canadian troops. Those trap you ran into were meant to keep people out. You’re lucky your flashlights and screaming lead me to you, else you would have wound up as Swiss cheese for the rats to clean up.” “Yeah, fine. Just get me outta here already.” “After all that and I don’t even get a thanks?” “You lucky you don’t get a kick in the teeth for dragging me down here. Now show me the way out or I’ll find it myself.” “Oh ho, I don’t think you’ll be finding your way around this maze from hell anytime soon. I’m the only one of us that knows this place like the stitch count of my coat. A round comfy 400 threads. Unless you wanna wind up as bits and pieces flowing through the river of piss, you ain’t gotta choice but to come with.” The man can can hear an audible growl escape from his guests mouth as he awaits for her answers; she drags her hands across her face before finally admitting: “Alright, you win. Please lead out from these dank caverns, my humble savior.” “Come on. There’s no need for that.” As promised, the anonymous individual navigates Clara through the deadly dank maze, turning the occasional corner and swerving around one or two traps. While the two travel along the underground canal, the scientist hears her overcoat dressed guide attempt to give his pardons with: “Listen, uh...I kinda get why your pissed right now. I wanna apologize for any kind of distress I may have caused. It’s just...with the Canadians constantly snooping around the city, we have to take every kind of precaution we can think of. That’s why I tried to push you off the pier back there. Can’t really blame ya for trying to fight back and all. Hell, those docks I took you to probably make the perfect set for a murder mystery movie.” Looking back, the man finds his apology to have little effect, the scientist still refusing to even look in his direction. “...Tell ya what. To make up for all the crap I’ve put you through, you can help yourself to a couple of cans on the house. Just mention the Dandy sent you.” Once the mention of free food had reached her ears, Clara’s eyes dart towards her guide. “You can even get yourself some water to give yourself a shower.” “Errm...” “It’s clean water. I promise.” Although her suspicions are still set at an all time high, the scientist begins to ease herself a bit. Besides, the offer of a shower sounds all too promising to ignore after all that she’s been through. Eventually, Clara is guided toward a light at the end of a tunnel, the man that lead her looking back with wide eyes and a gleeful giggle. “Now, feast your eyes upon the mighty stronghold of the Niagara resistance!” Beyond the darkness of the tunnel, the scientist beheld a wide open area, reminisce to that of an underground subway lobby. Built around were small buildings made from cheap looking splintery wood planks and discarded piping. Some sported spray painted signs to differentiate between living quarters, bars, and other miscellaneous services. Congregating among them be dozens of others garbed in rags and rough combat gear, mingling and playing among one another. Overall, the place kinda looked rundown and decrepit; sort of like one of those super old doll play sets worn down and beaten into by the cruel hands of time and reckless snot nosed children. To that end, the scientist can’t help but let out a wary groan. “I know it kinda looks like a dank shit hole now. But once we manage to take down some of the Canadians forces and steal their stuff, we’ll really improve on things. Til then, we get by on whatever we can get our hands on.” It’s in the midst of this introduction that the sound of an excited shrill reaches their ears. Ahead of them, a rough looking punk woman came swiftly on the approach. From her purple lipped mouth, a name eagerly shouts out. “Dandy!” The punk meets up with the anonymous man with a tight embrace, Clara looking away as she hears the suggestive sounds of loud snogging and sloppy slurping emitting from the two. Their amorous mouths soon part from one another, the punk adding to her loving greeting with: “Oh baby, I missed you so much.” A light chuckle escapes from the mans lips, him returning with: “I missed you two Shoa. I didn’t think I’d get a taste of your luscious lips again with you going out on that last mission.” “Baby, you know I’m always up for action. Either in the heat of action or in our moments of passion, I got enough steam to keep going all night long.” “Energetic as always. That’s why I love you.” The couple begin to laugh among themselves, but the punk halts her giggling once she catch site of the scientist behind her honey. “Uh, Babe...Who the fucks the bitch behind ya?” Parting from their embrace, the Dandy begins to introduce his punk love to Clara with: “Oh yeah! Sweets, this little lady that I brought with me here is Clara. She came to help out the cause.” Amidst his introduction, Clara takes note of the punks less then welcoming gaze; her narrow eyes and sour frown making it quite clear the scientist of what exactly Shoa thinks of her. In turn, Clara tucks her head down, her lab coat collar brushing against her cheek. Drawing breath through her teeth, the punk lets out a slight hiss. “Babe, come on. You promised me you wouldn’t bring home anymore strays. We can’t just take in any random ho you find on the streets; don’t know what tricks those Canadian might try to pull.” “Hone, relax. I’d know if she was planted, okay? Beside, she managed to survive some of the traps that we set up through the tunnels. Anyone who manages that’s gotta be pretty handy to have around, right?” Shoa begins to look away from her hubby, an uncertain groan leaving her lungs. “Hey. You know, if I didn’t bring home as many people as I do...” In the midst of his sentence, the overcoated Dandy pinches his punks chin and directs her attention to his tender eyes. “I wouldn’t have ever met the most rockin punk I’d ever laid eyes on.” This endearing comment makes the punk face flush red and a giggle escape through her smile. “Aw dammit Dandy. You always know how to make me melt. I’ll let it slide this time.” “Great!” With that, the anonymous man takes a light grasp of his girls shoulder and adds: “I gotta report into the boss and tell him what I discovered while I was out. Mind if you get Clara sped up on things?” “Don’t worry about a thing, baby. I’ll make sure she knows how things work around here.” The dandy then departs with a kiss goodbye from his punk mistress. As Shoa waves his overcoat babe with his leave, the scientist behind her can’t help but wonder if she should be reeling back. That glare that punk gave her earlier definitely showed signs of hostility; looking like she was carving Clara skin with those dagger eyes of hers. But then again, dealing with the constant threat of the Canadian forces could wain anybodies trust down to a thread. Plus, the scientist hasn’t exactly gave a good first impression herself. Betting breaking the ice might get things to cool down. Maybe sharing some stories and a cup of tea will lighten the mood. Determined to break through, Clara slowly starts to approach the back of her punk host with a friendly salutations. The time she traversed through the mutant forest always gets people talking. “So uh, you’d probably got some good fight stories to tell, don’t you? I got some pretty good tales to tell myself. See, this one time, I was going through this forest made entirely of- Before she could continue to recount her daring escapades, Clara soon feels the hard and aggressive punch of the punks fist clock her in the jaw. The swift blow manages to knock her down onto the tile floor below, Clara covering her jaw as she reels back from the surprise attack. Laying upon the cold hard concrete, Shoa’s imposing shadow blankets the scientist as the punk looks down upon Clara with a fierce scowl. “Listen up, you lab coated, rank ass ho. I didn’t get the second in command of the resistance as my boy toy just by surviving a couple harmless death traps. I fought dozens of those armored bastards that walk above us, taking on their laser armed asses with nothing but my bare fists to get that far. I ain’t about to lose all that to some random scientist dressed slut.” As she warns and insults the scientist, the punk slowly encroaches upon Clara, eventually backing her against the stone wall. “You try even a flash, wink, or even a nudge to him and I’ll shove my spiked boot up your tight little vag so deep, that you’ll be bleeding all year round. Got it?” With that question, the punk looks upon the scientist as she awaits her response, their faces mere inches away from one another. Not a single peep escapes from Clara’s lips, she repeatedly bops her head to agree, just hoping it get her to go away. Luckily, the punk retreats upon her response, leaving the scientist lying upon the cold stone tile. Once losing site of Shoa, she slowly picks herself off the ground; her legs refusing to stop wriggling as she rises. Jesus, the swings on some people. Nearly thought the jawline got fractured for a minute there. Still, given her boasts after which, its probably a safe bet to say that she was hold back there. Don’t know what really happen if she swung with full force. Forget the jaw, that bitch could knock the scientist’s head off. In any other case, it’d probably be smart to just bail while no ones looking. Unfortunately, an entire sewer maze filled with deadly trap and flesh eating vermin stand in the way to freedom. Probably wind up as a lifeless, chewed up pile of bones clogging the drain pipes. Still, she does have one point. The scientist is rank as all hell. Gotta find a shower before the stank burns the senses of her nasal cavity. Wondering along the resistance base, she notes the signs situated near the makeshift buildings show which ones are which. A little medical center, a small dining bar, a resting place, most of the commodities one would need to get by. Though the site of the dining bar makes her stomach beg with a loud rumble, now ain’t the time for food. Gotta find a bathroom around this joint before the scientist starts to attract small insects. Through all the splintery huts and rusted hovels, she manages to find one building with a small sign labeled: “Clean water”. Upon the site does the scientist literally sprint inside; god be damned all who stand in her way of her much needed wash. Within, Clara halts her sprint at the front desk, her hand constantly pounding the bell set along the top. Soon, a woman swiftly rises from underneath, her head taking the form of a banana. “What!? What!? What do ya want!?” her shrill voice wonders. With a sharp slap to its surface, Clara smacks her hand upon the desk and demands: “I’d like to take a shower!” “And I like to get some fucking sleep. What’s your point?” “Uh...Someone told me that I could wash up here.” the scientist repeats, her tone calmly drawing back. “Ha ha! You know hard it his to come across clean water in these times, especially down here? Folks around here need every drip we-” In the start of her rant, the woman at the desk begin to take note of Clara’s fowl odor. She reels back with her nose pinched tight. “Ah!...Aaah!...Jesus fuck!...God!...What the hell have you been wallowing in!?” “Sewer water.” “God dammit! Get the hell outta my establishment!” “But...I need something to get rid of this rank stench. And I ain’t leaving until I get some.” In response to her refusal to exit, the woman behind the counter pulls out a shotgun, its barrel aimed squarely at the scientist’s face. Clara soon puts her hands up and is quick to reveal her guides request. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hang on a sec! Dandy sent me! Dandy sent me!” Upon those word does the clerk lower her firearm, a frustrated sigh escaping past her lips. “Fine, wait here a sec.” With that, she quickly scampers out into the back room, leaving Clara alone to wait. As she waits for the clerks returns, she spots a man resting upon a chair in the corner, pinching his nose as he stares at the scientist. Clara tries to flash her a smile, yet all she gets in response is his swift departure. Yeah, kinda figured that be the proper reaction. As quickly as she left, the woman returns with a bucket in her grasp. She slams the pail upon the desk, the water within sloshing about. “There. Take it.” “...A bucket? Don’t you guys have like a shower or-” “Just take it and leave!” The woman screaming for her to depart, Clara snatches the pail and bolts out of the building. Once the scientist had left, the woman lets out a relieved breath. “Shit smelled like dying rats.” After finding somewhere private to wash she gets to work on cleansing herself of her accursed scent. Rubbing her skin, wringing her clothes, washing her hair, all the things she needs to clean quickly in the comfort of her own privacy. Out from the shelter of her private sanctum does she walk, taking in the refreshed scent from her body. Not exactly ocean fresh, but she’ll take anything to not smell like decaying horse carcasses. Its then that her stomach lets out an agonizing scream, the outcry making her decide that it was time for diner. Don’t really wanna use any of the rations in her pack though. Best just cash in Dandy’s word down at the bar. A step inside the bar and the scientist takes herself a stool along the counter. Hardly turns and squeaky as a manatee, but the soft pillow bottom makes the seat more then worth its quirks. Approaching her be the waiter, asking the scientist: “Waddya want?” Feelings clean as a whistle and as smooth as silk, she turns towards him with a suave smile and places her order. “I’ll like something that’ll fill up my gullet to the brim. A request from Dandy himself.” “Ugh, fine.” With these words, the waiter retreats into the backroom of the bar. From the window behind the counter, the scientist could see him walk to a big box of cans in the far back. She wonders if that single box is all they have to feed everyone here, given that is all she can make out from the stool. Despite the small number of people dwelling in these urban caverns compared to the ones above, its safe to say that a supply of that size would deplete in about a week, at best. Not really sure that Clara would feel comfortable speeding that process along. Perhaps a closer look would put her worries to rest. Before she could even hop off her seat however, the waiter quickly comes back out. As she swiftly sits back into her stool, she looks away from him to try and seem inconspicuous. The waiter slams the open can on the counter, a plastic spoon resting at its side. Clara looks down upon the tin cans contents, beholding the inside to be filled with a brownish mush of sort. “Uh...Wha-what am I looking at here?” she wonder aloud. “Hash. Take it or leave it.” With that, the waiter leaves the scientist so that he may attend to other patrons. Although wary with the contents of her dinner, she never the less grasp the plastic spoon to the cans side. Slowly, she scoops out a spoonful of the supposed hash, some of the leftover meat dripping back down into the can. Carefully, she guides the spoon towards her mouth, clasping the hash with her teeth by a few bits. Once in her mouth, Clara carefully chews the bit of hash and swallows the pieces down her throat. The initial taste stuck in her mouth, a primal urge soon overcomes here; driving the scientist to shovel the rest of it down her gullet. Something about the soft texture and meaty bits makes the girl want to shove the whole can down her throat. She soon empties the entire can in record time, slamming the tin back down upon the counter with bits left along her mouth. As she regains her breath, she licks the leftovers off her lips. Never really thought that the taste of chopped up meat and potatos would be so tantalizing. Almost makes a girl wanna chop her own arm off for more. As she savors the waning tastes of the hash, her ears catch the midst of an ongoing conversation. “So they still ain’t back yet?” “Nah man. Haven’t heard about em.” Trailing the sound to her side, she looked towards a near full booth on the edge of the bar. Three gents sat along the table, opened cans sat in front of them. The small one stood out from his slump and slams the table before exclaiming: “Dammit! Where the hell could they be? That son of a bitch still owes be a can of peaches.” The middle sized fellow attempts to inform the ill tempered dwarf by mentioning: “I hear that Jack and Danny were sent out to retrieve more food. Whatever they can get their grubby mitts on.” Its then that the larger gent of the group tries to calm the smallest of their pose with: “Yeah, calm yourself, Mults. Sure they’ll be back any minute now.” “But they’ve been gone for like hours. Danny shouldn't have brought Jack along; he’s always doing something stupid.” “He has a point. Reckless guy like that’s bound to wind up dead. Surprised he’s lasted this long already.” “Sam, come on. Don’t talk like that.” the behemoth suggests. Soon the trio hear the ring of the door, all of them looking over to find a single man in rags and out of breath. “Hey Jack. How’d the hunt go?” the lumbering man greets with a welcoming smile. “Yeah. What the hell took ya so long?” Mults rudely adds. “Where’s Danny? Is he trying to take a peek of Shoa again? Swear, when that bitch caught him, broke one of his teeth and shoved straight down his nose.” “I...He’s…He’s dead.” Upon those words do all of them grow still and silent, Sam breaking the quiet with: “Dead?...Danny?...Come on, man. Saw the guy squeeze himself out of a horde of troopers without a scratch.” “Yeah, you fucking liar. What actually happened?” the dwarf questions. “It, uh-...It was-...We were at the park, and Danny spotted this tree, and then swipes the dampener and charged at full force. He just told me “Don’t worry. I got this bro.” and he rushed for the lemons. I tried to warn him that the force field dampener was outta juice, but he was already sprinting at full speed and didn’t hear me. Next, thing I know, I see his entire body just turn into ash in the wind. I...didn’t know what else to...” Struggling to form the rest of his story, the man devolves into a crying mess kneeling on the floor. “Guys...I don’t think he’s kidden around.” the lumbering giant enforces. Done with her free meal, the scientist decides it best to leave. Best exit quick before that scene gets anymore depressing. In her wonder through the base, Clara’s eyes are drawn to the Dandy himself, waving for her attention. Once the scientist had began to approach him, he lets out an ecstatic greet. “Heyo! Glad to see you washed and fed, cause I got good news for you.” Although good news is what she hears, the scientist has learn to expect anything but by this point. “Yeah, what ya got for me.” “I managed to talk the boss into snagging you on a mission. See, there’s this power plant that the Canadians had built downtown that runs electricity all through Niagara. Without it, the Canadians won’t have any hope of charging their high powered equipment. It’d take em about a week trip just to power their rifles. So we plan on blowing it up!” “Oh uh, alright. When do I start?” A nervous chuckle escapes from the anonymous individual as he scratches the back of his head before he admits: “Funny thing is, your inclusion was sort of um...last minute. And by that I mean quite literally. You need to go before the train leaves...Like right now.” “What!? Which way is it!?” “It’s in the subway tunnel! Follow me!” With that command, the Dandy begins to swiftly guide out scientist once more. Sliding out from the corner, both of them rush along the resistance base halls. Their footstep bounce across the walls as they race down. Reaching into the depths of his mysterious garb, he adds one more statement as they dash. “Almost forget to give you something. You’ll need it on the mission.” From his overcoat, the Dandy pulls out a ski mask decorated to look like a dog, handing it to the scientist as its plush ears flop in the breeze. “A ski mask?” “Yeah. To protect your identity in the midst of the attack.” Watching the little knitted muzzle bounce up and down in their hurry, a single question escapes Clara’s lips. “Why does it look like a dog?” “Sorry. It was the only one I could nab on such short notice. Don’t exactly have much in terms of disguises.” “Can’t I just, I don’t know, borrow your coat instead?” “My signature overcoat? Out of the question. This magnificent garb is what defines my very identity- nay, my persona. The Delphic Dandy!” “...What the hell kinda name is that?” My point is that my overcoat is what defines my existence in this world. To discard it would be like one discarding their very heart. Can’t you imagine what I’d be without it.” “A dude without an overcoat?” “Exactly!” Upon this final cry, Clara fails to understand his reasoning. Ah well, weirdo’s be weird, she guesses. Coming to the end of the hall, both of them have the subway train in their site as it readies to depart. Racing across the platform, the scientist reaches out for the tail of the train, her grip aimed upon the railing. Her ride beginning to flee, Clara jumps for the train and successfully grabs hold of the rails. Her trouble aren’t over yet, as she still has yet to actually board, her legs scuttling across the tracks as the train picks up speed. She begins to loose her ground, nearing the verge of her body being dragged across the steel railway. But with a mighty leap, the scientist manages to finally board the leaving train, landing upon the back platform with a hearty sigh. Clara looks back to the man that managed to help her catch her ride and finds him waving her goodbye. In goodwill of all that he’s offered her, she decided to do the same. In spite of the less then stellar first impressions, perhaps the Dandy isn’t all that bad of a guy after all.

#faded land #lillaxtrigger

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rogue-snorunt · 7 years ago

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Can I still be nosy? 7, 8, 16, 18, 19, 31, 43, 44

i’m shook because someone actually wanting to get to know my doofy ass ; u ;7. Do you have tattos?Yep! got 3 tho tech one is a two-parter: +The Great Chain from Bioshock with “A man chooses, a slave obeys” quote on left wrist.+ Assassins Creed feathered insignia from the second game on right wrist.+ White ink skeletal angler fish on right side of left calf with its angler wrapping around to left side turning into a branch in which a cute ass fluffy owl sits as its lure.8. Want tattoos?Yep, and I want to get more : Gene’s star tattoo from Outlaw Star; Cardinal and some Daisies ( nana and great nana’s spirit bird and favorite flower) and a crow (my favorite birb) done in a mixed style of abstract and geometric shapes. The Marker from Dead Space with possible “Altmen be Praised” But both a phobia of needles (ironic i know but the tattoos i have already I did as a sort of self forced exposure therapy) and money currently prevent them,16. I’ll love you if…You treat me like a decent human should treat others; give me food, are patient, I am able to relate to you due to similar likes and interests. 18, Most traumatic experience:strap in- this is gonna be long and I apologize:

three years old- dad chasing and holding me down and forcing piercing my ears with a needle and an ice cube.six years old - the cat I’ve had an lived since birth and was my only friend: scratching me in the face , it was my fault as I pulled his tail like dumbass kids tend to do, resulting in the cat running outside and getting ran over by my day. i lost my best friend and my right eye that day.16 years old - accidentally getting left behind at a gas station in new jersey because I had to pee and left my phone in the car.

17 years old - Let my fathers dog - Milkshake out before taking a quick shower only to get a knock on the door a few minutes later by a random dude who informed me he had hit Milkshake. there was nothing anyone could do and no place was open so on christmas day I laid in the snowy road with Milkshake while she choked on blood for a couple of minutes and than died. 19 years old - 3 months into driving, a deer running out infront of me and I swerved to miss it resulting me to go off the road on a steep guard rail-less hill. my car got air and I popped all four tires; the frame got shifted 4 inches to the right, bent the control arm, it flipped on its side and my 50 pound toolbox getting thrown my backseat, missing my head by a few inches and smashing into my windshield. my car landed a few feet from a metal pole in a ditch. the only reason I was able to get out was because I happened to have the sun roof open that day and managed to fit through it. Instead of going to the hospital after, like the intelligent person I am, I just went home and slept for 3 days.22 years old - getting rammed from behind doing 75 on the highway by a white truck while trying to pass a semi-truck while driving home for the weekend from college. fishtailing then doing a couple 360′s managing to not hit the semi truck besides me or the truck behind me and stopping inches from hitting the guardrail, facing the opposite direction. again, did not go to hospital; went to my friends restaurant where I worked at the time and just went to sleep on the dining room floor.22 years old - crossing the crosswalk on my way to my friends restaurant and assuming the suv coming down the hill would abide by the laws of this land but instead getting double-tapped by an old lady. No hospital - went to restaurant and went to sleep in the hallway to the house above the restaurant.23 years old - the head gasket in my 88′ Ford Bronco exploding while driving back to college on a dark and very stormy night. I had to stand in a downpour next to a giant fireball for 2 hours waiting for the cops to come.25 years old - moved to Wisconsin for a bit and while riding the bus to work, a man apparently disapproved of how I was sitting and punched me.Few months later a finch flew into our apartment building and I tried my best but it died in my hands.26 to 27 years old - Moved back to new york; where my step mom died and her appearance at the wake still fucks me up.Than I began working at a bakery and worked with an unstable man who would black out; scream, throw and break equipment and threatened to hurt/ kill me and lock everyone inside the bakery and burn it.and finally 27 years old: on january 31st - my friend was driving me home before a bad snowstorm hit and we hit black ice and slammed into a tree. the airbag broke my hand; face and glasses and fucked up my ribs, left lung and have a damaged nerve in my neck. The feeling of getting the air knocked out of you and not being to breath and the agony of trying to was the worst pain i’ve ever experienced in my life and I was in and out of the hospital for 5 years with pancreatitis, kidney stones and infection, ulcers and organ shut downs all at the same time. last: having to put my dog with prostate cancer down after he wasn’t getting better. he died in my lap and it still haunts me.19: a fact about your personality take away the silly manner of speaking and vocab; puns and dumb jokes, pop culture references and goofy mannerisms : I’m just a dumb emotional asshole. 31. Last text message“I can’t help that I’m a slut for grade a memes and maple candy, stop shaming me”43. Sexiest person who comes to mind:tbh, i havent had a thought like this but now that I am @life-is-no-sugarlicking ‘s roy ; gage , dean winchester and ryan goslin come to mind.44. random fact:alot of food advertised as gluten free is naturally so already. Companies like advertising that and repackaging it to sell at a higher price just because they slapped “GLUTEN FREE!” on something they been selling already for years. and its a trap alot of people newly diagnosed with celiac’s are victim too. Rice; Veggies, Meats, Potatoes, Corn starch, Corn Tortillas, Cheerios, Rice Chex, Fruits, marshmallows, chocolate and gummi worms/bears/etc, also oatmeals are naturally gluten free so you don’t need to buy that special overpriced junk.if it requires a rue (thickener like in gravies and chowder) / is a soup/ requires a binder such as meatballs and meat loaf/ needs to be baked or fried / beer or other alcohol like that = 99% chance its gluten, don’t eat it! vodka; rum; tequila, i believe gin and apple ale are all gluten free.you can use corn starch in lieu of flour for making gravies and soups Advice? Read the labels for everything. Personally, as long as it doesnt actually contain wheat/wheat by products or gluten, I can have things with “MAY contain..” but everyone is different and more sensitive than others. just be careful and read everything. (soy sauce and corn pops are fucking traps because soy sauce is alot of the times made with soy AND WHEAT so check!!! and corn pops are shitheads because you think “oh! CORNpops! I must be able to have it! cause its CORN pops! FRIGGIN CORN-POPS! CORN!!” NO YOU CANT BECAUSE THOSE SNEAKY MUTHAFECKERS USE WHEAT AS LIKE THE 2ND INGREDIENT AND I AM REALLY SALTY ABOUT IT)

#ask a rogue a question #car accident mention #traumatic mentions

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cathygeha · 6 years ago

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REVIEW

The Escape Room by Megan Goldin

What are you willing to do to succeed? Is money everything? Who would you step on or perhaps even kill to come out on top? And, what about revenge? What would it take to make you seek it?

Such a well-crafted book this book proved to be! It begins with the nightwatchman hearing something then moves on from there to move in alternating chapters that tell of the four in the elevator and of a woman named Sarah Hall. It took a few chapters to figure out what part Sarah had in the lives of the other four but as the story unfolded her part and that of another member of the team, Lucy, became abundantly clear.

What I liked about this book:

* It drew me in little by little

* I was invested in the outcome

* I was given insight into the corporate finance world

* It made me think about values

* It was intriguing

* I just liked it – and am thankful that I cannot see myself as a character in this book

What I did not like:

* Most of the characters

* What happened to the innocent (there were a few)

* Probably exactly what I was meant not to like

I am not sure about the ending. I saw it coming...eventually...but knowing it was coming still left me unsettled and wondered how those that may have survived would carry on in the future.

Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Yes

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

SYNOPSIS

In Megan Goldin's unforgettable debut, The Escape Room, four young Wall Street rising stars discover the price of ambition when an escape room challenge turns into a lethal game of revenge. Welcome to the escape room. Your goal is simple. Get out alive.

In the lucrative world of finance, Vincent, Jules, Sylvie, and Sam are at the top of their game. They’ve mastered the art of the deal and celebrate their success in style—but a life of extreme luxury always comes at a cost.

Invited to participate in an escape room as a team-building exercise, the ferociously competitive co-workers crowd into the elevator of a high rise building, eager to prove themselves. But when the lights go off and the doors stay shut, it quickly becomes clear that this is no ordinary competition: they’re caught in a dangerous game of survival.

Trapped in the dark, the colleagues must put aside their bitter rivalries and work together to solve cryptic clues to break free. But as the game begins to reveal the team’s darkest secrets, they realize there’s a price to be paid for the terrible deeds they committed in their ruthless climb up the corporate ladder. As tempers fray, and the clues turn deadly, they must solve one final chilling puzzle: which one of them will kill in order to survive?

EXCERPT

PROLOGUE

It was Miguel who called 911 at 4:07 a.m. on an icy Sunday morning. The young security guard spoke in an unsteady voice, fear disguised by cocky nonchalance.

Miguel had been an aspiring bodybuilder until he injured his back lifting boxes in a warehouse job and had to take night- shift work guarding a luxury office tower in the final stages of construction. He had a muscular physique, dark hair, and a cleft in his chin.

He was conducting a cursory inspection when a scream rang out. At first, he didn’t hear a thing. Hip- hop music blasted through the oversize headphones he wore as he swept his flashlight across the dark recesses of the lobby.

The beam flicked across the classical faces of reproduction Greek busts cast in metal and inset into niches in the walls. They evoked an eerie otherworldliness, which gave the place the aura of a mausoleum.

Miguel paused his music to search for a fresh play list of songs. It was then that he heard the tail end of a muffled scream.

The sound was so unexpected that he instinctively froze. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard strange noises at night, whether it was the screech of tomcats brawling or the whine of construction cranes buffeted by wind. Silence followed. Miguel chided himself for his childish reaction.

He pressed PLAY to listen to a new song and was immediately assaulted by the explosive beat of a tune doing the rounds at the dance clubs where he hung out with friends.

Still, something in the screech he’d heard a moment before rattled him enough for him to be extra diligent.

He bent down to check the lock of the revolving lobby door. It was bolted shut. He swept the flashlight across a pair of still escalators and then, above his head, across the glass- walled mezzanine floor that overlooked the lobby.

He checked behind the long reception desk of blond oak slats and noticed that a black chair was at an odd angle, as if someone had left in a hurry.

A stepladder was propped against a wall where the lobby café was being set up alongside a water fountain that was not yet functional. Plastic- wrapped café tables and chairs were piled up alongside it.

In the far corner, he shone his flashlight in the direction of an elaborate model of the building complex shown to prospective tenants by Realtors rushing to achieve occupancy targets in time for the building’s opening the following month.

The model detailed an ambitious master plan to turn an abandoned ware house district that had been a magnet for homeless people and addicts into a high- end financial and shopping precinct. The first tower was almost finished. A second was halfway through construction.

When Miguel turned around to face the elevator lobby, he was struck by something so incongruent that he pushed his headphones off his head and onto his shoulders.

The backlit green fluorescent light of an elevator switch flickered in the dark. It suggested that an elevator was in use. That was impossible, because he was the only person there.

In the sobriety of the silent echo that followed, he convinced himself once again that his vague sense of unease was the hallucination of a fatigued mind. There was nobody in the elevator for the simple reason that the only people on- site on weekends were the security guards. Two per shift. Except to night, Miguel was the only one on duty.

When Stu had been a no- show for his shift, Miguel figured he’d manage alone. The construction site was fenced off with towering barbed- wire fences and a heavy- duty electric gate. Nobody came in or out until the shift ended.

In the four months he’d worked there, the only intruders he’d encountered were feral cats and rats scampering across construction equipment in the middle of the night. Nothing ever happened during the night shift.

That was what he liked about the job. He was able to study and sleep and still get paid. Sometimes he’d sleep for a couple of hours on the soft leather lobby sofa, which he found preferable to the lumpy stretcher in the portable office where the guards took turns resting between patrols. The CCTV cameras hadn’t been hooked up yet, so he could still get away with it.

From the main access road, the complex looked completed. It had a driveway entry lined with young maples in planter boxes. The lobby had been fitted out and furnished to impress prospective tenants who came to view office space.

The second tower, facing the East River, looked unmistakably like a construction site. It was wrapped with scaffolding. Shipping containers storing building materials were arranged like colorful Lego blocks in a muddy field alongside idle bulldozers and a crane.

Miguel removed keys from his belt to open the side entrance to let himself out, when he heard a loud crack. It whipped through the lobby with an intensity that made his ears ring.

Two more cracks followed. They were unmistakably the sound of gunshots. He hit the ground and called 911. He was terrified the shooter was making his way to the lobby but cocky enough to cover his fear with bravado when he spoke.

“Something bad’s going down here.” He gave the 911 dispatcher the address. “You should get cops over here.”

Miguel figured from the skepticism in the dispatcher’s cool voice that his call was being given priority right below the doughnut run.

His heart thumped like a drum as he waited for the cops to arrive. You chicken shit, he berated himself as he took cover behind a sofa. He exhaled into his shirt to muffle the sound of his rapid breathing. He was afraid he would give away his position to the shooter.

A wave of relief washed over him when the lobby finally lit up with a hazy blue strobe as a police car pulled in at the taxi stand. Miguel went outside to meet the cops.

“What’s going on?” An older cop with a thick gut hanging over his belted pants emerged from the front passenger seat.

“Beats me,” said Miguel. “I heard a scream. Inside the building. Then I heard what I’m pretty sure were gunshots.”

“How many shots?” A younger cop came around the car to meet him, snapping a wad of gum in his mouth.

“Two, maybe three shots. Then nothing.”

“Is anyone else around?” The older cop’s expression was hidden under a thick gray mustache.

“They clear out the site on Friday night. No construction workers. No nobody. Except me. I’m the night guard.”

“Then what makes you think there’s a shooter?”

“I heard a loud crack. Sure sounded like a gunshot. Then two more. Came from somewhere up in the tower.”

“Maybe construction equipment fell? That possible?”

A faint thread of red suffused Miguel’s face as he contemplated the possibility that he’d panicked over nothing. They moved into the lobby to check things out, but he was feeling less confident than when he’d called 911. “I’m pretty sure they—” He stopped speaking as they all heard the unmistakable sound of a descending elevator.

“I thought you said there was nobody here,” said the older cop.

“There isn’t.”

“Could have fooled me,” said the second cop. They moved through to the elevator lobby. A light above the elevator doors was flashing to indicate an elevator’s imminent arrival. “Someone’s here.”

“The building opens for business in a few weeks,” said Miguel. “Nobody’s supposed to be here.”

The cops drew their guns from their holsters and stood in front of the elevator doors in a shooting stance— slightly crouched, legs apart. One of the cops gestured furiously for Miguel to move out of the way. Miguel stepped back. He hovered near an abstract metal sculpture set into the wall at the dead end of the elevator lobby.

A bell chimed. The elevator heaved as it arrived.

The doors parted with a slow hiss. Miguel swallowed hard as the gap widened. He strained to see what was going on. The cops were blocking his line of sight and he was at too sharp an angle to see much.

“Police,” shouted both cops in unison. “Put your weapon down.”

Miguel instinctively pressed himself against the wall. He flinched as the first round of bullets was fired. There were too many shots to count. His ears rang so badly, it took him a moment to realize the police had stopped firing. They’d lowered their weapons and were shouting something. He didn’t know what. He couldn’t hear a thing over the ringing in his ears.

Miguel saw the younger cop talk into his radio. The cop’s mouth opened and closed. Miguel couldn’t make out the words. Gradually, his hearing returned and he heard the tail end of a stream of NYPD jargon.

He couldn’t understand most of what was said. Something about “nonresponsive” and needing “a bus,” which he assumed meant an ambulance. Miguel watched a trickle of blood run along the marble floor until it formed a puddle. He edged closer. He glimpsed blood splatter on the wall of the elevator. He took one more step. Finally, he could see inside the elevator. He immediately regretted it. He’d never seen so much blood in all his life.

ONE

THE ELEVATOR

Thirty-four Hours Earlier

Vincent was the last to arrive. His dark overcoat flared behind him as he strode through the lobby. The other three were standing in an informal huddle by a leather sofa. They didn’t notice Vincent come in. They were on their phones, with their backs to the entrance, preoccupied with emails and silent contemplation as to why they had been called to a last-minute meeting on a Friday night at an out-of-the-way office building in the South Bronx.

Vincent observed them from a distance as he walked across the lobby toward them. Over the years, the four of them had spent more time together than apart. Vincent knew them almost better than he knew himself. He knew their secrets, and their lies. There were times when he could honestly say that he’d never despised anyone more than these three people. He suspected they all shared the sentiment. Yet they needed one another. Their fates had been joined together long before.

Sylvie’s face bore its usual expression, a few degrees short of a resting-bitch face. With her cover-girl looks and dark blond hair pinned in a topknot that drew attention to her green eyes, Sylvie looked like the catwalk model that she’d been when she was a teenager. She was irritated by being called to an unscheduled meeting when she had to pack for Paris, but she didn’t let it show on her face. She studiously kept a faint upward tilt to her lips. It was a practice drummed into her over many years working in a male-dominated profession. Men could snarl or look angry with impunity; women had to smile serenely regardless of the provocation.

To her right stood Sam, wearing a charcoal suit with a white shirt and a black tie. His stubble matched the dark blond of his closely cropped hair. His jaw twitched from the knot of anxiety in his guts. He’d felt stabbing pains ever since his wife, Kim, telephoned during the drive over. She was furious that he wouldn’t make the flight to Antigua because he was attending an unscheduled meeting. She hated the fact that his work always took precedence over her and the girls.

Jules stood slightly away from the other two, sucking on a peppermint candy to disguise the alcohol on his breath. He wore a suave burgundy-and-navy silk tie that made his Gypsy eyes burn with intensity. His dark hair was brushed back in the style of a fifties movie star. He usually drank vodka because it was odorless and didn’t make his face flush, but now his cheeks were ruddy in a tell-tale sign he’d been drinking. The minibar in his chauffeured car was out of vodka, so he’d had to make do with whiskey on the ride over. The empty bottles were still rattling around in his briefcase.

As they waited for their meeting, they all had the same paranoid notion that they’d been brought to a satellite office to be retrenched. Their careers would be assassinated silently, away from the watercooler gossips at the head office.

It was how they would have done it if the positions were reversed. A Friday-evening meeting at an out-of-the-way office, concluding with a retrenchment package and a nondisclosure agreement signed and sealed.

The firm was considering unprecedented layoffs, and they were acutely aware they had red targets on their backs. They said none of this to one another. They kept their eyes downcast as they worked on their phones, unaware they were the only ones in the lobby. Just as they hadn’t paid much mind to the cranes and construction fencing on their way in.

Sam checked his bank account while he waited. The negative balance made him queasy. He’d wiped out all the cash in his account that morning paying Kim’s credit-card bill. If he lost his job, then the floodgates would open. He could survive two to three months without work; after that, he’d have to sell assets. That alone would destroy him financially. He was leveraged to the hilt. Some of his assets were worth less now than when he’d bought them.

The last time Sam had received a credit-card bill that huge, he’d immediately lowered Kim’s credit limit. Kim found out when her payment for an eleven-thousand-dollar Hermès handbag was rejected at the Madison Avenue store in front of her friends. She was mortified. They had a huge blowup that night, and he reluctantly restored her credit limit. Now he paid all her bills without a word of complaint. Even if it meant taking out bridging loans. Even if it meant constantly feeling on the verge of a heart attack.

Sam knew that Kim spent money as much for attention as out of boredom. She complained that Sam was never around to help with the twins. He’d had to point out that they’d hired a maid to give her all the help she needed. Three maids, to be truthful. Three within the space of two years. The third had walked out in tears a week ago due to Kim’s erratic temper.

Kim was never satisfied with anything. If Sam gave Kim a platinum necklace, she wanted it in gold. If he took her to London, she wanted Paris. If he bought her a BMW, she wanted a Porsche.

Satisfying her unceasing demands was doable when his job prospects were good, but the firm had lost a major account, and since Christmas word had spread of an impending restructure. Everyone knew that was a euphemism for layoffs.

Sam never doubted that Kim would leave him if he couldn’t support her lifestyle anymore. She’d demand full custody of the girls and she’d raise them to hate him. Kim forgave most of his transgressions, she could even live with his infidelities, but she never forgave failure.

It was Sam who first heard the footsteps sounding through the vast lobby. The long, hurried strides of a man running late to a meeting. Sam swung around as their boss arrived. Vincent’s square jaw was tight and his broad shoulders were tense as he joined them without saying a word.

“You almost didn’t make it,” observed Sylvie.

“The traffic was terrible.” Vincent ran his hand over his overcoat pocket in the habit of a man who had recently stopped smoking. Instead of cigarettes, he took out a pair of glasses, which he put on to examine the message on his phone. “Are you all aware of the purpose of this meeting?”

“The email invite from HR wasn’t exactly brimming with information,” said Sam. “You said in your text message it was compulsory for us to attend. That it took precedence over everything else. Well, we’re all here. So maybe now you can enlighten us, Vincent. What’s so important that I had to delay my trip to Antigua?”

“Who here has done an escape-room challenge before?” Vincent asked.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam said. “I abandoned my wife on her dream vacation to participate in a team-building activity! This is bullshit, Vincent. It’s goddamn bullshit and you know it.”

“It will take an hour,” said Vincent calmly. “Next Friday is bonus day. I’m sure that we all agree that it’s smart to be on our best behavior before bonus day, especially in the current climate.”

“Let’s do it,” said Sylvie, sighing. Her flight to Paris was at midnight. She still had plenty of time to get home and pack. Vincent led them to a brightly lit elevator with its doors wide open. Inside were mirrored walls and an alabaster marble floor.

They stepped inside. The steel doors shut behind them before they could turn around.

TWO

SARA HALL

It’s remarkable what a Windsor knot divulges about a man. Richie’s Italian silk tie was a brash shade of red, with thin gold stripes running on a diagonal. It was the tie of a man whose arrogance was dwarfed only by his ego.

In truth, I didn’t need to look at his tie to know that Richie was a douche. The dead giveaway was that when I entered the interview room, a nervous smile on my pink matte painted lips, he didn’t bother to greet me. Or even to stand up from the leather chair where he sat and surveyed me as I entered the room.

While I categorized Richie as a first-class creep the moment I set eyes on him, I was acutely aware that I needed to impress him if I was to have any chance of getting the job. I introduced myself and reached out confidently to shake his hand. He shook my hand with a grip that was tighter than necessary—a reminder, perhaps, that he could crush my career aspirations as easily as he could break the bones in my delicate hand.

He introduced himself as Richard Worthington. The third, if you don’t mind. He had a two-hundred-dollar haircut, a custom shave, and hands that were softer than butter. He was in his late twenties, around five years older than I was.

When we were done shaking hands, Richie leaned back in his chair and surveyed me with a touch of amusement as I settled into my seat across the table.

“You can take off your jacket and relax,” he said. “We try to keep interviews informal here.”

I took off my jacket and left it folded over the back of the chair next to me as I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Did he see a struggling business-school graduate with a newly minted MBA that didn’t appear to be worth the paper it was written on? Or was he perceptive enough to see an intelligent, accomplished young woman? Glossy brown hair cut to a professional shoulder length, serious gray eyes, wearing a brand-new designer suit she couldn’t afford and borrowed Louboutin shoes that were a half size too small and pinched her toes.

I took a deep breath and tried to project the poise and confidence necessary to show him that I was the best candidate. Finally I had a chance at getting my dream job on Wall Street. I would do everything that I could humanly do not to screw it up.

Richie wore a dark gray suit with a fitted white shirt. His cuff links were Hermès, arranged so that the H insignia was clearly visible. On his wrist was an Audemars Piguet watch, a thirty-grand piece that told everyone who cared that he was the very model of a Wall Street player.

Richie left me on the edge of my seat, waiting awkwardly, as he read over my résumé. Paper rustled as he scanned the neatly formatted sheets that summed up my life in two pages. I had the impression that he was looking at it for the first time. When he was done, he examined me over the top of the pages with the lascivious expression of a john sizing up girls at a Nevada whorehouse.

THREE THE ELEVATOR

All the lights in the elevator turned off at once. It happened the moment the doors shut. One moment they were in a brightly lit elevator; the next they were in pitch- darkness. They were as good as blind, save for the weak fluorescent glow from a small display above the steel doors showing the floor number.

Jules stumbled toward the elevator control panel. He pressed the button to open the doors. The darkness was suffocating him. He had to get out. The elevator shot up before anything happened. The jolt was unexpected. Jules lost his footing and fell against the wall with a thud.

As the elevator accelerated upward, they assumed the lights would be restored at any moment. In every other respect, the elevator was working fine. It was ascending smoothly. The green display above the door was showing the changing floor numbers. There was no reason why it should be dark.

Without realizing it, they shifted toward one another, drawn together by a primordial fear of the dark and the unknown dangers that lurked within it. Jules fumbled for his phone and turned on the flashlight setting so that he could see what he was doing. He frantically pressed the buttons for upcoming floors. They didn’t appear to respond to the insistent pressure of his thumb. “It’s probably an express,” explained Sylvie. “I saw a sign in the lobby that said something about the elevator running express until the seventieth floor.”

Jules pressed the button for the seventieth floor. And the seventy-first. And, for good measure, the seventy- second, as well. The buttons immediately lit up one after the other, each button backlit in green. Jules silently counted the remaining floors. All he could think about was getting out.

He loosened his tie to alleviate the tightness in his chest. He’d never considered himself claustrophobic, but he’d had an issue with confined spaces ever since he was a child. He once left summer camp early, in hysterics after being accidentally locked in a toilet stall for a few minutes. His mother told the camp leader that his overreaction was due to a childhood trauma that left him somewhat claustrophobic and nervous in the dark.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ll be taking the stairs on the way down,” Sam joked with fake nonchalance. “I’m not getting back into this hunk of junk again.”

“Maybe the firm is locking us up in here until we resign voluntarily,” Jules said drily. “It’ll save Stanhope a shitload of money.” He swallowed hard. The elevator was approaching the fortieth floor. They were halfway there. He had to hold it together for another thirty floors.

“It would be a mistake if the firm retrenched any of us,” said Vincent. “I told the executive team as much when we met earlier this week.” What Vincent didn’t mention was that several of the leadership team had avoided looking at him during that meeting. That was when he knew the writing was on the wall. “Why get rid of us? We’ve always made the firm plenty of money,” Sylvie said.

“Until lately,” Vincent said pointedly.

They’d failed to secure two major deals in a row. Those deals had both gone to a key competitor, who had inexplicably undercut them each time. It made them wonder whether their competitor had inside knowledge of their bids. The team’s revenue was lower than it had been in years. For the first time ever, their jobs were vulnerable.

“Are we getting fired, Vincent?” Jules asked as the elevator continued rising. “Is that why we were summoned here? They must have told you something.”

“I got the same generic meeting invite that you all received,” Vincent responded. “It was only as I arrived that I received a text with instructions to bring you all up to the eightieth floor for an escape room challenge. The results of which, it said, would be used for ‘internal consultations about future staff planning.’ Make of that what you will.”

“Sounds like they want to see how we perform tonight before deciding what to do with us,” said Sylvie. “I’ve never done an escape room. What exactly are we supposed to do?”

“It’s straightforward,” said Sam. “You’re locked in a room and have to solve a series of clues to get out.”

“And on that basis they’re going to decide which of us to fire?” Jules asked Vincent in the dark.

“I doubt it,” Vincent said. “The firm doesn’t work that way.”

“Vincent’s right,” said Jules cynically. “Let’s take a more optimistic tack. Maybe they’re using our escape room performance to determine who to promote to Eric Miles’s job.” Eric had resigned before Christmas under something of a cloud. They’d heard rumors the firm was going to promote someone to the job internally. Such promotions were highly sought after. At a time when their jobs were in jeopardy, it offered one of them a potential career lifeline.

The green display above the door flashed the number 67. They had three more floors to go until the elevator finished the express part of the ride. The elevator slowed down and came to a stop on the seventieth floor. Jules exhaled in relief. He stepped forward in anticipation of the doors opening. They remained shut.

He pressed the open button on the control panel. Nothing happened. He pressed it again, holding it down for several seconds. The doors still didn’t budge. He pressed the button three times in quick succession. Nothing. Finally, in desperation, he pressed the red emergency button. There was no response.

“It’s not working,” he said.

They looked up at the panel above the door that displayed the floor numbers. It had an E on its screen. Error.

A small television monitor above the control panel turned on. At first, they didn’t think much of it. They expected to see cable news or a stock market update, the type of thing usually broadcast on elevator monitors.

It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the brightness of the white television screen. After another moment, a message appeared in large black letters.

WELCOME TO THE ESCAPE ROOM. YOUR GOAL IS SIMPLE. GET OUT ALIVE.

Buy-book link:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250219671

AUTHOR BIO

MEGAN GOLDIN worked as a correspondent for Reuters and other media outlets where she covered war, peace, international terrorism and financial meltdowns in the Middle East and Asia. She is now based in Melbourne, Australia where she raises three sons and is a foster mum to Labrador puppies learning to be guide dogs. THE ESCAPE ROOM is her debut novel.

The Escape Room Blog Tour Q&A

1. How did you become inspired to write The Escape Room?

There were a number of inspirations that led to me writing The Escape Room. First of all, I’d had my third baby and, for the first time since my working life began, I'd taken a year or so out of the workforce to be with him. When I started looking to go back to work, I interviewed for a job for which I should have been a serious candidate as my experience closely matched the job description and I'd done something similar before for a similar company. Instead, the interviewer ate snack food throughout the interview with, let's just say, very bad table manners. He crunched particularly loudly every time that I spoke. I drew on this experience when I wrote about the job interview from hell that Sara Hall went through in The Escape Room. It made me feel powerless. I told friends about what happened and they shared with me their own horror stories in the workplace. It made me want to explore sexism in the workplace in my next novel. It also inspired the idea of a revenge theme. I liked the idea of someone who is beaten down by the system making a comeback.

Around that time I was also stuck in an elevator. I’d gone shopping with my kids. I had a cart full of food. The elevator stopped and the lights went off. It took a couple of minutes until we were able to get out but it was a dark, cold, and frightening couple of minutes in that elevator. I’d been thinking about a setting for this thriller revenge story that I had in mind. It struck me that the elevator was a perfect setting. I was fired up by the challenge of setting a novel in an elevator. It also served my purpose well. I wanted to put my characters in a pressure-cooker atmosphere where animosity would build as they learned each other’s secrets. An elevator was perfect.

2. What was your research process like when writing about the financial industry in the U.S?

When I research my books, I apply journalism skills acquired over the years. That means immersing myself in whatever information I can get ahold of. I read books, newspaper articles, elevator manuals, and even journal studies on human psychology. I also followed forums for investment bankers and others working in the financial industry and some of their social media feeds. I spoke with people who worked in the world of finance and also drew on material that I’d collected in the past. For example, there were big name investment banks in my previous office building and I’d often overhear bankers and brokers chatting in the elevator about their personal lives and work, or in my condominium building where many of them lived. I tend to write and research at the same time as I don’t plan my novels other than the story arc. As the story evolves on the pages while I write, I’ll stop writing for a few hours and branch out to research whatever might be relevant for the novel. In the case of The Escape Room, that included issues such as ‘game theory’ and things as mundane as technical manuals about elevator safety mechanisms and issues related to guns and ballistics. The research is one of the fun parts of writing a novel. I get to learn new things and it breaks up the intensity of writing.

3. Are there any authors that you most look up to?

There is an endless list of authors, from crime and thriller writers, to literary fiction, classics, and non-fiction. Now that I am writing myself, I tend to analyze other books as I read. I look at plot, structure, character, voice, and various other writing techniques. Even as a journalist, I always saw writing as a constant process of learning and refining. I think it’s a lifelong endeavor. Among my favorites is John le Carre. I consider his novels master classes in suspense writing and I often reread them. Yuval Noah Harari's series, starting with Sapiens, was another inspiration behind The Escape Room, as I’d been reading it and watching Yarari's lectures on Youtube. It made me look at office culture through a prism of evolutionary biology. Offices are a modern-day human habit and the backbiting office politics is really a case of survival of the fittest.

4. If The Escape Room was to become a movie, which actor or actress would you like to play some of the roles?

Well, a close friend just suggested Bradley Cooper for Vincent! Or perhaps Colin Farrell, Ryan Gosling or Jesse Eisenberg for Sam and Jules. As for actresses, maybe Jennifer Lawrence for Sylvie, or Anne Hathaway or Margot Robbie for Sara Hall. Lucy could be Emily Blunt.

5. Do you have any upcoming projects you’re working on?

I am working on my next book. It's also a thriller and it addresses contemporary themes but it's quite different from The Escape Room. I'm a little hesitant about how much to divulge at this point until it's done.

6. Anything else you’d like to add?

I'm extremely touched by all the support and feedback that I've been getting from so many bloggers and reviewers who are passionate about The Escape Room and who love the characters. Thank you all so much.

#Megan Goldin #St. Martin's Press #NetGalley #Psychological Thriller #Revenge #finanças

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freezing-kaiju · 8 years ago

Text

Monster Watch Chapter 3: A Good Team

[symbra, widowtracily, pharmercy]

1987

Angel Falls, Washington

It was a cold night. Rain was pouring down in torrents. The streetlamps cast their orange light on the slippery sidewalks. The few pedestrians walking the streets were shivering under their umbrellas and raincoats.

Sombra was shivering too, but not from the cold. She never felt the cold. She ran down the sidewalk, desperately trying to run faster, just a little faster. Tears streamed down her face, never hitting the ground or even falling from her cheeks. And yet… below those crying eyes was a smile.

Satya. The name echoed through her mind.

How could she have forgotten? What happened to her when she died to make her forget? What had happened to Satya?

But none of that mattered right now. She was going to see her again.

Eventually, Sombra arrived at the library. It was a stately building, with brick walls and several gargoyles perched on the roof, but Sombra didn’t have time nor patience to admire the architecture. She phased through the door and floated towards the ceiling, which was supported by four large marble columns, heading for the trapdoor from before.

But when she tried to phase through, she just bumped against it. Por supuesto, Sombra thought. Ella es una bruja. It only makes sense that she'd have magic wards on her front door. Frustrated, she kicked the door.

Sombra heard footsteps above her. She heard Satya say, “WHO DARES…”

“Satya?” Sombra said, voice half a sob.

She heard a gasp and the trapdoor swung open. Without hesitating, she flew through the open space, making sure she was fully materialized, and bowled into Satya.

They embraced and crashed to the ground, sobbing.

“It’s… * sniff * it’s been so long,” Satya said, her voice quavering. “I thought you were gone forever...”

“Mi amor… You look as beautiful as i remembered,” Sombra said. “Almost like no time passed at all.”

And they lay there, holding each other tight, looking into each others’ eyes, and weeping with joy, finally reunited after so many years.

The next morning, over at Emily and Lena’s house, Emily was in the process of making breakfast. Amelie was eying the bacon she was frying hungrily, while Lena, already dressed and wearing a trucker hat, was staring at a toaster, impatiently waiting for her toast.

“You know, love, looking at it isn’t gonna make it toast faster,” Emily said.

Lena frowned. “Can too.”

The toaster promptly dinged.

“HA! See? I told you!” Lena did a little dance and yanked the toast out of the toaster, putting one piece in her mouth and the other in her vest pocket.

Emily smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Well, I’m off to work,” Lena said with a sigh, picking up her lunchbox and toolkit and heading to the door.

“Bye, love,” Emily said, “Don’t let Jamison drive you up the wall.”

“I’ll try.” Lena said, running over and giving Emily a peck on the cheek. “Cheers, love!”

Emily smiled and waved goodbye as Lena ran out the door and to her van.

As she drove off, Amelie asked, “Pardonez-moi, but what exactly is Lena’s profession?”

“She’s a car mechanic. It’s how she’s managed to keep that rubbish van of hers working.”

The bacon finished frying and Emily placed it on a plate, arranging three serving plates on the table and a place setting for both her and Amelie.

Emily took two waffles, a sausage, and a serving of hash browns, Amelie immediately covered her plate in bacon and sausages.

“Will I rant a bit about something?” Emily asked.

Amelie, in the process of shoveling bacon into her mouth, answered, “Why not? I think of myself as a good listener.” She had learned in her years on the run to listen to everything and take in as much information as possible.

“Right then,” Emily said. “Personally, I don’t exactly see why the Sixth Doctor was so reviled. His seasons didn’t have the best writing, sure, but I blame that mostly on the execs over at the BBC. They gave him so little to work with, but I says Colin sure made the best of it. His outfit was great, I loved his snark,a nd he really brought something new to the character of the Doctor. Now Seven,” -and here Emily gestured to her sweater, a pattern of red question marks and green zigzags- “he’s a great one, I’m somewhat glad they got rid of Six. He acts like a grandfather, goofy and doting, but he’s a smart one as well, always two steps ahead of his enemies. But yeah, they’re my favorites. Still miss Four a bit, but what can ya do.”

Amelie stared blankly at her for a few seconds. Emily could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

“Mon ami, that sounds fascinating, but I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Emily was flabbergasted. “The Doctor! You know, Doctor Who? The police box? Daleks? The Master? Jelly babies? Sonic screwdrivers?”

Amelie shook her head.

Emily’s eyes lit up. “Well then, I believe I know what we’re going ta do today!” She jumped up from her chair and grabbed Amelie’s arm, leading her into the living room.

Back at the library, an hour or so later, Sombra and Satya were getting caught up.

“So… Has anything important changed with you?” Sombra asked.

“Well, I gained some weight,” Satya said, gesturing at her midsection and generally chubby form. “I have chalked it up to lack of exercise and my own cooking.”

“You look beautiful, mi amor,” Sombra said reassuringly.

“Come to think of it, how come you haven’t aged?

Satya shrugged. “I don’t exactly know, but I have a theory. I tried to bring you back to life, the night you died. It failed; I said the words wrong, I missed a key ingredient, something along those lines. Point is that I failed. But seeing you here… maybe I succeeded in part. Maybe the residual life magic from that spell caught onto some strong emotion from you and brought you back. The spell was intended to bind two souls to each other, make our lives bound together. And that part must have succeeded; since you can’t age as a ghost, I have not aged either.”

“Makes sense,” Sombra said. She thought for a few seconds before another question came to mind. If anyone could answer this, it was Satya.

“Refresh my memory. How and why did I die?”

Satya looked down and shrugged. “I don’t know. We were dancing, you were laughing, and then suddenly you were choking, and y-you c-c-collapsed, and…” Satya trailed off, beginning to tear up. “S-sorry, it’s * sniff* it’s a traumatic memory for me.”

Sombra hugged Satya. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m still here.” Sombra mulled over this information as she consoled her girlfriend. She had noticed a long time ago that her cause of death wasn’t obvious, but to learn that nobody else knew disquieted her. It looked like a mystery… and she liked mysteries.

After a few minutes, Satya wiped her arm across her face. “All right, I’m better now.” Suddenly, she had a flash of inspiration.

“I have an experiment I want to try out. Wait here.”

Satya ran into one of the back rooms. Sombra could hear the sound of things being shuffled through, metal clinking on metal, and drawers being opened and shut. Finally, Satya ran back out, carrying with a large pair of goggles. They were made of some sort of black metal, and had silver dials on the sides. The lenses seemed to shine with an otherworldly light.

“These are soulsense goggles. They let people figure out why a ghost came back. Usually used by ghost busters, but I’m just curious as to why you’re here. When I look through these, you’re gonna look like a specific color related to why you came back. Dark red for revenge, bright red for anger, light blue for magic, dark blue for misery, purple for love, etc.”

Satya snapped the goggles on and stared intently at Sombra. After a few unresponsive seconds, she collapsed to her knees and put her head in her hands, blushing a furious shade of red.

Sombra hurried over. “Satya? What did you see? Is it bad?”

Satya looked up at her, smiling from ear to ear. “I-I-I’ve never seen so much purple in my life!”

Sometime after lunch, Fareeha parked her motorcycle in front of Lena’s house and made the short walk up to the front door. She knocked three times, and Emily opened it.

“Fareeha! Top o’ the morning to ya!” Emily greeted her, smiling. She was wearing her usual panama hat and green scarf. Her sweater of the day was a yellow one with a pattern of red question marks and green horizontal zigzags. “We’re marathonin’ some Doctor Who over here.”

“Cool, Em,” Fareeha greeted in return. She was wearing a dark blue Toronto Maple Leafs t-shirt, jeans, and her usual blue flannel jacket. “You ready to go to the library?”

Emily considered for a second. “I guess. Where’s Angela?”

“At work. Same with Lena, right?”

“Right.”

“So uh… you ready to get going?”

“Just the two of us? On your motorcycle?” Emily shrugged. “Sure, seems reasonable. I’ll go tell Amelie we’re going.”

She turned around and ran back into the house.

Fareeha parked her motorcycle in front of the library. It was mid-afternoon. As they strode in, they noticed that there were some people in there, reading books, checking them out, the usual library patron things. Emily and Fareeha made a beeline for the corner directly below the trapdoor and looked up.

Amelie was looking down at them, next to the trapdoor. She gave Emily a sly smile and knocked on the door.

Emily smiled back. Fareeha looked at her somewhat quizzically, trying to figure out how on earth Amelie had gotten there faster when she was on foot and they were on a motorcycle.

The trapdoor opened slightly, and Amelie whispered something into it. It swung open and the ladder descended from it. Amelie skittered in, while Fareeha and Emily waited until nobody was looking before quickly scaling the ladder and entering the witch’s home.

The room looked much the same as the last time they saw it, everything still perfectly organized and categorized.

“¡Hola!”

Amelie jumped.

Sombra materialized behind her, giggling. She floated over their heads and turned to hover in front of them.

“Wow, arana, you’re high-strung. Gotta remember that...”

“My name,” Amelie said through gritted teeth, “is Amelie. A-me-lie. Got it?”

“Got it, arana,” Sombra said with a sly grin. “Hola, Fareeha. Hola, Emily. Coma estas?

“Hi, Sombra,” Fareeha said, “What’re you doing here?”

“It’s a long story,” Sombra said. She turned around and shouted, “Hey Satya, el equipo esta aqui, está la magia lista?

The ornate door creaked open and Symmetra stepped out. She carried herself as usual, but gone was the judging visage of yesterday and in its place was a faint yet joyful smile.

“Welcome back. I see your number is diminished today. Where are Angela and your British compatriot?” Symmetra asked quizzically.

“Angie and Lena are at work.” Fareeha answered.

“Fair enough.”

Symmetra lightly clapped her hands and a chest floated up to them. It was a somewhat ornate oak chest, with patterns of fire inlaid with what appeared to be gold leaf. She snapped her fingers and it opened.

“For you, Fareeha; a silver hockey stick that will amplify your already prodigious strength. I trust you are proficient in its use?”

Fareeha picked it up. “Good balance. Should feel heavier than it is, but it actually feels pretty light.” She tried a few practice swings. “And it handles good, eh?”

“For you, Emily; a silver-tipped umbrella that projects a shield when it is open, to protect you and your friends.”

“Cheers,” Emily said, picking up the umbrella.

“For you, Amelie; this visor will augment your already powerful vision and let you show what you see to others.”

Amelie picked up the visor. It covered her upper eyes with six ruby-red lenses.

“For Angela, a cadeuceus that she can channel her angelic powers through to heal allies. And for Lena, a necklace that will make her as fast as a wolf.”

The cadeuceus was long and made of some white metal, topped with an angel-wing design and a yellow gem, possibly a citrine or a yellow tourmaline. The necklace was a large, flat, glowing blue gem with curiously rotating patterns of rings within it, inlaid within a silver disk suspended from a sturdy silver chain.

Suddenly, Fareeha realized something.

“Umm… do you have some way for us to take these home?” she said quizzically.

“...What?” Symmetra said, nonplussed.

“We’ll look sorta conspicuous carrying these through a library, and the motorcycle we got here on doesn’t have a trunk,” Fareeha pointed out.

“Oh, y-yes, uh… I will provide you with a bag of holding… just g-give me a second...” Symmetra sputtered, and headed towards one of the back rooms. Once the door was closed behind her, she began kicking herself and muttering about being an idiot. How could she have made such an elementary mistake?

Angela strode up to the porch of a small house with a navy-blue tiled roof. She checked her watch.

4:26 P.M. Right on time. Angela knocked on the door.

She heard loud footsteps. Fareeha, beaming, opened the door and exclaimed, “Angie! There you are! C’mon, the game’s about to start!”

Angela smiled. “Glad I could make it, Fareeha.”

Angela was honestly glad that her schedule allowed her to spend time with Fareeha; the trade-off, though, was that she had to arrive at work at 5 o’clock sharp, and thus didn’t get much sleep.

Fareeha was sitting on the couch in front of her TV. She had a cooler of beer and a large bowl of popcorn.

Angela plopped down on the couch. She sighed, exhausted, and began undoing her ponytail, letting her hair down.

“Long day at work, Angie?”

“Mein Gott, yes. So much paperwork.”

Angela looked over at the coffee table and noticed a photo lying there. It appeared to be a young Fareeha, her father, and a woman she didn’t recognize. She had a tattoo similar to Fareeha’s, but on the other eye.

“Who’s that?” Angela asked, pointing to the woman in the photo.

Fareeha looked at it. “Oh yeah. That’s my mom. Dad said she left when I was a kid. Found that picture in my attic. Wish he could’ve told me more about her, but he’s not around to ask anymore, ya know.” She sighed and shrugged. “Well, least he’s in a better place. And hey! It’s been kinda nice, having the place all to myself… n’ you, of course.”

Angela smiled and put her arm around Fareeha’s shoulder. “Always finding that silver lining, aren’t you, liebling?”

“Yup,” Fareeha said, leaning over to kiss Angela on the cheek.

At around 6-o’clock, Lena pulled the van into her garage. She was singing along to a song on the radio, and when she parked the car and got out she continued to sing.

“Oh-oh, we’re halfway there,” Lena sung as she walked to the front door. “Whoa-oh, livin’ on a prayer!”

“Luv, I’m ho-ome!” Lena announced as she opened the door.

As she entered the house, she could hear that Emily was watching a show in the living room. From the sounds of lasers and British yelling, she assumed that it was Doctor Who.

Rounding the corner, she found her assumption correct. Emily and Amelie were sitting on the couch, with Amelie’s many legs and arms oddly curled around Emily in a comfortable, protective gesture. They both looked up.

“Bonjour, Lena,” Amelie said, waving to her with a free hand.

“Hey, love!” Emily greeted her. “Me and Amelie’ve been watchin’ some Doctor Who. Your dinner’s on the table, we already ate. It’s fish and chips.”

“Cheers, love!” Lena said. “I’ll leave ya to your show.”

Shortly thereafter, as Lena ate her dinner, she realized it felt kind of lonely, eating by herself. Oi, that’s a stupid thought, Lena thought. Em’s just over there in the living room, and Amelie too! Come to think of it, they look really nice together. Still, Lena felt that something was missing. She pushed that thought to the back of her brain, though.

“Fareeha.”

“wha...” Fareeha said, waking up. She was in bed, and it was dark out. She looked over at the clock. 11:30 P.M. Why was she awake now?

She felt Angela’s hand on her shoulder. Yawning, she said, “Ya amar, why’d you wake me-”

She trailed off when she saw Angela. She was sitting bolt upright. Her hair seemed to stand on end, and gone was her usual weary look. Bu most noticeably, her eyes were glowing white.

“Good. You are awake. We need to go.” Angela said, in an echoing, imposing voice that sounded almost like a choir.

Fareeha stared at her for a few seconds.

“Why?”

“Hellhounds. Other side of town. Get your gear. Get dressed. Call Lena.”

Fareeha got out of bed, half-awake but grinning. “Finally.”

On the edge of the woods, six figures stood. Fareeha was wearing blue hockey pads and wielding her hockey stick. Amelie was wearing a long hoodie, two pairs of black gloves, her visor, and was wielding a sniper rifle. Lena had her glowing necklace, a toolbelt strapped on over her bomber jacket, and was in the process of loading a handgun. Emily looked a bit apprehensive, but nevertheless she was brandishing her silver-tipped umbrella with the rest of them. Sombra was hovering in the air, practicing her punches and kicks. And Angela stood in the forefront of them all, hair flowing and body glowing with a dim yellow-white light, ready to unleash her full power but reined in for now.

“Are we ready?”

“Ready.” Fareeha said confidently.

Lena grinned. “Course we are!”

Amelie and Sombra nodded in assent. Emily hesitated for a second, then nodded as well.

“Then let’s go. Battle awaits.” Angela announced, leading on into the forest with the others close behind.

Soon, Amelie spotted a dim orange light. Then another, and another. “There they are!” she announced, pointing.

“Hellhounds. Ten of them.” Angela smiled. “Finally.” With that, her dim glow turned into a bright shine. Massive, angelic wings sprouted from her back as she began to glow all over, becoming a radiant, angelic figure. She rose into the air and hurtled towards the hellhound pack, yelling a battle cry.

Fareeha looked in awe for a few seconds before snapping out of it and following her, charging into battle with her weapon gripped tightly. Lena, Emily, and Sombra followed, with Amelie sticking back with her sniper rifle.

Angela lobbed a few bolts of light at the pack. Two of the hounds were hit and dissolved into ash. The pack scattered as a result. Fareeha whacked one in the head with her hockey stick and felt its skull crack under the swing a split second before it dissolved. She wheeled around and bashed another in the ribcage, leaving another ashpile behind her.

A hellhound leapt at Emily, but she opened her umbrella and it bounced off the shield, knocking her back a bit but repelling the slavering beast. She didn’t notice the other one lurking behind her, until a shot rang out and, with a yelp, the hound dissolved into ash. Emily looked over in the direction in the shot, and saw Amelie giving her two thumbs up. She gave a thumbs up in return.

The hound Emily died was swiftly dispatched by Lena, who was dashing around the area. She paused just long enough to shoot it right in the head before dashing off again, kicking up some ash in her wake. Sombra was having a bit of a harder time, since she neglected to bring weapons. Thus, she was engaged in a bit of fisticuffs with a hellhound. Jab right, kick left, roundhouse, and two decisive hits to the cranium brought the beast down, and Sombra floated off.

Lena noticed the remaining two hellhounds and ran over to one, shooting at it till it dissolved. Amelie took the last one with a decisive shot to the head.

As they dusted themselves off, Angela’s light bean to dim. She touched down, and all of a sudden she immediately stopped glowing. Fareeha ran over as Angela shuddered on her feet and collapsed in her arms.

“Angie! Are you okay?”

“Ja, liebling. Just… tired.” Angela sighed and looked up at Fareeha. “We make a good team, though.”

thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and the next chapter’s already underway!

And as always, thank you to @reypadawanjedi, @space-agatka, @kalverzer, and my beta @sssammich

#symbra #widowtracily #pharmercy #monster watch #my fics #i'm gonna take a break after this and establish some lore so i can get a onsistent universe down

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