#I got some warts burnt off today

[aiizaph]

hhhhhoooouuuggghhhhh…. mahh fooooooooooooooooottttt…….. :’(

[nekoabiwrites]

Pier Pressure

I had this in my WIPs for a while... but I forgot until today lmao.

AU: Human Pairings: Logince/Pining Moxiety Words: 1068 Warnings: Nothing really. If there’s anything, let me know!

Summary: The four go to the lake to chill, but there’s some tension that Roman just cannot deal with as they get their sunscreen on.

---

“Roman! Get back here!”

“Last one in has to do my chores for a week!”

A loud splash followed as Roman cannonballed off the platform and into the murky water.

Virgil wrinkled his nose in disgust as Roman resurfaced and pushed his now-wet hair from his eyes. “That’s… actually gross.”

Roman shrugged and lazily swam around the small platform that poked out into the water. He’d been looking forward to this since the weather had warmed up. It was a tradition that their little rag-tag group would venture out to Logan’s house and then take a walk to the nearby lake in order to cool off and have a picnic – lovingly prepared by Patton, of course. Sure, maybe the lake’s water wasn’t exactly ‘clean’ but Roman did not care in the slightest. It was warm out and being in the water was cooler than being out of it. He eventually pulled himself up back onto dry land, letting his feet rest in the water as he observed his friends.

Patton, being the slowest of them as he insisted he could carry everything for the picnic, had just appeared and was panting. Virgil quickly lunged towards the boy, grabbing everything and putting it on the ground. He rummaged in his own bag for his water bottle and handed it to Patton, who thanked him with a wide grin before taking a long drink.

During this, Logan’s thin figure crossed his vision. He reached for the blanket and set it up with little to no flourish, every movement of his was so effortless and easy. The boy then reached into another bag and pulled out bottles of sunscreen, tossing one between Virgil and Patton before turning his attention to Roman.

“I’ll never hear the end of it from your dad if you get burnt. Come here.” Logan practically demanded.

Roman knew he was right. His dad was just a little protective and a total worry-wart, it was no secret where his brother got it from. With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, the young boy pushed himself up and wandered over to sit beside Logan. As much as he feigned being annoyed, Roman was more than happy to let the nerd run his hands all over his body. So when the bottle was thrust into his hands, he looked to Logan with offense.

“Did you really expect me to do it for you? Are you truly that incapable of looking after yourself?” Logan raised an eyebrow, working the cream into his own arms.

Roman shuffled closer and whispered into Logan’s ear, “I was just hoping to have you touching me…”

“Shut up.” Logan muttered with a heavy blush on his cheeks. Without any more prompting, he did take the bottle from Roman’s hands and began to cover his boyfriend’s back and arms.

The dramatic boy couldn’t help the smug grin that grew on his face before looking over to his brother and other friend, who were sitting next to each other doing their own sunscreen. He could see that Virgil was flicking his eyes between the rest of the group warily, a usual sign that he wanted to say something and was trying to build up the confidence to do so. Roman rolled his eyes, “Virgil, you okay there? Seems like you have something you wanna share with the group.”

Virgil physically jumped at the sudden call of his name, before glaring at his brother who was now grinning teasingly at him. He avoided the three gazes that were now focusing on him, “It’s nothing. I’m fine. Whatever. Let’s swim.” He tugged his shirt off in one fluid motion and – before anyone could stop him – sprinted off the short pier and into the water.

“Virgil!” Patton called out, getting to his feet. “Get back out here and finish up your sunscreen!”

“Nah.” Virgil said, floating on the surface with his eyes closed. “I’m fine.”

“Viiiiirge…” Patton whined, giving him his best puppy dog eyes – aka his not-so-secret weapon. If he used these against any of his friends, they would do whatever he asked. Patton didn’t like to use his powers, unless it was an emergency… but he made exceptions for moments like these.

“I know you’re doing them, Pat. I’m not going to look at you.” Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and swam a bit further away from the pier.

“You will. I’ll make sure of it!” Patton then tossed his own shirt to the side, bringing an undignified squeal from Roman who needed to dodge the incoming shirt, before jumping into the lake himself. He grappled playfully with Virgil, who attempted to keep his eyes shut while wriggling away from Patton’s grasp.

As their two friends splashed around in the water, Roman watched with a pout. Logan moved around to apply the cream to his nose, which allowed him to block the view,  “What are you pouting for now?” The nerd asked casually.

Roman, trying not to get too distracted by the careful touch of his boyfriend, huffed dramatically, “It’s those two! They clearly like each other but won’t admit it! It’s annoying!”

“It is also none of your business. They’ll come to realise it eventually, like I did…” Logan said with a loving smile before placing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Well of course you did. How could you not?” Roman gestured to himself.

Logan blinked slowly for a second before sighing and sitting back, “…You ruined it. As usual.” Roman went to turn to try to bring his boyfriend back into his arms, but the sound of Patton cheering, and the quietening of the water brought both their attentions back to the lake.

Patton had somehow gotten Virgil not only into his arms, but also above his head – the small emo curling into a ball. It was only for a moment though, as Virgil lost his balance and fell back into the water behind Patton, squeaking in surprise. Eventually, the two clambered out and back to the blanket as Virgil had clearly resigned to letting Patton finish off applying the sunscreen.

While they were preoccupied, Roman jumped on his opportunity, “So, when are you two getting together?”

Patton immediately froze while Virgil turned the brightest shade of red Roman had ever seen on him. He spluttered out a few non-words before shutting his mouth tight. Roman simply laughed and Logan rolled his eyes, swatting his boyfriend’s arm half-heartedly.

--

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[halo-jpeg]

So I like to go for really long walks and the other day I went outside and walked for 5 hours straight, getting sun burnt on all skin that was exposed to the sun. I wanted to ask if you could do Bo, Michael, Jason, Bubba, Thomas, and Danny with their adoptive daughter that likes to exercise a lot and goes for a 5 hour long walk, coming back all sun burnt and tired (just wants to cuddle with them)?

Slashers with a Sunburnt Daughter

Bo Sinclair

You disappeared for hours at once quite often, so Bo wasn’t worried. He went on with his normal day, checking the street outside his shop window every time you crossed his mind. You finally showed up again when the boilingsun was setting, and the red of your skin made him crack a smile.

He already knew that you’d been in the sun for much too long, and hoo-boy, would you regret that in the morning!

He’ll greet you as normal, he’ll say you look fine, not red at all, but he’ll be trying not to break out into laughter as you poke at your warm and reddened face and arms.

When you wake up the next morning in agony, it’s only fair to expect a fit of laughter from your father. He saw it coming, and didn’t say a thing. What an asshole!

After a good 30 minutes of pain and death, he’ll finally get Lester to head out and buy some aloe Vera to help with the burns. He’ll even make you some sweet tea, and he’ll even let you take the day off from your chores.

Michael Myers

You’ve been known to go on long walks, but Michael noticed that you’re gone longer than ever before. He knows you can handle yourself, but a burn is almost guaranteed at this point.

He’ll go searching for you through the nearby forest, waiting for your return. When you finally get home, he scolds you for not taking care of yourself, and says that you’ll be in pain tomorrow thanks to your burn.

He’ll try his best to treat you now, before the burn escalates to its full pain, but he’s only good at stitching wounds, not healing skin! He’s clueless, so, tough luck for you.

In the morning, he’ll only say ‘I told you so’ once or twice before he stops teasing. He knows you’re in pain, and he’ll respect that.

Even though he doesn’t really know how to help you, he’ll do his best- he’ll even sit through one of those stupid movies you like if it makes you feel a little better.

Jason Voorhees

Jason and you, his daughter, are used to the forest. You wander off on your own quite often, so he wasn’t surprised to see you gone. But as time dragged by he began to worry about you and your health and safety.

What if some presky teens got their hands on you? What if you fell on the lake? He begins to worry, and ends up tearing the camp apart to find you.

At last, you stumble home just fine- other than the more than unnatural red tint to your skin, a clear sign of too much sun.

He’ll get straight to work in treating the sunburn as best as he can with whatever he has. Ice packs, aloe, and lots and lots of water.

He’s the ultimate mother hen when it comes to treating your injuries and ailments, so he won’t leave you side, even if his mother tells him to go deal with trespassers. They can wait a day.

Once the sunburn is dealt with, he won’t let you go out too long again- at least, not without lots and lots of sun screen.

Bubba Sawyer

Sunburn is no foreign concept to the Sawyers, but it’s still a bitch nonetheless. It’s officially one of ChopTop’s many sworn enemies- he gets it more than anyone else in the family.

Bubba notices the red and warm skin on your arms and face before you do, and he’s immediately distressed. He’s afraid of possibility of heat stroke, and what if you melt, and- he’s a bit of a worry wart.

For once he’ll stand up to Drayton to get you out of your chores and in front of all of the fans in the house. bubba will still be gone doing chores most of the day, but his brothers hardly do anything, so they can help you instead.

Nubbins does his best, and he’s actually really helpful. He’ll bring you water, and ice packs, and lotion- what’ve you ask for, he’ll get, with next to no complaint.

ChopTop, on the other hand, will tease the ever-loving hell out of you. You won’t hear the end of it, even though he’s been through your pain more than once. It won’t take long for you to wish Bubba were taking care of you instead of your uncles.

Thomas Hewitt

You come home from your walk, and Thomas is immediately berating you for being out so long. He knows how dangerous Texas can be- people, and the wildlife can be deadly.

Then, he noticed the real problem; the obvious signs of a severe sunburn. Fantastic.

He’ll go to his mother, since she will know exactly what to do- and she does. She gets Hoyt to head into town, buying aloe and ice packs galore. She can’t have her granddaughter in pain!

She’ll tell Thomas exactly what to do and he’ll learn quickly. You’ll be pampered completely, given extra food and even double servings of desert! Awesome!

They actually treat you so well you’re tempted to get sunburn again- mainly for the extra sweets, and Hoyt withholding his snide comments.

Danny ‘Jed Olsen’ Johnson

Danny will notice that you’re gone, and he’ll worry for a moment, but he knows you’ve got your knife and a lot of fighting skill, so he’s not too scared for you.

He won’t even notice your return until you greet him, and then, he won’t notice anything different. He’s a busy man, with a lot of planning to do- especially today.

When the burn gets bad enough and you ask him for help, he’ll drop his planning and go into parent mode. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” “You should have used more sunscreen!” “You shouldn’t have been out so long!”

He’ll get you settled on the sofa, and he’ll let you pick the TV channel. Then, he’ll disappear for an hour, coming back with a tub of ice cream all for you.

He’ll watch movies with you all day, making sure you’re fed and watered and not too warm.

[elim19600]

A girl named Aphra

Aphra’s First Mission

             It’s my seventeenth birthday today as I walked through the streets of Misty Hollow. The outskirts of Saxon. Here you have a couple of suburbs but it’s right on the edge. You still have a couple skyscrapers but it’s mostly slums, alleyways, and government housing. It’s dirty, overrun with vagabonds and homeless. Every street is littered with garbage, the police are nonexistent, and it reeks of hate. I’m looking for trouble, I’m looking for those people that don’t deserve what they have. I need change, this place deserves better. There are good people here, (not many,) but there are.

Wouldn’t you know it, as I turn the corner onto Oceanfront, I see him walking out and getting in his chauffeured black sedan. Adam McCoy is a banker on paper, but he’s really a filthy, no good thief. A loan shark that takes hard earned money from single mothers, forces small businesses to go bankrupt, and evades taxes, just to name a few. Not only is he ugly on the inside but he may be worse on the outside. He’s a short, fat man that you can smell from a block away. His nose is a sandwich that’s been cut diagonally. One of his eyelids won’t open all the way and his face is covered in warts.  I’ve been investigating him for a while now, and I thought tonight was the night I was going to take him down. Until I learned something valuable. I decided to tail him as he left and zapped myself to the top of the building. I watched as his big luxury car rumbled into traffic and headed straight on Oceanfront south. It was late in the afternoon so there was plenty of traffic. I couldn’t see him through the tinted windows but he was undoubtedly sipping his flask and filling the car with smoke from a giant cigar. The car eventually made it four blocks and turned right, away from the ocean and into one of the worse parts of Misty Hollow where there are high-rise apartments and low-life scum. His driver dropped him off at his building, five more blocks west down Twenty-eighth street. That was an easy tail job for me. I could practically see the whole journey from the top of the first building. But getting inside may be a challenge, residents and employees only.

I walked casually up to the building. The bellhop was outside smoking. Cute blonde headed kid, thin, bony face, and deep blue eyes. He was wearing the typical uniform. Red, cylindrical hat, black pants and shoes, and the red vest. He looked like he didn’t know too much of anything. I walked up and asked if I could get inside, well of course that didn’t work out too well. I didn’t have time to mess around. I made him walk around the corner to inspect some garbage. (I’m telepathic remember?) I took his card key before he left and walked inside. Not a fancy building to say the most, dirty tan carpet with stains, the wood used for the customer counter was cheap and damaged. The furniture in the lobby was all faux suede, also dirty and stained. The whole place smelled musty and wet, some corners most likely had mold. The walls were cheap flower printed wallpaper that had begun peeling at the corners. This is where it got tricky. The first thing I noticed was a large man in a dark suit with no earthly reason for being there.  This certainly drew a red flag for me, it was late. There was only one purpose for him being there. He worked for Adam, and was certainly carrying a gun, as well as a radio or some other form of instant communication. Surely this man wouldn’t see me as out of the ordinary, would he? I’m just another resident that works late and is just getting home. There’s no way that I’ve built a reputation in the crime community. I deter myself from questioning him and proceed through the lobby. The man comments and says he hasn’t seen me around the building before. “just moved in a week ago.” I say as I try to keep moving. “hold it, missy” says the strange man. For a short second, I contemplated having some fun, but I was in deep. I needed to be careful. I decided again to just lead his mind into something else. I had to stop doing that, someone was sure to catch on that something suspicious is going on.

Speaking of which, the bellhop was coming back in; I made a dash for the elevator and went up. The elevator had to come down from the third floor, so that’s where I went.

When I stepped out onto the third floor, I noticed another man, dressed very similarly, tall and broad, with a bum leg, Walking away from me. I assumed he was patrolling. So I walked casually down his way, hoping I could figure out which room Adam McCoy lived in. The hallway wasn’t much different from the rest of the building or the lobby for that matter. A dark, almost burnt red carpet was chosen for the hallway floors and a similar wallpaper without the flowers for the walls, small metal arms held the lamps with little white lampshades every ten feet or so. Just as I assumed, the man in the dark suit reached the end of the hallway, paused, and simply turned around and began walking back my way. He was whistling and tapping the wall as he walked. I decided to begin as a lost girl. “Excuse me sir, do you know which room is Adam’s? I met him the other day and I wanted to thank him for helping me.” I said in a soft, coy voice. The man wasn’t that amused, but I saw a twinkle in his eye. “Lady, you best be gettin’ on now, I ain’t never heard o’ no Adam. You on the wrong floor.” He replied in a southern drawl. He may have been a bad person, he most certainly carried a gun, but I could tell he was trying to be nice to me. But I knew if I were to ask him again, he wouldn’t be so kind. I had to think quick; “listen, I gotta figure this out, you and I both know they are ways of doing this…” I retorted sternly, and paused for a moment to see if he would react. It took him to long so before he opened his mouth I teleported behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He twirled around, and when he saw me he reached in his suit jacket for his gun. I threw it out of his hand with a quick telekinetic toss. I quickly used the same power to close his windpipe, and I asked him again. This time he choked out “three-sixteen.” I let go and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Just for added security I knocked him out with his gun and kept it. Of course, I wouldn’t use the gun but I would certainly dispose of it for him. It was just a cheap nine-millimeter made by some brand I had never heard of; he wouldn’t miss it much.

Now I began searching for room three-sixteen, I walked back down toward the elevator and found it halfway down on the right. I gave the door a light, quick rap and tried to look pretty in the peephole. I heard a table shake and a chair creak after a moment. Then I heard him walking toward the door. I heard him stop for a second, (probably looking through the peephole.) he undid the chain before he opened the door, a mistake he was about to regret. Although it did mean I must have looked pretty or he was interested one way or another. As he opened the door I stood there, confirming his identity. I considered tackling him and beating him within an inch of his life for being such a terrible person, but I kept my cool. “Excuse me sir, but I’m a tad lost and I need to call my mom… Or maybe you could help me, she lives on this floor, but I can’t remember her room number.” I said in a mellow voice, trying to come off like a young teenager trying to be cool. “sure, come in, you can use my phone.” He replied, sticking his head out to look both ways down the hallway before giving me a disgusting smirk. I walked in casually, it was a small apartment room. It had a small kitchen big enough for two people with one bar stool and no formal dining table. It was a mess, with dishes and other random things lying all over the counter, (mostly empty bottles of rum.) and dried food stuck to everything. The living room was also small, with two grey armchairs facing each other with a flower pot stand in the middle acting as a table, covered in half smoked cigars and ashes to the point you could barely tell there was even an ashtray in the middle. There was a hall closet on the left and a bedroom on the right, that was it. Ugly flower wallpaper and grey carpet, much like the hallway outside. “Thank you, I’ll just be a moment.” I replied, as I walked over to the phone that was laying on the floor behind one of the chairs. I picked up the old dingy, sticky phone that was at one point supposed to be white. I punched seven random numbers in slowly to act as if she were actually making a phone call while she thought of how to draw him over. “I think the number seven button is sticking, would you see if this phone number works for you?” I asked, holding the phone out toward him but not too far away, as he walked over, I reached into my pocket and grabbed the small gauge wire I had in my jacket pocket for this job. Adam snatched the phone away from her. “What’s the damn number?” He growled impatiently. At that moment, I grabbed his extended hand and pulled him close with his back facing me. With the cord, already in my right hand I wrapped it around his throat and used telekinesis to help pull and suffocate him. After his heart stopped, I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe off the phone. Also doing the same to the doorknob as I walked out, having not touched anything else. Why did I go through all that trouble when I can manipulate energy? I can’t kill everyone with my mind, it wouldn’t be any fun. I can’t kill everyone I meet either, these things have to look like they were done by everyday scumbags. Like I said before, I don’t have any kind of reputation with anyone. I don’t need to start one either. Those heroic stories of vigilantes you hear are glamorous, but when you’re actually killing people, all attention is bad attention. I’m new to crime fighting and I would rather not get killed before I’m old enough to drink. I’ll let the police find Adam and his hallway patrol, when they do, it won’t get back to me. The police will blame some other good for nothing Hench-man or maybe even a right hand man that may even help me track down more bad guys.  

[pruittwrites]

Burnt Sweet Potato Pie

Trudy fought to hold back the tears. She had followed the recipe to a t, she thought. Her first clue was the smoke, the second was the foam that formed on the edge of the pan. When one bite of the quickly cooled concoction confirmed her fears, uncontrollable sobs fell. This was not the Thanksgiving she had planned.

She had successfully cooked Thanksgiving dinner before, she wasn’t a novice. Granted it had been a few years, Mom and her sisters had rotated the responsibility of the main dinner for the last five years. It had been four since her last turn.

Everyone brought sides, but the main house did three dishes, the turkey, the dressing, and the sweet potato pie. Trudy was afraid the turkey looked drier than last time, but she was probably overthinking it. She reminded herself the dressing needed more sage, but the thing that she had to get right was dessert.

Now, her first sweet potato pie was a flop. She had done something wrong, but she didn’t have time to figure it out. She sat it aside on the counter by the sink, and started two new ones. “Charles, I need you.”

These words, on this day, struck fear into her husband’s heart. He had been part of a big family, the first to get his license. Charles knew what that meant on Thanksgiving day. He still remembered the look his Father had given him the first day it had happened.

Particularly the smile that seemed to say, “You have the license now, it’s your turn.” His Dad had muttered something when he tossed him the keys, that sounding suspiciously like “I’m free.” Ever since then, Charles waited til Wendy had gotten her license. He thanked God every day that his Father had not been a chauvinist, especially that first Thanksgiving when it was her turn.

“What am I getting?” Was his intended first sentence, until he saw the tears. “Baby, what’s wrong? Don’t worry, everything’s going to be ok. How can I help?” Was what came out as he hugged his bride. “Sweet potatoes, sugar, pecans … Too much to say, I’ll text you.”

It was his second trip that day, and he felt noble in the fact that he had resisted responding like his brother Joe had last year at his house. “Joe still winces when he eats a turkey sandwich a year later.” He said as he looked at the market once getting out of the car.

It was as horrible as he expected it to be, but he made it home in forty five minutes. Any other day, it would have been a twenty minute trip. Trudy had him double check her on every step. Soon, both pies were in the oven, and Trudy placed two more in the refrigerator as backups to cook next.

The Hudson/Cantrell family loved their sweet potato pies. While they cooked, Trudy went to change, charging Charles with the responsibility of watching them. Sweet potato pie hadn’t been as big a deal to the Hudson side of the family until he married Trudy.

For some reason, the Cantrell family put it right up above the dressing, almost more important than the turkey. No one had ever said why. When Trudy came back, one still wasn’t ready. She took the one out to cool, and put one of the refrigerator pies in the oven.

Charles ran to catch a very quick shower. He had just finished dressing when the doorbell rang. Soon all the family was laughing and talking about memories. Everything was going great.

Trudy was still a little preoccupied. Her Mom asked her what was going on. She said she just wanted to make sure the dessert was ok. Even her Mom thought she was over checking the kitchen, and her Mom was a worry wart.

She switched out the two that were done, and placed the last refrigerator pie in the oven. They sat down to eat. Trudy’s Dad would say Grace, and Charles’ Dad would ask each what they were thankful for.

Before long, everyone was eating. It was going well. Charles smiled at Trudy, and she smiled back, until the smell came from the kitchen. This time the smoke alarm went off. She had forgotten the last pie.

Trudy ran to the kitchen, and Charles followed. She took it out of the oven, and turned it off. Charles stopped the alarm. Tears started again, her mother Molly looked at George and he obediently followed.

There in the middle of the kitchen the two couples consoled one another. Molly took her daughter by the hand, and set her on the stool. “This isn’t about the sweet potato pie. You got three out of four right.”

“More like three out of five, I burnt one earlier. I just wanted the dessert to be perfect.” Trudy explained. Charles added an explanation. “We were going to make an announcement after the sweet potato pie.”

Molly looked at her daughter, then looked at her husband, and then at George. His eyes got big, a sentimental smile began, which turned into boisterous laughter. This started her daughter’s tears again, until George rushed to explain.

“Honey, I’m not laughing at you, or Charles. I’m laughing at a couple about thirty two years ago. Dry your face, come into the dining room. Make your announcement, and we’ll explain.”

Reluctantly, she agreed. They all rejoined the family. Trudy and Charles shared their news, and for the next thirty minutes, everyone congratulated the expecting couple. George, not wanting to steal their thunder, waited til everyone sat down to sweet potato pie.

“Molly and I have been married for thirty four years. Two years after we were married, we found out that a very special gift was on it’s way. When she arrived, we named her Trudy, and we found out she was coming the second week of November.”

“It was your Mother’s plan to announce after Thanksgiving dinner. She made all kinds of things for dessert, back then you cooked for days. She decided to try something that wasn’t a family tradition for us, sweet potato pie.”

Molly took over. “A friend at work told me how much her family loved it. So I decided I’d try it. They didn’t turn out so well.”

George laughed again. “They were burnt sweet potato pies. I never forgot the taste of the piece I ate.”

Molly gave him a mock look of anger and smiled. “Everyone reassured me it was fine, but only George insisted on eating two pieces. We told everyone that we were going to have a baby, and from then on sweet potato pie became very important to us. Although your Dad always insisted we buy enough for four pies.”

George finished it up. “I was very thankful for burnt sweet potato pie then. I never wanted to eat it again. Now, today, I don’t really mind it.”

Thanksgiving has always been more than turkey and the trimmings. It’s about being thankful for your faith, family, friends, and blessings. An sometimes yes, it’s about food, parades, memories, and even burnt sweet potato pie.

from Burnt Sweet Potato Pie

[elim19600]

Aphra’s First Mission

 It’s my seventeenth birthday today as I walked through the streets of Misty Hollow. The outskirts of Saxon. Here you have a couple of suburbs but it’s right on the edge. You still have a couple skyscrapers but it’s mostly slums, alleyways, and government housing. It’s dirty, overrun with vagabonds and homeless. Every street is littered with garbage, the police are nonexistent, and it reeks of hate. I’m looking for trouble, I’m looking for those people that don’t deserve what they have. I need change, this place deserves better. There are good people here, (not many,) but there are.

Wouldn’t you know it, as I turn the corner onto Oceanfront, I see him walking out and getting in his chauffeured black sedan. Adam McCoy is a banker on paper, but he’s really a filthy, no good thief. A loan shark that takes hard earned money from single mothers, forces small businesses to go bankrupt and evades taxes, just to name a few. Not only is he ugly on the inside but he may be worse on the outside. He’s a short, fat man that you can smell from a block away. His nose is a sandwich that’s been cut diagonally. One of his eyelids won’t open all the way and his face is covered in warts.  I’ve been investigating him for a while now, and I thought tonight was the night I was going to take him down. Until I learned something valuable. I decided to tail him as he left and zapped myself to the top of the building. I watched as his big luxury car rumbled into traffic and headed straight on Oceanfront South. It was late in the afternoon so there was plenty of traffic. I couldn’t see him through the tinted windows but he was undoubtedly sipping his flask and filling the car with smoke from a giant cigar. The car eventually made it four blocks and turned right, away from the ocean and into one of the worse parts of Misty Hollow where there are high-rise apartments and low-life scum. His driver dropped him off at his building, five more blocks west down the Twenty-eighth street. That was an easy tail job for me. I could practically see the whole journey from the top of the first building. But getting inside may be a challenge, residents, and employees only.

I walked casually up to the building. The bellhop was outside smoking. Cute blonde headed kid, thin, bony face, and deep blue eyes. He was wearing the typical uniform. Red, cylindrical hat, black pants and shoes, and the red vest. He looked like he didn’t know too much of anything. I walked up and asked if I could get inside, well, of course, that didn’t work out too well. I didn’t have time to mess around. I made him walk around the corner to inspect some garbage. (I’m telepathic remember?) I took his card key before he left and walked inside. Not a fancy building to say the most, dirty tan carpet with stains, the wood used for the customer counter was cheap and damaged. The furniture in the lobby was all faux suede, also dirty and stained. The whole place smelled musty and wet, some corners most likely had mold. The walls were cheap flower printed wallpaper that had begun peeling at the corners. This is where it got tricky. The first thing I noticed was a large man in a dark suit with no earthly reason for being there.  This certainly drew a red flag for me, it was late. There was only one purpose for him being there. He worked for Adam and was certainly carrying a gun, as well as a radio or some other form of instant communication. Surely this man wouldn’t see me as out of the ordinary, would he? I’m just another resident that works late and is just getting home. There’s no way that I’ve built a reputation in the crime community. I deter myself from questioning him and proceed through the lobby. The man comments and says he hasn’t seen me around the building before. “just moved in a week ago.” I say as I try to keep moving. “hold it, missy” says the strange man. For a short second, I contemplated having some fun, but I was in deep. I needed to be careful. I decided again to just lead his mind into something else. I had to stop doing that, someone was sure to catch on that something suspicious is going on.

Speaking of which, the bellhop was coming back in; I made a dash for the elevator and went up. The elevator had to come down from the third floor, so that’s where I went.

When I stepped out onto the third floor, I noticed another man, dressed very similarly, tall and broad, with a bum leg, Walking away from me. I assumed he was patrolling. So I walked casually down his way, hoping I could figure out which room Adam McCoy lived in. The hallway wasn’t much different from the rest of the building or the lobby for that matter. A dark, almost burnt red carpet was chosen for the hallway floors and a similar wallpaper without the flowers for the walls, small metal arms held the lamps with little white lampshades every ten feet or so. Just as I assumed, the man in the dark suit reached the end of the hallway, paused, and simply turned around and began walking back my way. He was whistling and tapping the wall as he walked. I decided to begin as a lost girl. “Excuse me, sir, do you know which room is Adam’s? I met him the other day and I wanted to thank him for helping me.” I said in a soft, coy voice. The man wasn’t that amused, but I saw a twinkle in his eye. “Lady, you best be gettin’ on now, I ain’t never heard o’ no Adam. You on the wrong floor.” He replied in a southern drawl. He may have been a bad person, he most certainly carried a gun, but I could tell he was trying to be nice to me. But I knew if I were to ask him again, he wouldn’t be so kind. I had to think quick; “listen, I gotta figure this out, you and I both know they are ways of doing this…” I retorted sternly and paused for a moment to see if he would react. It took him to long so before he opened his mouth I teleported behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He twirled around, and when he saw me he reached in his suit jacket for his gun. I threw it out of his hand with a quick telekinetic toss. I quickly used the same power to close his windpipe, and I asked him again. This time he choked out “three-sixteen.” I let go and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Just for added security I knocked him out with his gun and kept it. Of course, I wouldn’t use the gun but I would certainly dispose of it for him. It was just a cheap nine-millimeter made by some brand I had never heard of; he wouldn’t miss it much.

Now I began searching for room three-sixteen, I walked back down toward the elevator and found it halfway down on the right. I gave the door a light, quick rap and tried to look pretty in the peephole. I heard a table shake and a chair creak after a moment. Then I heard him walking toward the door. I heard him stop for a second, (probably looking through the peephole.) he undid the chain before he opened the door, a mistake he was about to regret. Although it did mean I must have looked pretty or he was interested one way or another. As he opened the door I stood there, confirming his identity. I considered tackling him and beating him within an inch of his life for being such a terrible person, but I kept my cool. “Excuse me sir, but I’m a tad lost and I need to call my mom… Or maybe you could help me, she lives on this floor, but I can’t remember her room number.” I said in a mellow voice, trying to come off like a young teenager trying to be cool. “sure, come in, you can use my phone.” He replied, sticking his head out to look both ways down the hallway before giving me a disgusting smirk. I walked in casually, it was a small apartment room. It had a small kitchen big enough for two people with one bar stool and no formal dining table. It was a mess, with dishes and other random things lying all over the counter, (mostly empty bottles of rum.) and dried food stuck to everything. The living room was also small, with two gray armchairs facing each other with a flower pot stand in the middle acting as a table, covered in half smoked cigars and ashes to the point you could barely tell there was even an ashtray in the middle. There was a hall closet on the left and a bedroom on the right, that was it. Ugly flower wallpaper and gray carpet, much like the hallway outside. “Thank you, I’ll just be a moment,” I replied, as I walked over to the phone that was laying on the floor behind one of the chairs. I picked up the old dingy, sticky phone that was at one point supposed to be white. I punched seven random numbers in slowly to act as if she were actually making a phone call while she thought of how to draw him over. “I think the number seven button is sticking, would you see if this phone number works for you?” I asked, holding the phone out toward him but not too far away, as he walked over, I reached into my pocket and grabbed the small gauge wire I had in my jacket pocket for this job. Adam snatched the phone away from her. “What’s the damn number?” He growled impatiently. At that moment, I grabbed his extended hand and pulled him close with his back facing me. With the cord, already in my right hand I wrapped it around his throat and used telekinesis to help pull and suffocate him. After his heart stopped, I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe off the phone. Also doing the same to the doorknob as I walked out, having not touched anything else. Why did I go through all that trouble when I can manipulate energy? I can’t kill everyone with my mind, it wouldn’t be any fun. I can’t kill everyone I meet either, these things have to look like they were done by everyday scumbags. Like I said before, I don’t have any kind of reputation with anyone. I don’t need to start one either. Those heroic stories of vigilantes you hear are glamorous, but when you’re actually killing people, all attention is bad attention. I’m new to crime fighting and I would rather not get killed before I’m old enough to drink. I’ll let the police find Adam and his hallway patrol, when they do, it won’t get back to me. The police will blame some other good for nothing Henchman or maybe even a right-hand man that may even help me track down more bad guys.