#I took like ten photos in the dark I hope the quality is alright

[draagu]

night time doodle for the barbeque enjoyers

[revisionaryhistory]

It’s All Art ~ 99

The littles came through the door and ran for the couch. Nick was in the lead, and despite his mother's words, had his eyes on Charlotte. They were coming around on Oscar's side. He moved fast and threw out his arm, "Woah, guys. You have to be easy with your sister. Her ribs hurt so you can't jump on her or hug too tight." He put his arm down.

Nick crept closer, "Can I sit on your lap, sissy?"

"Of course."She patted her thigh and put her arm around him. The girls stood close and Charlotte wrapped around all three. "I love you all and am glad to see you."

Bella reached out gingerly touching Charlotte's bruised cheek, "This looks like it hurts."

Charlotte nodded, "Horribly, but you three are making it feel so much better."

Toni kissed Charlotte's non-bruised cheek," Better?"

"Absolutely."

The siblings laughed and caught up while their parents watched proudly. Oscar tried to move, to let the kids have his place. Bella stopped him, moving to his other side and squishing him closer to Charlotte. He put his arm around the young girl, kissing her temple, and keeping her close to the group.

Oscar was keeping an eye on the clock, so he wasn't surprised by the knock on the door. He meet Micah's eyes, "That will be the police." He headed to let them in, hearing Micah gather up the family.

The officers saw Charlotte in a group hug, "Is this a bad time?"

"Nope. That's her family. They're going to chill in the apartment downstairs. Come on in." He collected hugs as the family left. Alexis held on a bit longer. Oscar moved back enough to see her face, "Don't worry too much. I've got her."

Alexis patted his chest, "She couldn't be in better hands."

Oscar had a loose plan. He would show them the card and flowers, leading into the story. However, when he turned from closing the door they were sitting with Charlotte and one had just asked how she was feeling.

"Getting there. Finding a way to sleep comfortably is the biggest hurdle." She kept her attention on the two officers, but reached to Oscar as he sat down beside her. "A lot has happened in the last twenty four hours."

The older of the pair, DI Marcum raised his eyebrows, "Do you remember the attack?"

Charlotte shook her head, "No, but Oscar has filled in the missing bits. We think the attacker sent me flowers." She pointed to the table.

Oscar walked with them to the table and explained how he'd read the card, but no one else had touched. They would take the card and vase, but who knew how many people had touched them. Oscar glanced at Charlotte before going on. "We know who sent them."

Marcum looked between the couple, "I think we should sit down."

Charlotte told the story. Marcum asked questions as DI Carlton took notes. They recorded the conversation as well. Oscar held her hand, and although he'd heard,  even told, the story several times he still cycled through a range of emotions. Most prominent was awe at her strength and pride. Proud of how she was managing this now. Proud of how she'd managed back then. And overwhelming pride that he got to call her his.

When she'd finished talking and they'd finished asking questions Oscar breathed again.  He felt like the book on this was starting to close. He hoped Charlotte did too.

Marcum nodded to Carlton then looked at Charlotte, “A'right if we show you a picture of your attacker?”

Charlotte felt Oscar's fingers tighten in hers. She was fine and with a gentle squeeze tried to convey that to him.  “Yes.”  A few clicks later and she was looking at a dark and grainy picture. She squinted her eyes a little and cocked her head to the side. The others thought she was struggling to recognize the face. She wasn't. She'd immediately recognized Jasper. What she was doing was trying to see the man she'd known in the picture. Not the one who'd lied and betrayed her, but the one she'd been so very attracted too. She didn't see that person in the picture. Looking away with a shudder, she looked at Marcum. “That's Jasper.”

“Are you certain?”

“One hundred percent.” Something occurred to her, “Look up his staff photo on the school website.”  

Malcom did as she asked and brought up a picture that, despite the difference in quality and age, was definitely the same man. He raised his eyebrows, “Good idea, Charlotte.”

Charlotte wasn't paying attention anymore. Her eyes were closed tight.

Oscar was instantly concerned by the look on her face, “Sweetheart?” He reached over and laid his hand on her cheek.

Charlotte's eyes opened and met his, “I remember everything.” She shifted her attention to Marcum, “Do you have the video? I can tell you what he said to me.”

Marcum brought up the video and started a new recording of the interview.

Oscar couldn't watch the video again. He watched Charlotte. He knew from her face what was going on.

Charlotte was amazed at the ease she remembered what was a complete blank even ten minutes ago. She winced when he slammed her against the wall. “That's where my arm broke.” She moved her casted arm closer to her body. “He said something like, “You were young, and beautiful, and looked up to me. But a piece of ass is still a piece of ass." Then I heard those boys yell. Ask him what he was doing and he took off.”  She looked at Oscar then back to the officers, “I remember bumping into him outside the parking garage and him dragging me in there.”

This part of the story was new and Oscar felt his blood boil. Jasper had no right. No right to talk to her.  Touch her. Nothing. Jasper had to have been following her. Running into her was no accident. His stomach seized and tried to hide taking a few deep  breaths. Charlotte had been afraid her attacker was following her and could come back after her. Everyone, himself included, had ensured her it was just here being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were wrong. He knew that from the flowers, but hearing what she remembered. Who knew how long he'd been watching her. He was glad he'd made the call this morning to get her security. Oscar didn't think she'd fight him on this, but he wasn't giving her a choice. Until Jasper was put away Charlotte would have security with her.

While the officers and Charlotte kept talking, Oscar entertained all sorts of revenge fantasies. None of them ended well for Jasper. Charlotte saying his name brought him back to the room. “Sorry.”

Marcum spoke, “We'll get an address and bring him in. We'll let you know when we have him. Until then we'll have officers watching the building. Don't go out alone.”

Oscar snickered, “Not a chance.” Since they'd mentioned safety concerns, he spoke up. “I've got security coming tonight. She'll have someone around the clock as long as this fucker is wandering around. Will you let us know when he . . . I don't know what it's called here . . . posts bail in America.”

Marcum nodded, “A victim liaison will be in touch and keep you updated on everything.”

“Perfect.”

When the conversation wrapped up Oscar walked the men out. He took a detour through the kitchen area and grabbed a couple of beers before heading back to the couch.

Charlotte laughed, “You know I can't drink and take pain pills at the same time.”

He took a long draw as he sat down, “These are mine.”

She smiled, kissed his cheek, and laid down with her head on his lap. Oscar drew his fingers through her long, soft hair. Over and over. Soothing both of them. He noticed the tense line of her body, “Are you comfortable?”

Charlotte didn't move, “No.” They both laughed. “But I'm not in pain. The way you're running your fingers through my hair and your thigh as a pillow is making me ignore the discomfort.” She turned her head to look up at him, “How are you?”

“Enjoying my beer and my girl's head in my lap.” He took another long drink. “How are you?”

“You know how I am.” She turned her head back, “I want to hear about you.”

He breathed out loudly, “Knowing for sure that he was following you. Seeing what he really looks like. Knowing you remember it all. I don't care for any of that.”

“Me either.”

Oscar's text notification went off. “It's your parents. They saw the officers leave.”

Charlotte sat up, “Would you take care of them for me. I need a little time. Tell them . . .”

“I'll take care of it.” He leaned in and kissed her. “I got it.”

“I'm going to go lay down. Join me when your done?”

He nodded, kissed her again, and watched her walk toward the bedroom. Oscar texted them that she'd remembered everything and needed some time. They understood and asked for him to keep them updated. He thought it would be an hour or two and he'd keep in contact.

Oscar drained the second beer before heading into the bedroom. He smiled, “You're naked.”

“You need to be too.” She watched him immediately start striping off his clothes. “I need your skin.” She waited until he crawled into bed, tucking himself tight against her back. “I feel like it's over. I know there's more to come, but it's the end of the story. I know what happened and everyone knows my secrets. It's over.” She turned her head to find his eyes, “Go ahead and say it.”

Oscar kissed her slowly, letting his tongue move slowly over hers, “I told you so.”

Charlotte bit his lip, “I'm glad you knew.”  She turned her head back and pulled his arm tight over her. “I want to lay here in your warmth and let it all go away. I want to let go of the memories and let everything really start to heal. I imagine there will be more nightmares now that I remember.” She cringed.

Oscar kissed the back of her neck, “I don't think so. I think the nightmares were your brain trying to put it back together. It doesn't need to do that anymore. And if you have another nightmare. We know what to do to make them go away.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte wanted to say something about how he always knew what to do, but that was wrong.

They always knew. They knew the other, they talked to each other, and they figured it out. They made everything alright.

[in-the-bookish-dark]

Light in the Darkness - RL

For ages now, I’ve had a light in my bedroom set to come on just before dusk, and I’ll tell you why.

When I was a kid, I figured out all by myself that the nighttime monsters have to come in between dusk and when you go to bed. That’s the only time, right? They’re never under the bed or in the closet during the day. It's not that they're that good at hiding. They just aren’t there. I know.

I spent a lot of my youth up to that point looking for them. I waited and watched during the day, staring under the bed or in the closet with a flashlight for seemingly forever, just to get the tiniest hint that there was something there. I’d do ambush checks, creeping in slowly, then bursting into the closet or dropping down to the floor. There was never anything in either place during the day. Never ever. Clearly, they had to come in from some place else, and it had to happen when the room was dark. I was almost nine when I realized this, and the first thing I spent my birthday money on was a bedroom lamp and a photoelectric switch to turn it on at sunset.

That light did its job for years. It wasn’t really necessary in college because there was always a light somewhere, and always activity. It doesn’t take much to realize that dorms aren’t prime feeding zones for monsters, at least not the non-human kind. I’ve been in my own apartment the past five years, though, and my ritual from childhood is back in place, since day one.

One handy thing about the lamp was that it had other, more social uses. Dates and girlfriends appreciated the fact that, if or when we moved into the bedroom, they didn’t have to stumble through the dark, tripping over shoes and laundry baskets and other random stuff. One girl I went out with thought it was presumptuous, but she didn’t last long for other issues.

As I said, the light did its job just fine – until the past two months or so.

The monsters got smarter.

At first, I figured the photo switch was going bad, maybe overheating. It would come on as the outside light faded, then randomly, it would just turn itself off between dusk and bedtime. It didn’t happen a lot – just twice in the first month – but after the second time, I replaced the switch. Just a faulty switch. Things wear out, y’know. Both times, I checked out the bedroom. I always checked things out. Always.

So I went down to Home Depot and I got a new switch, and I got a spare. Things wear out, right?

The first week or so after the new switch, everything was fine. Then, on the ninth night, it came on at dusk like it should and then went off maybe an hour later. I didn’t notice right off because my arm chair wasn’t right in line to see the bedroom, but I realized it when I got up to pee. I turned the switch back on, fiddled a little, and then left the room. It stayed on until I turned it off at bedtime.

The next day, I got smart and moved my couch and TV around so I could see into my bedroom in my peripheral vision. It didn’t give the living room great Feng Shui, but hey …

It turned off again two days later, about an hour and a half after sunset. I reset it again and left it. Maybe thirty minutes later, off to that side, things went dark, but then flared up again before I could even turn my head. That night, I turned my couch and TV so that I could look almost directly into my bedroom from the living room. I would see anything that happened with the bedroom lights. That definitely screwed up my Feng Shui.

The switch behaved itself for a week, then it went off right after dark the next night. I went in, turned the overhead light on, and swapped out the new switch with the new spare switch. I checked under the bed and in the closet. All clear.

The next day was Saturday and I was feeling clever. I decided that after all my fiddling, the problem had to be something with the lamp. It was the same lamp I'd had as a child. I'd retrieved it from my parents' lawn sale in my sophomore year of college. The thing was already almost fifteen years old.

That was the answer. There were no monsters in the room. The only thing threatening my sacred and reassuring night ritual was the old, crappy lamp itself. The piece of junk was probably shorting out the photo switch in some way. So, I went to Target and bought a brand new lamp, with a simple on-off toggle. It was kind of expensive, so I hoped it would be higher quality and more reliable.

For the next five days, I felt pretty proud of myself. On the fifth night, the lamp again went off not long after dusk. I did the whole routine of resetting, checking spaces, etc. Same old thing.

The next night, I got more curious, so I experimented a bit. I left the lamp plugged into the switch, but I also turned on the overhead light when I got home from work at six o’clock. The lamp came on at 6:47, and darkness was full by 7:13. At exactly 7:22, the lamp went out. Eight seconds later, the overhead light went out. I waited a few minutes, gathered up a flashlight and a backup - and my nerve - then went to the room. The overhead light switch was off. The photo switch was off, though the toggle on lamp itself was turned on. Just enough to make the light go away.

I turned it all back on and sat and watched from the living room. The overhead light went out in about ten minutes and the lamp, seconds after. I turned it all back on and took the photo switch out of the mix, just to see. In twelve minutes, the overhead light went out and then the lamp followed.

I slept on the couch that night and left all the lights on in the apartment.

The next morning, I left the apartment and stayed at a cheap hotel for a week, re-gathering my nerve.

I came back to my apartment this morning. I'd had a lot of time to think calmly about what was going on. As much as I wanted to move, I had to wonder if they wouldn’t just follow me. I knew for sure I’d lose the lease deposit and my last month’s rent, which I couldn’t afford to just let go of.

While I was out of the apartment, I decided, for the time being, to concede the bedroom. Until I could think of something better, they could have it. If I wanted to sleep in there, I’d do it in the daytime only. Otherwise, at night, I’d sleep out on the couch. It was a good, comfortable couch. I could adapt. Plus, the feet were only about an inch high, which limited what I could imagine hiding underneath. On top of that, the living room itself had no closets or cabinets, doors, drawers, boxes, bins, baskets – anything of that sort. There was nowhere for anything to skulk, aside from the tiny space between my arm chair and the wall. I turned the chair at an angle, so there was virtually no shadow alongside it.

Avoiding the bedroom wasn’t going to do anything for my sex life, but I was between girlfriends anyway. Any random encounter would have to take place during the day or anywhere but the bedroom. With any luck, I’d sort this out before things got more pressing.

I made myself a good dinner to help feel more like I’m back home, and had a couple of beers with it.

So that much was settled. I had the couch. They had the bedroom. We could keep things separate. My electric bill would go up because I’d have virtually all of my lights on in the rest of the apartment for the foreseeable future, but it was a smaller price to pay than losing my deposit and last month’s rent.

I felt so good I had another beer.

When I finally laid down at 11:30, I was as happy as a well-intoxicated man with monsters in his bedroom could be. I had the lights to protect me, even if the monsters were closer. I’d been too busy just dealing with them to actually realize how long it had been since I’d felt them so close. Sure, they had always been around, but always outside the doors and windows. I saw to it. I was still in charge and had been since I was nine.

Anyway, the couch was cozy enough for the short term. What more could I ask? I pressed the side of my head into the pillow and looked down the long hallway. My eyes were nearly closed and my brain nearly gone when some perverse streak made me do a childlike wave and call out a whimsical "Nighty-night, monsters. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite!" The humor made me feel a little better.

In an instant, my eyes closed, and in the very next instant, I heard a click.

I opened my eyes to see that the bedroom overhead light had gone off. The lamp followed within seconds. There. Alright. Both lights were off, the ritual was done, and now we could all get a decent night’s rest, the monsters and me.

Except – before I could get my eyes shut again, the hallway light went out.

It was followed by the bathroom light, both of them, actually – first the vanity light then the overhead. Slow, casual pace down the hallway. They were in no hurry.

Then went the spare room light followed by the light to the closet.

Next, the dining area, and after that, the sink light in the kitchen, followed by the vent-a-hood light over the stove, and then the main overhead light.

The light over me, the last one in the apartment, had three bulbs in a fixture. The light went out one bulb at a time. Blip … blip … … … blip.

They were having fun at my expense. The last one flickered for a moment, as though it had the will to resist, as though it had some choice in the matter.

And then, we were all alone together in the dark.

... so much dark.

[holyxsmoak]

Family Brunch || Oliver, Felicity, and William

Felicity: Felicity glanced at the mirror one more time. She took a deep breath letting her butterflies settled. She and Oliver had spent the night sleeping and talking about what they each wanted. When she had made coffee, Oliver had made hot chocolate That and lured William out of his room. They had sat I. The living room and enjoyed each other and talked. William had been quiet for awhile before he and Felicity had started talking about his Math class. They had eventually decided to go out to brunch.  

Oliver: Oliver fussed with his tie. The half Windsor knot felt too sloppy but the full felt far too dressy for a casual brunch. The American flag pin shined against the matte black material of his jacket. Last night felt amazingly different, his son and the woman he loves intermingled over denominators or whatever, and he felt at peace. Was this what happiness felt like? The slow creeping warmth that eradicated all the darkness that still swept up his soul? Oliver didn’t really understand the rush of emotions but he wasn’t about to shun them away. He had evolved from that man stuck on his lonely island. William sat in his bed with a serious case of the lazies. With one shoe on and a book open in his lap, it seemed brunch would sit on the back burner for just a few moments longer. “Are you nervous?” Oliver questioned as he sat on the edge of his son’s bed.

Felicity: Will looked at him and frowned at what he was wearing then went back to his book. “I don’t want to go. You said this was brunch with Felicity,” William pouted. He liked Felicity. She was funny and nice. She always told him the truth even when he didn’t like it.

Oliver: Oliver’s brow furrowed at the disappointment and possible disgust in his son’s reaction. “It is,” he nudges the boy’s foot with the palm of his hand. He wondered if it came from his distant desire to keep his father at arm's length at all times. “She’s getting fixed up now and we’re leaving in five. I hope that you’ll try to drag a brush through your hair and brush your teeth.”

Felicity:  Will frown deepened, “It’s not just brunch. You don’t wear that to brunch,” she said looking at the suit. Felicity leaned against the door in her leggings and sweater dress. “You do it you have to go be mayor after brunch,” Felicity said with an understanding smile which made Will pout more. “You’re dressed up too,” he complained. “Families don’t dress up for brunch,” William exclaimed. Felicity’s heart skipped a beat at William’s use of the word family but she didn’t want to point it out. “I know your dad has been really careful to keep you away from photographers but has he explained why and what paparazzi are,” Felicity asked. William sighed dramatically in the way only a ten-year-old could,  “They’re the same thing.” Felicity laughed, “Oh no, they’re not. Don’t ever insult a photographer by calling them, paparazzi.” She sat next to Oliver budging him to explain the difference. 

Oliver: Was this what teenage angst looked like? William wasn’t even a teenager yet and Oliver already felt the pressure building in his head. Of course, he has to take after his father in some way, pigheaded and unmovable like stone, were the qualities that had been passed down. Oliver looked back at Felicity with a gracious smile; if there were ever a sight that could settle his stirring nerves, it was her. “She’s right. I wish I could be in something more formal but I do have to go to work.” William’s dismay only deepened with each passing moment. Although, the quip about family, had washed away the grief that caked up in their bones. They were a family after all. “Paparazzi are people who take unflattering photos of people so they can sell it. Think about all those celebrities that are always trying to hide their faces. I just don’t want them to write anything about us because I may have punch another one.” Oliver wasn’t afraid to be one hundred percent honest with his son.

Felicity: “But we’re not famous,” Will argued. “We’re kind of famous. At least in our little city we are,” Felicity said with a smiled and resting her hand on Will’s knee letting him think everything through. She thought it was so adorable how much he looked like Oliver in that moment working through a problem. “So you dress up so they can’t take bad pictures and say mean things,” he asked working through the problem. “That’s right,” Felicity encouraged. “So do I have to dress up,” William asked. “You don’t have to ever do anything you don’t want to do when it comes to your appearance. Your dad and I will protect you as much as we can,” she promised.

Oliver: “No we’re not famous,” he looked at felicity with a silent thank you. “As the mayor of this city, it comes with some heavy drawbacks like people always trying to take our photos. Even when we don’t want them to be taken,” his hand skimmed Felicity’s lower back as he looked down at his son. “William if you want to go to brunch just as you are dressed, you can.” Oliver rose from his place on the bed and peeled off his jacket. He pulled out the cufflinks and begun to roll up his sleeves. If his son wanted casual, he would get casual.

Felicity: William looked at his closet, "I don't have any nice clothes," William muttered. "Not like you and Felicity," he explains embarrassed. His mom and he hadn't been poor but compared to Felicity and Oliver they were. Felicity's eyes widened and look at William. "If you want to go shopping we'll go shopping, but William, don't be embarrassed to tell us if you need something or would like to do something because it'll make you more comfortable. Oliver will do everything we can to make sure you're comfortable," she promised. "Can you help me pick something for today," he asked looking at Oliver hopefully.

Oliver: His heart ached at the thought of what Samantha had done to maintain a stable life for their son. HER son. Oliver got the most amazing boy and had nothing to do with molding him into such. “William, you just say the word and we’ll go today. I’ll clear my schedule and we can get whatever you want.” In reason...that’s something Samantha would have said wouldn’t she have? Oliver didn’t believe in reason, he was raised on excess. “Of course I will. How about this, we spilt even. It’s not super casual but not overly dressy?” Oliver smiled at his son feeling the love beginning to seep into every pore. He crouched down, “to be honest, I’m glad I don’t have to wear the jacket and this stupid tie.” He tugged the tie out of the knot and allowed it to just drape around his neck.

Felicity: William gave him a smile and nodded, "Can -- can we go today," he asked fidgeting with his comforter. He then looked at Felicity, "You'll come, right," he asked hopefully. "Of course," Felicity reassured. She smiled stood fighting the urge to kiss William's head fearful that it would be overstepping and moved to the door. "I'm going to let you guys pick clothes and get dressed while I make some arrangements," she said with a smile.

Oliver: “Yes,” Oliver would move mountains for this kid. He turned to watch Felicity move farther from them. The urge to pull her back into their orbit torn through him but he knew she was giving them space to do what father and son do. “Alright,” he rose from his place and made a beeline for William’s closet. “What kind of look do you see yourself in today?”

Felicity:  "I don't know," William said with a shrug. 'What do other rich kids wear," he asked confused. William had never had to worry about what others wore. At school, he wore a uniform and at home, he played with kids just like him.

Oliver: “Rich kids wear uncomfortable things,” Oliver noticed the uncomfortable furrow in his brow. He plucked out a pair of khakis and a nice cotton tee shirt. “The clothes you wear don’t define you. They don’t define me. I want you to know that I love you and as your father, I could care less what you wear because you’re my son. That’s what matters not the brands of the labels.” He held them out to his son with a smile. “Now I do care about is you taking care of that breath. I’m gonna phone the office and tell them that I took the day, alright? When I come back you better be dressed and ready for the day. Maybe just maybe we can catch the rockets game.”

Felicity: William’s eyes lit up and he ran down the hall to the bathroom. Felicity smiled in amusement at his enthusiasm as Oliver walked in wrapping her arms around his neck. “Good job, Dad,” she praised.

Oliver: Oliver watched William sprint out of his room and down towards the bathroom. Maybe he was finally getting a handle on being a father. His hands smoothed over Felicity’s hips as she melted into his arms. “Just some mild damage control..” he whispered against her lips. “Thank you for being here. I wouldn’t have to know what to do with that. Sometimes it’s like we’re in different planes all together and I don’t know what he needs when he lashes out.”

Felicity: “You’ve grown up in this world. You know all the pitfalls. Guide him around them. He’s still going to fall in one or two. He’ll eventually get a mean article written about him and you’ll teach him how to handle that. You’ve got this, Oliver,” Felicity insisted.

Oliver: Oliver’s haze dropped to the floor between them, his hands smoothing over her curves. “I don’t know...I only got through it because I had Tommy. He kept my head on straight,” most of the time that is. Oliver worried he wouldn’t be a good father after all but those were secrets he held to himself. 

Felicity: Felicity smiled at him, "I have faith in you, Oliver. You're going to be a great father because you love him and will do anything for him," Felicity insisted. "Just trust yourself. And when you don't know what to do, you're not alone. You have Dig and me and Raisa and Thea and we all want you to succeed in this. We'll help hold you up when you think you're going to fall. Because we all love you, Oliver. You know what you're doing, just trust yourself," she said cupping his face and rising up to kiss his lips softly.

Oliver: The protest readied on his lips but were silenced by the soft pressure of hers. Oliver knew that she was right. He didn’t need to know everything but rely on the people he loves the most. “Do you always have to be right?” He questioned softly as his lips trailed off along the supple skin of her neck.

Felicity: Felicity smiled and giggled at the feeling of his stubble against her neck. It tickled and felt wonderful. "If you give me beard burn right before we go to brunch, I'm going to be so cross with you, mister," she teased gently. "Maybe we should get Thea to take Will shopping. She's such a good fashion person. I don't know what 10-year-old boys should wear," Felicity admitted softly.

Oliver: “Are you sure that’s what you’ll really be crossed over?” Oliver’s eyes suggested something far more seductive than the simple irritation of beard burn. He pulled back with a lopsided grin, his hands falling back into the pockets of his pants. “I don’t think this is about the clothes, Felicity. I think he wants to be with you and me. I was once a ten year old,” he nudged her with his elbow. “Suits and linen pants wasn’t what I wanted to wear.”

Felicity: Felicity's eyes grew wide, "Oh, Oliver are we leaving him out? Does he think I'm taking too much of your time? I can back off. I can go home. We need to put him first," Felicity babbled as she panicked afraid that William was upset with the idea of how much time Oliver was spending with her.

Oliver: “No,” he shook his head. “I think he’s growing tired of me hovering.” Oliver reached out and pulled her into his arms again. The sound of footsteps echoed off in the distance. William’s disgruntled sigh at their affection only seemed to bring a brighter smile to his lips.

Felicity: Felicity didn't protest as Oliver dragged her to his body. She had missed being allowed to touch whenever she wanted to. During their break, she had missed his touch desperately. She looked over Oliver's shoulder and found William. She grinned at William, "You really," she asked William.

Oliver: Oliver selfishly wanted to get lost in her touch. Every day for the last year, he had to live without the warmth that rumbles through every inch of her. He had to watch her live without him and love someone else. It was enough to break him but she could put him back together. She always did. “Are you guys done doing...that?” William shot back, his hands held up in defense.

Felicity: Felicity laughed and took Oliver's hand leading him towards his son. "I promise, you won't see anything that you wouldn't see in a Disney TV movie. Cause we're not animated or anything," she explained. "So, where do we want to go to Brunch? William, any choices," she offered, "The Aquarium has a pretty cool Brunch show."

Oliver: Oliver didn’t try to follow what that meant. The last time he’d seen a Disney channel show must have been in the nineties. It was a different time then. “I’ve never been the aquarium here....” he looked to Oliver and the furrow creased in his brow. “..but it’s for little kids. We can go wherever.”

Felicity: Felicity's eyes widened in shock, "You haven't taken him to the Aquarium," Felicity exclaimed. "You haven't seen our shark," Felicity said with a grin at William. "We're so going to the Aquarium. I have a friend who can get us the best seats in the house." She hustled to get her purse and make a phone call to the Aquarium and her friend.

[yespleasefandomtrash]

AlMei Week 2017 - Aroma/Teacher

This chapter was quite fun to write - but I can promise you it's probably not 100% scientifically accurate. Nonetheless, it should hold some decent entertainment value. I hope you enjoy Day 3: Aroma/Teacher. This chapter probably fits more along the lines of 'aroma.'

Read this chapter on fanfiction.net here.

Read Day 2 here.

Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. Yet.

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Mei looked up from the autopsy reports laid out in front of her when she heard a knock at the door. Alphonse was standing outside of her office, manila folder in hand.

"I let myself in the building," he chuckled, answering the unasked question. "I heard another victim of the killer was found, so I figured you'd be pretty busy.

She sighed. "Unfortunately, you're right, though her body hadn't arrived here yet. Most people think the autopsy is the worst part, but I disagree – the paperwork is. Dead bodies are in and out, but everything else can take hours." She grabbed the pages in front of her and made a small stack. "But you're here now, so I'm not going to going to bother with these until later. I assume you have the photographs?"

Alphonse nodded, walking into her office and placing the folder on her now clear desk. "Are you by yourself today?"

Mei shook her head. "No. Winry's in her office. We're expecting the 'delivery' in an hour or so. That means you might have to stick around for an autopsy if we don't finish with the photos in time."

He laughed. "Fine by me. I'm sure you can teach me a few things, anyway."

The Xingese woman smiled. "If that occurs, I'll see what I can do." She paused, the corners of her lips turning into a frown. "Did you come by yourself?"

Alphonse's grin faltered. "Yeah. Is that okay?"

Mei's eyes widened. "Oh, yes!" she said hastily. "If I'm honest, I'm pretty happy Edward didn't tag along. You're the superior Elric by all means. Winry, however..." She sighed. "I don't know what she sees in your brother. He's as arrogant as they come, but to each their own, I suppose." She studied Alphonse from the corner of her eye, pleased by the blush dusted on his cheeks. "Me? I prefer someone more sensitive. Kinder. But still has a mind of their own."

The blonde raised a brow at her words. "Is that so? I'll give you a call if I find someone that fits that description."

She smirked. "How kind of you. But tell me – what do you look for in a girl, Alphonse?"

"Hmm... Well, she has to be intelligent. And not willing to back down even when she's under pressure. But also empathetic – someone who understands what others are going through and knows how to comfort them."

"Oh, geez. Would you two stop your flirting already? I'm going to get diabetes from how sugary sweet you're being."

Both jumped and turned to see Winry standing in the doorway, a hand resting on her hip and a smirk on her face.

"We were not flirting," Mei retorted, ignoring the blush she knew was painted on her cheeks. "It was just..." She faltered, looking for the right words. "Playful banter?"

Winry snorted. "Right. Anyways." She handed a folder to the Xingese woman. "I just finished putting this report in the computer. Anything else you need me to do before I get started on the next set?"

"Actually," Mei said, standing from her desk, "it'd be great if you could help Alphonse and I go over the photos of Hughes' crime scene we received from Fuery. Two sets of eyes is great, but three is even better."

Her assistant shrugged. "Sure. Should we go down into the morgue?"

"If that's the place we're least likely to be interrupted, I'm fine with it," Alphonse said.

Mei chuckled. "Don't worry. There shouldn't be any bodies on the table."

"Good to know."

The three went down the stairs and into the slightly colder air of the morgue, where they laid the photographs out on the autopsy table.

"These are more than likely going to be our most valuable pictures," Mei said, moving the images of the fingerprint away from the rest. "We need to scan these as soon as we can. I know right now a large selection of prints are being added to the system, so I want to wait until they've finished in order to have a better chance of getting results."

"I'm going to be completely honest with you guys," Winry said, studying the photo of Hughes inside the phone booth. "There's no way Hughes could be propped up inside there like that of his own accord. Someone had to position him. And I'd bet money it was the killer."

"I wonder if the FBI thought to check his body for latent prints," Mei mused. "Of course, if our suspicions are correct and his murder investigation was somehow managed by a corrupt individual, then I doubt it was." She was tempted to bring up the idea of exhuming Hughes body, but decided against it. It was a bit early for her to suggest something quite that drastic.

"I could have Ed check to see if they did, if you want," Alphonse said. "He's at the FBI today. Riza needed his help with something. I told him to keep an eye out for Luxure and Neid. He said he'd also talk to Havoc and see if Luxure does have an alibi for three nights ago."

"No, don't bother. I don't want him to seem suspicious and then somehow get thrown under the bus. It's bad enough that I've started getting death threats – we don't need him to receive any as well."

Alphonse froze. "You've started getting what?!"

Mei rolled her eyes. "They're nothing. Just letters telling me to back off the case – or else. Ooh. I'm so terrified, in case you couldn't tell."

The younger Elric pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mei, why didn't you say something?"

"For one, I always get letters like that. It comes with the job. And I've only received one relating to the Maes Hughes case. Maybe twenty minutes before you arrived." She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a plastic bag with a crumpled envelope inside, smoothing it before she placed it on the table. "It basically says that if I keep working on the case, no good will come of it." Alphonse opened his mouth to speak, but she held her hand up to silence him. "This means we're closer to catching them than anyone else has gotten. They're paranoid."

"If you think Mei's going to give up then you're crazy, Al," Winry said, crossing her arms. "You thought I was stubborn? This girl's ten times worse."

Alphonse sighed. "Well, I was going to tell you to stop working on the case, but I guess that would be pretty pointless, huh?"

Mei smirked. "Yes. Yes it would." She glanced at the letter. "I'm tempted to burn it, but I want to check for prints. I've only handled it with gloves on in order to preserve them. If there are any, at least."

"I can dust it, if you want," Alphonse offered. "I brought a kit just in case."

"That'd be great!"

"Let me go get it from my car."

After he left, the two women returned their attention to the photographs in front of them.

"Alright," Mei said, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, "let's go over what we know so far. We've got a print that more than likely belongs to the killer."

"But what if it doesn't?" Winry suggested, playing the role of the devil's advocate – or perhaps a defense attorney. "What if it's from a careless officer at the scene?"

"It's true that we can't discount that possibility," Mei conceded, "but any decent officer would report his error and the photographs would likely either not have been taken at all or would not have been considered significant enough to have in detail or high quality." She studied a picture of Hughes' body. "It's also clear that it was more than likely the killer who propped his body up in such a way. FBI agents should know very well not to interfere with a crime scene."

Winry nodded. "Agreed." She picked up an image of a close up shot of Hughes' wounds. "He was stabbed six times, like all the other victims." She handed the photo to Mei, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Something about that seems off to me. Let's compare some different scenes. Give me a sec and I'll grab the files on all the other victims." She left the room, leaving Mei by herself.

The Xingese woman frowned as she examined the picture. Winry was right – something did seem off. But she couldn't place her finger on what.

Just then, Alphonse walked back into the room, cell phone to his ear. "Do you have any idea why they've started targeting him?" He paused, then rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. I get it. Send me a text once you've got more information. Have you come across Havoc yet?" He sighed, and Mei bit back a laugh at the expression of exasperation painted on his face. "Fine, Ed. Anyways, I have to hang up now – do not screw yourself over. Bye." He tapped the phone before tucking it into his pocket. "Sorry about that – he's such a hassle."

"Did he figure something out?" Mei asked curiously.

"Not exactly. But apparently Yoki is now under suspicion of stealing the autopsy report and Hughes murder because his accusation of an FBI agent is 'absolutely outrageous.' At least, that's what Mustang told Ed. But I bet the fact that he's an ex-convict isn't helping his case."

Mei's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?!" She massaged her temples. "See, that's why I will never work for the government in such a direct manner. They can never fathom the idea that there's a traitor in their ranks. They'll pin the crime on the first person they can."

"That's why Ed quit. He was sick of their games."

She sighed. "I get the feeling that things have been corrupt within the FBI for more years than we can count."

"Agreed."

"Anyways." She handed him the bag with the envelope in it. "You can dust this for prints now. Just be careful not to get it on anything else. It can be a pain to remove."

He nodded. "Roger that." He took the bag and moved to the side of the room just as Winry returned.

"Alright," she said, plunking the folders onto the table. "I'll read these aloud one at a time while you tell me if there are any strange inconsistencies with Hughes' case. Okay?"

"Got it," Mei said.

"First victim was a woman. Hazel Jones. 23 years old. Worked in a retail store. No criminal background. Both parents living. No significant other. No children."

And so they went on, with Winry going through each file as Mei mentally compared their cases to Hughes'. After a good forty five minutes or so, they got to the final folder.

"Most recent victim before Hughes was a male. Alex Jackson. 18 years old. Worked in a fast food restaurant. Fined for shoplifting at the age of 15. Parents divorced. No significant other. No children." Winry stopped. "Did anything seem off to you?"

"Quite a few things, actually," Mei said, crossing her arms over her chest. "For one, Hughes was easily the oldest victim we've had so far. A seven year age difference. He was also the only victim employed with the military – the rest all worked for minor establishments or didn't have a job at all."

"Easier prey, in other words," Winry noted.

"Exactly. Hughes was also the only one to die from a gunshot wound to the chest and not the head. Only one other victim was married with children like he was." Mei stared at her assistant, eyes heavy. "I'm getting the feeling that Hughes was the main target, Winry. I think the other victims were a sort of 'cover-up.'"

The blonde woman cursed under her breath. "I can't believe it. Who would kill dozens of people just to make it seem like the death of one person was a coincidence?"

"More than you'd think," Alphonse said from the side of the room. "And I hate to interrupt your discussion, but I managed to salvage a partial print from this envelope. I want to compare it to the print from the crime scene. Do you have –"

"Right over there," Winry interrupted, gesturing the computer behind her. "Use that."

He nodded. "Thanks."

Mei handed him one of the crisper photos of the fingerprint. "Have fun with that. I hate matching up prints. Too time-consuming."

He chuckled at the expression of disgust on her face. "Then you're lucky I'm here."

Winry and Mei returned their attention to the photographs laid out on the table.

"There really is something off about this photo," the Xingese doctor muttered, placing her finger on the close up of Hughes' stab wounds. "But like you said – I can't put my finger on what."

"I know what you need," Winry chuckled. "A nice cold bottle of water. It'll clear your mind. I'll go get them."

"Thanks, Winry."

"Just doing my job. Al? You want one, too?"

"Yes, thank you."

At that, the blonde left the room.

The air grew silent as Alphonse continued to compare the prints while Mei racked her brain to figure out what was so wrong with the photo of Hughes' stab wounds. Like the other victims, there were six. That wasn't unusual. They were all within a few inches of each other, which was a bit odd, but not completely unheard of. The blood was partially clotted around some and oozing around others.

Her eyes widened. The blood. The blood should not have been clotting if all the wounds were postmortem!

Mei picked the photo up and looked as carefully as she could. "I can't believe it..." Three of the six wounds had blood clotting on the edges. That meant they were premortem. And based on how much blood was clotted, she'd approximate that they had been caused about thirty or so minutes before his death, though she couldn't say for certain without the body.

And now that she was looking for it, those three wounds also had a slightly different shape than the others. That implied that they were caused by a different weapon. Albeit a similar one to whatever stabbed him the final three times.

"Alphonse," she said slowly, placing down the photograph, "do you think we can get a court order to exhume Hughes' body?"

Alphonse turned around, eyebrow raised. "You want to exhume his body? Why?"

"I have reason to believe that three of Hughes' wounds were premortem instead of postmortem, despite what we were told," Mei explained. "I don't think Riza was lying to us when she said all six wounds were made after his death – I think she was purposely misinformed by someone above. The only problem is that I can't confirm this unless I have his body. I hate to phrase it like this, but he's only been in the ground a few days – he should still be in decent condition."

"Well, we can definitely try," he said. "I can call Ed and tell him to get one for the sake of convenience."

"That would be much appreciated. Thank you."

"No problem." Alphonse took his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. "Ed?" He blinked in surprise. "Yeah, sure. One sec." He moved the phone from his ear and held it out to Mei. "Ed has Havoc on the line for you. He was just about to call."

Mei hesitated but accepted the phone. "Hello?"

"Doctor Chang. How've you been? It's not like we saw each other yesterday or anything."

She rolled her eyes, recognizing the voice of Jean Havoc. "I'm fine. And yourself?"

"I'm great. Tell me, Doctor – have you gotten with Alphonse yet?"

She turned bright red at his words. "I fail to see how that is relevant, sir. Why did you need to speak to me?"

"Edward said that you had some questions for me. I'm on break right now, so I figured I'd give you a call."

She opened her mouth before snapping it shut. "Right. I'd almost forgotten. You said you were with your girlfriend Luxure three nights ago for the entire time, correct?"

"Uh... Yeah, I guess so."

"Are you completely sure? Would you be able to confirm this in court?"

"Why do you need to know? Has she done something wrong?"

Mei hesitated. No, the woman hadn't done anything wrong – and that was the problem. She had no proof whatsoever that Luxure had been involved with stealing her autopsy report, much less Hughes' death. "Not that we're aware of. But she considered a suspect in a current investigation."

"What investigation? Are you conducting it yourself?"

"At the moment I am not at liberty to disclose that information."

"I'm going to be honest with you, Doctor – I don't like being kept out of the know."

Mei winced. "I understand, sir. But surely you realize why you must be."

On the other end of the line Havoc sighed. "Luxure and I were together the entire time three nights ago, okay? So she's got an alibi – which I assume is what you were checking for."

Mei's heart sank at those words. "I see. Thank you. That was all I needed to know."

"Glad I was able to help."

She slowly handed the phone back to Alphonse, who noticed the distraught look on her face. He said a few words of his own to Havoc and Edward – including asking him to obtain a court order – before hanging up.

"Mei?" he asked, golden eyes filled with worry. "Are you okay?"

She sighed. "I don't understand. How can she have an alibi?!"

"Keep in mind that you never had solid reason to suspect her," Alphonse said. "I hate to be that person, but a gut feeling is useless in court."

"I know," she muttered. "But I was so sure! I thought –"

She was interrupted by Winry's return. "Sorry it took me so long," the blonde apologized. "Someone called your office, Mei. Apparently the body we're expecting has been delayed. It won't come until tomorrow or the day after. Which is a pain – I hope they preserve it properly." She put two water bottles down and kept one for herself. "Here you go."

Alphonse accepted the bottle while Mei picked hers up rather distractedly, her mind still trying to wrap itself around the fact that her instinct had been wrong. There was just nothing she could do. She seriously doubted Havoc had lied to her, which meant someone else must have been driving the getaway van.

But who?

The Xingese woman was brought out of her thoughts when the bitter smell of almonds hit her nose. "What the?!" she muttered, eyes wide. Surely that wasn't what she thought it was. She looked around, trying to determine where the smell was coming from.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Alphonse had opened his water bottle. She and Winry had not.

"Wait!" she shouted, stepping towards him in an attempt to grab the bottle before he could put it to his lips. "Don't drink that!"

Alphonse froze, the water halfway to his mouth. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Trust me," was her response. "You don't want that in your system. Give me the bottle."

He hesitated for only a moment before handing it over to her.

As carefully as she could, Mei wafted the scent from the bottle and smelled it. "I knew it," she muttered, glaring at the water as if it had insulted her.

"Knew what?" Winry asked, brow furrowed in confusion. "Mei, what are you going on about?"

"This is not water," Mei said, holding up Alphonse's bottle. "Or at least not entirely. It's contaminated with cyanide. I can smell it."

"Really?" Alphonse said, brow raised. "What does it smell like to you? Because I can't smell anything."

"Almonds," she replied grimly. "And the ability to smell cyanide is a sex-linked recessive trait contained in only thirty to forty percent of the population. So I can't say I'm surprised you can't detect the scent. I'm unfortunately in the percentage that can. But it comes in handy in certain situations – such as this one. If you had ingested this water, Alphonse, you would be dead or dying right now."

His face grew pale. "Lovely."

"Thanks for that image, Mei," Winry grumbled. "I don't think I'll ever be able to drink water again."

"I'd certainly advise not to drink from the bottle you're holding," Mei instructed. "In fact, I'd like to dispose of all the water bottles in the building. Do you know who might have brought them?"

Winry shrugged. "Nope. People bring in drinks all the time."

"That means they could have been planted," Alphonse added. "You should take those threats you're getting seriously, Mei. I'm willing to bet this was an attempt on your life."

Mei frowned. "Perhaps. But it was one bound to fail. Whoever did this clearly wasn't aware I can smell cyanide."

Winry snorted. "Mei, I wasn't even aware you could do that."

"Well, I never saw the need to bring it up."

"You're missing the point, Mei." Alphonse ran a hand through his golden hair. "Someone tried to kill you. And you're dismissing it like it's nothing!"

"Because it is nothing!" Mei protested. "Cyanide is a cowardly attempt at trying to kill someone. I'll start to worry when there's a gun pointed at my head, okay?" She didn't want to keep this argument up. "Anyways – was the print on the envelope a match of the one at the crime scene?"

Alphonse looked as if he wasn't done insisting she was in danger, but chose to relent with a sigh. "Yes. It was."

Mei grinned. "Really? Yes! Now all we need is a court order to exhume Hughes' body. I know we can catch the killer. I just know it." She paused, a frown falling on her lips. "Wait. I want to talk to Hughes' wife. Gracia. I want to ask her permission."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Winry asked. "A court order's all you need."

"By law, maybe," Mei said, "but it wouldn't feel right to me not getting her permission."

"I have to agree with you there," Alphonse mused. "Getting her permission is the right thing to do."

"I'll go tomorrow," Mei decided. "I'll take an early train so I miss as little work as possible." She chuckled. "I don't want to leave everything to you again, Winry."

"I'll come, too," the younger Elric added. "You're going to want an officer with you."

"I think you just want to hang out with her, don't you, Al?" Winry smirked.

"I'd hope he does," Mei said honestly. "I've grown rather fond of his company."

"Great," Winry said, ignoring Alphonse's sputtered protests. "I hereby assign Al to be your bodyguard, Mei. I'd be beyond enraged if you died and left me to take over your position. Understand?"

Mei laughed. "Of course." She winked at Alphonse. "Meet you at the station for five, alright?"

Alphonse simply sighed, wondering what on Earth he was getting himself into.

xXxXxXx

I didn't really address the prompt until near the end. Whoops. Even so, I'm mostly satisfied. I hope you return tomorrow for Day 4: Hair/Travel!

Read Day 4 here.

[yerbevan]

being wedded to 'the trump project'... 

which is a seriously official writerly thing, conducted by computer no less, i've gotten away from the real writing, which is more about my personal experiences

this kind of account can drift effortlessly into what would be considered an affront to normal sensibilities, which are excruciating but at times obligatory, like a blood sacrifice on christmas eve

my dog, maisie, is a very important element connecting me to sanity in times such as these, more horrifying even than normalcy. that is the trump effect. everyone is twisted. this is what you could designate, in a preliminary way, as 'the real deal'. getting into the specifics, after the preliminaries, is real dirty and no fault of mine, thank you very much. not my fault any way you cut it.  

so now that we've laid down the ground rules, i can share with you, my friends, how very palpably strange and unfamiliar it felt stepping outside just now and finding a rainy morning, playing out naturally and maybe a little unnaturally. considering the circumstances.

i recall still being in a recognisable, i would say even almost valid, phase of life a couple three years ago, out driving the familiar streets and beginning to admire, as usual, the abundant natural beauty to see here in my semi-tropical paradise, when there was a shadowy apprehension just behind a leafy branch that caught my eye, something new and unexpected, menacing and not at all benign

the first dark glimmer of the aforementioned effect, which at this point pretty much permeates everything: a seriously undeniable existential threat to america. it's on the line, friends, sorry to deliver the bad news, no exaggerating no fooling around trying to be cute. or anything like that. get with it or go about your daily life in blissful ignorance, as you choose. the fact remains.

but the original idea here was to say how, regardless of the fact or perhaps as a result of it, certain things do seem bracing and new again.

case in point. i've listened to psychedelic music for many years now, much as you would any other 'genre', pardon the now obvious banal implications. which are not deserved by the genre. but now the doors etc have taken back, to my ear, the original urgent and fragile quality

a significant, or perhaps somewhat insignificant, exchange of communication preceded this return to the original. a not entirely comfortable exchange with my friend, john, concerning music, drugs and that whole dismal, tedious argument. we understood one another just a little better, i think, following this actually fairly brief but charged discussion. i respect my friends, not necessarily receiving the same kind of respect in return, but that is alright, and it is out of my hands anyways.

the short answer, for me personally, is that music is one thing, a very important thing as a matter of fact for me, while drugs is another, and not nearly so important, not necessarily joined in unholy matrimony to music, so to speak. drugs not having any importance at all, as a matter of fact.     

and what do you expect? attaching special importance to drugs is not on my to do list. back in the day there were folks who attached some special significance to hallucinogens, LSD in particular. and maybe they were on to something, from their own personal outlook and point of view. there are still folks who are interested in that sort of thing, and i have no particular interest in calling them out, or giving them a hard time. i had a passing interest in timothy leary, not as a drug guru, but simply as a man, a rebel of sorts, with what was perhaps an unusual point of view.

my father, who to my knowledge never took LSD, had leary's book, 'diary of a hope fiend', when i was a kid. i recall the book resting on the back of the toilet for some period of time. i read some of it. i don't recall the book making a strong impression, other than perhaps that leary was a man with an unusual point of view. i suppose i asked my father what LSD was. 'it's a drug' was the likely reply, but it meant nothing to me at the time.

people know that i liked the music of jimi hendrix since i was about 14, especially the blues influence in his music. but i was not 'doing drugs', as they say, at 14. in fact, i wasn't smoking cigarettes or doing anything like that at 14.

i was just this kind of misfit gay kid, trying to figure a few things out. in those days 'gay' was not a word. seriously. there were no words for it other than clinical terms you might see in some kind of medical text. homosexuals, primarily in new york city, consciously decided a more user friendly handle was needed, and 'gay' turned out to be the thing

isn't that strange? a group of people so oppressed and marginalised that there was no gentle or agreeable *word* that they could apply to themselves. they actually had to come up with ideas and put it to a vote. i mean wow. very unusual, when you think about it.    

i was born in 1959, and i suppose growing up in the 1960s i was aware that there was a great deal of unusualness around at the time. the thing that kind of triggered this piece of writing, as a matter of fact, was me posting a photo and brief bio of Martin Luther King, Jr. online

by the time i was ten years old, i began to understand that there was something problematically different about me. a kind of instinct, not really a conscious thing, began to form around that fact, an instinct that was somehow related, or so i thought, to the more unusual but prominent personalities of the time

i was a 'young lefty'. i didn't really understand much about politics, but i came by it honestly. anyone who has a problem with that just has to deal.