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tworoadsandapenny · 2 years ago

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What You Wish For: Chapter 17. In The End

This chapter probably should have been cut in two, it's incredibly long. But here we are. Also, heads up, this is the last finished chapter. There should be one more and an epilogue to come, but they are unfinished as of yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun hit at just the right angle, cascading light across the clouds to colour them with bright oranges and pinks. Nocturnal as he was, Casey was very used to seeing the sunrise, but somehow this wasn’t the same. A New York sunrise didn’t compare to this. Perhaps it was the clean air or the lack of pollution to dilute the colours, or maybe it was the way light bounced off the trees and sparkled across the slight frost crusting the ground.

Or maybe it was because today was the day. Today he’d be saying goodbye to friend. A brother. Burying his body beneath the ground, never to be seen again. Perhaps it was the universe trying to give him a small sense of beauty as he waded through the hurricane of heartache that was wreaking havoc on his body.

Perhaps he was just being overly sentimental. He’d done something similar after his mom died. Nothing was normal anymore, everything either became the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen or something he reviled to the point of making him nauseous. No in-between. Maybe he was just in the throws of grief and trying to lighten the load with a little sentiment.

Leo had always told him sunrises were a sight to behold. It meant a new day had dawned and you would get to witness it unfold.

Sentimental. And cheesy as hell, Leo really was an enormous sap. He didn’t always show it, but when he did, it was full of cliché and tenderness and passion.

A total softy at heart, really. Much like Raph. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside.

Casey sighed into his grief, tensing his hands and letting his fists quake beside him as he tried to handle the pain.

How… Just how in the hell were they supposed to get past this?

~*~*~*~*~*~

The drive up went much better than Don had expected. With everything that had happened, he was certain it was bound to be a long six hours of twiddling thumbs and awkward glances atop a thick fog of uncomfortable silence.

Fortunately, there was Mikey.

He talked most of the trip, gabbing about anything from video games to favourite foods. He even managed to get Raph to pipe in once or twice. Of course, there were a few times the conversation circled too closely around their missing brother. It was like an exposed nerve; anytime anyone mentioned something that reminded them of Leo, the entire trailer halted into absolute silence. But Mikey always managed to change the subject and perk up again.

Don was doing his best to participate. He knew the talking was a distraction for all of them to keep from thinking about what awaited them at the farmhouse, but he was having a hard time focusing.

He couldn't stop staring at Raph.

It had been two months since their escapade at the warehouse. Two months since they almost lost a second brother to Hun and his goons. And Don was still terrified that Raph would vanish again without a word.

He was just so… silent. And not in his usual brooding way, either. Not with an air of anger, and not in a way that said ‘back off’. He would answer questions directed at him, and he would make small talk to change a subject, but the rest of the time he was completely closed off. Not distant as he had been after that night on the roof, he didn’t seem to be intentionally walling himself away (Don was keeping a close eye out for that). And his eyes were much less hollow than they had been before. But he was still… off.

Since the warehouse, the only time he’d heard Raph say more than few words was last month after his recovery. When Mikey and Don had been dusting in Leo’s room.

When Raph told them what happened on the roof.

“Leo’s dead ‘cause of me.”

He ran out of the room immediately after, and Don had been so panicked he was running off that he didn’t get a chance to process what he’d just said. He was almost grateful that his brother passed out because it meant he couldn’t leave before they had a chance to talk.

Before Don could tell him all the reasons this wasn’t his fault.

He was sure guilt was the cause of Raph’s silence. They’d had a good talk about it when he woke up which ended in tears—at least for the younger two—and Don really thought they’d gotten through to him. But one night wasn’t enough to ward off what might be a lifetime of remorse, he supposed.

The idea of Raph feeling guilty about this his entire life made Don’s heart heavy. But what could he do? What could he possibly say that would make a difference? Raph was there when Leo died. Raph had to watch it happen. Raph had held their brother as the life drained from his body. Don knew if their places had been switched…

He’d never forgive himself either.

He sighed. This wasn’t really his arena. Angry Raph he could handle, grumpy Raph he could humor, but sad Raph… sad Raph was so rare and painful it made Don want to cry.

“Dee? You okay?”

Belatedly Don realized all eyes in the trailer were on him. “Wh-What?”

“Dude, you’ve been staring at Raph for like, ten minutes. What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was…”

But Raph was already back to staring at the floor. Seemed he only checked in to make sure Don was okay and then went back to his own thoughts.

Don sighed in defeat. “It’s nothing, Mikey.”

Nothing he could do.

~*~*~*~*~*~

April couldn’t feel it. She saw the light filtering through the windows and glittering across her skin, but there was no warmth. No tingle of heat radiated from her body. She just felt… cold. Numb. Like when you’ve walked in the freezing wind so long nothing can warm you up.

Today was the day.

Like everyone else in the cabin, sleep did not come to her last night. Instead, she spent the better part of the evening practicing her stoic face. Her family was falling apart, and the only thing she could do to help was keep from adding to their pain by falling apart herself. She needed to be strong. Stoic. Solid. Something for her family to lean on whenever they admitted they needed it.

If they ever admitted they needed it.

Good gracious they were all bull-headed, weren’t they. In their own ways. Mikey was the only one who wasn’t afraid to ask for help, and even he had his moments. Donnie generally knew to ask when he needed emotional help, it was his intellect he was stubborn about. It was like pulling teeth trying to get him to admit he couldn’t solve a problem by himself.

And Raph… was Raph. If you looked up ‘stubborn’ in the dictionary, his picture was bound to be there.

Then there was Leo. He was just about as stubborn as Raph, but he believed it was for good reason. He kept his problems to himself because he always felt a good leader didn’t burden others, but rather helped lighten their loads. The only one he’d really open up to was Splinter, and even then he’d try so hard to be the “perfect student” that he’d keep things hidden.

Stubborn as mules, the whole lot of them.

Too stubborn to admit when they needed help. Too stubborn to talk when they were upset. Too stubborn to let other people share their burdens.

Too stubborn to let others fend off the evils of the world.

Too stubborn to ever quit a fight.

Too stubborn to die… ever…

So she always thought. Hoped. Prayed.

She covered her mouth to keep from making any noise as the tears fell.

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time they arrived at the farmhouse, Mikey had nearly exhausted his list of stories to lighten the mood. It didn’t seem like anyone was paying attention to them at all, but he said them anyway; if nothing else, they at least kept him from the sorrow that was constantly tapping on the back of his shell.

Stepping out of the trailer, he arched his back dramatically, yawning to hide the grimace he felt coming on. This place used to be happy. It used to be where they came to bond, recover, and catch their second wind. It used to mean freedom. Now all Mikey thought of as they stood in front of the old house was that grave by the tree line.

He shook his head, throwing on his best smile as he turned to his brothers. “Come on, dudes, breathe the fresh air! You don’t find that clean and pure smell in New York City!”

Don quirked a small smile as he stepped out of the trailer, also doing his best not to wallow. “It’s always nice to enjoy the sunshine for a change.”

“Hey! Maybe we can go down to the lake and see if it’s warm enough for a swim? What do ya think, Raph?” No response. Mikey turned. “Raph? Anybody ho—“

Raphael stood only a few steps from the trailer, eyes trained on the trees, staring at one spot in particular. His hands were already balled so tightly into fists his knuckles had paled.

So much for lightening the mood.

Mikey stood beside his brother, ever so gently placing a hand on his arm. “Raph…” Words suddenly left him as his eyes clocked the grave. That small piece of stone that was somehow supposed to represent an entire person. A person who meant the world to all of them. Mikey gripped his brother’s arm tighter. “It’s been a long trip. Maybe we should get some food or something first.”

A moment passed that stretched on with the incoming breeze. The fall leaves danced in the wind, waving their bright autumn colours like an ebbing tide. A chill ran through Mikey’s arm and down his shell; it was already starting to get cold again. How could it possibly be fall already? Hadn’t it just been—

Without a word, Raph began to walk slowly toward the grave, pulling out of Mikey’s grasp in one stride.

“Raph…” But Mikey hadn’t a reason to stop him. Raph hadn’t been there for the burial or the ceremony or any of it. He probably needed some closure. But for whatever reason—maybe the fear that his brother would run off again, or maybe the thought of the grave itself—Mikey’s heart sunk while he watched the red bandana twist in the breeze as it walked away. Something touching his shoulder brought his attention back towards the house.

“It’s okay, Mikey.” Don stared after their sibling as well, the same pain in his eyes that Mikey felt squeezing his heart. “This is why we’re here.”

The younger turtle watched in silence as his older—oldest—brother stopped in front of the grave, shell to his family, and wind kicking up around his feet. Another long moment passed before Raph’s fists clenched again and his head bowed low.

“Should we go with him?” Mikey finally asked, his feet already moving in that direction. If they were with him, he wouldn’t run off. They should—but Don’s grip on his shoulder stopped him short.

“Maybe give him some time.”

“But—“

“He’s not going anywhere, Mikey. He needs this…”

Mikey turned to his brother once more, doing his best to ignore the pounding of his heart. He wouldn’t leave… Raph wouldn’t leave again. And anyways, there��d be nowhere to go out here that could get him caught in a fiery warehouse explosion. No guns, no goons, no Purple Dragons.

“Ok…” He nodded, wrapping his arms around himself in defence of the cold.

He wouldn’t leave. Raph wouldn’t leave again.

Please…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“When the links of life are broken and a child has to part, there is nothing that will heal a parent’s broken heart.”

It was a simple poem, something he read in a magazine years ago, when his children were still very small. But it stuck with him, worming under his skin and wrapping around his heart. Splinter had known much grief in his lifetime. He’d lost his beloved wife to a blade, his daughter to a fire, and his clan to a rival. He knew what it was to lose everything you loved and try to continue on.

But what do you do when that tether, that thing that kept you from giving in to grief, is also taken from you?

His children were his tether. Had he not found them when he did, he was certain he would not have survived. They gave him purpose when he had none, family when he’d lost all, and love when he was most alone.

His children saved his life. And continued to save it ever day that they lived.

Now one of them was gone. And Splinter didn’t know if he could survive more grief. Without his whole family. Without his eldest. Without Leonardo.

Doubts clouded his mind, sinking their teeth of guilt and pain deep enough to tear at his soul. If he had not tried to replace what he had… if he had not taught his sons the ways of the ninja and simply let them live their lives as normal children… perhaps Leonardo would still be with them.

He knew such thoughts were folly. His boys could never have lived normal lives, and they expressed on multiple occasions how the outlet of ninjitsu had saved them from loneliness. But doubt would forever haunt him. There had to be something he could have done… something.

He sighed heavily, breathing out the grief.

His son, his beloved Leonardo was gone, and no amount of regret could change that. He joined an ever growing hole in Splinter’s heart that would never be filled, and all the old rat could do was beg the universe not to take any more.

A deep, resonant desire to hold his remaining children close overtook him, prompting Splinter to stand from his folded position and head to the barn where Michelangelo was keeping watch.

Where his eldest son’s body lay. Where a corpse had replaced his child.

“My Leonardo…” He wiped a tear from his eye. Not now… not yet. His time to grieve would come later.

Today, he needed to be there for his family.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

From inside the house, Don peaked out the window towards the grave, squinting through the light refracting off the glass. Raph was still out there. Still standing with head bowed low and fists clenched tight. From this angle, he looked exactly as he had when—

“You owe us for getting our brother killed!”

Don sighed out his guilt. This wasn’t the first time he’d hurled a hurtful accusation at Raph. They were brothers, professionals at pushing each other’s buttons and finding what hurt most. But this… this one was going to be a long road to forgiveness. If not for Raph, then for himself.

He was still shaken by his own ignorance. How could he not have seen the pain his brother was in? How was his own anger so blinding that logic was incapable of penetrating?

His hands still shook when he thought of how close it had been. How any minute later would have been too late. How they’d found Raph barely conscious in a pool of his own blood.

How much he’d looked like Leo had on that roof.

If they’d been any later… any second later… Raph would be—

“Over here, Dee! I found him!”

Don followed Mikey’s voice, wafting smoke from his face as the flames continued to spread. Finding his way around a graveyard of wooden debris and cement bits, he stepped through a puff of thick smog and came face to face with his worst nightmare.

Raph, eyes half-lidded and skin pale, lying huddled on the ground with blood spilling around him in buckets.

His heart stopped. Images of Leo flashed through his mind.

Too late. He was too late! It was happening again and he was too late to—

“He’s still breathing!”

Every fiber of Don’s being suddenly snapped to, clinging to Mikey’s words like metal to a magnet. He stepped forward cautiously and swallowed his fear to keep a cool head.

Mikey found no such calm. “Raph! Raph, can you hear me?”

“Leo…”

The voice was weak and broken, but it still swept the young turtle with relief. “We’re here.” He grabbed his brother’s hand and gave it a good squeeze to emphasize his presence before looking to his other sibling with desperation. “Don! Do something!"

The elder sibling was already kneeling, assessing injuries and testing vitals; pulse was quick and erratic, breath short and thin, and there was enough blood on the floor to fill a pool. Thankfully it wasn’t all Raph’s. Don’s eyes quickly noted the body of Hun not too far away, but couldn’t take time to analyze what happened. “Help me flip him. Gently.”

With cautious hands, the two moved Raph onto his shell, both flinching as he coughed and sputtered blood on the way. To his credit, his hand was still covering the wound, applying pressure as he could. Don would have been impressed if he had the mind to be.

He went to move his brother’s hand, but it was stubbornly in place. “Raph, move your—“

He couldn’t see the wound to—“Raph!” And finally he shoved the appendage aside, swallowing his fear when blood squelched over Leo’s plastron at the release of pressure.

Don’s stomach churned anew as the image of Leo’s blood-soaked body stained his eyes. As gently as he could, he pried Raph’s hand out of the way. His eyes narrowed, fear and desperation almost drowning him immediately.

No, it was okay. Not too late. Not this time. He was still alive. They could still save him.

Don swallowed thickly and shook his head, placing his own hand over the wound and pressing to stop the blood flow.

“Raph? Raph? Can you hear me?” Mikey continued to try and coax their brother to speak. His eyes were open, but they looked hazy and grey, like they’d lost their luster. “Come on dude, say something! Call me a name! Anything!”

“Leo…”

An involuntary flinch made Mikey close his eyes momentarily. Raph sounded so scared… He shifted closer to try and catch his brother’s eye line. “It’s okay, dude, we got you.”

“Mi—“A wet cough interrupted, dripping blood down Raph’s chin in bursts. “Mikey?” His eyes began to close.

Panic took over. Mikey grabbed his brother’s hand with both his own, squeezing for dear life. “I’m here!” Tears sprang to his eyes. “I’m here, just squeeze my hand if you can’t see me!”

Raph’s eyes fluttered open, but wandered again, like he was searching for something while fighting a losing battle with consciousness. His free hand slowly raised, reaching for something only he could see. “C-Come back!”

“Raph!” Mikey couldn’t stop the sob that popped from his lips. He felt so helpless! “Dee, what do we do!?”

“Here.” Don placed Mikey’s panicked hand over the wound. “Keep pressure while I wrap it.” They needed to get him home fast. Moving him risked bleeding out, but the warehouse being on fire erased the option of staying put. If only he’d brought something big enough for a tourniquet! Gauze and tape would have to be enough. He worked quickly and efficient, splitting his effort between focusing and forcing away panic. “There. That’ll have to do.” A cry from around a nearby crate grabbed both brothers’ attention. Gunfire followed, then another cry. Don looked to Mikey. “Time to go.”

“Are you sure we can move him?”

“No choice. We have to get—“

“Get what!?” Raph cut in, his voice tired but frustrated. Don didn’t have time to register why, he was just glad to hear a voice at all.

“Get out of here. Casey and Sensei can only hold them off for so long.” The two younger turtles pulled their brother to a standing position, grateful that more blood didn’t start dripping from his mouth. But he couldn’t stand on his own. His feet dragged as he gazed across the room, staring at something in the middle distance.

He was still fighting for consciousness though. “Don…”

“It’s okay, Raph. We’ll get you out, just hold on.”

A flash of fear jolted across both as their older brother’s head lilted, like speaking that one word cost him whatever energy he had left.

Mikey stepped forward, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll take point and clear the path. Can you hold him on your own?”

Don nodded.

“D-Don…”

Raph’s voice was growing weaker, and there was a desperation in it that Don couldn’t put words to. It made his chest tighten.

Still alive. Not too late. Not—

“You owe us for getting our brother killed!”

Tears rolled down Don’s cheeks, unchecked and unnoticed, as his brother’s head once again lilted, his body feeling heavier.

“Just save your strength, Raph. We can talk after we get you fixed up, okay? After we’re home and safe.”

Don shook his head of the memory.

They were home and safe now. Don had apologized and it seemed like Raph took it to heart. But still… still Don saw the pain in his brother’s eyes. That pain that said he blamed himself—loathed himself—for things that were never in his control.

Don sighed once more, guilt and worry and fear all rolling through him like a building storm.

“He still out there?”

Mikey’s voice boomed through the silence, catching Don by surprise, which he hid by adjusting his glasses. “Yeah.”

“Do you think we should bring him in? Or at least get him some food or something? It’s been hours.”

They both knew the futility of offering their brother food in this state, but that wasn’t what was making Don pause.

“…Donnie?”

“I… I don’t know, Mikey. This isn’t exactly my forte.” He gave a light shrug of his shoulders as he pieced the words together. “Emotions were always your area of expertise. Yours and Leo’s…” He tried to stop that last thought, but was too late. Mikey went silent and Don immediately regretted saying the name. But as he was about to abandon the conversation all together, he heard a small giggle began bubbling from his younger sibling. “Dare I ask what’s so funny?”

Mikey took a moment, allowing his laughter to simmer as he spoke. “Dude, in what world was Leo good with emotions?”

Don suddenly felt his defences rise—for his own analysis or his brother’s honour, he wasn’t sure—as he hunched his shoulders and folded his arms. “You’ve said so yourself. Leo always knew how to cheer us up or calm us down.”

“Trial and error, bro. Not natural talent.” Mikey chuckled at the puzzled—almost heated—look on his brother’s face. “Don’t you remember the first time he tried to cheer you up when an invention wasn’t working? He told you you just needed to work harder, and you’d get it. So you stayed up for seventy-two hours straight trying to get that thing to work, until Sensei finally forced you to rest.”

Don had a vague recollection. “We were eight, Mikey.”

“Or that time Raph was so angry he broke the door to the dojo and Leo tried to help by telling him to ‘calm down’ which only pissed Raph off more and he broke the other door?”

“We were fifteen, he’s grown a lot since both those instances.”

“Exactly.” Mikey thrust a finger in the air in an “aha!” gesture. “Leo was never good with emotions, probably because he worked so hard to suppress them in himself that he didn’t understand when others expressed them. But he was an excellent learner. He’d try helping us one way, and if that didn’t work, he’d try another.” Eyes glazing over with memories of his eldest brother, Mikey paused to enjoy them a moment. “Leo was really good at trying. At working. At never giving up until he figured it out. He was good at knowing us. At understanding us. But only because he’d worked so hard at it for so long. With him gone… I guess it’s our turn to learn…”

Don’s shoulders relaxed as he watched Mikey sit by the window, staring out towards the grave. His tone had become intensely somber on that last sentence.

“He was really good at inspiring though. Somehow he always knew exactly what to say to make a hopeless situation seem possible.” Mikey continued. “And then knew exactly what to do to make it actually possible. Probably part of the whole ‘leader’ training or something.” A sad smile crossed his lips which prompted Don to place a hand on his shoulder. “Sure wish we could hear one of those speeches right now.”

The two stood in silence, staring out the window at their brother’s shell while a gust of wind whipped his bandana tails to and fro. Don did his best to tamp down his own grief before speaking. “Trial and error, huh?”

Mikey felt Don’s hand leave his shoulder and wiped a tear from his eye before glancing over to see a jacket held out to him.

Don shrugged. “We’ve tried distance.”

Mikey grabbed the coat with a smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was nothing but stillness left. The wind outside had gone quiet, silencing the old wood of the barn and removing the ghostly chorus of drafts sneaking through the cracks. Light filtered in through every crevice it could find, warming the barn and melting much of the ice that had formed overnight.

But Mikey still felt cold.

Every time he looked at that black bag—every time he thought of the person inside it—his blood froze and sent chills through his veins. His every breath stung like tiny needles pricking at his lungs.

This was it. This was the day. This was when they were going to burry their brother in the ground and they’d never see him again. He was going to be gone. Forever.

Truly dead.

And all Mikey could do was think of all the things he was going to miss.

Leo attempting to play a prank only to have Mikey turn it around on him.

Leo teaching him a new move to use against Raph the next time they sparred.

Leo appearing out of nowhere and saving his shell from a Foot soldier.

Leo attempting to sneak past Sensei and failing miserably.

Leo actually waking up late and getting ribbed about it the rest of the week.

Leo reading Mikey a story to help him sleep.

Leo and Raph squaring off against Don and Mikey in a snowball battle.

Leo telling them that they were stronger together.

“Stay with me. Then we’re… invincible…”

Mikey closed his eyes and hugged his knees and cried, his tears hitting the ground and disappearing into nothing.

It wasn’t fair… it just wasn’t fair.

~*~*~*~*~*~

As carefully as possible, the family made their escape. Mikey fended off any remaining Dragons with frightening speed, until they met up with Splinter and Casey. With all the exits blocked except the roof, they climbed the stairs as fast as they could with Raph between them. Smoke and fire had filled the entire warehouse, gunfire splitting the silence every few moments as stray thugs tried to salvage the night by pegging off an enemy to no avail. After several close calls, they finally made it to the roof, all having to work together to pass their fallen member from building to building.

Don kept close watch of Raph’s vitals, checking for a pulse every few minutes and frowning at how sluggish it had become. They still had time. He’d slowed the bleeding, which should be enough for them to get him home, stitch him up, and pump him full of blood again. Still time to—

The pulse was gone. “No…” He pressed harder into the carotid, absolutely refusing to believe there was nothing there. But no beat met his fingers. “No no no no no!” Don fumbled as he halted and lay Raph on the ground, gentle as possible, but abruptly enough that he took Mikey—under Raph’s other shoulder—down with him.

“What is it?”

There was no filter on Mikey’s panic, but no time for Don to form words. His mind was instantly sifting through dozens of scenarios: could his brother’s brain survive without oxygen until they reached the lair (they were only ten minutes away), could they scrounge up parts for a blood transfusion here, or have Mikey run to the lair and back with supplies, or could they—

“Don!”

The frantic voice of his younger brother snapped him from his thoughts. He was already doing compressions—when had he started?—but blood was now squelching through the bandages on Raph’s side.

“Mikey, I need you to—“

“I have it, Donatello.” Splinter knelt in front of the wound and placed his hands on it firmly, quietly rumbling a low chant.

Emotions running rampant, Don nearly shouted at his father to do something with the wound, when he noticed a slight hint of a glow surround the area Sensei’s hands covered. He was chanting a healing mantra, of course! And it looked like it was working.

Don managed one sigh of relief—the briefest of moments—before his father turned to him with a twinge of fear in his eyes. “I cannot heal it enough to close the wound.”

“Switch with me.” He waited for Splinter to take over compressions—chanting another healing mantra as he did—before assessing the laceration once more. He didn’t have any more supplies with him for bandages, but he had to do something to slow the bleeding. “Mikey, hand me your bandana.” He demanded, taking his own from his head and pulling a shurikan from his belt. “Sorry Sensei.” He apologized as he cut free a piece of his fathers robe and placed it over the wound. He held his hand out for his brother’s accoutrement, but when his hand remained empty, he spared a moment to look at his younger brother; body trembling, eyes watering, and hands grasping Raph’s for dear life. Had Don any emotions to spare, he would have attempted to comfort. But they were running out of time. “Mikey, bandana!”

But the younger’s mind was entirely elsewhere. “You can’t die, Raph. You just can’t. Please…”

“Mikey!” Don could feel his own panic rising. Too late… again… they were going to lose him. Just like—

NO! Don absolutely refused to allow it to happen again. He could fix this. He just needed ”MIKEY!”

A gasp of air popped into Raph’s lungs. Splinter quickly checked for a pulse and found one weakly thrumming beneath his fingers. His nod of confirmation had everyone release the fearful breaths they’d been holding.

Everyone except for Don. “Mik—“

“Here Don.” Casey took the bandana from the young turtle’s head, having to force his hands to unclench from their tight fold as he did, and tossed it over.

Don made quick work of tying the bandanas together with the bottom hem of his father’s robe, then wrapped the whole thing around Raph’s torso. He had Casey hold the other piece of his father’s cloth to the wound and tied the makeshift bandage around it, pulling as tight as he could to create a solid tourniquet. Hopefully, it would slow the bleeding enough for them to get Raph back home without any more incidents.

“We have to move quicker.” He said sternly, wiping his brow as he helped Mikey lift their older brother as gently as possible.

“Hang in there, Raph.” Mikey soothed, his eyes finding their strength and resolve once more. “We’re almost home.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Don’s feet felt impossibly heavy, trudging through the frosted grass with such lethargy he practically had time to note every muscle and synapse as it was activated to move him forward. Towards the barn. Towards that black bag. Towards a lifetime of grief and pain that was impossible to even fathom.

Intellectually, Don knew all about grief. He’d read many books on the subject: the psychosis involved, the stages, the long and short term effects of such emotional strain on the body. He knew what it was to experience grief in terms of vocabulary; he knew the emotions he was feeling and could describe them in terms of where he was on the spectrum, as well as where they fell in the five stages of grief (he was somewhere between denial and bargaining, but not quite at anger). He could even give a rather accurate estimation as to how long these emotions would last and what they would do to his body as he worked through them. Intellectually, Don knew about grief.

But nothing he’d read had ever prepared him for the pain. Reading about loss, he certainly empathized with what the people in the books experienced, and he could extrapolate and estimate what his own experience would be. But none of his projections came even close to what it was truly like. To what he was feeling now. The description of a hole in one’s heart came closest to an accurate depiction, but wasn’t strong enough to do justice to the actual feeling. In fact, Don found himself at a loss for finding any words—in any language he’d ever studied—that truly described what he felt right now. Pain, grief, loss, depression, anxiety, fear; all of them failed to lend the same weight to the depths he felt them.

He was lost. He couldn’t describe the pain he felt, and he had no idea how to stop it. It was what Don referred to as a “dead end” equation: something he would never be able to solve, yet never be able to stop trying. This was normally when Leo would step in and—

“Some problems aren’t meant to be solved, Don.”

His feet stopped moving.

“Some are just meant to be experienced.”

That’s right… Leo wouldn’t be there for support now. There’d be no one to lean on when he felt ill-equipped to solve a problem. He’d be alone…

“But you never have to experience it alone. We got your back.”

All alone…

“Always.”

Standing in front of the barn, Don found himself wholly unable to walk in. If he didn’t see it, it wasn’t real. Leo could still be out there somewhere… he could…

Back to stage 1: denial.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I don’t remember this tree.

Mikey says it was Leo’s favourite spot to read, and the others all agree, but I don’t remember it. I know he liked reading up where he could keep an eye on all of us, but I don’t remember this specific tree. Mikey’s always been good at those details, at remembering the small things about us. Remembering the good.

I wish I knew how he does that.

I don’t remember the good so well. Not even with Leo. Especially with Leo. I know we had good times, I just can’t seem to dig out those memories. All I get are flashes of every fight we ever had. Every time he’d gotten in my way, got me in trouble, or pissed me off. Every time he’d made me so angry I wanted to slug him in the—

I barely have time to process the fear in his voice as my fist flies through the air at his jaw, when something crashes hard into my side.

My eyes close without prompt in a sad attempt to ignore the memory. I’ll never get away from it. From what I did. What I said.

“I DON’T NEED YOU!”

I take a deep breath and let it out slow, attempting to uncurl my fingers before they start drawing blood from my palms. The best way I can think to ground myself is to lower my eyes from the tree to the grave.

…I still can’t think of anything to say.

No use apologizing, he’s already gone. Can’t change that. And saying what I should have said on that roof was useless too. I was too late. Lost my chance.

Lost a lot that night.

All I can think of as I stare at this old stone Casey’d carved my brother’s name into was how cold it was. Too cold. Leo definitely wasn’t Mikey levels of warm to anyone, but he wasn’t stone.

He cared. Deeply. Often too much. Just didn’t always know how to show it, I guess.

I hate him.

A stone shouldn’t be here to mark his life. He was a pain in the ass, sure, but never heartless.

His condescending eyes.

Always distant. But always there.

I hate his smug face.

Someone you could rely on. Depend on. No matter what.

I hate him.

Always there when you needed him. Sometimes when you didn’t.

Hate everything about him.

So why can I only think about—

“I DON’T NEED YOU!”

Guilt and self-loathing have become so engrained in my system, I barely notice them crushing me again. They can’t bring me any lower. I’m buried so deep I can’t even look up to find rock bottom.

Because no matter what I say, no matter what I do,

“You shouldn’t have left.”

It will always be my fault.

“RAPH!”

I got him killed. The damn bullet was meant for me and he took it instead.

“You still… don't—“

“No, you don’t get it.” My hands are back into fists so tight my knuckles pale. “They need you. You’re our leader. They need you, depend on you.” He had to know. “They don’t need me. Not like they need you.”

I lock my legs in place and dig into my stance to keep from shaking, emotions bubbling and boiling like a volcano about to erupt.

“If you were here, you could get them through this. You’d know what to say. What to do.” I’m falling apart at the seams. And I’m completely helpless to stop it. No amount of rage can help me now.

“It shouldn’ta been you. That bullet wasn’t meant for you. It shoulda been… it would’ve been better if…” I think my voice is cracking, but I can barely hear it over the ringing in my ears.

Can’t hold it in any more.

“Why did you come!?” I glare at the grave as my anger feels like it’s boiling my skin, making me shout even louder. “If you hadn’t followed—if you’d just let me go—they would have taken me! Why do you always do it!? Why do you always get in the way!? Why don’t you ever just let me pay the price for my stupidity alone!? I told you to back off! I told you—“

“I DON’T NEED YOU!”

I wish he were—

I try to hold it back, but the sob bursts from my lips so intensely it makes my legs finally give way, taking me to my knees with my head lowered in shame and fists quaking at my sides.

I can’t stop thinking it. Can’t stop reliving it. Can’t stop hearing what I thought that night.

I wish he were—

“I didn’t mean it! I could never mean it!” A haze surrounds me, black smoke so thick I know I’m gonna suffocate any minute.

“I’m… I’m so…” It doesn’t matter. He’s dead. He’s dead forever. And it’s my fault. It will always be my fault. “I…” My words do nothing but choke me. “It was supposed to be me…”

The urge returns, so overpowering I barely have time to recognize what it is before my mind fills with one thought

Run. Run away. As far as I can go. Farther. Run until the memory fades. Run until the guilt gives way. Run until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

But just as I’m about to give in, something holds me down, tethers me to sanity. Don’t know what it is, but I don’t fight it. No more strength to fight. No more…

“RAPH!”

My whole body shakes and rattles like a quake while the stake in my chest attempts to dissect me alive. But I gather what courage I have left and force myself to say the words I should have said on that roof. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry! For leaving, for fighting, for the horrible things I—“ Another sob scrapes through my lips like flesh on sandpaper. “M’Sorry…” My voice is as unsteady as my body, my lungs feel like they’ve curled in on themselves and died, and everything in me is still screaming to run away into the blissful arms of denial for the rest of my days.

But whatever is tethering me still keeps me there. Clings tighter. Holds firmer. It’s presence is almost… comforting.

Could it be—

“…Leo?”

I force my eyes to peer open, and flitting just off my vision to my right is a flash of blue. I crank my eyes over, frantic to catch one more glimpse of it before it disappears, to run after it and never come back… but it’s gone. The blue is gone. Replaced with… orange?

The haze suddenly starts to dissipate, and as my eyes clear, I see Mikey sitting beside me in the dirt, arms gripped firmly around my torso, eyes sealed shut, and tears pouring down his cheeks in droves. The blue streaks to my left, but as I swivel my head around to catch it, it’s turned purple. And there’s Don, arms wrapped around my shoulders in a vice grip, face buried half in my shell and half in his own arm, and breath wheezing in and out in a strange rhythm, like he’s trying to hold it in and letting it out in bursts.

The urge to run disappears.

And the longer I look at them, the more the haze fades.

The more the pain radiates. And grows. And grows.

Looking at that stone, at that name carved out of a life that meant so much, the pain—the loss—is too much to take.

Almost.

My brothers give me the strength to breathe through it. The more the grief grows, the more I lean into their hold.

“I’m sorry.” I say it for them. For Leo. For everyone that’s living this nightmare because of me. “I’m sorry.” It keeps tumbling out of my mouth, over and over with every thump of my heart. “I’m sorry.”

I didn’t mean it. Any of it.

“I’m sorry.”

If I could take it back, I would. I never would have left.

“I’m—“

“We got you, Raph.”

With Mikey’s words, the last of the haze fades. Pain, hot and blinding and all encompassing drops on me in an instant. My heart suddenly feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest as my breath is forced from me like I’ve been kicked and winded. The pain…

I scream.

No sound, but my mouth falls open and what air is left is being forced away with all the anger I possess. I double over, my face only inches above the ground, this ground that now holds all that remains of my brother.

I think I’m still screaming. I can’t breathe. I’m going to pass out. Gotta stop the pain! The haze starts to return…

No! I’m not runnin’ this time! I grip Mikey’s arm with one hand and Don’s with the other, and cling for dear life. As tightly as I can muster.

I think I’m gonna die.

“Leo!”

But if I go, at least my brothers are here. At least we’re together. At least—

“Tell them…”

No. No we ain’t doin’ this now! “Leo!”

“…M’Sorry.”

“Leo…”

The world goes dark again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The time was creeping closer, time to place their brother in the ground. To say goodbye. To leave and move on as though it had never happened.

Mikey and Don had carried the body. Splinter helped place it in the ground. Casey shovelled dirt on top. April placed the stone marker. They all performed their jobs with as much reverence and gravity as befit their honourable older sibling. The ceremony itself was short, each person saying a few words of goodbye, nothing extravagant. But after all words were said, all tears shed, and all emotions bled, the group stood staring at the pile of dirt now covering the life of someone so vital.

No one wanted to leave.

These were the last moments, the last chance they had to sit in their denial and pretend everything was still normal. That the worst hadn’t happened. That it had all just been a nightmare.

That he might somehow still be alive.

“Together, we’re invincible.”

Mikey sank to his knees, his cries coming in long, desperate bursts. Splinter was by his side in an instant, an arm over his shoulder and comfort radiating as strongly as he could muster. April had to bite down on her lip hard to keep from following suit. Her chest ached and her legs quivered, but she remained standing, gripping Casey’s hand for all she was worth. Caught up in his own thoughts, he didn't seem to notice the intensity of her grip. He was looking around at the house and the trees. Looking for Raph.

But the red-banded brother was nowhere to be found. He was close, of that Casey was certain, but not anywhere near the grave. Or his family.

Casey closed his eyes, slowly letting out the breath he’d been holding. He wasn’t a religious person by any measure, but in that moment, he lifted a silent prayer to whatever remained of their fallen brother’s spirit.

‘Stay with him, Leo. He’s gonna need you. Let him know he ain’t alone.’

A strong wind kicked up, billowing cold through their little gravesite and blasting through to the house. Casey smiled.

‘Atta boy, Leo.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There’s so much fog. A haze of smoke growing thicker by the second, warning me not to walk through it. Every step I take towards it fills my lungs with poison, screaming at me not to breathe lest I spread it through my body and it tears me apart from the inside out.

I need to go forward. I need to get to the grave, to see it, to watch the body buried beneath the ground, to see the closure of it all. I’ll regret it if I don’t. Regret it forever.

But the fog prevents me. It solidifies around me like an iron wall, it’s tendrils of smoke whispering warnings of death and pain and grief and—

Guilt.

“RAPH!”

Blame.

“…M’Sorry.”

I punch something beside me—can’t see what it is through the fog, but it feels solid enough—feeling a sharp pain ripple through my calloused hand. But it fades almost immediately. It wasn’t enough. Need more. More intensity. Longer lasting.

I punch again, feeling something sharp cut through my skin. But it’s still too fleeting. I throw my fist again and again until the pain is enough that it lasts longer than a second. Long enough to let me see through the fog.

There’s a barn. A clearing. A large tree. Leo’s tree. Leo’s…

They’re all there, gathered around him. My family. Grieving, crying, mourning, because of my failures.

Because of me.

Because Leo’s—

I think I’m gonna hurl.

They’re standing beneath that tree and staring at the ground. Staring at it. Cursing it. Weeping over it.

His grave. Cold and desolate and unfeeling. Just like Leo.

“You don’t mean that.”

I don’t. But it’s easier to remember the things I hated about him. Easier to be angry at him. To hate him. For coming after me. For babysitting. For not trusting me.

For leaving.

“Still here.”

He’s not. His voice floats around me like a vulture circling prey, tempting me to believe it’s real. But it can’t be. He’s gone. Left me alone on that roof, holding his body, begging for death. He can’t be here. He can’t be. He’s… he’s…

“Dead?”

“RAPH!”

I start throwing fists again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Raph…”

“Tell them…”

Light filters in slowly. Like rays creeping through an old window shade. I can’t move because my body aches so much. My breath is coming slow and steady, and for the first time I’m not waking up surrounded by fog. Everything is clear. I know where I am.

I’m at the farmhouse. By Leo’s grave. With my brothers around—

Mike. Don.

My eyes snap wide open and scan the area. Where are they? Did they leave? Did I drive them off again?

“Hey Raph—“

I turn so sharp, Don pulls his arms back in a surrender position. “—Whoa! Just me.”

I let breath come again and nod, focusing on trying to slow my pounding heartbeat. Don just watches me, patient and calm—he’s gotta be freezing sitting there in the dirt like that—while I try to settle myself. He must notice me searching because he answers my question before I can ask it.

“He’s inside getting some tea. We figured you’d probably be cold when you woke up.”

I nod, but honestly, I don’t feel the cold yet. I can see my breath, but I’m not feeling the wind’s bite. Of course, it’s only then that I notice the jacket draped over my shoulders. I look up in time to see Don shiver and immediately feel guilty. His eyes are red and baggy like they get when he’s stayed up all night, and I don’t gotta ask to know we’ve been out here a while. And him and Mike have been with me the whole time.

“Here.” I offer the jacket, but he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, you should keep it. You’ve been out here longer and I’m pretty sure your extremities are going numb.”

I don’t argue, slinging the coat around my shell and giving my hands a good clench; he’s right, I don’t feel a thing. And this time it ain’t because I punched something too hard.

“Besides, Mikey should be back with the tea any minute.”

…There’s something else he wants to say. He always readjusts his glasses when he’s holding something back. I should prod. I should make sure he’s okay. But everything in me wants to hang onto this silence. I don’t have the strength for any more emotional outbursts. How does Mikey do this all the time?

“Look who finally woke up!”

Speak of the devil.

“How are you feeling? You up for some tea?”

I glance at the cup warily, not entirely sure I want to risk drinking tea made by Mikey. He’s not exactly known for his brewing skills. But he must have seen the face I made because he laughs and hands me the mug.

“Don’t worry, Sensei made it.”

In that case… “Thanks.” I say quietly, still keeping my eyes to ground. Can’t dare look at either of them. The tea provides a perfect way to avoid eye contact, allowing me to focus solely on the cup and enjoy the warmth now radiating through my chest to my fingertips.

Mikey folds his legs and sits on my other side. Normally being surrounded like this would give me those caged animal instincts, but for right now, I’m perfectly content to have a brother on each arm.

We sit there in silence for a good long while, all drinking our tea and letting the air remain still around us. It’s odd sitting in the quiet like this. Not something I normally find comforting. Today it is. I can’t explain why, but I ain’t gonna fight it either. I’m perfectly content to enjoy the mute company.

The wind dies entirely after a few minutes and the world comes to a complete stand still.

No matter how much I try to avoid it, my eyes keep dragging over to that name carved in stone. Every time I look at it I see his face, twisted in fear and shoutin’ my name as he pushes me away.

“RAPH!”

Blood dripping down his lips as he fights to speak.

“You still… don’t get it.”

That stupid smile on his face and a kind look in his eyes, like he was trying to convey something he couldn’t put into words.

“…M’Sorry.” He whispers something haltingly with the last of his breath, but I’m panicking too much to let it sink in.

My eyes go wide and my mind snaps to. I remember...

“Remember what I told you. The last thing I said. Never forget. Please…”

I swear I hear him whisper in my ear beside me.

“Tell them…”

“I’m so proud.” I feel both of them turn to look at me abruptly. Probably shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that, but what the hell. It’s out there now. “Leo—“ A sob hops up my throat and I gotta take a moment to push it away. Just let me say this… “Right before he died… he said for me to tell you ‘I’m so proud…’” I have to take another sharp breath as the image bleeds into my mind. “There was somethin’ else, something he was trying to say after that, but he… he didn’t… he didn’t finish…”

Dammit. I can hear the end of his sentence trail off with the last of his breath. I can feel his body grow cold under my hands. I’m shaking again… my tea spills all over the place, so I abandon it on the ground.

I hear Mikey sniff beside me and turn to see his eyes pouring tears again. But he’s smiling… I look at Don and he’s the same.

We all know what Leo means when he says he’s proud.

Mikey reaches forward and touches the stone, sniffing through his tears. “We love you too, Leo.”

Don does the same motion, touching the stone as reverently as possible, but is unable or unwilling to say anything as he lets the tears flow.

“His last thoughts were about us… the idiot couldn’t even think of himself on his own death bed.” I can’t tell if I’m speaking out loud or in my head anymore. Everything just… aches. “He thought about us… even after I—“

“He didn’t blame you, Raph. I’m sure of it.” Mikey cuts in, hand still grasping the stone, tracing the name with his eyes. “He loved you. You have to know that. He loved you.”

Don reaches over with his free hand and takes mine, holding it tight enough that I can feel him through the numbness. “And we do too.” He says emphatically. “We don’t… we could never…” He cuts himself off by lifting his head up to try and hold the tears in so he can speak. “We love you. Always.”

Mikey follows suit, taking my free hand in his and giving me one of his classic ‘it’ll be okay’ smiles.

I can’t say it makes the guilt go away. If anything, their understanding makes it burn even hotter.

But they mean what they say. I can see it. Feel it. And that’s more than enough. More than I deserve.

“I’m sorry—“ I barely get the words out through the ache in my chest. “I’m so sorry…”

Tears stream down my cheeks and I don’t bother trying to stop ‘em. My body quakes with my silent sobs, and I cling to my brothers for dear life as we wrap our arms around each other’s shoulders, crying and clutching and mourning together, Mike and Don still touching that cold stone with one hand, connecting us with it.

Connecting us our missing piece.

Connecting us with Leonardo.

“Still here...”

The tears are unending.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Previous < - > Next

There you have it. As I said, this is the last chapter I've written so far. I've been working on the next one for over a year now, but as my regular readers know, endings just are not my strong suit. I'm hoping to have it finished before the end of the summer, but that will depend on what life throws my way. As always, if any of this was confusing (I know it jumps around a lot) please let me know. End of Line.

-TRAaP

#tmnt fanfiction #tworoadsandapenny #tmnt #traap #tmnt 2003 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2012 #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leonardo #what you wish for #in the end #hurt/comfort #finally some comfort #tmnt brothers #brotherly fluff

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custom-business-solutions · 7 months ago

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Best ERP For Telecom Service Provider — Prudence Consulting

In today’s fast-paced world, managing operations efficiently is crucial for businesses, especially in the telecom sector. For telecom service providers, the right tools can make all the difference in streamlining processes, enhancing customer experience, and ultimately driving growth. One of the most effective solutions is an ERP for telecom service providers. In this blog, we’ll explore the best ERP systems tailored for the telecommunication industry and how they can transform your business.

Understanding ERP

Enterprise Resource Planning (ERP) is a software solution that integrates various business processes into a single system. It allows companies to manage operations such as finance, human resources, supply chain, and customer relations more effectively. For the telecommunication industry, a specialized ERP system can cater to unique challenges, like managing a vast network of services, ensuring compliance, and delivering excellent customer support.

Why Telecom Providers Need ERP Solutions

The telecommunication industry is dynamic and highly competitive. With the constant evolution of technology and changing customer expectations, telecom service providers need to be agile. Here are some key reasons why an ERP for telecom service providers is essential:

Improved Efficiency: By integrating various processes, ERPs eliminate data silos, ensuring that information flows seamlessly across departments. This leads to faster decision-making and better resource allocation.

Enhanced Customer Experience: With access to real-time data, telecom companies can respond promptly to customer queries and issues, improving overall satisfaction.

Regulatory Compliance: The telecom sector is often subject to strict regulations. A good ERP system helps manage compliance requirements effectively, reducing the risk of penalties.

Cost Management: By optimizing operations, ERPs can help telecom companies reduce costs and increase profitability. This is particularly important in a sector where margins can be tight.

Scalability: As telecom businesses grow, their needs evolve. A robust ERP system can scale with the business, adding new functionalities as required.

Top ERP Solutions for Telecom Service Providers

Here are some of the best ERP solutions tailored specifically for the telecommunication industry:

1. SAP for Telecommunications

SAP offers a comprehensive ERP solution designed for the telecom service provider sector. It provides functionalities such as revenue management, order processing, and customer relationship management. SAP’s real-time analytics and reporting tools allow companies to make data-driven decisions swiftly.

2. Oracle Communications

Oracle’s ERP solution is another top contender for telecom providers. It combines telecommunications-specific capabilities with a robust financial management system. The platform supports network planning, service delivery, and customer support, making it a one-stop solution for many telecom businesses.

3. Microsoft Dynamics 365

Microsoft Dynamics 365 is known for its flexibility and ease of use. Its ERP functionalities can be customized to fit the needs of any telecom service provider. With features for customer service, sales, and financial management, it helps businesses streamline operations and enhance customer engagement.

4. Infor CloudSuite

Infor CloudSuite is designed specifically for the telecommunication industry. It offers specialized tools for asset management, service delivery, and analytics. Its cloud-based infrastructure ensures that telecom companies can access their data anytime, anywhere, facilitating remote work and better collaboration.

5. Amdocs

Amdocs is a market leader in providing software solutions for communications and media companies. Their ERP system focuses on billing and customer experience management, helping telecom service providers improve revenue collection and customer satisfaction.

Key Features to Look For

When selecting an ERP for telecom service providers, consider the following features:

Integration Capabilities: The ERP should easily integrate with existing systems to avoid disruption.

Scalability: As your business grows, your ERP should adapt to increasing demands.

User-Friendly Interface: An intuitive interface ensures that employees can navigate the system with ease.

Mobile Access: With the rise of remote work, having a mobile-friendly ERP system is essential for on-the-go access.

Customer Support: Look for vendors that offer reliable customer support to assist you when issues arise.

Implementing ERP: Best Practices

Implementing an ERP system can be a significant undertaking. Here are some best practices to ensure a smooth transition:

Define Your Goals: Clearly outline what you want to achieve with the ERP system. This will help guide your selection and implementation process.

Involve Stakeholders: Include key stakeholders from different departments in the decision-making process to ensure that the chosen ERP meets the diverse needs of the organization.

Training: Invest in training for your staff to ensure they can effectively use the new system. A well-trained team can maximize the benefits of the ERP.

Monitor Performance: After implementation, continuously monitor the system’s performance and gather feedback to make necessary adjustments.

Regular Updates: Keep the ERP updated with the latest features and security patches to ensure optimal performance.

Conclusion

In the competitive landscape of the telecommunication industry, having the right tools is essential for success. An ERP for telecom service providers can streamline operations, enhance customer experiences, and improve overall efficiency. With options like SAP, Oracle, Microsoft Dynamics, Infor, and Amdocs, telecom companies have access to powerful solutions that can cater to their unique needs. By choosing the right ERP and implementing it effectively, telecom providers can position themselves for long-term growth and success.

At Prudence Consulting, we understand the intricacies of the ERP for the telecommunication industry and are here to help you find the best ERP solution tailored to your specific requirements. Reach out to us for expert guidance and support in your ERP journey!

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uswanth123 · 1 year ago

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SAP SUCCESS FACTORS MOBILE

SAP SuccessFactors Mobile: HR In the Palm of Your Hand

In this fast-paced, technology-driven world, employees expect to be able to manage their work lives as quickly as everything else—on the go. SAP SuccessFactors Mobile is the answer. It transforms the core HR solutions the powerful SAP SuccessFactors suite provides into an intuitive, user-friendly mobile app, empowering your workforce and enabling HR functions from anywhere.

What is SAP SuccessFactors Mobile?

The SAP SuccessFactors Mobile app is a native application available for iOS and Android devices that brings the key features of the SAP SuccessFactors HCM (Human Capital Management) suite directly to smartphones and tablets. It seamlessly integrates with your existing SAP SuccessFactors system, delivering a smooth and efficient mobile HR experience.

Benefits of Using SAP SuccessFactors Mobile

Increased Engagement: A consumer-grade mobile interface makes HR processes simple and intuitive, encouraging employees to take a more active role in their professional development, leading to higher engagement levels.

Boosted Productivity: Employees can access time-off management, goal tracking, and workflows from anywhere, anytime, enabling faster task completion and reducing unnecessary delays.

Empowering Managers: Push notifications and mobile approvals for leaves and other requests allow managers to address HR matters without being tied to their desks, ensuring faster decision-making processes.

Data Security: The app is built with robust security protocols, protecting sensitive HR data and safeguarding information while ensuring compliance.

Real-Time Information: Instant access to up-to-date HR information enables informed, timely decision-making for employees and managers.

Key Features of SAP SuccessFactors Mobile

Employee Profiles: Search and view employee information and connect directly via email, phone, or text.

Goal Management: Track progress on goals, update completion status, and receive feedback.

Time-Off Management: Request time off, view balances, and keep track of upcoming absences.

Approvals: Approve or deny leave requests, compensation changes, performance reviews, etc.

Learning:��Access on-the-go learning, complete courses, and connect with subject experts.

Company Feed: Stay updated on company news events and recognize colleagues’ achievements.

Getting Started with SAP SuccessFactors Mobile

Deployment: Your existing SAP SuccessFactors administrators can easily configure and enable the mobile app for your organization.

Download: Employees can download the free app from the Google Play Store or Apple App Store.

The Future of HR: Mobile-First

SAP SuccessFactors Mobile is more than just an app; it represents a shift towards a mobile-first approach in HR management. Its ease of use and accessibility drive higher HR process adoption, enabling a more streamlined and efficient workplace for businesses and employees. If you’re utilizing SAP SuccessFactors and have yet to explore the mobile app, it’s time to unleash the power of HR at your fingertips.

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hintofcolor · 4 years ago

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The Fabric of the Human Psyche

1/17/21

It’s amazing the amount of ourselves we put out there for people to see without even realizing it. It still hurts when it gets stripped away.

——————————————————————————

This is stupid Kon thinks, staring into the mirror. He’s thankful that the tears are clouding his vision because he really doesn’t want to see what he looks like right now. This is so so stupid.

Berating thoughts dance around his head like they belong there. Naturally flowing around, blending into the trauma that has made itself at home. He keeps staring, non moving, like if he moves it will be real. So, tears flow freely down his cheeks as looks into a reflection that isn’t him.

His hair has been cut, his curls gone and now instead of a fade it’s a buzz cut, all his piercing have been taken and glasses sit filtering his green eyes. It’s ridiculous, he knows that, to think that glasses can change the color of your eyes, it’s just glass, clear glass, but they look different to him, duller. He’s wearing a flannel, buttoned all the way up to the top button. It’s long enough to cover his bulky belt, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. His jeans are a worn blue and they’re straight cut. They would hit the ground too, if it wasn’t for his brown work boots. The primary color of his shirt seems blinding, his boots feel too heavy, like if he tried to fly they would keep him on the ground.

He gained the courage to move, lifting his arm to run a hand through his hair. The moment he made contact he flinched. He stumbled back sitting on the corner of his bed. He knew why he had to dress like this, he did, truly, But he looked different, ugly, boring, not himself, like Clark. Everything that made him, him, was gone, replaced by the past of someone who doesn’t want anything to do with who he is. He took off the glasses and sat them on the bed next to him. Finally rubbing his eyes and blinking away the tears. Here he was. Kon-el, Conner Kent, Superboy, crying on his bed in the middle of the day because of clothes. After everything he’s been through, the mind control, the memories of torture from Cadmus bleeding back in, Lex, enough said about that one, why was this getting to him so much. They’re just pieces of fabric. Because his style is his own. Because its not something he inherited. Because he genuinely likes the way he looks, and the way he dresses, and they make him feel like his own person. Now he’s being shoved to the back to make way for the new Conner. The improved Conner. The Conner that doesn’t stick out, the Conner that says yes ma’am and no sir, that doesn’t pick fights, that stays quiet and small and out of everyone’s way.

He looked over to his closet. The leather jackets, and cropped or distressed shirts are pushed to the side out of the way. The band logos and old hoodies barely seen. His jeans, all ripped or painted on, are in a box in the top of it, next to his shoes. He glances in the mirror one more time before deciding to get rid of it when he gains the strength to move.

The reasoning is simple enough. He looked too much like Superboy. The piercings, the leather, the hair, the attitude, was all a direct link to Superboy. He probably could have gotten away with it if he lived in Metropolis. Nobody there would bat an eye at him, but in tiny town Kansas, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone stared when he walked down the street, he was the talk of the town. The weird kid who had no business being a Kent. So he had to blend. It made sense. Not to mention, the moment Superboy is found out, it’s not that hard to make the connection to Clark. This means Superboy is allowed to stay the same the piercings, the leather, the attitude. He even still has clothes that look like him at the tower, for whenever they go out in San Francisco. People there have probably put two and two together about all of them, but that’s what Kon likes about that place, people know how to mind their business.

That should help, he knows that should help, but still, Kon wishes he was allowed to more than just Superboy. He wishes he was allowed to be Conner Kent without compromise. Without feeling like he’s letting down Clark. That hurts too, caring so much about what Clark thinks, especially considering he knows Clark doesn’t think twice about him. So he’s stuck alternating between these three different people and it’s exhausting. Why can’t Kon-el and Conner Kent be the same person.

He was laying down on his bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. The tears gone, now he was just numb. That’s when his pity party got crashed.

A knock came from his door, while the door was opening, the person on the other side not waiting for a response. That’s how he knew it wasn’t Ma or Pa. They knew what privacy meant and always waited for a response. Out of curiosity he lifted his head to see who just burst in. And to no surprise the person who doesn’t know how knocking works, was his personal bat he got prescribed when he started wearing the shield.

Nononononono

When nothing was said Kon sat up. Tim was just standing there, staring. He looked confused. Kon shifted uncomfortable under the stare.

“Can I help you with something?” Kon asked, growing tired of the silence.

“I had a meeting in Metropolis, and last time I went to Metropolis and didn’t stop by to visit, you yelled at me.” he rushed through his explanation. “What are you wearing?”

Kon groaned at the question laying back down. He threw his hands over his eyes. If he couldn’t see Tim, Tim couldn’t see him, right? “That bad, huh?” he asked instead of responding. He’s still not mentally ready to talk about it, yet.

“That’s not what I meant.” Tim responded sitting next to him on the bed. “It’s just...” He hesitated, briefly, but long enough for Kon to play ‘fill in the blank’

“Terrible, ugly, like I sleep in barn, like I’, wearing an elderly man’s ‘good’ outfit.”

“...not you.” Tim finished with an eye roll.

That was it, Kon felt the tears start to come back and he mentally cursed himself. This is so stupid. He pressed the heel of his hands deeper into his eyes. A tear slipped out and he prayed that Tim didn’t notice.

“Hey, Kon what happened.” Tim asked worried, a hand moving to his to peel away the hands that were pushing his eyes deeper into his head. After he gently got the hands away from his face he held them there. Kon had a habit of hiding behind his hands when he wants to avoid things. Typically he would brush it off, but Tim sounds concerned and he doesn’t want him to worry.

“It’s stupid.” Was his simple response. He could see Tim’s eyeroll even through his eyes were still closed. He could sense it at this point.

“If it’s upsetting you, then it’s not stupid. Now spill.” Tim’s response was soft. It was slightly uncharacteristic. Tim was always gentle, kind, when Kon was upset, but this was different.

“I just hate what I’m wearing. It feels...off. See stupid, can we drop it.”

“Why are you wearing it if you hate it?” And Kon should have known Tim wouldn’t let it go. Not with Kon still visibly upset.

“Clark thought it would be a good idea if I tried to blend in more. Y’know because of the whole secret I.D thing, so...” Kon gestured down to his clothes to make a point.

Tim sat quiet so Kon finally opened his eyes and when he did, Tim was staring, again. This time his look was soft, so soft.

“It’s not stupid, Kon” Tim spoke barely above a whisper. “You spent your entire life being compared to Clark. Being ‘the clone’. The world seeing you as just another superman. You found something that was yours, that proved you are so much more than just Superman’s clone. You’re your own person, with their own thoughts, their own soul, their own personality. You had something that was uniquely yours, and it was taken from you. Not only was it taken, but it was replaced with something so blatantly Clark. It makes sense that it hurts. And it makes sense to cry when things hurt. It’s not stupid. It’s not stupid to be upset, no matter how small it might seem. You are allowed to feel things, Kon.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Tim laughed.

Oh no.

“I think I want food.” Yes, change the subject, avoid everything. That’s healthy, Conner.

“Get changed we’ll go to Metropolis, my treat.”

Stop that.

“I figured that went without saying.” There’s that sixth sense again. “Hey wonder boy.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“You should be allowed to be your own person, I for one like that person. It seems wrong to hide him.”

Yup this isn’t going away anytime soon.

“When did you turn into such a sap.” This isn’t healthy. You should acknowledge this. Talk to him.

“It’s for one day only.” Tim turned, a blinding smile plastered on his face as he met Kon’s eyes.

This is going to be interesting.

Even with Tim’s words in the back of is mind, he couldn’t help but feel kind of pathetic not being able to look in the mirror. Like he was being dramatic, over reacting. He catches himself staring in the reflections in windows, walking downtown. Looking at a version of himself that has since been dead and buried. And school. The whole reason for this change. He had to start school. He was still a teenager. But school, school was the worst. People were nice enough. Coming up and introducing themselves, wanting to be friends. But the harsh reality, he knew these people would have steered cleared if he looked like himself.

And that’s the thing about all of this, he guesses. Knowing you exist in a world that doesn’t want you there, enough that it forces you into a mold you don’t fit.

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Edit: I had to change the ending. I hated it. It’s still not quite how I wanted it to end but it’s defiantly better than the abrupt ending it had before.

#dc comics #conner kent #kon el #tim drake #timkon #kons having a break down #he just wants to be himself #Clark kent is a bad dad #I dont know how to tag this #this based off a drawing i saw #but i cant find it #if you have drawn identity crisis kon #please let me know #this is my first time posting my writing #please be nice #im sensitive #and will cry

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 6 years ago

Text

how to build a universe

(in which aziraphale comforts crowley, and the night sky falls down to earth)

~*~

"Sometimes I miss the stars."

Crowley's voice was hushed, so low Aziraphale nearly missed his words altogether.

They were lying in bed, a habit they'd recently taken to - sometimes at the flat, other times at the bookshop. They didn't always sleep. There tended to be cuddling involved, or reading the newspapers of their respective head offices, or sometimes simply chatting about whatever it was that came to mind.

Currently, it was just past one a.m. They were lying back-to-back in the bedroom above the bookshop, legs intertwined.

"What do you mean?" Aziraphale murmured, almost but not quite half-asleep. "We can go visit the stars together, my dear. Anytime you want."

"It's not that, angel." Crowley rolled over onto his back. "I used to help build them. The stars. Entire nebulas." He lifted his hands toward the ceiling, palms upward, as if he was tracing the shapes of memories long passed. "I filled galaxies with stars of my own creation. My own vision. Color. Size. Intensity. Entire worlds were within my grasp and every choice to be made was my own." He slowly closed his hands into fists. "And now? Nothing. My stars are dying. Some have probably died already." He sighed, and his arms fell down beside him. "Sorry, angel. Didn't mean to go on a rant there."

Aziraphale turned onto his other side, allowing himself to face Crowley, whose gaze was still cast at the ceiling. "Never apologize for talking, dear boy. I may not always know what to say, but..." He pressed a kiss to the demon's temple, near the top of his snake tattoo. "I will always listen to you." He reached out and slipped his hand into Crowley's. "Tell me everything about the stars, my dear. What is it like to build a universe?"

A small smile flitted onto Crowley's lips, and he gave Aziraphale's hand a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, angel."

~*~

The next day, Aziraphale did not open the bookshop. "I'll be back this evening," he called to Crowley before he left. "I have a few errands to run. Materials to pick up. Be here around eight or nine, please. See you then!" He made sure to leave before the demon could get in a word of protest edgewise.

While he was out, Aziraphale visited a dozen stores, buying what ended up being a total of three bags of crafting supplies. It had originally been four, but a bottle of paint had spilled and tossing the entire bag away had simply been the best option.

Aziraphale returned to the bookshop at exactly eight. "I'm back," he called as he entered, closing the door behind him with his foot. "Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

Crowley was lounging in a chair at the back of the shop, flipping through a magazine about astronomy. "Not really. Some college student came by earlier. Wanted to give you a gift card to the sushi place downtown." He raised an eyebrow. "Got a secret admirer, angel?"

Aziraphale laughed. "I bet that was Jeremy. I helped him do some research for this thesis, and since he knows I love sushi, I'm sure the gift card was his way of saying 'thank you'."

"Oh." A guilty look flashed on Crowley's face. "I may or may not have... Turned him away."

Scared him half to death, more like, if the demon's expression was anything to go on. Aziraphale clicked his tongue in a mix of disappointment and amusement. "You can be so ridiculous, Crowley."

"Anyways," the demon said in a clear attempt to change the subject, "do I get to see whatever it is that took you so long to buy?" He gestured to the trio of bags still hanging on Aziraphale's arms. "I've been waiting here all day, you know."

Aziraphale was equal parts embarrassed and flattered by that statement. He'd expected that Crowley would return to his flat for most of the day to entertain himself, but to hear he hadn't... "Not yet. I have to set up a few things first."

Crowley frowned. "Should I feel afraid or flattered by whatever it is you're planning?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I guess you'll find out!" he said as he climbed up the stairs. "I'll let you know when everything is ready." He hastily made his way to the bedroom, carefully placing the bags on the floor before shutting the door behind him. He had quite a lot of preparations to make.

~*~

Though it took several miracles - probably more than necessary, to be fair - Aziraphale had transformed his bedroom into what was needed for Crowley's surprise. Tarp on the floor, bed transported away, paints and glitters lined up against the wall - oh, he hoped this was a good idea.

"Alright," he called as he reopened the bedroom, yanking the door in order to pull it open over the tarp. "You can come up now."

There was the quiet patter of feet as Crowley made his way up the stairs.

Aziraphale prayed the demon would like the surprise. There was a significant chance, he feared, that Crowley would hate what he'd prepared and thus choose not to speak to him for the next century.

Again.

"Angel." Crowley was standing in the doorway, his brows furrowed in confusion. "What's all this?"

Aziraphale clasped his hands together, doing his best to pretend he was perfectly calm. "Well, when I went out today I bought some paint," he began, gesturing to the assorted craft supplies lined up neatly against the wall. "I also purchased a few containers of glitter. I think some of the paint may even have glitter in it!" He laughed nervously, twisting his pinky ring around his finger as he so often did when he was stressed. "I bought paintbrushes as well, of course. And paint trays. I also got these small stars that you can peel the backs off of and stick on the wall. They glow in the dark, I believe." He was rambling too much about his purchases. Time to move on.

Aziraphale stepped closer to Crowley, gently taking the demon's hands in his and praying his palms weren't sweaty. "I can't give you the power to create galaxies, my dear. And I can't give you the power to hold the world in your hands, either. But..." He took a deep breath. "You can build a universe in here, if you'd like. Every decision, every choice to be made will be up to you."

Aziraphale bit his lip, breaking eye contact with the demon. If it could even be called eye contact. Those glasses of his had a way of hiding too many things, in Aziraphale's opinion.

He silently pleaded for Crowley to speak. The quiet, the complete lack of any sort of reaction was getting to be too much to bear. "I know I may be stepping out of line with this, and if I am please tell me, my dear. But..." He trailed off as Crowley pulled his hands away and slowly removed his sunglasses.

The demon turned away from the angel, taking time to examine each wall. Aziraphale knew, somehow, that Crowley was looking far beyond the confines of the room. Perhaps even beyond the stars.

He waited for Crowley to speak, but no words ever left the demon's mouth. Instead, he knelt down and began pouring paint into trays, sprinkling various colors of glitter into them, too. He rolled up his sleeves before grabbing a paintbrush, standing up and returning his attention to the wall in front of him.

Aziraphale paused. He felt that he was... Intruding on what was clearly an intimate moment for Crowley. "Well," he said. "I suppose I'll leave you to it -" He was interrupted by Crowley grabbing his arm, not saying a word as he placed a paintbrush in the angel's hand.

But, after 6000 years, words weren't always necessary between them.

"Alright," Aziraphale whispered. He took off his jacket and dropped it on the ground outside the room. "Alright, my dear. We'll do it together."

And so they painted. They painted and they painted and they stuck glow-in-the-dark stars on the walls until the room had been transformed into the night sky. Colors spiraled from corner to corner, deep shades of black and blue, vibrant palettes of purple and gold, and fading hues of pastel pink and glittering silver. It was impossible to tell where one wall ended and another began.

Both had flecks of paint decorating their clothes, and pieces of glitter sparkled in their hair. There was silence between them as they stood together and examined the finished product.

"Thank you, angel," Crowley murmured after a long pause, tossing his paintbrush on the floor. "Thank you."

Aziraphale felt a relieved smile form on his lips, and he too put his paintbrush down. "You're very welcome, my dear. I must admit, I was worried that -"

He was cut off as Crowley spun around and grabbed his collar, pulling the angel into an intense kiss.

Such direct affection was rare from the demon, but certainly not unwelcome. Aziraphale found himself melting into the kiss, reaching out to wrap his arms around Crowley's waist and holding him so close there was hardly an inch of space between them.

When the demon finally pulled away, he didn't let go of Aziraphale, nor did Aziraphale let go of him. Instead, Crowley's hands moved to cup the angel's face.

"You know," Crowley murmured, "you said couldn't give me the power to hold the world in my hands. But I'm going to have to beg to differ." His thumb brushed Aziraphale's cheek, leaving a glittering purple smear in its wake. "I'm holding my world right now."

Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat. Or maybe two. "Oh, Lord," he finally said, softening. "You can be such a sap."

Crowley shrugged. "Maybe." He traced a silver spiral on Aziraphale's other cheek. "But I mean it."

"My dear." Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes to give Crowley a chaste kiss on the nose. "I know you do."

And, as their lips met a second time, the lights in the room went off. Neither recalled doing it, assuming the other to be responsible.

Around them, the stars on the walls twinkled, a dozen shades of color and intensity. It was as if they were floating in the sky instead of standing in what used to be Aziraphale's bedroom.

And maybe they were. All it took to build a universe, it seemed, was a couple gallons of paint, one or two bottles of glitter, and a few packages of glow-in-the-dark stars.

The most important piece, of course, was love. (Isn't it always?)

And, fortunately for them, there was six millennia worth of love to go around.

~*~

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #anthony crowley #amy writes #fanfic #my fanfic #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #writing #my writing #how to build a universe #ive had this in my drafts forever and tbh it's probably one of my favorite things ive written #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses #ineffable soulmates

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goatsandgangsters · 5 years ago

Text

Hunger Games: The Boardwalk, Chapter 11

(ao3)

Wood splintered and broke.

Charlie shot upright, frozen. Silently, he palmed the ground until he found the broken bottleneck. Just on the other side of the overturned table, someone walked back and forth.

He shifted into a crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet. The floorboards groaned under his weight; the footsteps stopped.

Charlie’s pulse pounded in his throat. The footsteps began again, creaking louder as they neared. The glass felt cool against his skin. When the footsteps got close enough that he could lunge—

“Heya, Charlie.”

He jumped to his feet and swore. The shadowy silhouette barely came up to his shoulder, but he could see that obnoxious grin gleaming at him in the darkness. “Gimme a fuckin’ heart attack, why don’t you!”

Benny laughed. “Hey, just be glad I didn’t shoot first.” He waved the crossbow clutched in his right hand as demonstration. “That might’a been awkward.”

“Yeah,” he agreed in an undertone, eyeing the weapon. Great. So Benny had an entire crossbow and a sling of arrows thrown over his shoulder. Charlie had a floorboard.

Like he could read it on his face, Benny asked, “Get anything good from the Cornucopia?”

“Yeah,” he said again and stopped. When Benny looked at him expectantly, he waved a hand and said, “None of your business what I got, alright? But I’m lookin’ for water now.” Better to change the subject, as he slipped the bottleneck shard carefully into his pocket. Better if Benny didn’t get the chance to press him for information. Better if he didn’t know how vulnerable Charlie was, especially against a ranged weapon.

“Water? You’re worried about water?”

“You wanna start seein’ things and fallin’ over and shit? Let’s see how good your aim is then, huh?” Charlie cocked his chin at the broken boards where Benny slipped inside. “What’re you lookin’ for, then?”

Benny plucked the string of his bow. “Fun.”

Maybe the cameras were on them then, the Gamemakers hoping for a confrontation. Was the bloodlust genuine, or was the overconfidence part of his performance? Either way, Charlie wasn’t turning his back anytime soon.

Not that he’d let anybody see him sweat—Benny or Panem. He shook his head, like it was no big deal, stepping out from behind the table and pacing the room. “Take it easy, don’t go shootin’ off any fingers, alright?”

Benny scoffed, eyes tracking him. “Unlike somebody, I know how to aim.”

“Hey, my aim ain’t that bad.”

“You couldn’t hit me from two feet away.”

“I could, but lucky for you, I ain't gonna,” Charlie shot back. Benny had seen his lousy performance with the ranged weapons during training; the rest of Panem had not. He didn’t need everybody knowing what a bad shot he was. Or that his best option was hurling a shard of glass and hoping to give Benny a scratch before he fired an arrow.

Benny smirked, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “C’mon. Everybody’s gotta be asleep by now. Perfect time to take out a couple tributes. As long as you’re not too thirsty?”

Too unarmed, more like it. The kid had a lot of energy—and too much enthusiasm about the Games. Maybe it was like that in District 1, the way they must have talked up the glory. Charlie rubbed at his eyes and squinted at the boarded up windows. It was still nightfall; he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep, but the adrenaline of Benny’s appearance had him up now.

Charlie wasn’t about to go looking for trouble until he had a good enough weapon to meet it. “You get anything else besides that?”

Benny shook his head. “This and the arrows. I dunno know why you’re so worried about getting a drink. There’s bottles all over the place.”

“Yeah, but it’s all alcohol. I searched up and down this maze.”

Benny shrugged. “So. Still wet, ain’t it?”

“Great, you’re gonna get drunk and shoot things. C’mon.” He waved an arm towards the broken planks over the window. No sense hanging around. He wasn’t closing his eyes again anytime soon, not with Benny’s comments ringing in his ears. They should keep moving. He might find something useful—and if they encountered other tributes, at least one of them had a real weapon.

He’d have to leave his floorboard, though. It would be too obvious he didn’t have anything better if he stooped to pick it up. The glass, at least, he could keep close and hidden, along with some rusty nails he’d pocketed.

He made Benny go first—no chance he was turning his back on that kid. Benny slipped through the gap in the window easily, all skinny wriggly limbs. Charlie, however, was a full head taller; it took more finagling to get his legs through.

Benny, already out on the street, laughed at him. “Panem, I give you—District 12’s tribute!” He mimed applause and the distant hollering of a crowd, as Charlie did an awkward hop to pull his body through.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he grumbled.

They walked on through the dilapidated alleys, broken cement crunching under their feet. They probably would have kept bickering, too, if it wasn’t for their eyes darting to every shadow, bracing for a fight from every doorway.

It was a different way than Charlie had come originally. Somewhere, they’d gone left where he’d gone straight. They were still heading towards the beach, though. He could tell by the sky—deep inky blue in one direction, faint seeping pink and orange in the other. Of course, that assumed the sky still worked the same way. It’d be just like the Capitol though, to change the direction of sunrise and sunset in the arena to fuck with them.

Even without that possibility, the place was already a maze. Sometimes the pavement gave way to sand. The streets and alleys thinned, revealing the foundations of destroyed buildings—squared off cement left in its place hinting that once there was something, replaced by windswept sand and struggling wispy plants, the occasional scurry of what Charlie hoped were only rats.

They tried to stick to where it was denser for cover. The narrow brick on either side was small comfort. It shielded them from enemies—from other tributes. The distinction stopped mattering. But they hadn’t seen anyone for all their walking, the sky budding into hazy early-morning blue. They hadn’t seen much of anything at all.

“How big is this place?” Charlie marveled under his breath.

“If I never see another brick…” Benny grumbled, dragging his crossbow bitterly along the alley, the sickening scratch of the arrow against stone.

Charlie winced at the noise. “I can take you out now if you’re bored,” he offered.

“Har har, oh you’re so funny Charlie, let’s hear another one,” Benny shot back. He scoffed. “Can’t believe those saps in the Capitol think you’re a charmer.”

“You gonna keep talkin’, or you wanna live to grow hair on your chest, huh?”

Too much. Benny whipped around, the chrome of the crossbow glinting with the motion. “Planning on the second one, thanks.”

Charlie pulled a face and held up his hands in sarcastic surrender, before waving Benny onwards with a flick of his wrist. “Let’s keep goin’ then, alright?” he muttered. They fell back into silence. It was better that way.

As the sun rose higher, Charlie’s stomach gurgled and growled. He pressed a fist into his abdomen to quiet the noise. He was thirsty, too. His tongue sat heavy and dry in his mouth. If it wasn’t for the prickle on the back of his neck—the alert awareness that any second, someone or something could drive a knife into his throat—this might have been the same as going down to the mines with his brother in the early morning. Of course, it was warmer in the arena—even in the early morning, the air felt like summer—and Benny was a whole lot shorter.

He chewed on his tongue as they walked, like maybe he could squeeze out some bit of moisture to swallow, trick himself into believing he’d had a meal. Maybe a hunk of bread—a little stale by the end of the week—that his mother shoved at all of them on their way out the door. Or those pastries they had in the Capitol, so sweet he couldn’t even call it bread, with fresh fruits baked in, all slathered in butter. They had meat for breakfast, too, in the Capitol. Meat—juicy and dripping in fat, and they just ate it for breakfast.

Benny stopped and Charlie bumped into him. “You hear that?” Benny whispered.

Charlie strained his ears. Faint shuffling. The distant clink of glass.

“You think it’s somebody?” Benny murmured. “Could be a rat or something.”

“What rat makes that much noise?” he shot back, a little louder than a whisper. Lowering his voice again, Charlie added, “How big you think rats are?”

Benny ignored the jibe and smirked instead. “Looks like it’s finally gettin’ interesting.”

They rounded the corner. In an alcove between the buildings, a boy with brown hair had his back to them, bending over a wooden crate. It was the District 4 tribute, Owen, the one who joked through his interviews with a smile that never reached his hard eyes.

He was swiftly filling the crate with bottles of alcohol, but he froze—hands still on the bottles—as Benny raised the crossbow, taking aim.

“That stuff’s bad for you, you know,” he taunted and fired.

The arrow whizzed into the wall as Owen flung himself sideways, hurling something. The bottle hit the wall beside them, shards of glass and alcohol raining down. Charlie’s arms flew up to protect his face. Benny did the same, almost fumbling the crossbow in the process.

“Get him!” Benny snapped as he hurried to reload an arrow.

Owen was fast, scrambling to his feet, but Charlie lunged, crashing into him and knocking into the wall. He punched, again and again, the boy’s head smashing back into the wall as fist met jaw.

“OOF!” Charlie recoiled, pain searing in his ribs as Owen kneed him in the gut. That was all the opportunity he needed. Owen sprang forward and they toppled to the ground together. Charlie landed flat on his back, the air ripped from his lungs, Owen on top of him. He gasped in pain—but his hands latched onto Owen's arms. He heaved with everything he had.

They rolled, Charlie on top again. It was instinct now. Owen beneath him. Fist colliding into his jaw. Blood in his mouth. Charlie scrambled for the broken bottle neck still in his pocket—his throat was right there—but Owen’s hand latched around his thin wrist, forcing it away. They struggled, pushing, vying for leverage. The stench of blood, alcohol, and sweat between them.

But Owen was strong, his grip firm, no matter how much Charlie tried to swing the shard of glass down on him.

“Alright, asshole,” Charlie spat. With his other hand, he snatched a bottle from the crate and swung. The muscles of his shoulder remembered the motion—pickaxe against rock. Glass was even easier. It shattered against skull, glass spraying over Owen's face. He brought his arm back, the jagged shard between his bloody fingers, and swung down again.

Owen’s arm shot up to block him, but barely. Charlie swung again—

“MOVE, DAMMIT!!”

His head snapped up. Benny aimed the crossbow right at them. In a split second, Charlie flung himself backwards; Owen scrambled. An arrow whizzed right over his shoulder and into the wall. Benny cursed as Owen ran. Charlie lunged after him, grabbed him by the leg, and got a kick in the throat for it.

Benny scrambled to nock another arrow while Charlie hurried to his feet, and together they skirted the wall as they ran after him. Owen ducked and ran and darted, weaving through the intricate alleyways.

Until suddenly, they turned into a dead end. Benny cursed and kicked the wall. He spun on the spot like maybe, miraculously, they’d see him running in the opposite direction. But the thinner alleyways were a maze woven through the old buildings. He could have given them the slip and ducked into any of them. There was no way they’d catch up, now that they’d lost sight of him.

Charlie spat blood onto the ground and leaned back against the brick. He closed his eyes, chest heaving as he caught his breath and coughed.

At least he survived his first real fight in the Hunger Games. Managed to get a few good hits in, too, even if his ribs ached. Charlie glanced down at his hand. Owen got the worst of it, but there were still a few shards of glass embedded in the side of his hand—not to mention his busted-up knuckles. Wincing, he pried the glass out, bits of blood and skin coming along with it.

“So, that’s why you wanna get back to the Cornucopia, huh?”

Charlie raised his eyes slowly to see Benny smirking at him with that annoying look on his face—the same look that seemed to always mean trouble. “What’re you talkin’ about?” Charlie spat back as he ripped the hem off his sleeve with his teeth.

“You don’t have a weapon.”

His heart stopped. Benny still smirked at him. The accusation hung in the air between them for a second too long before Charlie scoffed, “Sure I do.”

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you use it?”

Everything shifted into sharper focus. Benny’s smile, the crossbow, his finger—it wasn’t on the trigger, not yet. Could he knock Benny to the ground before he had the chance to react, or would he find an arrow lodged in his gut before he even closed the distance? Would it be better to bolt the second he saw a finger twitch?

Benny laughed, and the sound alone almost sent Charlie running. “Guess we gotta get you one. Won’t be any fun otherwise.”

Charlie exhaled and shook his head. “Think I did okay for myself anyway.” Benny didn’t seem to hear Charlie’s pulse reverberating in his head.

“Who knew you can actually throw a punch!” Benny crowed, clapping and thrusting his own fist in the air with a hop. “You almost got him in the throat, too, with that bottle thing.” He mimed blood gushing from his neck with a manic grin.

“And I thought you had better aim than that. I coulda got him!”

Benny scoffed as he trotted back down the way they came, bouncing a few steps ahead. “Like I’m gonna let you get the first one, no way.”

Charlie wrapped the cloth from his sleeve around his hand, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. “Then try not to miss next time, huh?”

*****

Eddie Cantor was the last person Meyer wanted to see first thing in the morning. Arnold Rothstein, it turned out, was the second. Meyer grudgingly accepted AR's offer of a cup of black coffee and a slice of sweet bread with apple slices baked into rose petals, dusted with cinnamon. He took a sip without paying much notice as he and AR sat in the back of the observation room. The Capitol anthem blared around them and echoed behind Meyer's worn, tired eyes. He hadn't slept more than a few hours. It didn't make Eddie any easier to tolerate, with his garish makeup and Capitol clothing, the way he spoke in a frenzied, excited fervor.

"What a start to this year's Games!" he announced, clasping his hands together at the end of the highlight reel of the bloodbath's brutal deaths. "Now, I'm sure many of you are wondering... What happened last night?"

He paused for dramatic effect, then burst into a trill of laughter. "If you could even sleep, that is! With all this excitement, I barely closed my eyes!"

Meyer glared, blearily, at the front of the room.

"And it seems our tributes couldn't wait, either! They're not saving the action for the daytime. These tributes are ready to go!"

With that, the camera cut to clips from last night. Meyer already knew what happened. The screaming from the kill had woken him; he hadn’t gone back to sleep after. They played the recap of Al, Sigrid, and Nelson, hunting down tributes in the arena. The other two were pragmatists, swift and efficient killers, but Al seemed to enjoy himself. He took his time, taunting, teasing, talking—all the bravado and arrogance of someone who knew he had skill and brute force on his side. There wasn't much of a contest between the three of them and a lone tribute from a poor district with maybe a small knife.

"Now how about that!" Eddie exclaimed as their clips wrapped. "A great performance from District 2, as always. But how about those tributes from District 9? I wouldn't want to get on their bad sides, oh no!"

"But," Eddie continued, taking on a hushed tone, "Those aren't the only alliances taking shape. There's another team we'll be keeping a close eye on. Real contenders, these tributes."

Despite himself, Meyer's pulse quickened. They were already considering Charlie a contender?

The screen flickered to show the two dark-haired tributes from District 7 creeping carefully through the lobby of the large, ornate building that loomed over the beach. Their footsteps echoed on the crackled marble floors.

"Do you think this works?" The girl, Angela, pried open a rusted metal grate blocking what looked like an old elevator. It was nothing like what they had in the Capitol buildings, but the Gamemakers’ careful design suggested something that had once been elegant.

The elevator did in fact work. The pair of them tumbled out into a dark room on a higher floor. Angela took a step forward, but the boy beside her froze. He raised his bow and arrow and pointed into the shadows, poised, waiting for the slightest movement to fire.

"Richard? It's me."

The boy didn't move—not until Jimmy from District 5 stepped out of the shadows, a sword swung casually over his shoulder and the girl from District 2 following behind him. "You know Pearl, right? Pearl, meet my friends—that's Richard and Angela. They're from District 7."

They exchanged awkward hellos, the boy lowering his bow and arrow. "You wanna camp here for the night?" Just like that, the pairs combined, settling down around a small fire in what looked like an old office. They shared cured meats from a backpack one of them had grabbed at the Cornucopia. But the highlight clip ended there. No one was interested in watching their camaraderie and conversation, not if it wasn't going to end in violence.

Eddie tried to spin excitement into the disappointing lack of bloodshed. "What do you think, Panem? A group of four could be a powerful team, outnumbering our other frontrunners. But do they have what it takes? I'll take this moment to remind you that Richard Harrow of District 7 is one of two tributes to receive a training score of 10. Time will tell! And with the second day in the arena getting underway, we won't have to wait long!"

The highlight reel concluded, showing brief flashes of all the other tributes in the night, ending with Charlie and Benny fight against Owen—the most recent action in the early morning. Eddie Cantor's only commentary was to chuckle. "Not too often you see an alliance between District 1 and District 12, if you can call it that." They played a brief, barbless quip between Charlie and Benny. "How long do we think Salvatore—or was it Charlie—is going to spend babysitting?"

"Easy. He's doing fine. They'll take him seriously soon enough," AR said from over his shoulder. Meyer realized the snarl in his head must have been out loud. He really was tired.

“I thought they were already taking him seriously,” Meyer muttered. “The interviews, the parade—all of that.”

AR tutted at him. “You and I both know that’s only part of the equation. What matters now is the arena. He hasn’t killed yet, hasn’t shown them what he can do.”

“He doesn’t have a real weapon and still almost killed a high-scoring tribute with nothing but a broken bottle,” Meyer shot back in a hushed voice, aware of the other mentors in the room.

“Almost doesn’t cut it.”

Meyer answered by taking a sip of coffee with a particularly sour expression as he looked up at the front monitor. A boy sat cross-legged on the beach, trying to string a fishing line from the Cornucopia.

“I’m surprised to see him so friendly with that boy from District 1,” AR said, tone delicate.

Meyer barely glanced at him. “Are you? They formed an alliance in training.”

It was worth it to see AR’s brow arch, his expression flicker. “Did they? He didn’t mention that to me—nor did you.”

“Do I have to?” AR’s nostrils flared, his lips pulling into a hard line. Meyer took a sip of coffee and explained, more evenly, “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. The arena’s large; their odds of running into each other early enough to form an alliance seemed slim.”

AR’s expression relaxed. “I take it you didn’t sleep much last night,” he said. Though his tone was neutral, Meyer didn’t miss the subtext, the subtle accusation for his lack of manners, as Carolyn probably would have called it.

Meyer downed the rest of the coffee. On an empty stomach, he could already feel the thrumming in his veins, the skittery beat of his heart in his ears. “Did you?” he asked in return. AR surely wouldn’t miss the accusation underlying that question, either.

Instead, AR sighed and stood from his perch on the edge of Meyer’s station. “Better than you did, I’m sure. But no, I didn’t.” He put his hand on Meyer’s shoulder; he startled. People from the Capitol could be handsy, but AR was never like that—Meyer typically appreciated as much. “Torturing yourself is no use to them.”

“Then tell me what is,” Meyer said, voice low, each syllable a precise staccato.

AR smiled sadly and clapped his hand on Meyer’s back, withdrawing. “I’ll let you know if I hear any interest in sponsoring either of them. But this early on, for someone who isn’t a frontrunner? That’s a hard sell.”

Meyer said nothing. He stared at his screen. That was a placating way to say they could do nothing. Sponsorship was tricky business—deliberately expensive to minimize outside influence on the Games, but held like a carrot in front of the tributes to coax them into appealing to the Capitol any way they could. But most tributes died without seeing any outside gifts. The wealthier and more favored tributes sometimes received food or crucial medicine, but this early on, the Capitol was content to sit back and watch. They wouldn’t waste their money helping someone who wouldn’t pull through.

Like everything about the Games, they allowed the tributes and the districts alike just enough hope—the slimmest chance—so that they could claim it was altruism.

“I take it you plan to spend the day here again?”

Meyer’s silence was answer enough.

“Very well. But find an opportunity to sleep when you can. Your room is still available to you at the Training Center.”

He could only manage a stiff nod in response. There was a dull, persistent throb in his head—right behind his eyes and deeper in his head. His stomach twisted around itself. Even though he hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, the thought of the apple pastry made him nauseous. In the face of his silence, AR said a few parting words and left without another response from Meyer.

As soon as the doors to the viewing room closed behind him, the man from District 10 pivoted in his seat, slowly standing and approaching Meyer. "I thought you were the mentor now,” he said. He was an older man, grey-haired, but as he spoke, the hint of a threat shone in his face.

Meyer raised his eyes to meet him, gaze unwavering. “I am,” he replied evenly.

“But still you need help?” the man asked.

Meyer's fingers twitched around the empty cup of coffee. “No. I don't need anyone's help.” He didn’t look away. “I'm sure you remember that from last year.”

“Oh, cut this boy a break!” the man from District 11 chimed in, breaking the tension of their appraising stares. “He was still here when I left last night, here when I come back this morning. You leave at all?”

Meyer shook his head.

“Don't look like you slept much, neither.”

The slow and heavy blink of Meyer's eyes answered enough. Turning back to the man from District 10, Meyer said, “If AR chooses to go where he is not allowed, well... He's from the Capitol. He does what he wants.”

The man's face was passive, before it split into a smile and then a full-bellied laugh. “I like you, boy. I liked you last year, too.” He offered his hand—broad and calloused—in a firm shake. “You can call me Munya.”

The other man who'd spoken up for him—the one with the scar across his face—offered his hand next. “Chalky White. We all look out for each other back here. Us outer districts need to stick together. If you need to shut your eyes or get some air, we'll keep watch for you, you understand?”

“I'm glad we have a real victor mentoring District 12, not some Capitol—“ Munya's disdainful word of choice morphed into a noise of disgust and a dismissive hand wave. “It's always a surprise to see a winner back here. And you—you were quite the surprise.”

If he had been sizing up Meyer’s ability as a mentor before, he had swiftly made up his mind. The challenge in his eyes had been replaced by a look of respect, or at least interest.

“We’re in for more surprises this year, fellas.” The mentor from District 9 ambled over to join their conversation, drumming his hands on the back of Meyer's monitors. "I think I've finally got a winner this year. I can feel it."

“Oh shut it, Deanie, nobody's impressed by that big meatloaf you call a tribute,” Chalky said, shaking his head.

“That's not what my bookie says,” he said, leaning over the back of Meyer’s station with a conspiratorial grin.

He introduced himself as Dean O'Banion, but unlike the other two, Meyer gave nothing but a hard glare. The others could forget what happened in the arena for the sake of camaraderie, but Meyer couldn't. The District 9 tributes were two of the biggest threats. And until they were dead, Meyer wasn't getting friendly with their mentor. But if Dean noticed Meyer's frostiness, he didn't show it. He laughed with the other two, slapping Munya on the back before returning to his station. After all, his tributes were on the main screen, Panem's favorites, in search of their next kill.

Once he was gone, Chalky glanced sideways at Meyer and said in an undertone. “Torrio’s boy is gonna get rid of those two once he don’t need numbers on his side anymore. That’s how it always goes, ‘specially with those rich districts.”

Last year, the tributes from District 3 hadn’t even adjusted to the idea of their alliance before Meyer learned what he needed and killed them. It wasn’t personal. Only one person came out alive. Still, he glanced back at his screen as Charlie and Benny walked along the boardwalk. It wasn’t personal—just inevitable.

Ahead of them, the Cornucopia loomed in the distance, glinting on the sand in the early-morning sun. At the sight of it, Benny grinned and hopped up on the railing. Charlie grabbed the back of his shirt before he could leap down into the sand.

“You crazy?” Charlie demanded.

Benny struggled in his grip. “It's right there! Thought this was the whole point!”

“Yeah, and there's one problem.” His hands full of Benny, Charlie gestured with his chin. Meyer and Benny squinted together at the horizon. There were several figures around the Cornucopia, but they weren’t fighting. Whether it was Al and his posse or the other team-up from last night—Jimmy, Richard, Angela, and Pearl—Meyer couldn't say. He tried to catch a glimpse of Dean’s screens, but his back blocked the view.

“So? We'll take them down and take whatever they got!”

Charlie looped his arms under Benny's armpits and lifted him—yelling, cursing, and practically spitting—into the air.

At the sound of Benny hollering, the figures by the Cornucopia stopped moving and turned towards them. “Shit, shit. C’mon!” Grip tight on his arm, Charlie dragged Benny off the boardwalk and back into the cover of buildings.

“You scared all of a sudden?” Benny demanded once they were in the shadows.

“No, just not stupid.” Charlie poked his head out, back in, then out again. “Good, don't look like they're followin’.” He looked like the sparrows Meyer's brother would chase on the way to school—the way they hopped this way and that down the dirt path, heads bobbing. Except this was more like watching a sparrow try to keep a grip on a rabid raccoon.

“Letgoofmeyousonofabitch!” But Charlie tightened his grip on Benny’s shirt. “I didn’t come here to be a coward!”

“Did you come here to die!” Charlie snapped as Benny struggled and kicked.

Suddenly, their voices were magnified, echoing in the room. They were on screen for real now, broadcasting to the rest of Panem. A few of the mentors in the room glanced up at change of scene with a sort of bored curiosity, but most continued watching their own tributes or talking amongst themselves. At the front of the room, far ahead of him, Meyer saw Masseria raise his gaze to the larger front screen, propping his chin on his fist as he watched with interest.

“In. Here.” Charlie dragged Benny into a building while Benny continued yelling that they hadn’t even had a kill yet, they barely found anyone last night, this was their shot to make an impression, that they had to prove themselves. Charlie dropped Benny and all of his struggling, flailing limbs directly on the floor.

“There’s more of them, they got better weapons that us, they’re probably twice as big as you, each and every one of ‘em—”

“The whole point is to prove yourself!”

“No the point’s to not die.”

Benny shouldered his crossbow and crossed his arms. “Right. Gotta take them out before they get me.”

Charlie pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed. “I didn’t sleep enough for this shit,” he grumbled. Then, louder and with an emphatic wave of his hand, he snapped, “You gotta be smart about it. You can’t be actin’ all crazy! You and me, we can take them out first real chance we got and I won’t even blink. But you go picking fights when you’re outnumbered, that’s not provin’ nothin’ except that you’re an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot or a coward,” Benny said, his hard glare burning with anger. The camera panned around them, zooming in close on their expressions. Meyer could see the sweat on Benny’s brow, the flecks of sand and dirt in Charlie’s curls. The Gamemakers expected an escalation; they all did. Meyer’s heartbeat hammered in his throat as he eyed Benny’s crossbow, his vicious expression.

“Get out of there,” Meyer breathed, leaning closer to his own monitor. “Go, just go.” This was his fault. He should have told Charlie—no alliances. He should have seen the way Benny acted in his interview, remembered what they were all like in District 1, warned Charlie off the alliance as soon as he told him about it.

The seconds stretched on between them. Then, Charlie sighed and said, almost softly, “You think that’s how Meyer won?”

Meyer froze. He sat back, staring ahead. Charlie’s voice filled the room, filled his head and his lungs.

“You think he barged headfirst into every tribute he found without thinkin’? No. He was smart. And we’re gonna be smart, too.”

Benny frowned at the old floorboards, but the murderous anger—grudgingly—faded from his face. The thrum in Meyer’s veins did not, even as the tension between them ebbed. “You’re only sayin’ that cause you’re unarmed…” he grumbled.

“If you kill me right here, I hope those guys out there eat you for breakfast,” Charlie said, more exasperated than anything—as though it wasn’t a legitimate possibility.

Benny scuffed at the floor with his foot. “I’m not gonna kill you,” he sighed, again like it was some great sacrifice on his part. With a smirk, he added, “Not unless you keep yammering on—then I might.”

“Only if I don’t kill you first for bein’ annoying.” He jerked his head in the direction of an old rickety staircase—the wood splintered and warped, some of the steps broken through entirely. “C’mon. We’ll have a view of the Cornucopia, stake it out. Second that group gets outta there, we run in and take whatever’s left. Got it?”

The camera followed them as they picked their way carefully up the broken staircase, pressing flush against the wall to avoid falling through a particularly large gap in the steps. Meyer’s mouth was dry. If only he still had more coffee. Something he could do, something to quell the way Charlie’s words rolled over in his stomach. He picked one thin apple slice—one of the decorative petals—from the hunk of bread and chewed it slowly, staring just past his monitor.

They wiped grime off the upstairs window before dropping unceremoniously down onto the old floor. Sunlight shone in strong and bright, illuminating the dust that floated, dipped, and danced in the air around them. Benny’s stomach grumbled like a Capitol hovercraft and he doubled over, crossing his arms to silence the sound. “What d’you think we’re supposed to eat here? Most places got wild animals to hunt, fruit trees, nuts. This is all… buildings.”

“Maybe there’s food inside someplace,” Charlie said, sounding as unconvinced as Meyer felt. After all, they hadn’t even found water yet. “I heard birds. Seen some rats scurrying by too. Could catch one of them.”

Benny pulled a face. “I’m gonna have to eat a rat?”

Charlie’s brows knit together. “What, you never ate a rat before?” Benny snorted and elbowed him, but Charlie wasn’t kidding. “Damn. They got it good in District 1 if you ain’t ever ate a rat.”

Benny stared at him. “It’s really that bad out there?” He let out a low whistle at Charlie’s contemplative nod. “I mean, I heard stories, but I thought… I dunno. Guess I didn’t believe it was actually that bad anywhere in Panem.”

Charlie shrugged, tipping his head back against the peeling wallpaper behind him. His hand retraced the grain of the wood, rapping at it with his knuckles. “Bein’ hungry, not eatin’ like this, it’s nothin’ new.” He scoffed. “Then I come to the Capitol and find out those assholes got all kinds of meat I ain’t ever heard of. And here I was thinkin’ rabbits and squirrels was all there was, and they’re eatin’ whole pigs! All stuffed and dressed and—”

The echo of their voices cut abruptly, the sound replaced with the soft crunch of footsteps on sand. The tribute from before had finished stringing his fishing line and was attempting—poorly—to cast it into the ocean. It was a jarring cut on the Panem-view camera, right in the middle of Charlie’s sentence.

Meyer smiled down at his own monitor, still playing Benny and Charlie’s conversation. “You tell them, Charlie,” he murmured, the swell of fondness and pride immediately swallowed by a pang of fear. They might punish him for a remark like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken about the poverty of District 12 and riches of the Capitol; his interview was practically a threat.

But if he was going to die, better to die honest. Better to let them know exactly who they were. The Capitol could cut the footage short all they wanted; they still hadn’t been fast enough.

Once they were seated, finally resting after walking since pre-dawn, Charlie and Benny’s conversation dwindled down to nothing. Their barbs—“My head’s killin’ me. Must be the sound of your voice”—faded into the softness of Benny’s breathing as his grip relaxed on the crossbow and his eyes fluttered closed. Charlie yawned, occasionally craning his neck to peer out the window at the gaggle still pacing in and around the Cornucopia. He fought it as long as he could. But no sleep, no food, especially no water… You could only last so long. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the heat of the day pooling in sunbeams through the dirty window, Charlie’s head slumped forward.

The same exhaustion had filled Meyer in the arena, too. He had water at least—there was snow everywhere, easy enough to boil—but food had been sparse in the snowy landscape, with no flora and only mutated wolves and vicious, razor-toothed ermines. If you didn’t kill, you didn’t eat. The cold, too, sapped the strength from their bodies as they burned through their energy just fighting to stay warm.

He remembered that feeling of emptiness, body struggling with nothing to burn, the tempting pull of closing his eyes and slipping into sleep—

Meyer jerked upright. He blinked at his screens. Still on. Still alive. An hour had passed. He rubbed at his eyes, like he could carve out the need for sleep altogether. Benny and Charlie still dozed, while Anna had hidden herself away during the day. She didn’t seem to have much of a strategy—or rather, her strategy was to hide. How long would that work? It wasn’t a bad strategy, stay out of sight and let the others pick each other off in the meantime, but it had a time limit. Sooner or later, they found you—or they ran out of other tributes to kill. Sooner or later, you had to fight. Being younger than the others, smaller, that wasn’t an excuse. You still had to fight.

His eyes were tired and sore, pulsing in their sockets. He blinked—for a few minutes—before pulling his head back up, trying to focus on the screen ahead. If he looked forward, he couldn’t dip back into sleep.

The tribute with the fishing line had not caught a fish. The tribute with the fishing line was not alone.

The tribute didn’t hear the footsteps at first, soft and practiced in the sand. He pivoted, eyes wide, as Owen stopped mere feet away. He only ran a few steps through the waves when Owen closed the distance, punched him down, and seized the fishing wire from his hands. The tribute scrambled on his hands and knees where the waves met the sand. Owen wrapped the fishing wire around his neck and pulled tight. The tribute pawed at his throat, upsetting his balance and falling face-first into the waves. Owen kept his hands tight on the wire around his neck, tugging, his knee on the back of the tribute’s head forcing him into the waves. He struggled, struggled, flailing wildly. Limbs thrashed everywhere—strangulation and drowning all at once. The waves crested and broke against them, spraying them both with ocean.

The noise filled the room, filled his head. The waves. The choking heaves. The gasps for air. The ice cold water filling his body, soaking his clothes, dragging him down, down, down to the bottom of the lake. His fists pounding against the ice, lungs screaming, the desperate burn of the cold clutching his throat.

A cannon fired. Meyer flinched back. Owen dropped the tribute’s body into the waves. Meyer drew a long, deep breath of air. Owen unsheathed a small knife and cut into the flesh of the body before the hovercraft arrived to clear it away. Meyer’s right hand gripped the edge of his console until his knuckles matched the whitecaps on the water. Owen put the strip of flesh onto the nail that had been fashioned into a hook, waded out into the water, and cast with all the expertise of District 4.

He shivered. His legs were as numb as his other arm.

“You oughta get some rest while you can.” Meyer startled. It was only Chalky, sitting at the next station over. He nodded sympathetically towards Meyer’s desk, the bread from AR still uneaten. “Or at least get a little food in you before you keel over.”

“I have to leave, actually,” said a voice that sounded like Meyer’s.

He stood. The room swam, black inky depths across his eyes. He hadn’t really slept. He hadn’t eaten, either, since the Games started. But it was fine. He did the same thing last year. Barely ate, barely slept, and he lived. He won. That’s what they told him, that he won.

His body moved towards the door. He caught Masseria eyeing him as he passed, caught the glare on his face.

The doors slid open for him automatically. The hallway tilted as he walked, walked faster, a brisk clip. He just needed air, needed to clear his head, he’d be fine. The elevator doors loomed at the end of the hall.

He just needed to think. He couldn’t think in there. Too much sound, all those screens, the people talking. The choking.

Meyer pounded his hand against the control for the elevator doors. Nothing happened. He pounded again—desperate, pounding against the ice-white plate. The elevator doors opened smooth as running water. Meyer’s vision tunneled. The hallway turned sideways and rose up to meet him.

#Boardwalk Empire #boardwalk fic #charlie luciano #meyer lansky #benny siegel #arnold rothstein #my writing #boardwalk au #hunger games au #hunger games the boardwalk #I WOULD JUST LIKE TO THANK SEASON 2 OF UMBRELLA ACADEMY #BECAUSE THE MEYER SECTION ENDED UP DOUBLE THE LENGTH OF THE CHARLIE SECTION #listen. meyer is a tiny 13-year-old feral murder boy. it WORKS OKAY.#manny horvitz #chalky white #owen sleater

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let-it-show · 5 years ago

Text

All The Love I Found In You 8/?

Please find part 7 right here! SAP CONTINUES but these two have an important talk and Anna just...really needs reassurance. And then they get loose. Part 9 is HERE! Taaag for @hellodemoiselle !

"Comfy." The words cut through the silence in the study, disrupting the peace slightly but Elsa didn't care.

She was perched on top of the desk she had been doing paperwork at that very morning, legs dangling carefully over the edge. It was a bit cold in the room. With effort she was able to ignore it, plus she was distracted anyway.

Anna had plopped herself down in the big chair and leaned forward with her arms around Elsa's waist. She rested her head in her lap and practically purred as Elsa stroked her head. "Comfy," she repeated.

"Don't fall asleep yet," Elsa gently commanded, picking up her drink with her free hand. She was halfway through it and already feeling it. She wasn't sure why Anna chose the study to be in, but it was quiet and no one would even think to come in there.

The door was locked regardless.

A couple of lit candles carefully placed on the desk were all they had for light. It was perfect.

"I won't sleep." Anna sighed contentedly. "I want to be here awake and with you and no one else. I may never sleep again if I have you."

"Oh Anna. You'll sleep. You have to sleep." Elsa continued to pet her head as her mind traveled to the events of the evening. She thought about what she had learned, about Anna crying. How much sleep had she lost due to her sadness? "I want you sleeping, want you rested. Not this moment, but later," she whispered.

Anna made a little sound. "I've been rested. I sleep so well when you're here...ex-except I don't want to..."

"Anna..." Elsa spoke carefully. She didn't want to approach the subject but she knew she had to. While her head felt warm and lips loose she should take advantage. "Anna, we need to talk about how you've been doing," she said as she traced her finger around her back, thinking for a second about how strange it was to caress herself. Oddy it didn't throw her off as much as it should. Knowing it was Anna in there helped enough.

"Nooo..." Anna tightened her arms around her.

"Nooo?" Elsa repeated in curiosity.

"I don't want to think about that, I don't want to talk about it, I just want to stay like this. Stay..."

Her response surprised Elsa, a little. She thought Anna might protest anything was wrong, might try to hide it. Anna was not like her generally when it came to her feelings. She expressed and she expressed freely. However she had been hiding her deep sadness from Elsa very actively going by Kristoff's words. "We don't have to move. I just want to talk to you."

Anna's forehead was buried in her thigh, her words almost too muffled. "No...I can't think about that, I can't I can't I won't. Stay, please."

"...I am staying." Elsa tried to ignore that she felt her waist and thighs getting a little frosty. "Anna I'm staying."

"What if you come back to this body and you feel your power and the spirits...what if they make you go back?"

Elsa felt her shoulders trembling ever so slightly. "They won't." Anna's words held weight, she understood it. It was normal to think she might change her mind when back to her own body. Elsa knew she wouldn't though. She was in a storm for the same reason Anna wept. Elsa sipped her drink again."My magic will not pull me back to Ahtohallan. It will not tell me I should not and cannot be with you."

Still, the trembling grew and cold air began to curl around them both. "And if it does? If your magic decides it's bad, will you listen?"

"It won't, it-"

"Will you?" Anna pressed, her voice a bit louder.

"No. Anna? My heart and mind work alongside my magic, they know my true love and desires. My magic will not-will not defy them to push us apart. Can't you feel it yourself?" she asked. With what she had seen Anna display with it, she was sure it worked in the same fashion. It felt especially so as tiny specks of ice cold kissed her skin, snow soon to form.

Anna then raised her head and looked up at Elsa. "My magic...your magic." Her eyes were red with tears already slipping and it shocked Elsa. She'd felt her shaking, but... "With you it feels so good and it just grows, it blossoms through me. It's wonderful. I want you to have it back, but until then, my heart feels so open. I hope I feel so good when this power flows back to you."

"Oh Anna. Your heart has always been so open." Elsa skimmed her fingertips along her face. "Don't cry. Ssshh. Don't cry Anna." Seeing Anna cry was never pleasant, and even worse when she knew she was the reason. She kept stroking her face.

Somehow that made her tears slip faster. Ice spread over the ceiling in a thin sheet. "I was so happy those three years. I had you and you were safe and free and I thought you were happy, especially whenever we would spend our days together. We were making a life together with new traditions and new memories. I thought it would last forever."

"I WAS happy Anna. You were right. And-"

"Mother and father took us away from each other so many years ago. I've forgiven them as much as I can, I understand, but they broke our hearts. Then, later we followed their story to the northern forest, and they...mother, father, someone...tore us apart again. What if we find something new, Elsa? We still have more to learn about them with those soldiers back and settling in. What if there's another adventure and it takes you away?"

Elsa had to think over it carefully. She intended to never leave her again, but she did yearn to know whatever she could, and do whatever was right by Anna. Her heart told her she would never have to leave her to help her, while her brain...actually agreed. They were soulmates. Now that they knew that, separating was not an option...and even if they weren't, she still wouldn't leave. "I will not leave you. Where I go, you go and where you go, I go. Mother and father made a big mistake keeping us apart." Elsa said nothing of Ahtohallan. She'd told Anna she saw their mother there and sang with her. But more had come between them than their parents in the enchanted forest and she knew now to be more careful.

Anna didn't want Elsa dying for the sake of being everything for everyone. Elsa only wanted to be everything to and for Anna, though. She gently slid her hand down to her sleeve. "Stand up Anna, come closer." Elsa tugged gently.

"Why?"

"Just do it, please."

Anna frowned, but slowly released her hold on Elsa.She pushed herself up from the chair with a slight wobble, standing before Elsa. She stepped closer to Elsa, reaching back out to her.

Elsa took her in her arms and snuggled against her warmth. She closed her eyes tightly, and felt that telltale shift once more. It didn't even surprise her as it happened, and she knew it wouldn't last long.

She opened her eyes and she was in her body. Her eyes hurt from crying, her mind was drunk and she felt her world swaying. Strong emotions clouded her thoughts and she was finding it hard to grasp the sudden switch from a sober brain. As arms tightened around her Elsa's mind found its focus in Anna and she was instantly overwhelmed.

'AnnaAnnaAnna' her mind repeated over and over and she found herself brushing her lips across Anna's forehead in a second, maybe less. One hand raised to gently grasp the back of Anna's head as Elsa kissed her by her eyes, turned her head and kissed the shell of her ear, followed by the side of her head.

"Elsa," came Anna's voice softly and she reached to place her palms on either side of Elsa's face. "I can think now, Elsa, but I still feel...I'm afraid of you going away again, I..."

An immense weight of emotion seemed to slam Elsa's chest, forcing her forward and down. She couldn't control it. A swirl of snow casually trailed around them as her love found various forms. How could she love Anna so intensely and not feel drunk all the time? Her arm wrapped around Anna's waist and she pressed their lips together.

Unlike before she pressed a little further. Her tongue gently swept against her sister's soft, pretty lips. For a split second she thought she wouldn't be granted access, but Anna's lips parted to welcome her. Elsa nearly smiled against her before slipping her tongue in to dance with Anna's. Her head was swimming; if she stopped kissing her she'd be so dizzy she wouldn't be able to function.

Anna kissed her back eagerly, fingers trailing down her back. It felt natural, it felt comfortable. Their souls again were merging and caressing one another with the most tender touches.

She wanted to say over and over she would never leave Anna again. Anything to assure the precious girl she held. But to speak she would have to stop kissing her. The way their lips moved together encouraged her to keep going. The way their eyes stayed on each other...

It was Anna who withdrew, her cheeks flushed and deep, excited breaths making her chest rise and fall. Her eyes were bright as they stayed on Elsa. "That...Elsa..." she struggled to say and if Elsa couldn't so alertly sense otherwise, she would have panicked that Anna was filled with shock and regret. "THAT was true love's kiss," Anna continued.

"So it was," Elsa replied as she offered a lopsided and drunken smile. There was a storm inside, working up in strength as her love only grew. She stroked Anna's cheek and her heart pounded so much it nearly hurt. "I love you Anna, I love you so much." Her eyes closed and all she could hear was Anna's voice.

"I love you Elsa. I always have."

It lasted longer than she had thought it would and soon enough, Elsa was back in Anna's body. While she was grateful for the properly working mind, she had hoped they would finally stay, that the right fingers would brush the right face. It seemed that wasn't to be and she wondered what would make it happen.

Anytime they had switched was during a highly emotional moment, and it didn't take a lot of thought to realize their switch was connected to their feelings for each other. They loved each other so much and Elsa wasn't sure what else there was to express.

That was...unless Anna continued to hide some of her sorrow. When had she learned to do that?

Oh, right. Elsa spent over a decade teaching her.

Anna had moved in close again and rested her head against Elsa's chest while Anna pet her hair. "Anna...how long have you hidden your sadness?"

"For as long as I can remember." Anna's voice was barely above a whisper. "You were suddenly gone and I was lonely, I was so lonely. I know you were too. But I didn't know why I was lonely, I thought I was being punished for years and years. I didn't know what I did..." She sounded so small.

Ruining her sister's life for so many years hurt her more than she could express. "Anna..."

"I felt empty when we returned from the forest. I felt so lost. I thought it would work itself out but it never did. You weren't here." They were starting on that path again. Elsa could see it wouldn't exactly resolve itself while Anna was drunk.

She picked up her cup to finish her drink and shifted in the meantime. "Anna, we need to get you to bed. You had a lot to drink and your mind isn't being kind with you.."

"Yes it is! You're here...well...my head keeps thinking you'll leave." "Exactly. Let's get up," she said and carefully took Anna's hands to remove them, moving her legs off the desk in the meantime. "I'll bring you to bed and wrap myself around you. Anna, I will surround you so completely you won't feel afraid anymore."

"Hmm." Anna let out the tiniest of laughs as she stepped back. "I wish it worked like that. I have a - a lot to fight with, a lot to climb out of you know," she babbled.

As soon as Elsa stood she took Anna's hand. She understood what she was saying even if she hated it. "I get it." She tugged her hand. "I'm still going to try."

"And I love you for it," Anna said as Elsa wrapped an arm around her waist to take her to the door.

"Hey, Elsa? Can we...not go up to bed yet?"

"Huh?"

"It's early in the night yet. And I don't want to go right to bed with my worries still there, even if I will be hugging you all night," she continued.

That wasn't a bad idea. Elsa opened the door slowly, as if they had to sneak around their own home and castle. "Okay. What did you have in mind?"

As the door opened further, Anna suddenly lurched forward and out of Elsa's grasp. She threw her hands forward and shot a solid surface of ice to cover the floor of the hall. Then she ran right onto it and slid down the hallway. "Wheee!"

"ANNA!" Elsa tried to hurry after her and forgot herself as she stepped onto the ice. She slipped and within seconds smacked her entire being into the wall opposite the doorway. It hurt!

"Elsa! Hey careful!" Anna slid over, except too far and she fell right into Elsa. Then she giggled. "Probably shouldn't do this drunk."

Elsa wasn't drunk, but she was a little fuzzy herself. "Playing with ice drunk does go a little...weird," she said, knowing from experience. She had once iced herself into a closet. It was not a good time.

"C'mon I'll hold you up," Anna said as she straightened up on the ice. "I won't fall again, my feet feel like they communicate with the ice. Like I won't slip on it alone."

"Uh huh, but you will fall over anything else you encounter," Elsa replied but took her arm. Despite hitting a wall and being tripped over, it was funny. Her shoulder would be bruised the next day, but that was okay.

Unless of course, they woke up in the right bodies, then she would kiss it and apologize.

"How drunk do you think I am? Let's go see the party," Anna suggested and they slid that way. They passed through a door that would take them there, and Anna didn't bother removing the ice. Elsa didn't care enough to remind her.

She also didn't care to tell her she did indeed think she was pretty drunk as Anna laughed and dragged her along by the hand to entirely the wrong little room. It was meeting room and Anna realized her mistake as soon as she got there. "Whoops. Let's go in and have a meeting!"

"What? Anna, you're ridiculous. No meetings. Only fun," she said, trying to tug her away as Anna opened the door.

"Nono! Not a real meeting. We go in, sit down, and I give you a list of all the reasons you should never stop kissing me-"

"Anna!" Elsa blushed. They both were blushing. "You...you don't have to give me reasons." She grabbed the door handle and pulled it closed. Anna was against it and Elsa stepped close to trap her there with a laugh. She braced her other hand on the doorway. "I'm right here," she whispered.

Anna offered what would have been an especially cute smile on her own face. "But I want to say things to you."

"You can still do that," Elsa told her as she kissed her nose. "I'm still listening." Then she kissed her cheek.

Elsa was fully prepared to kiss her as long as she could stand right there in that doorway. It occurred to her she usually had been kissing Anna in much more intimate and sweet moments, but her loopy mind was telling her to kiss her in every corner of the castle just to make a statement. Who was she to disobey such a fun idea?

Unfortunately at that moment Elsa picked up the sounds of people approaching from the party. She couldn't make out what they were saying yet but she turned her head and paused, deciding what they should do. She didn't want to stop. Anna didn't help by leaning forward to kiss her face a few times.

"Annaaaaa...listen."

"You'll have to make my lips stop by stopping me with mine," Anna slurred out.

"That doesn't...that....sshh." The voices.

"Cause mine are on your f...Hey people! Come on, come on!" Anna took Elsa's wrist and pushed the door open again. She tugged Elsa in with her and quickly closed it, making sure it clicked quietly instead of slamming.

Elsa was giggling as Anna pulled her back against her and the door, her back to Anna's chest. Anna's arms held her waist and Elsa leaned her head back on her shoulder as they waited and listened.

"That party burnt out fast after the queens left, yea?" came the voice of a young man.

"It sure did! Wait, the queens?" asked a second voice, also a man but a little hoarse sounding. "Only Anna is the queen!"

"Espen come on, you saw those two. Is 'sisters' what they're calling it now? Am I behind? That dance!"

"So, it was a dance, they looked like they were having fun", Espen grumbled as both stopped outside the door.

Of course they had to stop. Elsa rolled her eyes but kept listening. So, they were more obvious than she had realized.

"That was more than fun." The man laughed. "They were quite close in front of the table too, and did you know they sleep together every night?"

"Not the way we sleep together Petter. I am sure the princess and the queen have a huge bed and sleep with their clothes on, not making out for hours." There was a teasing tone in his voice and Elsa suddenly felt like she was intruding on something really private.

"Yea, they only LOOK at each other like that's exactly what they wanna do," replied Petter. "And I saw Kristoff packing! Listen, those two are totally an item. Maybe they never were sisters anyway! It's not like we know what was going on here before the gates opened and we were hired."

"They were out with their parents when they were young, before Elsa was hidden away. Don't be silly!"

"Oh, yea..."

There was chuckling. "Don't worry about it anymore, you've had far too much wine and I want to have at you once before you pass out."

"Oh Espen...you'll get me more than once. Why would I be worried? We'll have two good queens and more parties..."

"More than once, huh? That's right, I remember Laila is joining us, I hear she doesn't hold back..."

Elsa was turning redder by the second and by the way she heard the tiniest of breaths from Anna and felt her shaking, she knew she was holding back a lot of loud laughter. What did their staff get up to? Well, she really couldn't judge.

And if more of them felt the way that Petter fellow did, that was a huge relief.

"Oh, if her partner is anyone to go by-"

Evidently, Anna couldn't do it anymore. She stepped back and Elsa nearly toppled as Anna swung open the door and spun around to face the two men, both indeed young and both from the kitchen. They were shocked as Anna laughed and then pointed at them, several teenie ice fireworks springing out and around them.

"I KNEW IT!" She declared and reached for Elsa.

Elsa let her hand be grabbed and just went along with Anna. She felt very embarassed for the two men. She felt rude for listening. "Sorry-"

That was all she got out before Anna burst out with something else. "I've seen you two in the kitchen- I knew it! Have fun!" she laughed and tugged Elsa away suddenly, taking off with her. She was still laughing and they were very quickly going away from the party once again.

As they went, Elsa found herself calming down and enjoying the moment, having fun with Anna like they were kids pulling hijinks. They were making up for lost time, maybe. Anna was giggling, so Elsa started to. Anna brought her to the library, pausing at the door. "You have to kiss me here, too," she said suddenly, a bright smile on her red face.

"Here?" Elsa asked but she stepped forward and Anna was against the door again.

"Here. Against every door!

"You kind of read my mind," Elsa said softly, remembering how she wanted to do that in every room. She decided not to take too much time as she smoothed her hand over Anna's shoulder.

"Every doorway, every passage will be one where we've stood joined. I like it that way. It's less empty that way," Anna told her shyly. Her snowmen showed on the wall like a snowy projection, following butterflies and staring at the sun.

"I like that," Elsa replied as she closed the distance between them, once again giving her yet another soul consuming kiss.

They made it to another three doorways before Anna iced the ground again. Elsa lost her footing entirely and went down hard, her hip very sore by the time they wound up in the bedroom. Anna had apologized over and over and felt terribly guilty, but Elsa didn't feel bothered by it.

Oh it hurt, it definitely hurt! Her shoulder still throbbed as well. But she was too high off the emotion of the night. Having never been one to date or pursue romance, she wondered if she currently felt the feeling most couples did - excitement, electricity, joy. But her feelings for Anna had to run more extreme than that, right? Was it romance, what she felt for her sister? It didn't need to be defined, but she still thought about it.

It had to be some kind of romance, she thought, as they stripped themselves of their dresses. Well, Elsa stripped herself, while Anna simply remade her gown from the night before. When Elsa had her dress off Anna gently touched her side and Elsa looked to see her peering down at her upper hip.

"You've got a big bruise forming, I'm so sorry!" she said with a sigh.

"It's fine, Anna. It'll be sore but I just- I don't really care."

"Elsa..."

"You know, those two we saw outside the meeting room are going to be talking about this for days," Elsa said, quickly trying to change the subject so Anna would get distracted.

"Let them talk, there's always new rumours about someone going around the castle staff." Anna lowered herself down next to Elsa so she could place a very gentle kiss on the bruise.

"Mmm." Elsa smiled down at her. "I guess that's true. I wonder if everyone sees what they see."

Anna placed another kiss and then stood. "Probably. Sometimes I know I've given you looks that...that...well, that authors write about."

Once again Elsa's cheeks were red and she sought out the nightgown she was using. Anna's lips made her skin tingle, but her words even more so. She looked at Anna like that too. "Oh."

"Now I'll do it even more," Anna told her. "I'm so happy! Those two are newer in the kitchen, they were always flirting..." She sighed and happily that time. "It's so sweet."

"I see." She wasn't terribly interested in the other two in that moment. Let Anna tell her about them later. At the moment, she just cared about Anna. With her nightgown on she smiled at Anna and went to the bed where water waited on the nightstand as well. They had made preparations before going to the study for water to be waiting in the room later. It was lukewarm and had been delivered immediately after they asked since they were still out and wouldn't be interrupted.

Elsa sat on the edge of the bed first and Anna was rushing in for snuggles when Elsa held up her hand and pointed at one of the glasses of water. "Drink that first, all of it."

"Elsaaa..." Anna whined.

"Please?" Elsa asked and reached for her own, drinking it.

"Fine." Anna complied and took her glass. "I have to drink it ALL?"

"Yes, you had a lot of alcohol."

Anna nodded slowly and started to drink it, swallowing quickly. Elsa thought she might dump it on her face. She finished most of her own but the effects of her drink were wearing off quickly anyway.

Meanwhile Anna nearly tripped into the bed when she finished and set the glass down. She crawled in without injury and settled her body half over Elsa's, avoiding the bruised hip. Elsa wrapped her arms around her and caressed her lips with her own. It was impossible to be close enough to her.

"Don't let go of me," Anna whispered when she buried her face in Elsa's shoulder, narrowly missing that bruise. "Please don't let me go."

"Never." Elsa had taken her own hair out for Anna and found her fingers combing through it. She couldn't wait to be touching Anna's actual hair and body.

It was another new range of thoughts to think about. Elsa hadn't thought she would make their kiss more intimate, but she did. She still held the desire to run her fingers over every inch of her body and kiss all of her soft skin. Anna didn't help, demanding she be kissed everywhere while Elsa only thought it...even though she would have voiced it probably.

The thought of doing anything more carnal didn't strike her, though. Elsa just wanted to appreciate her. She wanted to be close with her and know her every curve, hold her warmth against her. Anna was already asleep against her, little snores escaping her. Elsa wasn't sure if the snores were from her body itself or just part of Anna. She would know for sure if Anna still managed to drool.

Too cute.

She would rather see Anna's sleeping face and Elsa found her thoughts growing frustrated. Why weren't they back to normal? Love was the key. It prompted them back to normal a few times. True love never ran stronger than it did between them there and then. The feeling engulfed her. She couldn't think about anything else at all!

And yet...

Elsa took a deep breath and let Anna shift slightly in her arms before closing her eyes. Something still had to happen, something deep was waiting to come up. She had a feeling the answer had to do with Anna. They may have talked in the study, and Anna had admitted a lot. Her life had been more distressing and lonely than Elsa had previously understood.Still, that didn't seem to be what was blocking them exactly. It had to be something locked away even farther.

Elsa wondered what her sister wasn't telling her.

#Frozen 2 #fanfic #elsanna #elsa #anna #body swap

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justincaseitmatters · 6 years ago

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Rewind: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Dr. Strangelove after 50 Years

Originally Published in KCActive.com in January 2014. On January 29, 1964, the world discovered something that Bronx-born director Stanley Kubrick had known for a few years: that the only appropriate reaction to the arms race was a dirty joke. In the five decades that have passed since then, countries that once frightened the world have fallen, alliances and rivalries have reversed, technologies have changed and Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb has become more enlightening, infuriating and, yes, hilarious with time. The Chess Master I almost feel sorry for anyone who is forced to discover this movie in a manner that's different from the way I did at age 11. For some reason, Kansas City's KCMO (now KCTV) broadcast the movie for a 10:30 p.m. showing, probably on a Saturday night. My mother, my younger brother and I congregated around the used black-and-white TV in my bedroom, knowing only that the film in question starred our favorite comedian Peter Sellers, from the Pink Panther movies, and that it might be important because the local paper said it was. I was delighted that my bedroom had turned into a mini-theater and that we wouldn't miss any beautiful color images. Gilbert Taylor's cinematography and Ken Adam's grand sets look just fine in monochrome. Other than the fact that the movie was in black-and-white, we knew nothing about the assault that was coming our way. For most adult viewers, Dr. Strangelove states its devilishly comic intents up front. The movie's notorious opening credits by Pablo Ferro feature a phallic arm fueling a plane in mid-air as a soft instrumental track of "Try a Little Tenderness" plays in the background. As the geeky son of a Baptist deacon, these amorous aircraft completely escaped my notice.

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My mother curiously remained silent, but soon the three of us were so thoroughly entertained that we stopped caring that Kubrick and co-screenwriter Terry Southern (the mind behind the kinky novels Candy, Blue Movie and The Magic Christian) were about to turn all three of us into "deviated pre-verts."

It's not surprising to learn that Kubrick once hustled chess in New York as a young man because he reveals his comic intentions gradually. During the the run up to General Jack D. Ripper's unauthorized nuclear assault upon the Soviet Union, my family and and I thought we were watching a straight nuclear war drama. It wasn't until General Ripper made the following declaration at 24 minutes into the film that we discovered that Kubrick was taking the movie into a direction all his own:

I can no longer sit back and allow Communist infiltration, Communist indoctrination, Communist subversion and the international Communist conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids.

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Hearing deep-voiced actor Sterling Hayden utter the word "fluids" without a hint of levity in his voice sent all three of us into hysterics. From here on we knew something was up and that the footage we saw previously was laced with comic venom. We finally noticed Ripper's name and that the pilot of one of Ripper's B52s is Maj. T.J. "King" Kong (played by former rodeo clown Slim Pickens). All Too Real Dr. Strangelove is loaded with characters afflicted with gag names, and sometimes these absurd monikers aren't obvious on an initial viewing. The Soviet Ambassador is Alexi Desadesky (British actor Peter Bull), the President of the United States is Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers), and his top strategist is a former Nazi known as Dr. Strangelove (Sellers, again). While Kubrick and Southern came up with a cornucopia of silly names with sexual connotations, the scenario in Dr. Strangelove is uncomfortably realistic. As more information from the Cold War has become publicly available, the scenario Kubrick, Southern and a Welsh Royal Air Force officer Peter George (from George's 1958 novel Two Hours to Doom a.k.a. Red Alert) cooked up was far from outlandish. Throughout history wars have been started for causes as inexplicable as fluids and water fluoridation, which General Ripper believes has made him impotent. Mental illness and just plain foolishness can strike at anytime At the beginning of Dr. Strangelove, a disclaimer informs the viewers that the U.S. Air Force has safeguards to prevent the deadly events in the film from occurring. Not really. Around the time that George was writing his thriller about facing nuclear annihilation, Daniel Ellsberg, the future leaker of The Pentagon Papers, discovered that Washington's policy toward who could launch a nuclear attack and when was a mess. In theory, only the president had authorization. Ellsberg, a recent Harvard PhD grad from working for the RAND Corporation, recalled in his 2002 book Secrets: A Memoir of Vietnam and the Pentagon Papers:

I learned, for example, the secret that contrary to all public declarations, President Eisenhower had delegated to major theater commanders the authority to initial nuclear attacks under certain circumstances, such as outage of communications with Washington--an almost daily occurrence in those days--or presidential incapacitation (twice suffered by President Eisenhower). This delegation was unknown to President Kennedy's assistant for national security, McGeorge Bundy--and thus to the president--in early 1961, when I briefed him on the issue.

In other words, Gen. Ripper and his ilk had already been given a sort of green light. On both sides of the Iron Curtain, only whims of fate seem to have prevented nuclear first strikes. According to David E. Hoffman's The Dead Hand: The Untold Story of the Cold War Arms Race and its Dangerous Legacy, on September 26, 1983, Soviet Lt. Col. Stanislav Petrov received a warning on his instruments informing him the Americans had launched a missile strike on his country. His satellites told him that five missiles were on their way to Mother Russia, but there were no visual sightings to match the alarms wailing at his base. Working simply on instinct, he correctly informed his superiors that no attack was taking place and that the warning system was malfunctioning. It's a good thing he did. Doing so prevented an unprovoked Soviet first strike. Petrov's hunch saved countless lives. Sadly, he had only minutes or seconds to make his fateful decision. The Killing Joke Unfortunately, decisions like Petrov's were all too often made at the last minute and in a state of panic. This is one of the reasons Dr. Strangelove is so entertaining and why satire might be a more effective way to point out the horrors of nuclear war. George's novel is a dark thriller, and Kubrick and George initially set out to make a straightforward adaptation of the book. During pre-production, however, Kubrick noticed that some of the situations described in the book, like the President informing the Soviets how to shoot down his own planes, seemed weirdly comic. George was disappointed by Kubrick's change of heart but later wrote a novelization of the film that even included gags that Kubrick didn't film or eventually cut from the movie (like a coda where space aliens wonder how the planet they've discovered called Earth is now a radioactive graveyard). George's later writing focused on the grim potential of nuclear weapons. Sadly, his concern for the subject may have been a factor when he chose to kill himself in 1966. Strangely, in the finished movie, the humor seems to emphasize how fragile a world with nuclear weapons really is. When word of Gen. Ripper's assault reaches the Pentagon, the news arrives, not to a commander ready to deal with the crisis, but to Gen. Buck Turgidson (George C. Scott) cavorting with his bikini-clad mistress (Tracy Reed). Actually, he's in the bathroom when the urgent call comes.

Similarly, the Soviet Premier Dimitri Kissoff (who, curiously, is never seen or heard in the film) is not at his office in the Kremlin toiling to make his nation a worker's paradise. So where is he when the Soviets need his attention the most? "You would never reached him at that number," says Ambassador Desadesky. "Our Premier is a man of the people, but he is also a man, if you follow my meaning."

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I should probably add that he's also drunk. Disasters, whether natural or man made, rarely happen at moments that are convenient for us mortals. Kubrick and Southern spent a great amount of time figuring out where leaders might be and wondered what they might eat or drink during the crisis. That explains the improvised buffet table in the Pentagon's War Room. They also knew that leaders are human beings and that they are as prone to mistakes and panicking as anyone else. In most of the dramas that preceded or followed Dr. Strangelove, world leaders appear as conscientious or calm despite the heavy stakes involved. President Muffley, however, is understandably nervous and awkward in explaining the crisis to Premier Kissoff. Sellers improvised much of his dialogue, and the call between the two leaders is hysterically funny because it's impossible to think of a polite or an effective way to relay the grim message at hand.

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Kubrick's willingness to embrace panic eventually influenced more mainstream nuclear thrillers. In an interview I conducted with director Phil Alden Robinson for NitrateOnline.com over his 2002 adaptation of the late Tom Clancy's The Sum of All Fears, he readily acknowledged how Kubrick's comedy affected his own, more serious movie:

Kubrick is the best who ever lived. I have to believe that's what goes on behind closed doors. Once in a while, the President's emotions must get the best of him. Clancy once said, "If you put the leaders of a country in a room and tell them the decisions they make might lead to blowing up the world, only a sociopath would not have an emotional reaction." The most reasonable people in the world, by virtue of their reason, are going to be emotional and distraught and kind of at wit's end at some point.

Why I Still Love the Bomb As I've grown older Dr. Strangelove has become less of a movie to more and more of an old friend. Yes, it's odd that this cynical, fatalistic movie has such a fond spot in my heart. It's no spoiler to reveal that all of the human machinations in the movie fail to stop a nuclear Armageddon. It's also hard to think of a more clever or even nourishing film. Every time I come back to I learn new things. I spot gags that I missed when I saw the movie earlier. Kubrick consulted over 50 books during the making of Dr. Strangelove, and his attention to detail only shows up on repeated viewings. A friend of mine politely told me that Kubrick's movies like Lolita, A Clockwork Orange and 2001: A Space Odyssey are an acquired taste, but those of us who have picked up an appetite continuously love coming back to his films, waiting for new treasures hidden in their frames. One aspect that does hit me from watching the movie again and again is that Kubrick, contrary to what his detractors have contended, actually could create sympathetic and completely human characters. Kubrick skillfully manipulates the audience into liking the crew on Maj. Kong's B52. When a Russian missile stalks the plane, Kubrick wants viewers to feel for the crew. Unlike their commander, Gen. Ripper, their intents are not tainted by his madness. For the sake of the story, it would be best if the missile sent them to a fiery grave. Nonetheless, watching the crew trying to stay in the air is nail biting. Unlike his make believe characters, Kubrick understands that real people are the casualties of war. Gen. Turgidson is little better than Gen. Ripper because he has no sense of proportion or consequence. He suggests that proceeding with Gen. Ripper's strike would be worth it, even if millions die. "I didn't say we wouldn't get our hair mussed," he says. Curiously, time has actually made Dr. Strangelove funnier. When I've discussed the movie with younger people, they've told me that the reasons we and the Soviets looked at each other with dread now seem remote and ridiculous. They're fully aware that the world is still a dangerous place, but they understandably think that fluoridation is not good reason to risk the lives of troops. Kubrick was only 32 when he made Dr. Strangelove, but he wound up making something that continues to enrich our lives long after his death in 1999. Through his love song to the bomb, he's revealed how far we as human beings have to grow to become responsible stewards of the technology we have. It's doubtful he could have conveyed this message so eloquently with a straight face.

#dr strangelove #Stanley Kubrick #Dan Lybarger #KCActive.com

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besttraining · 3 years ago

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More Details about the SAP Training Institutions in Mumbai during the pandemic

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The best SAP training institute in Mumbai has an average course fee which ranges up to rupees three to four lakh for completing the full course. If you are already into a job and you want to upgrade your post then along with the qualification of this course you can go for higher job positions. Undoubtedly, it is still the leading the market in ERP segment and will be that way as such for many of the impending years. This course gives an organization the suppleness to make various exclusive solutions for the unparalleled customer experiences.

#SAP training institute in Mumbai #SAP training in Mumbai #SAP institute in Mumbai #sap course in mumbai

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toofurystrawberry · 4 years ago

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CHANGES IN ADULT EDUCATION

My area of specialization is the subject of business analytics. Earlier excel was mostly used by the instructors and students. But now new software’s needs to be acquired.

· Tableau

· Qlik

· ThoughtSpot

· MicroStrategy

· Sisense

· TIBCO

· SAS

· IBM

· SAP

Why we need to learn and teach some of the above softwares because I read from the article Emerging Trends in Business Analytics ( file:///C:/Users/amitk/Desktop/cacmEmergingTrendsInBI.pdf.) that business analytic is becoming customer oriented. The adoption of customer relationship management (CRM) and Supply Chain Management software has allowed enterprises to fully interface/integrate their demand and supply chains. As an educator I am in a process of learning theses software’s. The article found is appended below:

https://www.datamation.com/big-data/data-analytics-tools/

The article has highlighted “How to Select the Best Data Analytics Software Tools”. Additionally, the article discusses the various advantages and disadvantages of different software. In my learning process I am not making me aware of Tableau tool. These software’s helps in cleaning the data and simplifying the big raw data. The data created is easily understandable format. The visualization created using pivot tables becomes easy to bifurcate the big data. The dashboard and worksheets formed by these tools are much straightforward to make in comparison to excel. The need of an hour is that students need to learn the software’s which are being currently used in an industry in the current scenario.

TRENDS IN ADULT EDUCATION (FIRST ATRICLE):

The trend I see in adult education is mobile training. The training program should be such that adult learners can have access to video recording/ books/lecture notes through the mobile phone or computer. The mobile learning should be such that the students can access the training anytime as per their convenience and from any device. The game-based learning can be added in the mobile learning so as to make the learning more interesting. The article link is appended below:

https://osg.ca/five-trends-in-adult-learning-to-help-your-training-efforts-in-2018/

The article above also reflects self-led learning. Adult learners help the students to be more proactive. Another part covered was microlearning. This means that learners do not want to digest everything in one go. If the instructors add small videos, then it will be easy for them to absorb. Instructor quality should be such that both instructor and learners can share their views instead of one-way learning. The instructor should highlight some stories based upon their experience. The learners also should share their knowledge with the instructors so that everyone in the class is benefitted from the same. Additionally, artificial intelligence can enhance the personalized learning of the students (adult learners).

TRENDS IN ADULT EDUCATION (SECOND ATRICLE):

I also read the following article regarding the trend in adult education.

https://evolllution.com/revenue-streams/market_opportunities/five-key-trends-for-professional-and-continuing-education-leaders-in-the-next-five-years/

The articles discuss that students need to be aware of recent software due to rising competition and changing market trends. As an educator, we need to think that are we teaching the students according to the needs of the industry- today and tomorrow. Are we making them aware of the intelligent technologies in their field? We also need to think about adding soft skills in our teaching process, which can help the students get a better job. Additionally, artificial intelligence (AI) will enhance the personalized learning of adult educators. AI technologies use the interactive way of engaging the learners. A higher level of outcome will be expected if we are making use of “SMART” technologies.

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crossroadsdimension · 8 years ago

Link

Heh heh heh.

Last chapter of nearly-pure fluff.

I mean...come on, guys, it’s Gravity Falls. It attracts angst. Did you really think I was gonna leave our friends in peace? :3

Chapter under the cut for those too lazy to click the link!

Chapter 9 -- Get to know the neighbors

The day after Grenda broke down the door and Wendy fixed it, the entire Mystery Crew was standing on the porch of the shack in the woods with Stan, Dipper, and Mabel standing between them and the entrance. The sun had set an hour ago, leaving only what little moonlight they had and the lights from inside the shack to illuminate the clearing.

“All right.” Stan eyed the group of young adults in front of him. “Now, I know you guys have tried stepping in here before without permission, but tonight’s different, ‘cause ya have it. We’re gonna lay down a few ground rules first: the two nerds I share the house with aren’t used ta having so many people over at a time, so keep it down, got it? Advanced hearin’ an’ all that.” He motioned to his own ears before folding his arms across his chest. “Second: don’ get too personal with any questions ya ask; even I don’t know the full story about how they ended up like they did, an’ I don’t intend ta figure it out.”

“Like how we can’t ask you how you became a werewolf,” Lee guessed.

“Yeah, that. I’m glad ya remembered without me poundin’ another lesson inta yer skinny hide.” Stan grinned as Lee nodded quickly.

“But we can ask questions.” Tambry raised an eyebrow.

“Eh.” Stan made a “so-so” motion. “Ford figured that since he was gettin’ you guys ta do things, it’d only be fair. Just don’t get too pokey and you’ll be fine.” He stepped aside and pushed the door open – it didn’t creak like it had been the times Dipper and Mabel had been there; Wendy had done excellent work repairing it. “Come on.”

The Mystery Crew stepped through the doorway – Wendy first, since she had come through the doorway yesterday morning. Pacifica, Grenda, and Candy followed, and then the rest of the group, with Dipper, Mabel, and Stan bringing up the rear.

Ford was standing near the bookcase, his nose in a red book with a six-fingered hand on the cover. His ears twitched as everyone filed in, and he looked up to find a group of young men and women staring at him with wide eyes. He blinked, then smiled and put the book back in place before calling over his shoulder, “Fiddleford! We have guests!”

“Give me a minute!” called back a voice with a Southern twang. “I’m tryin’ ta seal yer little drug problem so we won’t have ta deal with the stench every time I wanna study it!”

“Drug problem?” Wendy repeated.

Mabel snickered and Stan smirked as Ford gained an annoyed expression.

“We found a flower that makes Grunkle Ford relax,” Mabel explained.

“G-grunkle?” Thompson yelped. “Y-you’re saying that—“

“I am Dipper and Mabel’s great-uncle and Stanley’s brother, yes.” Ford raised an eyebrow. “Considering that you live in Gravity Falls, is that truly that absurd of an idea?”

Fiddleford came into the room, and the Mystery Crew scrambled back as soon as they caught sight of the skinny vampire’s red eyes. “I dunno; they haven’t met that Gremloblin, an’ I honestly hope they never will.”

“Mm. Good point.” Ford tapped his chin thoughtfully. “That would make a bit of a difference in how they’re going to wrap their heads around all this.” He shrugged. “I’m sure it won’t take long.”

“I knew real vampires didn’t sparkle,” Tambry muttered. She pulled a tablet out of the satchel at her side and started writing with a stylus.

Fiddleford blinked. “Pardon?”

“It’s from a book series that came out a few years back.” Tambry didn’t even bother looking up as she kept writing. “I liked Dracula much better.”

“Ah.” Fiddleford straightened himself up a little, smiling a little.

Ford snorted. “Have you gotten more vain in your old age?”

“Oh, hush. Nothin’ wrong with helpin’ a curious mind every once in a while.” Fiddleford looked over at the group. “Fiddleford McGucket, engineer. My friend here’s Ford Pines, Stan’s older brother.”

“Older brother?” Nate repeated. “But he looks—“

“I was turned almost forty years ago and I haven’t aged a day since,” Ford said flatly. “But yes, I am older than Stanley.”

“Oh.” Nate backed down a little. “S-sorry, I didn’t—“

“It’s a bit of a touchy subject,” Stan said simply. “So let’s not get too far into it.”

“You said that you researched Gravity Falls before you got turned into this,” Pacifica spoke up suddenly. “So do you know what’s with all the handprints that have been popping up all over the place? The glowing ones?”

Ford blinked at the question, surprised at the change in subject. “The – oh! Oh, yes. I’m actually the cause of those.”

“You are?” Wendy blinked in surprise. “How? Is it some kind of ghoul thing you can do or…?”

“No, no, not a ghoul-specific thing.” Ford paused, considering. “Well, I don’t think so, at any rate. I mostly use it to keep track of the different locations around Gravity Falls and how dangerous they would be to mortal or undead beings.”

“That explains the handprint down in the mine near the dinosaurs in tree sap!” Dipper looked at the others. “Grunkle Ford, you were down there?”

“At one point.” Ford nodded. “The…pterodactyl incident was more than enough for me to go down there and investigate myself. Thankfully none of them were loose or looking for some undead meat, so I considered the danger minimal for the moment.”

“Gideon was down there when we went down there.” Mabel frowned. “He was talking about making a dino park maybe.”

“Honestly, how dumb is that guy to try and break out a raptor?” Wendy shook her head.

Ford stared at them, then looked over at Stan. “How has this child managed to win the hearts of the people of Gravity Falls?”

“By havin’ a silver tongue.” Stan shrugged. “Basically.”

Fiddleford growled. “That boy. I seen him snoopin’ around in places he really shouldn’ be. I swear, the next time I see that boy I’ll be quite tempted to drain him dry. He’s lucky his appearance and scent make him so unappealin’.”

“How do you think I feel?” Stan replied. “I have to deal with him every day; my nose is practically stuffed twenty-four seven because of him.”

Fiddleford winced apologetically at that.

“I knew there was something off about that brat,” Robbie muttered. “I’ve caught him snooping around in the cemetery a couple times, checking the graves to see if any of the zombies have been getting up lately. After we blasted their brains out six years ago, though, I really doubt that any of them are gonna be getting up anytime soon.”

“Not to mention, he’s been trying to get on Mabel’s good side ever since she got here,” Lee added.

“He what?!” Ford’s teeth were suddenly bared in a snarl, causing the humans to take a slight step back from him on instinct.

“It’s okay, Grunkle Ford, I’ve got it handled,” Mabel said quickly. “Gideon’s just another guy who doesn’t know how to take a hint. So long as I’m with my friends when he’s around, he’ll leave me alone. And even if they’re not…” She grinned and reached into a hidden pocket sewn into her sweater, pulling out a pair of sparkle-covered brass knuckles. “Let’s just say that boxing runs in the family.”

Stan burst out laughing. “Atta girl! You should show me some of your moves sometime!”

“Only if you show me yours!” Mabel grinned at her grunkle.

Stan snickered darkly. “You got it, kiddo. Finally, someone else around here who can handle punching things just as well as me!”

“Stanley, we both took boxing lessons when we were kids,” Ford pointed out.

“Yeah, well, your nerd stuff kinda got in the way of keeping up with me, didn’t it?” Stan poked his brother’s stomach and snickered. “You don’t have all the upper body strength I got. Yours is all in the legs.”

“So what if it is? I can still throw a punch, Stanley.” Ford sounded slightly annoyed, but the amused look on his face clearly said he was something else entirely.

“Yeah, but you don’t got as much oomph behind it as I do.” Stan grinned.

“Like I need that when most run from me as soon as they find out that I’m a ghoul.” Ford rolled his eyes at his brother.

“I guess that makes it pretty hard to keep up your studies, huh?” Lee grinned a bit.

“A little, yes. At least it means that the gnomes avoid the house like the plague – after their queen died they blamed us and decided they didn’t want to get suckered.” Ford grinned, showing his fangs. “We’re not the ones who took their queen and ate her, though; the amount of sugar in her blood would have probably done us in.”

“Sugar?” Mabel repeated, interested.

“According to him, gnome queens are so sweet and kind they basically taste like candy,” Stan explained, jabbing a thumb in his brother’s direction. “Makes them more hunted after in the forest, apparently.”

“Huh.” Dipper looked at his sister. “You know, if we were younger and smaller than we are now, I bet you could pass as a gnome queen pretty well.”

“Maybe I could!” Mabel looked thoughtful. “But I don’t think I’d want to.”

“Wise choice,” Ford said dryly. “Considering that gnome kingdoms are essentially magical bee hives.”

The picture that sent through everyone’s heads caused the younger generation to shudder collectively.

“I think I’ll be keeping an eye out for any gnomes that might want my sister,” Dipper said.

“Good choice,” Stan said. “You know a few moves, kiddo?”

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Dipper grinned back at his grunkle.

“Good. Can’t have you getting caught from behind if you don’t know how to defend yourself.”

“Especially if Gideon tries anything,” Fiddleford added.

“If Gideon tries to do something, he’s gonna be met with us first,” Wendy spoke up with grim determination.

“I doubt he has access to what we do,” Tambry agreed. She paused, considering. “Speaking of which, do either of you two know something about the Gobblewonker robot that we left in the waterfall cave near the lake?”

Ford blinked blankly. “The wha – Oh!” He looked over at Fiddleford with an amused expression. “Didn’t you say something a few years ago about drawing something out with something that looked like a possible mate?”

Fiddleford’s pale visage started to turn red, and he looked away with a huff. “I don’ recall what you’re talkin’ about.”

Ford only looked increasingly amused while the others only became increasingly confused.

“You mean there’s a real Gobblewonker in the lake?” Candy spoke up, eyes wide. “I thought it was only local myth!”

“YEAH!” Grenda agreed. “Now I wanna go and find it!”

“You’re not going to, I’m afraid.” Ford shrugged. “The creature is even more elusive than our floating island head, and I doubt that it’s been seen by human eyes. The only reason the machine looks like it does is because we took the local myths as we heard them and built our interpretation of that. Well, I did – Fiddleford actually built the design and took it from there.”

“Whoa….”

Fiddleford preened at the resulting sound of awe from the guests. Ford looked more amused at their reactions.

“Can you teach me?”

“Hmm?” Fiddleford looked over at Tambry. “What?”

“Teach me,” the young woman repeated. “Most people nowadays can’t just throw together a robot like that – I’ve been scrapping parts from it for years and I still haven’t figured out how it worked.”

“Teach me too!” Candy spoke up. “Technology and robots are fun!”

“And we’re going to need to have something to back us up if we run into anything out in the woods,” Tambry added.

Fiddleford looked surprised at the two girls and their request.

Ford sidled up next to him and nudged him with an elbow. “I’d do it. You have a couple bright, willing minds right here.”

“Shush and let me think.”

Ford nodded and moved away from Fiddleford as the vampire tapped his chin in thought. Tambry and Candy did not take their gazes off him; if anything, they became more insistent.

Stan raised an eyebrow at Ford, who gave a half-smile and shook his head.

Fiddleford looked between the two girls and broke out into a grin. “Well, if you two think you can keep up with me, then I’ll take you on as my apprentices.”

“YES!” Candy jumped up into the air, one fist held high.

“But!” Fiddleford held up a finger. “You cannot tell anyone about what yer learnin’ an’ who yer learnin’ it from. I’d rather not find some poor fellow on my doorstep anytime soon tryin’ ta get me to teach him too.”

“Consider our lips sealed,” Tambry said with a grin. She and Candy both mimed sealing their lips and throwing away the key, earning a chuckle from Wendy.

“Good. Now, before we get started, I want to know what you two are capable of. Bring me some invention of yers tomorrow night – improved off someone else’s design or not, doesn’t matter to me – and we’ll see how things go from there.” Fiddleford smiled and winked. “If you can keep up with me, then yer gonna be walkin’ away knowin’ the ins and outs of animatronics that most folks might only be able to dream of.”

Candy gasped. “I can finally make an anime mecha!”

Fiddleford blinked in confusion, his smile dropping a little. “Anime?”

Mabel’s eyes widened sharply as Stan gained a knowing look and looked away from Fiddleford as he tried to hide his snickers. “Ohmygosh you don’t know about anime?”

“We’ve been living in a cabin in the middle of the woods for the last thirty-odd years, Mabel,” Ford said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you really expect us to know everything that’s gone on outside of these woods?”

“Here we go,” Dipper muttered. The grin on his face made his tone seem less like he didn’t like what was coming.

Mabel, Candy, and Soos squealed in unison, causing Ford’s ears to flick at the sound.

“Grunkle Ford, you have been missing out on a lot,” Mabel declared. “Next time we get the chance, we have to have a marathon.”

“Yes!” Candy nodded her head quickly. “Soos has a great collection of anime! We can borrow from there!”

“Indeed you can, my doods!” Soos laughed. “I’ve got all the great ones!”

Ford and Fiddleford exchanged uneasy looks. Stan laughed at their expressions.

“It’s okay, Poindexter; it’s just nerdy stuff in cartoon form, that’s all.” Stan grinned widely. “I’m pretty sure you’re gonna fit right in with that.”

Ford frowned at that. “Stanley—“

“We got Mr. Mystery into it a few years back,” Soos said, grinning. “There are fighting ones, sports, everyday life, ones where you go out in space, robots, guns, swords, gun swords – and Mr. Mystery likes the—“

“Hey, now, don’t tell him that!” Stan slapped a hand over Soos’ mouth.

“…well, if my brother can find something he likes, I don’t see why we can’t give it a try,” Ford said carefully. He looked over at Fiddleford, tilting his head slightly.

“…well, maybe some entertainment every once in a while is a good thing,” Fiddleford acknowledged. There was a spark in his eyes as well – clearly he had something on his mind. “An’ if there’s robots in there, I wouldn’t mind giving them a gander!”

Ford and Stan exchanged knowing, but slightly nervous looks at that while Mabel, Candy, and Soos cheered and high-fived each other.

“Then it’s settled!” Soos said cheerily. “Next time we come over, we’re bringing my collection and getting you guys started!”

“What about tomorrow?” Ford asked.

“Yes, definitely tomorrow,” Fiddleford agreed. “I’d like to see those robots as soon as possible!”

“You got it!” Soos replied. “Mecha anime it is!”

Stan shook his head and chuckled as the others started chiming in with titles. He looked over at Dipper and Mabel and grinned; the two of them shot back similar expressions.

“Looks like this summer just got a lot more fun!” Mabel said with a grin.

“Sure looks like it,” Dipper agreed. “I hope it’s not gonna be just watching anime for the rest of the summer, though.”

Stan snorted. “Oh, I don’t think so. My brother may be a total nerd, but he’s gonna need breaks every once in a while from that stuff. You’ll get ta poke around in his head later.”

“Good.” Dipper grinned. “Because I still have a ton of questions about Gravity Falls.”

Space Break

“Y-you’re finally moving now? But you said you wanted to do this years ago! Why did you make us wait for so long to get those parts?!” The anger in the man’s voice was evident, but so was a hint of fear.

“BECAUSE NOT ALL THE PIECES WERE IN PLAY YET, DOOFUS!” A hand came quite close to hitting the other’s face; the man quickly cowered and pulled back, which was the only thing that saved him from getting his face completely blown off. “I JUST HAD ONE MINOR SETBACK FROM MY ORIGINAL PLAN. GET THAT MINION OF OURS MOVING; IT’S TIME FOR PLAN B.”

“Y-yes – of course!”

#cross' fanfiction #ghoulish falls #pines family #mystery crew #fidds #ghoul!ford #vampire!fiddleford #werewolf!stan #and hints at other characters at the end of the chapter #because OF COURSE #how am I going to generate angst without other characters doing things?#:3 #Nana was cackling at the anime bit #what do you guys think is Stan's favorite kind of anime?#I'll give you a hint:#I was thinking of how he likes the Duchess Approves so much when I decided on his probable favorite

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artificialqueens · 8 years ago

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Just the Game We're In- Chapter 6 (Ortega)

A/N: Hello lovely people! It’s been a bit of a long time, but here we finally have chapter 6! In this chapter, Willam starts back at Dosac after the Christmas holidays and, as Sharon makes her trip to Brussels, has to deal with an immediately hectic day as well as the consequences of Alyssa’s charity ball. As always: sorry for how long you have had to wait for this, rip in peace to mobile users who have to scroll past this, and a big thanks to the angels who cheered me on writing this chapter.

((Oh also!! I think this is the first time I’ve submitted since the fic awards , and even though they were fucking ages ago, I just wanted to say thank you to anyone that voted for me to win something or nominated me for a category. It felt really special and really made my day!))

Plot Summary: Willam is a senior political advisor to the government’s minister for social affairs and citizenship, Sharon Needles. Throw in a crush on co-worker Courtney, Sharon acting weird around Willam’s colleague Alaska, an incompetent press department headed by Actual Living Zombie Jinkx Monsoon, and Willam’s job couldn’t get much more stressful. No wonder spin doctor Bianca Del Rio is permanently at the end of her tether…

Willam sat on the edge of her bed fully dressed in her work clothes, watching the rain batter down against the outside of her window. She was almost there. All she had to do was leave her flat and get the 2 tubes that would take her to DoSAC. But something was stopping her, something that had completely sapped her motivation beyond anything she’d experienced before. For once, she didn’t know what she’d do when she arrived at work. She didn’t have the energy to speak to anyone, let alone carry out basic tasks. She had fallen into a routine of lying in her bed, the sheets having long been needing changed, and endlessly refreshing the BBC News app just to make sure the country wasn’t crumbling without her.

Blinking at the TV in front of her Willam saw the smiling face of Chi Chi DeVayne, obnoxiously cheerful for 7.45am.

“And we’ll be reporting throughout the next few days on Sharon Needles’ trip to Brussels, where she will present her policy pitch in an attempt to encourage Britain and indeed Europe to take an increased amount of refugees. It’s been causing quite a stir in parliament, but will it receive the seal of approval from Europe? Raja Gemini will have more on that at 1.”

Willam watched as a pre-recorded segment played of Sharon walking confidently through Heathrow airport, Violet and Alaska only two steps behind her. Willam felt an involuntary burn at her heart as she watched Sharon look over her shoulder and give Alaska a little smile, jealous of how happy they were together. Trying to be happy for them, Willam simply shook her head and sighed. The three of them would probably be sitting in the departures lounge by now, their flight not leaving til just after 8. Swiping up on the phone that was already in her hand, Willam shot a quick text to Alaska.

W: safe flight.

The two words were all she could manage.

Wanting nothing more than to fall back onto the mattress, Willam closed her eyes, allowing the same shitty memory to play in her head for the millionth time since she arrived home from Courtney’s flat that awful day.

Light was the first thing that Willam was aware of that morning.

The second thing was a dull thud of her head and a tense, knotted pain in her neck.

The third, fourth, fifth and so on came flooding into Willam’s mind like a tsunami, the events of the previous evening hitting her all at once like a car crash. Her heart began to rattle in her chest at the memories of Courtney’s lips on hers, Courtney pleading with her to stay, the warmth of Courtney’s body against her own as they fell asleep watching the snow fall.

Except Courtney wasn’t in the bed with her any more, the sheets and duvet seeming chilly as a result and in turn managing to churn Willam’s stomach a little as she thought of facing the events of last night. She couldn’t help her heart flutter with hope, though. Courtney had said there would be a next time, and had suggested that that next time would even be this morning. Surely Willam’s feelings were actually returned after all? Trying to supress a smile, Willam stood up and peered out of the window. The snow that had fallen before they had both drifted off to sleep had been vandalised by the current drizzle of rainfall, turning it to sludge that became more and more grey under the feet of the people that hurried up and down the busy street outside. Feeling a sense of childlike disappointment, Willam decided to make her way through to the kitchen, where she could hear the clatter of various cutlery and crockery indicating someone’s presence.

Padding through the carpeted corridor and onto the freezing black tiles, she tried to ignore the way the cold stung at her feet as she took in the sight of Courtney Act loading the dishwasher, hair piled up on top of her head in the messiest bun imaginable, last night’s smoky makeup smeared across her face like a Picasso painting of a panda, and still probably the most beautiful person Willam had ever seen. Sensing the arrival of someone else in the room, Courtney looked up and gave a bright smile.

“Morning, sunshine,” she beamed, laughing a little as Willam groaned and rubbed her neck in response. “Gosh, you’re a vision this morning. Do you want some coffee? There’s some brewing just now.”

Not yet trusting herself to speak, Willam simply nodded and took a seat at the breakfast bar that Courtney was currently hurrying around. Grabbing a huge cafetiere that held a considerable amount of inky black liquid, Courtney carried it from one kitchen counter and placed it in front of Willam, magicking two cups from a cupboard underneath the breakfast bar. As Courtney poured, Willam just sat and regarded the scene in front of her, part of her feeling like she was in a dream. She tried to think of something to say that would mean she wasn’t the one bringing up the events of last night first. As Courtney passed her a full cup, Willam decided to forego the milk and took a sip.

“So how are you feeling this morning?” she asked her, a little hesitantly. Courtney simply raised her eyebrows and exhaled.

“Like a can of shit,” she replied, taking a sip of her own drink. As if something had occurred to her, she smiled gratefully at Willam. “Thanks for looking after me last night.”

Willam wasn’t really sure if that was supposed to hold a certain undertone. Settling on a tone that was just a shade away from flirting, she shrugged and gave a smirk. “Oh, I mean, anytime. It was no problem at all.”

Courtney replied with a little laugh, her fingers curling round the handle of her cup. “I texted some of the comms girls to see if they wanted a Spoons. I feel like it’s the only thing that’ll save me right now. You down?”

Willam blinked a little. So clearly nothing was on the cards this morning. “Um, sure, yeah.”

A small chill went up her spine. Did Courtney even remember?

“I can lend you clothes and stuff and you can just give them back to me at work.”

Giving a lazy smile, Willam allowed herself to poke a little fun. “Oh, I don’t know, Court. Your size 10s would be hanging off me.”

Snorting a laugh, Courtney thumped Willam on the arm. “You’re the literal worst. I’m going to go get changed. Do you want to shower or do you want to just marinade in your own hungover sweat and fear from last night like I’m doing?”

Willam gave an anaemic laugh. “I’ll take the latter.”

Willam’s memory starts to filter out the events it seems to deign as unimportant from then on, and pictures blur in her head; Courtney shoving a simple jeans-and-top combo into Willam’s arms, Courtney lending her some pine-scented men’s aerosol deodorant (“It’s deodorant for Christ’s sake, it doesn’t have a gender”), Willam sitting on the bed for a few moments as Courtney left her alone to get changed and wondering what was going on inside Courtney’s head. Maybe she was just nervous like Willam was, tiptoeing around the subject of last night in complete parallel to Willam’s own thinking.

Satisfied with her reasoning, Willam got changed quickly. Her brain blurs out the details of what she did with her ball dress from the night before, but a Tesco bag stuffed with diamantes that sits in one corner of her studio flat solves that particular mystery. She met Courtney in the corridor and they left the flat together, braving the two- tube journey to Camden as it was home to the nearest Wetherspoons to Adore, who was apparently claiming that her head would fall off if she had to venture more than 10 metres from her flat.

It was when they were on the escalator that carried them out of the tube station and into the light of the rainy December day that it happened.

“I would commit a brutal murder for a Fanta right now,” Courtney whined, leaning against the rubbery handrail of the escalator. Willam smirked.

“You sound like Bianca,” she remarked, remembering the spin doctor’s bizarre love of the fizzy orange drink. “She actually looked half decent last night. I was quite surprised. Bitch has taste.”

Courtney tilted her head to the side and scrunched up her face. “Really? I mean, I wouldn’t know.”

Willam looked at her a little funny. “Oh, come on, Court. You must remember that blue gown, it was iconic. I don’t think the Daily Mail will ever stop talking about it.”

Courtney laughed and shook her head somewhat self-disparagingly. “Girl, I don’t remember anything from last night!”

And then Willam’s world had stopped completely dead. Nothing seemed to move, least of all her pulse which felt as if it was completely ice. She gave a sort of choked laugh, conscious of the knowledge she had to move the conversation along and act normal, but she could already feel her heart sinking very slowly into the pit of her stomach, lowered along with the hopes she had raised so high. “Wait, nothing at all?”

Courtney just shrugged. “Nothing past when we were chatting to Bianca and that ITV intern, and even that is just basically mush. Like I have no idea what I said or did,” Courtney shrugged, suddenly laughing and touching Willam’s arm. “I woke up and I was like…why the fuck is Willam in my bed?! I had to text Alaska. She told me you’d got me home safe, so you’ve got fifty good friend points from me. She gets none. Apparently she stayed with Sharon and…”

Willam began to tune out, her brain completely freezing over. She felt a sort of sick feeling rise in her throat. Vomit? No. Panic, embarrassment? She couldn’t distinguish her emotions any more. Everything was happening so quickly and yet in some form of horrific slow-motion. A scene from a horror movie playing out in front of her that she couldn’t look away from. All at once, Willam experienced what she would later describe as a fight or flight impulse. Looking down to the bottom of the escalator, her instincts grabbed at the latter.

Cutting Courtney off mid-sentence, Willam made her excuses. “I’ve just realised I’m, erm…left something…on the train. I need to go back and get it…I need to go….”

As the escalator reached its peak, Willam found herself rushing down the adjacent stairs, almost tripping down them in her haste to get away from the situation. Courtney was left bemused at the top of the staircase, bathed in daylight as Willam ran further into the underground.

She trudged back to her flat when the tube reached Clapham, the snow becoming ever more muddied underneath her feet and turning to dark sludge. As she got to her front door and climbed the two flights of stairs to her studio apartment, Willam felt it seemed overwhelmingly more depressing than usual.

The last thing she remembers from that day is lying back on her bed, hugging her arms tightly around herself, breathing in the scent of Courtney’s fabric conditioner against her skin and feeling as if her heart was rotting.

Her heart hadn’t really returned to normal, she supposed, finally making to stand up from where she had been perched at the end of her bed and turning her TV off. Grabbing her coat off the back of her front door, she made to wrap herself up before a buzz from her phone stopped her in her tracks.

A: about to take off!! will keep you and Court updated. love you loads!!

Willam gave a half-smile of affection, before her heart turned gradually cold as she couldn’t help but hit the contact that appeared a couple of messages down.

C: Hope you found whatever it was you’d left! We all missed you so much at Spoons! Still so hungover lol x

C: Merry Christmas!! Don’t know anyone who deserves a holiday more than you! Hope you have the best day ever x

C: HAPPT NEW YEAR!!!!!! hope ths year is the BEDT EVEF you arw the best gal ib fbd worldxx

C: Trannnika and pealr mad e tsi punch and its like 99% teauila lololo wish yoh sere here wifb us I miss youuu xxxxxxxx

Willam’s heart felt heavy as she read each message that Courtney had sent since that day, the wall of cold grey from each individual text seeming somehow apt. She hadn’t once been able to bring herself to reply to any of them. How could she? She’d been an idiot, a total idiot caught up in some weird childish dream of a relationship that obviously was never going to happen. How could she have thought that anything good would come of a drunk evening together? It was the thinking process of an immature little girl; “a drunken mind speaks sober thoughts”, or sometimes a drunken mind just makes really poor, ill-judged decisions that would form into memories which would rapidly fade along with intoxication overnight, just like the snow that had turned to dirty, scummy water underneath Willam’s feet. Tucking her phone into her coat pocket, Willam wondered what she’d say to Courtney when she saw her at work. The very thought made her ribcage feel as if it was about an inch wide, constricting her lungs and her heart. Willam had spent the holiday period cursing herself for letting someone else in so far that they couldn’t leave her head, and now that she was less than an hour away from seeing Courtney for the first time since that evening she hated herself more than ever. Willam thought bitterly back to the days when her crush on Courtney had been easy to ignore, something that didn’t totally consume her.

Christ, she was so overwhelmingly stupid.

Heaving a sigh and turning the handle on her front door, Willam stepped out of her flat completely unprepared to face Courtney, never mind face the day.

Half an hour later, the dread that Willam had felt when she’d left the flat had only multiplied as she went from one tube station, then to another, and finally completed her rainy walk to Dosac. Her pulse was hammering underneath her wrists as she crossed from the entrance to the lifts, and the subsequent rise of the elevator only served to counter the sinking of her heart as the offices loomed ever closer. As Willam got out of the lift and began to make her way to the department, she began to wonder if this was what a heart attack felt like.

She was so wrapped up in her own anxiety that she almost jumped out of her skin when she turned the corner and sort of collided with Katya.

“Willam! Hey! Happy New Year! Bet you’re glad to be back in this glass-fronted hell hole,” the blonde had begun cheerfully, stopping when she saw what must have been visible panic on Willam’s face despite her best efforts to internalise everything. “Shit, is it really that bad?”

Willam only looked to the floor. She wished she could muster up something to say, but her nerves had an iron grip on her tongue. Katya narrowed her eyes.

“Hey girl, what’s the matter? You’re sort of scaring me. Well, even more than usual.”

She wanted to tell Katya. She wanted to tell her everything. Willam had never been closer to opening up to someone again in her life. Remembering how well that particular endeavour had gone in the past, however, she shook her damp, frizzy waves of hair out of her face and took a deep breath, putting on the front she was so well acquainted with.

“Sorry, Katya. I’m fine, honestly. I’m just…” Willam sighed. Her mouth had worked faster than her brain could catch up with and now she was reaching for an excuse. “…all this shit with the PM’s legacy is still ongoing, and I feel like this department is on tenterhooks until we find out who leaked to the opposition.”

Katya seemed to accept the excuse. “Well, it’s a shitty time, but we still don’t know if it came from within this department. We could be in the clear within the next couple of days. Isn’t Bianca on it?”

Willam exhaled sharply. “Bianca’s got the PM breathing down her neck about 101 different things at the moment. I doubt she’ll have room to breathe never mind do what she does best.”

“Yeah, I feel like her diet might be a little deficient in cabinet ministers for the foreseeable,” Katya laughed, hitting Willam on the back with the sleeve of her baggy cable-knit jumper. “Anyway, I was about to make some coffee for me and Trixie. I managed to avoid becoming the department barista, but I could make a special exception for a glum chum?”

Willam couldn’t help but muster a weak laugh at Katya’s turn of phrase. “I’ll have a tea with lacto free. Please don’t give me the shits. That would be how this day begins.”

Katya burst out laughing. “Give me some credit! I remember shit. I’m not Adore. I’m actually competent.”

Shaking her head, Willam continued down the corridor. Her conversation with Katya had served to lift her spirits, but replaying the conversation in her head only brought them back down. She hadn’t really been lying; politically, Dosac’s situation was dire too. The PM’s legacy had been spoilt; if the opposition had become privy to it before its release, it was basically unusable, and so it had been dropped by the party. Sharon had been called in front of Bianca after the leak of the PM’s legacy, interrogated to within an inch of her life. However, sure enough there was no proof that the leak to the opposition had come from Sharon’s department. Bianca had briefed so many cabinet ministers in a bid to prepare them to suck up to the policy. But Sharon was particularly in the frame because of her fierce opposition to it. There had been some rumblings of other newer ministers disliking it, but none had been foolish enough to speak out as loudly as Sharon had. Currently in Sharon’s case, she was guilty until proven innocent. Rumour had it that she had almost been forbidden to go to Brussels, however that had clearly either been untrue since its conception, or Bianca had changed her mind somehow. Willam was a little shocked that Sharon had still been allowed to go. It was clear that her outlook on the refugee crisis was jarringly different to the majority of the party’s, and it was only a matter of time before the media picked up on the cracks threatening to divide the party. However, as long as absolutely nothing about the PM’s legacy appeared in the papers, Willam would consider that a win. True to their word, Roxxxy and Detox had delivered, and Phi Phi’s press conference had been cancelled last-minute. Willam would have owed them one, if it wasn’t for the fact they were reprehensible human beings.

So the main atmosphere in the Dosac offices wasn’t going to be a particularly happy one until their department’s name was cleared. Almost wanting to laugh at how absolutely shit a situation both her personal and working lives were in, Willam swallowed her fear and turned a corner into the offices. The previously quiet working environment was disrupted by a cry of joy from the comms team, Trixie, Adore and even Jinkx all eager to welcome Willam back after the holidays.

“Happy New Year, bitch!” Trixie cried, her voice soaring over the other girls’. “God, we missed you on New Year’s eve. We almost crashed Jools Holland because Pearl said she knew this guy that worked on security for BBC that could’ve let us in, but Courtney passed out in a pool of her own sick so that idea got fucked to one side very quickly.”

“Jesus, Trixie, can you stop telling that story?” came a quiet Australian lilt from behind Willam. Turning quickly, she was struck by how embarrassed Courtney looked. Normally everyone’s drunk shenanigans got spread around the office like it was fair game, but Courtney seemed to take issue with it today. There was something else off about her too; something a little subdued and muted which contrasted her usually bubbly and lively self. All of this was an afterthought, however, to Willam’s heartbeat which was currently rocketing through her body at what was surely an unhealthy speed.

“Hey,” Willam found herself sort of blurting out, the nerves and pressure commanding her to say something. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year to you too,” Courtney gave a small smile, clearly making an effort to appear as if she felt totally normal. “Did you have a good holiday?”

Willam felt the memories of Christmas and New Year at her family home flash quickly through her mind all at once, the pain of just remembering them akin to that of a searing migraine. “Um. Well, you know, always good to get back into the swing of things, right?”

Courtney nodded understandingly as Willam retrospectively became aware of not having answered her question. Suddenly, she realised she hadn’t asked about Courtney’s own Christmas.

“How was yours?”

Courtney shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “Oh, it was a classic Australian migrant Christmas. A grainy Skype connection of my family watching me open my presents and then ITV2’s finest selection of Christmas films in front of the sofa. I think the festivity of veggie chow mein for a Christmas dinner is highly underrated, don’t you?”

Willam watched as Courtney gave a small laugh. She couldn’t help her heart hurting. Courtney had spent Christmas alone?

“Anyway, I’m looking forward to getting stuck right into budget refinement today. Truly why I entered the political sphere,” she shrugged, seemingly eager to move the conversation along. Willam could cope with that. The less time spent talking about the holidays, the better.

As Katya rounded the corner and shoved a pale cup of tea into Willam’s hands, Jinkx piped up from behind her monitor.

“So as all of us are now here, are we able to be briefed on the current situation with Sharon?”

Willam looked to Courtney, who was already looking to her. The department already seemed so lifeless without Sharon, Alaska, or even Violet, and Willam felt weird having only her and Courtney in charge of these four civil servants. Luckily Courtney opened her mouth, as Willam still didn’t really trust herself to speak. Katya, Trixie and Adore listened with intrigue, the three of them completely oblivious as to what was going on.

“Okay, so to those of you who may not know,” Courtney began, disregarding the fact that all but one of the comms team fell into that category. “The Prime Minister was meant to announce a policy which was to serve as his legacy in the New Year. Bianca briefed all the ministers on it. Sharon was very vocal about the fact she didn’t like the policy, and told Bianca she’d challenge it in parliament. Anyway, basically somehow the policy got leaked to the opposition. They were going to announce it before Christmas as one of theirs, but somehow they didn’t. It’s now no longer a party policy, for obvious reasons, but essentially Sharon is in the frame for leaking it.”

“Shit. Did she do it?” Adore gasped, seemingly in awe. Courtney pulled a face.

“She’s saying she didn’t, and we’re all hoping to God she’s telling the truth, but you know how politics works,” Willam spoke up, feeling unable to stay silent for much longer than she had been. “So the reason why we’re telling you guys is this- this hasn’t been caught by the media yet. The opposition haven’t leaked it because there’ll be too many questions as to why it wasn’t announced, and we haven’t leaked it because none of us have a fucking death wish. So if you start getting any calls about this, even a whiff, you need to tell us so we can sit on it.”

Katya giggled behind her hand. “Times like these I wish Darienne was still here. If she sat on something-”

“Katya, don’t make a shitty fat joke. This is serious shit,” Courtney snapped, shocking everyone save Jinkx who was still not quite fully awake. Katya blinked a little at Willam, who was too taken aback to even react. “If you get any calls about anything, no comment the shit out of it.”

Willam frowned a little. “Is that the best idea? Then the papers will know they’re onto something because we’re not denying it.”

“Well what else do we say, Willam?” Courtney asked, her tone not quite free of its bite from before.

Her brain hurt too much to come up with an alternative, so Willam simply shrugged.

“No comment. And tell us. That’s all we’re asking from you guys,” Courtney said firmly, making to return to her seat. Willam was still hovering by Trixie’s desk, and the other girl looked up at her from her place by the phone.

“Um…is Courtney okay?” Willam murmured, unable to ignore the fact that something was clearly up with her.

Trixie looked momentarily like she wanted to get something off her chest. Instead, she simply exhaled loudly. “…yeah. Yeah, no, she’s fine.”

Willam raised one eyebrow at Trixie, whose shoulders slumped forward in a sigh. “Look, just go talk to her. I think she’s embarrassed about the general events of New Years’.”

Adore took a break from typing away at her phone to interject. “She mentioned you a lot, Willam. Said you should’ve been there and that she missed you and all that-”

“I mean it was just classic drunk girl talk really,” Trixie interrupted, shooting Adore a look that Willam couldn’t quite decipher. “But she’s being a bit down on herself. You always seem to cheer her up, though. I think she’d be grateful for you.”

Willam hovered at the desk for a second before swallowing her nerves and crossing the office to go stand by another desk- Courtney’s this time. She was deep in concentration, a calculator in one hand and her mouse in the other, trying to shave a few more pounds off the budget Sharon had already planned out. She jumped a little as she registered Willam was at her side.

“Sorry,” Willam apologised, her voice quiet. “I just wanted to check up on you. You don’t seem yourself today.”

Courtney gave a small smile, appearing to appreciate the concern. “Oh, I’m honestly fine. Just wish Trixie would stop bringing up what happened at New Years’ to everyone.”

Willam wanted to point out that she’d only mentioned it once, but stopped herself. “Don’t be embarrassed, girl, it’s a Pearl Liaison party. People probably did far worse.”

Courtney laughed at a sudden memory. “Adore did start eating dog food at one point.”

Willam gagged. “That’s so, so much worse.”

Snorting a little, Courtney smiled up at Willam. “You’re a good friend. Thanks for making me feel less shitty about my life choices.”

She knew it was meant to be a genuine thank you, but every word felt like a knife in Willam’s stomach. Feeling a little sick, Willam just shot back a smile she hoped didn’t appear as fake as it felt.

“I’ll, um. Just get on with this budget then?” Courtney said quietly, something about her now appearing a little nervous. Silently, Willam nodded, hesitating a little before returning to her own seat and finally beginning her work, unsure if she felt worse or better than she had when she’d first arrived at work.

***

So far, the day had been manageable. They had made it to lunchtime unscathed, and Willam had been able to shave about 50p off the budget, which in budget-shaving terms was not the most horrific saving ever made. As a sort of celebration of making it to lunchtime of their first day back in the office, Trixie had bought them all cakes from Greggs as a treat, and the comms team and advisors were sitting together on their lunch break eating them. Willam couldn’t quite manage hers, still feeling as if she was walking on eggshells around Courtney, but the gesture was appreciated all the same.

“Do you guys not think it’s weird we’ve not had a visit from Bianca yet today? I would have thought this would have been her first port of call,” Courtney mused, nibbling a jam doughnut.

Willam exhaled noisily. “I doubt she’s out the PM’s office yet, to be honest.”

There was a pause as everyone munched. Jinkx broke the silence. “Can someone stick the telly on?”

“Oh, God no,” Willam groaned. “I don’t want to have to listen to fucking Raja Gemini tearing Sharon’s Brussels visit apart. She’s probably only been in one meeting but according to the BBC in that short time she’ll have anally fucked the country with a rubber fist.”

A roar of laughter came from the table, the truth of Willam’s statement hanging heavy in the air as it died down. The media hadn’t really warmed back to Sharon since her Five Live interview and they all knew a good summit in Brussels was what she needed. Adore spoke up without taking her eyes, or indeed fingers, off her phone.

“Violet texted me earlier. Apparently the hotel they’re staying in is amazing, I’m so jealous. The booking got completely fucked up though, so Vi’s in a room on her own and Sharon and Alaska have to share a double. How shit is that?”

Willam felt as if she’d been shocked with a tazer as the table all nodded and told their own shitty hotel experience stories. Taking her phone out of her pocket, she shot a text across to Alaska.

W: “Hi, my name’s Alaska-the-hotel-messed-up-our-booking-and-oh-no-me-and-Sharon-have-to-share-a-bed. Could I be any more cliché???”

Her phone buzzed almost instantly with a reply of three moon emojis from Alaska.

Just as Jinkx was launching into a story about a hotel room so mouldy it had allegedly given her husband asthma, a single phone began to ring from the comms desks. Willam looked at Courtney, her heart beginning to slowly sink into her chest and intuitively knowing that somehow, something was about to go down.

“Can someone get that?” Adore asked lazily, continuing to type into her phone. Jinkx narrowed her eyes at her.

“Why don’t you get it? It’s your job just as much as it is mine.”

“I’m on my lunch break.”

Trixie exploded a laugh. “We’re all on our lunch break.”

With an exaggerated sigh Katya slid off her chair in resignation, walking over to the phone and lifting it off the receiver. With a long-suffering smile, she answered it.

“Hello, Dosac, comms?” she sing-songed down the phone. Suddenly, her cheerful pink face became very ashen and grave. “…no, we are not prepared to comment on that at this particular moment in time. Thank you.”

Jumping a little, Katya sort of dropped the phone back in the receiver and looked back to the others, who were all still and silent.

“It probably won’t come to anything…” she began. With what bordered on comedic timing, two other phones began to ring. As more and more phones started ringing across the office, Willam swore and rushed over to her own desk, briefly meeting Courtney’s eyes and sharing a look of sheer panic. Lifting her own phone from the receiver, she was met with the voice of Ginger from The Mirror.

“Hi Ginger…no, no we’re not commenting on that at the moment. No, I can’t speak off the record. Is that all? Thank you. Bye.”

No sooner than Willam had put the phone down than it began to ring again. Stepping back, Willam only blinked at it in detachment. How had this happened? How had this got out?

Looking around the office, her eyes shot to Courtney, who had given an incredulous cry down the phone.

“What?!…No, I can categorically state that Sharon Needles will not be resigning over this! Goodbye!” she cried, slamming the phone down and looking across to comms. “We’re now getting calls about resigning? What the fuck is going on?!”

“Um, guys…” Adore said, her voice wavering a little. “Anyone checked the ITV website recently?”

After a beat of silence, the ringing phones were ignored as everyone flew to their computers, typing frantically. The biggest, boldest headline on the homepage of the ITV News website was,

“ITV EXCLUSIVE: SHARON NEEDLES LEAKS PRIME MINISTER’S “LEGACY” TO OPPOSITION, RAISES CALLS FOR RESIGNATION”

As Willam read, every line of the article contained every single detail; what the legacy had been, why Sharon had allegedly leaked it, what could or should happen now- and a quote from Phi Phi leading the charge for a resignation. Reading and re-reading as if she was in some horrific nightmare, Willam noticed a particular line that caught her attention.

“A source at Dosac said that Ms Needles was in the frame for the leak, stating that she had been opposed to the policy and had been willing to take any measures to stop it from going ahead,” Willam muttered under her breath, her brain feeling more scrambled than ever. As the comms team talked amongst themselves quietly, Willam caught Courtney’s eye and beckoned her over. Still as nervous as she was to be around her, there was something really weird going on, and with Sharon away and Bianca not around it was their job to solve it. Courtney click-clacked softly across the carpeted floor.

“Are you seeing the same thing I’m seeing here?” Willam asked her quietly, pointing to the line in question on the screen with a talon of a fake nail. Courtney pulled a face.

“I mean, I did wonder, but you know what the media are like, Will. They could’ve found someone who breathed outside the department once and they’d label it as ‘a source at Dosac’.”

Scrunching up her face, Willam tapped her foot on the floor, something about it still not sitting right. “I don’t know, Court. This is worrying me.”

“These girls are our friends. We know them. They wouldn’t go to the press about this kind of thing,” Courtney pleaded, her tone seeming to convey that something inside her agreed with what Willam was saying. Willam’s face softened. She knew that the last thing Courtney wanted to do was to accuse her friends of anything. Hell, it wasn’t on the top list of things Willam wanted to do either. But it was hard not to think anything else in the situation.

“Girl, this managed to stay silent from Alyssa’s ball to this morning. The moment we told those girls about what had happened, it was out by lunchtime. Is that a coincidence?”

Courtney’s face fell as she seemed to finally accept what Willam was saying. “So what do we do?”

Sighing and scrunching one side of her hair up with her hand, Willam thought about it. “They’re still our friends. I think we have to just be honest with them. I’m sure they’ll understand, they know how shit works in politics. Take them off the phones, email, maybe their own phones. It’s shit, but I don’t see anything else we can do.”

Heaving a sigh and rubbing the back of her neck, Courtney looked at Willam in despair. “Okay. Let’s tell them.”

Willam’s heart felt heavy as she walked over to the comms team. Today was already completely shit, and now she was about to accuse some of the nicest girls she’d worked with of being traitors. Thinking about it, she just couldn’t envisage any of them working in secret with the opposition or the media. Katya and Trixie had always worked for the civil service- they were always pretty nonplussed about what was happening in the department and weren’t really bothered about anything as long as they got to spend their working day together. Adore was Adore- just here for the fact that it was a steady job, hardly did any work anyway and spent most of the day on Facebook. If she barely had any energy to clear a paper jam, she certainly wouldn’t have the energy to orchestrate an elaborate plan to take down the government. Then there was Jinkx. With her domestic family life, husband and daughter, she couldn’t really see Jinkx caring enough about anything work-related to attempt to sabotage Sharon. It was a weird situation.

“So, you’ve all read the article,” Willam started, deciding to be the one to talk. “I’m sure you all know the bit that we’re going to refer to when we say that it’s put us in a kind of awkward position.”

The girls from comms looked at her in silence, recognition in their eyes. Willam took that as a cue to carry on.

“It sucks, because neither me or Court think you guys are involved in anything. But just as a precautionary measure, we need to take you guys off the phones. That means all phones, so no mobiles until we figure out what’s happening. And stay off the computers too.”

Jinkx’s face became screwed up and her stance instantly became defensive. “I’m sorry, Willam, but that’s ridiculous. Our job is communications, for Christ’s sake, we need to be able to communicate!”

“Well someone’s clearly been communicating to the wrong people,” Willam snapped, earning a glare from Trixie.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you didn’t think any of us were involved, but that sounds like you’re accusing us of something?”

“Trix…” Katya soothed, resting a hand on her girlfriend’s arm. Still bristling with anger, Trixie sat at her desk with a thud.

“Willam didn’t mean that. You’re all our friends, we don’t mean to be accusatory at all. But we don’t know what else to do,” Courtney sighed, visibly upset with having to put her friends in this position.

Willam caught a glance of Adore typing rapidly into her phone. “Adore, come on. This is serious.”

Adore jumped a little, putting her phone face down on the desk. “Sorry! Look, not touching it now.”

Rolling her eyes, Willam scuffed her foot along the floor. “I’m sorry, guys. We don’t mean to make you out to be double agents. But that article’s got us really rattled. Look, just chill for now and me and Court will try to get a hold of Bianca to come help us out of this mess. Until then, please just bear with us?”

Shaking her head, Jinkx sat down at her desk and crossed her arms. “This is an absolute joke.”

Willam looked at Courtney and gave a loud exhale. She felt awful. Nothing about the situation made sense and yet they were having to work from nothing. It was all just a huge mess which managed to consist of nothing tangible, which was the most frustrating part.

“Right, you turn off the phones then phone Bianca and see if she can come by and help get us out of this mess,” Willam instructed Courtney, as an idea occurred to her. “I’m going to check out that article again.”

As Courtney searched for Bianca’s name in the contacts of her phone, Willam scrolled up to the top of the article to see who the author was. The name had some amount of recognition, but Willam couldn’t place how she knew it from. Walking back over to the comms girls, she was met with a frosty reception.

“Do any of you guys know a Valentina Leyva?” Willam asked, ignoring the atmosphere. All but Jinkx shook their heads.

“If it’s the girl that was an intern at ITV then yes. Bianca introduced us at Alyssa’s ball, remember?”

Willam blinked a little, trying to put a face to a name. Then suddenly, it clicked- the shy, seemingly sweet and harmless girl that had conversed politely with them didn’t seem to match the article that she had supposedly written. Trying to make sense of things, Willam ran a hand through her hair, turning away from the comms desks and loudly exhaling. Before she could piece anything together, her phone began to buzz in her hand. It was Sharon.

Dreading the voice on the other end of the line, Willam swiped across the screen to answer the call. “Hi, Sharon.”

“I want to know how in the space of one two hour long meeting I could come out with my phone absolutely red hot with calls, notifications and texts, all of which are calling me a party traitor and telling me to resign,” Sharon’s voice shook a little, betraying the cold, measured tone she was using.

“Yeah, um…it got out. Courtney’s phoning Bianca, she’s going to come round and we’re firefighting the whole thing. We’re on it, you’re not going to look like the bad guy for long,” Willam insisted, her stomach in knots. Trying her best to reassure Sharon was difficult when Willam didn’t even know if she could believe what she herself was saying. A huge sigh came down the line.

“The media fucking hate me already without me having this to contend with.”

“At least Buzzfeed loves you?” Willam tried to console her, remembering Kimora Blac’s article that had appeared a few days after Alyssa’s ball; I met the Minister for Dosac Sharon Needles and yes, she really is as awesome as everyone on Twitter is saying.

“Fucking Buzzfeed! They’re a pack of gibbering lunatics!”

“Oh, come on, you weren’t saying that at Alyssa’s ball,” Willam couldn’t help but deadpan.

“Shut up, Willam,” Sharon snapped down the line, Willam instantly knowing that perhaps any kind of joke right now wouldn’t be ideal. “Jesus, is this how bad it is? I’m supposed to be fucking elated that I’ve got Buzzfeed on my side? God, this trip was supposed to be my comeback, some fucking redemption. Now I’m stuck in Brussels as my political credibility crumbles to death from afar?”

“Stop being melodramatic,” Willam rolled her eyes, eager to get back to solving the problem and hoping she could palm Sharon’s whining onto Alaska. “Politicians encounter shit like this all the time, the party’s just looking for someone to blame and you happen to be that person. It’ll all turn out fine, it always does! Just…keep slaying Brussels like I know you will be. They’ll love you.”

Sharon smirked quietly on the other end of the line. “As always, you’re amazing. Keep me updated, okay?”

As Sharon said goodbye and hung up, Willam was stuck with the feeling that the conversation had had a weird ending. She couldn’t think about it for too long, however, as Courtney was walking quickly over to her, phone in her hand.

“Bianca’s on her way,” she said, biting her lip and holding it between her teeth nervously. “She should be here soon.”

As Willam cast a glance at the annoyed comms team and back at the article sitting on the monitor’s screen, she could only hope that Courtney was right.

***

Bianca arrived into Dosac fifteen minutes later with a face like a hurricane and body language to match.

“I swear to Christ if this department is the cause of any more drama in this fucking government I’ll shove you all into a cannon and blow your bodies to bits,” she seethed by way of a greeting as she stormed towards Courtney’s desk. “I have had an incredibly stressful morning so I’d like to know, in as few words as possible, what in fuck is going on.”

Seemingly less scared and more comforted by Bianca’s presence, Courtney began talking. “So ITV’s source apparently came from within this department. Of course we don’t want to accuse anyone, but since it’s only us working at the moment, we’ve taken all comms off phones and email access.”

Bianca’s face twitched into a grimace. “So they’ve been standing about doing fuck all for half an hour but at least they haven’t been leaking like a new mother without a Tena Lady. Anything else I should know?”

“We’re trying to find intel on the girl that wrote the article. Valentina, you introduced us to her at Alyssa’s,” Willam cut in. In the time before Bianca’s arrival, Willam had managed to find her twitter account, but it seemed to be the generic tweets of a fresh new journalist- retweeting articles, offering her two cents every so often, and so on. There was nothing that Willam could really find to link her to anyone in the department.

“Right,” Bianca nodded, her eyes wide as she processed the information. Swiftly, she turned and bored her gaze into the comms team. “So which one of you fuckers was it then?”

Jinkx kicked her feet up onto her desk in a defiant manner. “I don’t know, Bianca, and I don’t bloody care. All I want is to get back to doing my fucking job, instead of pissing my life away doing absolutely bugger all when I could be in bed watching Loose Women. So please, hurry up and get solving this arseing mystery, before I pass out from cunting boredom.”

Willam blinked in shock at Jinkx. It was the most she’d ever head her swear and it would’ve been funny, were Bianca not looking at Jinkx as if she wanted to incinerate her. Opening her mouth, she looked as if she was about to scream at Jinkx so loudly that her face would drop off. She was stopped with a sort of pained gasp from Courtney.

“Right…” she began, looking at her monitor with a foreboding expression. “…the Guardian now have a timeline on their website…”

“A timeline? What the fuck?” Willam exclaimed, shock coursing through her whole body as if she’d been shocked by a defibrillator.

“…stating that Dosac’s press team have been taken off communications, and that Bianca has been seen coming into the building but not leaving.”

“Who the fuck is doing this?!” Willam cried, fighting the urge to push everything off her desk in a fit of rage and panic. She was completely unable to think, and everything seemed to be spiralling out of her control. Nothing about the situation made sense and the leaks only seemed to be getting bigger and bigger.

Bianca had stood frozen amidst the new information, her brain working overtime. After a pause, she spoke. “Okay, I am going to phone ITV and attempt to extract some information about this source out of them. Courtney, if you could phone the Guardian and do the same. Willam, if you keep digging about this Valentina girl and the connections she has to this department. And we might as well put comms back on the phones; one of them’s leaking despite preventative measures so we might as well have them do something other than completely fuck all.”

Nodding, Courtney walked briskly over to the switch for the phones and flicked it on. Immediately, every single one of them sprang to life, prompting the comms girls’ hands to fly to them and to immediately start talking. All except Adore, Willam realised, whose seat was empty. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, Willam made her way towards Katya.

“Where did Adore go?” she asked her, trying to mask the urgency in her voice. Katya looked up at her, nonplussed.

“She didn’t say. Check the toilets?” she suggested, quickly taking whoever she had been talking to before off hold. Willam rushed out of the department, turned left down the corridor and walked quickly towards the toilets, when all of a sudden something made her stop- a flash of black material swept by the wind behind the glass-fronted fire escape door at the end of the hall. Slowly, Willam made her way towards the door, pushing down on the long handle and flinging it open. Adore stood on the platform that hung high in the air above the city below, leaning on the metal railing. She didn’t flinch. Her face was ghostly pale and she was dragging on a cigarette as she looked down at her phone, completely motionless. Willam took two steps towards her and leant against the railing, mirroring her body language.

“Do you want a cigarette?” Adore asked, her gaze not leaving her phone and her voice robotic. Willam shook her head, then realised Adore wouldn’t be able to see it.

There was a moment of silence as the wind whirled around them, the rain having been swept away from the city.

“Adore,” Willam said firmly, her voice betraying nothing. “Talk to me.”

Adore heaved a huge sigh, finally looking from her phone and tipping her head towards the sky. Squeezing her eyes shut, she squeaked out a single name in a voice that was thick with tears.

“Laila.”

The information hit Willam like a ton of bricks. It was so obvious, the journalist with a direct tie to the department in the form of an unsuspecting Adore. Wiping underneath her eyes with one finger, Adore carried on.

“I would just tell her about my day…keep her updated like girlfriends do…I thought she cared about me, but…”

The small fragments of feelings spilling from Adore’s mouth made Willam’s heart want to break. Gently, she prised Adore’s phone out of her hand and looked at the conversation on the screen.

L: Packed lunch in the fridge for u! xo

A: You’re the actual bomb dot com. Hope work’s going well xxx

L: Same old shit really. They’re trying to get me to write some article about beauty pageants for 6 year olds and I’d rather kill myself. You at work yet? Anything cool happening? Xo

A: Arrived a little while ago. Sharon’s apparently done something vaguely bad, idk I never pay attention to this stuff xxx

L: Shit will she get in trouble? Xo

A: It sounds pretty serious, apparently she leaked that policy that was meant to be the PM’s legacy?

L: !!!!!!

A: Oh wait

A: Apparently she didn’t actually do it but just being scapegoated

L: Aw alright, well she should be fine then!! Hope it doesn’t cause too much of a ballache for you babes xo

A: tysm angel xxx speak to you later xxx

A: also won’t be able to text until I’m out of work. They’ve taken us all off the phones bc of this leak thing. Have a good day xxx

As Willam read the conversation from the day, she felt her heart hurt for the younger girl. Clearly, Adore had fallen for Laila a lot harder than anyone had realised, and what they had was something verging on the domestic side of life. But it was apparent that Laila had sussed out the value of Adore as someone she could gain media intel from, a puppet she could play about with to get the information she wanted. In Laila, Adore had initially seen a newspaper journalist she could fuck to get onside, but it had obviously become so much more than that to her. Laila clearly knew the right things to say and do in order to make Adore believe that they had something special.

Willam glanced up from Adore’s screen as the civil servant let out a choked sob. “I was the one that told her about the fucking legacy. I overheard that day, when I came into the meeting room. I thought it was something exciting, I just wanted to share what was going on at work with her…I was the leak. I should be the one everyone’s yelling at, not Sharon.”

Sighing, Willam pulled Adore into a hug. Having one person walk around the department with their heart broken was bad enough, never mind two. Willam had so far been too wrapped up in her work to think in any depth about her feelings, but all of a sudden she was being so harshly exposed to this upset and hurt that it was hard not to let her own feelings back in to gnaw at her heart. Feeling Adore’s chest rise and fall rapidly as she cried, Willam couldn’t help but feel a little panicked. If she herself was hurting this much when Courtney hadn’t even expressed an interest in her, what could it be like in a relationship?

Had she dodged a massive bullet?

Shaking her head, Willam pulled out of the hug. “Hey. You don’t deserve to be shouted at, girl, okay? The only mistake you’ve made is getting involved with an asshole journalist. None of this is on you.”

Snuffling and, in the absence of a tissue, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, Adore looked to the metal grating of the fire escape floor sheepishly. “I was falling for her. I was going to tell her I loved her on our next date night.”

Willam felt like shit on Adore’s behalf. “I’m sorry, chick. You didn’t deserve her.”

They stood for a moment in the cool January air, Willam’s head now absent of thoughts. Instead, she didn’t know what to think. Here in front of her was the stark reality of love- pain and crying and upset and absolutely no control over any emotions. It was simultaneously too familiar and too foreign for Willam to comprehend. Shaking her head to chase away the memories that were threatening to flood her mind, Willam only clung tighter to the railing, how high up they both were hitting her with a stark clarity.

“Love sucks,” Adore said bluntly, stubbing out her cigarette and throwing it down into the city below. Willam thought about giving a snarky or sarcastic answer about how she wouldn’t know, but something moved her mouth for her.

“I know.”

Adore snapped her head around, giving her an inquisitive look. It seemed as if she was about to follow Willam’s comment up, so Willam decided to speak first.

“We need to go back in there.”

Adore sniffed, looking at the fire escape door as if it was the gates to hell. “Bianca’s going to fire me, isn’t she.”

Willam considered this for a second. “She won’t. You’re one of the few people I think she actually likes.”

“She doesn’t even know my name,” Adore snorted a laugh, once again wiping her nose on her hand. Willam cocked a smile at her.

“Course she does. She’s asked you to get her a Fanta millions of times.”

Willam smiled as she earned a small but genuine laugh from Adore. “I’m going to get yelled at though. Let’s be real.”

“Well, at least it won’t come as a surprise,” Willam pulled a face and shrugged. “Shall we go back in?”

“One second. I need to do something first,” Adore sighed, opening up the messages to Laila again and typing something Willam could faintly make out as,

A: We’re finished. Write a headline on that.

Smiling at her with reassurance, Willam laced her hand in Adore’s as they walked back into the warmth of the department together. As they rounded the corner into the offices, Willam felt Adore tense up beside her as Bianca whipped around to look at the both of them.

“Where did you two disappear off to? Don’t tell me you were fucking, I’d rather you didn’t do that shit at work.”

“Too late for some of us,” Trixie muttered under her breath to Katya, who had to visibly stifle her giggles. Focussing on Bianca, Willam attempted to come up with a way to explain the situation, but Adore spoke before she could even muster up her own voice.

“We found the leak,” she said bravely, standing up straight beside Willam. “It was me.”

Bianca blinked very slowly at Adore, as if she was processing what she’d said. “Pardon?”

Willam cut in before Adore could say any more. “What Adore means is…she’s not the leak. Well, not directly. She’s been seeing Laila McQueen from The Independent.”

She could see Bianca’s breathing becoming more and more laboured, as if she was trying to avoid going into cardiac arrest. Not being able to know if she’d explained herself properly, Willam continued talking.

“Seeing as in, in a relationship with her, not seeing as in leaking to her intentionally. She’d tell Laila stories from her work, from the department- just in the way that a girlfriend would do, not intending to spread anything. But of course Laila was just keen to get information, so Adore- without knowing it- leaked information to her. Like the comms team being taken off the phones, and Sharon being accused of the leak…and…” Willam attempted to bring herself to say it.

“The PM’s legacy,” Adore interrupted, her voice breaking very slightly at the end of her sentence. Courtney let out an audible gasp. Bianca ran her tongue slowly and deliberately over her teeth.

“Oh, well, that’s absolutely fine then. In fact why didn’t you just invite her into the department to spend the day with us? Give her a chip to install in the base of Sharon’s skull? Attach a massive novelty size satellite dish the size of the fucking international space station to the side of the building? You might as fucking well have!!” Bianca yelled, her voice rising to a terrifying crescendo as she laid into Adore, the girl just standing stoically and taking Bianca’s wrath. “Jesus fucking Christ, are you absolutely out of your tiny fucking mind?! Telling everything that goes on in a governmental department to a journalist?! I cannot fathom the levels of fucking unbounded ignorance that must take place for someone to do that!”

The department was silent as Adore stood and stared straight ahead, showing a remarkable amount of dignity for someone who Willam knew was crumbling inside. Taking a deep breath, Bianca appeared to try to regain composure.

“What do you know about her. We need to know everything. Because she must have a network, this- this can’t just be her work, it’d be all over her own website otherwise. There’s something more to this. Who does she know from ITV?” Bianca rounded on Adore, incessantly questioning. Adore shook her head.

“She never mentioned any names. She worked with a woman called Trinity, but that’s all I know in terms of workmates. She-” Adore winced as she appeared to realise something. “She hid her phone from me quite a lot, come to think of it.”

“Spare me the fucking sob story,” Bianca snapped, turning and facing the rest of the department. “I want every single fucking thing you can find about this Laila hack bitch immediately. I want her full fucking autobiography presented to me within the next ten minutes. Come on, get on it!”

Willam watched as Adore stood hesitantly, looking at Bianca for a second before deciding to dash to her desk. Willam’s heart went out to the girl. She knew how hurt she was and yet she was having to push through and get on with her work. Adore wasn’t the same kind of person that Willam was; she couldn’t throw herself into her job like she could, wasn’t able to use it as a complete distraction from everything that was going on in her life. She supposed that was something vaguely comforting about work, the fact that it could always serve to remove herself from her personal life. She’d been so distracted with her constant pining for Courtney that she had forgotten how much she genuinely did enjoy her job.

She’d zoned out so much that she’d missed Bianca talking to her.

“Hello? Is anyone in there? Anyone inside that abandoned building site of a brain of yours?” Bianca clicked her fingers in front of Willam’s unsuspecting gaze, causing her to blink.

“Sorry, Bianca. It’s all just…a lot.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Bianca raised her eyebrows, briefly showing a slightly vulnerable side which completely took Willam aback. “This has to be some sort of complex web. I mean, who’s going to listen to a 24 year old journalist who’s only been in the job for a matter of months? I don’t get it. There’s something that doesn’t sit quite right.”

Willam stood for a moment with the spin doctor as they both remained deep in thought. Something suddenly struck her, one that was so completely obvious but had perhaps been lost in the chaos and confusion of the past five minutes.

“Laila leaked that policy to the opposition,” Willam said blankly, Bianca suddenly jerking her head to look Willam in the eyes.

“You’re absolutely right,” Bianca said, her voice completely grave. Willam expected a surge of activity, energy, anything to indicate that Bianca had had a Sherlock moment where all the puzzle pieces just clicked and everything fell into place. Instead, she didn’t move. “But why? Why did she do that? There’s got to be a reason.”

“Money? Blackmail?”

“I can’t think of anything else,” Bianca said sagely, bringing one hand up and rubbing it against her cheek.

“Ladies,” Courtney called from her monitor. “Am I going totally insane, or could this mean something?”

Intrigued, Bianca and Willam shared a glance, then made their way to Courtney’s monitor. On the screen sat two pictures which made up part of a Daily Mail online article, which seemed to be about Alyssa’s charity ball. The first was of Sharon and Alaska, Sharon triumphantly holding a china monstrosity over her head as if it was the world cup. ‘Onto a winner- Minister Sharon Needles, pictured with one of her advisors, spends £2000 on a vase despite advocating for lower MP’s salary.’ was the caption.

“Fuck, they really will find anything to complain about,” Willam muttered disparagingly, before looking at the second picture. Straight away, she saw what Courtney had been talking about.

In the centre of the picture stood Phi Phi O’Hara, in the horrifically bridal-esque cream dress she’d been wearing that night and holding a glass of champagne. She was laughing as she chatted to a young girl on her right, with dark skin and a long, straight mane of flowing brown hair, who looked slightly smug. The girl from ITV, Valentina, stood on Phi Phi’s left side and was smiling in a sort of scheming way, as if she knew she had the upper hand over somebody. And there to Valentina’s left was Laila McQueen. She was the only one staring straight at the camera, and seemed to be the only one who knew the photo was being taken. As a result she looked a little taken aback, as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t meant to be doing, or somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. The caption read, “The new generation- Shadow Minister Phi Phi O’Hara talks politics with media newcomers Laila McQueen (The Independent), Valentina Leyva (ITV), and Naomi Smalls (The Telegraph) (l-r)”

Willam shared an intrigued glance with Courtney, as the Australian said exactly what she was thinking.

“Is it just me or does Laila look…suspicious?” she questioned, looking up at Bianca and meeting her glare. Courtney looked a little intimidated. “I mean, I could be reading too much into it-”

“No. You’re not. You don’t spend as many years in this line of work without getting to know the face of someone who’s been caught in the act, and that expression is written all over Laila McQueen’s face. She’s afraid in that picture. She knows she shouldn’t have been seen with Phi Phi,” Bianca cut Courtney off, her face deep in concentration. Willam was slightly afraid to even breathe in case she disturbed her train of thought. Bianca suddenly frowned, pointing at the screen. “Bring up this Naomi Smalls’ twitter account. I’ve got the most fucking bizzare idea ever, but it might work.”

Without missing a beat, Courtney brought up the profile of the young journalist. Bianca pointed a commanding finger next to the “Following” button, which Courtney dutifully clicked. Naomi’s recent follows read:

Valentina Leyva @allaboutvalentina

Laila McQueen @IndependentLaila

Thorgy Thor @thorgy_thor

Elizabeth Ruhren @BettyRuhren

Roberta Queen @bob.queen

Rt Hon Phi Phi O’Hara MP @PhiPhiOHaraMP

As Willam read the names and tried to connect the dots, it seemed as if Bianca got there before her.

“Fucking knew it! Rookie mistake, but an obvious one from a 23 year old,” she exclaimed, looking first at Willam and then to Courtney. Courtney seemed to understand too.

“The head of the opposition, their senior press officer, and their spin doctor…” Courtney began, her eyes wide as if trying to comprehend something. “And the other journalists she was speaking to that night…”

Willam could scarcely handle the situation any more. The web had become too tangled and twisted and weird, and if anything things were now more odd than before. She couldn’t think straight, and she struggled to work out why or how all these names were connected. Bianca seemed to hold the same mindset.

“Look, ladies,” she sighed, for once appearing totally at her wits’ end. “This is out of your domain. Fuck, it’s almost out of my domain. There’s nothing more I can ask you to do here, I need to go back to number ten and do some serious digging. These people are all connected in some sort of corrupt way, maybe Phi Phi’s got a hold on them somehow, I don’t know. What I do know is, for the next couple of hours before it reaches 5pm, you’re all better just trying to get on with whatever tasks Sharon left for you to do.”

Willam nodded, slightly in awe of the fact that for once, Bianca didn’t seem to have a concrete plan. “If you need us to do anything else, just phone me or Court.”

Bianca gave Willam a quick scan up and down. “Appreciated. You did well today, Willam. And you too, Courtney. You’re both assets to the department.”

With that, Bianca was on her way back down and around the corner that led her out of the department. Willam felt her heart swell up at the praise Bianca had given her, going some way to heal the hurt she was still carrying around from this morning. Being left alone with Courtney again didn’t seem to sting as much as it had all those hours ago.

“How does she expect us to just get on with fucking budgeting after all this?!” Courtney gasped, peering once again at who Naomi Smalls followed. “This is like the Agatha Christie of governmental drama. I can’t concentrate on anything else!”

Willam felt sort of detached. “Yeah, same. But, you know. Got to keep working on those figures.”

With the feeling that she wasn’t really part of the planet, Willam walked back to her own desk and sat down, aware that Courtney was looking at her curiously.

It seemed to have been the longest day of Willam’s life, and she couldn’t wait for it to end.

***

Willam tapped her heeled foot impatiently against the floor as the laptop screen held the promise of a Skype connection. These things could never really be deemed reliable, though, and so with every passing second Willam grew more irritated. It had been a rollercoaster 24 hours, and she was eager to give Sharon and Alaska a full update. Obviously noticing Willam’s body language, Courtney rested a gentle hand on her leg, which made Willam feel almost more jittery than before.

“Be patient. It’s just taking its time,” she urged her, lifting her hand from Willam’s thigh.

How did Willam feel about everything between her and Courtney since yesterday? The truth was, she wasn’t sure. Of course she still wasn’t completely over how humiliated she’d felt, and how much her heart still hurt when she was around her. Would that ever go away? Maybe. Maybe not. But what Willam did know was that work, even in the past 24 hours, had been an absolute blessing of a distraction. She wasn’t good at love but she was damn good at politics, and the first day back in the department had been so exciting despite the stress. She had forgotten how much she loved her job when she’d been too wrapped up in her feelings for Courtney, and her performance hadn’t been good. She’d tortured herself wondering about it all overnight when she should have been sleeping, and sitting in the meeting room today she still couldn’t come to a conclusion.

She did know that her heart still beat just that little bit faster as she sat so close beside Courtney, Jinkx on her right side frowning at the monitor.

“Maybe we need to sign in,” Jinkx offered, swiping her finger across the track pad with impatience.

“We’re already signed in,” Willam rolled her eyes, just as Sharon and Alaska popped up on the screen.

“Yay!” Courtney cried, throwing her hands up in happiness. “Hi guys! How is everything?”

“Fucking screeds better than yesterday, I’ll tell you that for nothing,” Sharon smiled ruefully, running a hand through her icy blonde hair. Her left hand sat at her side out of view in parallel to Alaska’s right, and Willam suspected they were holding hands. “Tell me everything! I want to know every detail.”

Willam scrunched her face up. “Well, we don’t really know that much. Bianca left the department on a mission at, like, three yesterday. We only woke up to all the headlines. She’s not even been in yet today, and it’s almost five so I don’t even know if we’ll see her.”

In true Bianca style, she had managed to uncover everything. In the morning after her fitful sleep Willam had awoken to various notifications from the BBC News app, and the headlines were damning. It had turned out that Phi Phi, Betty and Bob had created a “graduate journalist funding scheme” for young faces in the media, which was a thinly-veiled disguise for “we give you money, you acquire information/write favourable headlines for us”. Naomi, Valentina, and indeed Laila were all involved, and it appeared that the arrangements didn’t just end with young new journalists- Thorgy Thor, a print journalist for The Guardian, was also highly implicated, as was Alexis Michelle from The Times who had reportedly been seen at dinner with Bob at a ridiculously expensive Mayfair restaurant. Basically, the newspapers were in chaos; nobody knew whose side who was on, or what allegiances existed, or which paper leaned which way anymore. What had been made clear was that none of the “funded” journalists were in work anymore, and that the opposition was under major scrutiny. Sharon smiled as she heard the news, leaning back a little on the hotel double bed both she and Alaska were sitting on.

“God, I doubt I’ll ever say this again but I could kiss Bianca Del Rio very emphatically on the mouth.”

Willam seemed to be the only one that noticed the fake warning look that Alaska shot Sharon’s way.

“Well, we certainly owe her a lot of thanks. I suspect you’ll be given a hero’s welcome when you get back then?” Jinkx smiled, clearly happy that Sharon’s name had been cleared. Sharon gave a loud exhale and rolled her eyes.

“Is that a joke? It’ll be business as usual. I doubt anyone that works in Westminster even knows the meaning of the word ‘sorry’. Still, I’ve got a skype interview with my BFF Chad Michaels at 10 and I can’t wait to drag Phi Phi’s name through the mud.”

Willam snorted a laugh at Sharon’s vindictiveness. “What about Brussels, then? I hear the debate went well yesterday.”

Alaska instantly jumped in, obviously bursting with pride. “I don’t think she’ll be welcome in Spain anytime soon. She absolutely wiped the floor with Alexis Mateo. Dettol Wipes ain’t got shit on her.”

The two girls both laughed, Sharon pushing Alaska playfully on the shoulder.

“Well, it’s good practice for the party conference whatever the result,” Courtney smiled encouragingly. Willam gave her a sideways glance and laughed a little.

“Court, that’s not til March.”

“Early March!” Courtney insisted, her eyes wide. Turning back to the screen, she continued. “Anyway, I’m not worried about your performance. Policy presentation tomorrow then?”

Sharon gave a nervous sigh as she nodded her head, her entire aura changing into one of anxiety. Alaska gave her a comforting smile. “She’s going to be fine. She’s practiced it so much I’m sick of hearing about the damn thing.”

Sharon smirked at her girlfriend, clearly attempting to be annoyed at her and failing. Willam smiled involuntarily at their display of affection, little as it was. She didn’t feel as jealous of them both as she had yesterday. “You’ll be alright. We’ll keep bigging you up to everyone tomorrow and the media should love you by the time you’re back.”

“Thanks, guys. You’re doing great,” Sharon smiled at the three of them through the tiny webcam.

“So do you have anything nice planned for this evening?” Jinkx asked, clearly eager to divert the conversation from anything work-related at any possible opportunity.

“We’re both going to this really nice restaurant that the French Prime Minister recommended,” Alaska smiled, batting her eyelashes and making fun of her own immodesty.

“Alright for some,” Courtney raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Violet not going with you?”

Both Sharon and Alaska seemed to freeze, as if they’d both forgotten poor Violet existed. Sharon turned out her best excuse. “Oh, she’s been a bit headachey today, so I think she’s just staying in the hotel.”

“Well, give her our best. And good luck for tomorrow!” Jinkx said.

“They don’t need luck. You guys’ll be fine. Speak to you both tomorrow,” Willam said by way of a goodbye, allowing Courtney and Jinkx to wave at the two girls on the other end of the line before closing the laptop shut. Heaving a sigh of relief, Courtney lay back in her chair.

“Well, I still maintain that those two are fucking,” she shrugged, before rising from her chair and lifting the laptop from the table.

“For Christ’s sake Court, don’t be ridiculous,” Willam bit back a little too quickly in her haste to protect Alaska, causing Courtney to sort of stop and blink at her a little. The atmosphere grew frosty, and was only interrupted by a knock on the glass door of the meeting room. Turning around Willam saw that it was Bianca, looking a lot less stressed than she had been yesterday.

“There’s the department’s saviour!” Jinkx cried, seemingly happy for the icebreaker. Bianca gave her a rare smile.

“Did you see Phi Phi on the lunchtime news with Raja? I’ve seen maggots that squirmed less. Talking about how ‘the person responsible is being dealt with’, but we all know it’ll be a fucking intern that’s been there for the space of five days that’ll be let go to make up the numbers,” Bianca laughed derisively, earning a snort from Willam herself.

“Did you come here to celebrate with us, or was there something you wanted to talk to us about?” she asked, part of her dreading what the answer would be.

Bianca turned to face Willam directly. “Yeah, actually. I came to speak to you.”

Willam shared a glance with both Jinkx and then Courtney. “Um…okay. Just me?”

“Yes,” Bianca nodded firmly, looking then at Courtney and Jinkx. “So if you two could please make like a tree and fuck off.”

With a muttered “charming” from Jinkx the two others left the meeting room, leaving Bianca and Willam alone. Willam couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, getting the feeling that somehow she was in trouble despite not having done anything.

“I’ve always found you to be one of the best advisors in the department, Willam. Well in fact, the party,” Bianca started off, folding her arms across her chest. Willam was slightly shocked, but mostly her heart was full of something she hadn’t really felt properly in a while. Pride. She knew she was good at her job, but she’d had no idea she was that good. Bianca continued on, seeing Willam’s slightly shocked expression. “Your performance yesterday was excellent, what I know you’re capable of. You’ve had a weird couple of months work-wise, but yesterday you showed real promise.”

“Well, erm,” Willam began, struggling to bullshit an excuse. “Maybe I just needed some time away from work.”

Instantly cursing herself for a lie of such incredible proportions, she watched as Bianca uncrossed her arms and raised her eyebrows.

“Well, whatever you did on holiday that made you bring your a-game back to work, keep doing it,” she said, pausing for a moment before getting to what seemed to be her main point. “You know in a couple of months, there’s going to be a few open positions at number 10. Advisory stuff, things like that. The PM’s looking to get some new blood in. Keep doing what you’re doing and maybe we could see about getting you in there. If that’s something you’re interested in, of course.”

Willam’s heart almost stopped. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but nothing seemed to want to come out. Instead she just nodded, barely trusting herself to let any words out.

“Great. Well, stay at that high level you’re at now. I’ll see you tomorrow, I’ve got to go and speak to Adore,” Bianca said, opening the door back into the department and leaving Willam completely on her own.

Immediately, Willam couldn’t feel anything else other than an all-encompassing feeling of euphoria. She’d been noticed, and had received affirmation that she was actually good at her job, fuck, amazing at her job. She was finally getting an indication that things might be looking up for her and that she might be moving on to bigger and better things, moving up the ladder like she’d always wanted. It was the best news she could’ve hoped for, and just the motivation she needed.

She stumbled out of the office slightly in a daze, barely noticing Courtney come up to her at her side. Trying to conceal how happy she was, Willam turned to her friend. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Courtney started, her voice seeming nervous. She clasped her hands together and took a deep breath before speaking again. “Um…are we okay?”

Willam was a little taken aback. She thought that Courtney’s question had come out of the blue, but looking back on the past few days she had been a little offhand with her, a bit blunt and abrupt and bordering on rude. Feeling a little guilty, Willam finally concluded that it wasn’t Courtney’s fault that she didn’t remember a stupid drunk kiss. She couldn’t take her own feelings of rejection out on Courtney forever.

“Yeah. Yeah, course we’re okay. Sorry I’ve been kinda shit the past couple of days. Just…glad to be back at work,” Willam sighed, smiling at Courtney who gave a relieved smile back.

“Good. I’m glad you’re alright,” she beamed, Willam being annoyed at the warmth that Courtney’s smile still gave her heart. “What did Bianca want?”

“Oh, nothing really. She was just speaking to me about policy stuff. She’s with Adore now though. No idea why.”

The two girls looked down the corridor where Bianca and Adore stood together, Adore giving a little smile up at the spin doctor. Neither of them could consider it for long though, as a gasp that was sort of mixed with a cry came from Trixie’s desk.

“Oh my God,” she said breathlessly, looking down at her phone. Katya was craning her neck trying to read the message on it, and Jinkx was standing up at her desk as if she would glean more information. Trixie looked up and glanced at everyone in the department, her face completely crestfallen. “Trannika’s been fired.”

***

Shivering in the cold night’s air, Willam pulled her coat closer around her and leant over to Katya, the cigarette gripped between her top and bottom lip as the other girl held her lighter underneath it. She never usually smoked, but she’d make an exception for this evening. She somehow felt as if she needed it, and she wasn’t exactly short of people she could bum a cigarette from. Currently it was her, Katya, Adore and Trannika outside their usual pub, huddled together like penguins around the huge silver beer keg that served as both a table and an ashtray. It had been the only logical place to go after work given Trannika’s news, and although Willam still didn’t consider herself close with the girl in any way, the promise of a glass of red had been incredibly enticing. Courtney, Trixie and even Jinkx were back inside gathered in the corner on their usual sofas, and Pearl had joined them too as soon as she’d come out of work. They had all been drinking for a good couple of hours now, Pearl being the biggest enabler, and Willam would undoubtedly regret it all tomorrow. Still, she supposed the amount of alcohol in her bloodstream would help her get a good night’s sleep if nothing else.

“You should go on This Morning. Tell the world your harrowing story,” Katya was telling Trannika, the three girls having spent the past ten minutes outside insisting the opposition comms member had a claim for unfair dismissal. Trannika laughed and shook her head, flicking some ash from the end of her own cigarette.

“It’s Jeremy fuckin’ Kyle I’m needing. Although he would shout at me for being on the dole.”

“You’re not on the bloody dole,” Katya rolled her eyes, shoving the brunette’s shoulder with an unexpected amount of force. Trannika’s eyes grew suddenly wide.

“Well I’m unemployed, aren’t I? Sounds like a great life though. Spend all day pissing my life away on the sofa eating crisps and watching Bargain Hunt sounds a lot better than pissing my life away working for Phi Phi.”

Adore frowned deeply, stubbing her own cigarette out on the beer keg. “I still think you have grounds for a court case.”

“Adore, I am not taking a fucking millionare’s daughter to court,” Trannika gave her a pointed look. “Besides, it’s a blessing in disguise. I fucking hated that job with every fibre of my being. Literally the only pleasure I got from it was leaking to you guys. They needed someone to make it look like they were dealing with the problem, and that person just happened to be me. I get it. It’s the way it goes.”

“I’d love to see Phi Phi in court, though. She’d go up in flames as soon as she put her hand on the bible,” Willam snorted.

“Bianca would appear to welcome her to hell,” Katya joined in as the others laughed. That made Willam think of something.

“Hey, what did Bianca want to speak to you about earlier, anyway?” she asked, turning to Adore. The younger girl pulled a face and shrugged.

“Oh, that. Um, it was kinda weird. She apologised to me for yelling at me yesterday.”

Willam’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Bianca…apologised?!”

“Yeah, I said it was weird. Anyway she said she hoped I was alright and that she was always there if I needed to talk about anything,” Adore shrugged, mumbling a little and looking to the ground. Katya and Willam shared an awed glance.

“We’re talking about Bianca Del Rio? The woman that once told me that if I didn’t produce a coffee for her within the space of five minutes she’d saw off my hands?” Katya blinked in disbelief.

“Yes! Who else would I be talking about? Bianca Gascoyne? Bianca from fucking Animal Crossing?” Adore said, a little irritated. Willam gave a laugh.

“So that’s your rebound sorted then? Our favourite member of the governmental sphere?”

Adore gave Willam a look that communicated she was done with her shit.

“No. I told you guys, that was ages ago. I don’t like Bianca like that anymore,” Adore insisted, the softness of her voice threatening to betray her. Willam decided not to push her for any more. She’d had a tough couple of days.

“Good idea. I’ve always thought workplace relationships were highly unprofessional,” Katya deadpanned, eager to lighten the mood a little.

“How are you coping, though, girl?” Trannika asked her, obviously thinking the same as Willam. Adore gave a bitter laugh.

“Well I went home and cried for a solid two hours last night. Cried in the bathroom today at work. Haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday. Overall I’d say I’m doing well,” she smirked self-depreciatingly. Willam gave her a sympathetic smile. In true Trannika fashion, she stubbed her cigarette out decisively and looped her arm through Adore’s.

“You know what the solution to a broken heart is?” she said, pausing for effect. “Alcohol. Let’s go get shots.”

With that, Trannika and Adore were gone, leaving the two blondes alone outside.

“So, um…how’s your own love life going?” Katya asked Willam with a coy smile. Tipping her head to the sky, Willam rolled her eyes at just how predictable her friend was.

“I fucking knew you were going to ask me that,” she shook her head, taking another drag. Looking at Katya’s expectant face, Willam gave a sort of laugh of disbelief and shook her head. “There’s been no progress, okay? There you are. There’s your answer. You have nothing to work with.”

Katya looked to the floor, muttering something under her breath. “That’s not what I heard.”

Willam’s heart felt a little like it was going into cardiac arrest. “What do you mean? Are people talking about us?”

Katya waved her hands in front of her, presumably in an attempt to calm Willam down. “No, no, no, nobody’s talking about it. You’re fine. All it was was…”

Katya stopped and bit her lip, appearing not to want to say what she had planned. Willam wanted to seem as if she couldn’t care less about what Katya was going to tell her, but her face completely betrayed her- her were wide with suspense, mouth hanging open just a little as she waited for Katya to continue. Letting out a held breath, Katya carried on.

“God she’ll kill me if she knew I was telling you this…at New Year, Court literally wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Willam’s heart was going at roughly the speed of a runaway train. She was quiet for a few seconds, trying to process the information, but her mind was working too fast for her to be able to do so.

“What was she saying?”

“She’d bring you up at every opportunity. ‘Oh, Willam loves this song!’ ‘Oh, Willam once told me about a cocktail you can make with whisky, vodka and tomato juice!’ ‘I wish Willam was here!’ ‘Willam would’ve loved this!’. Like…you were like 70% of all she talked about that night.”

Willam was confused. Scrunching her eyes shut and shaking her head, she tried to correlate that Courtney to the Courtney who had woken up with no memory of Alyssa’s ball. It didn’t seem to make sense, and if what Katya was saying was true, then Court’s behaviour didn’t add up.

“Well, she hasn’t said anything to me,” Willam finally said, not allowing her face to betray any of her feelings.

“Give it time.”

Looking up to the stars that were beginning to emerge in the sky, Willam thought about Trannika and Adore. A casualty of work and a casualty of love, respectively. Trannika would be fine; she could always go and get another job somewhere else, and her experience working for the opposition was valuable on any CV. She seemed to be taking it in her stride, all things considered. Adore was different. She hadn’t healed yet, and it would certainly be a while until she recovered from her breakup. She wasn’t in control of her feelings in any way. Trannika could just go and find another job, but Adore couldn’t immediately move on to someone new without healing first.

Willam couldn’t help but think about her own situation.

Stubbing her cigarette out on the beer keg, Katya turned to Willam, having allowed her some time to think in silence. “Should we head back inside? I’m freezing my not inconsiderable tits off out here.”

Without speaking, Willam simply nodded and crushed her own dead cigarette under her foot. Following behind Katya she walked back inside the pub, her head full of questions she didn’t have the answers to yet.

#ortega #just the game we're in #witney #shalaska #au #group fic #willam belli #courtney act #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #bianca del rio #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #jinkx monsoon #adore delano #rpdr fanfiction #jtgwi

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ruleandruinrpg · 8 years ago

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, ISAAC!

You have been accepted for the role of ARSEN TARASOV. Admin Rosey: Truly, I could not be more over the moon with your portrayal of Arsen. It’s like you plucked him out of my head and brought him too life -- everything from what drew you to him to the smallest of headcanons had me saying YES, YES, YES. You showed me the perfect amount of what I expected to see, what I knew of Arsen, and those aspects of him I did not expect at all. By the time I finished your application, I knew it was the right fit. Arsen would be upset. I would be upset. The whole of Ravka would be upset if I denied them this Arsen you have brought to life. Thank you, so much for your beautiful application and welcome to R&R! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Isaac

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: he/him.

AGE: 22

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: 7 out of 10. I’m a college student with depression – muse can come and go, school can sap that life out of me. That said, I do my best to get online when every day and read through replies/communicate with other players, especially since school is over for the summer. There are times when I’m replying every day and times when it’s not so frequent but, for the most part, I’m good at getting my replies every 2-3 days.

TRIGGERS: OMITTED

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: @il-scarvves / @lxllian / @thxnecromancer, @bxgbadwxlf, @greybvck, @rjlcpin

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Arsen Timofei Tarasov

ARSEN: if you changed one letter, what would you get? You’d get a raging fire; a fire that burned, that destroyed, cruel as death and all too intentional. Arson. The comparison was there, was made, and even it’s blue eyed subject couldn’t deny it. But arson is crude; arson is the action of a human seeking entertainment. Arsen is purposeful and he is anything but human. If Arsen wants to destroy for fun, he has a million ways to do it besides his flame.

TIMOFEI: what a joke. Timofei – one who honors God. Arsen is a devil with horns and the smile of a sankt. God? Angel? No. Never. Violence courses though him; Gods can be capricious, even cruel, but they don’t take kindly to boys with pride and boys with pride don’t take kindly to being told to submit. His parents tried, tried to give him a name that might humble Arsen. They failed.

TARASOV: not noble, not rich – when he was born, he was swaddled in rough cloth that grated his soft skin. If the name Tarasov means anything to anyone it’s because of Arsen, because of the boy that burns brighter than the sun and who has stars for eyes.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? How could I not be drawn like a moth to a flame? Arsen, as a character, burns with boldness and glimmers with beauty. Characters like his, who disdain all but few, who put himself above all if he could, who take delight in creating chaos – they’re just so much fun (and so, so irresistible).

As a character, those were things that drew me to Arsen – that vanity, beauty, and arrogance but also his love for his brothers and his fire. As a person, I was drawn to the fact that he identifies as a demiboy. I’m genderfluid, typically using male pronouns and presenting as masculine though not always. The fact this character that I fell in love with is also NB like me and uses fluid pronouns like me really meant a lot. He’s bisexual too but not specifically the guy who sleeps with everything that breathes; none of his connections are sexual in nature and while he’s described as a ‘creature of passion and indulgence’, it doesn’t necessarily mean ‘guy who slept with everyone’ – I was able to interpret a bisexual character who was sex-positive but not sex-obsessed and that’s really important too.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

A CHILD’S GAME: when Arsen was young, he had a game he liked to play with his siblings. It wasn’t a game they were privy to, just unwitting pawns for him to manipulate. He turned one against another and delighted in the fallout, swooping in at the last second with a charming grin and comforting words. I don’t that think that changed when he was brought to Os Alta; just because they fanned his flames, gave him more outlets for his cruelty, doesn’t mean old habits died, especially ones he delighted in so. I’d like to see Arsen continue to play his games, to manipulate others, turn one against another with a sly look and a whispered ‘did you hear…?’ I’d like to explore the outcomes of past games; people who’ve caught on to his tactics, people who have fallen victim to them, and, most of all, the unwitting pawns for all his future plays. Maybe, even, someone to play these games with – a chess-master against another chess-master.

A MAN’S HEART: Arsen loves few and trusts fewer. There is Valerian, who he’d die for, and Shona and Luka who brighten up his days but, beyond that, there’s not much. But there could be and then there could be heartbreak and I want to see that disaster. I want to see him love someone in the way he does (romantically or otherwise) – that way that consumes him, makes him need them like air, makes him red-hot with jealousy – and then see it all fall apart. See his anger, his hurt, see it crumble his well-controlled flame, manicured facade, and stone walls. I want to see him break, I want to see him become ashes, and I want to see what rises from those ashes; he’s a star and I want to see what happens when the star dies – does he fade into a black dwarf, does he become a new neutron star, or does he become a black hole?

A DEVIL’S HALO: when dealing with a character with so much pride, you can’t help but think of the ultimate embodiment of pride – that, and what happened to him. What happens when his pride becomes to much? When one too many compliments sends the whole pile toppling? Does he resemble another star with too much pride or does something else happen? Wound his pride, is what I’m saying. Make him fail, make him realize he isn’t a heavenly being, and make him deal with that.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE? No, I don’t think so. I think everything short of death – every fall from grace, every punishment, every torture – I’d be okay with but I’d rather play Arsen through his falls and hardships. I’m attached already tbh.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

She was a small slip of a girl with mouse brown hair and ruddy cheeks that starkly contrasted her snow-pale skin. It was an earthen look, one that was a dime a dozen around the Little Palace, and not something Arsen Tarasov cared for. In another universe, they wouldn’t have looked twice at her; they wouldn’t have looked twice at her here (they weren’t exactly fond of all the young Grisha in training – they were grating and messy) but she was everywhere they went. Lurking around corners, standing a hall-length away… It was getting unnerving.

Unnerving but not unsurprising.

It wasn’t the first time they’d attracted an admirer; shining as brilliantly as a star, as inviting as a flame, how could Arsen not attract a few hanger-ons? That didn’t mean they were welcome, especially not when they were stalking Arsen through the Little Palace, being everywhere they turned.

Valerian was the first to notice it, actually. They stood beside their friend, their brother by everything but blood, chatting and catching up in the gardens. Valerian had glanced over their shoulder and Arsen had rolled his eyes. How could anyone take their attention off of them? Especially when they were talking. The blond frowned and playfully shoved their friend’s shoulder.

“My eyes are here, love.” Their expression was twisted with one of those dramatic, faux-pouts. Arsen wasn’t upset, just mildly annoyed.

“And what beautiful eyes they are,” crooned Valerian in response, lips curled in a crooked grin. “I think someone else noticed too.” He jerked his head towards the opposite side of the gardens. Arsen huffed and glanced over, eyes scanning the scene until they noticed the girl half-hidden behind a column.

They noticed her freckles, like dirt, and her red cheeks that made her look like she’d just been exercising. That was all they cared to notice though.

“What about her?”

It was Valerian’s turn to roll his eyes which he did and then, to top it off, he shook his head. “Just thought you’d like to know that you’ve got a little stalker.”

“I didn’t.” If Arsen sounded annoyed it was because they were annoyed. They’d been talking, after all, about the other day when they’d embarrassed Rita. It was a much more important topic than that little girl lurking in the shadows.

…Said every petulant five year old ever.

And, like the parent of every petulant five year old, Valerian relented and let the subject return to what it had been. Not that Arsen was a five year old but they could be petulant at times, especially around someone they trusted like Valerian; this, of course, was not something the golden-haired Adonis would ever admit.

From there on, Arsen noticed her more and more in the places they went. The people they talked to did too – at least Shona and Luka did though because they’d actually noticed her or because Valerian had told them, Arsen couldn’t be sure. She was there nonethless, behind every turn, staring at them with wide, dark eyes. The only times she wasn’t there was when, they presumed, she was in her classes.

They learned her name from one of the others in the Little Palace: Nadzeija, Durast. She was young and Arsen wanted nothing to do with her. Despite the disdainful looks they gave her, that annoyed curl of their expression anytime she appeared in their line of sight, she didn’t give up. They applauded her tenacity even it annoyed them beyond reproach. They knew they were irresistible but couldn’t she get a hint? The fire is pretty but, unless you’re something special, you don’t play with it.

The straw the broke the camel’s back occurred on a snowy day. Arsen disliked snow. It put them in a sour mood from the moment they woke up and peered out the window. Seeing the white dusting on the roofs, the flakes fluttering through the air… Arsen glowered at the world outside like it had insulted their mother – or themself rather, they didn’t care much if someone insulted their mother.

Breakfast had been bland and the blond had felt a headache coming on as they sat at the long table, listening to all the chatter that surrounded them. Valerian was out that morning and that was just a cherry on top. As they were leaving breakfast, they ran headfirst into the mousy girl.

It was the closest they’d ever gotten. She wasn’t much different up close: freckles, red cheeks, pale skin, limp dark hair, and big dark eyes. The most notable thing was how short she was. They easily had a foot on Nadzeija, maybe more. She looked nervous too, standing beneath his icy gaze.

“Uh… I’m sorry for, uh…” she stuttered, looking down at her feet which scraped against the stone floor. Arsen rolled their eyes.

“For what? Running into me or stalking me?”

Someone snickered as they passed them by.

If it was possible, Nadzeija’s cheeks got redder; she certainly got quieter.

Had she really not noticed that they’d noticed her? Did she think she’d snuck up on them? Been able to steal glances and out-clever the fiery fox? If she had, she was more foolish than they’d originally thought.

Arsen could’ve left her alone in that moment; she was already shamed, already likely to go straight back to her room, bury her head in her pillow, and not be seen for another week. She was looking at the ground like she wanted it to swallow her whole. They could’ve let her go. They didn’t. Mercy might have been a word in their vocabulary but it was only one they brought out at the right time; other times, they were as cruel and wounding as a blaze. This time was the latter.

“It’s disturbing, you know. Looking over my shoulder and always know that there’ll be someone there, watching me. I can barely piss in peace. Look across the dining hall, you’re staring at me. Turn the corner, you’re there. Glance around, find you. It’s creepy, not cute.” With every word, the girl sunk into herself more, like a flower wilting. Arsen didn’t care. “Your dedication might be endearing if it weren’t some wildly misapplied; now you’re just a stalker. What’s the next step? Going to steal my underwear? Kidnap me? I bet if I looked in you’re journal, there’d be little doodles of me and little hearts with Mrs. Tarasov in them. What do you have to say for yourself, hn? What defense can your little brain come up with? A crush? Dear, that’s obsession. Well, I’m all ears.”

A silent beat passed, then another. Her head was still bowed, her bangs obscuring her expression. Her fingers were clutched into fists at her side though; no doubt, her heart was pounding in her chest. Arsen waited though, grinning like the cat that caught the canary – it was a cold and cruel expression, one that could cut through steel resolve. Not that she seemed the type to be so hardened; she looked like glass about to shatter.

Another beat passed and then she turned; her heals squeak on the floor and she began to walk away. They watched her go but she didn’t turn back around, didn’t even lift her head. She nearly bumped into someone again as she walked away – that someone had been Valerian. He watched her go then turned back to Arsen.

“What did you do?” he asked apprehensively, looking his brother up and down.

“We just talked.”

“You made her cry.”

Arsen shrugged their shoulders. “She deserved it.”

“I think our definitions of deserve might be a little different.” That was the last Valerian said on the subject though; there were better things to do than argue.

Next time Arsen looked over his shoulder, the girl wasn’t there.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

RED ROUGE: I can see Arsen being someone who likes to wear make-up – a red lip tint, something to darken and line his eyes, etc. While he’s already gorgeous without the make-up, of course (an angel loses their wings every time he admires himself I sweat. to. God.), he thinks it makes him prettier.

HEART-BEATING FAST: I mentioned that I see his love as something that is all-consuming, like an inferno. Allow me to explain: Arsen doesn’t love often but, when he does, it’s a sort of love that he’d die for. He put himself in harm’s way, in front of a dagger or another Grisha’s magic, if it meant saving those he loves. For someone so arrogant, so full of himself and in love with living, that’s something. It’s a dangerous something too, prone to anger and jealousy, ready to kill and even give up everything if necessary – again, he’d die for Valerian and death scares him most of all.

HONOR THEY MOTHER AND FATHER: since being sent to Os Alta to train, Arsen has had limited contact with his parents over the years, less so when they realized he wasn’t turning out how they’d hope. It’s no love lost, really; Arsen’s parents wanted something human and he was not. If Arsen gets or sends a letter from/to his parents, it’s a rare thing indeed. They’ve got plenty of other brats to serve their parental instincts. How many was it now? Five? Six? Arsen can’t be bothered to recall.

THE MONSTER UNDER THE BED: Arsen’s fears are spiders or heights, not thunderstorms or lightning strikes – the latter of those he actually likes, he’s neutral on heights, and while he’s not exactly fond of bugs, he’s not going to run screaming away from them either. So then what does he fear most? Death. It’s a terrifying concept to him, more so than being shamed or falling from grace – death is irreversible. The shroud cannot be returned from. He fears the deaths of those he loves too but less so than himself (except for, maybe, Valerian).

A SONG OF ANGELS: Arsen if very good at getting what they want. Why? Because they’re very good at saying the right thing. When they want something from someone, they can say all the right words, all the right praises, talk, and chit-chat. They’re good at gauging what someone wants. Of course, they’re better at it with people they know but they’re still fine at making those judgements in other situations. Anyone who ever goes shopping with them will find that Arsen never pays full price for something.

SEX AND GENDER: Arsen is bisexual. He likes men, he likes women, he likes everyone. It’s not that he’ll have sex with everyone but if he’s interested in someone then how they identify isn’t a factor. While he’s certainly prone to his sins, lust among them, he’s note quite the playboy some people peg him for. He’s not ashamed but he’s also discerning, if you get what I mean? Romantically, he’s bi as well but also demi-romantic probably since I don’t see him having romantic feelings more as an off-shoot of his platonic feelings rather than it’s own separate thing. He also identifies as demiboy and use he/him and they/them pronouns depending on how he feels at the time.

EXTRAS:

I made a mockblog!

I also have edits in this tag and incorrect quotes in this tag.

And here are some personality statistics:

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin

MORAL ALIGNMENT: chaotic evil or neutral. I had a hard to time deciding on this; while Arsen enjoys the whole ‘beauty in chaos’ thing and one of his favorite past-times is turning people against each other, he does good things if it serves him.

MBTI: ESTP

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Scorpio (Nov. 2nd)

ENNEAGRAM: type three – the achiever

ANYTHING ELSE? OMITTED.

#raraccepted #accepted: arsen

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