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artyblogs · 3 years

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Mean It When You Swing It

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Summary: For @caruliaweek. Prompt: Confession. After two years, Carmen arrives at Julia’s doorstep with a bouquet of red roses. She finds a nightmare instead. Tensions ensue.

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The first bouquet was a prank on Carmen. Carmen wanted to do something nice for Julia, to thank her for her infinite patience, for blindly doing what Carmen asked without protest, and for doing so without prying. Carmen wanted to do something nice for Julia, and people give flowers to each other, right? They are given to performers after their shows, and to graduates after their ceremonies, and to the sick so that they might feel better. They are given to parents and children and friends and partners. They are given in grief, and they are given in thanks, and they are given in affection.

There was a florist down the street from Julia’s flat, so there Carmen went.

“Whatever they are, they have to be red,” Carmen murmured as she regarded the dizzying collection. There were so many different shapes and sizes, in so many hues, and it was making for a more complicated task than she first thought. In her ear, the sounds of Player’s constant keystrokes blend into the background when he speaks (he once explained something about microphone settings and sound engineering, but most of it went over Carmen’s head).

“How about red roses? Nine of them?” And even through the mic, she could tell that he was smiling.

“Only nine? Okay,” Carmen said and she asked the florist for a bundle.

“Wait, really?” Player almost shrieked, but his sound settings came through yet again to normalize the volume.

“What’s wrong?”

“Uh, nothing.”

And that was that. It was only after the artifacts were set in front of Julia’s door, and after the doorbell was rung, and while they were on the plane out of Poitiers, that Ivy gently took Carmen’s elbow, steered her out of Zack’s earshot, and asked if Carmen meant to leave red roses for Julia.

“Flowers are flowers are flowers, right? Should I have left different ones?” Carmen asked.

Ivy’s mouth formed and ‘o’ and her green eyes grew wide with dismay. “Oh my god, you really don’t know.”

“Know what?”

Ivy clenched her jaw and scowled. She reached into her pocket, took out a small padded case, and unzipped it to reveal her Team Red earpiece. She plugged this into her ear, stood hands akimbo, and glared at Carmen’s left earring.

“Player,” she growled out. Carmen had never seen her so mad before; not even at Zack. And Player made a high-pitched squealing sound that she’d never heard him make before either.

“I didn’t think she’d actually do it!”

“God-fucking-dammit, Player! You know that Carmen doesn’t know about this kind of shit.”

“I’m sorry. But can you honestly tell me that red roses were the wrong move to make?”

“Do not try to worm out of this.”

“What do they mean?” Carmen asked. Ivy froze. Player too, fell silent. There was nothing but the drone of the plane engines around them.

“What do red roses mean?” Carmen asked again.

Ivy told her. And then she returned to Zack to give Carmen some time, and Player went radio silent for the same reason, and Carmen remained in the back of the plane, thinking.

Did she mean to give red roses to Julia?

---

Today, Carmen picks up a similar bouquet and signs the card with her name—her real name—and her hands take on an unnatural tremor. She flattens them against the counter, slapping the pen down in the process, and tries to distract herself by watching the florist tie a ribbon around the bouquet. They pull the free ends of the ribbon against the back of the shears to make them curl, then present the flowers to Carmen with a wink.

“Thanks,” Carmen says, weighing the flowers in her arms. Is this only nine roses? It seems heavier than she remembers.

“Good luck.” The florist takes the card and carefully tucks it into the tiny plastic trident bundled with the roses, then waves Carmen away with a smile. Carmen turns and continues down the street.

Carmen used to think she knew what love was. That at least Coach Brunt loved her the way a mother would love a daughter. She knows now that she didn’t. It was the kind of love that one has for a stuffed toy, or a limb, or a tool. She was beloved only because she belonged to VILE and did as she was told.

While she suspected that it wasn’t really love, she didn’t have confirmation of it until she met Carlotta Valdez. She believed that the woman who had captured her father’s heart had to be remarkable and she was right.

Her father gave her mother red roses. Usually a single rose, and sometimes a dozen of them at a time, but Carlotta preferred the single roses. She would tell Carmen how Dexter would break into some poor neighbors’ garden with a pair of shears in his back pocket, and how he would methodically choose the right one.

The neighbors entered their roses into competitions, so they soon learned to get dogs and guns. But Dexter never failed to get a rose. Not only because he was that good, but because he liked to see the look on Carlotta’s face when he presented them to her, and because he knew that no matter how beautiful the rose was, that Carlotta would always be lovelier.

Could Carmen love someone like that? The idea is…well. To be honest, she’s still not sure what love is and what love looks like, but she feels signs of it when she thinks of Player, and Ivy and Zack, and Shadowsan. She feels signs of it when she thinks of Carlotta. She likes to think she could. That she’s capable of it.

Could Carmen love Julia like that?

She would like to try.

Carmen carefully shifts the bouquet in her arms and crosses the street. Julia moved back to Oxford about six months after the raid on VILE headquarters. According to Player, most of VILE were round up by then, and the remaining work that ACME could scrounge up didn’t have anything to do with historical artifacts, so Julia had run out of reasons to stay.

Does Julia still drink tea? Does she still wax poetic about Older Futhark and Coptic?

Is she happy?

The apartment complex is really a collection of handsome brownstones that surround a small courtyard. There’s a barbecue pit set in concrete, and a swingset almost hidden amongst some trees. Two children make a circuit on their bikes, and a woman watches them while she idly pushes a toddler on a swing. Carmen avoids them as best she can and reaches Julia’s door. Music comes from inside; the radio, judging from the overlay of a DJ’s commentary. Carmen reaches up to press the doorbell and hesitates.

Two years and no word. No call, no text. Not even a letter. Two years.

Carmen takes a deep, steadying breath. It is unfortunate, but she had always intended to talk to Julia. Sooner than now, yes, but she did want to talk. She just…lost track of time getting to know her mother. To tell the truth, two years is not enough, but they have the rest of their lives. If Carmen didn’t come to see Julia now, then when would she stop by? In three years? Five?

Yes, it’s been two years, but Carmen is here now. She reaches up and presses the doorbell. There’s a muted chime from within, and a vague shout and footsteps, before the door is pulled open to reveal Julia.

“Hello?” Julia says, her eyes and face bright as if recovering from a bit of laughter, but her smile fades when she sees who it is. Her other hand comes up to cover her mouth.

“Carmen?”

“Hey, Jules,” Carmen says. The both of them stay like that for a moment, letting the music wash around them. The smell of roasted meat wafts around them too, as if Julia were interrupted in the middle of cooking dinner.

Julia’s dark hair is shaggy and ruffled. Carmen doesn’t remember if it’s always been that length, and she just carefully brushed it down for work, or if she’s growing it out. It looks good on her regardless, but then again, Julia could make anything look good.

“Who is it? Is it a package?” An alto voice sounds from within the flat. From the kitchen, wiping their hands on a rag, comes someone wearing an apron over their lean frame. Their dark, medium-length hair is tied back to keep it out of the way. At the sight of Carmen, they go very still, their brown hands still tangled in the kitchen rag.

It’s as if an ice cube has been dropped into Carmen’s stomach.

Julia looks nervously between the two of them. “Mars, this is Carmen, an old friend of mine. Carmen, this is my significant other, Mars Dakila.”

“I know,” Carmen says.

The first time Carmen saw Mars, she was sixteen on VILE Island. Back then, Mars Dakila was Cricket Bat. They arrived at the island and were shut away with the faculty for about an hour before they left with the Cleaners. The students of that year said that Cricket Bat wasn’t a thief at all, and Carmen had wondered why they were affiliated with VILE in the first place if they weren’t a thief.

She got her answer later, after Ivy and Zack had joined her crew. Sharkhead Eddie’s gang had taken over Darryl’s Donut Hole after all, and Carmen meant to break into the vault housed within and burn all of the counterfeit money. When she broke in, however, she found bodies instead. About five men were slaughtered, the dark blood pooling on the white vinyl, and she followed that trail of death to the vault, where Sharkhead Eddie gurgled wetly as he bled out on the floor. Cricket Bat stood over him in their spattered suit, with stained bolo knives in their hands, and dispassionately watched him die.

There was a newspaper article afterwards. The cops said that it was a mob battle, and Carmen supposed that in a way, it was, because the conflicts between VILE and the rest of the East Coast criminal gangs stopped after that.

Now, Cricket Bat, sorry, Mars is a scant seven feet away from Carmen—from Julia—and wiping their hands as if they’ll ever be clean. Julia steps between them, and Carmen blinks. She looks up at Carmen with a half-hard, half-pleading expression and the cold in Carmen’s stomach spreads through the rest of her body.

“We’ve met before,” Carmen says.

“In a different life. Do you want to stay for dinner?” Mars asks. Julia’s eyes widen as she tries to stammer something out.

“I’ll set another plate,” Mars says, and they disappear into the kitchen. Carmen watches them go, and when she’s certain that they’re out of earshot, she leans in towards Julia.

“Jules,” she whispers.

“Yes, I know. But they’ve changed,” Julia whispers back.

Carmen doubts that very much, but Julia continues.

“I swear they’ve changed. If you stay for dinner, you’ll see. Carmen, please.”

“Fine.” Not to see proof of this miraculous turnaround, but to get to the bottom of whatever the hell this is. Something is going on, and Carmen is going to save Julia from it if it’s the last thing she does. She straightens up and takes another deep breath. Julia slumps with relief.

“These are for you.” Carmen holds out the bouquet, and Julia’s eyes flicker with…sadness? Pain? She takes the flowers and cradles them against her chest, then gives Carmen a soft smile.

“Thank you. Would you like to come in?”

Julia moves to let Carmen inside, and goes into the kitchen. Carmen slips her converses off and sets them next to a shoe rack just inside the door. Julia’s heels and flats are there, neatly lined up, but there are also sneakers and brogues that do not belong to Julia. The hooks on the wall above carry two coats and two sets of keys. Carmen ventures in further, her horror growing by the second. Between the front door and the kitchen is enough room for a small dining table, and opposite the table is the living room. In the living room, on the wall above the sofa, is a collection of framed photographs. Carmen recognizes a couple pictures from Julia’s office in Oxford. There are also other people that have Julia’s eyes, or her nose. There is also a picture of Julia and Mars.

It’s a candid shot, judging from the blurriness and the tilt of the camera. Julia’s glasses are askew and she’s laughing. Mars, their face mostly hidden behind Julia’s, presses a kiss to her cheek. Carmen’s stomach lurches dangerously.

CLICK. The music stops as the radio is turned off.

“I’ll just get another bottle from the corner store, Babe,” Mars says as they head towards the door. They pull off the apron and toss it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Julia follows them, carrying a vase with the roses.

“I’m not sure that wine will ease this situation at all,” Julia says.

“We won’t know unless we try.” Mars slips on a pair of trainers, takes one of the sets of keys and turns to give Julia a quick kiss. “Be back soon.”

And with that, Mars leaves, shutting the door behind them. There’s an awful silence. Julia nods her head, like she’s psyching herself up, and turns to face Carmen. Her cheeks are pink.

This cannot be real. This…no. This is a sick joke. A prank. Ha ha. Carmen numbly watches as Julia sets the vase on a deep windowsill next to an old Skyflakes tin with a bunch of succulents planted in it. She beckons to Carmen, then returns to the kitchen. Somehow, Carmen finds the strength to follow her.

The kitchen is an organized mess, as most kitchens are while they’re being used. There is a bowl of mashed potatoes, a tray of roasted broccoli, and rack with two steaks. The sink is piled high with utensils. Julia takes a covered baking pan from the fridge. She uses a pair of tongs to take a steak from it and the places it in a skillet on the stove, where it starts sizzling. Julia puts the pan back in the fridge, sets the tongs off to the side, and looks at Carmen expectantly.

“Is ‘Mars Dakila’ even their real name?” Carmen asks.

“It’s their real name now,” Julia says. She turns the overhead fan on and returns to the skillet. There’s sauce in it too, and she tilts the skillet a little so that it all gathers to one side. Julia takes a spoon and begins scooping the sauce over the steak bit by bit, making sure to baste the entire thing.

“Does Player know?” Carmen asks.

“No,” Julia says.

“Do Ivy and Zack know?”

“No. And they don’t need to know.”

“Listen, Jules. I don’t know what they told you, but I know for a fact that they’re VILE. Faculty sent the Cleaners to clean, but they sent Cricket Bat to make messes. I….” Carmen pulls her hands down her face. “They’re dangerous, Jules!”

“Perhaps that was true two years ago, but they teach escrima at a local gym now. They’re reformed.” Julia picks the tongs back up and flips the steak, then continues scooping sauce. Carmen cannot believe what she is hearing.

“How long have they been conning you?” Carmen asks. Julia gives her a sidelong glance.

“They’re not conning me.”

“How long, Jules?”

Julia sighs through her nose. “We celebrated our one year about two months ago. Does that sound like a con to you?”

“Some cons go on for like seven years.” Carmen fights through a rising tide of guilt and desperation. Oh she is a fool. How could she possibly think she could go to Argentina for two whole years and expect everything to be fine? What an idiot she is! What a moron! And now Julia is completely blind to the danger she is mired in.

“It isn’t a con, Carmen,” Julia insists. She picks the tongs up one last time and uses it to prop the steak up on its side against the pan. She holds it upright and moves it a little every now and then to finish the sear.

Carmen could just…leave with Julia. She could just throw her over her shoulder and take her somewhere safe.

Julia sets the steak on the rack along with the others, then turns off the stove and the fan. She leans against the counter, her head hanging in defeat. “Carmen, why did you come back?” She asks in a hushed voice.

“What?”

“I mean, why now? Just as I was starting to…. I was finally….” Julia raises her head and Carmen doesn’t think she’s ever been the target of such longing. Unbidden, Carmen steps closer, and Julia’s eyebrows scrunch together as she continues to gaze up at her. Julia’s hand comes up as if to touch her arm, but she falters and it drops away.

“Jules,” Carmen breathes.

“You disappeared. I wasn’t surprised because that’s what you do, but then you stayed disappeared and I….” Julia drops her gaze. “You deserved to rest. You deserved to meet your mother in peace.”

She says the last part in near monotone, as if by rote.

“And I wouldn’t have been able to do that if it weren’t for you. I should’ve thanked you when I got that file. I should’ve thanked you sooner,” Carmen says. Julia’s cheeks turn pink.

“That wasn’t me.”

“I know it was you, Jules. Thank you for finding her.”

Julia waves it away, her blush spreading to her ears, but she asks, “is she nice, at least?”

“She’s wonderful.”

A bittersweet smile spreads over Julia’s face. “Good.”

Come with me, Carmen wants to ask. Julia could meet her mother and see for herself. But the front door opens, and Mars returns with a paper bag in hand. They slip their shoes off and put the keys back on the hook. Julia steps away so fast, it’s as if she’s scalded herself. She skirts around Carmen and goes to Mars. Carmen resists the urge to take her arm.

“I know you don’t like super dry wines, so I got a merlot,” Mars says. Their brown eyes light up when Julia comes near, and they hold the paper bag out to her.

Julia takes the bag and rucks it down to read the label on the bottle. “Not bad.”

“See? I know what I’m doing.” Mars kisses her cheek and—to Carmen’s dismay—Julia returns it. She does it absently, out of habit, before she catches herself and freezes. But Mars is already stepping around her and towards the kitchen.

“Was there enough sauce left for a third steak?” They ask.

“I managed it all right,” Julia says.

“Cool.” Mars comes to a stop just out of arm’s reach and tilt their head as they regard Carmen. “Sandiego.”

Carmen’s last name hasn’t been Sandiego in a long time, but she’s not telling them that. “Dakila.”

Behind Mars, Julia shies away as if witnessing an impending car crash.

“Would it be better if I ate with a butter knife instead of a regular steak knife?” Mars asks.

“You could make a plastic knife dangerous, Dakila.”

Julia gasps. “Carmen!”

Mars grins at Julia over their shoulder. “It’s okay, Julia. I’ll eat kamayan style if I have to.”

The name rolls so easily through Mars’ mouth with such familiarity and with such affection that Carmen must resist the urge to tackle them to the floor. Somehow, she unsticks her feet and moves out of the way.

---

The dining table is a small, rustic thing covered in scuffs and dents. To save on space, one end of the rectangle has been pushed against the wall. Julia sits at the remaining short side, and Carmen and Mars sit opposite each other.

While Carmen has never eaten dinner while within three feet of a serial killer, she has had worse evenings before. At least the food is good.

“But because I’m taking more classes than usual, my advisor expects me to graduate in three years, not four,” Julia is in the middle of saying. “I honestly didn’t think that I was taking that heavy a course load.”

“‘Doctor Argent,’” Carmen says, testing out the title. Julia ducks, her face going pink again. “It sounds nice.”

“My students already call me that, even though I tell them not to.”

“You still teach?”

“All phd candidates do. Just the introduction courses though, so it’s just the basics.”

“But you still love it.”

“I do.” Julia beams. “You know, I wouldn’t be able to do all of this in the first place if Mars wasn’t around. They take care of everything.”

“Do they?”

Mars has been mostly quiet all through dinner. They have a knife and fork after all, but they take care to keep their hands above the table, and to move deliberately and slowly. Once in a while, they’ll smile at something Julia says, as if sharing a private joke, or they’ll answer in short sentences, but that’s about it.

“Well, they do most of the cooking and the cleaning because they happen to like cooking and they happen to be rather fastidious,” Julia says.

“It’s the strangest sugaring arrangement I’ve ever been in. I’ve never paid anyone with chores before,” Mars says. Julia gasps and swats their arm, making them squawk.

“You absolute scoundrel! Don’t say that when we both know how whipped you are.”

Mars laughs. They laugh and their eyes light up again. “True! You’re probably the only person on the surface of this planet who could make me do anything.”

Carmen’s insides twist horribly.

After dinner, Carmen helps Julia clear the table and put the leftovers away. Julia ties the garbage bag shut with a double knot and tugs it free of the bin. Mars steps up to the sink and Julia tsks.

“Oh Mars, I’ll take care of those; you did most of the cooking.”

But Mars lathers the sponge and starts washing the dishes anyway. “It’s okay, Babe, I’ve got it.”

“I’ll help them,” Carmen says. Mars glances at her from the corner of their eyes.

“Really? Okay.”

Carmen takes a kitchen towel and stands at the dish rack next to Mars. Julia stares at them.

“You can’t be serious,” Julia half-whispers to herself, then louder, “Behave! Both of you.”

“Of course, Babe,” Mars says.

“I mean it,” Julia says, glaring at them both. “I will not come back to a dead body, understand?”

Mars smiles at her. “Yes, Julia.”

“Sure thing, Jules,” Carmen says.

This seems to mollify her, and she leaves to toss the garbage in the complex dumpster. Mars and Carmen wash and dry the dishes in silence. They pass the pans and the dishes first, and also the cutting board.

“You’re using Jules to escape ACME,” Carmen says. Mars’ eyes flicker, but they continue to wash.

“It certainly started that way, but then they stopped being a threat and I kinda…stuck around. Julia’s a remarkable woman.”

“Does she know how many people you’ve killed?”

“I don’t do that anymore; I promised her I wouldn’t,” Mars says as they place the trays and glasses into the rack.

“Oh, like that’s enough to stop you from killing again.”

“Be as skeptical as you want; I don’t care what you think. What matters is that Julia believes me.”

“What kind of sob story did you tell her to get her to trust you?” Carmen asks.

Mars shakes their head and starts cleaning the utensils. “I can’t believe this,” they mutter under their breath.

“Jules deserves better than to be swindled….”

“No, you know what, Sandiego? You just left her. You left. You wanted a fresh start and you got a fresh start and when you got it, you decided that there was no room in it for Julia. You decided that.”

By miracle, Carmen manages to not drop anything despite the shaking of her hands. Who the hell does Cricket Bat think they are to talk to her like this? As if she doesn’t care about Julia. Like she isn’t terrified that one day, she’s going to find out that Julia’s dead because Mars got tired of her, or didn’t need her anymore.

Because no matter what Mars says, they must be pulling a con. They have to be. They would never admit it, and if they passionately exclaim how much they ‘love’ Julia and it happens to sound genuine, then either they’re a very good actor, or they’re starting to buy their own con.

“How long did you expect Julia to wait around for you? Five years? Ten? Assuming you came back at all,” Mars continues.

“If Jules wants to be with someone else, fine. She deserves to be happy. But not with you. You’re a murderer,” Carmen says.

Mars glances at the vase of roses in the windowsill. “Maybe Julia shouldn’t take advice on her love life from you. Gotta say, green is an awful color on you, Sandiego.”

Carmen’s hands freeze above the utensils drawer. Everything else has been put away except one final steak knife. She holds the handle loosely between three fingers, and with one movement, she could just let go. She could drop the knife into the drawer.

Drop the knife, Carmen. Julia has been gone for several minutes now, so she’ll be back at any moment.

Drop the knife.

Beside her, Mars stands before a bare sink, hands empty except for a dishrag that they wind around their forearm in preparation.

“Mean it when you swing it, Sandiego.”

#caruliaweek #julia argent #carmen sandiego #carulia #julethief #carjules #carmen x julia #carulia week #my writing #also on ao3

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kusunogatari · 5 years

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[ @abyssaldespair ] 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩 𝕩

When she wakes to the rooster crowing this morning, Ryū blinks bleary greys before they snap wide, remembering what day it is today.

Sale day.

Throwing blankets off her form, she sits up in bed and rushes to dress, pulling white waves up in a ribbon behind her head. Hands smooth at the blue of her skirts, feet tucking neatly into her boots before leaving her bedroom behind.

Curling a fist, she knocks it against her father’s door. “Pa! You up?”

There’s vague mutterings and groans that tell her yes, Jiraiya is awake. As for how quickly he’ll actually be up and going, well...that’s anyone’s guess. So, for now, she lets him be and goes about her morning routine.

As soon as she opens the front door of their two story ranch house, the sounds of the move already fill the air...along with the dust. This year’s stock, ready to be sold, are rounded up and made to be driven to the train yard in the nearest town to be shipped to the stockyard. Nearly five hundred steers and heifers to be loaded into train cars and hauled north. Sale day is always a bit chaotic. But for now, she’s got chores to do.

Amongst the whooping and driving from the ranch hands, she jogs across the yard to the chicken coop, doling out feed and picking up any eggs laid overnight. Those she keeps bundled in an apron over her dress while letting the hens out and feeding the dogs. The cats that hang around to catch the mice get some too, as well as scritches behind the ears as she drops off the eggs. Next the pigs are fed, and then the dairy cow is milked, some hauled into the house for their breakfast.

Thankfully by then, Jiraiya is awake, rubbing at his face with a yawn.

“If you’d’ve slept any later, we’d have missed the whole drive!” Ryū can’t help but tease, giving her father a coy smile as she sorts through the morning’s spoils.

“Some of us were up late getting ready for all the paperwork today,” he retorts, taking a seat at the table with a sigh. “There’s a lot of business behind this, after all.”

“Oh I know,” she assures him, flitting around the kitchen and preparing breakfast. Eggs, bacon, flapjacks, coffee. “You’ve told me time and time again, Pa.”

Accepting the coffee she hands him, Jiraiya nods in thanks before offering, “You ready to go?”

“I will be once I’ve got a full belly! It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to go to town...I can’t wait!”

“I’ll get you some of those taffies you like so well to celebrate.”

“Oh, really?!”

“Last I heard, beef stock is high now. We’re going to make more than enough to cover a few sweets for you.”

Of course, they’re one of - if not the - largest cattle operations in the state. Jiraiya may be a jovial man, but he takes his business seriously. After all, he’s wanted to give his daughter a life of ease.

Well...daughter and wife, but...there’s only one left to enjoy it.

Either way, however, his family is hardly hurting for money. Their country is growing, with plenty of hungry mouths to feed as the people work hard to turn the empty lands into something liveable. Hence his line of working being in high demand. He pays his ranch hands handsomely, and their bunkhouses are near as nice as his own. A few even have their own homes on his land. They keep fine horses, and even finer cattle. Nearly a thousand pairs, fat and happy stock fed on rich, rolling grasslands. Most are sold every year, but of course they keep their own share to feed themselves and their staff. All in all, there’s little the family and their hands can want for.

And while Jiraiya is ever indulgent for his daughter - she’s all he has, his pride and joy - she remains a level-headed young woman. Like her mother, she takes to doting tasks: watches over their animals, patches up any wounded ranch hands, helps keep eyes on their children and aids their wives with any tasks that need doing. She works hard in her own way, and he’s sure she’s going to make a fine wife for a lucky man.

...of course, he’s also rather picky in that regard. Ryū may be an adult now, and she gets plenty of how-do-you-dos whenever they head into town. But none have really caught either of their eyes for someone to potentially be a proper suitor, let alone take the mantle Jiraiya will leave behind.

So, for now, here she stays, tending to all things domestic while Jiraiya handles the family business.

All this he muses over before she hands him a plate piled high with food. Another one of her many talents: the girl can cook up a storm.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm!”

The pair eat rather quickly. It’s about seven miles to town, and while it will take the hands most of the day to get the stock there, Jiraiya needs to precede them and handle all the arrangements first. They won’t be allowed to start boarding and counting the heads until everything else is taken care of.

So as soon as they’re finished, their coach is hitched to their pair of draft horses, Jiraiya taking the reins and driving toward town.

While no big city, it’s still the most sizeable plot of civilization in the area. A rural hub for the ranches, it houses all their most immediate needs. Stores of all kinds, several bars and taverns, liveries, blacksmiths, a lumber yard...you name it, it’s probably here. Anything else gets shipped in via the railway that cuts just alongside the town. It’s there they’ll load the cattle, and from there they’ll be shipped.

As they cross into city limits, Ryū sits up, taking in the sights. It’s always an exciting treat to come into town. Already she starts thinking up ways to spend the money she’s built up from her chores and errands. It’s been ages since she got a new dress...and Jiraiya already said he’d let her get some sweets. An adult she may be, but she never did grow out of her sweet tooth.

The temporary holding stockyard is where they head first, pulling up to hitch their wagon while Jiraiya handles the business end. Having heard all the same arrangements year after year, Ryū doesn’t bother accompanying him. Instead, she lingers outside, giving praising pats to their draft team...and slipping them a few sugar cubes she snatched from the breakfast table.

“Good boys,” she praises quietly. “Just a few hours, then we’ll head home.”

The train is already parked along the tracks, the engine gleaming in the sunlight. Ryū’s only ever ridden on one a few times - there’s nothing quite like flying over the tracks, covering the countryside in a fraction of the time it would take a horse. The machines are amazing! Smoke still billows from the smokestack, only freshly stopped as they await the arrival of the drive.

“Five hundred, you say?”

Glancing over as the conversation reaches her ears, Ryū watches the business exchange.

“Thereabouts. Give or take a few.”

“I see...well, with those new mines started and railways extended to the west, the call for rations is at an all-time high,” the stockyard master reports. “We’re seeing prices nearly double what they were last year!”

Double?! Ryū’s eyes go wide.

Jiraiya, too, is equally shocked. “Well...we’re always happy to keep the hard workers fed!”

“Indeed. Now, why don’t we head inside and get the majority of the paperwork out of the way? Of course, I can’t pay you until all heads are loaded and accounted for…”

“Yes, yes - we’ve got time. The rest we’ll sort out in the interim.”

Standing idly in a gentle breeze, Ryū mulls that over. With that money, they can finally build that new barn her father’s been considering. And of course the hands will get a bonus - which will in turn let their homestead grow. It’s going to be a good year.

Brightening at the thought, Ryū smiles warmly to herself, leaning against a wooden railing. To pass the time, she watches the other patrons of the railway station. It’s always a busy place as a bit of a hub, and it’s a treat to see all the different people.

Little does she know, she’s not the only one doing the watching.

Further down the platform, propped against the station building, a seemingly-innocuous cowboy idles. Ankles and arms crossed, a dark hat is tipped low over his face, almost making him appear to be dozing.

But he’s wide awake.

From the corner of his good eye, he watches the young woman carefully. As it just so happens, he overheard the cattle baron’s conversation with the stockyard master. Double pay for nearly five hundred head of cattle...quite the small fortune he’ll be amassing today.

It would be a shame if something were to happen to it…

A tidy little plot begins to form in his mind. While he can’t ever stick in one place too long, he has been scouting out this town during his stay. Jiraiya is a name he’s looked into: the largest producer of beef cattle in the county. A widower, left only with a daughter, unwed. According to anyone he’s overheard, the man’s a staple. A good, honorable rancher who brings prosperity to their county and the people he employs. Beloved by just about everyone. And while his daughter’s quite the prospect, no one’s dared to try and seek her out with a father as prominent as Jiraiya. She’s his pride and joy, after all. He’d do anything for her.

...anything.

One side of the man’s mouth curls in a smirk. The other, stiff with scars, only lifts half the distance. Looks like this will finally be the town he gets what he’s looking for.

But before he can starting putting plot into action, Ryū abandons her perch and heads inside. Head bowing further to avoid being seen, he watches her go, having chosen a spot right by the main entrance to wait. So when she asks her father to head further into town while they wait, he hears the entire conversation.

“I’m almost done here - why don’t you just wait for me, and we’ll go together?”

“Really? I don’t remember it ever being this quick before.”

“Well…”

“I’ll just be going to the general store. I can pick out my taffies until you get there!”

There’s a pause, Jiraiya clearly hesitating. “...are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine, Pa.”

“Well...all right then. But you stay there until I’m done.”

There’s no verbal answer, but a few moments later she reemerges onto the platform and heads back toward town.

After a short pause, the cowboy follows.

True to her word, she makes a straight path to the town’s main market. A pause to look in the window, then in she goes to peruse the goods inside.

Her pursuer...hesitates. How to handle it from here...follow her in? It’s close quarters...depending on how she behaves, it could go either way. Possibly less witnesses, but he can’t know that until heading in. And if someone sees him...well, he has seen a wanted poster or two of himself here in town.

Or, of his alias. Known only as Tobi, with the scars of his right side drawn in his mugshot. Half-blind in his left eye. All in all...one of the more interesting faces pinned up around town.

So far no one’s looked too closely to see the resemblance. But if he attracts too much attention, gets too close to someone who’s just a little too nosey, he might blow his cover. And then he’ll have to run, like he has from every town up until this one.

And he’d really rather avoid that.

Not wanting to look too idle, he does as she did, pretending to look over the goods in the shop’s window. He can’t see her from here...but at least he can also see it’s not too crowded inside. He should be able to slip in and out fairly easily.

Heading in, the door gives a chime as the bell over it rings, but no one looks toward him. He moseys through, trying to look nonchalant as he looks over random items.

Then he spots her. In a back corner, where the various candies sit in all glass jars. Now...how to lure her outside…

“Excuse me, miss…”

She turns, expression curious as he steps forward. Carefully showing as little of his face as he can manage, Tobi takes a few steps forward, spurs rattling. “...yes?”

“I’m afraid I’ve lamed my horse...do you happen to know where the livery is?”

“Oh…” Glancing aside to the window, she thinks for a moment. “Well...there’s one a few blocks from here, but it’s a little...understocked. If you want a better chance of finding a decent horseshoer or veterinarian, you’d probably best head to the one across town.”

“Where is it, exactly…?”

“Um...here, I’ll show you…” Leading him to the door, she heads outside and points. “See that tall building over yonder?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just north from there. Is the lameness very bad…?”

Ah, so she’s curious. Perfect. “Well, she’s just over here…” Across the street her leads her, to where his mare really is tethered. “Admittedly, we’ve been doing a lot of traveling as of late. Might have a rock up in her hoof.”

Patting the beast’s neck, Ryū looks to her sympathetically. “I’m sure they’ll get you sorted out…”

Well...it’s now or never. “...actually -”

“Ryū?”

The pair turn, and he swears in his mind. Jiraiya’s coming up the street, brow furrowed. Seems he’s rather suspicious.

As he should be.

“Pa! I was just -”

With a flick of his wrist, Obito draws his pistol from the holster at his hip, the other arm bringing Ryū to his front. “I’d stay right there if I were you,” he calls out, voice hoarse.

Immediately, both Ryū and Jiraiya stiffen, the latter slowly lifting his arms. “...please...don’t hurt my daughter.”

“Oh, I have no intention to. So long as you do exactly as I say.” Barrel still pointed to her temple, Obito shifts his grip, hearing the woman heave a shaking breath. “...now, if you want to see your daughter back home where she belongs, safe and sound...I’m going to need you to bring me five thousand dollars.”

“What -?!”

“Ah ah - no arguing. You’ll bring the money to Rattler Canyon in one week. You’ll come alone, and unarmed...and I’ll have no reason to hurt her.”

A mixture of emotions flicker over the baron’s face. Anger, fear, worry, and begrudging acceptance. “...fine,” he growls.

“Good. Now...stay right where -”

“Stop!”

Glancing to the other corner, Obito tightens his grip. Bearing a rifle, the town sheriff points it directly at them.

...you’ve got to be kidding. He knows that man. Kakashi Hatake...and with him, a woman: must be his deputy. She too holds a firearm aloft, glancing to Kakashi warily.

“Don’t shoot!” Jiraiya begs. “You might hit my daughter!”

“I’d listen to the old man,” Obito insists, the brim of his hat still low over his face. “...wouldn’t want an innocent getting hurt due to you being rash, now would we, Kakashi…?”

Hearing his name makes the man hesitate, and he slowly lowers his weapon, the deputy doing the same. As he does, Obito forces Ryū atop the back of the horse before swinging himself into the saddle.

“One week!” Obito calls out as he spurs his mount into a gallop, cutting through town to the nearest road out.

Behind him, several citizens run to stand with the sheriff, including Jiraiya. And in a burst of frustration, Kakashi lifts his rifle and fires.

The bullet grazes Obito’s side, earning a cry as Ryū squeals in surprise.

“Don’t!” Jiraiya bellows, knocking the gun down. “If you shoot my daughter, I’ll…!”

“Kakashi,” his partner counsels, a hand on his shoulder.

Expression bitter, he shrugs out from her hold and heads back toward his office.

Time to plan.

Not letting up his pace, Obito clings a hand to his wound, blood dribbling through his fingers and trailing to the ground. Thankfully it’s not far to his hiding place.

By early evening they reach it: a shack just outside an abandoned mine. Taking the mare around back, Obito dismounts with a pained grunt, hauling Ryū down and tethering his mount. “C’mon.” He drags her by a hand inside, barring the door and going to start a fire in the hearth.

Unsure what else to do, Ryū just...stands near the back door.

“Don’t even think about running,” Obito then demands, pointing to her and earning a flinch. “You won’t get far. And I’d hate to have to shoot you.”

She just gives a shaking nod, watching as he shuffles around the shack. “...um…”

“What?”

“Your...your wound -?”

“What about it?”

“Would you like me to...dress it for you?”

That earns a pause. She wants to patch him up? Why? Eyeing her suspiciously, he debates for a long minute before grunting in agreement. He collapses onto a stool, wincing as the injury jostles.

“Here...you should remove your shirt -”

“No.”

The blunt interruption startles her. “...but, I need to -?”

Cutting her off with a curt sigh, Obito glances around before doing as asked. Taking off his hat, he then carefully shrugs out of his garment, baring his torso.

As he expected, her eyes go wide.

All along his right side are scars: twisted, ugly things that disappear under the hem of his trousers. As she stares, he in turn glowers at the floor, watching her from the corner of his eye.

Once the shock passes, she slowly wilts. Sympathy colors her gaze. “...are those…?”

“Burns.”

“...how -?”

“None of your business. Are you gonna dress the wound, or not?”

“I’ll, um...I’ll need some water -?”

“There’s some there, in the pitcher.”

After another hesitation, Ryū fetches it, pouring some in an old pot that she hangs over the fire. Once it boils, she hauls it back over, dipping a rag that looks halfway clean into the steaming liquid. “...this’ll sting.”

He just grunts in reply...and then tenses with another as she carefully mops at the wound.

She pauses, looking to him worriedly before going on. “...it’s not too deep.”

No reply.

Once she’s gotten the bleeding stopped, she digs around and finds more cloth, washing and wringing it out. Only once it’s dry does she hold it to the graze, binding it in place with longer strips. “...try not to move too much. You’ll open it up again.”

He gives no indication he’s going to obey, instead moving to put his shirt back on.

“...I should wash that before the blood stains.”

“I don’t care if it -”

“Well either way, you shouldn’t put it back on until it’s clean.”

Obito gives her an incredulous look. Is she really arguing with him? Being in the position she’s in?

“Do you have something else to wear?”

“...yeah.”

“Then put that on. I’ll wash this.”

Still taken aback, Obito’s too surprised by her gall to argue. He just watches her take the garment and sit to start working at the mess in the water she’s already boiled. Only after a long pause does he stand up and fetch another shirt.

What a strange woman.

“Have you got a needle and thread?”

“...do I look like the type to keep needle and thread?”

“There’s a hole from the bullet - I just thought I’d -”

“All right, look.” Obito holds up a hand. “...you need to just sit and be quiet until your father brings me the money. The only reason you’re here is for ransom. Not to…” He gestures vaguely. “...do any of that.”

“Well if I’m going to be stuck here, I might as well have something to do,” she counters, one knee other the other as arms fold.

“Well I ain’t got any needle and thread. So leave it alone.”

She gives him a pout that he ignores, instead going to kneel by the fire for something to tend to.

This is going to be a long week…

They have a basic stew that night, the pair of them eating silently as rain starts to pour outside. All the while, Obito watches her suspiciously, not trusting her not to do something stupid. But Ryū just keeps her eyes trained on her bowl.

Or so he thinks. Looking down to take a bite of his own, she asks, “...are you blind?”

“What?”

“Your eye. The...left.” Her head tilts curiously at him.

“...what makes you think that?”

“You turn your head to the left to look more with your right.”

Obito scowls. “...partly. But that doesn’t mean I can’t aim.”

“...I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

“Just don’t want you getting any ideas.”

She heaves a curt breath. “Look, mister…?”

“Call me Tobi.”

“...Tobi. I’m not stupid. I get it. I stay here a week, you get your money, and I get to go home. We’re miles from town, I’d never make it anywhere before you caught me. I’m willing to stay put, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to pass the time somehow.”

“Well I ain’t here to make friends with you,” he insists.

“People can talk. Doesn’t make them friends. You’re still a person, right? It’s just conversation.”

He doesn’t reply, just going back to his stew. Once it’s done and cleaned up, he points to a bedroll. “Sleep.”

“...what about -?”

“Just...sleep, girl.”

“I have a name, you know. And I’m hardly a girl.”

Obito just gives a look, staring until she acquiesces and lies down. Taking his pistol and donning his hat, he heads out into the rain to do a short patrol.

Last thing he wants is to get snuck up on.

Once that’s done, he sits in a rickety chair in front of the door, letting himself doze. The next morning sees him jolting awake. Ryū sits atop the bedroll, looking his way at the movement.

A hand drags down his face with a sigh. Six more days.

“I should change your bandages.”

“Why?”

“Do you want that wound to get septic? You have to keep it clean, and the bandages fresh.”

“What, you a doctor?” Obito asks as he stands with a grunt.

“No...but my mother was learned in medicine. I picked up a few things before she was killed. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“Which means you’ve been lucky.”

“Girl, you -”

“Stop calling me girl! My name is Ryū!”

“I couldn’t care less what your name is -”

“Well I care that you know.”

He scowls. “You sure got a mouth on your for a woman.”

“Pa says I got that from my ma. She didn’t take anything lying down, either. Look...if you die out here because of a bad wound, I’m stuck here alone. So let me change the bandages.”

Lord almighty he’s never met such a woman until now. “Fine!”

More boiled water later, she peels off the previous day’s wrappings. “...well, it’s a bit swollen, but not inflamed. Seems you’re doing well so far.” She then goes about cleaning out any built up blood and wiping down the edges where it leaked.

“...so how come your ma knew medicine?”

“...what?��

Obito gives a glance. “...you said she knew medicine.”

“...she was a midwife,” Ryū explains slowly, seemingly surprised he’s bothering to ask. “But since doctors are rare out this far, she taught herself anything else she could pick up. A lot of ranch hands get gored, or shot, or trampled. She had plenty of practice. It’s how she met my father.” Done cleaning, she presses on a new cloth and starts to wrap. “He got gored something awful in the chest by a longhorn. Folks swore he’d die, but she patched him up. Took ages, and he’s got a scar to prove it, but...he healed up. Once he did, he asked her to marry him. Then along came me.”

He watches her work, then glances up as she goes quiet. “...how’d she get killed?”

“...bandits. A group were trying to make off with part of the herd. Pa was in town with some of the hands, so Ma took the rifle and tried to scare them off. They shot her, right in the gut. She...was dead by the time they got back. I was off playing in the creek down in a gulch, never heard a thing…”

“...hn…”

“...so, it’s just been me and Pa. But we get on all right.”

Breakfast is half-stale bread, no butter to be had. He’ll admit...he wasn’t expecting to stay here this long, let alone with company. He’s going to need more supplies…

“Stay here.”

“Not like I have much choice.”

This time he takes a rifle, mounting his mare and heading off past the mine. Hopefully he can shoot something enough to cook up. They’re far enough from town he should have decent luck. After a patient few hours, he happens upon a small sounder of wild boars. A good shot wounds a fat female, which doesn’t get far before dropping. Thrown over his mount, he brings it back to the shack to gut and skin.

By midday he’s got a second stew going.

“...can I ask you something?”

“If you have to.”

“...those burns...how did you get them?”

“I thought I told you they were none of your business?”

“Er, yeah. I just thought -”

“What, because you told me your mother sob story I’d tell you one of mine? I told you, we’re not friends.”

“Well what else do you have to talk about?”

Sighing, Obito scowls at the pot he’s stirring. “...I was caught in a fire when I was young.”

“...oh…”

“Church-run orphanage I was in caught fire during a storm. Lightning strike. A few other kids died. I was burnt so bad they assumed I’d not last.” Chewing his cheek, his jaw then sets. “...so they buried me.”

“What?! Alive?!”

“Shallow grave. I was unconscious, woke up...panicked, and clawed my way out. In pain, confused, had no idea where I was...startled the hell out of a couple’a graverobbers. They thought I was some devil, but...then realized what happened. Took me back to their camp, washed me off...and tried to keep me alive.”

Ryū stares, awestruck.

For a long moment he’s silent, still stirring. “...somehow I pulled through. Had nowhere else to go, so...I stayed with the gang. Eventually rose up through it over the years until I was at the head. Then...things started going to hell. We were dropping like flies, until it was just me. I had nothing else to do, nowhere to go, and a bounty on my head. So...I started looking for an easy job. One last heist to get enough to pay it off, and then...try to start over.”

Understanding lights her eyes. “...that’s why you want Pa’s money...to pay your bounty?”

A nod.

She goes quiet, lost in thought.

“Here, it’s done.”

She accepts the bowl wordlessly. Only after a long silence does she softly muse, “So...those outlaws and thieves had more faith and effort in their hearts than the church.”

“...not everything’s as you’d expect it to be.”

“No...no it’s not.”

From there, things proceed in a fashion Obito almost dares to call normal. Every morning he gets his bandages changed, they eat, they chat...it’s not like there’s much else to do as they wait for the week to run out.

He’s not sure if she’s just losing any initial tension she had, but Ryū no longer snaps at him. Since he shot the boar, she’s been quieter, softer...part of him assumes it’s just pity for his story. But...she doesn’t tread on eggshells like he expected her to. Surely if that was her motivation, she’d be all weepy and doting. But she just treats him...normally.

“Ow!”

“Sorry! The wound’s binding a bit to the cloth…” Carefully peeling off the bandages a few days later, she looks it over. “...I think we should leave it uncovered for a while. Let it breathe and start to form a scab. Just be careful to keep it clean.”

“Not exactly planning to go roll around in the mud.”

“I’d have very stern words for you if you did.”

Watching her gather up the cloths to wash them yet again, Obito then looks down to the wound. True to her word, it still looks good - it’s been healing nicely. It should be stable enough to go to Rattler Canyon to meet Jiraiya. Then it’s just a short ride to the capital to pay off his bounty, and he’ll be a free man.

...he almost can’t picture what that will be like. It’s been so long...

Carefully feeling around the edge of the graze, he then looks back to Ryū, head turned to better see her with his good eye. Her hair’s tied up in a messy bun with spare ribbon, sleeves rolled back as she does her best to get the blood out of the fabric. Her posture’s lax, a forearm lifting to take sweat from her brow.

It looks so...oddly domestic. Normal. For a moment, he almost forgets their circumstances. The reason why they’re holed up in this little shack together to begin with.

...but he can’t evade reality for long.

Soon the clean cloths are hung to dry, the bloodstained water dumped out the rear door. Doing what little tidying she can do to keep busy, Ryū then idles, looking around thoughtfully.

“...pretty sure I saw blackberries just to the south of here.”

That catches her attention. “...really?”

“It’d make a nice change of pace. If you feel like grabbing some.”

Silvers blink before she glances around, taking up a spare pot. “...I’ll be back.”

“Hn.”

In the meantime, Obito takes to sitting by the window, keeping watch back toward town. No one’s discovered them...yet. He knows waiting this long is pushing his luck, but he already designated a time. And there’s no cover in Rattler Canyon.

Nor does he want to run into a trap.

An hour passes, then two...and he starts to feel...agitated. She should have been back by now. Why isn’t she back? She didn’t try to run off, did she? Maybe someone spotted her, or something jumped her. Humans aren’t aren’t the only beings that love blackberries, after all.

The longer he sits and stews, the more convinced he is that something’s wrong, and the more...jittery he gets. Not worried, he just...needs to keep his leverage.

“...damn it!”

Getting to his feet, he takes up his rifle, moving to the door and pulling it open -

- to reveal a very startled Ryū just moving to head back inside. “Whoa!”

Just as taken aback, he looks at her, then to the pot full of berries, then to her. “...where the hell have you been?”

“I...went to get the -?”

“You were out there for ages!”

“Sorry! It’s hard to keep track of time out here!”

Breathing curtly through his nose, he about-faces and replaces the rifle. “...we should eat.”

“...okay.” Stepping in and shutting the door, she pauses before offering, “...I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

For a moment she considers countering him, but...in the end, lets the subject rest.

He’s unusually quiet for the rest of the night, turning in early after Ryū wraps his wound to keep it clean overnight. Just...get through tomorrow. The last day. After that, they’ll go complete the deal, and he can pay off the bounty.

She’ll be out of his hair...and he out of hers.

Sleep is fitful...not that he ever really sleeps that well. Early in the morning, he jerks awake first with a sharp breath, taking a moment to regain his balance before forcing himself to relax.

Ryū’s still sleeping, curled on her side, breath slow and even. He can’t help but envy that. With nothing else to do without waking her, he just...watches her breathe. Slowly, the tension from his blunt awakening eases out. Something about seeing someone else so calm makes...him feel calm.

But it doesn’t last for long, the baron’s daughter stirring as he glances aside, not wanting to be caught staring. “Phew...short night.”

“...yeah.”

As always, they start with the unwrapping of his bandages. Doing so slowly as she knees by his chair, Ryū peers under before gently peeling away the last layer. “Wow...it looks so much better! I think the air did it some good. We should let it breathe again today.”

“Mm.”

Wadding up the cloths, Ryū sets them aside before giving the wound one last look, expression focused as she examines the healing tissue.

Obito, all the while, watches her.

Seemingly satisfied, she glances up...then does a double-take as she catches his staring. “...Tobi?”

...shit.

Like some bizarre trap, he can’t seem to look away. She also holds his gaze, her own eyes flickering between his with unreadable expressions. Leaning toward her, he waits for her to back away, look aside...something to stop his advance!

But she doesn’t. Instead, curiosity turns to a demure hesitation, slipping and giving his lips a glance.

His own look isn’t so subtle.

Lids flutter closed, the distance between them nearly vanished. Then -

- with a crash, the door flies inward, top hinge giving out as it flops haphazardly. The pair break apart, both looking up in shock. In through the entry come both the sheriff and his deputy, each with weapons drawn. Behind them, a pack of dogs bark loudly, only adding to the chaos.

Obito’s heart leaps to his throat - Kakashi risked shooting her once, he can’t -!

“No!”

Struggling to her feet, Ryū puts herself between them, arms spread and stance firm.

“Miss, I need you to step aside!”

“And I said no! Lower your weapon, sir!”

“Kakashi!” the deputy warns, giving him a harsh glance.

Barrel still aimed at her chest, Kakashi shouts over his shoulder, “Leave it, Kumiko - I said, step aside!”

“Not until you put your firearm down! He’s unarmed, and injured! You hardly need to shove a gun in his face!” There’s a defiant edge to her expression, greys steely as she stares the sheriff down. “...besides,” she then goes on, tone stuttering as she improvises. “There...there’s been no crime!”

“...what?”

“I - I went willingly! He didn’t kidnap me, I went of my own free will! There’s nothing to arrest him for!”

“Young lady, there’s an outstanding warrant for his arrest,” Kumiko explains calmly. “Even if you did go willingly...we still have to arrest him.”

“I...I’m going to pay off his bounty!”

“Oh for crying out loud - get out of the way!”

“Put the gun down, Kakashi.”

Standing, Obito puts a hand on Ryū’s shoulder, drawing her gaze. Glancing somberly to her, Obito then looks calmly to Kakashi.

Dark eyes go round in shock. Slowly, the rifle lowers, the sheriff looking his quarry over thoroughly, hardly daring to believe what he sees. “...Obito…?”

On each side, both women glance about uncertainly. They...know each other…?

“How…? But, I thought -?”

“Thought I was dead? You and everyone else. Turns out I’m harder to kill than most people think.”

“Wait...was Kakashi there…?” Ryū asks, connecting the dots.

“Yeah...he was another orphan in the same building. One of the lucky ones. And my best friend.”

“I can’t believe...your body was…!”

“I know how it was. Funny what a little effort and care will do. I was given more of a second chance by a couple of graverobbers than those bastards who ran that orphanage. I didn’t matter to them. Disposable. The law might hate the people who break it...but they can be a hell of a lot better people than most give ‘em credit for.”

“Please, sheriff…” Ryū’s hands clasp at her front. “To- ...Obito’s not a bad person. Least...I don’t think so.”

“A few days of treating someone well doesn’t make up for years of lawbreaking,” Kakashi reminds her. “He still has debts to pay to society.”

“But -!”

“Miss,” the deputy, Kumiko, cuts in gently. “...we need to get him back to town. The warrant still stands. From there...well, we’ll see. But right now we need to do our jobs. And we need to get you back to your father. He’s worried sick.”

“It’s all right, Ryū.” Obito’s hand atop her shoulder squeezes slightly. “...maybe I was stupid to think this would work.”

“I don’t -!”

“Let’s get going. Kumiko, you take miss Ryū. I’ll handle Obito.”

Pleas falling on deaf ears, Ryū’s put atop Kumiko’s horse, Obito’s hands bound as he rides his own, watched closely by Kakashi.

“So, how’d you find me, anyway?” Obito can’t help but ask.

The sheriff nods to his pack. “Followed your blood trail. Lost it a few times after the rain, but eventually we made it to the end.”

“...well I’ll be damned.”

Midday sees them back in town, crowds stopping to watch the procession. And out of the sheriff’s building comes Jiraiya, wasting no time in simply lifting his daughter from the saddle. “Oh thank God,” he murmurs, bringing her close.

“I’m fine, Pa. Really. He didn’t hurt me. He just -”

“Take him in and start filing his papers,” Kakashi orders, Kumiko making to lead Obito in to the jail adjoined to the station.

Frantic, Ryū tugs on the front of her father’s shirt. “Pa, listen to me - he’s not a bad man!”

“What?”

As quickly as she can, Ryū summarizes all Obito told her during their stint in the mining shack. “He wants to change! He just can’t with that bounty hanging over his head! It’s the only reason he took me. He was desperate! If he paid it off, if he could make his own way -!”

Mouth set in a grim line, Jiraiya considers her for a long moment, looking up as Obito’s led up the stairs to the jailhouse. “...wait a minute.”

The remaining trio pause.

“...how much is that man’s bounty?”

Kakashi’s face goes slack. “...sir, I wouldn’t -”

“How...much?”

After a pause, the sheriff sighs. “...two hundred and fifty dollars, sir.”

Thinking, Jiraiya glances back to his daughter. “...are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. This isn’t a life that should be thrown away, Pa...he deserves a second chance.”

Sighing heavily, Jiraiya takes out his billfold. “...mind if we handle this inside?”

Wilted, Kakashi replies, “...yes sir.”

“Should I…?” Kumiko gestures to Obito, hands still bound and awaiting her to guide him into jail.

Kakashi just waves a hand, following the cattle baron into the station.

Kumiko and Obito eye each other warily...and then the deputy cuts his ropes. “Don’t. Move.”

Rubbing at his wrists, Obito glances aside as Ryū steps up beside him. “...what are you doing?”

“What I think is right.”

Looking her over with an unreadable expression, they then both look as Jiraiya and Kakashi reemerge. “...bounty’s paid,” the sheriff offers awkwardly. After a pause, staring at the board with wanted posters, he reaches up and tears down Obito’s.

As though it finally sinks in, the prior outlaw slowly brightens.

Joining them, Jiraiya glances to his daughter before eyeing Obito warily. “...well son, seems you owe me two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I...I don’t have any -”

“Which means you need a job.” Arms fold over the baron’s barrel chest, expression shifting to one of consideration. “...got any experience working cattle?”

“...er...well, no...but -”

“I’m sure the other hands can teach you. At least I know you can ride. For now, you’ve got two working arms and two working legs. That means you can do a bit of basic labor until you know what you’re doing.”

Obito blinks. “...are...are you giving me a job?”

“I’m ensuring your debt gets paid,” Jiraiya clarifies, a hint of a smile cutting through his stern look. “And of course you’ll add to it, what with boarding, meals, supplies...so you’ll have to work pretty hard to make up the difference.”

Beside him, Ryū beams. “...think that’s fair?”

After a pause, Obito gives a single huff of a laugh. “...I suppose it is.”

“Then we’d best get home. You’ve got work to do.”

.oOo.

Alllll righty, day five is done! And is the longest one so far xD Featuring Ryū, @abyssaldespair‘s Obito, and even a wee cameo of KakaKumi with @yukaikokoro‘s OC Kumiko ;3 Cuz I promised her I would! I’ve had this verse / plot in my head for like...months, just been too busy to write it! And uh...it might be partial inspiration for the ship week as a whole >w> Never really written a Western AU before, but HEE it was fun! Helps I know a fair bit about it, given I kinda sorta live it x3 Anywhooo, Meg I don’t think I have to gush about our ship too much - I do that enough, lmao. But uh...here’s another very random AU for them to exist in! And Kakashi and his deputy, huehue~ But uh...yeah! Day five down, and now to go work on day six while I can!

#narutoocxcanonshipweek #noxcsw #abyssaldespair #suigin ryū #uchiha obito #blood //#gun //#alcohol //#vulgarity //#stockades and stagecoaches [ au ]

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peckhampeculiar · 5 years

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All hands on decks

TENDAI CHAGWEDA ACHIEVED HER DREAM OF BECOMING A DJ – AND NOW SHE’S ALL ABOUT HELPING OTHERS DO THE SAME.

The inspiring Peckham resident explains why she’s passionate about working with those who might struggle to access the DJ world otherwise

WORDS: EMMA FINAMORE PHOTO: LIMA CHARLIE

Many people consider their career mission over once they reach their dream job. But Tendai Chagweda isn’t like most people. The Peckham-born and raised DJ achieved her goal – being able to play music to other people for a living – and has now turned her hand to helping others achieve their own DJ dreams too.

Her Inspiring DJs school offers a wide range of workshops and classes, to help teach an even wider range of people all sorts of skills related to DJing. Through sessions at Mountview theatre academy and Peckham Levels, as well as classes in and around south London and up in Dalston, Tendai teaches everything from the basics on the decks, to how to operate as a professional DJ. Her students range from six to 50 years old.

It seems apt that Tendai is helping people achieve their musical ambitions in Peckham, having lived here her whole life – on Sumner Road – and beginning her DJ career in south London in 2007, playing sets at places like The Cube in Camberwell, and clubs in Streatham and London Bridge, spinning her beloved South African house music under her moniker, Petite DJ.

Now she’s DJed at places like the Shard, but it was here in Peckham that her love for music began.

“I was always raving; Lazerdrome in Peckham was my first experience of that,” she recalls, of the now-closed nightclub at the top of Rye Lane. Lazerdrome was open from 1988 to 2005, playing host to drum ’n’ bass, house, garage and jungle parties, as well as regular club night Innersense and DJ sets from the likes of Kemistry & Storm – who were huge in the ’90s UK drum ’n’ bass scene.

“I used to grab the mic, basically. Me and my girls who all grew up in Peckham were the ‘Dancehall Massive’,” Tendai laughs, remembering a chant she and her friends would shout. “We’d get the mic from the famous DJs.”

When a good friend who was also from Peckham offered to teach her to man the decks herself – rather than wait for someone to do it for her – Tendai was unsure at first.

“I wanted to be front of stage. Back then it was all about the person on the mic,” she says. “I wanted to be out there.”

She eventually changed her mind though and took some DJ courses, and although she gained the technical abilities required, she says she felt completely on her own as soon as the classes were over, with no guidance on how to use her new skills: “They took my money and then said, ‘Bye’. There was no aftercare whatsoever.”

Even though Tendai went on to establish herself as a DJ for clubs and events, specialising in South African house and even being interviewed on BBC World News about the rise of African house music in London, she never forgot that feeling of being left to fend for herself.

That’s what drove her to establish Inspiring DJs in 2016, bringing on board another impressive teacher – the award-winning DJ Smasherelly, who specialises in scratch and drop classes and is the tour DJ for big names like Stefflon Don and Estelle.

The school held its first classes at the PemPeople shop on Peckham High Street in November 2017 – “Nicholas [Okwulu] was the first person to believe in me,” Tendai smiles – and one of the first enquiries that came through was from the mother of an autistic child.

“He was an absolute pleasure,” says Tendai. “These people are excluded from society, but they have super powers! I refuse to call them ‘disabilities’. I’ve been attracting loads of people with super powers ever since.”

As well as a range of ages, Inspiring DJs is opening up the DJ world to those who might struggle to access it otherwise: people with ADHD, autism and dyslexia, as well as those from pupil referral units and foster care. What many teachers might see as hurdles in their pupils, Tendai embraces as strengths.

“For them, they love the encouragement and they love the autonomy,” she says of students with autism or ADHD. “Once I’ve taught them the basics, I just let them get creative without direction, but with lots of encouragement and motivation. It’s not difficult though because they genuinely have a super power, they get it [DJing] in a completely different way and style to other people. When I try to explain things to people without those super powers, they often overthink it, bring in too much logic.

“For some of the mums it’s a breath of fresh air seeing their children use their creativity in a way that is encouraged. It’s beautiful when you gain the trust of the mums. If they leave to go do their own thing, I record classes so they can see what we’ve done – it’s great when you see the parent looking back on what their child has achieved, and they’re like, ‘That’s my child!’

“I remember one mum [during a class delivered to foster care providers] just came up and hugged me – I guess she’d never seen her child in that capacity, being so enthusiastic.”

Working with young people from pupil referral units has been equally as revelatory. “They said they’ve never seen the kids so engaged ever,” says Tendai. “One of the kids kept on stopping us to ask when we were going to be doing it in schools. To hear they’d never been that engaged before, that touched my soul.”

Tendai describes how quickly pupils can pick up DJ skills. “One of the children, I call him my little David Rodigan [a reference to the iconic reggae and dancehall DJ] – within half an hour he was mixing, he’d never touched decks before,” she says. She also talks about how DJing is becoming more popular within schools: it’s starting to be taken seriously as a career choice.

This is where the other side of Inspiring DJs comes in: offering the “soft skills” required to build a business as a working DJ. Tendai offers coaching sessions for over-16s at offices she has in Vauxhall’s impressive Tintagel House, helping them plan for the future. “I find out what their dreams are, and teach them to dream big,” she says. “I basically do life-coaching with them, asking them, ‘Who are your dream promoters?’ and ‘What’s your idea of a dream salary?’”

Tendai tells how one of her students has gone on to work with some of his dream people in different capacities – proof that her holistic approach to DJ training really works.

Arguably, her success as a teacher is also down to the fact that she loves music. When talking about South African house, that passion really shines through: “A dream set for me would be sort of ancestral house – a lot of drums and chanting. A lot of the time the music we’re listening to, we don’t have a clue what they’re saying, but the beat and the rhythm is so entrancing. It’s hard to explain, but it’s when people just become one. No one knows what they’re saying but everyone feels it.”

This passion and emotion comes through in her selections and mixes: a fan got in touch with Tendai just a few days before we meet, enthusing about a mix CD she’d given them years earlier.

It’s an enthusiasm Tendai wants to pass on to everyone: as well as one-to-one classes, Inspiring DJs offers group sessions (for example parent and child, groups of friends) as well as fun sessions for birthdays and team away-days for local businesses.

Brimming with ideas, she talks about recent Netflix series The Umbrella Academy, and how she’s creating a DJ version of this in south London, acting as a platform to help her students get bookings. Southwark Council has already booked Inspiring DJs to play at an event, and instead of Petite DJ, it’ll be her young protégés taking to the decks.

She says real-life jobs like this will help them become better DJs, completing their training in the real world: “They’ll become more engaged, knowing what to play and how to keep their audience engaged.”

All this activity hasn’t gone unnoticed. Last year Tendai was nominated for Female Personality of the Year at the Zimbabwe Achievers Awards, a celebration of talent, art, business, expression and achievement in the Zimbabwean community (Tendai’s roots are in Zimbabwe), and she was even invited to Downing Street to talk to the prime minister’s business adviser about her work in local communities.

“The bread of that conversation was all about university,” she remembers of the Downing Street meeting. “But I said, ‘Sorry I’ve just got to interject here, I’m from the inner city, I personally haven’t gone to uni.’

“It’s about getting them to understand that not everyone wants to go to uni and not everyone can afford to go to uni, but they’ve still got the ability to do whatever they want.”

Tendai is living proof of this. She has achieved her DJ dream without a degree, and also teaches social media at London South Bank University.

“I don’t have a degree or any experience in universities, but I can still do it,” she says, reflecting the can-do, sky’s-the-limit ethos of Inspiring DJs. To all aspiring DJs out there, she says: “Come on down, we’ll show you the way.”

#featuredpost

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rayraywrites · 5 years

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Chapter 5: Everything but the baseball

Prompt: Free Time - Day off/Vacation

Characters: Sawamura Eijun, Kuramochi Youichi, Kawakami Norifumi, Furuya Satoru

Rating: General Audiences

Total Word Count: 4105

AO3

Summary:

“Don’t watch the clock; do what it does. Keep going” — Sam Levenson

A day of for him doesn’t mean he sleeps in. It just means he does things a bit different.

Many people found it difficult to wake up before the sun. Something about how their minds were never truly functional till the sun was already up in the sky. And when they were forced to be up that early, they grumbled and whined.

But for him it was as simple as breathing. Waking up with, or even before the sun, had been a habit of his since his childhood days. You couldn’t grow up as a farm boy and be expected to sleep in. He would wake up before the sun in order to find that ten minutes alone time before his chores would start. So coming to Seidou, where practice didn’t begin till 5:30 am? Most days he was awake, waiting for his alarm to go off. Kuramochi-senpai had made it very clear that he wasn’t allowed to leave the room when the sun hadn’t even begun shining.

But some days, he got the opportunity to sneak out and be by himself so early in the morning. Carefully slipping his shoes on, and muffling the hinges with his towel so that no noise could be heard, he stepped out of the room. The minute he would make it out of the border of the dorms, his careful saunter immediately changed into a free-spirited run, sprinting at break-neck speed to appreciate the chill of the morning air and the quietness of the still half-asleep world. Making it to the field, he dropped his things in the corner of the steps, a water bottle still filled from the previous night’s planning, alongside his phone and keys.

Dropping to the ground, he began his morning stretches. Feeling the pleasurable pull in the back of his thighs as he stretched his legs out, he let out a happy groan. Reaching out to touch his toes, both individual legs, and together, he could feel his body awakening alongside his mind.

Standing up, he began his morning run at a slow jog, wanting to avoid any injuries caused by being overly excited. As his pace quickened, he allowed his mind to wander to the coach’s announcement from the previous night.

Kataoka Kantoku’s face was as impassive as ever, but there had been a slight upturn to his lips that belied his pride. “Good job everyone on our win today, the game was extremely well played.”

They had won the practice game, completely one-sided. The only reason the game had gone the full nine innings was for the sake of the game being a practice one – the more practice the better after all.

“So because of your good work, and with training week beginning soon, I’m ordering you all to take a day off. That means, tomorrow, there will be no practicing of baseball. Running and weight training will be allowed, but even then only for a minimal amount.”

It had felt as if the coach’s eyes had been locked on him during the whole announcement, pulling a bright blush to his face while a scowl grew on his lips. Even worse, it hadn’t escaped his teammates awareness either, for they all laughed at his expense, knowing how easily he would over-practice in his zeal.

So all he could do now was run a little, and not even to his full extent because he knew that coach would be made aware somehow. He wouldn’t be able to pitch at all tomorrow if he pushed himself too hard. With a soft whine, he slowed his run back down again, and changed his direction to head back towards the steps. Picking up his water bottle, he pulled off the lid, taking a large gulp of water. He could feel some of it spill out onto his chin, and instead run down his neck as cold rivulets. With a loud gasp, he finished swallowing and reached up to wipe the extra water with the back of his hand.

His phone showed that it was only 5:45 am, so he doubted that anyone would be awake yet, not with a day off. So his walk back towards the dorms was quiet, not wanting to disturb anyone’s sleep, even if he was full of energy. His room was still dim as he slowly eased open the door, the sun having not had a chance to seep into the room just yet.

Walking over to the window, he shifted the plants on the sill so that when he was finally allowed to open the curtains, the ones requiring the most sun would be at the forefront. With a gentle smile, he stuck a finger into the soil of his cactus, checking if it would need any water since it had been a few weeks since he’d watered it. Realizing the soil was a bit dry, he went to pull his finger out of the dirt, and accidentally brushed it against the sharp spines of the plant. With a wince, he pulled his hand back towards his chest, cradling the finger gently.

Seeing that his hand was fine, he laughed slightly and leaned down to pick up the watering can. With practiced ease, he gave every plant that needed water some nourishment, and a little extra love for his beloved sunflower. He had begun humming as he always did when working with plants, smiling to himself as the plants seemed to waken under his careful fingers.

–

Unbeknownst to himself, his humming had quickly transitioned into actual singing. When he lost himself to his plants and music, it was hard to pull him out of it.

“Imagine all the people. Living life in peace~”

While Asada had taken the day off as an excuse to go visit his family, Kuramochi was still asleep in the room, and found himself waking up to Sawamura’s singing. And like clockwork, every time he’d stumbled upon the singing, he found himself blushing even though his eyes continued to track every single movement of the pitcher’s. He had, however, winced slightly when he saw that Sawamura had hurt his hand, but luckily it was the right hand and it didn’t seem that any real injury had occurred.

Eventually, Sawamura was done and the singing stopped. Kuramochi immediately closed his eyes, working on bringing his breathing back to normal, as if he was asleep still.

–

With that done, he headed back to his bed, and stripped of his practice clothes. With none of his roommates awake, he wasn’t in as much of a rush as usual, though he was also slow, because it was only after he took his shorts and shirt off that he realized he wasn’t sure if he had any clean regular clothes left. Luckily, he still had one of the baseball tees Wakana had bought him for his birthday last year – he’d outgrown it slightly, but for a day off it was fine. Stretching his hands upwards to the sky, he felt the last bit of strain in his back from the day before’s game disappear. Slipping on the shirt, and a pair of khakis, he relaxed a little.

Because the day was so beautiful, he decided to go outside to read his manga, rather than stay cooped up inside. Reaching for the books shoved underneath his bed, he managed to find the latest volume of Kimi ni Todoke that he’d borrowed from Haruno. Kanemaru had been breathing down his neck for the past few days to get his hands on it as well, so he had to finish it today.

Straightening up from his bed, he accidentally made eye contact with Kuramochi, who had apparently woken while he had been puttering around the room. Curiously, his senpai’s face was bright red, but questioning Kuramochi-senpai was never a good idea. So with a bright smile, he greeted him.

“Good morning Kuramochi-senpai! The sun is shining very brightly today, would you like to join me for some reading or something outside?”

His smile dimmed a little at the glare he received from Kuramochi, and then the sharp hit on his head made him scowl. Backing away from the bed, he went to pick up his things and stomp out, but stopped by the sheepish voice calling him back.

“Ugh...sorry Bakamura. It’s just your voice is too loud and it’s too early.”

He whirled back around to glare at his senpai, who only laughed loudly before speaking again.

“Kyahaha, don’t make such a pouty face baka. You go enjoy your day reading your stupid shoujo manga, and I’ll enjoy my day with video games.” Kuramochi waved his hand dismissively towards the door.

With a huff, he headed towards the door, throwing one last annoyed glance back towards Kuramochi before reaching to open the door. Just as he was about to slip out, the shortstop called out one last comment that had him spluttering and blushing – both from embarrassment and anger.

“Oh by the way, Bakamura you’re singing isn’t half bad, but maybe not so loud when others are trying to sleep alright? Kyahaha!”

Grumbling about stupid senpais under his breath, he ran out of the room, back towards the field. But this time, rather than going down the steps fully, he simply sat himself down on the side of the steps, pressing himself into the grooves of the cement and hill. Slipping on some earbuds, and pulling out his manga, he easily lost himself in the pages.

Crying at Sawako’s diligent attempts at making friends with everyone in her class, her growing friendship with Kurumi, and everyone’s relationship struggles. He grinned brightly at Kazehaya developing relationship with his father, and even laughed at how similar it was to his own grandfather. As much as he loved baseball, there was just something simple and carefree about the characters in shoujo manga. They had their passions and loves, but it was friendship, romance and personal development that came first in their lives rather than a sport. Though, he did have to say, he was a bit partial to this one because Ryuu played baseball too.

I kind of wish I was as cool as he is with Chizu.

As the sun began raising to approach its peak in the sky, he began shifting slightly away from the corner he’d tucked himself into. As his feet moved to stretch out, they brushed something against something soft that had him raising his head from the manga. Blinking, he was momentarily stunned to see Nori-senpai sitting near him with a pair of headphones placed on his ears. He noted the absence of a book, but saw a rubix cube that the other pitcher was fiddling with.

Ripping out his earbuds, his moment of quiet realization quickly ended as he shouted in surprise, “EHHH? Nori-senpai, what are you doing here!?”

Luckily, unlike some of his other senpai, Nori wasn’t one to hit him when he was loud. Instead, his fellow pitcher simply sighed, removed his headphones from his ears and tucked them around his neck. From there all he did was just nudge Eijun, a subtle signal to quiet down, making him blush lightly.

Still, he quirked an eyebrow and gestured for Nori to answer his question.

“You looked like you were comfortable, and I wanted to know what you were listening to but didn’t want to interrupt your reading.” Nori laughed, something he normally didn’t hear which pulled a smile to his own face. “You were crying when I got here Sawamura, so I was definitely not willing to bother you until that was done.”

Giggling, he shook his head, and replied, “you could have if you wanted senpai, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal.” Unlike Kuramochi-senpai or Miyuki, Nori had never teased him about his shoujo manga, so he never went on about it during their rare conversations. “As for my music, it was just a playlist of anime soundtracks Wakana recommended me.” Pulling up his music app on his phone, he turned it around to show the other pitcher. “There’s about 60 sixty songs that are on the playlist,” he scrolled through them quickly with his thumb, “all of them are supposed to be soothing so I like to listen to them when reading manga.”

Nori nodded, before reaching for his own phone and pulled up a specific album on his phone. “I think you might like listening to this artist as well then,” he turned his phone around to show a photo of an album. “They remix the old legend of zelda game soundtracks - Majora’s Mask. It’s really lovely, and I think you might actually enjoy them!”

It was always fun to discuss music with Nori-senpai. He always suggested fun artists or songs for him to listen to, and somehow he always knew that Eijun would enjoy them. So he trusted that these would be just as interesting to listen to. Another thing he enjoyed was that on days like this, Nori-senpai wouldn’t force him into a long-drawn conversation. Eijun was naturally loud and enjoyed being around people, but sometimes he liked spending the day a little quieter and on his own.

Their conversation ended soon after, and he put his earbuds back on to finish the last bit of the manga volume in his hands. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched as Nori raised the headphones back onto his ears – to himself, he laughed as he realized they were those cute cat ones that Shirasu-senpai had given Nori for Christmas last year. And like before, Nori continued fiddling with the rubix cube, easily finishing and scrambling the cube over and over again.

Another half hour or so passed in this manner, in which he finished the volume as well as the playlist he had been listening to. Standing up, he shook out his legs to allow blood flow to return smoothly. Straightening out his pants, and dusting off his shirt, he then leaned down to pick up his things and turned back to face Nori. Running a hand through his hair, he let his hand slide to the back of his neck.

“Guess I’ll see you later Nori-senpai! You should join me for my morning run tomorrow!” With a bright grin, he began to walk away, heading back to his room. Hearing the response to his question, he simply waved his hand in acquiescence and continued on his path.

Upon entering his room, he could see that Kuramochi-senpai had woken up and had now situated himself in front of the tv to play video games. Glancing at the screen he could see that it was one of the games that the shortstop had been raving about wanting to try out for a few weeks. However, he couldn’t remember when they’d had a moment’s breath for Kuramochi to have bought it. Apparently his confused thoughts had translated to not-so-quiet mutters, for Kuramochi grunted out a reply in the midst of a combo attack from the enemy.

“Borrowed it off of a guy in my class.”

Making the appropriate sounds of understanding, he walked towards his own bed, dropping the manga and phone down, while reaching towards his desk. Unlike the rest of it, there was one corner that was always kept clean and organized, even if it wasn’t obvious among the clutter. Tugging out his sketchbook and pencil case, he then went back to his bed to grab his phone once more. Calling out a loud goodbye to Kuramochi, he left the room once more.

Checking the time, he realized it was already past noon, so he changed his direction towards the cafeteria. Hopefully some of the kitchen ladies wouldn’t mind giving him the food in a packed container so he could eat outside. Luckily, with it being a day off, they were a bit more accepting of his odd request. Smiling at them brightly, he bowed deeply. Normally he would spout some archaic phrase of thanks, but he was excited to get back outside and settle down for the rest of the day. Waving and calling out greetings to the members of the team who were in the cafeteria, he proceeded to the exit, already trying to figure out what his focus was going to be.

As he wandered around the edge of the baseball field, he saw something poking out of the ground, somehow having evaded the lawnmowers. Smiling to himself, he sat down beside the plant, fingers already itching to turn the bright yellow petals into brushstrokes on his page. Immediately, he whipped open his sketchbook, past rough drawings of his friends, the baseball field. His fingers brushed Kuramochi’s face, drooling in his sleep while the shortstop was hunched over a pillow – he had fallen asleep during a video game marathon. His eyes got caught on a sketch of Nori and Miyuki playing catch together, smiles on both of their faces. He quickly flipped through the pages filled with his teammates, and landed on a blank page, closer to the end.

His tongue stuck out as he began roughly outlining the flower, using only the lightest of pencil lines to just get the geometric shapes of each part of the plant. Then he picked up his pen, letting his hand flow on the page. He had been drawing since he was a little boy – his one shelf at home as filled to the brim with sketchbooks. Once the flower was complete, he pulled back the sketchbook, bringing it to his eye level to see if there was anything he could do to make it better. Adding a line here or there, he made a satisfied noise and signed the top corner.

With a soft sigh, he continued sketching, a few more flowers from different angles, a sketch of the landscape – combining the field, the stairs, and the dorms all into one, and some random other things he felt like doodling. Drawing was soothing, like his plants and reading, it was a break from his more hectic life here at Seidou, and just overall. So when he would get the chance, he would try and document the important things in his life as sketches. The moments that fit the phrase “pretty as a picture.”

In the middle of a sketch of his shoes, he felt someone come near him, their height blocking the light he needed. With a scowl, he turned around, ready to shout for them to move out of his way. But seeing Furuya standing there with a confused look on his usually stoic face, only made him shake his head in annoyance before calling out, “Furuya if you’re going to hang out here, get out of the way – we only have a few more hours of sunlight after all!” Gesturing for the other pitcher to move, he turned back to his sketch. Glancing at his shoe that he’d propped up against his pencil case for some nice shadows caused by the angle, he made some final adjustments as Furuya settled down beside him.

Throwing a confused look to the other boy, he shook his head and focussed on his drawings. He noticed that Furuya had brought a baseball, which was rolling through his hands. A reprimand was on the tip of his tongue, ready to accuse Furuya of practicing when they were expressly forbade from anything rigorous. However, he stopped, eyes entranced by how at ease Furuya was when he was holding a baseball, how the normally tensed body slowly relaxed the longer the ball was in his hand. And more importantly, how pretty a picture it made.

So with slight adjustments to his posture, he slowly skipped onto another clean page, pulling out more of his pencils and rubbers to create another drawing. This time, his muse was Furuya and the baseball that meant so much to them. He could tell that Furuya had realized he was now the model, for his actions became slower, as if to help Eijun by staying still. But instead of being helpful, it only added stiffness to Furuya’s wrist and fingers, so he shook his head, encouraging his teammate to keep moving and be himself.

Wide, broad strokes defined the geometric shape of the palm, a rough circle placed the ball carefully onto the page. Then tube-like structures began shaping the fingers, the three circling around the ball, carefully cradling it in an understated strength. And then, he pulled out his heavy-weight pencils, a blending stump following to add the shadows that curled under each finger, that spread across the ball in patches. He continued to glance at Furuya’s hand that had yet to stop fidgeting with the baseball. In the dim evening light, there was limited light bouncing off his nails, but Eijun wanted to give it a view of early morning, as if light was slowly growing on the hand as the sun rose in the sky. Pulling out his white pencil, he added highlights, once more blending them into the rest of the hand.

Like each sketch, he held it away from himself, to see what needed to be fixed, and what was fine. He scowled at the shape of the tip of the middle finger and adjusted it, using his eraser to clean the edges of the shadows a bit more. When he was finally satisfied, he signed the drawing, before clearing his throat to attract Furuya’s attention.

“Here, you can take a look,” turning the sketchbook to face Furuya, Eijun tried to act as if his opinion meant nothing, “if you want of course.”

When Furuya reached out for the book, he handed it over, albeit a little hesitantly. And yet, there was no negative comments, only Furuya staring at it blankly. Pouting at the lack of a reaction, he crossed his arms, huffing out a breath in impatience.

“Well? What do you think? Did I do okay? What’s wrong with it?” He was definitely getting much too worked up over the sketch, but something about actually showing the person who he’d drawn was very nerve-wracking. He’d managed to go this long, with no one ever seeing his art, at least never ones of themselves. Harucchi had seen the one of oniisan-senpai in the middle of catching a ball, and had demanded a copy of it immediately. But that was the only time – everyone else who knew he drew assumed it was only landscape and plants.

But even after his prompting and pestering, Furuya didn’t reply. Instead, all he received was an intense glare from the other pitcher, making him scowl righteously in response. Then Furuya slowly ripped the drawing from the sketchbook, making him reach out in shock. And before he could formulate a response, the pitcher stood up, and walked away.

Scrambling up, he shouted after Furuya, confused and a little upset. Not so much because his drawing was taken, but because even then, he hadn’t been able to read Furuya at all. With a loud sigh, he dropped back to the ground, and packed up all his things. It was nearing sunset, and he knew that if he wanted to get away with an evening run, he would have to get back to his room soon.

The rest of the evening continued without any pomp, he simply dropped his things back in his room and then headed out with Kuramochi for dinner in the cafeteria. Eventually managing to escape everyone heading to Miyuki’s room, he changed into the same clothing from that morning, and worked out some of the pent up energy he’d been unable to expend from the lack of practice. By the time it approached lights out, he’d managed to slightly tire himself out. In the back of his mind, he could vaguely remember the threat of a math test later on that week, and managed to focus for about thirty minutes, but gave up quickly to instead go to bed.

Waking up early, meant that he often went to bed early to compensate. An athlete needed an appropriate amount of sleep after all. Unless you were Miyuki, who most of the team wasn’t sure actually slept.

Another day complete, another day off taken care of. His eyes slid shut, satisfied with everything he’d done that day.

–

Waking up the next morning, slipping into his practice clothes again, he headed out for his run. Exiting the room, he was surprised to see something stuck to their door. Pulling it off, he blinked, before laughing brightly at what he saw.

It was a crude drawing of what was supposed to be a hand holding a baseball. A left hand.

“It’s horrid. How cute.”

Here’s Eijun’s first drawing of a daffodil & his drawing of Furuya’s hand holding the baseball: (drawn by yours truly)

And then, here's Furuya's attempt at a hand :D

#daiya no ace #sawamura eijun #kuramochi youichi #kawakami norifumi #furuya satoru #ace of diamond #diamond no ace #eijun week #day 5 #ray ray writes

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coachbeards · 6 months

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do you think they kiss before matches for good luck

#coach cubed my beloved..........#ted lasso #roy kent #coach beard #it's just for good luck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#ted and beard slap each other on the asses bc ''good game'' but roy does not partake in that lmao #IT'S JUST BRO THINGS!!!

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wetwellie · 8 years

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AU where instead of going to Samwell, Jack starts a widely successful Publicly Broadcast show for children.

Jack learns that he is great with kids after coaching them for a little over two years. Moreover, kids are good with Jack. There is no pressure to be anything other than who he is.

It all starts with a local news program doing a fluff piece on Jack Zimmermann’s coaching ability. But then it turned into something completely different when Jack skated onto camera and started to introduce every single one of his kids and what was special about them. He was...really enchanting actually. He didn’t ever really talk down to them. Jack just treated them as a tiny friend. They ARE his tiny friends, but that’s not the point. The footage they got of “snack time” was really the best. Imagine a good 16 kids piled around this massive man teaching them the best way to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

It should have been obvious that a local channel would contact him. It still surprises Jack. They want him to host a show? Why? Everyone always teased him about how impersonable he was during interviews. Is it because he’s Jack Zimmermann’s son? Or Alicia’s? Jack asks all of these questions to his mother and she just laughs. “You made a PB&J interesting to 16 kids just by being you” Jack figures it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot.

It becomes an overnight success with children all across Quebec. Heck, it’s even broadcast in some parts of the Northeast US, and bordering provinces in Canada. He gets quite the following in New Brunswick, but it’s still hard to capture the attention of children who don’t speak French and can’t read subtitles. Jack, at this point, is 1010% into this show, so he offers to do a second recording in English for those kids. That is when his popularity skyrockets from regional stardom to...daytime TV personality stardom. Anyone with a kid under the age of 8 knows his face and his show and adore him. In this universe, there is no Mr. Rogers. So he’s basically Mr. Rogers but without the sweaters. Or with the sweaters. On the show they do various things. They reenact history with puppets, and he shows them how things are made. There’s still a lot of snow and ice rink trips. There’s a segment that’s literally just a zamboni cleaning up the ice while calming music plays in the background. He also addresses a lot of emotions and feelings that other shows don’t. He talks about how sometimes he gets really upset when he feels like nothing is going right. Yes. He does sing about these feelings. And he talks about anxiety a lot. But he always makes sure to let the watcher at home know three things by the end of every episode: He likes them, he’s proud of them, and life is a wonderful thing to be lived. After just five years, he’s won a daytime emmy. He loves his job and the children love him. Three years after that, the producers finally decide that it’s time for the “cooking episode”. They were able to avoid it for 7 years, but it had to come sometime. Kids wanna know how to cook, parents want Jack to make kids stop being so damn picky, and it’s a hassle for Jack to even think about. “You know I can’t cook, Johnson” “We know. That’s why we’re asking a Baker to come on the show. He’ll move the plot in the direction that readers want” “You mean the audience watching the show?” “Right” he said, prolonging the sound of the ‘I’ much longer than necessary. Eric Bittle comes up to Quebec a month later. When Bitty’s hockey scholarship didn’t stretch as far as he needed in terms of rent and books and whatnot, he opened up a makeshift dessert shop outside of his dorm in his first year. It became a hit to overworked students everywhere. When he got a concussion bad enough to keep him from playing hockey, he’d earned so much from the pies that he didn’t have to worry too much about ends meet. The Hockey team still lets him live in the Haus in exchange for his sweet treats. Johnson swears that he is perfect for Jack. Or, for Jack’s show. For baking. Yes. “So! Jack. What do you know how to make?” Bitty asks. “I can make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich” “From scratch?” “From a jar” “Oh dear” The episode that they film is making a pie from scratch. Eric introduces himself as Chef Bittle, something that the small kids near Samwell call him. And he asks Jack what kind of pie he likes. “I don’t know, I’ve never really had pie” Bitty just blinks. He smiles and said “Well I’m glad that this will be your first pie.” He finishes the sentence by saying “But it might ruin any other pie that you eat in the future” But that was taken out of the episode. Then, Bitty lugs out three things that Jack doesn’t recognize. “What are these?” “This,” Bitty starts by pointing to a large tub of white goop “is lard.” “Can I touch it?” “Sure” Bitty offers Jack the jar, and the camera zooms in on Jack’s hand as it dips tentatively into it. “It’s goopy” “I’m sure all of these will be very goopy” Jack moves to the next jar. It’s called shortening. Bitty explains to the camera and to Jack that a lot of people use this to make their pie crusts because it’s easy to mix into the dough. “What do you like to use?” Jack asks. Bitty grins and points to the last jar. He opens it and it’s just full of cubed butter. “I know what this is” he says. “In my opinion, butter is the best way to go.” Bitty then explains his way through measuring the flour and putting it in a bowl. He lets Jack try, but Jack spills a little bit of the flour over the bowl. “Seven years after hockey and your hand eye coordination is as flawless as ever, Jack” Bitty chirps. This also is cut from the episode. Bitty then folds in the butter and brings out a pastry cutter. He explains what this is and lets Jack try to cut the butter into the flour. While he does this, Bitty explains how to add the water to the crust and, after that is finished, putting the dough in a giant fridge. While it is chilling, Bitty and Jack are able to have their first real conversation. It, of course, starts with Jack and Bitty’s mutual love of hockey. “Do you still play?” Bitty asks. “With people older than 12? Not in a long time” Jack says. “You?” “I’m not cleared to play with the NCAA, but I still play whenever there’s shinnies” says Bitty before pausing and saying “If you’re free, you should come down to Samwell sometime. I’m sure the Hockey team would love to go a couple games with you.” “I might just take you up on that” By the end of the day, Bitty had taught Jack how to make the perfect apple pie with a maple syrup egg wash. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Bitty asked, after filming was done. “Not at all. I actually had fun. You seemed totally in your own element” “It’s what I do” Jack’s face then broke out into the most devilish grin. “I can’t wait for you to do the same thing in French two days from now.” Bitty gulps audibly. The following morning, Jack is at Bitty’s hotel room at 4:30am with a whole pile of flash cards. They spend a good hour improving Bitty’s abysmal French before Jack notices that he’s live tweeting the whole event. “Saying only good things, right Bittle?” “I’m just tweeting that for a beloved kids TV personality, you can be kind of a hardass”

“Just because I don’t play hockey professionally doesn’t mean I can’t keep my hockey butt” Bitty doesn’t even give Jack the satisfaction of sputtering, but he is blushing quite violently when he chirped back: “Really? You can never tell that you have anything underneath those sweaters” “The studio we filmed in was always cold, hence the sweaters” Jack starts “It became a brand thing after a while”

“Yes. Because the children would cry if they saw you in a T-shirt.” “They wouldn’t cry, but I’ve been told by my producer that it would give the show a ‘sex appeal that really shouldn’t be on publicly broadcast daytime television’ “

“I’m sorry to say but you’ll have some sort of sex appeal in your show no matter what” Jack leans into Bitty’s space and looks him straight in the eyes “Now Bittle, why do you think that is?” Bitty, this time, does sputter. Just a little. They continue with the flashcards after that.

The following day, Bitty is halfway through explaining the different types of apples he can use for the pie when he just sort of shuts down. He feels like no one’s going to understand him, and there’s no way that this audience is going to like him as much as the one two days before would.

So he just pauses and says “J-je ne savais pas du tout quoi dire” with a southern drawl and not even sure if that’s the right thing to say at this time. He googled the meaning just before filming started. Just in case. Jack puts a hand on his shoulder and says something like “it’s okay” in French. He then looks at the camera and explains that Bitty is from a place where they don’t speak French normally, and that sometimes speaking a second language is hard. “But you get to make lots of new friends if you speak more than one language. Chef Bittle wants to make lots of friends here, right?” Bitty nods. “That’s wonderful to hear. You’ve already made a friend in me. Do you know what friends do?” Bitty, not quite understanding what’s going on, says “what do friends do?” back to Jack. Jack squeezes Bitty’s shoulder gently and looks directly at him. “We have each other’s backs” he says in English. He then turns back to the camera and continues in French. “Friends help each other” When Jack takes his hand off Bitty’s shoulder to continue peeling the apples, Bitty feels a strange longing for Jack to be back in his space. He shrugged it off as something that surely everyone must feel when they are in the presence of Jack Zimmermann. They wrap up the episode and Bitty thanked Jack and everyone profusely for this wonderful opportunity. He was ready to leave when Jack pulls him aside for a moment. “You were right” Jack says “About what?” “Your pie. I’ll never be able to eat anyone else’s again” “Well if you want any pie, you know where to find me.” “I’ll have to come down some time” “Definitely!” Bitty then says how he’s got to get going, there’s a plane to catch at 3am and and clothes and souvenirs still needing to get packed. And that was that. He was boarding the plane at an ungodly hour when he got a text from a number he didn’t know.

Hey. It’s Jack. My producer gave me your number and told me to tell you to eat more protein. Don’t ask. You already miss me so much that you’re texting me at this hour? haha

Bitty doesn’t get a response until he decides to turn airplane mode off sometime around noon the following day.

You’re an easy person to miss.

Well. Damn. He’s going to have to talk about this on his vlog.

Bitty wasn’t even home when Jack found himself standing in front of a home that should very well have been condemned years ago. The person that comes to answer the door is a tall, blonde man with glasses. This man’s eyes widened at the sight of him and then slammed the door in his face. He could hear him scream someone’s name. “Ransom!!!! I need you to open the door and make sure I’m not seeing things.” “Seriously man?” another voice responds. “Just do it!”

He hears a groan and then a pause while the other person, Ransom, gets to the door. The man opens it and freezes up. “Uh, hi.” Jack says. “We have a drinking game for your show” Ransom blurts out in response. And then he covers his mouth and turns to look at the man next to him. “Holy fuck so that is Jack Zimmermann?” “You can’t say fuck in front of him!” “He played hockey of course he’s heard the word fuck” Jack coughs loudly “Uh. Is Eric here?” They pause for a moment and look at each other. “Oh you mean Bitty?” “Yes” “No. He’s got class until 4:45 today.” “Oh” Jack says with a bit of disappointment. It was only noon. “I can come back later” “Don’t you dare! You can wait here with us.” “Really?” “Totally.” Jack is then welcomed into the Haus and ushered to an awful green couch with an odd odor and even stranger stains. Nevertheless he sits down and the two of his “hosts” introduce them formally. They are D-men on Samwell’s hockey team, Ransom and Holster.

“We’re also the captains this year” That’s all they need to say for Jack’s hockey-centric mind to take control of this conversation. He asks them about how their season is going, what’s the hardest and most rewarding part of captaining. As well as the way the NHL season. “I assume that you’re a Habs fan?” Ransom asks “Because of my dad?” “Yeah, and the fact that you were practically radiating when P.K decided to be on the show with you” “I feel like anyone would be that way with him, though” Holster interjects “He’s amazing” “What a fucking beaut” Ransom agrees Even Jack hums in agreement. The conversations stays on Hockey until around 2pm, when Dex comes home from his class and walks into the living room. He lets out a little yelp of surprise when he sees Jack sitting down with Ransom and Holster. “Can I call my family on skype? My siblings grew up with you” Dex says “I always love meeting fans” 20 minutes later, Dex comes down with his laptop in his hands and on the screen is about five kids between the ages of 7 and 15. “Oh my gosh! Is that him?” The oldest looking one says “Mister Jack!!!” “You’re not wearing a sweater!”

Jack laughs when he hears that, and proceeds to have a lovely conversation with all of Dex’s family for a solid 10 minutes. When it’s time for them to go, the littlest one asks for Jack to sing the song he always sings at the end of each episode. Jack willingly does and the little ones all sing together. Even the 15 year old, who believes she’s to old for Jack, is humming along. Off to the side, Holster is trying to hold in a scream. “Rans oh my goodness he’s actually singing” “I know man, it’s crazy. Like he’s supposed to be tiny and on our TV screen. Not in our living room on our gross ass couch singing out feelings.” “It’s fucking swasome” “chyeah” When the call ends, Ransom and Holster are texting literally everyone on the team to come over here right now!!!!!! The first person to walk through the door after that text is Tango. He recognizes him immediately, and he smiles. Tango says he loves watching the show. Even if it is for little kids, it is pretty calming.

“Ransom made a fun drinking game with it too, which is nice” he adds The questions kept coming after that. Why does he wear sweaters? Does he like French or English episodes better? “Why are you even here, though?” By this time, the Haus is full with the Frogs, Lardo, Whiskey and Tango, and Ransom and Holster. They all look at each other. “He said he wanted to talk to Bitty” “Bitty? Why?” Jack was about to answer when they hear the front door open and Bitty shout “Holster, this mass text you sent out better be serious or I will have words.” “It is serious! One of our neighbors came to stop by” “If one of those LAX-holes were hiding out in the attic again I’ll--” Bitty shouts while making his way into the living room, only to be shut up by the sight of a tall, handsome face looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Jack!” Bitty says in a voice that’s about three octaves too high and two decibels too loud. “Uh, hi Bittle”

“What are you doing here?” “You said I could come down when I wasn’t busy to play hockey” “Mister Jack plays hockey??” Tango asks. He’s quietly shushed by the Frogs. All Bitty says is “Oh”. He wants to say more, like chirp him about how he could have texted beforehand. Or...something. Nothing comes out of his mouth. The silence is painful. Jack doesn’t once take his eyes off of Bittle. “So!” Ransom finally says, breaking the silence, “We have everyone here. Why don’t we go have a shinny?” Bitty thinks he says “That’s a great idea! It will be so much fun”, but he’s not sure. Maybe he just nods and makes a garbled noise. He’s not really sure. But the response is what’s needed. In that moment, the silence ends and everyone is whooping and hollering and grabbing their gear. He’s pretty sure he hears Holster ask Jack to smell his bag. It’s all a lot to take in. The image of Jack Zimmermann inside the Haus should be foreign, and it is foreign at first. But on the other hand, it feels like this is where he effortlessly fits in. Bitty watches Jack sniff Holster’s bag and say “Yup. Hockey bags still smell like shit. Nothing has changed” And everyone yelled when they just heard Jack Zimmermann say ‘Shit’. “Guys we have to get Shitty here. If only for the name” Dex says “I texted him an hour ago, he’s on his way and skipping a lecture for this.” Not many people give it much thought when Bitty says he’s headed to the kitchen to bake up a few things for the game. They told him not to be too long and left a few minutes later. He’s finally alone and as he pours the flour into a bowl, Bittle whispers to himself “oh my god”. Jack actually came.

Did he come for him, though? Or just to play hockey? That was the thing that was on his mind. If Jack was simply here for hockey, Bitty would be fine with that. He’d have a grand old time and thank him at the end of it. Just like with filming. However, what if Jack came for him? Bitty can’t let himself think like that. It would never work. Jack has never presented himself as anything other than straight, from what Bitty and the rest of the media has seen. And despite having Bitty’s number, Jack never texted him. That must show he’s not overly interested in Bittle, right? It’s just Bitty wishing for something. What is he wishing for, anyways? “Oh no’ Bitty thought. He’s gone and done it. He’s gone and possibly fallen for the most unobtainable guy he will ever meet. A guy who is in nearly every household in north america. A guy who lives 300 miles away. A guy who is just too darn nice and too darn attractive for his own good. “I think you’re over mixing the dough” a voice says behind him. Bitty whips around to see the one person he doesn’t want to see (and also the person he wants to see more than anyone else). “Jack!” he says again in that surprised voice . “You didn’t go with the Boys?” “I wanted to see if you needed any help.” “Well Jack, that’s very nice of you. But you don’t have to help me if you don’t want to. I’m sure that the Boys are a lot better company” “They are great company, but I just spent four hours with them.” “Four hours?” Bitty exclaims. “Yeah,” Jack says “So can I help?” Bitty pauses for only a moment, tries and fails to crush all warm and fuzzy thoughts, and nods. “Of course you can.” He points to the pile of apples and asks him to peel and chop those up. In five minutes, Bitty has three pie crusts ready to bake. “It took hours to chill a pie crust on the show how did you--” Jack starts to say, and then Bitty flicks him with some flour. “I don’t give away all of my secrets. Mr. Zimmermann” 15 minutes later, Jack and Bitty leave the Haus with three freshly baked apple pies. “This is impossible. You are amazing, Bittle” “But you already knew that I was great at baking. Wait til you see me on the ice.” “Bittle, I look forward to it” The thoughts that were going through Jack’s head when he saw Bittle do a jump like that in hockey skates are unable to be transcribed as anything other than internal screaming and maybe Ode to Joy. And then seeing Bittle moving faster than any one he’s ever seen. “You don’t let him play anymore?” Jack shouts incredulously at Ransom and Holster. “Not our decision. It was the coach’s” Ransom explains “What a damn shame” At that time, Bitty does a flawless spin-o-rama into and scores on Chowder, who first swears in frustration, and then cheers for Bitty. All Jack says is “Nice” “Not so bad yourself” Bitty responds. “Yeah that hockey ass isn’t just for show!” Ransom shouts, and then Bitty flushes and trips over himself. All in all, it was one of the best games of hockey that Jack had played in a long time. It was one of the only games of hockey Jack had played in a long time, but that wasn’t the point. The point is that there was no pressure to be anyone other than him. This is how hockey should feel all the time.

Jack wishes he could say that he realized that he really liked Bitty a lot right then and there. But that’s not what happens. Oblivious as ever, and surrounded with a bunch of new people around his age that like him for being himself, Jack does not have any revelations. Well--romantic revelations, that is. When he says “Hey Shitty” to a moustached man with a tweed jacket and a flow that’s just barely starting to grow out, and the man literally jumps leaps into his arms like he’s the starlet of “Dirty Dancing��, Jack knows he’s met a friend for life. He doesn’t know how or why they click, but they do. Jack leaves late that night with a new group chat, a baskets worth of pie, and a handful of new friends, promising to return as soon as he gets the free time. And if the ever-oblivious Jack, waiting for his flight on the airport just happens to text a certain Eric Bittle, he sees nothing super romantic in his message. Thanks for letting me come over and steal your friends. I hope that next time we can have more quality time one on one Jack texts. Big groups tend to drain him pretty fast, he reasons. Bitty, on the other hand, is freaking out. He’s already blogging about a friend who came, and the feelings which definitely did not follow when the text comes. After about fifteen minutes of freaking out, he sends back a neutral That sounds great, Jack! You haven’t lived until you’ve been to Annie’s.

When Bitty wakes up in the morning, he has a text that says I called my mom and asked her about Annie’s. She said it’s really good. You called your mamma at god knows when to ask her about a coffee shop? She said it’s a really good coffee shop

Their texts never really stopped after that. One casual text turned into entire hours of just texting back and forth. Even the most banal things sparked the interest of one another. Jack shared some of the pictures he takes on his days off, and Bitty shared his famous pregame playlists.

Jack would also come to find himself visiting Samwell nearly once a month. In the cold months, they would play hockey on the pond.. Then, when all the ice melted into spring, he still came over to just hang out. Although, as the months passed on, he ended up spending nearly all of his time with Bitty. They would just go on walks, or get brunch. Or Jack would spend hours in the kitchen while Bitty chattered on about the things that he had already texted him about. There were also the times when they were on walks that kids recognized Jack from TV. He would always stop and say hi to the kids, and introduce them to Bitty, who would melt instantly.

In the spring, Jack stands in front of Bitty’s door and shoves a week’s worth of sweaters into Bitty’s arms because “I know you’ve lived here for 3 years but Samwell is colder than Georgia, and I know for sure these sweaters are warm” “Jack, it’s April” was all that Bitty could say. “April is still cold at night” Bitty laughs, and slips on one of the sweaters. “It’s a bit big, but I’ll be sure to wear them whenever I can” he then pauses and retreats back into his room. “Now you just wait a moment! I got something for you too!” Bitty comes back with his hockey sweatshirt and hands it to Jack.

With no hesitation, Jack slips the sweatshirt over his head and pulls it on. It’s a bit tight around his shoulders, but fits more or less everywhere else. Its shade is a few tints lighter than the red that everyone else has. That washing machine really needed to be fixed. Jack stuffed both his hands in the front pouch and absolutely beamed at Bitty in utter comfort and bliss. “I love it,” he said. Bitty laughs and starts to put one of the sweaters he’d been holding with his arm on. “Just wear it now, why don’t you? Don’t even put it through the wash.” “I trust you to do laundry enough” “Well you are too trusting, Mr Zimmermann.” He says as he pulls his head through the hole of the sweater.

The sleeves are a bit too long, so he slides them up to his elbows and puts his hands on his hips. “Well I think this sweater will do nicely” says Bitty. “When it’s cold”

There’s an overpowering feeling that hangs over Jack for the rest of that night. Nothing is different when they sit next to each other in the quiet of Bitty’s room. Bitty balances his laptop projecting the playoffs, and a bowl of kettle corn on his stomach. He slumps down on the post of his bed and pats the space next to him. Jack climbs onto the bed, and sits himself right next to Bitty. “So why aren’t we watching this downstairs with the boys again?” Bitty mumbles something about fines. “What?” “It’s nothing. We all support different teams and it can get pretty tense. Ransom was fixin to fight someone for insulting Mashkov last night. And you know how Chowder is with the Sharks” Jack hums and continues watching the game. Bitty doesn’t talk at all. “You must be really invested in this game” Jack notes “What?” Bitty says before processing what he heard. “Oh, no. This game isn’t that important on the grand scale of things for me.” “Oh? And what is important on the grand scale of things?” Bitty keeps his eyes fixated on the images on the laptop. He doesn’t respond. Time stretches out to a point where Jack thinks he won’t answer, but then he does. “I don’t know. Is anything really important?” If Jack had been perfectly honest, he had been expecting a response about his preferred hockey team (previously Blackhawks, but now he’s leaning towards the Schooners or Falconers), or the business that Bitty wants to start (baking school for kids). He hadn’t expected for it to get that serious. Tetntatively, Jack places his hand on Bitty’s forearm. “Do you want to talk?” “I don’t know? Maybe?” “It’s up to you” Bitty sighs “I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t think things are important, per se. It’s that maybe the things I am making important shouldn’t really be? I mean, what I’m trying to say is that I’m starting to see my future in a way that scares me. There are all these variables except for one constant. Except I have no right to assume that, uh, thing will be a constant in my life in the future.” Jack just stares at Bitty. “I didn’t really follow what you were saying, to be honest.”

“Just forget it, it’s silly” he says.

And, for that time, Jack lets it lie. They watch the game in silence, but Jack’s hand never leaves Bitty’s arm. In too short a time, Bitty is standing outside sending Jack off. He has a morning talk show appearance in NYC the following morning, so he couldn’t stay the night. “Will you be watching tomorrow?” Jack asks “If you need me to, just try to be less stiff than your late-night appearance” Jack smiles “I’ll try. But talking to adults is a lot harder than interacting with kids on the show.” “How so?” “You don’t ever have to fake laugh with kids. Talk shows are 90% fake laughing.” Bitty snorts “Well, just try your best. If Mister Jack can have a fun talk with grown-ups, then so can your tiny audience.” “And this is why I need you to be watching tomorrow: to keep me thinking of the big picture” “What would you do without me?” “Hopefully I’ll never have to know” he says. And immediately feels the weight of the statement. “Uh, I gotta go now.” Jack ruffles Bitty’s hair, gives him a quick “byeIwillcallyoulater” and drives off. --- Bitty wasn’t able to get much sleep the night before, so he doesn’t notice that he goes downstairs to the kitchen in the sweater that Jack had given him. Fortunately, only Chowder was downstairs at this early. He had gotten back from his morning run, when they bump into each other. He gives Bitty a knowing look “Ohhhh. So that’s why you didn’t join us downstairs last night” Bitty turns beet red and immediately turns on his heels and towards the stairs to change. “Chowder, I don’t like what you are insinuating,” He says. “I’m sure you would like what I’m insinuating an awful lot” “One more word out of your mouth and you’re not getting any muffin with you’re breakfast” “But today is brunch day!” Chowder calls up the stairs.

Damn. He’d forgotten that they were all going to watch Jack on the talk show today. Half the Haus had taken bets, and the others were planning on making a mimosa drinking game out of it. Which means he can’t even retreat to the comfort of his kitchen to cook something until at least lunch.

Despite telling himself this, Bitty found himself serving a bunch of tiny chilled strawberry rhubarb tarts to everyone gathered around their tiny TV, creating the rules for the games. “Shitty says that you have to down your whole glass if Jack brings up how his show isn’t just him, and that it’s a team effort” Lardo reads from her phone “Bullshit, he can’t make the rules if he’s not even here” Dex protests “I’m gonna turn on the videochat in a minute. He’ll be here” “In robot form” Lardo rolls her eyes “Whatever,” she says “I don’t think we should take big drinks if any of the hosts seem thirsty. We don’t wanna show up to brunch completely wasted”

“That’s true. But if he is asked any awkward questions about sex and/or romance, you gotta take a drink every time that he says “uh” or “um” Chowder adds. “That seems fair. He seems to be getting better at deflecting the questions about MILFs a lot better since we’ve talked to him” says Ransom, grabbing a tart from the coffee table while Holster is swats him.

“Shhh it’s starting!” What seemed like a world away, Jack was sitting at a rounded table with three women sitting across from him. Jack took a deep breath and counted his heartbeat until it steadied a little bit. The camera panned to the women as they introduced him and his show, and started an interview.

“I must say you are a lot more attractive than any other children’s personality. That must be some reason for your popularity. Parent’s don’t want to change the channel either!” Jack reminds himself that this is a time he should be lightly chuckling before he speaks, “While many do believe that is the case, I always believe that the popularity with the Neighborhood is the content we give out as well as the people behind the camera producing it. I may be the face everyone sees, but I couldn’t make a show without everyone’s help” Back in Massachusetts, a Haus full of hockey players groan and down their mimosas. The interview then turns into the show going into it’s 8th season, and how the kids who first were watching are growing up into teenagers. “My daughters were 4 and 8 when they started watching your show almost 8 years ago. Now, they’re showing it to the kids that they babysit! Isn’t that weird to think about?” “Uh, yeah. It’s amazing that the show has been able to impact as many as it does. The kids who I coached before the show, the ones that made me think I should get into children’s programming, they’re all headed into colleges next year. It’s amazing how quickly time passes” “Yes. It truly is.” One of the other women says “Children seem to take your word for gospel, it seems. I remember when my son was a toddler, he would run around saying ‘Mr Jack says this’ and ‘Today Mr Jack talked about that’. But now, he’s 13, so his problems and fears have gotten to become much larger than being afraid of the dark” “That does seem to be the case with aging”, Jack says. “Which is why it’s important to give children the tools to taking care of themselves mentally down the road.” “While we certainly agree with that, do you think you could do us a favor?” They had mentioned this favor. Jack tried to act somewhat surprised when he said “Of course, I’d be happy to help with whatever you need.” “Great! Because yesterday, we sent out a message asking everyone who wanted advice from you in this segment to tweet their questions to #askMrJack on twitter. And we were flooded with responses. Do you think you could answer a couple of these?” “It would be my pleasure” They all smiled as they read out the first one. It was something about having to deal with the pressures of school and expectations. Jack was able to answer it as eloquently as possible, and looked into the camera like he was talking to a person on one of his shows. The next question was about a joke about fashion. “Now that my parents don’t dress me, I have a hard time figuring out what looks good. Any help?” This made Jack let out a real, genuine huff of laughter. “If you ask my friends, I also have a hard time figuring out what looks good. I can let you learn from my mistakes: It’s never acceptable to wear three different colors of neon on your body at once.” He answered more questions until it got to one that stumped him. “How do you know when it’s a good time to ask someone out?” “Preferably when you realize that you like someone, you should ask them out. You should do it in person. If they say no, it’s ok to feel sad. But know that your value isn’t based off of this one person’s opinion of you romantically. And that there are several people in this world who would love to get to know you” “And how do you know if you like someone?” One of the women ask. “Well. I don’t know. I figure I would just know if I do.” “How do you know? What’s are the signs that you look for?” “I...don’t?” At the Haus, Lardo made a comment about how the thirst is going into double time. Without any prompting from the game, Bitty takes a swig of his mimosa.

“Ok, so for the kids watching out there. How would you explain the feeling of wanting to date someone?” “Is this a tweet?” Jack asks “I’m sure several people are tweeting it right now” “Uh. Okay” Jack starts “But I should say that I’m pretty useless at this kind of stuff. So, I only speak from my own perspective” “Please do! I’d love to hear what it’s like for Mr Jack to like someone” Jack said nothing and counted to 10. He thought about the girls he’d gone on dates with in Montreal. He thought of Kent. The even thought of the guy that Jack told his mom that he was to. None of them sparked anything really. They might have. But not anymore. All he can think about is last night. “I guess that if I like someone, I want to talk to them all the time. Or, hear what they have to say. Everything that they say is interesting.” He starts. The women nod. “Uh, and then I think about them a lot. At first it’s just if I see things I think that they’d like, but then it seems like everything reminds me of them. It can be overwhelming if you think about it too much; then you just think of how happy he makes you. And it’s ok.” Oh.

“Ohhhhh” The three women say in unison “are you thinking of someone specific?” “Yes” he says without hesitation. “I guess I know now” Without any further ado, Jack is out of his chair personally shaking the hands of the women across from him and thanking them for having him on the show. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I really must be going. Thank you so much for having me.” He then, rushes out of the studio and into his rental car.

250 miles away, the Haus stares at the screen in dumbfounded silence. “Okay boys. Down the rest of your drink, we’re officially allowed to get rat assed.” Lardo starts “Except for you Bitty. You may need to drink some water or milk or something.” “I think I just need to sit down” he says “Bitty. You are sitting down” “He needs some milk. I’ll get it for him!” Chowder says “Did that just happen?” Tango asks “It looks like it did.” Bitty replies dazedly Three hours later, Jack pulls up to the Haus and sees Bitty sitting alone on the roof, nursing what looks like a chocolate milk. “Bitty!” he shouts “Can I come up?” He waits to see Bitty nod before sprinting through the front door, up the stairs, and through the nearest open window to the roof. “Long time no see!” Bitty says, with a bright, somewhat tense smile. “Bitty. I have something to tell you?” “Yeah?” “I get what you were talking about last night now,” says Jack. “About how when I think about the future, there’s always a constant. I hadn’t realized until,3 hours ago, that there was a constant in my future plans too.” Bitty looks at him, but can’t find any words. “And that’s you. No matter what I see myself doing, I can’t imagine any world where you aren’t a part of it. Because I really, really like you Bitty.” Jack had planned to say more things, but then he found himself being grabbed by the collar of his sweater and being kissed by Bitty.

It lasted for a good long while before they had to be broken apart by a long string of buzzes from Jack’s phone. Grumbling, he took his phone out to put it on silent, but then started laughing. “What is it?” “A text from Johnson. He says not to worry about writing the episode on handling crushes, because apparently I’m a ‘frickin ding dong who should have figured out that I liked you by now,” he says.

Forty-seven years after the show airs, Jack receives the best reward he could ever hope for. It’s not his Emmys, or his prizes for being a humanitarian, or even the plaque that says “Honorary Captain of the Montreal Canadiens Jack Zimmermann”. It’s Jack sitting next to his husband of 35 years, listening to him chatter about whatever he pleases: the weather, a new jam recipe, the sales of his cookbook, what a little kid said to him the other day, what his own child (who is no longer very little) said to him on the phone, and how Bitty is blessed to have not gone bald like all the men on his mom’s side of the family. Eric Bittle is the best thing Jack could have ever asked for. Jack leans over and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. Bitty flushes and take’s Jack’s hands in his, “Now Mr. Zimmermann, what was that for?” “I’m just happy that we actually grew old together”

#omgcp #check please #jack zimmermann #zimbits #ok i love the idea of jack with kids #and i love kids tv shows like mr rogers #this is way too long and also not long enough #i wish that i could put more love into it #but this has been in my drafts since november and it deserves to see the light of day sometime #this is a half assed fic or an over assed bullet point headcanon and its been so long #ahhhh it's 1 am and im done #im so proud of me #it's like 6000 words #au

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