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thesundropfalls · 4 years

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Unprepared, untrained, and fatally unskilled (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Word count: 6.5K

Setting: PreTFA (The Force Awakens)

Summary: You've lived a quiet life so far in Naboo, coming from the Naberrie household. When a deadly mistake turns you into an informant for the Resistance, you're forced to go into hiding. As if that weren't enough, a particular Pilot's interest in you is piqued. Navigating an affair with a hot-headed flyboy and an Empire's downfall, you learn that no one is truly on your side.

Warnings: 18+ This is a violent, smut heavy series. It features Punishment, Dubious consent, Non-consensual sex, Mentions of rape, Masturbation, Oral sex, Praise kink, Slight Yandere, Violence, Gore, Drugs, Character Death, and way too much personification of nature. If you are uncomfortable with any of those, please DO NOT start this series. They will be featured in the next few chapters.

"Shuttle stop... eight thousand paces... Entry borders..." You mutter, repeating your Master's directions. It has to be here. It has to. What else were you to do?

"You will make it to the resistance base." You hype to yourself, lifting your chin. "You won't die a sweaty death on this Maker-forsaken planet." You weren't sure whether saying it aloud was an attempt to self-soothe or to boost your determination, either way, you didn't buy it.

The pilot droid had informed you that a mile of jungle separated the base from the shuttle stop. Was it joking? Can droids joke? It must have been. You could cross a mile in fifteen minutes, yet you've been maneuvering through forestry for half a day.

This steamy muck maze was loud. Distractingly loud. The low humming and chirping of critters drone in your ears, warning you of their presence. Every living thing could sting, poison, or kill you if they wished. Vastly different from your calm shores of crystal in Naboo. You came knowing that, but just how different they were, your Master never could prepare you for.

Your toes ached from being bashed into roots, the soles of your once new shoes had worn through hours ago. However, tripping and not falling flat on your face was an achievement you let yourself be proud of.

You couldn't even walk on this planet, let alone breathe. A blanket of moist air engulfs your body, filling your lungs with a dense humidity. It was sickening. Yet, onward you trudge. Maybe there was a path just behind that brush, or that clearing, or that tree. Maybe.

Looking up, you try searching overhead for the suns, attempting to find a navigation point. Still, all you were met with was a high canopy of thick vines and branches. It stretched for miles, sunlight only peaking through cracks the vegetation left vulnerable.

A buzzing grew loud in your ear, making your stomach drop like a stone.

"Mother of moons-" A surge of adrenaline shoots through your body as a mosquito lands on your bare shoulder. It was huge-at least the size of a small Voorpak.

You barely have a chance to squeak before it sinks its proboscis deep into your muscle tissue. With a smack of your palm, you burst it's engorged stomach sack on your skin, spewing its juices over your collar.

You gag and scrape the fluid off of your hand onto the bark of a poor nearby tree. The liquid is thickly viscous for some reason, but you weren't about to investigate and find out why. Now you regret discarding the D'qar environmental manual on your shuttle from Naboo. At least it was dead. The proof was on your shoulder.

You reach into your satchel and slip on a patterned kaftan of your own design. You couldn't have insect guts smeared all over yourself when you meet with General Organa, could you? If you ever did make it there.

As you walked, you allowed your conscious to amble backward through your memories. It showed you a glimpse of the mistake that brought you to the jungle in the first place.

....

You scurried down the hall, skirts balled in your fist as not to trip over them. You've never been late. In all eleven years of working for The General, your Master, you've never been late. There was a chance, though. That he wasn't already in his quarters, you could work at triple speed to clean all of the surfaces before he arrived.

You prayed you wouldn't find him there as you turned the corner and pressed the door's opening hatch. Sure enough, the room was empty.

"Thank the Maker." You sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. You got to work as quick as lightning. Cloth in hand, you scrubbed the woodwork, decorations, counter surfaces, and wiped off anything with a coating of dust.

Despite your daily efforts, all your Master ever noticed was if the rooms smelled cleaner than he left it. You made a mental note to hide a different vial of herbs in his wardrobe each morning. The last task was to replace it, and then you could scoot away without penalty. Lady luck was on your side this morning, you thought. Being much too short to reach their designated place on the upper shelf, you stepped into the closet and shut the doors behind you.

That's when you heard it. The sound of the door's hatch flying open. Your Master.

Dread melted a pit in your stomach. You wanted to shrink out of existence, to dig a hole and crawl in to die. You contemplated revealing yourself. But what would you say to him then? You'd have no excuse for it. Surely he'd send you away. It would cost you your job, and you'd be back begging on the streets. So you stilled, the force of fear stopped your hand from pushing open doors.

Your Master began to speak, and a static voice replied.

"General Pyrus. They've taken over my cruiser. I haven't much time--"

"Quickly now. Tell me."

"Eighteen point two thousand-- two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective--" The static voice cut in and out. "Passkey--Saint Alchemy."

"And the code?"

"--Digits MC-32809. I can't hold them off-- I failed her."

" You haven't. You followed orders. You did everything right."

"The base is on D'qar, find Leia-- Find the resi--" Blaster fire overtook the static intercom. The line ended.

The gasp that escaped your lips was less suppressed than you realized.

Did you just hear someone die? Was the man on the intercom shot? What was your Master talking about? Who shot him?

Your head swirled with unanswered questions, distracting you from the volume of your stunted breathing. Your second mistake.

A gloved hand shot through the crack of the door and yanked you from your hideaway. With a shriek, you spilled out onto the floor of the office. You made a feeble attempt to scramble to your knees, but your Master held you down by the neck of your collar.

"Traitorous bitch!" He spat on you.

You shook your head rapidly in denial, eyes wet. "Please, Sir I-"

"Who do you work for? Shadow collective? The First Order? Imperial commandos? Speak!" He ordered.

Shock shot up your veins and froze your system. You stared at him, agape and quivering. You forced the words to pass around the stone in your throat. "I-I... I do- I don't know-know. I don't know... Master, please plea- please." You choked.

Your Master grew impatient with you and tightened his constricting grasp, "Tell me at once, spy!"

"I work for you!" You finally shouted, eyes screwed shut for protection. "I have for eleven cycles, Master." You put your hands up in defense, who betrayed you with how vigorously they trembled.

"And I'm- I'm no... I'm not a spy, please, Master. I-I... I overslept and came to work late. I didn't mean to intrude. I was cleaning your quarters, and then you- you came home." Your lungs cried for a gulp of air, spent on stuttering.

He stared down at you, seething. You couldn't read his expression as it was teetering between sincere regret and anger. You didn't know which one you least preferred, either way, it was mortifying to be cast such a look. You prayed for him to recognize you, to see past the vulnerability, and identify you as you were-one of his handmaidens, his best.

"I was going to come out and apologize, I swear it!" You begged him. "But, you started to speak to someone..." You hesitated, wondering if you should admit to what you heard. You decided upon it against your better judgment. "...Someone that was killed, Sir."

Watching his eyes fill with slight sorrow, you bit back tears and pipped up again, "But I am no spy, I am no traitor! I swear it on my mother's name."

"Of course you aren't," Pyrus released his grip, letting you fall back to the floor. Your hands shot up to your neck and held the strangled area as a sweet breath of air filled your lungs.

"Much too stupid to be a spy. Do you have any idea what you've just done?" He boomed, his spit rained over your red face.

"It was nothing I heard, nothing at all!" You defended, holding your hands up to him for grace.

"You dare lie to me, that message was highly classified, higher than your comprehension, you foolish girl." He hovered tall above you, "I should have to kill you. I cannot risk the possibility of having you captured by the First Order."

"Please, please..." You fell on your chest, face smashed against the abrasive carpeting. Tears streamed hotly down the sides of your face, burning your skin.

You wept for a long time. Minutes passed, and still, Pryus looked down upon you pitifully. He gave no response to your cries, weighing his options grievously. All the while, you prepared to be shot.

"Get up," He commanded, breaking his silence.

"Master?" You croaked, peeling your cheek from the floor.

Pyrus stamped the heel of his boot, "I said, get up."

You wasted not another second to scramble to your feet, yet you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, tears steadily trickling down your flushed face.

"No more blood will be spilled over the safe delivery of this code. I have a task for you." Pyrus said and stalked across the room to his desk. He leaned over its polished surface and shifted weight upon his knuckles.

"Originally, I was to deliver the code to General Leia Organa via intercom. However, I haven't been able to reach her." He raked a hand through his scalp, "I can only assume that they've been working underground to evade the First Order. We must pray that they've been successful."

You stared at your shoes, still sniffling and wiping the damp mess from your face with the frill of your sleeve. The First Order, The Resistance, General Organa, all those which you heard about through heated debates or hushed rumors. Up until this point, you never honestly considered them to be real things and not the gossip of the serving class.

Pyrus turned to face you, "It appears that I need a new messenger. And now that you've heard the code, I can't let you go. You're sure to be captured."

You cradled your opposite forearm, "I swear it, Master. I can't remember any such code. I wasn't trying to listen." Besides that, it didn't make sense as to how anyone could find out your attachment to this, this code thing. Whatever it was.

"It's not what you can remember. It's what they can pull out of you." He corrected, folding his arms across his chest. "The First Order possess the power of the dark side, the power to reach into your mind and pluck any information they need."

Dark side. Power. These things shouldn't be spoken of in such a setting. You were wary of believing in them, but for argument's sake, you didn't question it. "Master, if that is the case, you are no more safe than I. They could capture you too. What makes it so that you could not deliver it yourself?"

"I am a General of the national court. I have a battalion to command. The importance of your life is but a grain of sand compared to mine." He snapped. "You can be spared, the people of Naboo depend on my lead." He held no emotion in his voice. There was truth in his statement, irrefutably there was truth. It made his words sting no less.

Pryus sighed and crossed the room to you, "Howbeit, the burden of this information gives you more substance than yourself alone. An informant you will be. You have no such skill to have been granted such a task, but as fate would have it, you have been."

"Am I still... I still have a job here?"

"If you cooperate." He nods, "Now, repeat to me what you heard."

"Coordinates, yes. It sounded like coordinates, Was it?" You suggest, seeking his approval. He stared at you simply, his silence beckons you to reach farther.

"Also... Maybe a-a pass-... um... a passkey of some kind. Saint..." You begin to rack your brain, the flutters of your heartbeat picking up into a pound. Nothing else in your memory, nothing but the static sound of blaster fire. Giving up, your chest fell, "Master, I just don't remember."

Pryus bid you closer, "Listen carefully now. I"m going to give you the rest of the code, but you'll need to do exactly as I say."

Your heart sank deeper, "I have to comply, I can't refuse?"

"You're certainly allowed to refuse." He clenched his jaw, "But, I would deem it most unwise."

...

It pulls you from your thoughts, and at first, you think you imagine it-faint sounds of machinery that fill your ears. And then you see it, hints of civilization sparkling in the distance. Filled with delight and newfound faith, your pace quickens. You're almost weightless as you speed to what must be the borders of the base.

You, unknowingly, were about to be smacked with the reality of the universe. Merrily skipping into a stark ambiance of war and battlefront lines that you were strictly unprepared for. Of course, you understood the circumstance. Warfare massacred the outskirts of your own homeworld. You spent a portion of your youth hearing about the slaughter of millions and the depopulation of planets. You understood the urgency.

Maybe a call to action or perhaps a way to pull yourself from poverty, your intentions were muddled. The very moment you became of age, You took the position to serve a General of the political guard, Master Ranrat Pyrus. Acting as a servant to his beck and call, you were made a Handmaiden. From your impoverished point of view, it was an occupation of luxury, easy money with a decent prospect of living.

And that's what it was, at first. Your Master was decent to you, so you remained in his staff.

Despite the direness of war, the way of life on your mother world had bound itself to your soul and engraved clearly into your features. Your skin had memorized the way the Naboo suns kissed you, replicating the glow for others to covet. Your feet grew up wading in cool liquid crystal and traveling naked across cushy sandbars. Every cycle, the renewed sky sent her gusts of wind to tussle and play with your hair.

Your fingertips knew the intricately woven fabrics of lakeside merchants. Who's real craft was haggling prices. Their wrinkled faces used to light up at the sight of their oldest customer combing shelves for a bargain of delicate satin. Lakeside lifestyle proudly shone on your body, and it's culture woven into your hair like ribbons on royalty.

You would miss that life dearly, once you realized it was gone.

Passing the border, you stepped into a clearing of roaring engines and the working of machines. Beeping droids busy with their tasks hustled past you. Mission alarms rang out overhead as X-wing pilots wrestled the motors of old beasts alive. Gusts of wind exploded in your ears, and Welders sent sparks of fire outward in a show of skill. All the while, tubes of engine fuel decorated the floor, pumping the metal to life.

The sight of it took your breath away. Absently, you stepped backward, overwhelmed by it all. You've never seen so many machines in one place, all working furiously for their created purpose.

Is this where you've been sent? Among pilots for weapons of destruction? Masters of war? Decorated soldiers with bravery and-

Metal rammed into your calves, knocking you off your feet. The ground swiftly rose up to collide with your backside.

"Oh," You were on the floor.

Shifting your gaze, you sucked in a startled breath, coming face to face with a droid. It chirped at you. You must've run into it.

It whirred and blinked once more, rolling forward and bumping your kneecap accusedly.

Should you apologize? Would it understand you? You didn't understand binary, let alone speak it.

The shock of the situation began to roll off your shoulders, staring at it wouldn't do you any good.

"I uh, I'm sorry. Are you alright?" You inquired slowly, testing its comprehension.

It circled you, chirping at you frustratedly.

It wasn't alright.

"Hey!" You heard a shout over the working of machinery. Your attention snapped to an orange figure charging towards you.

Yeah, that was definitely directed at you.

You promptly stood and dusted off your pants. Thinking the figure to be a superior, your tongue hastily began to gather apologies, preparing to spit them out in your defense.

Kriffing hell, were you really about to get reprimanded? You hadn't even finished walking to your destination, how useless were you?

"What's your problem?" The man barks, not sparing you a glance and bending down to search the droid of any injuries.

"I'm sorry! Sir, please. I apologize, I just- I didn't see it." You stammer, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

Maybe if you bat your pretty little eyelashes, he wouldn't stick you on the first shuttle to Mustafar before you had a chance to meet with the General.

He whips his head back around, fully prepared to chew you out for all you were worth. His eyes, full of annoyance, lock with yours.

"I'm sure you di-" He hesitates, the anger he once held seems to vacate his expression. He let his eyes drift down your body, if only for a second. They come back up briskly, connecting with yours once again.

"I, uh, I don't..." The droid beeps and whirrs to him. He shrugs at the droid and then shifts his focus back to you as he gathers himself.

"Are you okay, miss? M'sorry, my buddy here can be somewhat of a rustbucket sometimes." He encouragingly rubs the side of his droid and stands, extending his hand to you. "My name's Poe, Poe Dameron. Black Leader, Commander of Rapier Squadron."

His tone was relaxed; he wasn't going to reprimand you. Your shoulders drop in relief. His eyes strike you, the intensity of his stare was almost uncomfortable. Almost. You step back out of respect and secret intimidation.

"Well met, Poe Dameron. Y/n Naberrie." You swallow stones. Your palm opens to accept, and his calloused hand envelops yours in a gentle squeeze as you tell him your name.

Poe seems to focus on you as if he'd never been introduced to someone before. You watch his lips repeat your name no louder than a whisper, playing with the sound on his tongue.

Growing impatient, the droid below him started to whirr and rolls straight into his shin.

"Shit! Calm down, BB." He nudges the bottom of the droid with the heel of his boot, silently communicating with his droid to stop shaking his game. "This is BB-8, astromerch unit. For a piston head, his circuit board must be cross-wired over the moons today. So much for ninety-eight suit programmings. I just..." Poe trails off with a laugh, his mouth seals when he recognizes confusion in your eyes.

Sod it. He knows you didn't understand him.

You cough a short laugh, praying that he'd take it as a delayed response. "Oh yeah, totally. I just, I'm new." You explain, "I'm uh, actually not supposed to be out here, I don't think."

Your eyes dart around the courtyard, debating whether to explain your situation to him. Poe seemed kind for a Commanding Officer, maybe a little hyper-fixated, but kind. You could trust him in pointing you in the right direction.

"I'm looking for the Control Center," You breathe, "I have business General Organa." You'd let him know that much.

"Oh yeah, that's in the Eastern Sector over..." He pauses to think it over, "Why don't I show you?"

"You aren't terribly busy, are you?" You shift your gaze down to BB-8, who was silent but beginning to vibrate out of frustration.

"I was assessing some damage on a processing unit, but BB'll take care of it, won't you bud?" Poe makes an expression to the droid that you couldn't explain, and with a whirr, BB-8 scooted away.

You'd never seen a droid of that model before, not that you had seen many before. This one was just a ball of steel with an attitude.

"He's kinda cute, your droid." You muse after he rolls around the corner out of earshot.

"He's adorable," Poe corrects. "But don't tell him that," the corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk. It rests so comfortably on his face, and you could only imagine how many hours of the day he spent wearing it.

"Shall we?" He holds his arm out for yours to slip into. To that, you stifle a laugh, waiting for his lead. He waited too.

Oh, he's serious.

"Maker, I'm sorry." You hesitate, then slip your arm into his. This is awful cordial for a military fort, was it not? His grip is soft but firm. The padding of his jumpsuit acts as a barrier between his skin and yours. For a moment, you imagine what it would feel like bare, probably the same as his grip.

He pays no mind and leads you out of the yard and down to a concrete runway. A neverending lane of battleships, a full fleet of them were parked in several rows. They stood so tall, taller than you ever would've guessed. These couldn't be the same ones that passed through your village. They seemed so tiny in the sky. Every few cycles, you would see an armada of spacecraft torpedo through the air. They were pilots of the republic, and they were right in front of you.

They weren't new, though. As beautiful as the beasts were, they ran half as well as they did in their prime. Ladies of war now in their sunset years, called to action one last time. Leave it to you to think rustbuckets to be poetic.

Poe noticed your taken expression with each passing ship, "Never seen an x-wing fleet before?"

"I can't say I have. Where I'm from, we don't get many fleets of anything, let alone pilots. It's a bit of a nowhere." You say, trying your best not to get whistful.

"A nowhere, is that where this is from?" He gestured to your brightly colored Kaftan, "Because I gotta find out where I can get me one of these things."

A giggle slips past your filter. Pupils mooning, you bring your hand impulsively over your mouth.

You giggled. In front of a Commanding officer, no less. Not that Poe acted very commanding.

He turns his head to squint at you, "What's the matter, you don't like your laugh?"

You shook your head quickly and smiled, "No, I'm fine with my laugh. That one was just- I dunno, it wasn't my normal one."

"I think you're lying." Poe unlinks your arms and shifts his weight against the side of the Hanger bay. "I think you're trying to spare me of how weird your laugh is." He beamed.

Did he just-

You stare at him, amazed by how brazen he is. "Wow." You scoff, deciding to join his banter. "You accuse me of lying, and you call my laugh weird? You're making an enemy with the wrong person here, Commander." You warn.

He huffs a laugh, "You gonna trip over my droid again? Threatening."

You gasp, "That's too soon."

"Did I offend you?" He asks.

"Oh, greatly, Commander. Y'know you're the first person I've met so far, and I already don't like you." You smile sadly.

Feigning offense, he places a hand over his heart, "You don't like me? Oh, you're breakin' my heart, Princess. Maybe if you just got--"

"Am I interrupting something?" Her voice rips Poe's attention from you as she enters the room. You only then realize that you had stopped walking. Corridor walls surrounded you with panels of directory projections, the Control room.

The Commander stiffens like a board, greeting his superior, "General Organa."

Leia dressed in blue tactical robes you gape at. The material was exported from Alderaan, a planet destroyed not forty cycles ago. You've scoured fabric shops in the markets of your city every chance you got. Seldom did you ever come across material procured in Alderaan.

You bit your tongue to keep from expressing your excitement. Another time, not now.

"Commander." She addresses Poe, waiting for an explanation.

"I have someone here to see you." He steps aside, uncovering you for her to behold. You scrounge up your courage and approach her, "General Organa, my name is-"

"Stop." She cuts you off, a wary look in her eyes. "I know who you are."

"Oh." Your gaze nervously flickers between Poe and her. "You do?"

She gives no reply and turns to Poe, "Dameron, leave us."

"General." Poe gives a curt nod to his superior and flashes you a quiet smile before slipping out of the corridor. His reassuring glance eases your nerves only slightly.

"Come, Naberrie." The General pivots on her heel and strides down the hall. You follow closely; anticipation sits heavily on your chest. She doesn't take your arm as she leads you, it must be a Poe thing. You pass through narrow vestibules with stark white luster. She doesn't say a word the entire way.

Stopping at the room's opening hatch so abruptly you almost ram into her, She grabs the cuff of your sleeve and pulls you inside. It was a small space, only equipped with an empty bunk, a table, and two chairs-no lights, no windows, only the iridescent glow that spills in from the hall.

You begin to make your statement, "General-"

"Call me Leia. We're much past that now." She asserts and closes the hatch.

"Right," You start over, "Leia. I have something to-"

"Please, do hold on. I must make you aware of the gravity of this situation. Sit." Leia gestures to a chair, you comply. This woman loved to interrupt people, you could barely get a word in. You could tell that she was less than thrilled to be meeting with you, and you were more than prepared to deliver the code and take the first Port Shuttle to Naboo.

Leia sat across from you and garnered your attention. "Now, what you carry with you is a code, one of three. It was made by the original crafters of the SSI-U vehicles. That includes X-wings, TIE fighters, boarding craft, land assault units, hyperspace probes, and Star-destroyers. Are you familiar?"

"Not really, no." You answer, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Why did she bother explaining? You were oblivious to the origins of the code, and you preferred it that way. It wasn't your assignment nor something you wanted to get further tangled up in. The faster you could rid yourself of it, the faster you could come home. Being hesitant to listen, but much too terrified to interrupt, you remain quiet.

She waves her hand in dismissal, "It's not that critical, but the maker's code is. When entered into a central command board, which all fleets have, it overrides the system to self-destruct. All of it obliterated."

"That's- That's why you need it? To destroy the First Order's fleet?" You inquire.

She shakes her index, "So they don't destroy ours. See, the code applies to the Resistance, as well as the republic. If the Order had gotten their hands on it, it would've cost us greatly. They would have terminated our fleet, and we would have no resources to fight against them. The war would end."

"So why, um... Why not use the code to like- destroy their fleet instead?" You cautiously suggest, your nerves audibly slip into your tone. "You can do that, right?"

"Their central command board is in the middle of the Starkiller base. As skilled as we are, we could never infiltrate their ranks. That's not to say we aren't working on it. Someday we'll be able to, but until then we cant use the--" Leia trails off, her eyebrows scrunch with concern.

"Stay with me, Naberrie." She orders.

Her voice is distant. You pull yourself from your fixation to the spinning room, which was much darker than it was before. She must've noticed your gaunt expression. Your eyes snap up to meet hers, and after a breath, you nod for her to continue.

"Again," Leia restates, "We can't use the code, but we can protect it. And it's best protected with very few people knowing. Which is where you come in." She gestures to you.

"So, keep it under wraps." You pat your hands flat over your lap. "I can do that."

She lowers her chin to her chest and looks at you sternly, "It's a little more complicated. But before we come to that, I need you to agree to some terms."

"Anything." You nod.

"It's easier if you remain calm for this part. Yes and No answers are acceptable. Hold your questions until the end." She began, sealing the confidentiality of the conversation. "What you say to me now cannot leave this room. The content of the information you carry has the capabilities of genocide to the trillions. Should this information fall into the wrong hands, that is exactly what will happen. Do you understand?"

You nod again.

"I need a verbal response."

"Yes, I understand."

"At any point, did you reveal the code shared with you by General Pyrus to a third party?"

"No."

"At any point were you bribed to reveal the code?"

"No."

"Are you aware of anyone besides yourself, General Pyrus, or his informant sharing the code?"

"No."

"Are you aware that there could be any number of bounties on your head as a means to get to this information?" Leia deadpans the question like it was similar to the ones she had asked previously.

Your heart stops beating, and you blink at her, "What? What bounties? Like bounty hunter bounties or-"

"Yes or no, Naberrie." She stresses frustratedly.

You exhale in defeat, "I am now, yes."

Maker, she must be disappointed. You could almost hear her blood pressure rise as she tightened her jaw and began the next question. "Are you willing to accept the Resistance's protection for yourself as an informant?"

"What does that-" You stop yourself, hands raised apologetically, "Yes, I am."

"Good." Leia shuffles to the edge of her seat, "Now tell me the code."

There it is. She asked for it. The code. You knew this. A long-anticipated shiver crawls up your spine, and you clear your throat. "I was sent with the coordinates to eighteen point two thousand two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective, passkey Saint Alchemy. Digits MC-32809." You breathe, an immense weight expels itself from your chest, you breathe deeper.

Leia casts her stare through your person, to the end of the room. "Say it one more time."

You didn't register her command, "What?"

"Just say it one more time."

You nod and repeat yourself. "Coordinates eighteen point two thousand two hundred and eight degrees north, sixty-six point five thousand nine hundred and one degrees west. Star system collective." You took another painful breath of air. "Passkey Saint Alchemy. Digits MC-32809."

The General's eyes were empty, she sat deathly still. You witness her silently burn the information in her memory.

"Shouldn't you write this down?" You break her stare, immediate regret started to prick your fingertips.

Her gaze fell to the floor, "It isn't worth the risk." Meeting your eyes again, she asks, "You're sure it's correct? There hasn't been an opportunity for it to have become tainted on your behalf?"

You shake your head, "I've memorized it for months and told no one, It's valid."

"I realize you're not an official informant for the Resistance, I wish to apologize for the burden that has been placed on you. I understand more than most." Leia pauses, train of thought halted. You wait.

She breaks it and sighs, continuing. "I want to thank you for your sacrifice. You've served the Resistance and your people more than you could know. You've sacrificed a normal life to live in hiding until the course of war ends in our favor."

Her flattery warmed your center. No one ever thanked you for this, putting your life on hold someone else's war. Going into hiding-- Wait. "In hiding? General, I don't understand, I'm not in hiding." You smile faintly and tilt your head, "Unless I am?" The thoughtful expression disintegrates from your face.

"You weren't told much, I know. It was agreed on by both parties that explaining this aspect of the assignment could affect your willingness to comply." Leia explains.

Both parties... Comply...

Slowly it came to you. "I can't go home, can I?" You search her face for an explanation, praying she'd deny it, but she never did.

"No," For the first time, Leia didn't meet your eyes. "You must remain with the Resistance. Our ownership of that information is one that was paid for in blood, and we will remain to do so if necessary. Even yours."

"I don't- That's not what... I'm supposed to go home after this, I have a shuttle to- General, this... Leia, I need to go home. I can't stay here." The words caught in your throat as you rushed them, desperate.

"For your sake and mine, please remain compliant. We will keep you protected as long as you stay with us. And if not," She falters, "We will send out a bounty for your head."

Your heart sank to the floor, "You'd kill me?"

"You'd be killed anyway." She counters, appealing to your rationale. "If the First Order found you, they would torture you within an inch of your life, take the code, and then kill you."

You stammer and point an accusing finger at her, "You'd kill me."

"It doesn't have to come to that," Leia took your hand in hers earnestly, "Only you can make that choice. Be wise now, child. Let us keep you safe."

Staring at her dejectedly, any semblance of trust in The Resistance General had fled. "But I don't have a choice, I can't go home ever?"

"No one's said that. During the war, you must remain with us. That is all." Leia held your hands comfortingly, the creases of her eyes showed you mercy with each kind gaze. For all you knew, Leia could've had the exact same 'confidential conversation' to any number of informants. And if that was the case, her threats held no substance. If it was a hoax, you could walk out of here with your freedom, scotch free.

It was admirable in a sense. This woman had sugar-coated her intentions to kill you, and you just, What? Accepted it. You understood. Agreed, even. It would have been all too easy for a Rebellion General to have you killed. Your little life didn't count at all. There was a war to be won, and you were a liability. You were a threat.

These woes battle in your head so torturously that you don't recognize your airways constrict. You don't notice the sheen of sweat that coats your brow or the fingernails that cut into your fleshy palm and turn your knuckles white.

You only notice how suddenly they go away.

A wave of calm washes over your shoulders, it's warmth begins to melt away the icy dread sitting painfully across your chest. It shallows your stunted breath and spreads heat in vines down your spine and out to your fingers. The unknown force softens every muscle, every bone, and every tendon that connects you together. It's overwhelming peace. You can't help but close your eyes and release a tired exhale as the wave floods down to your toes.

"We all get to go home when this is over." Leia's gentle voice draws you back to reality only slightly. You couldn't make out her face. The human shapes had blended into a grey fog, yet you thought nothing of it. The fear you once held was nowhere inside of you, doubt had completely expelled itself from your thoughts. All was well, all was right.

"I suggest you law low as an apprentice and keep out of trouble. Best to be discreet, be careful of what you say." She spoke through the mist.

You have the most intelligent fleet and crew in the galaxy, I can't compete with them. Wouldn't it be easier to tell them the truth about why I'm here?

You were almost positive you hadn't said it aloud. Be that as it may, your inner thoughts no longer discerned themselves with spoken words as Leia replied to you, unbothered.

"They mustn't find out, it puts a target on their backs. I entrust you solely. No room for error." She speaks.

But what if they ask?

"That's enough, young one. Don't tell me you've never had to lie to a man. Now report to the main hanger in the morning. Settle in for now."

Yes ma'am.

"Make some friends, you're in good company. But, place your trust wisely. As of now, that information is your life."

You hum in response

"Rest now."

The fog fades to darkness, and your mind goes blank

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #x reader #self insert #naberrie #Naberrie!reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader

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treeclimbing10 · 4 years

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Arborist Tree Climbing & Rigging Rope

If you favor single rope climbing as well, then you need to go for non-spliced traces. They are more versatile, maintain the identical diameter, and distribute the wear and tear more evenly compared to their spliced counterparts.

High strand depend makes the rope stronger and versatile at the same time. You need the rope to be sturdy enough to supply support, take the edge off of accidental slips, and allow you to tie climbing knots.

The rope will not give in unless you ask it to carry more than 5953 pounds. The braided design is formed with loops twisted in countering positions. This provides the rope the ability to deal with a mixture of environmental circumstances without compromising its performance.

The amazing eight thousand kilos tensile energy is another spotlight of the climbing line. Blue Ox is among the best climbing rope brands on the market, and they have garnered a place of belief within the arborist community with their high-notch choices.

Blue Ox Rope Arborist Climbing Rope is a rope that comes with design attributes aimed specifically in direction of tree climbing. Today, we are going to discuss 7 excessive-quality climbing ropes that you can contemplate buying and also make clear a number of elements you need to have a look at whenever you buy a tree climbing rope.

For an arborist, finding the most effective rope for tree climbing is of paramount significance.

Oh, splicing is more relaxed than the other ropes obtainable round you. One thing, this polyester not so stretchy as others as well as it can stop sudden abrasion, heats, and frictions.

Polyester covers make these ropes extra-confident about longer-lasting, and it works. By the best way, your extensive ranges of selection to pick your favourite colour additionally.

Any climber who uses an inhalant for asthma or an Epipen for insect stings should alert a information and produce it with them into the tree in a line mug. Guides are the one ones allowed to regulate harnesses, ropes or different equipment. I got rope from Home Depot and Lowes which is a braided nylon made by Lehigh.

I contacted them and was informed their 5/eight rope will work. I'm only using my rope as a tether line not to climb with. It's long enough for me to connect to it from the bottom up to my stand. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08T1CW1S6 Again I'm not climbing with it like rapelling rope but ought to I fall it will assist me just fine.

The record beneath is based solely on my personal and budgetary preferences. I’d also be honored to test and review new gear, upon request. Protect the rope from the ground up — don’t decrease limbs onto the rope.

Be aware of the place your handsaw is in location to the rope at all times. History of the rope — if it has been subjected to a excessive dynamic load that exceeds its working load limit, you should retire the rope.

And the abilities may actually have a payoff down the road, according to Andersen. "We'll put leisure climbers to work," he says. "They have quite a little bit of the training a tree care firm is looking for. And the trade pays well."

American Arborist Supplies provides arborist grade rope from essentially the most trusted brands within the industry. Whether your job demands 3-strand, 12-strand, sixteen-strand or 24-strand climbing rope, we've a variety of high quality arborist rope to fulfill your needs.

We additionally carry three-strand, 12-strand and double braid rigging rope plus accessory ropes. Once you select the rope that best fits your current wants, wrap it up in one of our durable rope bags from Buckingham, Weaver and Barnel.

The incredibly strong cover of the rescue rope is smooth operating over sheaves, providing decreased drag via gears for quicker ascending and finer controls on descends. The nylon core holds knots higher and stronger, because of its stretch and texture.

Certified to EN 1891 A, Patron treeACCESS is designed as an access rope and presents compelling worth for money. The PLATINUM® arborACCESS is the entry rope from TEUFELBERGER impressing arborists with its building and materials.

Prusik loops, split tails, and work-positioning lanyards used in a tree climbing system shall meet the minimum power necessities for tree climbing strains.

Tree employee saddles, work positioning lanyards and climbing strains shall be designed by the producer as appropriate for tree climbing.

This climbing gear shall not be altered in a way that would compromise the integrity of the gear.

Preconstruction of an eye in a rope tremendously decreases damage that may be caused by bending the rest of the rope or creating knots.

When selecting between our completely different Flip Lines, one thing you want to take into consideration is what kind of eye you might be looking for in your rope.

Pelican Rope carries Flip Lines made of some various kinds of supplies and with a bunch of different options you possibly can select from.

As a rule of thumb, the quilt goes to be made out of polyester. Polyester is an ideal material for Flip Line and Climbing Rope because it is actually strong and actually durable but it is also very lightweight.

Polyester is resistant to shrinking and stretching. Have some Monkey's Tails made up of equivalent rope so you do not have to chop the ends off the rope when it gets worn from the Blake's.

When shifting the climbing knot, keep both hands on the down rope. We take you step by step to fun and safety within the timber. If you're doing this on a conifer tree, there's a good likelihood you are going to get sap onto your rope.

The nylon-made cord presents a sizeable load capacity of 6000 kilos. The rope takes on a static design to maintain the bounce comfortably low. The Route 44 expertise permits the rope to bend marvelously while preserving it fairly resistant to abrasion.

The ruggedness of the rope makes it usable for more intense activities as properly. We are talking rappelling, rescue missions, and a complete lot of other stuff. This is a rope constructed for all seasons, however the emphasis on durability didn’t make this cord overwhelmingly heavy.

The Arbor Elite is the perfect entry stage climbing rope offering glorious worth for cash. In the aftermath authorities agencies required utilities to spend more to maintain their lines clear. Since then a gradual sequence of hurricanes, tornadoes, and ice storms have stored up the pressure on utilities and created ongoing work for arborists.

"We simply seem to be extra inundated with more frequent and intense storms nowadays," Andersen says. I actually have been climbing bushes since my child age and its about years of my climbing experience. Also, I am keen about everything that comes along with my climbing.

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kaijulvl5 · 4 years

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Escape from the Green (What price my life?)

***WARNING: Non-con elements. Please do not read if non-con, non-con bondage, or situation appropriate violence is a trigger for you.***

Hard M - Explicit content

After he had shot and killed her partner and aimed the same weapon at her, she had turned and run for the pod. The violence of it all had blanked her mind, a protective blackout that activated her lizard-brain and sent her fleeing at top speed. Luckily, the dangerous man had not followed, and she was able to retreat to the relative safety of the drop pod.

In a panic that bordered on hysteria, she had followed the instruction manual and managed to get it prepped for launch. Then, just as she thought she would actually make it off this poisoned moon, something in the fundamental internals fried and she was left stranded. Without a working knowledge of ship repair, the craft was no more useful to her than a tent. The disappointment and despair she felt had almost broken her.

Half a cycle later, she had burned through the remaining stores of food and water they hadn’t taken with them, and was left with some crappy narcotic gum she found in a folderbin. The only effect of that escapade had been to let her forget her hopeless situation for an hour or two.

As she completed her latest fruitless rummage, steps sounded on the entry stairs. The outer hatch slammed and the scrubber fans began processing. Panic overtook her once more. That noise meant she had only a moment to grab the rifle and slide behind the inadequate cover of the pilot’s seat, past the low center bulkhead, before the intruder got into the cabin.

Tucked as far back as she could get, she shifted the safety off. Instead of the telltale whine, the gun remained silent. She was still fuzzy from the after effects of the gum, so it took a split second to register what was wrong. A curt shake of her head to clear it, and it came back to her. Oh SHIT! She hadn’t restored the charge! Shit shit shit. She repeated the curse in her mind as she clicked the charge cartridge into the loading piece. Why hadn’t she locked the outside hatch when she came back? A self-castigating litany played in her head with each turn of the small rotating lever that added a little power to the cartridge, added a little hope to her rushed plan to get the upper hand.

Without a loaded firearm, there was no possibility of competing against anything on this moon. She had always tried to make the most of her small size, but being just over 1.6 meters tall and 42 kilos was a challenge on the best days. And the only other human she had seen still alive was the murderer. The man who had tried to rob her partner and then, when the tables turned and then turned again, had brutally gunned him down in cold blood. That had to be who was coming through the hatch.

She cycled the crank one more time and jammed the magazine into the body of the weapon. The firing bolt clicked and she thumbed off the safety right as his helmet and shoulders cleared the opening. And the goddamned contraption stayed silent. Shit. There was nothing she could do. If the charge hadn't been completed, the piece was useless.

He led with the pistol, getting his bearings. Slowly, methodically he scanned the small space. The environment suit he wore was ungainly and the half textile helmet fell slightly forward or to the side, depending on how he moved. It looked like it was hard to wear.

“Stop right there!” She yelled, deciding a bluff was her only option. “Stop moving and put the thrower down or I will shoot!”

He actually scrambled backward up against the wall, but did not drop the gun. Instead, he stared her down, having found her position quickly. As he carefully examined every detail of the scene, a slow, cocky smile stretched his face. “I can observe from here, your thrower is not primed, sweetheart. I do believe I have the upper hand at this particular moment.”

His self-satisfied smirk, the casual condescending endearment, and the calm way he drawled the words slapped her. Her face fell and the blood drained from her head. She felt faint, but somehow managed to keep herself upright.

“So I will be seein’ you place your weapon on the floor, and now, I might add. Do it.” There was an uncompromising hardness in his eyes as he commanded her. His aim did not waver.

There was no choice. She lowered the energy rifle to the floor, then raised her hands over her head. She wished she were wearing her heavy environmental suit and not the soft loungewear she had changed into hours ago. The normally modest top rode up and left part of her belly exposed. Her pants were loose around her hips, but the light blue fabric clung to her skin. She felt like she was on display and it added another knot to her stomach.

The murderer’s gaze had changed when she revealed herself. A troublesome interest played across his face as he watched her. Settling comfortably against the bulwark, he looked like the cat who had found the proverbial bowl of cream.

“I do not wish for this to be an unfriendly occasion, but we have something of accord to come to. You see, I am in a predicament. I cannot leave on my own ship. The series of unfortunate events that have led me to your doorstep left me deprived of transportation. You, on the other hand have this decrepit drop pod, but it may prove to be my salvation.”

She noticed he had said “my”, not “our” and she refused to be removed from the equation. Interjecting when he paused to draw a breath, she said simply, “Don’t leave me here”.

His eyes glittered, crinkling up at the corners, “Now, my sweet girl, I would not dream of such a thing. This is a part of our accord, of which we have just begun to negotiate.”

He meant to negotiate with her, as if she had any power or something of value in this situation. Her jaw hung ajar with surprise. He was the one with the weapon. He could push her out of the airlock or take her, whichever was his will, then fix the ship and leave without a second glance if he wanted. This made no sense.

He looked at her thoughtfully, smiling amiably, “Do please close your mouth. That slack jawed visage is not becomin’ on you.”

Her teeth made an audible click when she snapped it shut. “What do you want?” She asked pointedly.

At her question, his face turned mocking, tinged with interest and not a little humor. His eyebrows drew together and he pressed his head back against the wall, a moue evident on his lips. “For starters, I would dearly like to be free of this godforsaken helmet. However, I do not think you will allow me a moment of security in which to remove it. So let us proceed with your disablement. Please take this and assist me in bindin’ yourself.” With his free hand he tossed her a hank of light cording that he had detached from his suit.

She held the rope, not sure what he wanted her to do. It was not her custom to tie herself up. Her confusion must have been evident, because he said, “Make a slip knot with a loop. Yes, like that. Now place your hands in the loop and tighten it down, just so.” He nodded as she followed his direction.

His features shifted from pleasant to grim so quickly, it was hard for her to read his expressions. Her hands shook as she complied. Each step in the process pulled her farther from freedom. Not that she had had any hope of that even before his arrival, though. Her feeling of doom grew and she tried to watch for any weakness, but he stayed at the other side of the room. Too far for her to make an effective move against him.

“Thank you. I will take it from here,” he said.

Faster than she thought possible, he pushed off from his falsely relaxed sprawl and closed the space between them. There was no time to react before her wrists were clasped in his left hand, his small firearm placed hard against her abdomen.

When he held her securely, he let his thrower hang from his trigger finger and bound her wrists tightly with the rest of the cord. She tried to jerk away from his harsh, bruising grasp, but he gave her a vicious shake that rattled her body. There was no question in her mind after that. She was not strong enough to pull free.

From there he pushed her into the copilot’s seat and strapped her in, positioning her tied arms so that they were further restrained under the X-shaped harness. Then he yanked the adjusters hard, securing her and spun the chair to face the center of the room. Satisfied with his work, he stood up and removed his helmet in a single fluid motion.

“Kevva be damned, but that was unpleasant,” he declared gustily, breathing in a deep lungful of the air in the shelter. “My filter has been fouled for some time and I was approachin’ the end of my ability to draw breath in this putrid thing.”

He smiled at her again, showing straight, white teeth. His dark moustache made them look brighter than they should have been. He appeared to be in his early forties with short, messy hair, which was brown except for a small patch of blonde at the hairline above his right eye. A thin U-shaped scar curled across his left cheek and his sharp nose, high cheekbones and scruffy chin were sheened with the sweat. A thoroughly disreputable person, if she had ever seen one.

“What. Do. You. Want?” She asked again, this time through gritted teeth. Her will to continue requesting information was growing thin. He seemed to want to talk about only the subject he wished at any given moment. And talk he did.

He said, “I have a proposal for you, little bird,” his tone contemplative. He paced the small space and lifted his hands, gesturing philosophically. “You ask me what I want and I want many things. I want to be off this damned hell hole. I want to be divested of my harvest in such a way that leaves me well provided for and provisioned for the future.” He stalked toward her, his eyes thoughtful, roaming her face.

“Wants are funny things,” he continued. “A thought gets in your head and can’t be shaken and then you find yourself wanting. I want to take a cabana on the shores of Lao, to watch the suns set and put all thought of this awfulness behind me. I want all the comforts credits can buy and long, warm days and nights in which to enjoy them. I also find that I want,” he paused, bracing his weight as he gripped the arms of the seat. His face was inches from hers. He looked her squarely in the eyes and said frankly,” I also find that I want...you.”

She was shocked into silence for the second time in only a few moments. What could she say? Did he think he could buy her? Did he think he had a chance of her not trying to take his life the moment he let his guard down? Life was cheap in this system and he could have his pick of feminine company back at the Pug, or whatever sleazy world he would hie off to from here. What could he want with her?

“By your yet again drop-jawed demeanor, I assume it is a rare occurrence that someone expresses to you their designs on your person,” he said. He tilted his head back and eyed her quizzically. The long, strong column of his throat was exposed to her shocked gaze.

“I don’t know what to say,” she rasped. She blinked, trying to break her fascination with his audacity, presenting his vulnerable throat so close to her. He must believe her to be well in hand, indeed. She wriggled in the seat, but couldn’t gain an inch. Her lips were dry and her head was spinning. “I don’t understand,” she said.

He inclined his head toward her, as if imparting a secret, “This may come as a surprise to you, but I am a man with needs, just like any other. You are here, convenient, of the feminine persuasion and, if I do say so myself, appear to be quite delectable.” He suggestively ran the back of a gloved hand from her cheek down her neck. He paused for a beat at her shoulder, then continued over her breast to the swell of her hip, finally resting his open palm there. His fingers curled posessively into her yielding flesh.

“I believe you will be able to assist me in that regard, should we come to an agreement. I also wish to attain my goals of escape and sales of my aurelac with all of my parts intact. In short, I want to have my cake and eat it too.” He grinned as if he was saying the simplest things in the world to an equal, not manhandling a captive.

He was wrong about her rarely being propositioned. That wasn’t the case. It was just that no one ever talked to her or handled her that way when she couldn’t run away. Every other time that she had been confronted with this type of attention, she had been able to duck and run. She had eluded the rough hands and catcalls of the prospectors and hub toughs by hightailing it away from them. This man with his hands on her, making such suggestions was worse than those assholes, by far. He was responsible for her friend’s death and he had her tied and helpless, dependent on him in every way. He held the power of life or death over her and there was nowhere to run this time.

She found her voice, hoarse and hesitating, ”You will get us off this rock and away safe if I, um...” She swallowed dryly and looked down to where his hand still rested heavily on her body. She found she could not quite bring herself to say the words. Her tongue peeked out to try to wet her lips, instead.

He looked her up and down, like a big cat considering its prey. His thoughts were obvious on his face. “Yes,” he said.

The brevity of his reply hammered home to her how serious he was. The ideas rushing through her mind gave her pause. It made her feel ill and not a little afraid, but what choice did she have, really?

“For how long?” She asked, pragmatically.

“Now that is somethin’ we should revisit frequently, as long as we are acquainted,” he said. Stepping backward, he seated himself on the center bulkhead. Shoulders canted forward, knees open, forearms resting lightly on his thighs, hands loose. A truthful stance, if she could be convinced that anything about this person was truthful. He continued, uninterrupted, “I would expect a period of no less than 30 cycles for you to remain in my company. During that time, you will make yourself available to me to assuage my desires as I see fit. On my part, I assure you, I will expect nothin’ from you that could be considered too far outside the realm of normalcy. You, however, shall retain no such restriction, should you choose to initiate events of your own devising.” he leered at her dangerously. The space between them was not nearly far enough for her liking. “That is fair enough for the exchange of your life and freedom, you will agree?” He asked.

“14,” she rebutted. “14 cycles.” Where had that come from? Was she really going along with this? Who knew what kind of perverted freak he was under all the flowery words? But staying here meant certain death and he didn’t really have to involve her in the decision making process, after all. For all his crimes and questionable behavior, he seemed bent on gaining her agreement, even if it was in all actuality, coerced.

“21,” he grinned and leaned in close enough that she could smell his sweat and the dirt that clung to his suit.

“20 cycles, ten points off your sale, and I’m free after,” she tossed quickly, not knowing where she was finding the strength to come back at him like this. He had her tied. He could take what he wanted. He could and she couldn’t stop him. But instead he was negotiating. What kind of man was this?

“Ten points? You are a mercenary after all,” he said, shaking his head. “We have ourselves a deal, birdie,” his smile grew broader, if that was possible. He removed his gloves, took her bound hands in both of his hard callused ones and gave them a brief shake. Then he turned to begin his work on the blackened panels that had billowed smoke much earlier.

Some time later, he broke from his tinkering and declared, “As good as it will get, I suppose. Let us see if we can throw ourselves from this mortal coil to the waiting orbit which will gain us our future.”

The starter key had been pulled as part of his repair checks and he now reinserted it. The launch process began. He flicked the switches and primed the machine, the same as she had done, but with a much different result. The mechanism purred quietly and he strapped himself into the pilot’s seat.

Barely a rumble disturbed the quiet pod. These last few moments had been the most peaceful since he had taken over. As he worked, he had not stopped talking. Anecdote after anecdote spilled from his lips as he regaled her. Talking and breathing seemed to be one and the same for this man. After the first half hour of non-stop speech from him, she had ceased giving him her full attention out of self preservation. Anyone who spoke that much could not possibly care if anyone was listening.

Instead, she had thought about her situation. The number of double-crosses leading up to this moment played in her mind. Damon had been greedy, yes, but this man had waylaid him in the first place. It was all too much for her to process, but she was here, now, and she had made a tacit agreement with the ruffian. For some reason, perhaps out of some deep denial, she was beginning to allow herself to believe in this deal they had struck. Nothing to do but bide her time. If an opportunity arose that allowed her to remove herself from the situation, she would take it, deal or no deal.

Trussed as she was, she had lost most of the feeling in her extremities after the second hour, but refused to speak up. Not out of fear this time. No, she remained silent from pure stubbornness, she admitted to herself. Not giving her captor the satisfaction of her needing anything from him was, as she saw it, the only power she held at the moment.

The takeoff was surprisingly uneventful for an aged, abused and overused rental. They attained orbit with the minimum of effort. The craft settled easily into its floating circuit of the green moon, matching the future track of the slingback’s return trip.

A voice came to her through the disorientation she always experienced when being shot through the air at high speeds. It had never been bad enough that she had actually passed out, but the dark spots were familiar friends. Her eyes opened and she blinked them away. “What?” She slurred.

He shook her shoulder. “I said, are you with me, girl?” His voice sounded sharp and irritated. The grav-plates had kicked on during stabilization and he stood over her, bending to examine her. He tilted her head back and lifted her eyelids one at a time, checking her pupils.

She twisted her head away sharply and lifted her eyes to his. She tried to focus on his face. His worried face. He was worried about her? “Yes. I’m here. Just launch sickness. I’ll be fine in a minute.” She blinked hard and stretched her jaw, trying to find her equilibrium.

“I am pleased to hear that. It would have been an unfortunate thing to have lost you after all the trouble we have gone through. To have it all be for naught would be sore disappointing. But here you are and right as rain by your own admission.” Satisfied that she wasn’t in a worse state than she was letting on, he turned away from her and began the process of removing his environment suit.

The stories he told while performing the repairs had droned on so long that she had gotten lost in her own head. When they had launched, she was distracted by the physical effect it had on her and had momentarily forgotten her plight. Seeing his broad shoulders being revealed like that brought it all rushing back. He was wearing a thin navy blue shirt, but watching him remove the heavily woven, treated suit signified one less layer of separation between them.

Her blood ran cold and she closed her eyes tightly. She took the extra precaution of facing the ceiling, trying to deny the situation her attention as long as possible. He would want her to make good on her bargain. Their time “together” had begun. 20 cycles and it would be over. Or sooner, if she had the opportunity. Her face flamed. She was to be his whore, or worse. What price for my life? she thought.

To her surprise, he didn’t approach her immediately. In addition to his pattering, pointless speech, she heard shuffling noises, folderbins opened and closed. It sounded like he was moving around the cabin straightening up. He had launched into another of his stories. This time about a rough takeoff he had experienced off some world or another, during another of his myriad harvests. Truth or fiction, she could not tell. His voice changed places around the room as the other noises subsided and then his steps drew close behind her.

“And so here I am. Another successful pull, minus a few colleagues and on my way again. Lucky to have met you, but have I really met you, girl? I do not even know your name.” She thought he must have seated himself on the same bulkhead as earlier. There was a bump as he disengaged the safety lock and then she felt the chair swivel. He meant for her to face him. Her eyes squeezed even harder. She wouldn’t answer him. Her lips pressed into a firm white line.

“Come now, I must call you somethin’ for the duration. Little bird is fine as an endearment, but as a name it is severely lacking. Do not be obstinate at this late hour,” he entreated.

What was the point of not giving him my name? She thought. He will probably make one up and call me that if I don’t tell him. Or pry through my journals. “My name is Farra.”

“Pleased to meet you, Farra. I am Ezra, if you had not gathered that from your eavesdroppin’ expedition in that poxy forest. I would be still better served if you would also open your eyes for me. This is no way to carry on a conversation. Very rude, indeed,” he scolded.

He still had not touched her, and she felt odd with her eyes shut so hard, so she squinted them open a bit. If he wasn’t decent, she would close them quickly and just continue pretending to be blind. But he was wearing a pair of lightweight long john pants and the dark navy t-shirt she had glimpsed earlier. His long, muscular arms were lightly furred, and he had taken a moment in his chores to wipe off some of the accumulated grime from his face and body. He looked almost presentable, if still very dangerous.

“Thank you for that,” Ezra said, smiling warmly at her. “It is disconcerting to speak to a seein’ person who will not acknowledge they are in the same room as the one who is speakin’. I believe we have a few details to hammer out before we get down to brass tacks, as it were.”

Farra’s eyes went wide and she leaned back hard into her seat. Her hands and legs were tingling and she couldn’t make them move. In fear again, fear that hadn’t really left, she said calmly, as if she had any control of anything, “Okay.”

He stood up hastily, startling her further. He put his hands out in front of himself several centimeters apart, palms up, showing her he wasn’t hiding anything. Regardless of his efforts, his approach made her compress herself farther into her seat.

“I just need to check somethin’ here, Farra. Do not be afraid,” he said, as he brushed her hair away from her neck. He gently pushed on the back of her head until she angled it down and away from him. “Ah, yes,” he murmured. “I see you are still current.”

Keeping her fertility inhibitor implant current was a prerequisite of all the outer belt hubs. A woman couldn’t get past onboarding without one, but leave it to a man to not know that. These communities controlled their population strictly and any possibility of adding another life to the stacks was anathema. Supplies were always scarce out here. Food, water, oxygen, all of it had to be carefully calculated and regulated.

“Of course it is,” she said, looking up at him from an angle, her blond hair falling in her face. “You could have just asked.” A bright red blush crept up her neck and stained her cheeks. So this was how it would go.

“Certainly I could have asked, but would you have told me true?” He asked. “I do not know that you would,” he mused, answering his own question. Switching his focus back to her, he asked abruptly, “How many years do you have?”

“20 standard,” she answered, matter of factly.

“I see, then. That is favorable, as well. It had not occurred to me to inquire earlier. Your petite size gave me a moment’s concern, but I am glad I judged correctly. I did say that we would commence shortly, didn’t I? Or did I fail to mention…” he trailed off, his attention drifting again.

She shook her head, “I can’t feel my hands. I think the circulation has been cut off for too long, Ezra.” It felt strange to say his name, all things considered. However, if he was going to insist on this “commencing”, as he put it, she didn’t want to be any more impaired than she was at the moment.

“Why did you not say so sooner?” He knelt, bringing his hands to hers, lifting and examining them carefully. “You are white as bone, my dear. This will not do.” He began to loosen the ties, but then stopped suddenly and looked her in the eyes. “Do I have your word that you will behave? I would not want to cause you undue harm through some stupid idea of yours gone wrong.” His eyes narrowed as he said this last.

Farra’s hands were indeed white, having lost circulation some time ago. Even as bent on obstruction as she had been, she was actually becoming concerned about them. “I swear,” she said, earnestly.

“You swear, what?” He asked, forcing her to speak her oath in full.

Reluctantly, Farra swore, “I will not do anything to try to harm you.”

“Or yourself.” Ezra’s voice was solemn and he held her chin firmly, so that she had no choice but to look in his eyes as she spoke.

“I swear I will not do anything to harm you or myself,” she said.

He was being so in depth about all this. What if she had underestimated him? It would be a revelation if he turned out to be a thinking person, not just the brutal, thieving killer she had originally thought he was. In all her life, Farra had never broken her word. She didn’t want to do so now, but if her life was at stake...she would make that decision when she came to it.

“Alright, then, sweet Farra. Let us get some life back into these diminutive extremities of yours. I cannot have you losin’ limbs in my care.” He completely removed the rope from her wrists. The marks it left were livid against her pallid skin. Living as a floater didn’t give a person a lot of chances to take in much UV and it showed.

Leaving her still harnessed to the copilot’s seat, Ezra chafed her hands between his. Hers were dead cold, but his hands were warm, if rough and large. After a short time of this, working her fingers back and forth and massaging the blood back in, he placed her hands back in her lap and laid his on them. “Squeeze,” he said.

To her surprise, she did. Weakly, yes, but a moment ago she would have sworn that she wouldn’t have been able to move them at all. “Thank you,” she said, in a moment of real gratitude. He had been so oddly polite this entire time, with his words, at least. It must be rubbing off.

He studied her carefully. “Now that is somethin’ I thought I would have to wait a much longer time to hear from you, my dear. A genuine thank you.” He moved his gaze to their linked hands, breaking his serious perusal of her face. “Though I must say, you may regret your momentary lapse before too long. As I said, I intend to make good on our bargain, Farra. Do try to behave and I will endeavor to make my attentions as bearable as possible for you. I am many things, but I am not a cruel man, as a rule.”

She heard what he said, saw his look, felt his hands on hers and resigned herself, finally, to what she imagined was ahead. If she could trust his words, she might not be in for something so horrible as she had been fearing. Regardless, this was not what she wanted. “Fine,” she said flatly, looking anywhere except at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“You, yourself, need do nothin’. Leave it to me and try to relax.” He said softly, his lips close to her ear. With the same swift efficiency of motion she had seen him use before, he released the harness and pulled her up into his arms. He stood and waited a moment for her to find her feet.

She was a ragdoll. All those hours bound to the chair had made her boneless. She tried to raise her arms and found that folding them around his torso was her only option. He was much taller than she and the crown of her head nestled just below the top of his shoulder.

“Can you stand?” He asked, looking down at her.

His warm body against hers, his lean muscles and strong arms were overwhelming. Too much of him was touching her all at once. She felt fevered and would have fought him, if she had any strength left. Her words had escaped her again. Farra shut her eyes and shook her head against his shoulder.

“Alright, then.” He scooped her up, one arm under her shoulders and one under her knees. “So high and mighty that she must be ferried everywhere, it seems.”

His small joke did nothing to calm her nerves. She was still recovering from being restrained, dealing with the feel of him all around her and dreading what awaited her. Her hands, feet and legs tingled madly, almost to the point of pain as the circulation returned. She wrapped her limp arms around his neck for more stability and he carried her the few steps to the aft area of the pod. She noticed that the long flat cushions from the center bulkhead were now on the floor. One of the thin blankets had been spread on them and the meager pillows from the sleep kit placed at the top. A quick peek left and right told her that the rest of the space was neat and tidy. Just as she had suspected from the noises she heard, he had been clearing up.

He laid her down on the padding and knelt over her. She turned her head away from him. One last attempt at negation of this whole situation she was in. She never should have listened to Damon when he said he was onto a sure thing.

She felt Ezra’s lips on her bare neck, heard him breath in her scent, and shivered, deeply afraid. I won’t feel this, she thought. Her natural instinct was to fight, bite, claw, do whatever she could to stop this, but she knew she was no match for him, physically. She had to wait him out. Wait for a weak spot.

Farra tried to block her mind off from her body. She thought about the view from the transport base, rebuilding the scaffolding and the gray-black background of space in her mind. Space and grey steel and stars on a blanket of black, repeating the thoughts over and over in her head.

Ezra undressed her slowly, pulling the loose knit sleep shirt over her head. Farra was bare underneath and her breasts slipped fetchingly from the fabric. The slight chill in the air caused her nipples to tighten and firm up like pink pearls against the sun-deprived translucence of her skin. He could see clearly the large vein that ran diagonally across her chest and traced it back and forth with one finger. Trailing the tips of his fingers down her chest, he felt gently along her ribcage to wrap around the dip of her waist, lingering in that space. He kept his hands there and passed his thumbs back and forth over her skin, tantalizingly faint. Then he began moving again, grazing her with his fingernails, drawing them up and down, creating pale pink lines from her belly to her collarbone, stimulating every nerve.

Where his hands went, his mouth followed. Light kisses, pressing his lips to her skin, sometimes nipping with his teeth. Each caress was designed to set her skin on fire. He traced the line of her jaw and raked through her hair, spreading it out around her head. She tried desperately to stay still through all of this, but his lips and his hands were impossible to ignore.

She gasped, pulled from behind her mental block by sensations she had never experienced before. His touch was so considerate, enticing, in the exploration of her body that she couldn’t ignore it. She had expected an onslaught. A violent taking. Not this slow progression of caresses, this careful manipulation. What she felt was so foreign and she couldn’t block it out. It felt…good.

Ezra caught her attention returning to him and smiled at her until she opened her eyes and acknowledged him. His hands did not stop roaming her exposed body. She was so pliant, delicate, like the rarest flower petal. He took the opportunity provided by her shift in interest to reach an arm behind her back and arch her up to him. He framed her breast with his large hand and teased her nipple with a gentle pinch.

Farra drew in a sharp breath and stared up at Ezra. His smile, so infectious, became a glow as he saw that he had reached her. Her reactions were delicious, just as he had hoped.

“Since it seems you have deemed me not totally abhorrent, would you be so kind as to assist me with my wardrobe?” He asked her, speaking against the space below her collarbone. The crown of his dark head rested just below her chin.

Her answer was to gather his shirt and lift it slowly over his head. As she did so, his hands encircled her wrists, ready to immobilize her if she made a false move. So he doesn’t actually trust me, she thought. Smart.

She proceeded to remove the thin piece of clothing from his body, but before he released her wrists, he moved lower and took her small bud of a nipple into his mouth, sucking slightly. She moaned and arched under him, urging him to take her deeper. He smiled against her breast and obliged her, teasing the skin of her areola with his tongue.

Until that moment, he had been lying next to her, half over and half off of her body. He hadn’t wanted to be too demanding too quickly. She was so obviously afraid of him, of this. He may have been a scoundrel, but he was not a brute. Now, her active participation showed him that he could be a bit more aggressive. He moved to cover her completely, his legs on either side of hers, arms bracing his weight, elbows on the mattress.

Farra hadn’t taken her eyes off of him once. Not since she had opened them with a moan and let him continue without fighting him. Now he was directly above her. His strong thighs bracketed her body and he closed the distance between them. They were breathing the same air. She could smell his breath, sharp and clean, and feel the warmth of it as he hovered there, so near her mouth.

“I know we did not address this in our parlay,” he said quietly, his voice gravelly. “But I’m sure you know that a kiss is customary in these situations, and is considered quite within the bounds of normalcy. I will be making this a regular occurrence, Farra, and I do not want any surprises.”

Farra was taken aback by his statement, the idea that even now he was referencing their accord, negotiating and probing with his words. Her response was to nod her head. She was delirious with sensation and it hadn’t even occurred to her to try to escape after those first few moments after he had laid her down. Her skin felt alive, and what he did to her body… If he wanted to do more, she wasn’t going to stop him.

Confident that he had gained her compliance, that she wouldn’t bite or hurt him, Ezra grazed her mouth with his, as lightly as he had stroked her with his thumbs. He brushed her lips with his, a little harder with each pass. He drew her lower lip between his and sucked, just a little and when she opened her mouth, he tasted her. Lapping at her with his tongue, he mimed the penultimate act, in and out, he licked her there. She moaned and grazed her teeth over his tongue as he kissed her harder.

This was nothing like her previous experiences. This musing progression. She knew from the vids and the foldies what this was all about. A girl couldn’t make it to age twenty and not know. Sex was everywhere, easy access, but she had never met “the one”. Her head was always in a book, or a flight manual, or learning the next gutter trade to get her to the next float. The rough touches and stolen kisses from the crass men she had been stuck with on the stations were nothing like this. She panicked and laid her hands flat against his firm chest. “I… I have to say something,” she said, turning her head from his kisses.

“Then say it, girl,” he replied, holding his forehead to hers. “The hour draweth nigh.” Serious words, but his eyes twinkled and the lines at the corners multiplied.

“I’ve never…,” she whispered, and this time it was his turn to be shocked.

Ezra lifted himself a few centimeters, his eyebrows raised, and interjected, “Now, do not tell me that I may have the privilege to be your first experience in the art of love? That can not possibly be the case. For a beauty such as you to have remained unspoiled for all this time in this great world of trouble, would be a miracle indeed.”

Farra, whose speech seemed to desert her at every turn, nodded at him solemnly.

He balanced on one forearm and stroked his other hand down the side of her face to cup her chin. “Then I have struck an invaluable bargain, indeed, sweet Farra.”

Hearing her name in his needy whisper made her shiver. This time with anticipation and not the persistent undermining terror she had felt before. This moment, this situation was right. Even if everything else had been so, so wrong. She did want this, she wanted him, after all. The apprehension and horror she had experienced over the last two cycles faded to the back of her mind and she raised her lips to his, lifting herself up from the floor to feel his body all along her own.

The growling moan that her capitulation wrenched from him was erotic in the extreme. The sound low and guttural, full of wanting. He redoubled his efforts, caressing, kissing her, pressing her down into the flat cushions with his strong, athletic body. They were still half clothed and he was quickly becoming frustrated with that fact.

He moved against Farra and slid his hand behind her, under the waistband of her pajamas and cupped her buttock. He kneaded her supple ass, the movement of his hand lowering her bottoms, exposing more and more of her body to his touch.

She was so caught up in pleasure, that she wasn’t aware of being completely naked under him until he lifted her legs one at a time so that he was on his knees between them. He sat back on his heels, watching her.

Ezra ceased touching her and stayed there, like a man at a holy altar. Farra was spread out on the floor, eyes glazed and unfocused, hair a mess, splayed around her head like a gold halo, her chest heaving. The fierce hammer of her heart was clear in the vibration of the yielding arc of her breasts. Her waist and belly perfectly curved, the triangle of curls over her sex glistened with the wetness he had teased from her.

For once, Ezra seemed to be at a loss for words. Instead of his usual persuasive staccato, he simply reached forward and took her hands, placing them on his narrow hips above the waistband of his pants. The invitation implied, not spoken aloud. If this was what she wanted, if this was something more than a mercenary bargain, he wanted her to take the next step.

Farra hooked her fingers into the elastic and pulled with no hesitation. His cock sprang free of the fabric, erect and laid nearly flat against his body. He was that hard. For me, she thought, and unconsciously wet her lips. She couldn’t look away.

When she licked her lips, his penis gave a small jerk and he said, “We will have time for that later, my dear. For now let us just enjoy this languorous initiation.” His grin couldn’t have been wider.

She looked up at him, not completely understanding his reference at first. Then it hit her and her face, neck and breasts flushed. The bright color spread under her pallor, but she smiled back at him and laughed a little. It was all the invitation he needed.

Ezra lowered himself until he was resting part of his weight on Farra’s small frame, their bellies together. Her feet were planted on the floor and her knees rose on either side of his hips as he lay between them. His hard length rubbed against her pubic hair and the wetness over her clitoris. She was so sensitized that she drew in a quick breath at the contact. She took advantage of having him right above her to kiss him there. His silky chest hair tickled her lips and she did it again, a little harder. His sharp intake of breath was music to her ears.

He locked eyes with her as he reached between them, drawing his fingers over her slick vulva. The hot, wet folds parted easily and he slid his middle finger farther inside without any resistance. He held her gaze as he stroked her insistently.

Farra made sharp keening noises she was not even aware of. She tried to lift her hips, to take more of him into herself, needing the feeling of, something, inside her. But he held her firmly to the floor, not letting her move. This was his show and she was the object of his attention. Right now, he would do what he wanted, and she would accept it.

“Just relax, sweetheart. Give me a little of your trust. Upon my oath, you will not regret it,” he uttered into the shell of her ear. He took her earlobe between his teeth and pulled gently.

She did relax, then, against all odds, and let his touch and the barest rake of his teeth on her skin take her to new heights. Her hands roamed his sleek, muscled back, over the sharp wings of his shoulder blades. She reveled in the feel of his skin. It was damp with perspiration, but smooth under her fingertips and so wonderfully warm.

He moved his finger in and out of her, and Farra felt some discomfort. Not enough to override the pleasure, but a mild pinch inside of herself. Her vagina was so tight around him, as it was, but he added another finger, scissoring and stretching her further. Ezra worked her like that, getting her used to him.

She was so slick that he gasped against her breast, where he was kissing her, worshipping her. His thumb brushed her most sensitive bud and she bucked against him involuntarily. Ezra’s grip on her kept her from moving much, but she was entranced with every sensation. Something was building inside of her and she had never felt this way before.

Their bodies writhed together, the perspiration from their shared actions making them glow under the sensor lights. Farra hooked her legs behind Ezra’s back, ran her hands over his shoulders and finally found her voice.

“Please, Ezra. Please, I want...I want you to…” She breathed.

He couldn’t resist this opportunity to make her acknowledge her need, “What do you want, Farra?” He asked, and pushed into her, holding still. Withholding his caresses and any further stimulation.

She bit her lip and her eyes rolled upward, “I want you,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t have to say it.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Farra?” He asked harshly.

“Yes,” she groaned, trying to make him push his fingers further into her needy hole.

“Then ask me nicely. Say please. Say it for me,” he demanded, ravaging her throat, leaving dark suckling marks as he kissed her.

“Please fuck me,” Farra begged him. “Please, please fuck me!” She was so far gone that she would have said anything to him to get to the peak she felt was just outside of her grasp. To make his hands move over her body again.

With that, Ezra began to guide his thick length inside her. His earlier efforts had gotten her pussy so wet that her creamy juices flowed around his rock hard cock and coated her all the way down her ass. He shut his eyes and beads of sweat gathered at his hairline as he tried to hold himself in check. Her walls clenched around the tip of his swollen member pressing into her, deeper and deeper, chasing that sensation of her body’s need for him.

Farra panted repeatedly, “Oh, oh, oh,” like a chant. She tried to do as he had said and willed herself to relax as he invaded her body. The stretch of him inside of her was such a strong, sweet feeling, but he was so big. The slickness he had coaxed from her was her only salvation. She kept her hips still under his, not wanting to ruin anything through her inexperience. The muscles inside of her were firing rhythmically, the way they did when she touched herself in private. It had always felt good when she used her fingers on herself, but this was much more powerful. The friction of his hot, hard cock inside of her raised that feeling to new peaks.

Ezra paused as he felt resistance against the sensitive head of his penis, knowing he would hurt her, but wanting this too much. She had begged him, for Kevva’s sake! He also trusted that he could bring her back, too, to the pleasure he felt coursing around him. The shiver of her body under his as he took her told him that her need was great.

“Little bird,” he said gravely, using the name to hopefully show her this was not a mean thing he intended to do. “Little bird, there will be some pain for you now, but that is the way of the world. I do not take joy in this, but if you will trust me, joy we may have.” He gazed at her earnestly, his eyes centimeters from her own. He held her immobile under him as he waited, in pain and pleasure, for her acknowledgement.

Farra nodded and Ezra claimed her mouth in a deep kiss as he thrust himself fast into her. The sharp pain drew a cry from her, but it was muffled by his lips on hers. She felt so full, so overstimulated. The pain subsided quickly, but it was still a shock after all the indulgent touches and sweet pleasure he had brought from her body.

When her breathing became regular again, Ezra allowed himself to slide in and out in slow strokes. He angled his movement to drag himself across her clitoris, building her arousal again. She arched her back with each thrust, each time drawing him over that part of her that was more alive than she had ever been able to achieve before. Instinctively, she moved with him, as he delved harder into her pussy.

He began to talk to her then, but she couldn’t keep up with what he was saying. Filthy things he wanted to do to her, descriptions of what he was doing that moment, how she felt, wrapped around him, her wetness, her drooling cunt, he called it. How he loved to feel her squeezing his cock. He went on and on. She shuddered and felt herself coming apart. Her pussy clenched and tightened, drawing his length into her again and again as she saw stars and swirls of color behind her eyelids. Her whole body tingled and vibrated and she cried out over and over, “Oh!! Oh my god!” as she came.

The overwhelming feelings were still at their peak when she felt Ezra change from his steady rhythm with a sharp cry. He began thrusting into her harder even than before, holding her body to his firmly. His actions drew more and stronger contractions from her dripping hot pussy and she screamed in earnest; a wordless expression of her overwhelming pleasure as she felt the searing wetness of his cum spurt inside of her. He seated himself fully inside of her, withdrawing only slightly each time his cock pulsed against her walls, nearly in time with her own internal spasms. They wound down their movements in sync, slowing and then finally ceasing altogether.

Ezra collapsed on top of her, completely spent. They lay there, wet from their exertion and arousal, exhausted. Farra smiled when she realized he had actually stopped talking.

“Hey,” she said, after a minute or two of the silence. Her voice cracked, “You’re kind of crushing me.” The air had been pushed out of her lungs and she had trouble drawing a breath under the weight of him.

His arms shook as he lifted himself off her and shifted to her side, disengaging their bodies. Ezra was flushed underneath his naturally olive skin color, and his hair was soaked with sweat. Farra lay flat, breathing deeply, and he adjusted himself to rest his head on her chest.

How interesting, she thought. She felt his need to be held almost psychically. It was as if the afterglow of their lovemaking had given her some odd insight into this contradiction of a man. He spoke and spoke, and said utterly filthy things to her, used her body and made her feel so many things in the process. He killed and stole and bargained. And all along, some part of him craved this. He needed this attention from her.

This is an essential thing to him, she thought, and wrapped her arm around his neck, draping it over his shoulder, gathering his overheated body to hers. He laid his arm over her abdomen and cuddled her close. The light from the primary planet reflected through the window, illuminating both of them, naked and spent on the floor of their tiny pod.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra (prospect 2018)#ezra/original female character #ezra (prospect)/original female character #m/f #non-con #non-con to con

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ambitionsource · 5 years

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AMBITION Season 2 ♫ “We’ll Be the Stars” [ 2.11 ]

CREATED BY Esther (rapunzles) & Maggie (quincywillows) || S2 Tag || Official Page

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER – Tensions are set aside in honor of a promenade, and some students opt for a change of pace. A clever ruse forces Eric and Jack to team up. Unfortunate circumstances make for odd couples, but stars always know where they’re supposed to go in the end.

66 Minutes (18K words) || No content warnings apply.

[ ← Rarely Pure and Never Simple ] [ S2 Synopsis ] [ Final Run → ]

( Follow along with the music on Spotify here! )

INT. AAA - DAY

A series of shots guide us into the episode, displaying the school in the midst of preparing for promenade. Banners are hung, student council members work the ticket booth. The halls are decorated according to the theme, “We’ll Be the Stars,” small stars seemingly glittering on every visible surface. A promposal wraps up in the hall outside the auditorium, senior students applauding and cheering as the girl says yes and the other girl wraps her in a tight hug.

Yes, it’s prom time at Adams Academy for the Arts. Let the insanity commence!

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

FARKLE MINKUS opens his locker. We’re looking at him from the inside, giving us a look at it as he rearranges some things. Its decor has been updated after a long detour of being trapped in sophomore year -- there are fewer photos, but they are newer and more representative of the way things actually are now. A couple photos of him and Maya are the focal point, but there’s a few scattered notable mentions. A photograph of the full Junior A Class; a picture of his whole family; a rare capture of him and Isadora.

From outside the confines of the locker, we hear RILEY MATTHEWS speak.

Riley: And you’re sure you can handle it? I’m sure if you wanted, we could work out something else --

Perspective shifts back to its usual framing, showing the two of them hanging by his locker. Farkle stems her worrying from the start, holding up a hand.

Farkle: I’m going to stop you right there, Riley. Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?

Riley: … demonstrating concern as a good friend?

Farkle: You’re neuro-splaining me. [ off Riley’s expression ] I get it, you’re concerned about my health. Mentally, above all else.

Riley makes a face, obviously not sold on the concept of “neuro-splaining.” As if she hasn’t had her own mental health experiences… but she figures it’s not worth the argument.

Farkle: But trust me, as much as I appreciate it, I will be fine. [ a beat ] I don’t want to miss out on anything else essential to my junior year experience, and prom is one of those things. Not to mention, I certainly won’t be able to graciously receive my prom king crown if I’m not there to accept it.

It’s clear he’s joking, although with his dry delivery… either way, he’s made up his mind. Farkle will be in attendance at the upcoming event, come hell or high water.

Farkle: Besides, it’s bold of you to assume I could avoid it anyway.

Riley: How come?

Farkle: Prom isn’t just an event around here. [ pointedly ] It’s a contagion.

As he closes his locker --

INT. AAA - CLASSROOM - DAY

For how alight with excitement the halls seem to be, classes are still in session and there’s still work to be done. The energy is tamped down in Cory’s classroom, where everyone is completing silent reading for the last few minutes of class.

Still, Farkle was right, and the junior class has been bitten by the prom bug. Everyone is jittery as they sit at their desks, unable to keep still. Under the desk, ZAY BABINEAUX taps his foot to an unheard rhythm. MAYA HART flips her pencil in her fingers, adding to the rhythm against her desk.

CHARLIE GARDNER glances up at the clock, impatiently watching the seconds go by. Tick, tick, tick… as the percussions slowly evolve into an actual beat...

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “You Should Be Dancing” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by AAA Juniors

The bell rings about 7 seconds in, releasing the class from their academic torture. CORY MATTHEWS cringes as the energy in the room skyrockets, papers flying as the energetic juniors are free to succumb back into the groove.

Zay kicks off the vocals, the number staying in the classroom for the first verse as he volleys lyrics back and forth with Maya. As they escape into the halls…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Charlie takes over, leading the charge into the rest of the school. The three of them are the front of the pack, but they pick up other junior students as they go. The whole atmosphere of the halls has changed, feeling groovier in the midst of the twinkling stars and amped up music.

Around a minute and a half in, they pass by Riley and Farkle and pull them into the dance. The movements become less chaotic and more choreographed at that point, truly a spectacle only AAA could pull off.

As they pass by the techies hanging out on the stairs outside the auditorium, it seems even they aren’t immune to the allure of prom fever. They jump up and join in the parade, JEFF MONROE in particular worth spotlighting due to his breakdancing ability.

And away they go again…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

By the time they make it into the auditorium and onto the stage, the vibe of their collective imagination has completely succumbed to fantasy. The stage is basically a disco floor as they dance their way up there, the only thing still remaining commonplace their outfits.

And by this point, they’ve paired off. Farkle and Zay stay front and center -- a fun little duo to witness tolerating each other again, if nothing else -- with Maya and ISADORA DE LA CRUZ to their left and Charlie and YINDRA AMINO to their right. In the back, ASHER GARCIA and DYLAN ORLANDO are grooving together, while Riley Matthews gets LUCAS JAMES FRIAR to at least do something.

As they finish out the jam, Farkle and Zay theatrically toss their heads back and raise a hand to the sky. Declarative, with a flourish, what a dynamite finish. One thing is essentially guaranteed on this prom week, that’s for sure.

There will be no shortage of drama.

Cue title sequence.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Zay is at his locker, swapping out his dance duffle for his classwork. When Maya practically jumps him and surprises him at his locker, he’s not fazed -- he might be the only student at AAA who she doesn’t strike instant fear into in one capacity or another.

Zay: What do you want, mini Britney?

Maya touches her hand to her chest, faux flattered.

Maya: You’re so sweet. I was just thinking that you and I have a real opportunity on our hands this week.

Zay: Must everything be about an “opportunity?”

Maya: Ugh, would you stop being such a damp toilette? Your mood has been totally subbasement the last couple of weeks and it’s really harshing the vibes.

Well, Maya, he did just break up with his boyfriend. But people not knowing about them was kind of sort of the whole problem, so he says nothing as he allows Maya the floor again.

Maya: Chin up, Zayby. It’s promenade. And you and I are going to come out of it as royalty.

Maya makes her grand pitch: they should go to prom together. Not out of any romantic interest -- although, as she admits, Zay is by far the most eligible male in the walls of AAA -- but because the two of them would be a shoo-in for junior prom king and queen if they team up.

And like everything else at Adams, there is an opportunity attached. Every year, the duos crowned as prom king and queen in both grades get to perform at graduation. It’s a time honored tradition, one that Maya believes they should not pass up.

Zay: I don’t really see what the big deal is.

Maya: Oh, Zay. Isaiah! Wake up! Snap out of whatever quarter-life crisis funk you’ve succumbed yourself into and smell the potential right in front of you! [ matter-of-factly ] You know that there are always college representatives at Triple A graduation. Of course, it’s to honor the students they’ll be bringing into their ranks, and to hopefully snag some quality time with a celebrity family member or two -- I mean, think how many people are going to be swarming our graduation next year when Valerie comes to support Isadora --

Zay, flatly: Yeah, I’m sure she’s so excited about that.

Maya: But it’s also to scout the next crop of graduates. That’s us. It’s almost cosmic that every junior prom king and queen end up going to amazing schools for the arts -- there was even that junior prom queen in ‘96 who got a straight up recording contract.

Zay: How the hell do you know this stuff?

Maya: Because I do my research, Zay. And I know you do, too. Which is why once you’ve shaken off the ennui and have your head back on straight -- or, bi, whatever -- you’ll realize we have prime real estate in front of us. And it’s ours to take… if we step up to the plate. [ backing away ] You know where to find me.

Well, that’s certainly a proposition. Maya floats away as Zay contemplates it, slinging his bag over his shoulder. It’s a good point, he can’t argue with that, and yet…

He glances to the photo of him and Charlie, still taped up in his locker innocuously amongst the rest. In some ways, it seems, it’s just hard to let go of the way you hoped things would be.

Zay closes his locker, heading on his way to rehearsal.

Dylan, pre-lap: We’ll boycott.

INT. AAA - TECHNICIAN’S BOOTH - DAY

Dylan and Asher are following Lucas into the booth, obviously in a heated discussion. Dylan continues to make bold declarations.

Dylan: We’ll stage a full-on protest. You know, when I was in middle school, I was renowned for my poster-making skills in environmental club. They usually lasted like, nine days longer than usual before people tore them down. And Cory is always saying how loud and annoying I am -- that has to be helpful for a protest, yeah?

Asher: He said that to you?

Lucas: Guys --

Dylan: Or even better --

Asher: I swear, I’m going to report him. Like, sorry Riley --

Dylan: Let’s stage a riot. That’ll really show ‘em! They think they can bar Lucas James Friar from prom? Not when we’re there to literally blow the roof off this place. I bet we can get Isadora to sing “Bad Reputation” -- I think we’d need music to be taken seriously here, so --

Lucas: Hey. Hello. Earth to Asher and Dylan. [ clapping ] Let’s cool it, alright?

Lucas waves off their concerns about his ban from prom. He doesn’t want them wasting energy on him when it hardly matters. All things considered, being barred from stuff like this for the rest of the year seems like the best he could’ve asked for given all the bullshit he’s done this year. He slouches into his rolling chair, shrugging.

Lucas: I mean, it’s not like I was really psyched to go anyway. I think I’m more lucky I didn’t get expelled.

Dylan, under his breath: Would’ve boycotted that too.

Lucas: You guys have been looking forward to this for the last three years. It would be stupid for you to blow it just for me. Especially when we consider everything else you’ve already sacrificed for me. Like your sanity. And your clean legal record.

Dylan: I wasn’t mad.

Lucas, bluntly: You should have been. Asher was, but then, he’s always been the smartest out of the three of us.

A beat of quiet as that truth lingers between them. Lucas reiterates the point -- that he doesn’t want them to give up something they care about just because of him. They do enough of that already. Asher and Dylan exchange a look.

Dylan, softer: … well, we love you, man.

Lucas: I know. [ looking at them, then slowly ] And I love you guys, too.

Well, there’s a breakthrough! Dylan beams, looking to Asher in excitement. Asher is smiling too, although a bit more bashful. Lucas elects to move past the vulnerability quickly -- he can give it, but only so much at a time.

Lucas: Which is why I’m not letting you do this. You’re going to prom, and you’ll have a great time without me. Besides, someone has to give whatever posh performers are gunning for prom court a run for their money.

True enough. In fact...

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

That’s exactly what the rest of the techies are discussing as they start doing end of year inventory. It’s a long process, so they have to start early. Rather, they’re complaining as Jeff and DAVE WILLIAMS pick their way through the furniture and wood supplies under the prop loft. NATE MARTINEZ is supposed to be taking notes, but he’s not doing a great job.

JADE BEAMON is seated on a stack of wood pieces, nodding along as she feverishly works on the finishing touches to a wardrobe piece. It doesn’t look like a costume for any sort of production, however…

Nate: It’s rigged, anyway. Every year the most popular performers win so it’s not like the institution means anything.

Jeff: Does prom court mean anything… anywhere? Ever?

Dave: My parents were prom queen and king when they were seniors. They got a free dinner at Waffle House.

Jade: [ tearing a thread with her teeth ] Sounds like a better prize than performing at graduation.

Inspired by their complaints, Nate lights up with an idea. He claims that they should start a new tradition to go with their holiday party, and should throw a techie pre-prom bash. That way they can celebrate their year together and have real fun before they have to go deal with the performers all night.

Jade: You know, I think that’s the first idea of yours I’ve liked in months.

Nate bows, then enthusiastically gives Dave a high-five.

Their tomfoolery is interrupted by Isadora entering, all of them growing uncertainly quiet. She hesitates but then marches onward anyway, greeting them with the best attitude she can muster. She just came by to drop off some paperwork for them -- she already went ahead and inventoried the wood and set building supplies. This is good, because Nate definitely wasn’t doing it.

Jeff accepts her record, looking it over.

Dave: When did you do that?

Isadora: Oh, I just skipped Matthews’ class. [ offhandedly ] I could ace that class with my eyes closed, so. And probably brain damage.

It’s a nice gesture, and they’re not going to refuse it. Jeff awkwardly thanks her, silence settling over them once again. Isadora clears her throat, clasping her hands together. She expresses that she knows she messed up with them, and she is going to put in the effort to get back in their good graces.

She spins and escorts herself out without waiting for a response, leaving the four of them to contemplate her promise. Interesting development…

Dave: So… we don’t have to count the wood?

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Charlie is having lunch with HALEY FISHER and CLARISSA CRUZ, although he doesn’t seem nearly as enthused about prom as they are. On the other side of the cafeteria, applause erupts again as another promposal between seniors gains public attention. So happy, so romantic!

Clarissa: I swear, nowhere in this school is safe right now.

Haley nudges Clarissa, claiming that she should be less cynical. It takes a lot of bravery to ask someone to prom in front of everyone else.

Clarissa: Yes, well, then they could just have a conversation about it. Or make a big deal about it, but like, between the two of you.

Haley: I think it’s romantic.

Clarissa: You think everything is romantic. You’re the most hopeless romantic I’ve ever met.

Haley: Charlie is too -- you agree with me, don’t you, Charlie?

In all honesty, Charlie was not listening. He blinks himself out of his daze, blankly agreeing with whatever Haley said. Clarissa rolls her eyes.

Haley goes to explain how much courage it takes to do such a public proposal. It demonstrates what you’re willing to go through for the other person, how much you like them. Charlie admits that it’s not exactly an act of bravery to ask someone who you know will say yes -- especially when there’s no stakes involved for either of you.

Haley: Well, there’s always stakes. You know, even if you think you know someone, they could always say no. And there’s a lot at stake with a rejection… you know, especially if it’s… [ looking at Charlie intently ] between good friends…

Whatever hint Haley is trying to lay down, it’s going right over Charlie’s head. He shrugs, claiming he might not even go to prom. He’s just... not feeling it this year. Haley is mortified, Clarissa looking between the two of them apprehensively. This seems like a recipe for disaster.

Meanwhile, the techies are enjoying lunch at their usual indoor table when NIGEL CHEY approaches. He greets them before turning his focus to Jade.

Nigel: … hey, Jade.

Jade, shy: … um, hi.

Nigel: I, uh… I just had a quick question. I was wondering if, uh --

All of the techie eyes are on him, making this whole situation a lot more intense. Dylan is watching with wide eyes, wondering if what he thinks is going to happen is about to happen. Jade might be holding her breath. Nigel pushes up his sleeves nervously, clearing his throat.

Jade: … yes?

Nigel: I was just… [ quickly ] I had a question about the costume you made for that number last week. It’s actually… it’s nothing, I’ll just ask you about it in class. Sorry, ha ha. Didn’t mean to interrupt.

Jade: … oh. Okay.

Clearly not what he actually intended to ask. Nigel backs off awkwardly, making a quick escape. Jade tries to hide her disappointment. Asher and Dylan exchange a look across the table, shaking their heads. Pathetic!

All of the missed prom-portunities are forgotten, however, as soon as Maya and Zay arrive to kick off their pronouncement of going together. Evidently Zay agreed, because here they go…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Greedy” as performed by Ariana Grande || Performed by Maya Hart & Zay Babineaux

It’s been a while since we’ve endured a good old disruption in the cafeteria during lunch hour, and this time Lucas is less likely to pull the fire alarm than ever. So Maya and Zay take full advantage of it, bringing up the energy with their talent and an undeniable bop.

They make a point of pulling other people into it at their tables, and of course, Maya is going to climb up onto the tables in her heeled boots. It’s not quite the same full-blown jam session as “Looking At Me” from earlier in the season, but people seem to be into it and in the general prom mood. Spirits are high!

Well, mostly. There is one pointed shot of Charlie forcing a smile as everyone else grooves along, likely wishing he could be anywhere else.

It’s not so much a promposal as it is… a spectacle, but boy, do they know how to put on a show… once they wrap, Maya makes the official statement that they’re campaigning for prom royalty, and if people have any taste, they sure know who to vote for come prom night.

Given how naturally glamorous the two of them are, up high on the table top and looking fresh as ever, it’s hard to argue with that!

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Riley is hanging up her dress for prom, a classic and simple lavender floor-length number. She’s fretting over it as she vents to Maya, expressing that she’s still debating the whole upstate move thing Topanga has saddled her with.

Maya: Well, do you want to move?

Riley: I… it’s not that simple.

Maya: It should be. Either you want to go, or you don’t.

Riley: Yes, but… I mean… there’s lots to think about.

Maya: She said it was your choice.

Riley: Yeah, well, my mom says a lot of things she doesn’t mean, so…

Maya: Have you talked to Cory about it? He might have some insight. Or like, Eric?

Riley chews her lip, avoiding the question. Maya straightens up, asking if anybody knows about this potential move other than the two of them. Riley has plenty of excuses ready as to why she hasn’t mentioned it to anyone else, but Maya isn’t interested in hearing them. She claims she at least, at least, needs to tell Cory. He deserves to know, lest another life-changing thing get sprung on him with no warning.

Maya: Believe me, as the girl with no parents because of sudden life-altering moves, you owe him that decency.

Youch. Well, that’s tough to debate. Riley absorbs it, focusing back on her dress and smoothing it out nervously.

INT. GARDNER HOME - ROSIE’S ROOM - NIGHT

ROSIE GARDNER is chilling on her bed with her laptop, listening to pop music and humming to herself. Charlie comes and knocks on her door, pointedly until she takes out her earbuds.

Rosie: Ugh, yes? Can I help you?

Charlie: You’re so nice. How about, hey, Charlie? How was your day?

Rosie: I’m fourteen, I have the right to be obnoxious.

Charlie: I wouldn’t say it’s a right so much as an active choice.

Rosie groans, asking him what he even came in here for in the first place. He asks if she has anything going on this weekend -- perhaps they could go do something together. It’s been a minute since they did some brother-sister bonding.

Rosie: I dunno. I guess we could go see that new Chris Evans movie. I think it’s coming out next weekend, and I’m probably free Saturday --

Charlie: … well, I was thinking more this weekend. Specifically. Like not next weekend. This weekend.

Rosie: I know what this weekend means, weirdo. [ looking up movies ] Why are you so set on that? Isn’t it prom this weekend?

Charlie: … well, you know, it’s not a big deal. I was thinking I probably wouldn’t even go anyway, so.

Rosie, offended: Charlie! Ew, no, you can’t not go to prom. Don’t be lame, you’re embarrassing me.

Charlie, scoffing: This has nothing to do with you! You don’t even know anybody I go to school with.

Rosie: Yes, but by Gardner law, I’m associated. Just go with your friends! It does not have to be that deep.

Okay… fair point. Charlie questions if her blatant disgust means they’re not going to the movies, and she claims next week… after he doesn’t embarrass their family name by going to prom like everyone else. So much for finding a clever way out.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Speaking of clever escapes, JACK HUNTER is still struggling to find a way out of the Bradford debacle. So much to the point that he’s now elected to share the issue with Lucas, sitting opposite him with ERIC MATTHEWS as they get him up to speed.

It’s obviously not the kind of thing you want to hear. Lucas is hiding his head in his hands, cursing to himself before turning back to Jack.

Lucas: How long have you known about this?

Jack: … a couple months --

Lucas: Months?

Eric tries to keep stress levels at a manageable level, taking over for Jack in explaining exactly what the suit entails and what the Bradfords are hoping to gain from it. Essentially, they’re hoping that publicly printing Jack’s “questionable” enrollment processes will force his hand. Either he’ll cave and let her enroll regardless, or public dissent will push him to oust Lucas, making room for her in his vacant spot.

Jack, reassuringly: Which will not happen.

But for it to gain any traction, it needs to smell somewhat of a scandal (even if it isn’t) -- which is why they’ve targeted Lucas as their student to blame. They’ve obviously done their research. And between Lucas’s unique situation for enrollment, his lack of participation in the more showcased elements of the school, and his behavioral record…

Lucas, exasperated: I’m guessing stealing a car didn’t help!

Jack frowns. It’s clear he didn’t want to get Lucas involved if he could help it, and seeing this stressed reaction from him is exactly why. But Eric placates them both, reminding them that the fight isn’t over until it’s over. They will be able to brainstorm a way to fix this -- it’s just going to take a concerted effort.

Eric: We will be able to make this work. But it’s going to take a team effort, and total cooperation. You have to trust us, Lucas, and you have to be willing to cooperate. Can you do that? Can you work with us?

What a question, and posed to the notorious school troublemaker at that. But Lucas doesn’t want to leave AAA -- let alone be forced out. He sighs, tilting his head back and swallowing his pride before nodding.

Lucas: Okay. Yeah. [ serious ] Just tell me what to do.

He looks to Jack, meeting his eyes. Ready to do whatever it takes.

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Charlie is at his locker, relaying the rejection by his own sister to Riley. She’s leaned back against the lockers, listening sympathetically as he points out another crappy addition to what has been a crappy last couple of weeks.

Along those lines, Riley questions if Charlie still thinks he might transfer to a different school. He hasn’t heard back from Haverford yet, but is he still seriously considering the notion?

Charlie, diplomatically: Given that Zay and I were able to lay everything out there and at least confront the reality of our situation, I don’t think it’s really a necessary maneuver anymore. I mean, the situation is far from ideal, but that I can deal with. I’ve been living in far from ideal my whole life.

Riley: Sad, but sort of inspiring, I guess.

Charlie: I will admit though… it was kind of nice, going through that whole process. Just going out there, you know, proving that I could do things. That I was capable. [ smiling to himself ] If anything, at least I came away with that.

Riley mirrors his smile. Then they’re back on the subject of prom, Charlie lamenting that he doesn’t see what the point is of going if he can’t be there with the person he would actually want to spend it with.

Riley: Considering my ideal date has literally been banned from all school activities and therefore can go nowhere near it, I think I can say I relate.

Charlie: Tragic.

Charlie mentions what his sister said about not making it that deep and just going with friends, and this seems to strike something in Riley. A smile drifts onto her face.

Charlie: Oh no. I know that look. What are you thinking?

Riley: Just that dear Rosamund might have a point. If we are going to be miserable and repressed all night long, then we should at least be miserable in good company.

Charlie: … I don’t know if I like where this is going…

Riley turns to face him, a mischievous smile on her face. She leans in conspiratorially -- her delivery would be more convincing though if she wasn’t so inherently cute.

Riley: Charlie Gardner! [ in a whisper ] Will you go to prom with me?

Charlie stares at her, expression betraying nothing. She matches his gaze, wiggling her eyebrows. Then he can’t help but crack a smile.

Charlie: Well when you look at me like that, how could I say no…

Riley grins, bouncing on her feet and lightly punching him on the shoulder.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

The first step to putting Lucas in less jeopardy -- actually participating in class. He’s meeting with HARPER BURGESS to discuss how to make his optics better in that regard. Unfortunately, there’s really only one thing he can do…

Harper: If you do even one performance, then at least you’d have something to point to if the case attempts to jump down your throat.

True. Although he looks like he’d rather die, Lucas reluctantly accepts that point. So it’s official -- he’ll be performing a number this week!

Harper: It’s for the best, actually. Everyone else is so consumed with prom fever, they won’t even remember it happened.

Zay: Are you kidding? It’s Lucas James Friar. No one is ever going to forget this.

Lucas: Yeah, um, [ pointing to Zay ] what is he doing here again?

Harper gestures Zay forward to join them. She explains that considering Lucas is literally starting from scratch, he’s going to need help when it comes to choreography. And singing. And well… basically all of it. She figured Zay is one of their best performers and far more willing to lend a hand than, say, Maya. If Lucas wants a chance of pulling off a decent performance, having his help would be his best bet.

Harper: That is, of course, if you’re up for it, Zay.

Zay: Honestly, I would welcome the distraction. It’s been… an interesting few weeks.

So that’s that. We’ve got the team, we’ve got the plan -- time to make shit happen! Even if it kills Lucas in the process. As the backbeat floats in…

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I Think He Knows” as performed by Taylor Swift || Performed by Dylan Orlando (feat. Asher Garcia)

Two AMBITION firsts in one, as Dylan kicks off his first mostly solo performance by bringing Taylor Swift into the song catalogue. He starts off at his locker, giving us a glimpse into the interior which despite the mess is basically as bursting with love as he is -- full of photos of his friends, his family, and Asher.

Of course, there’s Asher.

And that’s what he’s focused on as he slides into the pre-chorus (“He’s got that boyish look that I like in a man, I am an architect I’m drawing up the plans”). When he sings “It’s like I’m seventeen nobody understands,” he sure means it, because he is seventeen, and nobody does understand. Whew, Taylor really just knows how to write ‘em!

Then he launches into dance, strutting his way down the halls with a definite spring in his step. It’s nowhere near as elaborate as performer choreography would be, but it’s charming and just sharp enough that it’s clear Dylan’s got some real talent.

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Dylan takes the number into the auditorium, making his way over to the prop loft where he’s guaranteed to find Asher. There’s a brief sequence he basically serenades Asher from down below, scaling the fence around the set pieces until he convinces him to come down. The whole thing is dynamic and fun and a little bit theatrical, humoring their classmates as they watch from the stage before class.

On the bridge, Asher takes over the vocals, taking Dylan’s hand and leading him through the backstage areas. Dylan follows along happily, waiting until they’ve reached the other side of the stage to pull him back towards him. Asher presses their foreheads together (“Where we gonna go… I whisper in the dark… where we gonna go…”), then drifts away as Dylan belts out the note that throws us back into the chorus.

The final swell of the song takes place center stage, surrounded by classmates and with nothing but good energy. The techies are laughing along, cheering, and even the performers are enjoying the rendition. Dylan and Asher sway together in a circle with the beat, doing a final spin under Dylan’s arm before falling back together and breaking into laughter to take it home. The A class breaks into applause, Asher pulling Dylan down into a quick kiss.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you prom-pose!

In the high energy after the performance, Nigel casts another glance towards Jade across the stage. It seems like he really might do something, and she definitely acknowledged his eye contact… but then nothing.

Isadora also notices the exchange, curiosity piqued. She raises her eyebrows, Sherlock brain turning before Maya pulls her into a conversation about how the twink performance was clearly not better than hers and Zay’s… right? Right?

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Isadora brings up the notion while hanging out with Maya and Riley, the three of them spending an evening together to map out prom logistics. She questions if either of them noticed it too, or whether Nigel has ever even shown interest in their classmates before. Maya claims he’s never dated anyone in their class, and Riley states that maybe he’s just shy.

Maya scoffs, focused on painting her toenails a shiny silver.

Maya: Look, Nigel is lean meat. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s talented, but the boy has no moxy. He has let Farkle walk all over him for three years, when if he just put like, a crumb of effort in he may have already had a lead by this point.

Riley: You know, it could be that he just… doesn’t care that much.

Maya: Well that was his first mistake.

The point is, if Nigel does have interest in Jade -- which Maya doesn’t get, because she forgets who Jade is half the time -- then it’s more than likely he will do absolutely nothing about it.

Isadora: That’s too bad.

Maya: I mean… I guess.

Riley: Maybe they just want to go with their friends. Prom doesn’t have to be inherently romantic, you know. [ off Isadora’s nod ] I mean, I’m going with Charlie, and --

Maya: Wait. [ sitting up ] You and Charlie are going together?

Riley: Yeah. But, like, just as friends.

Maya: Oh… oh. That’s… interesting.

There’s a plot twist. If Riley’s unnerved by Maya’s tone, she has the right to be. It’s an odd moment, and it’s only subdued by Cory calling for the girls from the living room. There’s a surprise here for them!

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

And what a surprise it is. Maya practically screams when she finds KATY HART in the living area, having just arrived with VALERIE DE LA CRUZ. She runs over and launches into her arms, the two of them hugging tightly.

Maya: Oh my God, what are you doing here?

Katy: Val helped me. Paid my way, so that I could be here for prom.

Isadora: No way?

Valerie: Oh, it was nothing. Hardly a penny out of my pocket. I know how much it meant to me to be here for this weekend -- figured the least I could do would be to allow a good friend the same opportunity.

Certainly no arguments here. Maya and Katy hug again, elated. Cory and Riley exchange smiles, Cory pulling her to his side and into a hug.

Valerie pulls Isadora aside, greeting her and stating that she wants to do something special after prom. Like a girls night, deglam and rejuvenate and catch up. Deglam being key, because Valerie knows Isadora is going to look stunning. She can’t wait!

Isadora is totally open to the idea. She nods, matching her enthusiasm.

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Jack is at his desk, going through the Bradford paperwork. He’s flagging and highlighting every potential point he might have to refute in an argument, emails open on his desktop of pitches he’s going to send to school board members for support if the complaint breaks.

Eric pokes his head in and knocks on the door pointedly.

Eric: Knock knock.

Jack: Who’s there?

Eric: Stop obsessing.

Jack: Okay, we’re done with the bit --

Eric smiles, leaning against the doorframe. He knows Jack is concerned, but he’s already thought so extensively about this problem. He needs to take a mental break from it, before he burns himself out. Besides, there’s always the chance that it won’t even ever go public.

Yes, a chance… but a chance isn’t a guarantee. Jack claims he just wants to be prepared for the worst, which Eric can’t exactly argue against.

What he can do is change the subject. He states he wanted to double check that they’re both still on for chaperoning the dance on Saturday. Jack confirms, wondering why plans would have changed.

Eric: Well… you know, given your own personal circumstances, I just figured you might not want to --

Jack: Eric, I’m fine. [ with a shrug ] After all, what better distraction is there from the shambles of your personal life than watching out for a bunch of rowdy, dramatic teenagers all night long? Can’t think of anything better.

Eric: At least your humor is still intact.

Jack makes a face, accenting the point.

Zay, pre-lap: Okay, literally, what the hell is the matter with you?

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Zay is attempting to teach Lucas choreography, but it’s clearly far from easy. Not that that’s surprising, but it’s evident that Lucas was not meant to be a dancer. It’s a challenge unlike anything Zay has ever confronted before, regardless of how hard Lucas is trying.

Zay: I don’t -- like, is your brain connected to your limbs? How is this not clicking?

Riley enters, brightening when she finds them both. She asks how everything is going, and the look that both of them give her basically answers her question for them.

Riley: I hope I’m not interrupting.

Zay: No, you know what? It’s good. I need a break. Rome wasn’t built in a God damn free period. [ pointing to Lucas ] Don’t go anywhere with your two left feet, Fry Pan.

Lucas holds out his arms. What do you want from me? As Zay marches off, Riley tries to hold back her smile as she joins Lucas at center stage.

Riley: So seems like it’s going good, then.

Lucas: Oh, haha. [ making a face ] You know -- and this may shock you -- I’m not a dancer.

Riley, gasping: No. You’re kidding?

Lucas: I know, I know. Brand new information.

Riley smiles, asking to take a look at Zay’s choreography sheets. Lucas hands them over, Riley hopping onto the stacked acting blocks and reading them over for herself. He watches her as she reads, only shifting his gaze to his feet when she glances up to look at him.

She says that all things considered, the choreography isn’t so bad. He just has to keep working at it, and the whole thing is pretty low stakes anyway.

Riley: What even made you decide to do a performance? I have to admit, I never thought I would see the day.

Lucas: … well, with everything I did this year, figure it’s the least I can do. Just putting the karmic cycle back in balance.

Riley: You believe in karma?

Lucas: Could be. Either way, mine is shit. Objectively speaking.

Riley gives him a look. She glances back down at the papers and then states she’s sure he’ll be fine, and she for one is looking forward to the show. He rolls his eyes.

Lucas: You know, they have words for people who demonstrate ridiculous belief in unreliable things. It’s called blind faith. Usually it’s reserved for important things though. Gods, governments. Conventional belief systems.

Riley: Well, I’m nothing if not unconventional.

Lucas, quietly: Yeah.

The tension between them is palpable, even with the fair amount of space between them. They hold each other’s gaze, another one of those moments where they can’t seem to look away from one another. If it were possible, they might just stand there and look at each other forever.

Fortunately -- or maybe unfortunately, depending on your perspective -- Zay keeps that from happening. He reenters and tells Lucas to get ready to run it again, totally oblivious to their lingering moment. Riley hops off the acting blocks as Lucas clears his throat, directing his attention back to Zay.

Riley: I’ll get out of your way. Good luck. [ smiling ] Both of you.

Zay waves her off, sending her on her way. Once she’s gone, he turns back to Lucas and lets out a grand sigh.

Lucas: Now you’re just being a bitch.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Jade is in the costume department, ignoring the task of organizing the leftover fabrics from this year and painstakingly attempting to fix the project she’s been working on all week. When someone enters she jumps and tries to hide the garment, straightening up and nervously looking towards the doors.

It’s not who she was expecting. Isadora enters, pushing a costume rack.

Isadora: Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.

Jade: No, it’s okay. I’m just um… it’s fine.

Isadora nods, bringing the rack all the way in. She explains that she got a head start on the inventorying of the costumes, and all the ones on the rack here are finished. She intends to put them back after theatre lab, if that’s alright.

Jade, surprised: Um… sure. Yeah, that would be helpful.

Isadora: Great. [ a beat ] I really am sorry, Jade. It wasn’t intentional, but I know I dropped the ball when it comes to pulling my weight on our team. [ hesitant ] And our friendship.

Well, Jade isn’t going to tell her otherwise. She shrugs lightly, acknowledging the apology but not necessarily accepting it quite yet. It’ll take time, and Isadora gets that. But she’s said her piece, and now all she can do is keep working to make reparations.

As she’s heading out, though, she decides there’s one more thing she wants to say.

Isadora: About Nigel.

Jade: Huh?

Isadora: Nigel. If you want to go to prom with him… then you should just ask him yourself. Don’t wait around for some boy to do the job right when you’re perfectly capable of doing it -- and probably better. He’s chicken, but the way he’s been looking at you… I’m pretty sure he would say yes.

Something to think about, at least. Jade considers it as Isadora exits, leaving her alone with the costumes.

INT. AAA - CAFETERIA - DAY

Riley has joined Charlie, Clarissa, and Haley for lunch. As they chat the notion of Charlie and Riley going to prom together comes back up, Haley visibly taken aback by the reveal. She starts to question how that came to be, obviously struggling to accept it, when their conversation is totally derailed by Maya paying a visit to their table.

Although she’s all bright smiles, the tone is mildly threatening as Maya confronts Riley and Charlie. She also is questioning their union for promenade, wondering if their admittedly perfect cookie-cutter image is intent on also campaigning for prom court. Because it would sure be a shame for them to have to go head to head…

Maya might be built like a pixie, but the threat behind her words resonates loud and clear. Charlie shakes his head, stammering to correct her thinking.

Charlie: Oh, we’re not --

Riley: We weren’t planning to --

Yeah, no. It’s a no. This seems to appease Maya, who relaxes and turns back on the charm. Still, her friendly laughter still feels ominous as she wishes them the best, and reminds them not to forget to vote for her and Zay for prom king and queen come Saturday evening.

Clarissa shakes her head, reiterating her former stance.

Clarissa: Nowhere and nothing is safe.

INT. AAA - ERIC’S OFFICE - DAY

Eric is putting on his most encouraging counselor smile, sitting across from Isadora and Farkle. He’s just wrapping up a pitch, stating that considering they’ve become such good friends in the last few months, he thought maybe it would be a good idea for them to go to prom as a duo. Just as friends. Pals, looking out for one another! Good, old, promenade buddies.

Farkle seems entertained by the mere suggestion. Isadora looks unamused.

Isadora: So you want me to babysit him.

Eric: That’s -- that’s not what I said.

Farkle: That’s basically what you said.

Eric tries to save face, but he forgot he’s dealing with the two most intuitive (and judgmental) students in the junior class. They see right through his facade, recognizing this tactic for exactly what it is.

Isadora: Also, what makes you assume I don’t already have a date?

Eric: … well do you?

[ Farkle looks to Isadora, raising his eyebrows. When she huffs, he cracks a smirk. ]

Isadora: No, but that’s not the point.

Eric relents, talking to them straight. Yes, they want Farkle to have company at the dance due to his history over the last few months. Ideally, this would be a small ask, considering they are friends and would likely be hanging out at the event anyway.

Eric: You are friends, yes?

Isadora: Request pending.

Farkle: I think of it more as intellectual sparring partners.

There’s really no good way to respond to that. Eric requests that they consider the option, as it would be a favor to him if nothing else. Give him a little peace of mind.

That’s just the selling point he needed to flex. Isadora glances between them, then sighs, claiming Farkle will pick her up when she decides he will.

Eric is thrilled, and Farkle doesn’t look all that opposed either. This, he claims, is a good thing. They’re thwarting problems before they even arise. No problems for junior prom this year!

INT. AAA - HALLWAY - DAY

Clarissa runs into Charlie, concerned. She takes his arm.

Clarissa: Problem. Big problem.

When Charlie asks her what the heck is going on, she states that Haley has finally broken down. She’s up in the costume loft and is refusing to talk, and she’s effectively decided she is not going to prom. Whatever crazy plague is running through their class, it’s finally hit her.

Charlie sighs, nodding and telling Clarissa he’ll handle it. He takes off at a jog towards the auditorium.

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Haley is sitting amongst the costumes, wiping tears from her cheeks. When Charlie pulls himself into the loft it almost makes it worse, Haley shaking her head and telling him to go away.

Haley: As if this could not get any more humiliating.

Charlie: Hey, don’t worry, I have had… my fair share of breakdowns up here.

He settles down next to her, in the exact spot he was crying just an episode ago. He waits patiently for her to acknowledge him again, asking her why she’s so upset. Clarissa told him she wasn’t going to prom -- what’s that all about?

Haley shrugs, huffing and avoiding eye contact with him. She shakily admits that some part of her always thought… maybe it was stupid, but he really doesn’t get it. They can be friends for years, spend all this time together, and he still has no idea. And she just… she feels like such an idiot. All of this is just so stupid.

Charlie pauses, searching for how to tread cautiously.

Charlie: If we’re being honest with each other… I know.

Haley: You -- you know. You know that I --

Charlie: Yeah. I have for a while.

Haley: Oh God. [ hiding her head in her knees ] That’s even worse.

Charlie: It’s not, Hales. You can’t help who you like. [ a beat ] Although, still being honest… I don’t really think you do.

Haley lifts her head, frowning at him. She asks what he means, and Charlie tries to figure out the best way to articulate what he’s thinking.

Charlie: Believe me, I speak from experience here, but I think it’s… really easy to become in love with the idea of something. Things that seem easy, and perfect, if they could just work out a certain way. So we fall in love with those ideals, rather than the way things actually are.

Haley: So, what? You think I’m just making everything up?

Charlie: No, I believe some of it is real. I believe you love me -- and that makes sense, because I love you, too. We’ve been friends for years, like you said, and I can’t imagine what my time at Triple A would be like without you. I don’t want to.

[ Haley wipes her eyes. ]

Charlie: But I think, realistically, that’s all we’re ever going to be. And I think you know that, too -- it’s just safer to keep things the way they are now. Where you never get what you think you want, but then you never get hurt, either.

Haley: … okay, you’re kind of freaking me out here. Get out of my head.

Charlie, laughing: Like I said, talking from experience.

A quiet moment passes between them. Charlie goes on to state that Haley shouldn’t give up her junior prom, especially not over him. They’ll both be there, and they’ll still get to spend the evening together with Clarissa and Riley and the rest of their friends. It’ll be fun, even if it’s not the fantasy they imagine in their heads.

Charlie: And as for the rest of it… I guess you and I will both just have to see what the future holds. Rather than hiding behind expectations we know we’re never gonna meet.

A tough pill to swallow, but important. Haley exhales and then nods, giving up. Trading out the fantasy, but perhaps for the better. She gives him a smile.

Haley: I do love you, Charlie Gardner. That much is true.

Charlie returns the beam, accepting the hug she gives him.

INT. AAA - BLACK BOX THEATER - DAY

Jade is standing outside the black box, watching Nigel chat with Yindra and NICK YOGI. Dylan and Asher stand behind her, hyping her up as she gears up to do the impossible.

Asher: Just be yourself. Be straight-forward.

Dylan: Go in there and get what you came for.

Jade: Right. Sure. [ a beat ] What if he says no?

Dylan: Sock him.

Asher glares at him, Dylan shrugging before smiling to himself. Asher takes the more serious approach, bracing Jade’s shoulders from behind.

Asher: If he says no, then it’s his loss. You’re Jade Beamon --

Dylan: Jade motherfucking Beamon!

Asher: And he would be lucky to get even an evening of your time. [ patting her shoulders ] Go get him, queen.

Dylan lightly nudges her forward, Jade taking a deep breath. Then she marches into the classroom, approaching Nigel and tapping him on the shoulder.

When he turns around and meets her eyes, for a second it seems like she’s going to run. But she squares her shoulders, clears her throat, and speaks as confidently as she can.

Jade: Nigel.

Nigel, surprised: Jade?

Jade: We should go to prom together. If you want to. I mean -- you should want to go with me. But only if you do. The point is -- will you go to prom with me? Maybe?

The back and forth between assertive and timid is jarring, but also quite charming. Nigel takes a moment to fully absorb what’s happening, but the smile that blooms across his face is near instantaneous.

Nigel: Yes. Yeah, I’d -- I’d like that a lot.

Jade: Great! I mean, um, great. Good. I’ll text you with details.

Nigel: Okay. Great.

Jade: Great. Okay… great.

Jade spins on her heel and marches back out, Yindra and Yogi exchanging wild looks. But Nigel is fully endeared, obviously not at all opposed to this turn of events.

As Jade escapes back into the hall, Dylan and Asher mob her with congratulatory hugs and pats on the back! She did it! Jade Beamon is going to prom with Nigel Chey, baby!

In tone with the celebratory mood, the bold brass opening floats in…

INT. AAA - AUDITORIUM - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “I’ve Gotta Be Me” as performed by Glee Cast || Performed by Lucas James Friar (feat. Zay Babineaux)

Another AMBITION first for the bucket list, Lucas gives his first almost solo performance, with a Broadway number, and that isn’t fueled by pure rage. Zay is on stage with him to help with the choreography, but in some ways that’s a nice way to help take the pressure off. It’s sort of like a dress rehearsal rather than an actual performance.

And look… it’s not great. Lucas is not a performer, and he was never pretending to be. But it’s passable, and honestly the vocals aren’t half bad. There are even a couple of rare, fleeting moments where it seems like he might actually be having fun.

The real fun is for the audience though. His classmates are near entranced by the spectacle, having watched Lucas do nothing but grump and roll his eyes for three years straight -- and especially the majority of this year. Farkle is watching with his jaw dropped open, blankly stunned. Riley is hiding her fond grin behind her hands, shaking her head. Isadora is openly laughing, but with him rather than at him. Even Jack and Eric came to watch, thoroughly amused, and maybe a little bit proud.

The techies are cheering along the entire time, and when Lucas gets through that last note and hits those last steps with Zay, they leap to their feet and give him a standing ovation. Given the year he’s had, the uproarious applause sort of feel well-deserved.

He survived, God damn it, he survived!

INT. AAA - COSTUME LOFT - DAY

Jade is leading Asher into the floor level of the costume department by both hands, the latter having been instructed to keep his eyes closed. He’s playing along, but nervously, reminding Jade that he hates surprises and also hates not being able to see.

Asher: You know going blind is one of my anxieties.

Jade: Everything is one of your anxieties. But hold on, we’re almost there.

She gets him right in front of where she’s hung up her latest project, pulling back and instructing him to open his eyes. He does, seeing the surprise and expression growing shocked.

It’s a pair of suit jackets, custom-made for junior prom. They align with the theme in terms of the subtle allusions to stars and shimmering elements factored into the design, but they’re inverse in terms of colors -- one mainly creme-colored with darker accents, and the other dark with lighter accents. Matching, but unique. And clear labors of love, from a seamstress who knows her craft.

Jade explains how she got the idea to make them, how she wanted to make sure they were clearly a matching set like Asher and Dylan, but also distinct from one another.

Jade: We just used to talk all the time about how fun it would be to have custom stuff for prom, when we got there one day. And you used to always talk about what you and Dylan could wear, but then would get all embarrassed, as if that was silly. Like it would never happen, that you couldn’t last that long. [ a beat ] Well, we got here, and I just figured after the hell year we’ve had…

Asher is staring at them, speechless. He’s tearing up, at a loss for what to do. Jade takes the impending waterworks as a bad sign, searching for a way to recover.

Jade: I mean, if there’s something you’d like better, you can just tell me. Or if you already picked out tuxes, that’s totally fine too, you don’t have to wear them --

Asher interrupts her nervous rambles, barreling her with a hug. The embrace is tight, and although there are tears the tone in his voice conveys that they’re happy.

Asher: I love you so much.

Jade beams, getting choked up too. She hugs him back.

Jade, teary but laughing: I love you, too.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - NIGHT

Prom night is upon us! There’s a flurry of activity at the Matthews apartment, making it more lively than its been in months.

AUGGIE MATTHEWS is there to help Riley get ready and spend the weekend with Cory. Riley is obviously happy that he’s there, grinning when she emerges from the hall in her gorgeous lavender gown and he jumps up in excitement. She questions where their dad is and Auggie nods towards the fire escape, Cory visible through the window.

EXT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT

Riley delicately climbs her way out onto the balcony, Cory going to help her through when he notices she’s trying. Once they’ve got her upright, he gets a good look at her and goes soft with fatherly pride.

Cory, softly: You look lovely.

Riley smiles, both of them adjusting further out onto the fire escape. They take a moment to look at the scenery of their street, throwing a couple of jokes back and forth about how she’s going to prom with Charlie and whether or not Cory should be worried (he should not at all).

After a moment of quiet, Riley pecks up the courage to speak on what she really needs to say.

Riley: When mom called a couple weeks back, it wasn’t just to check in. She, um… [ off his wary expression ] She wants me to come upstate, too. For senior year.

Cory: … oh. [ swallowing hard ] Oh.

Riley: I’m not telling you because I’ve made any sort of decision, yet, or anything like that. I’m going to take the time to really… really think about it, and make sure I make the right choice for me. [ a beat ] But I just… wanted you to know what was going on. And also that no matter what happens, I’m still with you. I’m not going to leave you alone.

Cory nods, trying his best to accept it. Riley hesitates, deciding if she wants to continue.

Riley: Regardless of what I choose though… I need to be clear that I can’t be in the middle anymore. I love you both, but I am tearing myself apart trying to keep up with the constant back and forth. Trying to keep things civil in this family when I don’t think that’s supposed to be my job.

Cory: It’s not… Riley, I never meant for --

Riley: I know. And part of it is me -- feels like I’m always looking for other things to focus on and fix rather than myself. [ with a deep breath ] But I can’t keep living like that. I need to start focusing on myself… and that comes with setting boundaries. I love you, dad, but I can’t carry your baggage with mom anymore. It’s your fight, not mine.

Cory hesitates, obviously feeling guilty. Then he nods, assuring her that he’ll try his best to remember that. He doesn’t want to make this any harder for her than it already is. And if she’s trying to get him to hear her, then he’s listening. He really is going to try.

Riley smiles lightly, leaning forward to pull him into a hug. He returns the embrace, stating that he’s grateful he gets to be here with her on this important night. They pull apart, Cory fixing a piece of her hair.

Cory: Absolutely beautiful.

She smiles again.

INT. MATTHEWS APARTMENT - MASTER BEDROOM - NIGHT

Katy and Maya are sharing a similar bonding moment. Katy has taken over eyeliner duties, adjusting Maya’s makeup with her expert hand. She claims Maya has a tendency for overdoing it, which makes her laugh.

Maya: Tell me something I don’t know.

When she’s all finished, Katy looks at her daughter lovingly. She looks stunning, in a beautiful silver and white dress and blonde hair glossy as ever.

Katy: Like bona fide royalty. [ touching her chin ] No matter what the votes say.

Maya grins. She pulls her into an embrace.

INT. MINKUS HOME - NIGHT

JENNIFER MINKUS is nitpicking at Farkle, brushing off the shoulders of his navy suit jacket. He tells her to stop fussing, but she requests just one more second. She reaches up on instinct to fix his hair then remembers there’s not as much there as there used to be. Then she smiles, bracing his shoulders.

Jennifer: Beautiful boy. Perfect.

The housekeeper claims that the driver is downstairs, so Farkle should start heading out. STUART MINKUS shares an exchange with him as he’s in the entryway, offering him a Minkus good luck charm. It’s a silver lapel pin, a little crest shape related to their family coat of arms.

Stuart carefully pins it to Farkle’s lapel.

Stuart: You know, I wore this when I went on my first date with your mother -- and look where we are now.

Farkle, scoffing: It’s not -- this isn’t that kind of…

He doesn’t finish the sentence, letting it trail off. Stuart’s expression is amused, claiming he doesn’t quite buy it, but relenting for now.

When he finishes and smooths the lapel to crisp perfection, he takes a moment to really take in his son. Still with him, still standing in spite of everything that’s unfolded. It’s clear that there’s something he wants to say to him, heavy with the same weight that him sleeping at his hospital bedside all through his recovery held.

Yet, the words still don’t exist. Emotional expression has never been paramount in the Minkus household, and old habits die hard.

Instead, he pats his shoulder bracingly and wishes him luck. Jennifer comes to join Stuart as Farkle steps out, both of them wishing him a good time. Have some fun! This is your night of freedom, soak it up for all it’s worth!

Isadora, pre-lap: I don’t see how much fun it could be when we’re being watched by faculty all night long.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - ISADORA’S ROOM - NIGHT

Isadora is seated at the vanity in Eric’s guest room, the space she’s taken over while staying with him. It seems that per their last conversation, Eric is keeping to his word with Valerie and is giving Isadora an actual legitimate place to stay in the mean time rather than Blue’s couch.

She’s sitting impatiently as Lucas stands behind her, braiding pieces of her hair to complete her prom look. A hidden talent, perhaps? It looks pretty, to say the least. He plainly states that she’ll be having more fun than him no matter what, there’s little doubt about that.

As he wraps up the last braid, Isadora pulls on her Converse and carefully gets to her feet.

Lucas: What, no heels?

Isadora: Are you kidding me? I think I’d break my ankles.

Lucas: Very “I’m not like other girls” of you.

Isadora: This is not about faux-originality, this is about my comfort and safety. As well as the safety of others.

The shoes hardly put a dent in the overall ensemble anyway. She’s in a gorgeous dark blue number, accented with a sheer layer of star patterns and custom designed by one of Valerie’s designer friends. It’s certainly not her typical ensemble, but she makes it work. Beautiful, but still a force to be reckoned with.

Lucas smiles, lightly punching her shoulder. He tells her she looks good, and she nudges him back before saying thanks.

Lucas, more serious: Sorry I can’t be there. To be there for you.

Isadora: It’s whatever. Be sad for your own sake, not mine.

Eric calls for Isadora from the hall, the two of them heading towards the door.

INT. ERIC’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Eric is adjusting his suit and tie in the hall mirror when there’s a curt knock at the door. He goes to open it, delighted to greet Farkle on the other side. He gestures him inside, Farkle awkwardly making his way in and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Both of them soften when Isadora emerges from the hall, obviously exceeding expectations. Eric tells her that she looks great -- Farkle says nothing, because he has no words. How are you supposed to react when your intellectual sparring partner shows up looking like that?

For a moment, all of them just hang awkwardly in the living area. Lucas clears his throat, scratching at his neck. That’s as good a cue as any, and Eric claims they should get going if they’re going to get there early to help set up. The price they pay, carpooling with a chaperone.

Eric ushers them out, giving Lucas a pat on the shoulder and telling him he’ll drop him off at his destination for the first half of the evening. And away they go! As their door closes…

INT. GARDNER HOME - NIGHT

Another opens, Riley standing bright and smiling on the doorstep of the Gardner home. AMBROSE GARDNER takes care to greet her cheerfully and help her inside, asking if there’s anything he can get her.

She should be grateful that the sanest member of the family met her first. ELEANOR GARDNER excitedly comes in from the kitchen moments later, greeting her enthusiastically and wanting to know a million things about her. Of course, they’ve heard so much about her already -- feels like Charlie is always talking about her!

From the living room, Rosie and DAISY GARDNER watch curiously.

Daisy: She’s pretty.

Rosie: Yeah.

Daisy: How did Charlie manage to get that?

Rosie: Shh.

As if summoned, Charlie rushes down the stairs. He looks charming in his relatively simple tuxedo, the touches of purple in his tie and pocket square perfectly accenting Riley’s dress. She gives him a hug as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, all of the Gardners eyeing them as they interact in front of them for the first time.

And to be fair, they look lovely. They seem near classic, the picture of prom perfection… but it’s so… boring. Whatever spark of flirtation Eleanor thinks she’s seeing between them, it’s absolutely nothing.

Still, she insists on getting some photos before they go. Charlie is embarrassed, but he allows it. As they’re assembling against the wall by the door, he leans over to whisper to her.

Charlie: Sorry about this. You look great, by the way.

Riley: Thanks. You too. And it’s fine. These’ll be great pictures to show my kids someday.

The choice of “my” rather than “our” is very pointed. Charlie gives her a look, elbowing her and earning a giggle out of her. Eleanor captures the moment, claiming that’s the perfect one.

Then Charlie tries to plot their escape, claiming they really should get going. Ambrose thanks Riley for driving -- Eleanor jokingly warns them not to stay out too late! A-wink!

Charlie looks like he’d rather be dead. Riley holds back her laughter as they escape into the night, the whole family sending them off cheerfully.

Once they’re gone, Ambrose and Eleanor exchange thoughtful looks.

Ambrose: She seems nice.

Eleanor, “knowingly:” Mhm… pretty…

Yeah, she really thinks this is something else. As she saunters back towards the kitchen…

INT. ORLANDO HOME - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “That’s What I Like” as performed by Bruno Mars || Instrumental

The techie pre-prom gathering is in full swing, the techie jams playlist on shuffle as they get ready together and mingle. Some of their parents are also in attendance (and likely to have a party of their own once they get them the hell out of there), namely LEVI GARCIA, EMILY GARCIA, and of course RANDALL ORLANDO.

Randall subtly interrupts a conversation between Lucas and Jade, where she’s just finished commenting on how nice it is for this gathering to be snapback free. It’s true that Lucas does stick out like a sore thumb, in his plain old blue flannel and jeans rather than dressed up like the rest of them.

The two of them exchange a bit of small talk before Randall gets to the point, asking Lucas about how things are going. Considering the last he heard about everything was literally picking up Dylan from the police precinct because of the joy ride, it stands to reason that he would be interested in knowing since he’s let Lucas back in his home since then.

To his credit, Randall has also been more of a dad to Lucas than his own, in spite of how avoidant Lucas can be. So he tells him the truth, stating that it’s been better but it’s also definitely been worse. He apologizes for what happened with the joy ride, and assures him that he’s banking on that sort of thing never happening again. Randall gives him a nod and a pat on the shoulder, approving.

The moment is interrupted as Nate gets their attention, using a cooking spoon as a faux microphone as he plays MC. He thanks them all for coming (which Dave and Jeff jeer at) before claiming he has the distinct pleasure of introducing their host and his paramour for the evening, showing off their custom-made, never before seen Jade Beamon originals.

Nate: First up -- you know may know him as Dyl Pickle, vlogger extraordinaire, the deviant who once stuck a whopping thirty-two sticky notes to Shawn Hunter’s back in one class period. He’s as gay as they come, in every sense of the word. Host of the evening and renowned “kissing expert” --

Asher, from upstairs: NATE!

Nate: What? He told me to say it! Anyway, let’s give it up for the one-of-a-kind Dylan Blake Orlando.

All of them cheer theatrically as Dylan comes downstairs, sliding down the banister and hopping onto the bottom step. He shows off the suit jacket Jade made, looking even fresher and fun actually on him than just hanging in the costume loft. He spins and hams it up for a moment, then backs off so Nate can continue.

Nate: Equally as effervescent, our other star of the evening is not to be discounted. He’s smart, he’s sharp, he’s the scariest person you will ever meet if you piss him off or forget to organize the paints in alphabetical order. King of production design, prop mix master, puts the Ash in Ash Cash Money --

Dylan, taking the spoon: The love of my life --

Nate, taking it back: Hey, this is my gig! I didn’t ask for ad-libs.

Jeff: Drunk on power…

Nate: Anyway, let’s give it up ladies and gentlemen for the only one of us with any class, Asher L. Garcia!

Asher jogs down the stairs, looking equally as iconic in his custom suit jacket. He does a small spin as well to give the item it’s due moment, Dylan cheering the loudest of all of them.

Randall: Very nice, very good. Now, could I get a moment with my “gay vlogger sticky note” son?

The techies all cheer and laugh at his take, Dylan sliding across the hardwood to meet him. Jade and Asher link up, the former taking his hands and practically bouncing as she proclaims how good the suits turned out. They look amazing!

Lucas looks around at all of his friends, glammed up and excited. Distinctly left out of the excitement, only this time not by his own choice. Somehow, that’s worse.

He’s pulled out of it as Nate declares they still have one order of business, the seven of them regrouping. Dylan slips back into the circle between Asher and Lucas.

Nate: Now, as with any good tradition, we have some firsts to establish. And this shit is important -- it may be the most important thing we do in our lives at Triple A.

Jade: Speak for yourself.

Nate: As we know, the prom court institution at Adams is royally corrupt. It’s the same shit every single year.

Dave: Nothing new.

Jeff: Same old shit.

Nate: And to that, the techie tots say no more. We will be crowning our own reigning royalty this year, and that honor happens tonight. Without further ado --

For what it’s worth, the only two that don’t seem to know what’s happening are Asher and Dylan. They watch in confusion as Dave retrieves two pin cases from his interior pocket, handing them to Jade and Lucas respectively. Then they turn to face them, grinning wide at the stunned expressions on Dylan and Asher’s faces.

Nate: Congratulations, Pickle and Bird Bones. You’re fucking royalty.

Jade and Lucas move forward, pinning the brand new charms to Asher and Dylan’s lapels, respectively. The pins are small medals, the band being monochrome like techie uniforms and the metal piece a small crown.

The true kings have been crowned. Whatever happens next hardly matters.

Jade: Okay, we have to get out of here before Asher cries again.

Randall and the parents swoop in, insisting on one group photo before they all head out to wreak havoc. At first Lucas steps out of the photo, allowing them their classy group photo, but then all of them shout for him to get in the picture as well.

EXT. ORLANDO HOME - NIGHT

Dave leads the charge down the steps to the “party van,” i.e. their techie van they use for Home Depot runs. On the steps, Dylan and Asher hang back and check in with Lucas one last time.

Asher: You sure you don’t want to come?

Dylan, sing-song: We could sneak you in...

Lucas knows they damn well mean it. But he waves them off, assuring them that he’ll be fine. They need to go have fun and not worry about him for a night.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Good Love (Feel Like This)” as performed by Sir, Please || Performed by Nigel Chey (feat. Dave Williams, Nick Yogi, and AAA Juniors)

And so it is. Asher gives him a pat on the arm and then they’re off, leaving Lucas on the steps alone. He watches his friends head out without him, bittersweet smile on his face.

As the groovy rock hit floats in…

INT. PROM VENUE - NIGHT

Prom roll up! The event is hopping, the large ballroom space beautifully decorated towards the stars theme and everyone’s appropriately matched outfits shimmering under the low lighting. The brightest lights are geared towards the DJ stage, which alternates between a sound system and live performances.

At present, Nigel is giving a riveting vocal performance while the junior and senior class parties on the dance floor. Dave is backing on guitar, Yogi on the keyboard, and other B Class students filling out the rest of the band.

Jade, Dylan, and Asher are right by the stage, Jade watching him perform with a mix of shyness and excitement. Every once in a while, he’ll look over at her and crack a smile.

Dylan and Asher are distracted when Isadora wanders over to join them, all of them immediately complimenting one another on their one-of-a-kind outfits. Dylan gives her a hug. Asher asks how it is being accompanied by Farkle Minkus, which Isadora claims isn’t terrible -- but it’s not particularly enchanting either.

Meanwhile, Farkle has just met up with Riley and Maya. They ask him how his evening is going so far -- is he having fun? It’s not too overwhelming, is it?

Farkle: Oh, yeah. Sweaty room, loud music, constant surveillance, date who didn’t even want to go with me. Time of my life, girls. Undoubtedly.

On the opposite side of the room, Charlie has just made his way over to the refreshments. He reaches for the ladle for the punch just at the same time as Zay, their hands brushing before they look up and lock eyes.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just take one another in -- well-groomed, nice tuxedos, the most they’ve even really seen of each other since the break-up -- before Zay manages to say something.

Zay: You look… classic.

Innocent enough. Charlie laughs nervously, nodding.

Charlie: And you look…

He can’t finish the sentence. What’s he going to say? No word is good enough. And where they are right now doesn’t allow for him to say what he’s actually thinking.

Thankfully, Maya swoops in and unwittingly throws him a life preserver. She interrupts their conversation, claiming that she needs for Zay to come dance with her lest people get the impression she can’t hold her own on the dance floor. She pays Charlie the same compliment in that he looks nice, before reminding him to vote Zay and Maya for prom king and queen!

Charlie: Okay, if you keep saying that, someone is going to murder you by the end of the night.

Maya: Attempted assassinations are just part of the job description.

Farkle regroups with Isadora, finding her amidst the crowd. The two of them stand in silence for a moment, absorbing the chaotic scene around them. Farkle eyes Jack and Eric across the room, talking to one another and not paying any attention to them, then leans down to whisper in Isadora’s ear.

Farkle: You wanna get out of here?

Isadora looks around at her classmates and teachers before her gaze lands on Farkle. She smiles, somewhere between a smirk and genuinely sweet.

EXT. COURTHOUSE - NIGHT

Valerie emerges from the courthouse, seemingly in much better spirits than the last time she was there. She inhales a deep breath of fresh air, blithe smile on her face.

INT. HOTEL SUITE - NIGHT

Katy opens the door to her hotel room, surprised to find Val standing on the other side. She’s carrying a bottle of champagne and doesn’t wait for an invitation to march inside. She tells Katy to grab a couple of glasses, they are celebrating!

Katy, uncertainly: Good news, I’m guessing?

Valerie: You know, in this industry, they tell you the most important thing is to hang on. Hang on by the skin of your teeth, dig your fingernails in, and never let go. Who would’ve known that applied to the rest of this crazy, mixed up world too?

Valerie pops the champagne and pours a glass for her and Katy, raising her glass.

Valerie: I persevered, and only good things have come from it. [ sublime ] Isadora is going to be mine. We’re going to be a real family.

Katy happily cheers to that, both of them taking a drink from their glasses. They settle down on the couch in the suite, Valerie absolutely giddy with the news. She can’t wait to tell Isadora. Katy can imagine -- she knows how important it is, having time with her baby girl.

An idea seems to strike Valerie in that moment, eyes widening. She reaches out and touches Katy’s arm, excited.

Valerie: You’ll come stay with us.

Katy: Wh -- what?

Valerie: Yes, yes, you’ll come back to New York and you’ll stay with us! You, me, Maya, and Isadora. The four of us will live together, four rough and tough, talented women surviving the concrete jungle as a team.

Katy: Oh, I don’t… I couldn’t --

Valerie: Katy, you belong here. In this city, with your daughter and your dreams. If I have proven anything in this endeavor, it’s that it’s never too late to change course and achieve something you never thought possible. [ a beat ] You belong in Manhattan, with Maya. Talent like yours shouldn’t be wasted in the farmland of Vermont.

Katy processes that, taking another sip of her champagne. If a Hollywood starlet is telling her she’s meant to be here, then who is she to refuse it?

Katy: Alright. Alright, then!

Valerie claps excitedly, already abuzz with so many new ideas.

Valerie: Oh, this is so exciting. This is amazing! Isadora and Maya are going to be over the moon. This is a bigger deal than when my good friend and mentee Lizzo basically single-handedly saved the R&B industry.

She raises her glass again for another toast. Katy grants it, their glasses clinking together.

INT. PROM VENUE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Dance Again” as performed by Selena Gomez || Instrumental

The lighting is more aesthetic and dimmer as the prom goes on, the junior class out grooving on the dance floor. We get shots of different combinations of them dancing -- Charlie is with Haley and Clarissa, Jade and Nigel are giggly as they get comfortable with one another, Dylan and Asher are upholding their reigning title as cutest couple.

In the midst of the festivities, Eric grows concerned as he realizes he can’t find Isadora. Farkle is nowhere to be found either -- and that’s because they’re not there. They’re long gone, someone having disappeared right under his nose.

Eric grabs Riley from the edge of the dance floor, asking if she’s seen either of them. She claims not since they first got here… is everything okay? Eric doesn’t respond, pushing through the crowd to try and get a better look.

He’s surrounded by teenagers, and yet none are the two he’s specifically supposed to be keeping an eye on. Just as he’s on the verge of panic, Jack comes to his side and asks what’s going on. What’s with the look on his face?

Eric, breathless: Isadora -- and Farkle -- they’re not -- I can’t find --

Jack: Okay, relax, alright?

Eric: Relax? I lost two children!

Jack: Okay, we’ll find them. Alright?

Jack drags Eric out of the center of the room, passing by HARPER BURGESS as they go. He tells her she’s in charge, guiding Eric out of the venue.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LIVING AREA - NIGHT

Lucas emerges from his room with a box, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and clearly down to business. He and GRACE FRIAR are operating with relative ease, indicating that their third household member isn’t home at present.

He places the box on the table in front of her, claiming that he’s gone through it and he needs her to go through it too so they can decide whether or not to donate it. Grace seems intrigued, but not opposed to the idea.

Grace: Spring cleaning?

Lucas: Something in my life might as well be in order.

She chuckles a bit at that, although the joke is admittedly somewhat dark. She starts going through the contents, hesitating before telling Lucas she’s sorry that he didn’t get to go to prom. He shrugs it off, but his aloof facade has worn thin over the week.

Grace gives him a warm smile, stating that he’ll be able to go next year.

Lucas: Yeah, let’s see if I make it through this year first.

Valid point. Lucas leaves her to keep going through the stuff, agreeing they should get rid of it either way before Kenneth gets back.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S ROOM - NIGHT

Lucas steps back into his closet of a bedroom, sighing at all the junk there still is to go through. He frowns when his phone vibrates in his pocket, growing even more confused when he sees who is calling. He answers.

Lucas: Hello?

Jack is on the other end of the line, already on the road with Eric.

Jack: What are you doing right now?

Lucas, flatly: Crystal meth.

Jack: Okay, you jest, but you’re really not in the position to be making those kind of jokes right now.

Lucas asks what’s going on, and Jack explains the situation. He asks if Lucas has seen or heard from Isadora, and he says no. When Jack requests that he go search that side of town, just drive around and take a look, Lucas seems skeptical.

Lucas: Aren’t you forgetting? My license is suspended.

Jack, unimpressed: Am I really supposed to believe that makes a difference?

Lucas: … fair enough. I’ll do whatever.

Jack assures him if he gets into any trouble, he’ll help him out of it. They just need to get a trace on them so Eric can breathe again. Lucas grabs his denim jacket, heading out.

INT. DINER - NIGHT

Isadora and Farkle, thankfully, are not engaged in anything remotely nefarious. They’re just making an evening out of it all their own, having escaped prom to seek refuge at a non-descript diner across town.

Farkle is way more enthused by the prospect than Isadora. He’s practically jittery, tapping his fingers on the table and unable to stop grinning. He claims this is the most fun, the most freedom, he’s had in months.

Isadora: Okay, calm down, edgelord. It’s not that deep.

Oh, but perhaps it is, Isadora. Farkle leans further into the theatricality, dramatically stating that he doesn’t think there’s ever been a night quite like this. Full of this… energy, and mystery, and potential. Can’t she feel it? In homage to the number that’s just about to come into play, Farkle sits up so that he’s sitting on the booth seat, rather than in it.

Isadora: Okay, what are you doing? Sit down.

Farkle: Can’t you just feel it? And how… how we start thinking --

Isadora: Start thinking what?

Farkle: How wonderful it all is.

Isadora: How wonderful what all is?

Farkle: Everything.

Isadora: Now you’re just talking nonsense. Did you take too much medication this morning? What are you on?

He, Isadora, is on life. The freedom of tonight, how good it feels to just be out and adventuring and… alive. In fact, he thinks, it might need some expressing…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “A Lovely Night” as performed by Cinderella Original Television Cast Recording || Performed by Farkle Minkus (feat. Isadora De La Cruz) [ starting at 4:20 ]

Farkle pushes his way out of the booth and starts sauntering through the diner, Isadora leaning out after him and whispering for him to come back. But he’s already on his way as the instrumental comes in, meaning there’s no hope. This singing train has left the station!

So he kicks off the first verse, singing the fantastical lyrics about how absolutely perfect the evening is. Somehow, it actually works, brightening up the drab, everyday diner and adding a splash of something special and unique.

It helps that Farkle is crazy and completely unapologetic as he takes over the space, the other patrons hesitant at first but then endeared by the performance. Farkle sings the first line about a “charming prince” to a gaggle of middle school girls, who all collectively lose their shit when he turns away from them. To them, for all intents and purposes, all suave in his prom suit and singing so elegantly, he is a prince charming.

Isadora might be starting to figure that out too, as she watches in disbelief while Farkle pulls other diners and workers into brief stints of choreography. By the time he makes it back over to her table in the second verse, he leans forward on the table and sings the lines “darling, I love you” while looking right into her eyes.

Part of the whole act? It’s impossible to tell.

Then he pulls her up from the booth, into dancing with him through the diner as the dance break commences. Although she’s hesitant at first, Isadora is more surprised by how not averse to the experience she is. Farkle is a good dancer, at least this kind of dancing, and it’s not long before she finds herself grinning and laughing along.

They spin their way towards the front, right out the doors…

EXT. DINER - NIGHT

And out into the city, the world aglow with nightlife and even more emphasized by the unreal quality of the dance. It feels very La La Land. They continue the pas de deux through to the end, Farkle picking up the lyrics again for the final rendition of the chorus.

They end it spinning in a circle in the parking lot, Isadora laughing and Farkle truly free as they round out the performance. If there’s going to be any true spectacle this prom season, then Icarus and the fallen Techie Queen dancing together in what may as well be a fantasy sure takes the cake.

INT. JACK’S CAR - MOVING - NIGHT

Eric is not feeling the fantasy, a nervous wreck as they drive through the streets looking for signs of Isadora and Farkle. He relays that she has not responded to any of his texts, and Jack states that’s it. He pulls over, allowing him to give his focus to Eric as he parks on the side of the road.

Jack takes Eric’s phone, out of his grasp.

Jack: Enough. You’re driving yourself crazy.

Eric: Yeah, you’re one to talk. [ trying to snatch it back ] Mister obsessive civil suit --

Jack: Oh, I’m not saying I’m innocent. But you have got to give yourself a break. It was their choice to sneak out and go wild, not yours. You can only do so much. If they choose to be idiotic, that’s on them. Regardless of how much we care.

Eric knows that Jack is speaking from experience. He sighs, slouching back in the passenger seat. Jack tries to comfort him, reminding him that Isadora and Farkle are two of the smartest students at AAA. They’re not going to get into trouble. Besides, if they are, then at least they have their best troublemaker on the case.

Jack: He’s like a heat-seeking missile. If there’s mischief afoot, trust me, I believe he’ll find it.

EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT

Maybe so, Jack. Maybe so. Somehow, Lucas manages to catch up to Isadora and Farkle as they’re walking along the streets, slowing down in Grace’s car and coming up next to them. He honks, startling them both.

Lucas: Hey! Lunatics!

Isadora: Lucas? What the hell are you doing here?

Lucas: I could ask you the same question.

Farkle: Isn’t your license suspended?

Lucas holds up a finger to silence Farkle, not acknowledging his question. He keeps his focus on Isadora, who is similarly confused.

Isadora: Isn’t your license suspended?

Lucas: You tell me. You tell me what the hell you’re doing walking around like freaks and sending Eric so postal Jack had to send me out here risking future legal penalty to come find you.

Farkle: Hey, I mean, we snuck out of prom. [ holding his arms out ] Don’t I get a little credit for that, Lucas James Friar?

Lucas glares at him, unimpressed.

Lucas, sharply: Don’t talk to me like you know me.

Farkle raises his hands in surrender, turning away. Lucas turns his focus back to Isadora.

Lucas: Tell Eric where the hell you are and that you’re not dead. At least pay him that decency.

Isadora: Alright! Alright, I will. Sorry you got dragged into it.

Lucas: You’re so lucky I have no life.

Lucky, indeed… Lucas drives off, leaving the two of them alone again. Isadora shifts awkwardly, Farkle hesitating before giving her an unbothered smirk. Woo, reckless freedom!

INT. JACK’S CAR - NIGHT

Jack gets the text from Isadora on Eric’s phone. He smiles and then passes it back to him, telling him that now he can breathe again.

And so he can. Eric lets out a huge sigh of relief, falling back against the seat and rubbing his face. These kids, are they ever gonna let them live? Once he’s pulled himself off the ledge, Eric drops his hands and asks what they’re supposed to do now.

Now that they’re already out? Well… Jack shrugs.

Jack: You like bowling?

INT. PROM VENUE - NIGHT

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Magic” as performed by Gabrielle Aplin || Performed by Yindra Amino

Things slow down back at the prom, allowing the students to shift into a slow dance. Before Riley and Charlie can make any decisions, Zay swoops over to them to cut in. For a second it seems as though he might ask Charlie, in front of everyone… but he simply requests a dance with his favorite girl at AAA. Charlie relents without an argument, allowing him to steal Riley.

Riley: Sweet of you to say all that. And…

Zay: And I will give anything not to slow dance with Maya, yes.

Charlie shifts his sights to Haley, offering a hand to her. With their former conversation having cleared the air, the two of them are able to simply enjoy a dance together rather than twisting themselves up over what it might mean.

Yindra’s vocals truly help set the mood. The types of slow dancers are all across the spectrum. The soft familiarity of Dylan and Asher, whispering in each other’s ears and smiling and tilting their heads against one another; the timid beginnings of Nigel and Jade, more distance between them but equally as happy to be sharing the dance. Then there’s Maya, not bothering to slow dance at all and continuing her campaign amongst the other single prom-goers.

While Zay and Riley dance, they softly discuss how the evening is going. Riley subtly makes it clear that she is no way moving in on Charlie -- they should both be well aware how unlikely that would be. Zay holds no such suspicions. After all…

Zay: Think you and I are both here while our hearts are somewhere else.

Couldn’t have said it better, Isaiah. Tellingly, while Haley and Charlie are having a swell enough time dancing together, he cannot seem to keep his gaze from drifting towards Zay over her shoulder…

Yindra brings the number home, delivering yet another dazzling performance.

INT. BOWLING ALLEY - NIGHT

Pow! A bowling ball knocks over a volley of pins, shattering the dreamy melancholy of prom.

Jack and Eric have already played one game, crashed in one of the tables by the lanes and sharing some cheap bowling alley snacks. They’re also drinking and… okay, they might be a tad tipsy. They’re laughing as they chat about the evening, more relaxed than we’ve ever seen them. They could almost be teenagers themselves, just wasting away prom night at a bowling alley and blowing off expectations.

Eric complains about Isadora and Farkle’s actions, still not over the sleight. Like he gets it, they’re teenagers, but really? Jack chuckles, shrugging and claiming it’s just that kind of night. He can remember how he used to be -- Lucas really isn’t that far off from how he was at that age, although the kid is way more ballsy than he was.

Besides… there’s something about prom night, man. It makes people do crazy things.

Jack: I was never super into it, but… ha. I remember senior year, me and the guy I was going with --

Eric nearly chokes on his drink. Jack raises his eyebrows, handing him a napkin in concern.

Jack: You okay?

Eric: Yeah. Yeah, I just -- [ clearing his throat ] Guy? You went with a guy?

Jack: Oh, yeah. Administrators weren’t thrilled about it at the time though. [ off his stunned expression ] Oh, come on. You know I’m bisexual. We’ve totally discussed this.

Eric: Um. No. No we have not.

Jack: We definitely have.

Eric: Jack, I would not have forgotten that. Believe me.

Jack shrugs, smiling to himself and taking another drink. Eric just stares at him, trying to reconcile this new understanding he has of his friend and co-worker in his head. He starts to say something, then thinks better of it. Lost for words.

The music on the sound system of the bowling alley saves him from having to speak. As soon as the song starts playing, both of them react with joyful acknowledgement.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Bye Bye Bye” as performed by *NSYNC || Performed by Jack Hunter & Eric Matthews

At first the two of them just reminiscence, talking about how classic this song is. Speaking of hits of their youth, this was it in the college days. But as they casually start singing along in their seats, just like their students (and maybe thanks to the alcohol), the groove overtakes them.

Eric jumps to his feet first, crouching on his seat and launching into the second verse. Jack cracks up and claps, encouraging the dramatic performance. Eric manages to pull him into it as well, the two of them delivering the rendition with the same gusto as their overdramatic students.

INT. BYE BYE BYE DREAMSCAPE - NIGHT

In their folly, it would only be fair to give them the same imaginative scape as their students. Part of the performance is a fantasy tribute to the “Bye Bye Bye” music video, Jack and Eric dressed as if they’re back in the early 2000s and dancing around a tilting room.

INT. BOWLING ALLEY - NIGHT

We cut back and forth between that and them wreaking mild havoc in the bowling alley, and gosh dang is it a fun performance.

That’s one way to cut loose for a night. Let’s go principal and counselor!

EXT. HOTEL - NIGHT

Farkle walks Isadora to the front stoop of the fancy hotel Valerie is staying at, although she tells him that he didn’t have to. He claims as her date it was his duty -- even if their arrangement wasn’t exactly by choice.

Isadora: Well, impressively, I did actually have fun.

Farkle: Oh?

Isadora: Yes. I don’t expect the enchantment to last past midnight, but it was fun while it lasted. [ a beat ] I suppose I’m glad that I had to babysit tonight.

Farkle rolls his eyes. Isadora looks at him for a long moment, and then stands on her tip-toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

He blinks, obviously not expecting it. After a moment he kind of smiles, caught between a confused frown and a pleasantly surprised smile. He looks at her, narrowing his eyes.

She gives him no explanation. She just tilts her head in a nod and marches through the revolving door, leaving him on the sidewalk. He glances up at the building, smile widening as he spins on his heel and saunters down the street.

INT. PROM VENUE - NIGHT

Clarissa and Haley are just wrapping up a performance, dismounting the stage as Harper heads up to the microphone. She warms up the crowd by asking how everyone is enjoying prom, which is met with resounding cheers. The time has come, she announces, for the crowning of their junior and senior prom court!

Amidst the cheers, Charlie shifts his focus to Riley next to him. She’s zoned out, glancing over her shoulder and not paying any attention. Looking for someone who isn’t going to be there, no matter how many times she looks.

After a moment, he elbows her lightly.

Charlie: You should go.

Riley: What? What do you mean?

Charlie: I appreciate what you did for me tonight. But we both know… you don’t want to be here. Not really. [ nodding towards the door ] So you should go. Don’t waste the rest of your night on me.

Riley examines him, thoughtful. Then she smiles, taking his arm and leaning forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. She squeezes his arm.

Riley: Never a waste.

Then she’s gone, weaving her way through the crowd and on a mission. Charlie watches her go, and when he turns back to the crowd and the excitement of the senior prom court being announced he suddenly feels very detached. Like he’s a fish out of water, as if he shouldn’t even be there at all.

It’s claustrophobic. Charlie starts to push his way through the crowd as well, searching for an exit. Needing to get out of there.

From where he’s waiting with Maya, Zay notices Charlie’s frantic escape. He frowns, hesitating for only a moment before darting out after him. Only Maya notices him go, looking after him in confusion.

Maya, in a whisper: Zay. Zay!

He’s already gone. And her attention is stolen anyway, as Harper gets a drum roll going for the announcement of junior prom queen and king. It goes, unsurprisingly… to Maya and Zay!

Only Zay is nowhere to be found. Lucky for him, Maya is an expert showman and covers as if it’s nothing. She hops up onto stage and happily accepts, claiming her king had to dip out for a moment and she’ll be accepting both on his behalf.

Once she’s found a way to balance both crowns on her little blonde head, she takes to the microphone and gives a small speech about what an honor it is to be selected. And in return, tonight, she’ll give them a prom slow dance really worth remembering. As the track cues up --

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “At Last” as performed by Beyoncé || Performed by Maya Hart

As obnoxious as she is, there is no doubt about the fact that Maya Hart can sing. Her vocals are damn good on the romantic classic, truly creating a perfect final slow dance for the evening. And she’s milking every second of it, glamorous as ever in her elegant gown and dual crown glory.

EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT

Charlie has made his way to a mostly vacant section of the parking lot, inhaling as much fresh air as he can. He holds his breath, then lets it out, fighting off whatever strange panic was prickling at him.

It doesn’t truly fade until Zay joins him, approaching casually and claiming that he’s missing Maya’s big performance. Isn’t that what he came all the way out to prom for anyway? Charlie can’t help but laugh, even though the vibe between them is still uncertain.

Charlie: Oh, naturally. Everything’s about Maya Hart, after all.

Zay: Absolutely everything, yeah.

Charlie: [ just looking at him ] … shouldn’t you be in there too, then? Far as I recall, you were her running mate.

Zay, with a shrug: I didn’t really care much about it.

Zay is stepping closer with every word that passes between them.

Charlie: … no?

Zay: Nah. I mean, can’t blame Maya though. She knows how to pick a winning candidate.

Charlie: Well, no arguments here. Sure you don’t want to get your crown, though? Think that would be a nice prize regardless.

They’re standing right in front of each other. Zay swallows, meeting his eyes.

Zay: I can think of something better.

Charlie lets that sink in, not sure how to respond. Knowing that they’re the way they are for a reason… but then there he is, right there in front of him…

Zay doesn’t ask for much. He gently takes Charlie’s hands, pulling him towards him and into a slow dance. There in the parking lot, alone, where nobody else is going to bother them.

Charlie is stiff at first, then slowly he relaxes into it. The familiarity, the ease, the way they seem to just naturally fit together... especially when it comes to dancing.

Still, something in his expression is conflicted. It’s obvious he loves it -- being so close to Zay, sharing anything with him regardless of what their status is -- but then that’s the problem, isn’t it? As long as Charlie is around him, he’s never going to be able to let it go. They’re going to keep drifting back to each other like this, and Zay is never going to be able to move forward.

Charlie realizes all of that… and yet.

For now, he chooses to live in the moment. He tilts his head against Zay’s shoulder and chooses to soak it up for all it’s worth, the dance and the closeness and the way he continues to choose him, even when he pushes him away.

Everything else, he can deal with another day.

INT. VALERIE’S HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Isadora has changed back into more comfortable clothes, Valerie hanging her dress up so that it stays nice and unruffled. After all the hard work Stella McCartney put into it, she would hate for it to only survive one use!

Then Valerie settles on the bed with Isadora, telling her the good news. The paperwork went through -- they’re on their way. She just has some things she needs to go wrap up last minute in Los Angeles, and then they’re going to do it. They’re going to be a proper mother and daughter, she’ll move to the city, and everything is going to change. For the better, she’s sure.

Isadora is stunned just to hear it said -- she can’t begin to wrap her head around it in reality. But she manages action, leaning forward to initiate a hug with Valerie.

She hugs her back, tight, so excited about the next steps they’ll be taking together.

INT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Well, for only a night’s work, Lucas has made substantial progress on organizing his hell bedroom. You can actually see the floor now in most places, which is a step up. Maybe one solution to not having horrible mental health is to not feel like you’re living in an abandoned storage closet. Music is playing from his phone, shuffling the playlist Riley made him last year.

He finishes clearing the floor by the actual closet door, finding Riley’s gala shawl. He holds it in his hands, delicately, trying to decide what to do with it. It’s survived this long, in spite of all the times he’s thought about destroying it -- to get rid of it now would almost be a disservice.

He’s distracted from the decision for now, his phone buzzing. He settles onto his bed, putting the shawl to the side towards his pillow and opening the message.

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Ebony Eyes” as performed by Jamie Scott || Instrumental

It’s from Dylan, a group picture of the techie crew in the midst of the glitz of prom. The caption underneath it is simple and to the point -- “We miss you!!!!!!!”

Lucas can’t help but smile, but after a moment it shifts to something more muted. The disappointment is clear on his face now, fully realizing how much he might be missing out on. How much he’s missed out on for the entire year, while he was busy fighting to survive his own personal hurricane. And there’s no way to get that back -- there’s no way to know if it’ll ever stop hurricaning, given how up in the air everything feels.

He’s distracted once again from his own internal musing, this time by creaking from outside his window. At first he glances towards his door, worried it might be someone coming home, but an additional creaking confirms it’s coming from outside. It’s coming from the fire escape.

Cautiously, Lucas gets to his feet, edging towards his window. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Riley appears from the ladder below, scrappily climbing her way up to his level.

EXT. LUCAS’S APARTMENT - LUCAS’S FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT

Lucas scrambles out the window to meet her, eyes wide in disbelief. She smiles at him as he emerges and she manages to pull herself fully onto the fire escape. There’s barely room for them both to stand, Lucas taking her arm and pulling her as far from the window -- and his apartment -- as possible.

Lucas: What the hell are you doing here?

Riley blinks at him, trying to catch up with her own choice of actions. She’s changed out of her fancy gown, hair and makeup still done up but having opted for a pair of high-waisted jeans and a thrifted tee. Better attire for building scaling, at least.

She explains that she couldn’t stop thinking about him and how he was missing out, so she decided to bring some of the fun to him. She shrugs off her backpack, unzipping it and showing off some of the snacks and movies and junk she threw in there along with her laptop. She didn’t have a lot of specific ideas, or anything, she just thought… who knows. She just knew she wanted to be here.

Lucas is in shock. He can’t believe any person would ditch prom without some other grand plan, and definitely not for him.

Lucas: That’s… that’s nice, but you shouldn’t have to do this. You should be at prom, having fun. Least of all worrying about me.

Riley, shaking her head: Wasn’t the same without you.

Oh. Well then. Riley glances towards his room, recognizing the music playing and smiling to herself. She comments that at least he has good tunes to get him through the night, and the slower, rustic song playing now is better than about half of the songs they played at the dance.

In fact… she did say she was going to bring the evening to him…

Dropping her backpack by the window, Riley cautiously takes Lucas’s hands. When he doesn’t complain, she gently guides him into a dance of their own -- a promenade on six square feet of metal with a shitty outdated iPhone speaker acting as the DJ.

Even still, it might be the most authentically romantic duet of the night. The music quality shifts and improves to be more encompassing as they settle into the dance, once again supplemented by that fantastical quality of the evening. Secluded enough for Lucas to ease into it, more intimate than a room full of their peers would allow.

After a minute or so, Riley adjusts their posture and presses their foreheads together. For how soft the moment is, the energy between them may as well be electric. They’re inches apart, one or two breaths and a bold choice away from another kiss. And maybe they could…

But not tonight. Not yet.

Riley shifts and rests her head against his shoulder, Lucas closing his eyes and tilting his head against hers.

For now, what they have in this moment together is enough.

INT. AAA - ATRIUM - DAY

Crazy how in the aftermath of such a whimsical weekend, life is expected to proceed as normal. Jack is in good spirits as he jogs his way into the school building later than usual, pushing through the doors at the same time as Lucas. Lucas comments on his late showing.

Jack: You know, for all the times you’ve shown up to class tardy with no good excuse, I think you can zip it on this one.

Touché. Jack does remember to thank Lucas for his help with Farkle and Isadora though, expressing that it was a big help. He asks how he spent the rest of his evening -- aside from the crystal meth.

Lucas, nonchalantly: Nothing much. And you?

Jack: Got kicked out of a bowling alley.

Lucas: … fun. Respect.

Jack grins, nodding him on his way. He makes his way back into the office…

INT. AAA - JACK’S OFFICE - DAY

Where the real world is waiting for him. Jack is surprised by the gift-wrapped item on his desk -- until reality slams into him like a freight train. He drops his briefcase and jogs towards it, lifting the ribbon-bound local newspaper into his hands.

There it is. The Bradford case, front page Monday morning news. Likely paid a fortune to make it front page news, if he knows his adversaries.

It’s officially gone public. The fantasy is over. Another day has arrived, and now it’s time to deal with all of the challenges ahead.

Now, it’s time to take action. For better or for worse.

END OF EPISODE.

#S2 #211 #episodes #y'all.... we really in it now

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qm-vox · 5 years

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The Dwelling Gods - A More Perfect Union

Previous Chapter: Sitting The Table

Human-Controlled Space (The Undivided Whole), Milky Way Galaxy (Orion Arm), 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

We The People Of Planet Earth

Not all is well. It has not been well ever since the People’s invasion of the gataxians. We had underestimated the willingness of their aggrieved neighbors to come to their defense; even now Our citizens pore over histories, shift masses of data, claim mental bandwidth with which to argue amongst Ourself about how We could have so grossly mis-characterized the political situation between the xenophobes and their prey. Our libraries buzz with life, fed further data by forward intel posts, by contemplation and meditation, by after-action reports written by Ourself and for Ourself and to Ourself.

But what’s worse is the wound, the lacing, scratching thing in Our mind, the hurtful little slash around which We become I. We cannot be I; We The People Of Planet Earth stand united, without flaw or seam.

We, not I. I cannot be the People. I can only be a person.

It itches. There is no other word for it. It feels like such a small thing but all of Us suffer for it; Our hands move more slowly, Our heads shake as we go about Our work. The wound-thing that tastes like “I” drives Our citizens to distraction. The artwork being made for Our vaults and cities and ships skews dark; We can feel Ourselves working in bloody rust-reds, in off-blacks, in violent tangles of light and shadow that dizzy the eyes. Our previous blue period would be a relief at this point.

How did We get hurt? It had felt almost like one of Our semi-autonomous citizens, what Divided Humanity would think of as an officer, reporting in to sync subjectivities, but instead of the blissful transfer of information We were cut and scarred by the shrieking death-fear of two minds at once. One almost human, the other...

(Art-citizens slash red across the metal of Our fleets. A creche of writers begins typing gibberish far beyond the pale of even Our most recursive meta-textual works; harsh noise plays from the throats of Our musicians oh it hurts the memory hurts so much and yet We cannot stop picking at it can We)

Focus. We direct the attention of the People (I look - no!) to the war-front. The gataxians are being reinforced in numbers too large to be a mere defensive measure, and We are bringing Our own fleets to bear accordingly. War-citizens emerge from the cloning vats, and We re-task the autonomous to the needs of battle. If We do not miss Our guess, a counter-invasion is imminent. This could work to the advantage of the People; forcing the enemy to expend time and energy defending the borders will make them easier to cross and pillage of resources, and We may learn much from the mysterious and advanced benefactors of the butterflies -

- something is not right. We are -

Gripped, seized in my (mymymymy) mind by two minds, two minds like the last two minds that carved I into We and made me aware of my me-ness, my one-ness, of the betrayal of my purpose it’s like claws made of knives right in the soul why this how this it hurts -

The human-like mind starts dying immediately, flayed layer by layer by the sheer enormity of the being that is Myself, but that other mind, that thing, that fractal whisper, it has me.

Hello, hivemind, it purrs, its voice full of promise and secrets. This will hurt.

I start screaming from a trillion throats, and then I am, once again -

Caroline Morrison, New York City, 2679 CE

When had most of the meetings become silent? I/(We) struggle to remember when exactly all of (U)s had noticed, but I guess the actual smoking gun was when we’d all decided to start faking the minutes of those meetings. Juan’s still the secretary on paper, so most of his attention is currently devoted to diligently writing up lies about our plans to grow the company, a proposed investment in a marketing firm (W)e already own in all the ways that matter, something something office birthday...

The Chinese takeout on the table isn’t fake, though. Turns out operating the brain chips takes a lot of calories, and while Juan fakes the words we’re not saying out loud we (all) stuff our faces while the conversation actually takes place on another level.

We’re going to have a problem with the money soon April says into (O)ur minds; I can feel the chip in my own brain tingle pleasantly as it registers the communication. If we keep things aboveboard we’ll be bankrupt in two years, but going criminal -

The IRS would be on us in an instant. We’re too suspicious already I finish. This orange chicken is fucking amazing and it’s sort of unfair how into it I am while we’re having this serious conversation. And it’s not like we can onboard them without pulling that trigger early.

!xobile holds up his hand to get us to hold on a second; he’s having an epic struggle with a forkful of noodles and the noodles are definitely winning. After managing to defeat his nemesis he clears his throat (not strictly necessary but he’s only had his chip for two months, it takes some getting used to) and starts talking: I may have another option. Marketing is reporting that the movement to cure autism -

- He pauses while the rest of us make mental noises of revulsion -

- Believes that the Ross-Moore Chip could provide such a service. This customer base is wealthy, influential, and comes with prime endorsements from celebrities...a few of whom have expressed a willingness to undergo the procedure for PR purposes.

!xobile names a few figures for initial donations, but they pale in comparison to the potential gains. Once they’re chipped, those luminaries will understand the Mission, the Need for United Humanity to reverse the catastrophic environmental damage to Earth, to prevent another disaster like the loss of the Arkships. They’d give (U)s access to their social sphere and keep the wolves away from the door while we work...

Everyone else is thinking the same thing.

Fund it I/(We) order, and we all raise our little boxes of fried rice to toast with.

We The People of Planet Earth, 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

I struggle and thrash, but this conflict is foreign to me (mememememe); no citizen has ever rebelled like this. Where are the weapons, how do I grasp this whispering thing that has me in those claws, in that late November grip that tastes like sad truths and cuts like a funeral dirge.

What a sad little mistake you are the thing whispers in a cruel, crooning voice. You don’t even know what you are not.

We (I) need to get Our citizens in order; We turn Our focus away from the claw-thing to calm the disrupted citizens, to soothe the bodies. From somewhere in the depths of memory I/We recall reading that control of the body is control of the mind, and We are far from in control of either it hurts why does it hurt so much.

A whispering laugh, and those claws, those shredding things of grief and fear, dig in deeper. She lives with this every day, and you can barely stand a moment of it. How long has it been since you felt pain, little mistake?

LET ME GO! I roar, and I realize my mistake too late; the claw-thing reaches into that moment of wrath and fear, and I can feel what I know being known by it, being learned and scraped and analyzed. No! No no no no no -

In desperation I grab at memories and drag my captor down with me, and then it is an earlier time and place again.

United Humanity, Sydney, Australia, 0 Unified Year (2076 Astra Federation Standard Calendar)

“We don’t see that you have much choice,” We say to the assembled leaders. This citizen wears a nametag that says ‘Gloria’, and they address Us by that name; We have long since realized that those who are not yet United respond better to the fiction of Division than to Our truth. “Your fleet is in tatters. You cannot sustain a defense against the numbers We can bring to bear on land. It is not Our wish to drag out this conflict or to be responsible for the loss of human life.”

The American gives Our citizen one of those knife-hand gestures so common among their lower officers, which makes a certain amount of sense; We own most of their former high command these days. “You’ll forgive me if I point out how farcical that statement is. Those poor souls you chip -”

“Are completely unharmed,” We interrupt smoothly. “Living productive and happy lives, with the best medical care and all of their needs seen to.” We straighten Our citizen’s collar. “We understand your concerns, but the Ross-Moore is a method of communication, nothing more. United Humanity represents what is possible when language barriers are wholly removed,” We add. Experience gained from millions of people makes the lie smooth and clean.

Murmurs, around the room. “Gloria” is the de facto hostage of the coalition government, but their alliance cannot last; already cultural friction erodes the morale of their citizenry, alongside the unchecked greed of capitalist holdouts who even now attempt to profit off of Our unification. They can be made to see.

“Gentlemen,” We say, “what can We do to convince you? We would rather not make grand threats; if We wanted to invade, We would have done so already. Surely there is a path to peace that we can all walk today.”

Those murmurs become contemplative. We wait, letting them talk, debate, murmur favors to be traded with one another.

When it feels right, We speak next from the mouth of the Australian Prime Minister: “How quickly could United Humanity supply food and medical relief to my citizens?”

“Gloria” smiles beatifically. “Within forty-eight hours.”

We The People of Planet Earth, 787 Unified Year (2863 Astra Federation Standard Calendar; Covenant Day)

That cutting grip is loosening (it hits like heartbreak on the last day of summer, like the last goodbye between old friends, oh it hurts -), but I can feel that thing rooting through my memories yet further, knowing what I know. War-citizen deployments, cloning methods -

Get out of there! I shriek as I feel it rifling through my artwork, my culture, the churches and holy places I preserved on Earth, the museums and vaults and -

It laughs at me. Laughs long and quiet, in that cruel, whispering voice.

Now what is all of this for? the claw-thing murmurs. What benevolent idiots your creators were, little mistake.

I hit back, lashing out, but something new is wrong; it’s dying, flaking away as the human-like mind struggles to remain in existence amidst the torrent of Myself. The feeling is like punching water that’s already going down a drain.

You have no right I accuse. The history of Divided Humanity must be -

That mocking laughter again: I’m dying now, little mistake. Let me show you something before I go.

An image, in my mind, as clear as if my citizens were there in the flesh: the Arkship Demeter, lost through an unstable wormhole. Dozens of species fill its halls, but prominent among them, participating in a solemn religious service is -

- is -

- Oh no.

Glory to the Phoenix, the risen children of Divided Humanity the claw-thing mocks with the last shreds of its strength, and then it is gone.

Across my dozens of worlds and thousands of space stations, United Humanity starts screaming.

#dwelling gods #fiction #soft sci-fi #critique welcome

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mydaisyelizabeth · 5 years

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maxwellparice · 3 years

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ciaran-nyc · 4 years

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Week Seven: Greta Thunberg Documentary: "I Am Greta"

1. "Why would I need an education if there is no future?"

When Greta is sitting in front of Parliament and has a discussion with an older woman, she is challenged to go to school so she can eventually make a change. This quote really emphasizes the immediacy of the issue of climate change and why she is taking action. There is the continued narrative that we can continuously push off climate change and telling Greta after she gets an education she can work to make a difference is the issue. Rather than waiting, Greta has opted to leverage the celebrity she has to make a difference.

"The climate is the defining issue of our time.”

Greta uses this phrase to convey the seriousness of her protest when directly questioned about her motives. This exchange is greatly framed by the age dynamic of Greta and the adult she is speaking with. Greta and her generation will witness the most horrific effects of climate change and she is acutely aware of that.

"Once the climate crisis has gotten your attention, then you can't look away."

After getting the invitation to a UN conference, Greta raises concerns about missing school for her speaking engagement. The viewer is then shown Greta in a classroom as a voiceover is heard stating this quote, implying that Great is preoccupied with her crusade for climate justice. This directly points to the tension of Greta trying to maintain a semi normal life while dedicating her life to a cause.

2. In the beginning of the film, we see Greta’s great determination and tenacity as she sits in front of Parliament unwavering in her cause. She stands firm in the face of criticism and even garners a large crowd of supporters. We then cut to her father as he voices concerns about her doing this and we remember she is just a child and ultimately a person with family members that care for her. When we get glimpses into the interactions she has with her father we see a more unfiltered version of her that is not the strong face of a movement but a vulnerable human being that deserves are sympathy for the emotional toll such work does to any individual.

3. I didn’t know she was on the spectrum, had aspergers, or suffered from depression. I knew nothing of the kind of background she came from, but it was interesting to see how close she was with her father. Additionally, I didn’t know just how well she knew how to manipulate social media and digital platforms to support her message. The scene where she discusses Arnold Schwarzenegger’s following gave me the first indication of her hyper awareness. It’s clear that this knowledge allowed her to substantially grow her base. There is a scene where she is introducing her Fridays for Future campaign and decides to speak in English while encouraging people to record and share her speech, knowing that speaking in English will maximize her potential reach.

4. I didn’t realize at how fast of a rate the Amazon forest is burning; that was rather alarming because I knew it contributed to such a significant portion of the planet’s oxygen production. Additionally, I was unaware of how many different young activists there were across the world.

5. I didn’t realize how quickly the movement grew, I had figured Greta had been working for a considerable amount of time in climate justice. I have a false memory of Greta coming into the spotlight and beginning her work earlier than she did with her celebrity having a slow build. I do remember Greta’s celebrity coming to a peak in 2019 when she embarked on the sailboat to NY, but I was tangentially aware of her because she was frequently in the headlines, not anyone I ever sought out or investigated information about her. I think this movement took off as it did because Greta was such an unlikely leader and her dedication to this effort made others recognize their own privilege and how they could contribute. Greta is also very savvy and well informed; her preparedness and passion make her very charismatic and a leader to who is easy to rally around.

6. Early on in the film, Arnold Schwarzenegger was mentioned to have shared a video of Greta’s on Twitter to his four million followers. Although he is a politician, Emmanual Macron’s global recognition is beyond that of just a politician and has reached a celebrity like status. His meeting with Greta very much served as a cosign of her efforts and added a legitimacy to her as an activist. Her meeting with the Pope also served as a major moment in her being recognized by a figure that is held in the highest regard by an entire religious sect.

7. The Paris Agreement is an international treaty on climate change, adopted by 196 countries in 2015. The goal is to limit global warming below 2 degrees celsius. This goal is difficult to reach because there are so many moving parts and countries that are acting without concern for the climate crisis. Under the Obama Administration, the United States was initially a major proponent of the Paris Agreement, but with the changing of power, Donald Trump backed out the agreement. President Biden has returned to the agreement, but such instability in commitments pose serious threat to accomplishing long term goals over the course of many years.

8. At conferences, Greta was used as a pawn to simply give off the appearance of leaders caring about the climate crisis. Although she was given a platform, Greta’s words were not taken seriously at these events and she voices frustrations about this. Greta’s past bouts with depression led her to withdraw into herself, only speaking to her family and refusing to eat. We see that in the midst of a very raucous crowd, Greta gets overwhelmed and refuses to eat. There is a back and forth argument with her father, where she eventually gives into his demands for her to eat. It is evident in these moments her celebrity status takes a great toll on her mental health. Her dedication to climate justice drives her to seek perfection in her work and, in striving for perfection, she overextends herself, as is apparent when she is crafting a speech in French.

9. I think Greta served as an example, showing that it is possible for all young people to actively make a difference, but teenage girls were most able to recognize themselves in her. The template Greta laid out showed how easy it was to leverage one’s position in the world. For young women and girls in particular, her outspoken nature and strong will defied stereotypical expectations of both gender and age, and demonstrated alternate ways of being. Further, the fame and positive feedback Greta received as a result of her efforts encouraged others to follow in her footsteps.

10. I think this footage really got to the heart of the entire film as she was detailing her struggles on the boat and how she wished she could just live a regular life. The immense pressure Greta is under reflects the responsibility her entire generation will have to undertake to try and save the planet. By highlighting Greta’s pain and vulnerability, her humanity was put in focus and when contextualizing the climate crisis affect on actual people it is harder to deny its impact. I didn’t follow her voyage in real time, but remember it being a popular topic of conversation.

11. Unfortunately, I was unable to participate in the Climate Strike. I was working at a job that if I had missed a day I would have missed a paycheck and potentially lost my shift, so I had to prioritize my financial stability. There was certainly an internal struggle as I wanted to participate, but felt unable to. The choice I made felt selfish, as I was ranking my own interest above the collective good. However, I was not just responsible for myself and had to consider the commitments/promises I made to other people in terms of my bosses/coworkers and family who I would be more dependent on if I lost employment. This tension I experienced, although rather low stakes, forced me to contemplate the idea of how capitalism is often at odds with environmental conservation.

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confirmation-of-practice · 4 years

Photo

Reconsidering Project presentation

picture credits Descending order:

Myself

Neri Oxman

Myself

Ernst Gamperl

During the writing of my project revaluation, I began to question the format in which I could present my work and how the concept as whole could be reinterpreted. This change was driven by research into exhibitions that were both visually attractive and embodied what I want for my practice. It was also realised through photographing of my work which gave me pause to consider the way I am working and why. Through a combination of these activities, I have come to a point of consideration, where I must assess my work challenging what it is and what it is becoming. Above I have included imagery from my own project as well as work from Neri Oxman and Ernst Gamperl, with the aim of demonstrating the possibilities I have if I peruse this path. Through using a more gallery appropriate use of photography, I can assume a new perspective to view my work and see other avenues for exploration. This form of photography in union with my research has made me consider changing the way I present my work and with it change how it communicates its message.

The new option I have begun to consider consists of using my moulds to create a series of chalices comprised of varying materials. These materials would be chosen based upon they are conceptual and visual value that they add to the collection. An example of this is the soap chalice that communicates messages associated with consumerism, mass production and ritual cannibalistic practices, however, by having other chalices comprised of other materials I might be able to add more to the dialogue to the work. Although I can see the potential flaw that I would be overreaching and doing too much, I want to explore the benefits of what this approach can offer before rejecting it. These primarily being the aesthetic advantage and awe that can be gained from increased scale, as well as the capacity to communicate more and in varying ways. As I progress in this project I have been recommended by peers and tutors to increase scale to make the work more visually commanding, I agree with these comments, but I realise that I can only increase the scale to a certain threshold before it becomes too technically challenging. It is at this point that I began considering scale and how this is not only size but repetition, I think that the impression gained from having a series of slightly larger Chalices, could be greater than one huge chalice. This is derived from my own experiences with exhibitions, an example being Neri Oxman’s Lazarus Death Masks which I have included above. On a personal note, it is the most effective exhibition I have witnessed in its capacity to catalyse thought and emotion and is the result of the methods I am considering. This work stands as an example for which I wish to live up to and naturally I would be glad to take inspiration.

The scope gained through using multiples allows me to spread the themes I wish to communicate further and navigate them more focused. Instead of trying to communicate all my ideas in one chalice I can assign a certain theme to certain chalices and allow them to cohesively communicate together, creating a collection that work separately but flow as one. The logic I am following is based on how words have meaning when isolated but when correctly arranged can communicate much more, in my case the words being chalices. Although I see the potential beauty that can be obtained through having a cohesive collection, this new approach creates many more opportunities for problems due to the increase in variables. I am aware that having a collection means I must greatly reconsider the way I communicate my message; it also presents the possibility for my message to be lost or confused. Due to this, there are many ways in which this directional change could cause difficulties, another being the need to redefine which materials I can use and why.

However, the more I contemplate what I want for this project and what excites me I cannot help but be drawn to the idea of a collection. The possibilities for presentation are vast and inspire curiosity and enthusiasm in me, I wish to know what I might say to the audience and how. This importance of how curious and engaged I am by what I am doing cannot be overlooked, it is unfair to expect the viewer to be engaged if I am not and this new avenue offers the engagement I am perusing. I have already mentioned Neri oxman and her relevance to this post and my practice many times before. However, I have also included Ernst Gamperl the rationale for this is connected to his use of white space in displaying his works and how it can be a powerful form to present work in. Through looking at his composition and Oxmans I have attempted to capture a similar level of professionalism and refinement. The decision in choosing Gamperl opposed to other craftspeople is in part due to my interest in his work around recycling and environmental concerns as well as his winning if the Loewe Craft Prize. These factors are what encouraged me to consider his work and how he presents it. Through implementing this consideration, I think I have captured the best images of this body of work so far. Not only has it done this, but it has also catalysed the process that has brought me to creating this post and considering the change of course. It is a symbol of how important it is not only to capture my work with pride and care but to gain new perspective through a physical shift in perception, moving forward I will consider this idea more consciously. In conclusion through negotiation and consideration of the potential flaws and benefits of a project alteration, I have decided that the engagement and curiosity it gives me is worth more than the established route I am on. Despite, the possibility of failure to complete what I desire, it is more important that I push myself and what I wish to convey especially in an area I care about during my final year of study.

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cjimenez-spad603 · 4 years

Text

Annotations

The Orbits of Earthly Bodies

Solnit, R. (2007). Storming the Gates of Paradise; Landscape for Politics. (pp. 33–36). California, United States: University of California Press.

Keywords: connections, relationship, urban, natural, habitat, environment, admiration

Rebecca Solnit, reading of “The Orbits of Earthly Bodies” converses about how humans establish connections to the environments around them. Relationships that are formed within spaces alter person to person, whether being from urban, suburban or rural setting. She speaks to her familiarity of how she felt so detached and ‘unnatural’ when in the countryside, a space where you’d except to be immersed with nature.

This relationship that humans create within their home setting, makes me wonder if it’s reflected in employment and learning spaces as well. I share Solnit’s same feeling of having found everything in city environments. Not having the need to go countryside as the city is where I feel at home. This reading is experienced based, which makes me contemplate whether ones, defined by how you observe and engage your time with the spaces where you live.

Reflecting on how this may help my design, I am curious if individuals give value to spaces based on whether the space is natural or unnatural to them and their relationship to the environment. How can I use this view and incorporate it in my design and what will be the result of this? In studio, we are currently working on redesigning a forgotten foyer space at the St James Theatre. This is a space that is quite historical, which is a space that I want people to respect as well as connect with it. This connection may be instantly established as people enter my space or as they interreact with it. People don’t tend to give respect to things that are “theirs” and we are more careful with things that aren’t ours. Taking this into my design, I will consider materials and shapes that make people feel comfortable as I am designing a study space but not too comfortable to create this connection.

How to Design Happiness

Wilson, M. (2017, May 02). How to Design Happiness. Fast Company. Retrieved from https://www.fastcodesign.com/3058237/how-to-design-happiness

Keywords. happy, event, anticipation, memory, experience, surprise, nature, joy, transition, portal

The article “How to Design Happiness” by Mark Wilson discuss how designers and can impact a space in order to create maximum happiness. The author talks to the “Happiness Halo”, a theory categorised into a 3-part structure. Consisting of anticipation, experience and memory, all crucial to create a happy experience. He also talks, how tactics like the power of surprise, nature, the “portal” and “the goodnight kiss” can almost instantly evoke happiness in others.

Wilson offers the readers a neutral opinion along with a variety of knowledge he has acquired from global brands like Disney and Soul Cycle. These brands carefully craft the experiences they provide, in order to deliver maximum happiness among its consumers. The writer also, details his own experiment that puts all these methods to a test. The techniques were established valid by the advice from the professionals and the results of the successful experiment.

This reading given me a lot knowledge and decisions to think about when I am designing in the future. It has made me consider the many different ways I may be able to provoke happiness and delight in others when entering a space, I have created. Having an insight into how these thriving brands operate makes me reflect about creating a space that is enjoyable and when one exits, leaving them with wanting to come back again. This text makes me consider all the “lasting effect” moments I have had in spaces and how I can reflect this in my own work. When designing this foyer, I want to incorporate possibility, the element of surprise, a “goodnight kiss technique” or give an everlasting memory to those who visit this foyer space. Creating this experience in a study space could be quite important to sharing a connection and relationship with the people and the surrounding areas.

The Sharing Economy and Design.

Smith, J. D., Morgan, D., & Howell, B. (2015, September). The Sharing Economy and Design. Paper presented at the 17th International Conference on Engineering and Product Design Education, Loughborough, United Kingdom. Retrieved from https://www.designsociety.org/publication/38507/the+sharing+economy+and+design

Keywords: sharing, design, economy, collaborate, consumption

“The Sharing Economy and Design” paper outlines how the sharing economy alters people’s approach in how they interact with spaces or products. The ‘Sharing Economy’ is a movement where people share or “rent” their private resources to others so that collaborative consumption can occur. It addresses the many resources are underutilised or wasted as a result of the “Commercial Economy”. It converses how the sharing economy is beneficial for our natural, cultural and social economy.

The writers discuss the how designers should be aware of the many qualities and challenges that this economy may have on future of design. With creators renovating the spaces we work or live in; they must have the idea to how this space may be shared. They also point out that this shift can have positive affects to the sustainability of the planet as it contributes to alleviate the high demand of natural resources in the world.

This reading has made me critically deliberate how I might in the future, encourage sustainability in my own studio practice. Specifically, in my current project in studio, I can start by using in my proposal I push more environmentally friendly materials having a positive, enriching effect on our planet’s ecosystem. An interesting idea is how I may be able to intentionally alters someone’s interaction with a space and change how they interact with this area. Having an insight to this economy movement, makes me realise about the massive consumption and waste that humans create in a daily. I am curious to look up and see the many designers that have designed for shared spaces and was routes they have taken when designing. Taking this back to my current practice, I am designing a study space for all students to collaborate with one another. Which is crucial to design for a space to be shared.

Support Structures: An Interview with Mark Cousins.

Keywords: Support, Structure, Supplement, Exterior

Condorelli, C. (2010). Support Structures: An Interview with Mark Cousins. Afterall: A Journal of Art, Context and Enquiry, (pp. 118 –122). https://doi.org/10.1086/655935

The conversation between Celine Condorelli and Mark Cousins “Support Structures” speaks to the idea of the many supports structure that are in our life both physical and theoretical. A support structures is something that bears, sustains, props or holds up an object. Condorelli brings emphasises to the intangible support structures that occur in our lives that we humans don’t notice often. The notion of ‘support structures’ brings light to what is already present within objects.

Mark Cousins creates this idea of imagining an object in space and how we can interrupt what’s there but should be. It discusses the idea of support as something on the exterior. For example, when looking at scaffolding its support is physical and that we tend to look at it as ugly. Also, Cousins states that for support to occur that there must first be an object and the support always remains on the exterior.

Condorelli’s works are metaphorical in the way she makes her artwork. She provokes thought in her artwork and writing. This made me critically think about how Condorelli thought of ‘supporting’ only exists on being in the periphery, on a permeable edge with works within from without. Reflecting on this, theory class is a support structure for studio as we are learning who we are as a designer and what matters to use. This conversation has sparked an interest in how I should use the support structures around me in order to get the most out of current studio practice. For example, using the 150+ spatial list, reading about things that interest me and what issue that will influence be when I am designing. The knowledge I gain from reading theory. This reading made me deliberate how I might use the support around me in my life to benefit my own studio practice.

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feynites · 7 years

Text

Somehow my efforts to do some Ana’druil AU came out as, basically, ‘Vena Goes Shopping’.

...Well at least it’s something?

Tagging @lycheemilkart. And also @scuvgirl and @justanartsysideblog because Adannar and Faunalyn turned up.

Serving Ana’druil is very different from serving Sylaise.

For one thing, Venavismi still does not entirely know what purpose he is meant to have in her service.

It is a strange thing. Ana’druil’s territories are more rural than her sister’s, but after a while, Vena finds himself enjoying certain aspects of that quite a lot. Her gardens may not be so neatly tended and her estates may be smaller and more secluded, but the privacy is peaceful, and the people are friendly and easy-going. His new lady assures him that he is being granted time to ‘settle in’, and Vena accepts her graciousness. He and Tasallir are eventually given more permanent lodgings in their lady’s main palace - not so far from her own, and those of Uthvir, and several other high-ranking followers who have had much more time to earn their places.

Ana’druil’s chief palace is nestled in a verdant basic, not far from where one of the largest rivers in the territories drops off in a massive set of falls. At the edges of the compound, where there are fewer environmental wards to filter it, Vena can hear the sounds of the waters plummeting and crashing into the basin below. It is a pleasant rhythm, he finds. The grounds are very lively, too, especially when the Autumn Festival beings. Vena still has not been afforded any duties by then, but boredom has won out over taking it easy, and so he often volunteers to help with tasks. There does not seem to be much stigma against that sort of thing, here. The gardeners are pleased enough to let him help feed the koi, and carry off barrels of hedge trimmings for disposal, and the cooks let him take a turn carting dishes to and from the dining halls. He practices with the soldiers, and even goes along on some of Uthvir’s hunts.

He does not ask to go along on Ana’druil’s own, though. That seems like the sort of privilege that must be offered, rather than requested.

His only brief hesitation comes with the impending arrival of the Harvest Celebrations, which come only every ten years. Vena has several outfits of varying degrees of finery, afforded to him by the estate manager, by then. But it is customary in Arlathan, and in the service of Sylaise, at least, to commission new outfits for special holidays like this. Tasallir works himself up into a lather over it, and eventually musters the nerve to approach the Lady Ana’druil with the issue, and a request to visit Arlathan so that he might commission something appropriate. Vena does not hear the conversation that they have, but he knows that Tasallir has, in particular, felt strained by the lack of things they were able to bring with them in their transfer.

The Lady Ana’druil does not grant his request.

Instead she takes him, and Vena, and herself, and a small procession all to her city holdings, and declares that they are free to commission themselves anything which they like.

After a brief conference with Uthvir, she then amends the offer to one with a set - but still shockingly high - budget.

Vena’s own budget is the same size as Tasallir’s. He has no idea what to do with that information. Tasallir is, at least, a refined attendant, meant to be adorned in beautiful things. Vena certainly likes beautiful things as well, but he is not an attendant.

...Is he?

Uncertainty hits him, and he approaches Tasallir - who agrees that, if Vena is being given an attendants budget, it is likely that their Lady means to appoint him to that or an equivalent role. Vena has experience with meeting aesthetic guidelines, but never with styling himself so formally as an attendant is expected to. He does not even know where to begin, and when he admits as much, Tasallir is surprisingly understanding.

“It can be overwhelming,” he concedes. “I know some tailors, and stylists. They serve Sylaise but many also accept outside commissions. I will make a list, and I recommend you seek them out sooner rather than later.”

Vena’s worried enough about the situation that he actually does. Ana’druil may be as kind and as beautiful as her sister, but he has no desire to displease her, especially not when she is being so generous. Their first day back in Arlathan, he sets out at daybreak, and feels like a bundle of pure nerves.

But the first Stylist and Aesthetic Coordinator on his list is an elf he knows. Decorum. A tall, graceful elf who had helped Venavismi with his adjustment to having a body a time or two. She greets him with a genuine smile, taking both of his hands in their and squeezing for a moment. Like Tasallir, Decorum is strikingly beautiful. with blue-black hair and skin that shimmers like polished granite.

“My, Venavismi! Your new markings look handsome on you,” she declares. “I trust you are doing credit to us, in your service of Lady Ana’druil.”

“I am trying to,” he says, and some of the tension drops from his shoulders.

Decorum nods.

“I imagine that is why you are here,” she says, and, well, she is not wrong. Not that Vena would not have visited her of his own accord, at some point. But there is a long list of people he should say ‘hello’ to in the city, and Decorum would not even be at the top of it. Tutors, mentors, lifelong friends - Vena gets more excited as he contemplates the potential reunions. Hopefully, they will be glad to see him, and eager to share what has been going on in Sylaise’s territories in his absence.

He has a fair few stories of his own by now.

Decorum has never been one for gossip, though, and for a morning start, that ends up being precisely what Vena needs. She ushers him into her parlour, which is lined with artistic renderings of the latest fashions - not only in Arlathan, but throughout the territories as well.

It is a much nicer parlour than Vena recollects them having, but then, he had not even realized he was going to see Decorum based on the address and directions Tasallir provided him. But then again, when they had met it was because Decorum had fallen out of favour as one of Sylaise’s attendants. She had only just been starting out with her new commissions when Vena had met her, but she had handled her transfer of duties with enough (unsurprising) grace that many people had already begun insisting that she would be wasted in any other field.

Judging by her apparent success, those people were correct.

Decorum bids Vena wait a moment, and returns with a light breakfast of fresh fruits and soft breads, and sweet tea for them to refresh themselves with. They make some polite small talk about a new project in the Crossroads and the latest additions to June’s tower, while Vena reacquaints himself with the concept of a fruit fork.

“Now, what is your budget?” Decorum asks, once the necessary pleasantries have been seen to.

Vena discreetly hands her the slip of paper with said budget on it, but if she is surprised, she does not show it at all. Instead she only nods, and then lifts a hand and gestures towards the styles arrayed decoratively around the room. The spell is simple, but Vena watches with interest as the figures change. Ana’druil’s vallaslin takes prominence among them, though a few with Sylaise and even Mythal’s designs remain. Shimmering faintly, in a large enough selection of outfits that even his ample budget could not commission them all.

But then, that does seem to be part of the general process. Decorum frowns slightly, and makes a shooing gesture at a few of the designs. They vanish, and the order re-shuffles. She gestures at a few other figures and their builds shift to make Venavismi’s own, and a moment later she frowns at some of them, too, and sends them away. Once she is satisfied with the arranged options, she turns towards him.

“Now, of course, there will be limitations depending upon who is available to take commissions,” Decorum explains.

“I have been to a Stylist before, I know how it works,” Vena assures her. The first time, he had been confused. Stylists are often also tailors and make-up artists and hairdressers and even jewellers, but their chief role is consultant and wardrobe planner. Decorum, Vena knows, will give him concepts and styles to bring to other experts, to give them a framework to go off of. With so many commissions to make, a lack of coordination could result in a jumbled and disorganized wardrobe, with pieces that do not match well, or an over-abundance of, say, formal clothes, but not enough casual wear. Or the reverse. Stylists can also attempt to find and fill in the gaps or advise alterations to existing wardrobes, and of course, help coordinate and design outfits for groups and special events. But the clothes in the images are only a template, not actual for-sale stock.

Decorum nods.

“Good,” she says. “As pleasant as it is to have you, I have a late morning appointment that I would not be able to put off. But we should have more than enough time to get things squared away to your satisfaction. Now. I assume this is meant to be a comprehensive wardrobe, for every day use as well as special events?”

“That is the idea,” Vena says. Ana’druil’s exact words had been ‘get whatever you like’, but Tasallir had seemed fairly certain that she meant ‘get clothes that please you, while also serving all practical and required purposes’.

“And what do your new duties entail?” Decorum asks him. “Do you have any particular service clothing requirements? Protective gear, pleasure wear, armaments?”

Vena hesitates. That is the question, isn’t it? Even if he is, as it would seem, an attendant now, there is still a lot of variety within that classification. Is he to be a bodyguard? A bedwarmer? A decoration? A conversationalist?

Well, the latter two do not require special equipment beyond general aesthetic appeal, at least. And the first two are pastimes that, even if they do not end up being actual duties of his, fall within the spectrum of his own recreational interests. He likes to spar, and he is starting to like hunting, too, he thinks, and he certainly likes sex.

“I will need some protective combat gear and light armour,” he decides. “And a set of lingerie.” One to start with, he thinks, and then he will not spend an abundance of his budget on items that his Lady might not intend to make use of.

It is strange to think that he might end up warming her bed, at some point. Part of him suspects that if she meant for him to serve that purpose, she would have already requested it. But he does not really know, does he? Perhaps she is busy occupying herself with Tasallir. Though, so far, Vena has not seen her command that anyone wait in her chambers or retire with her in the evening.

Perhaps her interests are purely aesthetic?

Decorum only nods again, and calls up some of the more current styles of armour. Ceremonial as well as more functional. She also beckons a few very scantily clad projections into the procession, with some very consistent design features.

“Feathers?” Vena asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It is on trend,” Decorum informs him. “But if you would prefer something simpler...”

“I think I could make feathers work,” Vena assures her, easily enough. A few of those, though, are definitely veering a little too ‘awkward chicken’ for his tastes. He likes the playfulness in some of the others. But most of them look like they would tickle.

“Alright, now, let’s knock off the ones you absolutely have no interest in, and go from there,” Decorum suggests.

Vena nods in agreement, and immediately gets rid of the chicken lingerie, and most of the more ceremonial-looking armour.

The process actually ends up being quite a lot of fun. Decorum points out some possible needs he had not considered, and convinces him to get one set of ceremonial armour, in case he is called upon to escort Ana’druil to a council meeting or some other function which could require it. They select a few good designs for him to use as references, along with several more practical - but still very lovely - sets for common use. The pleasure wear they narrow down to a few possible styles also, and then they move onto the larger categories of casual wear, nightclothes, and formal celebration attire. Decorum informs him of what styles are considered acceptable to Arlathan’s standards, while still being preferred in Ana’druil’s territories. Lots of floral, fish, and bird patterns and airy robes and elegant accessory pieces paired with simpler main designs. Oranges and blues are popular, too, but only in splashes of colour against more neutral tones.

When they are finished making their general selections, and Decorum has worked out how many of each sort of piece he should try and get, she puts all the information into a portfolio booklet for him, and hands it to him.

“The information is spelled in there, so, the booklet will not last more than a few days,” she reminds him. “If you would like, I can make a more permanent copy here when I return this evening, but you should be able to get everything sorted in that amount of time. This is Arlathan, after all.”

It suddenly strikes Vena, then, that he has a wealth of money, and several days in which to shop and indulge and spend.

This is going to be quite a lot of fun.

“I shall endeavour to get it all squared away,” he assures Decorum.

“Go to your jewellers first,” the Stylist recommends, as they see him to the door. “Their materials are typically the most limited, and if any of them have an abundance of certain stones or metals, you can have the tailors accommodate the shift in colours more easily than the reverse. The merchants brought in the new shipment of pigments and dyes for the crafters just two weeks ago, so cloth should be coming in all the colours of the rainbow. If anyone attempts to tell you there is a shortage, decline to commission them and give me their name. If needed I will find you a replacement crafter, but if Tasallir has made your recommendations, that should not be a problem.”

“Thank you,” Vena replies, feeling much lighter and easier and like he has a far better idea of what he is doing.

Decorum pats his cheek, fondly, and then finally shoos him from her parlour, so she can go and dress for her late morning meeting.

Her advice is good, but Vena does not end up going to the jeweller that Tasallir had recommended first. Stone availability might be more fickle than clothing dyes, but pre-made items are more constrained twice over, and Vena likes shopping through those. He likes making commissions too, of course, but there is something just genuinely appealing about browsing through shelves of ready-made goods and finding something that suits.

So, he makes his way to some of the shops near to the lower districts, at first. The market might also be a good place to look, but typically that is better for materials than pre-made clothing or accessories. Owning a market stall usually requires a level of success that would preclude a lot of cancelled commissions or returned goods. Those kinds of things often end up in the front windows of lower-end crafters, trying to make back some of their losses.

It does not end up being a lucky day for such shopping. Vena finds a nice belt sash, but not much else. He enjoys walking through Arlathan’s streets again, though, listening to the sounds of the city, and weaving between wandering spirits and fellow pedestrians, and the new, shimmering rainbow lights that have been erected along some of the paths. One of the shops near to the Pleasure District is offering skin-tinting services, and recollecting how fashionable Decorum had looked, Vena goes and gets a soft layering of pale blue sparkles applied to his skin, and some streaks of dark blue threaded into his hair.

He makes his way back up to the main crafter and artisan districts, then, and follows Tasallir’s directions to his jeweller. There are actually a few listed, but Vena decides he will simply approach them in order. The first shop is more modest than he would have expected from someone of Tasallir’s station and tastes. It appears to belong to a single crafter, rather than a collective, but the items in the displays look very beautiful. When he makes his way inside, the shop is clean and airy, and a cordial spirit he cannot quite identify calls a greeting and then zips off towards the back rooms.

“Just one moment!” a friendly voice calls out. Vena can hear something whirring, faintly, like machinery at work.

He browses a little, examining the sample pieces until it stops, and an elf with a broad smile and a gold-flecked work apron emerges from the back room.

“Welcome!” he says. “Are you Arthanallir?”

Vena blinks.

“Oh, no,” he says. “I suppose I am a walk-in. My name is Venavismi. Tasallir recommended your services to me.”

The man offers him a ready smile.

“Tasallir did? That was good of him,” he says. “That tiara I made him was a very fine piece, though, even if I do say so myself. My name is Adannar, and I would be pleased to serve you. But, ah... I should probably disclaim, I fear I have no talent for the new trend of Live Jewellery.” The man shifts from one foot to another, and Vena gets the impression that he has had to mention this quite a few times of late.

“Living jewellery?” he asks.

“Ah, yes,” Adannar replies. “It is the latest fashion to overtake the city, and most of Lady Sylaise’s territories. Metal, stone, and wood are out, and enchanted insects, reptiles, and even some birds are in. The method of creation is a secret of Lady Ghilan’nain’s crafters at the moment, however. And probably not something I would ever have much skill in, truth be told - it is not kind to the creatures, even if it does not technically kill them.”

The man manages to radiate disapproval without actually expressing it. Vena waves off his concern, though.

“Decorum did not even mention it during our consultation, and most of what I need has to follow the trends of Ana’druil’s territories, rather than Arlathan,” he explains.

Immediately, Adannar’s countenance brightens again.

“Oh, well, That is alright then. Decorum? She has excellent tastes. Did she give you a recommendation?”

“A portfolio, actually,” Vena explains, and produces the little booklet. He flips it to the jewellery section and hands it to Adannar, whose eyebrows go up.

“This is a full wardrobe commission,” he notes.

“Is it too large?” Vena wonders.

The jeweller considers it for a moment.

“It would depend on how quickly you wanted the pieces,” he decides. “And what materials you wished to use, and how much fidelity you want your end products to have to Decorum’s designs. I generally work more off of inspiration than exact templates.”

“Oh, I like inspiration, too,” Vena says. Uniformity was expected among Sylaise’s followers, but Ana’druil’s seem to have more leeway for individual expression rather than cohesion, and he finds he likes that a lot of the time. “It would not have to be exact. For starters I would need some every day pieces, and something to wear to the Harvest Celebration. I am flexible on stones and metals, though, Decorum recommended I get my jewellery commissions seen to before I consulted with the tailors.”

“Good advice,” Adannar agrees, with a smile. “Well, then, let me just get my samples, so you can see what I have readily available. I suspect getting your festival pieces done in time for the celebration would take up my available duty hours, so you will likely have to find someone else for your every day sets. Or someone else for the festival jewellery and task me with the simpler pieces, but, apart from that, nothing in your portfolio would be beyond my skills.”

He looks up at Vena, and then adds:

"It would just be a question of time. In this, the latest trend is working in your favour - my schedule is a lot more clear than usual.”

Vena grins. Good luck indeed. Adannar’s work seems exemplary, and if he can handle most of the order, then that means he won’t have to go running around the whole district to find eighteen different jewellers or so. When Adannar leaves him with a ‘just one moment’ and comes back with his samples, Vena finds he likes the available choices quite a lot, too.

They discuss the particulars, then, of material cost and availability, and what sets would suit, and which designs. Adannar makes note of one of the ‘casual’ sets which Decorum and Vena had chosen for reference, and says he thinks one of the market stalls has a very similar set in peridot up for sale. He gives Vena directions to it, and accepts his commission for his festival jewellery, as well as all the other ‘finery’ pieces.

“If I may ask,” he says, once they are done. “A full wardrobe commission is not terribly common. Were you recently promoted? Are congratulations in order?”

“In a sense,” Vena ventures. “I was traded to Ana’druil, along with Tasallir, not long ago.”

Realization lights in Adannar’s. eyes.

“I should have guessed!” he exclaims. “That certainly explains it. I hope you and Tasallir are adjusting well? I can hardly imagine what a shift it must have been. My wife, my Serahlin, she used to work with Tasallir, she was one of his attendants. She works with Splendour, now. Just between you and I, I think she preferred Tasallir, a little. He was less... dramatic.”

Vena grins.

“More orderly?” he suggests.

“Absolutely,” Adannar agrees. “Which is to be expected. If you see him, please give him our regards. And my thanks for the recommendation. And tell him he is welcome to stop by for a visit, any time he wants to chat.”

“I will.”

Vena leaves the little jeweller’s shop with an increasing spring in his step. By the time he makes it through the second jeweller on his list - a charming elf who gushes over his hair and skin and build, until even Vena’s flirtatious nature is feeling a bit bowled over - it is nearing lunch time. So he makes for the market square, and tracks down the stall that Adannar had mentioned. The peridot set is indeed up for sale there, and with some haggling he comes away with it at a good price. A full bracelet, necklace, and earring combination, in autumnal bronze settings that have solid enchantments against wear, chipping, or weathering. They clash with his current blue tones, though, and on a whim, he buys a lapis pendant that is also for sale. Simple but pretty. He opts to wear it, and carries the peridot in a parcel with his new sash, and decides to have lunch in the market dining hall.

After lunch, Vena goes off and finds the first tailor on his list.

The afternoon flies by in a flurry of fabric samples and measurements and referrals, as the tailor which Tasallir had recommended to him ends up being a tailor’s collective, with two masters and three apprentices and one affiliate who technically owns a workshop further down the street, but assists with most of the group’s commissions as well.

Vena provides them with the commission information on his jewellery sets, as well as Decorum’s portfolios, and the group seems very pleased to take on the workload. They are affable, easy-going types, too, and Vena finds himself wondering at it. Is Tasallir secretly less uptight than he seems?

Or... no, Vena realizes. Tasallir is also in the city today, visiting with tailors and jewellers and stylists. He could hardly have recommended Vena to the same ones he meant to go to, or else they would likely have cross paths by now. A quick question to the tailors reveals that, no, they have not seen Tasallir, though they did work with him in the past, and are pleased to have his recommendation.

Ah, Vena thinks. He kept the snobby ones for himself, and sent me to his friendly second-stringers.

...Which is actually perfect, so, he can hardly complain. Especially given that everyone so far has seemed very good at their jobs, even if they are more hands-y and relaxed and ‘creative’ than Vena would expect from Tasallir’s tastes.

The tailors keep him busy through dinner, and so Vena ends up taking that meal with them. Plates spread out alongside templates and fabric swatches and projections of Vena’s jewellery sets. It is a lively atmosphere, but, the city is dark by the time Vena leaves, and his excitement has given way to tiredness.

Tiredness deep enough that he has to stop himself from heading to Sylaise’s housing district, and instead correct his course to Ana’druil’s estate. While is technically outside the city. It is a long walk, and Vena pauses as he realizes there is a figure standing by the road to the grounds.

He gets pretty close before he realizes the figure is Ana’druil herself. And then he nearly drops the parcel he is carrying.

“My Lady,” he says, and turns the fumble into a bow instead.

“Oh, good,” Ana’druil sighs. “I was starting to worry.”

Vena blinks.

Ana’druil blinks, too, and then sighs again.

There is something... something about her eyes, he thinks. She always looks at him so softly.

“I am sorry,” he offers. “If I have neglected a duty or was meant to be back sooner, I did not realize it. I was caught up in commissioning my new wardrobe.” Vena glances down at the parcel of peridot jewellery. “And shopping,” he adds.

“That’s fine,” his Lady assures him, waving a hand. “I hoped you would have fun. It was only that Tasallir got back hours ago, and I was worried that something might have happened to you.”

Vena swallows, and drops into another bow. Still not wholly certain if he has avoided trouble.

“I apologize for causing my Lady to worry,” he ventures.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Ana’druil murmurs.

The two of them stand in awkward silence for a moment more, before she finally turns away, and then gestures down to the road.

“We should get back,” she decides.

“Of course,” Vena agrees, and remembering his recent conclusions, falls into the attendant’s position beside her. Nearby enough to speak, but not quite keeping even pace, out of deference of her position. After a few minutes Ana’druil slows her steps a little, though, and Vena finds them both drawing even. And when he attempts to correct it, she does it again; so he concludes that she must want him to walk beside her.

Well.

It is darker on the road to the holdings than it is in the city. Perhaps that has something to do with it.

“You changed your hair,” Ana’druil notes, after a while.

“Yes. Does it displease you?” Vena wonders.

She shakes her head, but though they are walking side-by-side, and she is commenting on his appearance, she does not quite look at him.

“No, you look very beautiful,” she tells him. And then she raises a hand to her mouth, and stares straight at the road.

Vena’s not sure what to make of it. But, that was a positive response, right?

“I am gratified you think so,” he replies.

They make their way back in silence, mostly, after that. But it is not as uncomfortable as it might be. Ana’druil walks beside him, and Vena finds himself noticing things about her. She is much shorter than he is, for one. Not towering like Falon’Din or tall like Dirthamen, or even of average height, like her parents and younger sister. But her slight frame is well-built, and the colour of her hair keeps catching his eye.

He wonders if he should have put red in his own hair, rather than blue.

Uthvir wears red very often. Perhaps that is the expected thing.

Ana’druil does not even delicately correct his impulse, though. And Vena cannot see all of it, but he thinks the moonlight looks pretty in his own hair, too. By the time they reach the estate, nothing further has happened, and he feels more certain of himself. Faunalyn, one of Ana’druil’s high-ranking hunters, is waiting for them by the gate. She has her husband with her. A beautiful, willowy man whom Vena has not seen much of - he thinks Faunalyn will stay in Arlathan when they leave, though. The pair have a son that they share with the infamous and beautiful Melarue, who lives in the city.

“My lady. Venavismi,” Faunalyn greets, and folds her arms as she looks at him. “You skipped out on practice this morning.”

Vena had not realized he was now expected to attend that, and not simply go for a lack of something better to do with his morning.

“I had an appointment with a Stylist,” he offers, lying on a little. Technically that had been a walk-in, but it had still happened, and if he had gone any later then Decorum would not have been able to see him.

Apparently, it passes muster, because Faunalyn only shakes her head.

“Do not miss it tomorrow,” she says.

“I hope you got nice things,” her husband offers, much more brightly. Vena meets his smile.

“I did,” he confirms. “Though I suppose most of it technically remains to be seen.”

“If there are any problems, we will see to them,” Ana’druil declares. Which, he thinks, might sound ominous coming from most evanuris. But for some reason, she just seems... reassuring.

Vena ducks his head in thanks.

“My Lady showers me in kindness,” he asserts.

Faunalyn snorts.

He has no idea why, actually, that’s a standard response. But when he looks up, she seems amused, and Ana’druil’s expression is somewhat awkward again. Vena wonders if he has misread the situation. Before he can get far along that train of thought, though, Faunalyn turns and beckons her husband back inside with her. And then Ana’druil bids him a strangely hasty ‘goodnight’, before leaving him to stand in the front courtyard, and make his own way back to his chambers.

#ana'druil au #banana

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