#if it’s not the shaw pack apparently it’s no longer acceptable

[sri-rachaa]

…smile and wave boys, smile and wave.

[vanquishful]

[ FREDDY CARTER ] – have you heard about  TRISTAN SHAW? he lives at the qz. i think he has lived there for eighteen years. he's twenty-eight years old and seem very  LOYAL. i’ve also heard they can be very CONTROLLING as well. they’ve been assigned as a fedra officer. he often daydream about being accepted by his family. i’m curious to know more. | efka, gmt + 2, she/they

General Information:

❖ ― faceclaim: freddy carter ❖ ― full name: tristan shaw ❖ ― nicknames: jackass (by his younger brother) ❖ ― pronouns: he/him ❖ ― age: twenty-eight ❖ ― date of birth: march 21st, 1995 ❖ ― the big three: 🌣 aries ☾ scorpio ↑ virgo ❖ ― place of birth: deptford, new jersey ❖ ― sexuality: heterosexual ❖ ― gender: cis male ❖ ― current location: pittsburgh qz ❖ ― occupation: fedra officer ❖ ― height: 6' foot (approx. 183 cm) ❖ ― hair color: black ❖ ― eye color: dark brown

Family: † ― michael shaw (father) † ― nicole shaw (mother) ✓ ― younger brother (around 23-24; location: unknown; presumed location: firefly base) [wanted connection] ✓ ― significant other: tba

Personality:

from the outside tristan may seem very reserved, odd, awkward and even standoffish. usually he keeps his distance when it comes to strangers and people he doesn't know too well. however, if it is in his interest, tristan will put the effort in knowing as many people as humanly possible in order to keep the quarantine zone running smoothly. he keeps his inner circle tight, only a couple of close people, but those that properly know him, they know him inside out.

once opened up, tristan proves to be quite loyal, insightful, empathetic and even a tad bit charming. those that are closest to him also get a taste of tristan's dry sense of humor from time to time. while usually serious and determined, tristan subconsciously softens a tiny bit around those that matter to him the most and although he tries to suppress all of the pent-up feelings he's having, it is not hard to notice him slipping from time to time.

Backstory:

Before the Outbreak

Tristan and his younger brother had to grow up in a single-parent household. In theory, they did have a father. In reality? In day-to-day life the two were more or less orphans. Nicole Shaw had passed away during her second childbirth, leaving the two boys and and a very busy husband behind. Michael Shaw was quite a successful self-made CEO in a business consulting company he owned. He dedicated all his time to it, be it day or night. There was nothing more important to him than his company. That resulted in Michael neglecting his two sons in pursuit of further success. Tristan was only four years old when his brother was born and ever since that day, he was there, following his nanny everywhere she went so he could help raise his new born brother. 

During the Outbreak

Roughly a year later, now the cursed day of 26th of september, strange things started happening. Tristan was five years old and naturally, had little to no clue as to what was going on. The following day Michael helped the kids pack their things and they took off, leaving their hometown, Deptford, New Jersey, behind. They travelled deeper into the country, separating themselves from bigger cities to avoid any contact with the infected. That worked for them for a while. In fact, they managed to survive for about six years. They found an abandoned hut and made it their home. The nearby woods were used for hunting animals and picking berries. That is, until food became very scarce with time and the woods were no longer the source of their satiety. Left with no other options, the family of three left the hut and continued travelling. Ever since then the movement has never stopped.

After a while they crossed into Pennsylvania in hopes of finding other survivors as one thing now was apparent: no one could survive on their own. They spent months on the road, trying to survive in any way they could. During that time Michael taught Tristan how to use a pistol and how to hunt, despite not being very good at it, himself. At least the kid knew the basics, as Michael thought. Even then, the father would leave his kids in some hide-out and would go hunting, leaving them by themselves for long periods of time. Tristan accepted the fact that he was his brother’s primary protector and caretaker, since that is who he was even before the outbreak. There was no one else but them.

Eventually the three came across a small group of survivors who claimed they were heading to Pittsburgh Quarantine Zone. So the Shaw family chose to follow them. However, it was a challenge to reach it, as there were swarms of infected on the way. Most members of said group had gotten infected either by taking risky decisions to scavenge food or by drawing unnecessary attention to themselves, when that could’ve been avoided. The remaining survivors were around three days of hiking to the QZ when Michael Shaw got bit in attempt to scavenge some food. Fortunately, he had enough time to return to the group with little scraps he managed to find. Thing is… Michael decided to hide the fact that he got infected, probably hoping he could still make it, somehow. It resulted in him putting everyone in danger, including his sons. That very night Michael turned and tried to attack the younger sibling, forcing Tristan to put him down with his own pistol. That was the last thing Tristan remembered.

Life in Pittsburgh QZ

Days after the death of Michael Shaw, the brothers reached the quarantine zone. Now being twelve and eight years old both begun attending fedra school. Since they were considered orphans, they not only studied there, but lived as well. One could say they were raised by fedra. Tristan soon realized the reality of the situation they were put in and became determined to finish the school on top of the class. It was the only way he could’ve properly looked after his brother, after all. However, his brother, had different plans. Despite attending the school and loosely following the rules, he had made it clear that he did not agree with the way fedra was running things and hated what fedra stood for. It naturally created tension between the brothers, but Tristan was persistent in keeping his brother alive.

Ten years had passed by just like that. Tristan had successfully finished the school and became an assistant to one of the fedra’s officers. His brother was about to also finish the school. That’s why he decided to leave and joint he fireflies. That stunned Tristan, to say the least, but it turns out that his brother has been thinking about doing that for a long time. According to the younger sibling, no one who lived under fedra’s boot could have a proper life. Now it was clear that despite dedicating his entire life to becoming better and climbing through the ranks to take care of his brother, he no longer needed Tristan, as he had stated it himself.

After their departure, Tristan made it his mission to become an officer. That became a reality a year later as Tristan became obsessed with running the QZ and keeping the citizens safe. All his life, Tristan was seeking validation from those close to him, either from his father, who almost never was there for him, or his brother who had also left him. That had triggered many insecurities in Tristan to the point where he started seeking validation from everybody else around him and ended up basing his self-worth on how much he could achieve for the QZ. He made it his mission to make as many connections as humanly possible, because with connection came valuable knowledge and with knowledge came power.

[wanderbitesbybobbie]

Quirky Jobs: Surviving Wild West Sydney (Part 1)

I wasn’t always a pastry chef chasing that pastry goals and living the dream. Before I got my certifications, and before my bosses put me into an actual pastry chef position, I had to start from the very bottom. In 2016, I was a full-time food and travel writer for various magazines and websites. I had this mentality that being on the road every three weeks teaches me so much about independence. I felt like I can take on everything and conquer the world starting with baby steps. When I applied for my Australian Visa, I kept on telling myself that it would be easy peasy. The goal was to enter Australia hassle-free, apply for a Pastry Chef position while studying full-time, hope that my boss will sponsor me for a Permanent Resident Visa, and live life to the fullest. It sounded pretty straightforward. The plan was to stay at my cousin’s studio in Fairfield until I’m able to find my own place while working on my dream job. Well, it did happen, but it took longer than I expected. Life is not about set timelines anyway. In the last quarter of 2016, I packed my bags and flew to Sydney leaving everything behind. All I had with me was the courage to pursue my dreams and a few dollars to get me started. Two weeks after I arrived in Kingsford Smith International Airport, I was bound to make things happen. I searched for possible job openings warily and I did not stop until I got a call back.

I am an experienced pastry chef and have a rewarding Bachelor’s Degree in Food Technology back home, so I thought it would be uncomplicated for me to find a job. Apparently, that was not the case as being a pastry chef in Australia, or anything related to hospitality is a different game. Australia is a country that takes skills seriously. You have to meet the qualifications, licenses, and at least Level 4 certifications (which I didn’t have at that time yet, as I was still finishing my certification course) for you to hold a pastry chef position. Fine. Then I have to start all over again. I found a job listing and applied as a donut chef in Krispy Kreme Liverpool. I was confident enough for this role. I mean, donuts? It’s very basic. I’m pretty sure I can manage this. But then, my Krispy Kreme application taught me not to get my hopes up in every aspect of life. I got my first ever job rejection in Australia. I felt bad at first, but I told myself that rejections open new doors of opportunities. I moved on and applied at IKEA as a food attendant. The role was to assist in the kitchen and serve clients in line. Now, that’s simple! No sweat! I waited for three days, but then I got an e-mail that I wasn’t exactly the person they were looking for. I was in the verge of losing hope. Why won’t they hire an experienced chef? Is it me, my qualifications, my pastry portfolio? Or Australia just have a very high standard when it comes to human resource? Eventually, it came to a conclusion. Nope. It wasn’t me, nor my qualifications and experiences, nor my degree. It was my student visa dragging me down to the gates of  hopelessness. I was only allowed 20 hours of work a week (legally) and most employers wanted more. I mean, who would hire an employee just to fill in for 20 hours, right? From my job hunts, I just got used to rejection that every time I would click the “Send Application” button, I would cross my fingers and tell myself, “here goes nothing…”

I stayed at my cousin’s pad for six months, and we were the best housemates anyone can imagine. We cooked, she took me on shopping sprees, we went on sale hunts, watched movies together, frequently visited the Filipino and Asian shops, and drove to places anytime we wanted. It was a bliss, but then eventually I knew I had to move out. Of course, I didn’t want to be a free-loader forever though she really wanted me to stay. I just thought that maybe this was my chance to step out of my comfort zone and experience life in a whole new level. Living in a country with a culture very much different from mine was a big adjustment for me. But, I assumed I adjusted well. So I started to build my dreams inside that bubble that I would get a job and live the life I have imagined for years.

First Job: Kitchen Hand and Breakfast Chef

After summer, it was autumn, and then winter. Two seasons have gone and yet my applications were still denied. I never stopped job hunting, at this point I was willing to take anything. I went out, went on numerous train rides, went to neighboring suburbs, and handed copies of my CVs to possible employers in person. I put myself out there with that fearless mentality that I can handle any job thrown at me. Finally, I got a call back from a Lebanese Café in Villawood and the interview went well. It was a weekend job, paying $15/hour AUD (Php 525/hour) for an 8-hour shift. It’s actually considered a low paying job in Sydney standards, but for starters like myself, I couldn’t complain. Work starts at 7 in the morning and finishes at 3 in the afternoon. I was able to balance my working student life, but back then I had to re-assess if I would be able to sustain myself with $15 an hour. For most people, “Thank God it’s weekend”, but for me it was time to hustle. I woke up at 5:30 AM on weekends, battling the cold fogs of winter mornings.

This job required me to clean and wash huge pots and heavy kitchen equipment, do the dishwashing for the in-house dining, and assist the head chef in whatever he needs. On top of it, I was assigned in the Breakfast Section where I do all the pancake and waffle orders, sandwiches, eggs, and salads. It sounded pretty easy. But if you’re a chef, you’ll know that “egg section” is never an easy task. There are more than a hundred ways to cook eggs, probably ten ways for breakfast. Most of the customers liked poached eggs and soft-boiled eggs, or when it’s not your lucky day, you’ll get fried eggs and poached eggs, and scrambled eggs, and boiled eggs all at once. Timing had to be really accurate. Imagine a timer going off, while you’re washing dishes, watching the waffles, and poaching eggs. Plus the fact that the kitchen is a one big rectangle, designed horizontally, where the sink is at the very end and the breakfast section on the other end. Do you imagine the struggle now? Now I know why they take skills seriously in this part of the globe.

Sydney is one of the most expensive cities in the world. Rent comes weekly and it is not the only expense to pay. There are a lot of things to be considered like utilities, wi-fi, transport, food allowances, and basic necessities. If I wanted to move out entirely and live an independent life, I would have to make more than $15 an hour. I didn’t think this café job was sustainable.

Second Job, Cleaner at a Logistics Company

While finishing my shifts in the morning until afternoon, I decided to accept a gig from a churchmate. The offer was pretty good. $100 AUD (Php 3500) for a four-hour job, and the best thing about it was… it’s a night job. Therefore, I can finish my café shifts at 3 in the afternoon and head straight at Leightonfield to be able to make it at the 5 PM shift. I spent my few hours gap to help prepare the kitchen and café for the following morning. It’s only a ten-minute train ride from Villawood to Leightonfield. I had two hours of time to spare.

The task was easy, except that I would have to do it alone, all by myself in this massive Logistics Office where they transport expensive cars like Lamborghini and Rolls Royce to all places in Australia. I had copies of the Master keys, so if anything goes wrong, I could be responsible for some reason. The office and the warehouse were huge. It was like the size of Puregold Supermarket in Shaw Blvd., except, it had three levels, plus another level for the lounge in the warehouse. I cleaned the toilets for all floors (both for male and female), including the toilets in the warehouse and lounge, wiped office desks, vacuumed three levels of carpeted floors, washed dirty dishes in two pantries, replenished toilet papers, soaps, and all the free kitchen stuff like coffee, tea, and biscuits. I emptied garbage bins for every desk, cleaned a dozen of cigarette ash trays, and had to dump all of the garbage in a huge dumpster, four times my size at the back of the warehouse. You know the dumpster where they hide dead bodies in thriller movies? Yes. That kind of dumpster.

There was one thing my Filipino boss taught me though. The cleaning agency doesn’t care if you finish the job early, they still pay you the same exact amount. They don’t exactly have time-keeping records. With that said, finishing in two hours for a four-hour job was the goal. That’s how you make the most out of the salary.

Cheat Sheet from my Filo Boss: If you see that the toilet bowl is clean, just flush it twice or three times and leave it. Why do you have to clean it again?  If you see the toilet mirrors are clean, leave it. It saves you a lot of time.

You would think I didn’t do much, but everything doesn’t come out clean all the time. By the time I finished my shifts as a cleaner, it was already around 8 to 9 in the evening. Despite the schedule, I cooked my own meals, so I won’t be tempted to spend much on food. I was dead tired each time I went home. My soul felt like it was about to leave my body, I worked for more than 12 hours on weekends. It was physically draining. Plus the fact that Leightonfield can be really spine-chilling at night drove me nuts. Unlike most suburbs near the city, it was empty. It was mostly where factories and warehouses were situated. The workers leave at exactly 5 in the afternoon. By the time my shift starts, the whole building and the next 3 to 5 kilometers is deserted, with just me scrubbing the toilet tiles while listening to music on my iPod. I realized, if anything happens to me at Leightonfield, if ever I would cry for help, no one would be able to hear me or find me, as I am locked from the inside of the massive complex. They don’t have access from the outside as the keys are with me, unless they know the passcode of the security lock. The security office was outside the warehouse, so basically I was alone in a very huge complex where I had to turn off all lights and vents, and activate security alarms after I finish cleaning. I WAS BRAVE. VERY BRAVE. I didn’t care at that time, it never occurred to me that it was a dangerous job for a woman. Sydney is a safe city, and it has been that way in my mind the whole time. All I wanted was to save up and find a place for myself.

Let’s do a quick Math:

Lebanese Cafe at $15 x 16 hours every weekend = $240 (Php 8,400)

Cleaner at Leightonfield at $100 every weekend = $200 (Php 7,000)

Total: $440 on weekends (Php 15,400)

$440 on a weekend! Not bad! Back in the Philippines, you will earn this amount of money in a month’s work, plus all the hidden charges and taxes. This can go a long way to feed a family of three! But then, I’m not in the Philippines. I’m living in one of the most expensive cities in the world (yes, I said that twice already), $440 is just enough to rent a private room.

Errrrr… My goal was to rent an apartment, not a room. But I wasn’t in a hurry. Baby steps, right? So room it is… I settled for it.

Renting like a real Sydney-sider

In about a month, I was able to save up for a big private room which I rented while I was saving up for an apartment. It was a three-bedroom wooden house in a suburb called Canley Vale. My landlady was an Australian-Filipina flight attendant working for British Airways. She was in her forties, single but has a son and a daughter from an Italian Diplomat who both live in the city center, owns an old rickety red sedan, smokes a lot, and talks really loud. Let’s just call her “Rosie” (not her real name). Rosie and I went to church together. I found out she was subletting some of her rooms, so I took the biggest one which she rented out to me at $150 AUD (Php 5250) a week, with wi-fi and utilities included.

It wasn’t a bad deal, though it was one station further away from my school, it was a fifteen-minute train ride to work. The vicinity was nice. It had a supermarket, bakery, post office, and Vietnamese restaurants just ten steps away from the house. The bus-station was a two-minute walk. The fall-side was that it was an hour away from the city. That’s pretty far, considering Sydney train travel is very modern and fast.

The room includes a huge wooden built-in closet, my own door to the backyard, an electric fan, a double-sized bed, a broken TV, and a study desk. I did not have time to watch TV anyway, so I took it. I liked the house, it made me feel like I’m in an old grandma’s house in some province, with pink curtains, a living room, a kitchen inside the house, a dirty kitchen and grill in the granny flat, and laundry area (though it didn’t have a dryer so drying my chef’s uniforms in winter days was a struggle).

I finally moved out of my cousin’s pad. This was it. I was ultimately “adulting”, working side jobs and paying my dues while I was studying full-time. My room was my safe-haven. I was finally able to buy my own stuff like a heater for winter, thermal jackets (I never prepared for Sydney winter), blankets, shoe racks, and everything else to complete my room. It was just like living in a studio, except it was in a three-bedroom house. It felt like I was closer to home, having the entire house designed like a true Filipino home.

I’ve had the greatest sky views in that room. I kept my door open to let winter breeze in. The fresh air cooled my room down in sunny afternoons. This was where I worked on my school case studies and prepared for my exams while working two jobs.

  Rosie was supportive. She would ask for my schedule and cooked hot meals for me when my schedule was too tight. She wasn’t the best cook, she would put potatoes and carrots in “Sinigang” or eggplants in “Nilaga”. But still, I was thankful. She was like a second mom to me even if there were times she would suddenly yell at me for some reason I never knew about. She has a temper, so I would always have to weigh the climate of the house before I engage in long conversations. Rosie handed me heaps of nice clothes she bought from London. It was her habit to shop on her “break time” windows as a flight attendant, but because her time was very limited on land, she never tried the clothes on. They often come too small for her built, so the nice brand new dresses and shirts from London all landed in my closet.

I’ve had happy and depressing memories in Canley Vale. Like the cliché goes, all good things come to an end.

My cleaner side gig ended. The cleaning agency was looking for someone who could do it full-time, six days a week. It was very much tempted to accept the offer, but my school schedule was a hindrance. My last pastry class ends at 8 PM, Leightonfield requires me to be there at 5 PM. They had to let me go. After all, I came to Australia to master patisserie, not to spend my days chasing on high-paying side jobs.

I kept my café job, but not having a side gig was a huge blow for my budget, especially that I have invested a lot for my Canley Vale room. I still wrote articles for Philippine travel magazines while working on my weekend shifts and they paid me well in peso and it stretched my budget by a bit. However, I needed AUD to cover all of my expenses, because essentially I am spending in Australian Dollars not in Philippine Peso. It’s a dramatically huge difference. I had to find another job. Probably, a single sustainable job that would pay for my dues and that I wouldn’t have to get a side hustle.

To be continued…

TRANSPARENCY: Thank you to my cousin, Sheryl for opening your home and for adopting me each time I’m homeless. Thank you to my family in Canberra, my understanding but very temperamental land lady, my Filipino churchmate who gave me the cleaning side gig (it was a very humbling experience).

Have you experienced working abroad while balancing school life?

How was your experience?

I’d love to hear from you!

      Quirky Jobs: Surviving Wild West Sydney (Part 1) was originally published on WanderBitesByBobbie

[waveridden]

FIC: wave my hand, reveal the stars (brooke/noah/stavo)

MTV Scream. Background Audrey&Noah and Emma&Noah. 3.6k. cws: canonical character deaths and trauma; panic attack

“Because it’s March,” Brooke says, like he should know this. “And we’re not going to have a lot longer to take ill-advised weekends off school and just be normal teenagers.”

Noah comes dangerously close to saying something stupid, something like “we’re not just normal teenagers,” but he sees the way Brooke is looking at him and stops. Because she knows and has the scars to prove it. She definitely doesn’t need him reminding her.

(Or: the Lakewood Five go on a road trip.)

[read on Ao3 | title lyric]

By the time college acceptances start coming in, Noah has a resume twice as long as most people twice his age. Between the graphic novels and The Morgue, people have heard of him, and that’s apparently… something he’s going to have to deal with.

“It’s because you’re good at what you do,” Audrey points out when he tries to - not complain, he’s definitely not complaining about the scholarship offers and the admissions, but at least point out that this definitely isn’t normal. “Lots of high schoolers probably have shitty podcasts and bad graphic novels, but you-”

“-have Stavo doing the art?” Noah quips. “And Piper Shaw’s audience? My success has never been because of me.”

“It’s because of you and the people you choose to surround yourself with. Or steal listeners from, as the case may be.” Audrey shrugs. “You take what you can get.”

“And you get what you can take,” Noah mutters. It’s nonsense, maybe, except he’s both gotten and taken in his life and he’s not sure what’s brought him more. But maybe he’d rather take listeners and readers and notoriety, because he’s earned a bit of non-killer-based notoriety by now, right? Right.

Audrey rolls her eyes. “You still didn’t answer my question,” she says, which is… true, actually. “Have you decided what you want to go to school for yet? Writing? Journalism? Broadcast?”

“Underwater basket-weaving,” Noah says, and Audrey bumps her shoulder against his. “What, just because I didn’t get into some neat little West Coast film school-”

“California film school, thanks, there’s a difference.”

“And SoCal, no less.” Noah grins. “My awesome best friend.”

“Which is why you need to pick a school. So I can brag about my awesome best friend.” Audrey looks at him expectantly. “Do you need to talk through it?”

Noah does not, because he can recite the conversation they’ll have, word for word. Well, everyone knows me for the graphic novel, but that’s kind of Stavo’s thing, isn’t it, so I don’t think I can do that. So you’re going to do the podcast then? No, there are other murder podcasts, and hopefully I never have new murders to broadcast about. Then what are you going to do, Noah?

Yeah. What’s he going to do?

 #

 Brooke plans the entire road trip, which is why Noah trusts it instinctively, maybe, even though it kind of sounds like yet another horror movie in the making.

“My dad owned a cabin upstate in the mountains,” she explains, and Noah is fiercely proud of the way her voice doesn’t catch as she says it, even though it’s not his to be proud of. “We can take a long weekend, we’ve earned a nice, normal vacation.”

“I’m bringing a gun,” Audrey says, ever practical.

Emma shifts closer to Audrey. “How’s the cell reception?”

“Never had a problem,” Brooke promises. “And it’s close to a town, so it’s not like we’ll be all alone. It doesn’t even have to be this weekend or anything. But we have to go.”

“Have to?” Noah repeats. “Why?”

“Because it’s March,” Brooke says, like he should know this. “And we’re not going to have a lot longer to take ill-advised weekends off school and just be normal teenagers.”

Noah comes dangerously close to saying something stupid, something like “we’re not just normal teenagers,” but he sees the way Brooke is looking at him and stops. Because she knows and has the scars to prove it. She definitely doesn’t need him reminding her.

Instead he looks at Audrey. “I already know you’re in.”

“I’m bringing a gun,” Audrey says again. “And I’m researching this place for spooky ghost legends, just in case.”

Brooke beams and Noah can’t help but look at her. It kind of feels like staring into the sun, where he knows nothing good will come out of it but he wants to look anyways, just so the after-image will stay with him. “Stavo said he’ll drive,” she says, because of course Stavo did, he’s the kind of guy who likes driving, who’ll drive his friends upstate just because.

“I’ll have to tell my mom,” Emma says thoughtfully, which is as good as a yes. Emma and Maggie have reached some kind of understanding, the kind that Noah gave up on having long ago because an understanding involves parents who care, but it means she’ll be there.

“Noah?” Brooke says, and Noah realizes that he’s definitely just been staring at Brooke, shit. But she doesn’t look bothered by it. She’s just smiling at him. “You coming?”

Like he ever had a choice. “Of course,” he says. Emma smiles and Audrey bumps her shoulder against his and all Noah can see is Brooke’s smile widening.

 #

 An incomplete list of side-effects of serial-murder-based trauma, compiled by and pertaining to one Noah Foster:

1. The nightmares. That’s probably obvious.

2. He doesn’t like texting anymore. Not that he texts people very often, but he’s figured out that there’s no way to be sure that the texts he gets are from who they say they’re from. (They have security questions, codewords. It’s Emma’s idea, but Noah definitely uses it the most. Nobody ever judges him for it, either, which is… probably a side-effect of collective trauma, really, but Noah likes to think that it’s because he has good friends.)

3. He doesn’t like calling very much either. Or, specifically, the first few dozen times he got a call from an unknown number after everything went down, he threw his phone into a wall.

4. He changed his ringtone. All of them did.

5. He doesn’t like small spaces. That’s probably also obvious.

6. Small spaces apparently includes cars, sometimes, which Noah finds out the July between junior and senior year. He’s an hour into a car trip on the way to visit family when something underneath his skin lights on fire, and suddenly everything is too small, too close, too much for him all over again, and nothing his parents say helps at all.

(He calls Brooke, because if anyone knows anything about dealing with trauma-based claustrophobia it’s definitely Brooke, and she talks to him about school nonsense, all the way across the state border and into Utah. Stavo shows up at some point and talks to him too, about the graphic novel and The Morgue. By the time Noah crosses into Arizona they’ve all started talking about family, mostly Noah’s, after some questions from Stavo. It’s not until his phone dies that Noah realizes how far he’s driven, how far they carried him.)

7. Sudden loud noises are a no-go.

8. Anything with a mask? Also a no. (He and Stavo go to a horror convention in December, to promote the graphic novel, and they’re both jumping at shadows the whole time. Or, well, Stavo does for a while, and while PTSD isn’t a competition Noah thinks that he wins this round - loses, maybe, whichever means he has it worse - because he can’t calm down. But Stavo does, and he steers Noah around the convention center with a hand on his elbow, never letting go if he doesn’t have to.)

9. He doesn’t trust tall scruffy dudes in leather jackets. Actually, that one’s mostly Emma’s, but he co-opts it anyways.

Tenth but not last - and this is probably the one that matters the most, in the long term - is dating. Between Riley and Zoe, he doesn’t have a great track record, and he knows there’s no reason to assume there’ll be another killer that’ll come after them, but there was no reason to assume it would happen the first time, either. And it’s not his fault, except - maybe it is? Maybe he feels responsible for it. So he’s not going to date someone who hasn’t survived a serial killer, just on principle, which limits his options. Emma’s just a friend, Audrey has surpassed “love interest” and catapulted straight into “cool sister,” and…

And nothing. That’s the end of it.

(It’s not the end. When has saying that ever made something end? It’s just that Brooke and Stavo are already dating each other, and he’s never going to be able to get in the middle of that. He doesn’t even know which one of them he would want to date, which is… a whole other issue, honestly, and he’d burn that bridge if he ever got to it. So it’s good he’ll never get to it.)

 #

 Emma shows up to the road trip with three fully-packed picnic baskets, all courtesy of Maggie. Audrey shows up with four audiobooks, two comedy podcasts, and seven albums of different genres. Stavo brings his dad’s minivan. Brooke, in all technicality, brought the road trip.

“Oh my god, I didn’t bring anything,” Noah whispers, quietly enough that only Audrey can hear him. “Do I need to go get something? What do you bring on road trips?”

“You can buy groceries once we get to the cabin,” Audrey suggests. “Or you could bring nothing, and let the rest of us be as extra as we want.”

“You’ve never been extra before in your life,” Noah says boldly. Audrey rolls her eyes at him. “Seriously, though, are we going to need groceries? Because I can get-”

“Everyone get in the van or we’re leaving,” Brooke shouts. “I get shotgun, Noah gets the backseat.”

Audrey’s jaw drops. “Hey, I wanted the backseat!”

“Tough,” Stavo says. He and Brooke are standing next to the van, dressed up like springtime and something idyllic, his arm wrapped around her waist. Staring into the sun, Noah thinks. “You and Emma are in the middle row.”

“Bullshit,” Audrey half-whines. “Noah doesn’t care if he’s in the middle, right, Noah?”

Noah opens his mouth to say that no, he doesn’t care, actually, and then stops. The backseat is definitely going to have more room than the middle seats would - maybe not leg room, but enough that if he gets antsy again he can move around and swap positions without bumping into anyone. Brooke and Stavo definitely did this on purpose. For him.

“Actually,” Noah says apologetically, “I definitely care, and I’m not looking this gift horse in the mouth.”

Audrey glares at him. “Traitor.”

“But I get the backseat,” Noah sing-songs. Audrey rolls her eyes and starts towards the van. “Aw, c’mon, Auds, you can pick the first album we listen to.”

“I was already going to pick that,” Audrey says. “But you’ve lost your album privileges.”

“For the way there or the way back?”

“Depends on whether or not you behave.”

Noah wrinkles her nose at him. “Do you ever get to critique someone else’s behavior?”

Audrey flips him off as she climbs into the van. Emma’s already waiting in the other middle seat, so Noah goes to the van, looking at Brooke and Stavo as he does. “Thank y-”

“Just get in the van,” Brooke says, but she’s smiling at him like she’s pleased with him, or with herself.

“Enjoy the extra leg room,” Stavo adds, with a flicker of a smirk, and Noah feels warm. He’s not sure if it’s blushy warm or wow-my-friends-care warm, but he knows he has to get out of this situation, stat.

“I will,” he says, and Stavo’s smile widens, and Noah smiles back out of reflex before he climbs in the back.

Audrey kicks his shin as he climbs past her. It could mean any number of things but Noah decides that it must mean she forgives him for taking the backseat. Yeah. That’s definitely it.

 #

 Noah does pay for groceries once they’re at the cabin. It’s one part out of guilt, one part because he can pay for it (thank you, podcast sponsors), and one part because he wants to go into town.

Emma comes with him. She doesn’t say much as they walk into town, or as they get the groceries, but on the walk back she says, “Is it weird that I’m glad the air is thinner up here?”

Noah blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Like I have an excuse to have trouble breathing,” Emma says, conversationally, like she’s not making batshit crazy comments about PTSD. Noah kind of likes it. “I know it sounds awful, but it’s nice to have the excuse, you know?”

“Yeah,” Noah says, because he does know. “Do you still get panic attacks?”

“Not as often as I used to.” Emma brushes her hair behind one ear. “I know it’s a big step forward, you know, daily down to every other day.”

“Down to once a week?”

Emma laughs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright?”

“Never.” Noah grins at her. “We’re gonna be messed up till we’re not anymore.”

“And when can we expect that?”

“I don’t think it’s something we can expect so much as it’s something that’ll happen.”

Emma nods, looking thoughtful. “It’ll happen,” she says. Noah’s not sure if she’s talking to him or to herself. “Noah?”

“Yeah, Em?”

“We’re gonna get through this, right?”

Noah thinks that the rest of the world probably expects them to be through it already. It’s been five months since Halloween, over a year since Piper. But that’s not enough time. They’ve buried too many people to be done digging through the wreckage, let alone rebuilding.

“Yeah, Em,” Noah says softly, and Emma smiles at him like she might even believe him. “We’re gonna get through this.”

 #

 The problem with not being through this is:

Noah wakes up at 4:17 in the morning and his skin is too tight around his body. There are three bedrooms in the cabin: the one Brooke is sharing with Stavo, the one Emma is sharing with Audrey, and the one Noah is sharing with his suitcase and his post-traumatic stress. It’s that same stress that wakes him up and he knows, instantly, that the room is too small for him. There are no windows, it’s too dark, and he needs to get the fuck out.

So he does. He grabs his phone, he scribbles something on a sticky note that he leaves on the kitchen counter, and he bolts out the door. The air is too thin up here and it doesn’t help, and the sun isn’t out and it doesn’t help, but he can walk. And that always helps.

“Okay,” Noah says. His ears are ringing. “Okay. What can I do?”

He walks to town, because it’s something to do. It’s a mile and some more away, and it feels longer in the dark, without Emma there. And he loves the mountains - god, he loves the mountains and living in Colorado - but the thin air and the breakdown don’t mesh super well. And every time he thinks he’s worked it out of his system he’ll have some stupid thought, like Riley would love the stars up here or Zoe talked about camping once and it’ll set him right back off, and he walks in circles, into the woods, out of the woods, into the streets.

Noah’s phone starts ringing at - and he has to check, to make sure - 6:32. He blinks at the screen slowly before answering. “Brooke?”

“Password,” Brooke says, voice tight.

It takes Noah a couple seconds to think of it. “Skinny jeans. Password?”

“Watermelon sorbet.” She sighs. “You okay?”

He wants to say yes. Instead he swallows, throat feeling too thick. “I don’t know.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in town. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Do you want to get breakfast?”

“I don’t know if I can eat.”

“Stavo and I can eat, you get coffee and steal our food if you get hungry.”

Something about that makes Noah’s stomach drop. “Brooke-”

“We were going to drive into town anyways,” Brooke says. It’s not quite gentle, but it’s gentler than she normally gets. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

Noah takes a deep, dizzying breath. “Okay.”

“Good. Meet us at Wallflower Diner?”

“I don’t know where that is.”

“It’s a block from the grocery store. We’ll be there in like ten minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Noah says. He feels more centered than he has all morning. Brooke has that effect. “Tha-”

“Don’t,” Brooke says sharply. “You don’t have to thank us for anything, okay? We’re all just working our way through this together.”

Noah closes his eyes and swallows hard. “Thank you anyways.”

Brooke sighs. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re not?”

She hums. “Maybe. Ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes,” Noah repeats, and doesn’t say goodbye before he hangs up.

 #

 Stavo waves him over as soon as he’s inside the Wallflower Diner, already sitting in a booth. “Brooke’s talking to the waitstaff,” he explains as Noah approaches. “She apparently knows them all.”

“Because of her dad,” Noah guesses. Guesses correctly, if the way Stavo’s eyes flicker is any indication. “Shit.”

Stavo shrugs, gestures at a mug sitting next to him. “We got you coffee. Four cream, two sugars.”

Noah looks at the coffee warily. Stavo has done enough coffee runs during graphic novel plans that he knows how Noah takes his coffee, just like Noah knows his, and Brooke’s, and the sheriff’s. “Sitting… next to you?”

“Uh, yeah, that was the plan.”

“Okay,” Noah says, too fast but not squeaky like he was afraid of, and plops down next to Stavo. This is fine, totally fine. He’s still jittery but he feels like an actual person again, and he can definitely handle sitting next to Stavo, his friend, his business partner, the dude he would totally date if he had the chance but that’s not the point because he can platonically sit next to a guy-

“You look cold,” Stavo says, and before Noah can protest Stavo’s arm is around his waist, tugging him over, and Noah’s so tired that he lets himself be tugged because he’s not initiating it so it’s definitely not weird, right? And besides, Stavo is holding onto him and that’s something solid, something reassuring.

“That note freaked you guys out, huh?” Noah takes a sip of the coffee. His hands aren’t shaking but he still feels like he’s going to drop the mug.

Stavo shrugs. “Our last group vacation didn’t end so great.”

“Yeah, our standards are kind of out of whack now. Nobody died yet, so we’re doing okay.”

“And you brought your phone with you, which made our lives easier.”

Noah takes another sip of his coffee. “Brooke said she couldn’t sleep.”

“Woke up around an hour ago. Dreaming about her dad.” Stavo shifts his arm around Noah’s waist and he knows, knows it’s a bad idea, but he leans into Stavo’s side anyways, head dropping onto his shoulder. “She’s tough. You both are.”

Noah snorts. “She’s tougher than I ever was, and we all know it.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Stavo says lightly. “You took something awful and you made it into art. Two different kinds of art. Not a lot of people can do that.”

“Not a lot of people have enough awful things happen to them,” Noah says dryly, and Stavo laughs at that, soft and genuine and Noah kind of wants to live in it. He can hear footsteps approaching them and he knows it’s Brooke, and that he should get up, but he thinks he’ll be selfish. Just for a few seconds.

“You two,” Brooke sighs. She sounds tired as hell, Noah can hear it just like he can hear that she’s been crying. He looks up just as she slides into the booth next to Noah, without hesitation, putting her head on his shoulder. One of her ankles hooks around his, and Stavo reaches out the hand that’s on Noah’s waist, and she takes it, and Noah thinks a little hysterically that this is never what he imagined when he thought about being caught up between them.

“You good?” Stavo asks, voice low.

Brooke makes a noise that might be yes, might be no. “I’m glad you came with me,” she says. “Both of you.”

“I didn’t,” Noah starts, only he’s not sure how to finish that.

“You’re here,” Stavo says, with finality. “You showed up. That’s more than a lot of people do.”

“And you’re okay,” Brooke says, jostling his ankle.

Noah takes a breath and thinks about passwords, phone calls, car rides, backseats, diners, horror conventions, Brooke, Stavo, him. Always making room for him. And if he’s going to ruin this he knows it’s unfair to do it now, when they have the rest of the weekend together, but nothing about the past year and a half has been fair.

“Guys,” he says around the knot in his chest. “What are you doing?”

“Getting breakfast,” Brooke says. “Asking you out, maybe, depending on how breakfast goes.”

“But we don’t have to talk about that right now,” Stavo says, before Noah even has the chance to tense up. “Seriously, first priority is getting some food in you, because you look like you need it.”

“But-”

“But we can talk about it later,” Stavo says a little more firmly.

Brooke scoffs. Noah can’t see her face but he knows she rolls her eyes. “If you want to talk about it,” she clarifies, softer than Stavo.

And Noah - Noah doesn’t know where he’s going to college, or what for. Noah doesn’t know when he’ll wake up in a bedroom feeling trapped. Noah doesn’t know when the panic is going to fade. But he knows that he wants this. Whatever it is, he wants it.

“Okay,” Noah says, and he can feel both of them relax against him. “Jesus, were you that nervous?”

“I was absolutely that nervous,” Stavo says, tugging Noah closer. Brooke doesn’t answer, just curls a little closer against him.

“Huh,” Noah says. He shouldn’t be surprised. He knows what it’s like to have something worth losing. Maybe now he is that something.

[travelling-trooper-blog]

We arrived in Dublin after a bit of an arduous and frustrating commute. It was all Uri’s fault though. The fool didn’t realize that our connecting flight in London departed from a different airport than the one we landed in! We landed in London City Airport, but we were to fly to Dublin from Heathrow! We didn’t even realize this until we were checking in at the airport in Venice!

Thankfully, we had 6 hours between flights, but between picking up our bags, schlepping to Heathrow, and then checking in again, we ended up needing almost all 6 hours.

After picking up our bags, we checked the local transit authority’s website for directions to get between airports. It said we’d have to take a bus, then two trains. No problem. Except when we tried to get on the bus, the driver said we had to buy our ticket inside. “Buses don’t accept money anymore. No buses accept money.” He said it like we were a couple of stupid children.

So we went back inside to look for where to buy our tickets. Even airport staff weren’t sure. One guy finally helped us out and said to walk through the doors and go to the counter on the right.

Oh, you mean the counter that’s closed? That counter? Okay.

There were machines available, but they were only for refilling your transit card, not for getting new ones. After asking somebody, we found out you have to take a train to the next station to get a new card. So I have to spend money just to go somewhere else to buy a ticket for where I actually want to go?

Not happening.

We turned to Google, and apparently Google knew better than the local transit authority, because it offered directions using three different trains. Train tickets could be purchased from the machines.

This whole process took damn near 40 minutes, and the whole time I’m thinking, “This is all Uri’s fault.”

The last train was an express train to Heathrow. It cost 15€. That meant that just getting from one airport to another, we’d spent 20€. We hadn’t seen anything in London and we’d already spent 20€. London really is expensive!

In the end, everything worked out–as it always does–and we found ourselves on a bus from Dublin Airport into the city.

Our friend Rodrigo in Verona had been kind enough to put us in touch with a friend of his in Dublin. Her name was Iva. We’d been messaging on Whatsapp in Spanish since then. Uri and I got to the bar where we agreed to meet up, and we immediately spotted each other. The gigantic backpacks must have been a dead giveaway. The first thing she asked was, “Hablas Inglés?” to which Uri replied, “YEEESSSS!” They were both so relieved that they both burst out laughing. This whole time they’d been texting in Spanish, thinking the other person didn’t speak English. “I kept using Google Translate to check how to spell a word!” he shouted, and Iva laughed even louder. “Me toooo!” She cried out. We were officially the bestest of friends.

We walked inside of the bar, which was called Bernard Shaw, and went to find her friend, Fatima. The place was PACKED. Walking through with two huge backpacks was no easy feat. Once we were seated, Iva helped us hunt down some food. Bernard Shaw is known for their pizza. If you think that after ten days in Italy we’d be sick of pizza, then you are very wrong. It was still just as delicious.

Iva was a lively and proud Serbian girl who actually manages to laugh at everything just as much as Uri does. I didn’t think that could be possible! Their cheeks must constantly be so sore.

Fatima was a sweet and thoughtful girl from South Africa. She works for the Google! The Google! We were in perfect company.

The Shaw, as I’ve decided to call it, was rather over packed and uncomfortably loud, so Fatima offered to take us all back to her place. It was a short walk away.

Once there, the plan was to drop off our bags, maybe have a quick drink or shot, and then set off in search of a quieter pub.

That never happened. We all immediately made ourselves comfy and enjoyed some delicious Soplica–a smooth Polish vodka. (Apologies to Fatima’s absent roommate, as the bottle belonged to her, and we ended up downing the whole bottle.

As the laughs continued, Fatima suggested we play an African strategy game called Awele. Really, she was just craving fresh meat. Most of her friends refuse to play with her anymore because she’s just too damn good. It looked ing, so we agreed to give it a go.

The rules are as follows: There are 12 circles. Six on my side, and six on yours. Each circle holds four counters. To make a move, you select any circle on your side and take all the counters out. You then place one counter in each subsequent circle immediately following the circle you took the counters from. That is the end of your turn. If you place the last bean of your turn in a circle that only has one or two other counters already in it, you get to take all of the counters in that circle. And if the hole previous to the last hole also had one or two counters in it, you can also take those counters. The goal of the game is to have more than half the counters.

Fatima smoked Uri the first time around. He managed to capture a whopping 4 counters. After honing his skills in a round with Iva, though, made a valiant effort in a rematch against Fatima. He actually had her against the ropes for a while. But alas, he fell short.

Afterwards, Uri and I introduced the ladies to a MUCH simpler game that was more at our level: Dobble. Basically, you deal out all the cards and flip the last one face up. Every card features a dozen random images on it–a snowman, fire, a dinosaur, a turtle, etc. Every card also features one image that it has in common with every other card. Your job is to lift up the top card in your pile and find the image that it has in common with the card on the table as fast as you can. Throw your card on top, shout out what the image is, and pick up your next card. Your goal is to run through your pile first.

It’s such a simple game, but it can be extremely frustrating at the same time, as is evident in Fatima’s face in the picture below.

Uri was destroying the girls at first, but after half a dozen rounds, they’d quickly caught on, and he could no longer keep up. He was losing yet again.

In no time, it was time for bed. Uri and I had to be up early to pick up his sister, Doris, in the morning. He was extemely excited. We were also getting a set of wheels in the morning! I was excited for that!

  New Friends in Dublin We arrived in Dublin after a bit of an arduous and frustrating commute. It was all Uri's fault though.