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tired-reader-writer · 1 year

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G-witch AU Infodump

Enabled by @werewolfcoochie @marchdancer @sharpdistances @germanpillow @kallista-dragonsoul and @iwantthatdickgrayson here is me infodumping about random shit in my G-witch AU:

After being rescued by Ellyus, El4n takes on a new name and identity— one he would choose for himself— though Shin Sei doesn't quite have the means necessary to turn his face into something else, nor does he remember what his original face is supposed to look like anyways.

Anyways, his new name is Nary, bc “nary” means “nothing, none” and he's basically someone who has nothing, starting from scratch with a clean slate and even before that he had nothing. Also it's a reference to @stil-lindigo 's fantastic poem-comic here and @telamont 's fic may the little garden where you smile, last forever since I read both of them at roughly within the same timeframe and they double-teamed up on me in terms of brainrot. I am not sorry for this.

I'm still struggling over his new surname however, though Frey is a temporary placeholder— as a reference to the goddess Frigg whose divine domains included clairvoyance and prophecy, and though Nary himself is no prophet his love interest is so hmmm. Does Ellyus count as an Odin figure? I'm not well-versed with Norse mythology. (what El definitely is is a trickster/prophet/fey type character)

Shin Sei in this AU is comprised of the friends and families of the slaughtered Vanadis researchers who want justice/vengeance for their fallen loved ones— and so support Prospera in her schemes. There's also mercurian folk in there but yeah.

Ellyus gets his mother and Shin Sei to fake/develop a new identity and backstory for Nary/El4n. It's up to him whether he comes back to Asticassia but I like to think he does.

He dyes his hair the same colour as the woman who's presumably his mother, the lady with the birthday cake? Yeah? The same brown.

He still wears soft earrings bc this analysis of El4n's gender thing lives in my head rent-free. He also wears a lot more feminine clothing because he can. (EDIT: added the link that I forgot to add bc fucking hell I knew I was forgetting smth)

He has a new hairstyle. I actually have a design in mind but since I can't draw right now... lemme dig up my gallery in hopes that there's something that looks like it—

(I'm not sure if I could share these, as far as I could track these were drawn by the original artist of the comic this character is from, I eventually seek to replace these w my own drawings when I can.)

He probably ends up taking the surname of some Shin Sei employee, though argh, it fucking pains me that we know practically nothing about Shin Sei!! Who's Godoy and what does he even do?!

The Plant Quetta attack does not happen. There will be another attack to replace it, alright, but it's been moved down the timeline. I don't know when it'll be or by whom, but it happens on Earth, while Ellyus is there. Why is he there? Dunno, probably some GUND-ARM related reason. He's one of the main mechanics of Aerial after all, and someone who's heavily involved in the production of GUND-prosthetics.

Speaking of Ellyus' engineering work, Shin Sei did develop the drone technology Prospera mentions in the witch trial— it's just that Ellyus is the one who created it. Maybe he could also be present in the trial room? His presence wouldn't really help against Delling but hey, it's the thought that counts. Besides, he (and we the audience) already knows Miorine will come to save the day.

Delling is fucking dead. No mercy for the fucker, he probably dies in the same attack that lethally wounded Ellyus? Or perhaps after that, in another incident. Vim Jeturk is accused of the murder, and subsequently silenced by Prospera and/or Shaddiq.

Shaddiq takes the presidency. Ellyus left behind pre-recorded video messages tailored to each recipient, he sat down and recorded them before he died, set to automatically be sent to the ppl he wants in the Know after his funeral, and Shaddiq and El4n's messages include the entire backstory, basically, and so Shaddiq knows about Quiet Zero and who it's for. He seeks out Prospera and basically proposes an alliance— much of their goals align, he can use QZ's might to strong-arm favorable negotiations for Earth, he knows who QZ's for and realizes that Ellyus can be “alive/free” again like Ericht since he's deduced that the night Ellyus went missing from his hospital room and came back dead was actually him being uploaded into a GUND-bit.

(It's part of Ellyus' machinations, to protect Miorine from Prospera, to bridge Shaddiq to a strong ally who shares a lot of his goals, and... yeah. Fuck Spacians, this alliance is gon be a bulldozer.)

Shaddiq does not ally with Peil.

Peil will meet a karmic end. I don't know how yet, but El4n and El5n are involved. Anyways, that'll probably happen during or after the struggle for the Benerit Group presidency.

Guel actually learns something beyond “daddy good”, dammit.

Miorine and Prospera have a... complex, shall we say, relationship. Prospera holds back from roping her into revenge unlike in canon— mostly because of Ellyus' pleas to not let GUND-ARM be ruined/soaked in blood, partly because Miorine is the one who resurrected and kept true to GUND's ideals of medical research and stuff. Prospera hates her bc well, Delling's daughter, but on the other hand... a successor of sorts to carrying the GUND research torch. Miorine doesn't trust her, no, buuuut she still can't deny that together w Shaddiq they're... actually doing decent work. (Again, unlike in canon LOL)

Suletta's off to the side having her own Identity Journey. The video message to her also explains her origins and everything, so she now knows she's a repli-child. I don't know what I'll do with the journey proper but I want the eventual outcome to be: “I am not Ericht, I was never a Samaya and that's just fine. I'm Suletta, and the name Mercury is mine in a way it isn't for mom. I still love you, mom, Aerial/Eri too, but I am a Mercury and I'm proud of that. I still love you but I'm me and you're not my entire world.” kinda deal. Basically, independence, loving her family on her own terms.

No Plant Quetta means no tomato paste and no divorce! Huzzah! (I mean, another attack still happens but due to Ellyus' and Miorine + Earth House's influence Suletta focuses more on disaster relief and evacuation and stuff.)

Adding a new layer to Ellyus' non-linear time thing (I've posted about it, I've linked to it before in another post, it can be found in his character tag), he's allowed to make phone calls to One (1) person in the past. That person happens to be Jeru Ogul, aka Shaddiq's child self, way before he's learnt to put up barriers around his heart.

(Ellyus was never meant to be human. If the G-witch cast proper is comprised of 3D beings and us the audience 4D, he'd be like, 3.5D. That's why he's allowed time shenanigans by me. Only as far as I allow it, though. He's a plot device, a robot w its guts exposed. I have also posted about this before. I won't link to it here bc well, I already have before and ppl didn't seem all too interested in the makings and structure of his character. Meta-narrative fuckery ftw.)

The calls are sporadic, but kid Jeru comes to hold this mysterious friend person in the phone very dear to his heart. Their non-judegmental and gentle encouragement was one of the things that kept him going in those days.

He's buried the memory now, in the deepest layers of his heart, under twenty vaults, along with the tender hurt and angry child self that was Jeru Ogul and everything that it represents. It fuels him, it's his impetus, but it's hidden, carefully so.

It's a surprise to the both of them when they find out.

(basically, Doylist reason was that I needed a narrative tool strong enough to break through his walls and allow him to be changed for the better, to stop having tunnel-vision, and Ellyus became the narrative device responsible for that task)

This development allowed for Shaddiq to be more proactive and open. To the point he might actually ask for Miorine's support/help during the competition for the presidency. I'm still contemplating it.

I don't know what I'll do with Dawn of Fold yet.

Not the Space Assembly League, really.

Somebody help.

Well, that's it for this episode of info-dumping! Thank you for enabling me, I was afraid to do it bc it's disheartening to scream your heart out into the void and have no response.

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stil-lindigo · 7 years

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beachside bonzoes

AN: hello everybody! this is something different to what i usually do so uh. please be kind. I was going to post this yesterday but with the cancelling of dirk gently i decided to put it off to today. i thought we might all need some fluffy rowdy time.

summary: the Oh No van’s AC breaks down and the rowdies terrorise a tourist beach. there’s family, anarchy and just the slightest bit of drummerwolf. also, the universe being super passive aggressive.

beachside bonzoes

Squinting against the bright, burning, sun, Amanda Brotzman downs the last of her water from her water bottle and groans.

‘Ugh,’ she mutters as she slumps back into her tattered passenger seat. ‘It’s like I’m drinking my own sweat.’

‘Ewww, boss!’ Vogel yelps in disgust from the backseat. ‘Now I’m roastin’ and grossed out.’

‘Gross-ting,’ Gripps’ voice is croaky from where he’s splayed out on the red seats, arm slung over his face. Cross lies beneath him, diligently fanning both Cross and Vogel with old magazines.

‘Toasting,’ he adds with a tired chuckle. Nearby, Beast emits a low growl.

‘We’re fucking burnt, boys,’ Amanda sighs and glances over at their shitty air conditioner chugging out metallic-smelling but cold air. Martin grunts at her from the driver’s seat before she can get a word out.

‘ ‘s on the highest setting, drummer. Ain’t nothin’ gonna make it work harder.’

Amanda groans louder and rolls the grimy window down, staring out at the passing landscape with a tangible irritation. This suffocating heat had been plaguing them for a few days now and the new, thinner clothes they’d managed to snatch at a roadside op shop were already filthy from sweat. The Disney shirt Vogel had been so excited about had been the first casualty and was now operating as a bright, pink sweat rag.

Martin, strangely enough, didn’t seem to be too affected by the heat. In saying that though, the boys had basically stripped down to their boxers the moment the temperature went over 40 degrees. Amanda still held a sneaking suspicion that the one reason they weren’t going commando was because of her and Beast.

At her millionth deliberating sigh, Martin taps her on the shoulder and silently hands her a cigarette, gesturing to the window.

‘Do I look that bad?’ she mutters wryly and he shrugs, a small smirk gracing his features.

Without any preferable option, Amanda leans out the window and breathes in the addicting scent of smoke. Martin uses a pretty shitty brand but it’s all she’s got and right now, it tastes like heaven. Like something akin pathetic fallacy – a big word she learned in high school that she never used again after graduating – a miraculous cool breeze sweeps by, ruffling her tied up hair so that strands break free from the hair tie and swirl around her face.

‘Thank you, universe,’ she breathes blissfully and then immediately regrets it because, as always, the universe just loves to mess with people. The moment the words leave her mouth, their air conditioner makes a horrible, sputtering grate of a sound and wheezes out a foul-smelling cloud of smoke. Martin smacks it with increasing severity and, after the third strike, knocks the grate clean off. The air conditioner does not restart.

‘You have got to be fucking kidding me.’ Amanda could cry. And she only cries at dogs dying and beautiful canyons. From the backseat, Vogel whimpers out a long exasperated groan that, with Beast’s help, quickly devolves into a strung-out growl.

‘The hell.’ The short, plaintive word is the only indication that Gripps isn’t dead.

Cross is already clambering over the others and pushes in between Amanda and Martin in the front. For a second, he squints at the smoking mess of an AC.

‘Yep,’ he grunts. ‘That’s busted.’

‘Fuck,’ Amanda drags her hands down her face and then snatches up her phone. As always, the battery is dying but it’s got enough. ‘Google maps, don’t fail me now. There better be a mechanic close by.’

Within a few minutes, she’s found one only a few miles away. It’ll mean a detour from their usual, instinct-driven route but if it means a working air conditioner, they’re more than willing. It’s when they’re only a few minutes away that Amanda stops mid-instruction at the sight of a sliver of blue.

‘It’s the ocean!’ Amanda bolts upright and sticks her head out the window, watching as a sandy bay sneaks into view.

‘What is that?’ Vogel, marginally less comatose, leans over Amanda and squints at it. From behind him, Gripps does the same and suddenly all of the rowdies are tumbling into the front and Martin’s screeching to a stop.

‘That’s one big lake,’ Gripps says. ‘Where are the giant ducks?’

‘That’s a lotta…’ Vogel fumbles for a word. ‘Yellow. What’s it doing there?’

‘It’s sand,’ Cross grins. ‘It’s wannabe dirt.’

‘That’s cool! I wanna touch it!’ and with that, Vogel’s out the door and running down to the bay. Whooping, Cross and Gripps follow, towing a confused and disoriented Beast behind them.

‘C’mon, Boss!’ Vogel shouts back around halfway down the hill and Amanda glances back at Martin. He shrugs.

‘Why not? It’ll cool them off.’ He says. ‘Go on and join ‘em. I can take the van myself.’

‘Really? We can always take it later.’

‘Sooner the better, right? Also-’ Martin pauses and runs a hand through his hair. ‘Don’t do well with sand.’

‘How Skywalker of you,’ Amanda smiles at his confused expression as she hops down to the ground.

‘I don’t get it.’

‘Yeah, sorry. It’s a reference,’ she says. ‘But don’t go alone. At least take Beast with you.’

Ever since Blackwing separated the rowdies, Amanda’s felt wary of letting any of them go anywhere alone. It’s a paranoia that she’s just a little bit embarrassed by but she would be perfectly happy if she was never separated from this family – her family – ever again. Conveniently, Martin is an emotionally-aware vampire and, maybe its because of that that he lightens the mood with a low chuckle.

‘Don’t think I’m scary enough to get a discount on my own?’

‘You?’ Amanda laughs. ‘Scary? Absolutely not.’

‘Oh?’ Martin produces a cigarette and lights it, fitting it snug between his lips.

‘You’re too lovable. Like a big dog.’

He stares at her for a second, his jaw working around the cigarette, then shrugs, puffing out a wispy cloud of sweet smoke.

‘I can live with that.’

‘Boss! Look!’ Amanda turns at the sound of Vogel’s voice and comes face to face with a giant inflatable duck with some unfortunately drawn features.

‘Did you steal this?’

‘Nah, some guys threw it at us when we came near so we’re keeping it!’ Vogel’s face splits into a wide toothy grin. ‘It’s super cool!’

Behind him, Gripps comes into view, wearing a wide-brimmed sunhat and glasses with blinds on them.

‘Drummer! There’s a clothes shop here! It’s crazy!’ he yells, gesturing down at a small shack down by the pier. ‘Look at this!’ And with that, he pulls the cord on the glasses and snaps the blinds shut. ‘My world is broken!’

‘Okay, please tell me you paid for this,’ Amanda pauses as she takes in the sight of the curtain glasses. ‘Actually, don’t. Don't tell me you used real money to get that.’

‘It’s a cash bash!’ Cross jumps in between them, smiling wide as he gestures to his new baseball cap that reads ‘Money Maker’. Amanda knows her face is wearing an expression but she has no idea what it is.

‘Why,‘ she says.

‘We paid, boss! Don’t worry, we used the money we stole from those bad suit guys before!’ Vogel shoves a handful of $50 notes in her face and bounds away like a hyper kangaroo. ‘Let’s go fight a fish!’

Cross and Gripps whoop and bellow out their grunts of agreement and skid down the sandy bank. From behind her, Martin lets out a content chuckle and grabs a few notes from the bundle.

‘Guess I’ll be going then,’ he says. ‘Beast?’

The rainbow-haired creature scurries up and leaps into the passenger seat with palpable relief. Beyond her, Martin sits back, turns the ignition and the van purrs into life. Amanda’s about to join her boys down at the beach when-

‘Oi, drummer.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Woof,’ he winks, deliberately, his smirk matching the quiet intensity of his eyes, and then the van’s gone, barreling down the road.

It’s hot out, Amanda reminds herself as she makes her way down to the ocean. Flushed cheeks don’t mean a thing.

The beach-side clothes shop actually had a pretty decent selection, Amanda finds as she peruses their clothes racks.

More than decent, in fact. Some strange few could say that it was in tune with the universe.

After a few minutes, she emerges from the shop’s air conditioned depths wearing a worn-down ‘Mexican Funeral’ top and some skin-tight swimming bottoms. The top is thin and soft from age and the lettering is a bit cracked but, as Amanda flaps it to let a cool breeze in, she finds that it’s completely what she’d expect. The store clerk’s face had lit up when she’d handed it over for him to ring up – apparently the band was ‘super obscure’ but ‘totally underrated’ and it wouldn’t even be stocked if the guy hadn’t insisted to ship some in.

Damned universe. Too nosy for its own good.

I get it, she thinks to the universe as she sprints down to the water, picking up speed. Call your brother. But not right now. Right now-

And here, she kicks off her boots, her socks and jumps –

-right now, I’m cooling off.

With a thunderous splash, she’s underwater and the change is instant - the water is shockingly cold, biting into her skin like a knife before her body catches up with the plunge in temperature. Bubbles foam around her in clouds and she grins, giddy off the relief of the sea on her burning skin and watches water rush past her as she boosts herself to the surface. She breaks into open air to the whoops and cheers of her boys. They’re all around her, wet and dirty and sweaty and hers and she bundles them into a tight, slippery hug, laughing and shouting with them as they drag her into their rhythm. It’s dumb, this is so dumb, playing like toddlers seeing the sea for the first time but then she remembers the years she spent in fear in her dim, crusty room and – even more than that – the boys, for them, this might be their first time so she lets the world go and blows raspberries into the air. Cross squeezes their inflatable duck ring around her and he and Gripps haul her up and carry her towards the horizon, like she’s a queen on a yellow plastic throne.

‘We’re fucking insane!’ Cross howls over the crash of the waves and they roar, together, with their squeaking inflatable duck and handfuls of seaweed and wet sand. High off exhilaration, Vogel dives underneath and pops out of the water with a starfish in each hand, giggling.

‘You’re a star, kid!’ Amanda speaks like a talk show host and Vogel beams.

‘I don’t know what that is!’ he hollers and in an instant, the starfish are chucked back into the water and he’s leaping at Amanda, arms outstretched. ‘Capsiiiize!’

They go down like bowling pins, splashing back into the water. Amanda resurfaces, spitting out saltwater and picking seaweed out of her hair but she laughs and splashes Vogel right in his mischievous face.

‘You dick!’

The plunge doesn't seem to slow down Cross and Gripp’s momentum and they drag up Vogel from under his armpits, slapping him on his back good-naturedly before they promptly dunk him back into the water. Instantly rebounding, Vogel flaps around his wet hair like a dog and smacks a clump of wet sand into Cross’ hair.

It’s pretty dumb how much fondness she feels for these mud-slinging idiots. But she doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of their reckless energy, their chaos that pumps life through her veins. Friends, family - they’re her boys and Amanda doesn’t think she could love them more. For a moment, a weird anxiety finds her (an attack? no, although she hates that she still feels a stab of fear at the thought of them) and she wonders if they know – she hopes they know how much she loves them.

Suddenly, the ground is falling away and Amanda’s abruptly torn from her thoughts as Gripps unceremoniously chucks her onto his back.

‘Get yer head out of the clouds, drummer!’ he yells as he charges into the fray of the mudfight. ‘We gotta get some dirt on ya!’

With bellows and laughter thrumming in her ears, Amanda leaves behind her cloudy thoughts and shrieks out a giddy battle cry.

Grant Brantley has worked at his little garage for a little over a decade. And maybe its because his business is right next to a tourist-magnet beach that brings in weirdoes from all over that makes his new customers a bit more normal. The man’s fine (even though his disproportionately-coloured hair is a bit odd). It’s more his friend that puts Grant off. She’s got brightly dyed hair and kind of a-a pale sort of complexion and he thinks she’s shaven off her eyebrows which makes her scurry-walk a bit more off-putting. Also she keeps on sniffing his tools. He just hopes she doesn’t start licking them.

‘Hey, um – ‘he turns to the man who said his name was Martin and then did not give a surname which makes Grant’s job a bit more difficult because usually he refers to the lads as misters but now he’s just gotta say ‘sir’ which makes him feel like a chimneysweep or a needy orphan and in fact, he’s pretty sure he’s older than Martin but what can you do? ‘-sir, your uh…could you please ask your friend to stop sniffing the merchandise? I swear they haven’t gone off.’

It’s supposed to be a joke – an icebreaker, you know- but Martin nods, seriously, as if it's a legitimate concern.

‘Hey, Beastie,’ he clicks his fingers and the woman happily scuttles over, abandoning the outdoor display of wrenches. Grant thinks she’s talking to Martin but – god, she’s gotta be foreign, right? He can’t even understand what language he’s speaking. It sounds like she’s imitating a chain-smoking frog but – c’mon, Grant, don’t be mean, it’s not as if you’re a well-travelled bloke in the first place, what would you know about foreign culture. He chances a friendly smile at her and she returns it with a mouth of sharp teeth and a high whistle. Oh boy.

‘So,’ Martin clears his throat a bit awkwardly as he shifts on the step he’s sat upon. ‘How long will it take to fix the AC?’

Thank god, familiar territory.

‘Oh, it’s a simple fix, really. An hour or so,’ Grant scratches his head thoughtfully as he takes in Martin’s hulking van. He thinks those are bullet holes peppered into its graffitied hide but honestly, he’s dealt with weirder.

Upsell, he reminds himself, like those persuasive kids at the fast food places. ‘I could easily spruce up some stuff. She’s a bit of a clanker. And it won’t cost much more.’

‘Nah,’ Martin says not unkindly, and produces a battered pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his loose jeans. ‘Gotta get back soon.’

Grant politely flicks out a lighter before Martin can and holds the flame steady for the other man. Martin nods appreciatively and, miraculously, Grant feels a bit less wary round the guy.

‘Got someone waitin’ for you?’ he says as he unlatches the car door and begins to work. From the corner of his eye, he sees Martin smile to himself.

‘Yeah, a few guys.’

‘And a girl, I bet,’ Grant replies. ‘Or a guy,’ he adds, catching himself at the sight of Martin’s odd expression. ‘Either is fine. Or none. I don’t mind. Love is love and all that.’

He’s babbling now but Grant tends to get that way when he’s nervous. ‘Sorry, don't mean to impose. You looked mighty happy there is all. And don’t get me wrong, you can look happy about friends – I ain’t the type of guy to think we lads can’t have good, non-sexy relationships – but also, you know-’

Martin laughs a small laugh but it’s got some mirth behind it so Grant trails off and hopes his furious backpedalling worked. The white-haired man puffs on his cigarette and leans his head to one side in a bit of a conceding shrug.

‘Yeah,’ he allows, after a second. ‘Yeah. I guess it’s a girl.’

Martin doesn’t seem like he’s going to say any more on it so Grant doesn’t push it. Mentally, he breathes out a sigh of relief. Gosh, his big mouth has gotten him into problems in the past – he’s just glad that this time the weird guy seems alright. Might be the cigarettes. Hey, it might be a good idea to keep his supply stocked then, right? Right. Okay, good thinking, Brantley. Now suggest it without also implying he’s hooked because god knows you’ve come across some kooks who were adamant about their independence, honestly -

‘Hey, we’ve got some more cigs inside,’ Grant blurts out and gestures towards his little shop. ‘They’re right next to the cash register.’

Martin looks surprised for a second.

‘Don’t think I’ll steal them? I’m just a stranger.’

Grant shrugs.

‘They’re only $5. I’m not that hung up on money,’ he pauses. ‘Also I can see you through the window.’

The white-haired man huffs out a chuckle. ‘Mm. Smart building design.’

He stands up, stuffing his hands into his pockets and gives an appreciative nod to Grant.

‘Thanks, Mr Brantley. Might take you up on your offer.’

‘Might?’

‘Gotta check the brands first,’ he grunts jokingly and he makes his way into the service shop.

Grant turns back to the van and mentally dances a happy jig. He knows the type of guy Martin is – he’s met a wide bunch of people in this job – and that exchange was good, as in it was a Big Deal in its goodness. The guy feels less intimidating now that they’ve had that conversation. In fact, now he thinks he shouldn’t watch through the window in that half-looking-but-also-could-just-be-engrossed-in-the-rear-view-mirror way he’s cultivated.

The choice of whether or not he spies on Martin, however, gets thrown to the side at the sound a familiar revving engine. Grant groans and puts his head in his hands. Really? Now?

With a screech, a sleek, scarlet sports car rounds the corner and skids to a stop directly in front of the workshop. Its occupants, a group of four, tank-top wearing young men, clamber out with whoops and guffaws. Grant sees that one of their shirts simply reads ‘You Suck’. Another, who he knows has not served, is wearing dog tags on a necklace. One of the men, the shortest, steps forward and leers at Grant.

‘Hey, Mister Brantley,’ he sneers. ‘What’s up?’

‘Hello, Sherwood,’ Grant steps away from Martin’s van and approaches the teenager with a palpable reluctance. ‘Are you drunk again?’

Immediately, Sherwood’s smile is replaced by a snarl and he jabs an accusatory finger at Grant.

‘Yeah? And what the fuck are you gonna do about it?’ he hisses. ‘Don’t forget my dad owns these parts. You complain and I’ll kick your ass out of here. You’re already on thin ice with your asshat son.’

‘I’m –’ Grant sighs. This is the worst. ‘I’m not going to complain.’

‘Good,’ Sherwood sneers. ‘Go get me n’ my boys some smokes.’

Grant is about to go in when he remembers – Martin. The white-haired man is staring at him over the countertop, a new pack of cigarettes in his hand, and from where he’s standing, Grant can see he’s put down a $5 bill next to the till. The older man shrugs, overcome by embarrassment, and brushes past Martin apologetically. With a sigh, he begins piling boxes of cigarettes into a plastic shopping bag.

‘They ain’t gonna pay for those, are they.’

It’s more of a statement than a question really and Grant grimaces.

‘No. They’re not. But what can I do?’ He ties off the end of the bag with a forceful twist. ‘Charlie – that’s my boy, really smart kid, he’s gonna do great things – Charlie’s gotten into a fight with Sherwood over there. His dad owns this land and money ain’t real consistent – this is a tourist place, you know.’

Grant doesn’t completely know why he’s telling Martin this stuff.

Something about him makes you wanna spill your beans, he thinks to himself. Whether in fear or not.

A striking yelp jolts him out of his thoughts and his gaze whips to the boys standing in his parking lot who are currently fending off a rainbow-haired woman. He sprints out of the shop to find her – Beast – circling them on all fours and forcing them back with intermittent snarls.

‘Ma’am!’ Grant calls out, a bit lost. ‘Uh-ma’am please uh-’

Sherwood’s head shoots up at the sound of Grant’s voice.

‘Oi, Brantley!’ he shouts, furious. ‘Is she yours?!’

‘No! Sherwood, she’s uh – a customer- ’

‘A customer?’ one of Sherwood’s friends shrieks out. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

‘Bullshit!’ Sherwood screams and Beast answers with an even louder growl that sends the boys backing away towards their car. Sherwood levels an icy glare towards Grant. ‘Look at you, using this bitch to chase us off. You could’ve just given us the smokes, you dick!’

‘Sherwood, wait-’

‘Beast.’

Martin steps out beyond Grant who is currently fumbling for words and approaches the woman. She whips around at his footsteps but immediately softens at the sight of him. Grant’s close enough to hear that she says something that sounds like ‘meanie’. Meanwhile, Sherwood and his friends have already slipped into their sleek car and with a round of middle fingers, they’re hurtling away at breakneck speeds.

Grant still doesn’t know what just happened.

‘Oh boy,’ he whispers to himself and his legs fold under him. Martin looks over with a placated and somewhat remorseful-looking Beast beside him. ‘What a shitshow. Pardon my language.’

‘Sorry,’ Martin says.

‘Don’t trouble yourself, son,’ Grant gestures offhandedly as Martin takes a seat on the concrete next to him. ‘This was comin’ sooner or later. In fact, I wish I could’ve done it myself instead of your friend obliging.’

‘Mm,’ Martin hums in agreement. ‘That’d be a sight to see.’

‘You know, Sherwood really ain’t that bad either,’ Grant chortles at Martin’s expression. ‘Yeah, I know. He used to be an okay kid, though. I think he got messed up in something shady a while back and now he feels invincible. He just needs a bit of a wake up call.’

Martin wordlessly picks at his teeth, as if attempting to dislodge a morsel of food. Beside him, Beast swings back and forth on her haunches.

‘You scared, Mr Brantley?’ he asks, quietly. ‘Sherwood’s probably gonna go tell his pa.’

‘Oh yeah, I’m a little fearful,’ Grant sighs. ‘But you gotta roll with these punches.’

‘Damn straight,’ Martin claps him on the back and gets to his feet and stretches, yawning wide.

‘Tired?’

He shrugs.

‘Just ready for a meal.’

It’s around when Vogel’s finishing up on burying Cross in sand that Amanda notices the ice-cream.

‘Hey!’ she yells from where she’s floating on the inflatable duck. ‘Look! People have ice cream!’

At her shout, a number of people give them weird looks but she’s used to it by now. Weird is good when it means you get a strip of beach all to yourself. Gripps arises from the shallows where he’s arranged seaweed on his forehead like a wig and scares a nearby unwitting couple.

‘We’ve got ice cream here?’ he says. ‘Why aren’t we eating it then dying from brainfreeze?’

As if to demonstrate, Vogel flops to the ground in mock-unconsciousness, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth with carefree abandon.

‘Brainfreeze!’ he echoes and from underneath, Cross fist bumps his way out of his sandy casket.

‘Waffle cones!’ he yells and somehow produces a sun hat to slap over Vogel’s head. ‘They’re good crispy.’

Amanda’s already wading up to meet them, dragging her loyal duck behind her as she approaches the still partially-buried Cross.

‘You still got the money, Money-maker?’ she asks wryly and he slings off his cap to show the notes stuffed into the seam.

‘You know it, boss,’ he flashes a toothy grin. ‘Get me a bubblegum.’

‘Sweet tooth,’ she pokes him on his nose and he laughs, loud and mischievous. Suddenly, Vogel drops into Cross’ lap and grabs Amanda’s face by her cheeks.

‘Pineapple for me, boss!’ he grins from ear to ear. From nearby, Gripps adds ‘And boysenberry!’

‘Boys-enberry!’ Vogel repeats and giggles at his own joke. ‘Boys!’

Rolling her eyes, Amanda pecks Vogel on the forehead and revels in the brief silence that follows as he blinks up at her, beaming.

‘We get it, Vogel,’ she says then slinks out of his grip even as he laughs and whoops with the other boys.

‘Love you, boss!’ he calls after her and even though she groans from embarrassment and waves them away, Amanda can’t help the grin the creeps across her features.

Surprisingly, the ice cream stall doesn't have a very long queue – probably because Amanda and her boys only noticed it after the big crowds left - and she gets to the front sooner than anticipated.

‘Cool shirt,’ the girl serving her comments and smiles at her. ‘They’re a great band.’

‘Yeah,’ Amanda slaps the dollar bills down on the counter and thinks passive-aggressively to the universe to chill. ‘I like your septum piercing.’

‘Oh! Thanks,’ she giggles and flicks her long aqua-blue pigtails over her back, revealing her own shirt that bears a faded illustration of a Rorschach symbol floating in an eyeball. Unbidden, Amanda feels a smile spread across her face. Good times.

‘Do you want these in a box?’ the girl asks, unaware of Amanda’s thoughts.

‘Yeah, that’d be great,’ Amanda says and then, just for good measure, she winks and adds in a secretive tone, ‘As good as I am with my hands, four at once is a bit much.’

At that, ice-cream girl laughs, really laughs, and her tanned cheeks tinge with red.

‘Nice,’ she says and hands Amanda the holder full of ice cream cones with a smile. ‘Come again soon!’

She doesn’t even get a block away from the stall before Amanda’s already licking her own salted caramel ice cream cone. The taste of it is sweet and relieving after a day of fish and chips and trashy oil-soaked food. Also, she got a strawberry cone and flavoured ice cream cones are one of the better inventions of humanity. The slap of her store-bought flip flops on the burning pavement and the cold creeping through her body from the ice cream leads her into an almost-mesmerising trance. As she walks, she makes up a tune to hum and its like merging a few of her favourite songs together, a mashup of the metal radio station the Oh No Van tunes into from time to time. For some reason, Amanda wonders what Martin would’ve chosen from the ice cream stall.

Is there a nicotine flavor? she thinks to herself, wryly. But the thought brings back a memory from earlier that day – when Martin had given her the cigarette. And it’s as Amanda’s licking her rapidly melting ice cream that she remembers that it had already been lit and halfway done by the time he’d handed it to her. Which means -

‘Fuck!’ Amanda saves herself from tripping just in time and steadies the ice cream cones in their respective holders. There’s melted ice cream all over her hand now but there’s enough still in the cone that the boys will be happy. ‘Jeez, get yourself together.’

From behind her comes a piercing wolf whistle.

‘Hey! Sweet cheeks! Bend over again!’

Amanda’s eyes shoot open wide and she turns around excruciatingly slow to come face to face with two burly guys coming up behind her.

‘Excuse me?’ she’s trying to inject as much disgust as she can into the words, but apparently these idiots have skulls made of steel because nothing’s getting through it. They snort and guffaw at her expression. One air-thrusts at her.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Amanda mutters to herself then faces the two guys directly. ‘What is this, 2005? Get a hobby, you walking troglodytes.’

The men make mockingly awe-struck gasps. The air-humper steps forward to close the distance between them.

‘Oooh, you know big words! Doesn’t make you better than us.’ he says in a sing-song tone. Amanda considers stuffing her icecream down his throat and decides it’d be too kind. ‘And we were just being nice. Jesus, learn how to take a compliment.’

‘It doesn’t take much to be better than you,’ Amanda replies coldly. ‘Knowing big words like ‘troglodyte’ should immediately put me out of your league.’

The man’s smile falls instantly and he makes a grab for her shoulder but she’s already dodged and is considering kicking his incredibly kick-able groin when the familiar growl of an engine roars up behind her.

‘Drummer,’ Martin says in acknowledgement. Beyond him, Beast waves furiously with a new wrench which still has its price tag stuck on. ‘Nice ice creams.’

‘Thanks.’

Martin glances at the two men standing before them and his gaze instantly cools by a few degrees. Even though they’re obviously wary of the newcomer, the two guys have stuck around which either makes them even more idiotic than she originally thought or – nope, they’re just idiots.

‘ ‘s there a problem?’ he asks, his tone icy.

‘I don’t know,’ Amanda turns back to look at the pair of walking examples of toxic masculinity and raises a questioning eyebrow. ‘Is there?’

The two guys mumble something incoherent – probably an insult of some kind – but they hurry past, their pace quickening the longer Martin stares after them.

‘Troglodytes,’ she mutters.

‘Nice insult.’

‘I learnt it off a TV show.’

‘Even better.’

‘Oi! Boss!’ Vogel comes barreling up the hill and it’s only Amanda’s quick reflexes that save the ice cream cones from being toppled onto the pavement. He steers around quickly, leaping up onto the hood on the van in one swift motion and waves at the occupants inside. ‘You found Martin and Beastie!’

‘And you got my Bubblegum!’ Cross snatches his cone from the box quickly and immediately bites into the ice cream. His ensuing expression is somehow triumphant and regretful at the same time. For some reason, Gripps does the exact same thing for his cone and does not get different results.

‘Hey, drummer,’ Cross manages to say as he recovers. ‘What was up with those brickheads that were here just now?’

Martin clicks his tongue in disgust and taps the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

‘They were peacocking, boys,’ he says grimly and the resulting wave of disapproving growls is deafening.

‘Way old school,’ Gripps mutters. ‘Way crusty.’

‘Damn tail-flickers,’ Vogel seconds.

Cross licks his lips and glares after the retreating forms of the two men.

‘Anybody else hungry?’ he hisses and the other rowdies bellow in agreement, already moving to chase after them.

‘Boys.’

And like that, they halt, shifting to Martin for direction even though Vogel’s foot still taps away on the concrete, impatient.

‘We got a bigger meal waiting for us,’ he smirks dangerously and the rowdies erupt in cheers and congratulatory roars, already clambering into the hollow depths of the van. ‘Ready for dinner?’

With a fond lick and snicker, Beast vacates her seat for Amanda and leaps into the back to curl up on the red velvet floor. Amanda settles herself into the leathery front seat, slams the car door behind her and turns the AC up to the max setting, whistling appreciatively at the blast of cold air sweeping through the van.

‘You’ve been busy, haven’t you?’ she grins at Martin and he answers with a toothy chuckle.

‘I get around,’ he replies then slams on the ignition, lurching forward and bellowing over the growing howls of their rowdies.

‘Now who’s hungry for take-out?!’

Amanda wolfs down the last of her Chinese food from its plastic box and sinks back into the sand with a content sigh. At her left, the six-pack of beer she bought at the convenience store remains submerged in a blue plastic bucket Vogel had stolen and filled with cold seawater.

‘Beer over sandcastles,’ he’d reasoned as he handed it to her. She couldn’t really argue with that.

It’s cooled down now that the evening’s creeping in and she appreciates the cool breeze. It’s a bit of a relief to relax after pummeling those frat boys into the hood of their own car. Amanda’s hand automatically twitches at the memory of swinging Beast’s wrench into the headlight and laughing as the glass had showered over her.

Kind of dangerous, now that she thinks about it. But she made it out unscathed. So it was probably universally predestined to happen. Amanda grabs a beer bottle and lifts it up to the sky in a toast.

Rest in peace, car, she thinks to herself then downs a mouthful. I barely knew thee.

Quietly, she reflects on the pit stop they made before returning to the beach: a garage owned by a Mr Brantley who she only knew from overhearing Martin’s brief conversation with him. Seemed like a sweet guy. Owned a decent brand of smokes. And he’d patted Martin’s shoulder like he was his dad, despite them seeming to be around the same age. Weirdest thing about it was that Martin let him.

The sun peeks out from behind a purple-pink cloud and she squints. Nearer to the horizon, her rowdies are still splashing in the ocean with their boundless energy. They’re the only ones still there seeing as most of the beach-goers had left around an hour ago but they make enough noise that it would be easy to mistake a crowd still remaining. The stragglers still tend to give them a wide berth and it suits them just fine. Struck by inspiration, Amanda sits up and she howls, letting her voice taper off into the sky. To her utmost joy, her family answers with matching enthusiasm.

One of them breaks off from the pack and lopes up to sit on the bank next to her. Wordlessly, she hands him a bundled-up dry shirt she’d been using as a pillow to dry off his sopping wet hair with.

‘How are you still wearing your glasses?’

Martin grunts and points at the green band tying the legs together behind his head.

‘Rubber bands. Versatile.’

‘Uh huh. But you still can’t see with all the droplets on them.’

He shrugs and ruffles out his semi-dry hair into a comically fluffy-looking mohawk.

‘Survived through worse. Remember the red goggles?’

Amanda laughs at the memory but the reminder of Wendimoor sends her thoughts towards someone else. She sinks back into the sand with a low groan.

Todd.

They’d parted ways after the Wendimoor escapade a few weeks ago and she’d promised to check in from time to time. But, somehow, the prospect of a first phone call after recently making up with him is scary as shit. The stupid thing is that she can’t even put her finger on what is so terrifying about it. They’d sent each other little dumb texts (mainly pictures of the new detective agency and then games of ‘Spot Mona in this messy workplace!’) in the first week and a half but even that mode of communication had died out. Yeesh. ‘Died out’. Bad choice in words, considering the trouble they got themselves into.

Speaking of that, Todd could be on a new case right now. Todd could be in trouble.

And yet, she still doesn’t want to call.

Amanda sits herself up, shaking sand out of her hair, to find Martin staring at her out of the corner of his eye.

‘What?’

‘I can hear you thinking there, drummer,’ he mutters softly. ‘What’s goin’ on?’

She runs a hand through her hair sheepishly.

‘I’ve gotta call my brother.’

‘Toad?’

‘His name is Todd. But Toad totally works. He’ll love it.’

Martin looks out thoughtfully towards the horizon.

‘You’ve got time. Phone’s in the van right now.’

Amanda chews on her lip for a second.

‘I mean. I could always do it tomorrow.’

‘Putting it off isn’t very punk.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ she snickers and punches him in the arm good-naturedly. She’s 90% sure he doesn’t even feel it.

‘C’mon, drummer,’ he continues. ‘What’s keepin’ you?’

Her smile falters and her eyes dart down, away. It’s personal, this stuff, family stuff. But she’s gotta face this at some point, doesn’t she? And here, in the dying sunlight with a fresh pack of beer…

She knocks her head back and gulps down the rest of bottle’s contents, hissing as it burns on the way down. On her left, Martin watches her with a half-cocked eyebrow.

‘Okay, so,’ she slams her hands down as she starts but they kind of just disturb a sand pile which irks her a bit. ‘Me n’ Todd have technically made up but like, there’s still a lot of weird boundaries here and I don’t know, my head’s still not the greatest and I-’

She trails off as she looks over at Martin. He’s listening, really listening, with his eyes trained directly on her and his genuine intensity makes an irrational guilt rise up in her.

Stop sidestepping the issue, she tells herself and sighs.

‘I’m scared of getting close to him again,’ she says finally. ‘Old Todd was a complete shithead built entirely on lies. And New Todd is…new. And I know he’s trying. But I don’t know how New Todd is going to be.’

Amanda looks out towards the horizon. She feels tired, for some reason. There’s something else she wanted to say, something about her not wanting to get hurt again, but that seems a bit too cheesy. And, as she looks over to gauge Martin’s reaction, she finds her eyes meeting his and she feels like he already knows.

Damn emotion-sensing vampires.

He releases a gravelly sigh and looks out at the sea as well. His glasses have dried off somewhat and now they shine, reflecting the weakening sunlight onto his well-defined features.

‘You won’t know until you try,’ he says after a little while. ‘Give it a shot. It’ll be better than nothing.’

‘Will it?’

‘You don’t let opportunities pass you by, drummer,’ at this, he turns to her and grins. ‘You tie a note to a brick and throw it at them.’

‘…sweet talker,’ she mumbles because it makes her smile, as dumb as it is, and she props her elbows on her knees, trying to hide the dusting of red spreading across her cheeks.

Dammit, he’s right. Or she’s right. At some point, her wariness had lessened and now she thinks it’s the only course of action really left for her. The fear’s still there, simmering, but it’s tolerable. And god, she’s faced down psychopathic shape witches and, even worse, dudebros so what the hell. With a purposeful exhale, she dusts the sand off her knees and gets to her feet.

‘Okay. I’m doing it,’ she announces and Martin nods in encouragement.

‘It’s in the cupholder,’ he says and turns away, giving her privacy as she makes her way up to the van parked behind them.

Amanda’s grateful he doesn’t follow. This is something she needs to do alone. Desperately, she remembers what she’s about to do and her brain races to formulate a plan but, goddamnit, the walk to the van really isn’t that long and then she’s there, the phone is in her hand and she’s punching in Todd’s phone number.

Amanda breathes out a shaky exhale, her other hand clenching into a fist at her side, and then hits the green call button.

‘Dirk, there a lot of black cats out there,’ Farah explains exasperatedly. On the opposite side of the diner table, Dirk stops shoveling his strawberry pancakes into his mouth and looks up, eyes twinkling with inspiration.

‘Maybe we can make an ad specifically catered to black cats associated with a range of disappearances or gorey murders!’ After a second, Dirk’s beaming expression falters. ‘Wait, actually –’

‘Why are we even using our resources on this?’ Todd interrupts as he picks at his own scrambled eggs and toast. Farah gives him a pointed look.

‘Because it’s a liability! We’ve got to take care of loose ends!’ she explains. ‘And, maybe we can harness its-its sharkness and use that for ourselves!’

‘I don’t know, Farah,’ Todd mutters. ‘I don’t think it’ll be that easy to control kitten-shark. Because, you know, it’s literally a shark in a kitten. Like, what if we forget to take out its litterbox one day? Do we just get chomped?’

Dirk lifts up his maple-syrupy fork in his I-have-a-point-to-make way.

‘But Todd, I should say this,’ he says. ‘The kitten-shark did seem to like me. Maybe I’m the key!’

‘Yeah and what a shocker that would be,’ Todd says wryly and moves to pick up his fork so that he can eat more of his meal. Immediately, Dirk slaps him hard on his shoulder. ‘Whoa, what the hell?’

‘That’s. Mona!’ Dirk states deliberately and holds up an identical fork. ‘This is your fork!’

‘How can you even tell?’

Dirk blinks at him, wide-eyed.

‘It’s obvious!’

Before Todd can succinctly point out why that is such bullshit, his phone buzzes loudly from its place by his plate and he nearly forgets how to breathe when he sees the caller ID.

‘Holy shit!’ he says, snatching it up. ‘Oh my god, it’s Amanda!’

‘Oh, amazing!’ Dirk claps his hands together giddily and reaches for the phone. ‘We haven’t spoken to her in ages!’

‘Wait what? No-I-just let me-’ Todd hits the answer button quickly and gets out of their booth, striding into a quieter, more private area. ‘Amanda? Amanda, are you okay?’

‘Uh. Yeah. Just calling to check in with you,’ It’s thin and tinny but it’s her voice, not the voice of some would-be kidnapper, so Todd breathes a sigh of relief. ‘I call for things other than disasters, Todd.’

‘Yeah,’ he laughs, a bit nervous. ‘Sorry. Habit, you know.’

‘Right,’ she says and it’s kind of awkward but a background noise catches his attention.

‘Are those…waves?’

‘Yeah, I’m at a beach. It was super hot today and our AC broke so we’re hanging out here now.’

‘And how are your uh-,‘ Todd fumbles for a word for her gang. ‘-your friends?’

‘The rowdies? Oh, they’re loving it. They’re like, half naked and just fucking around in the water,’ Amanda’s voice gains a conspiratorial tone. ‘I’m including Beast in this description by the way so you can report back to Dirk.’

Todd sniggers as he imagines how Dirk would react to the insinuation.

‘Sounds like you guys are having a good time.’

‘We are! Well, most of us. Martin doesn’t like sand.’

‘Wow, very Skywalker,’ he replies and smiles at the sound of Amanda’s laugh.

‘Yeah, that’s what I said!’ she says and, yet again, there’s a short, tense silence. ‘So uh, how’s it going on your end?’

‘Oh, well, we’re at a diner right now: me and Dirk and Farah. Dirk got a huge stack of strawberry pancakes that he’s definitely gonna regret soon.’

‘Pancakes? Isn’t it kinda late for that?’

‘Yeah, Dirk says evening pancakes are a thing. Mona’s here too but I’m still not entirely sure what she is,’ Todd squints back at his booth from which Dirk furiously waves with a fork that could or could not be Mona.

‘Sweet. So no new case yet?’

‘Well, you know how it works. A case’ll come when it wants to.’

Amanda snorts.

‘Soooo you guys are just sitting on your asses?’

‘No! We-we’re trying to find the kitten-shark right now. Farah says it’s a liability we’ve gotta take responsibility of.’

‘Dude, it’s been ages. That kitten is long gone. Although, I guess you can’t really argue when Farah’s in charge,’ she adds sympathetically. Todd nods in agreement then realizes she can’t see him.

‘Yeah, she can be really scary.’

‘But also scary hot.’

‘Amanda!’ he splutters and over the line she breaks into laughter. Again, it devolves into a strained sort of silence before Amanda coughs a bit self consciously.

‘Um. How have you been feeling, Todd?’ she says. ‘The attacks, they-’

‘Yeah, uh,’ Todd continues. ‘You know, they’re a thing. But the pills help. Yep.’

A pause.

‘This is weird,’ Todd says.

‘So weird,’ Amanda seconds. ‘I need to be like, 200% more drunk for this.’

‘You’re drunk?’

‘How do you think this phone call is even happening?’

‘True. I should’ve guessed that.’

‘You’re part of a detective agency, man.’

‘Technically, the detective part is all Dirk.’

‘Doesn’t mean you can slack off, slacker.’

The ensuing silence is marginally less awkward. Todd counts that as a win.

‘I think I need to go soon,’ Amanda says quickly and Todd rushes to respond.

‘Oh! Okay!’ he says. ‘Um. Stay safe! And uh – wear protection?’

For a second, there’s just the sound of waves coming in from Amanda’s end then-

‘What. The fuck, Todd.’

‘I-I don’t know what you guys do so-!’

‘Are you fucking kidding m-’Amanda makes a soul-crushing groan. She kind of sounds like she’s dying. ‘We’re not, like, having orgies 24/7 or something, Todd! Jesus Christ!’

‘-you never tell me what you do! I’m just trying to cover all bases, here.’

Another silence, this one more weighted than the others.

‘Was that a fucking pun.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t believe you!’

‘That was not – I mean, I guess it was – ’

‘You made a pun about - ’

‘- it was absolutely not intentional – ’

‘Okay, I am definitely leaving right now. Bye.’

‘Wait, Amanda!’ Todd exclaims and exhales in relief as the sound of the ocean doesn’t immediately cut off. Amana breathes out a despairing sigh.

‘Yeah?’

Todd swallows down his nervousness.

‘I love you, Amanda. Thank you for calling,’ he says quietly. On the other end, the sound of waves. He’s getting used to the silences now. ‘You don’t have to answer or anythi-‘

‘Love you too, Todd,’ she blurts out. ‘Bye.’

And then she’s gone and Todd is left feeling oddly satisfied with what was, all in all, a very strange conversation.

‘Yes!’ he hisses to himself and skips back over to his booth. Dirk and Farah look at him expectantly.

‘Well?’ Dirk asks. Todd grins mischievously.

‘Amanda wants you to know they’re at a beach and Beast is half naked.’

‘Oh for god’s sakes – ‘

Amanda nearly cracks her screen with how forcefully she ends the phone call and throws the device unceremoniously into the glovebox. Jesus Christ, her face is still red and she buries it in her hands for a good few seconds, desperately willing away the embarrassment.

‘Wear protection’. God.

Still. That end part. That was okay.

With a sigh, she closes the car door and climbs down the sandy slope. Martin doesn’t seem to have moved but now he’s smoking a fresh cigarette and he gestures for her to sit down.

‘I’m guessing it went well, then,’ he says as she slumps into the ground beside him.

‘Well yeah but you are an emotionally-conscious vampire,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘No need to guess.’

‘You’re smiling, drummer. Doesn’t take my abilities to know,’ he chuckles as she sputters in embarrassment. ‘Aaand there it goes.’

‘You’re so...’ Amanda grumbles, turning away. ‘May sand eternally plague you.’

‘Mm. Very ‘celestial punishment’. I like it.’

In response, she kicks a wave of sand over his legs. Annoyingly, he doesn’t even move.

‘C’mon, drummer,’ he hands her a fresh bottle of beer from the bucket. ‘Truce.’

She squints at him suspiciously and then snatches it out of his hands. Appeased, he leans back on his haunches and puffs out a cloud of smoke, content. For some reason, it strikes her in that moment as she sips from her bottle how bestial he really feels. Not savage, not like that. It’s more like he embodies the slow grace of a natural hunter, a predator. Eternally watchful.

Amanda wonders, in her stupor of silent contemplation, if he came to her because she howled for him.

‘Somethin’ wrong, drummer?’

She didn’t even notice that he’d moved to look back at her.

‘Just wondering if we’re leaving soon.’

He shrugs and inclines his head towards her.

‘It’s your call. Remember, drummer, you’re the boss.’

She laughs, shortly.

‘The boss? It took me a whole day to hype myself up for a phone call. With my brother.’

‘You did it, though. That’s something.’

From him, the phrase somehow doesn’t seem like an empty platitude. Amanda stares at him for a second then sighs, conceding. And maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s how she’s so emotionally vulnerable after that phone call that she started waxing poetry. All she knows is that she suddenly feels very tired and she leans into Martin, her head sliding into the crook of his neck. His skin is still damp from the sea and the water seeps into her hair like cool, massaging fingers.

‘This doesn’t feel real,’ she whispers, her voice barely audible. ‘Any moment now, I’ll wake up in my bedroom and go through my list of pills to take and walk around my dumb, tiny house with the door that’s always locked and-’

Amanda trails off as she feels the comforting weight of Martin’s fingers stroke through her hair.

‘It’s real, drummer,’ he says gruffly. ‘We’re here.’

On any other day, this would seem impossible. But today, Amanda smashed a car, broke a frat boy’s nose, drank two bottles of bucket beer and made a phone call to her brother. So she can’t really help herself from leaning up and kissing Martin lightly on his cheek, smiling at the feeling of his bushy beard scratching at her skin. And then she’s on her feet and running down to the waves, joining her rowdies who welcome her with shouts and cheers, desperately affirming to her that this is her life, this is real, and she captures each one’s face in her hands and kisses them on their forehead, their nose, their cheeks.

‘I love you,’ she whispers into them and they hear and celebrate with whoops and laughter and glee and there’s no more silence. No more empty, cramped house in her mind, no pills, no lies.

It can’t be a dream. She knows this now. Her mind couldn’t have even imagined this, much less force it onto her in her sleep.

And then Martin is there, picking her up and swinging her around, his hand solidly placed on her back to hold her close and she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and laughing into his skin. She makes a deep happy sigh and giggles.

‘I am so drunk,’ she says and she falls back, knowing with an unfailing certainty that her family will be there to catch her before she hits the water.

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carry-the-sky · 4 years

Text

your tongue told me every lie

back on my brio bullshit! this is an old fic that i decided to clean up a bit, and then *ahem* add an e rating to. it’s set in some vague s2 timeline, because i miss s2. :/

inspired by this fantastic piece of art by @lindigo 🔥🔥🔥 also on ao3!!

many thanks to my dear friend @kastlecastles for looking this over. <3

The day after the cops almost find Boomer’s body, Annie suggests they take the night off, just the three of them. No work, no family—

“And no extracurricular friends,” Annie emphasizes, side-eyeing Beth as she says it, which Beth does not appreciate. She’s about to say as much, but then Ruby is emerging from the closet, holding a dress Beth has no memory of buying. It’s sleek and cherry-red, and she feels exposed just looking at it.

“No—” she starts to protest, but Ruby holds up a hand.

“You’re wearing it,” she says, fixing Beth with a stare that chases her rebuttal back down her throat. “Don’t get me wrong, you rock a pantsuit better than Hillary—”

“Way better than Hillary,” Annie interjects, then shrugs when Beth glares at her.

“—but we’re going glam, tonight,” Ruby finishes. She hangs the dress on the door. “You’re wearing it.”

And that’s the end of that.

She brings the dress to work. It hangs on the back of the door to Dean’s office—her office, now, her door—and Beth feels a small thrill every time she sees it, anticipation and nerves all blended up in the pit of her stomach.

It’s not that she‘s ashamed of her body, or the way she looks. She knows her curves are sexy. She’s just not sure anyone else does.

(Beth absolutely does not think about Rio. She doesn’t think about his hungry eyes raking up the entire length of her body, or the way his tongue sometimes darts between his teeth when he’s looking at her. She doesn’t think about that night at the bar, how firm his hand was when he grasped her thigh, palmed the curve of her breast—)

Beth keeps her door wide open the rest of the day.

She’s utterly exhausted by closing time, but it’s a good feeling. I can do this, she thinks as she packs up, doing one last circuit around the sales floor. I can do this well.

She hasn’t forgotten about the dress, but that light and airy anticipation from earlier has evaporated, leaving her stomach heavy with dread. For a moment, Beth considers telling Annie and Ruby that she forgot it, or that it didn’t fit—but that somehow feels worse than just putting the stupid thing on, so she begrudgingly yanks it off the hanger and goes to the dealership’s bathroom to change.

The sharp fluorescent lights do nothing to lift her mood, and she scrunches her nose at her reflection. The dress itself isn’t bad, it’s just—not her.

She laughs aloud. None of this—robbing a bank, laundering money for a street criminal, sleeping with said criminal, assuming management over her husband’s car dealership—none of this is her, is it? She’s not so sure, anymore.

Be a boss bitch.

Beth sizes up her reflection in the mirror, the sleek dress with its sweetheart neckline.

Yeah. She can do that.

Beth almost doesn’t see him. She’s shoving her work clothes unceremoniously into her bag when movement flashes in her periphery, and she yelps—

“So I guess y’all don’t do casual Fridays,” Rio says, a smile spreading wide across his face as he eyes the dress, her red pumps.

Beth blows out a shaky breath. “You scared the shit out of me. Don’t you ever, I don’t know, use a cell phone?”

“Nah, I’m old-fashioned.” He’s sitting at her desk, a smirk still playing at his lips, and Beth is torn between wanting to slap him or do something else to wipe that expression off his face.

“What do you want?” she says. “We’re closing soon, which for most people would mean come back tomorrow—”

Rio quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not most people.”

“Look,” Beth snaps, “as much fun as your drive-by visits are, I don’t have time for this tonight.”

“What, you got a hot date, or somethin’?”

Beth scoffs. “Maybe I do, yeah.”

Rio just looks at her for a second, his eyes hazy even in the glow of early-evening light filtering in through her office windows. Beth doesn’t like the way it’s stirring something up in her gut, warm and slow like sun-warmed honey.

“What,” she sighs, “do you want?”

Rio shifts in his chair, legs spreading slightly. “Just wanted to see how my business is doin’.”

“Excuse me, your business?”

“Sixty-percent, yeah? Last time I checked, that’s more than half. Which means it’s more mine than yours, sweetheart.”

Anger sparks in her chest, hot and fast. Her cheeks are warm with it. “Get out,” she demands. “Now.”

Rio leans forward. “You gonna make me?”

She’s not sure how it happened, but she’s standing almost directly in front of him. From this angle, she can see the shadow that the collar of his shirt casts across his throat.

From this angle, he has to look up at her.

“You don’t scare me,” she says, her voice a low scrape of sound.

He wants to touch her—she can feel the want radiating off him, can see the lines of his tendons as he clenches his fingers against his knees. But he doesn’t move. When it comes to—this, whatever the hell it is, he’s always let her take the lead.

She should leave, now. She should—

She can’t explain what makes her reach out, what makes her brush the tips of her fingers against his arm. His skin is smoother than she expects, the muscles of his forearm taut beneath her hand.

“Right,” he says, voice hoarse. His eyes are fixed on her. “Right, ‘cause you’re the boss, now.”

And then he’s got a hand on her, his palm curved around the meat of her thigh. His fingers skate upwards, teasing around the dress’s hem. Beth feels each point of contact like a laser, every one of her nerve endings attuned to where he’s touching her.

“Annie and Ruby are waiting for me,” she breathes.

Rio’s eyes are wildfire. “So let ‘em wait.”

His hand skims higher, and Beth spasms when the pad of his thumb slips beneath her panties. He huffs a laugh, looking so goddamn pleased with himself. “You like that, ma?”

Beth narrows her eyes, but it’s useless—her legs are quivering beneath his hands, and she knows he can feel it. “You are such an asshole,” she hisses.

“ ‘S one school of thought,” he murmurs, the words slow and husky. His eyes don’t leave her face as his fingers graze her inner thigh, and her breath catches in her throat. She still hasn’t closed up shop, and yeah, it’s the end of the day, but someone could still walk in, someone could see—

It’s dangerous, what she’s doing. It’s bad.

Pleasure sparks between her legs, and Beth has to resist the urge to clamp her thighs together. Her nails dig into his arm, and something bright flashes behind his eyes, something predatory. He’s looking at her like he wants to open her up, see what comes spilling out. See exactly what she’s made of.

You’re the boss, now.

She draws herself up slightly, chin jutting out. “You gonna take all day down there?” she says, proud that her voice stays steady. “Like I said, I have somewhere to be.”

Rio makes a noise in his throat, rumbling low like thunder, and she knows she has him. Satisfaction unfurls in her chest—and then he’s sliding a finger into her, and all coherent thought is driven from her head, lost to the rush of her pulse in her ears, the delicious stretch as he eases his way in.

It’s muscle memory that has her grasping at his shoulder, her pelvis canting into his palm to chase the friction. Rio pushes deeper, and she has to bite her lip to keep quiet. She slants her neck up toward the ceiling, her eyes shuttering.

“Like it when you boss me around,” he’s saying, dragging his finger out before pumping into her again. Beth can’t help it this time—she shudders, a soft whimper breaking past her lips. Slowly, Rio slips his finger out again, teasing lazy circles around her entrance. Beth’s hand jumps to his wrist, tugging emphatically. “Yeah,” Rio laughs, “yeah, just like that.”

“Didn’t—tell you to stop,” Beth gasps.

“Loud ‘n clear, darlin’,” Rio says, adding another finger as he plunges between the slick of her folds. Beth’s nails bite the skin on the underside of his wrist, and her stomach squirms pleasantly at his sharp intake of breath. She would die before admitting it, but the way he makes her feel, strong as steel, the exact fucking opposite of the good little porcelain doll she’s been her entire life—it’s intoxicating. She wants to drown in it, in him.

Rio crooks his fingers, hitting an angle that makes her writhe. His thumb knuckles softly against her clit, and Beth can feel the tension coiling in her belly already, everything shrinking at the edges. His breath is coming faster now, jagged like the edge of a knife, and she could come just like this, but it’s not enough. Her entire body draws taut like a bowstring at the memory of his cock inside of her, filling her up—

Beth rocks forward, rucking her dress up around her thighs as she brackets her knees around him. He tilts his pelvis to meet her, pulling his fingers out, and the sound of protest she starts to make sticks in her throat as the movement grinds her against the hard ridge of his erection. Her blood sings, hazy-hot desire jolting up the column of her spine.

Beth’s hand darts to his pants, grasping at the zipper. Rio laughs softly, both palms sliding around her ass. “I know you’re in a hurry, but damn, baby.” He squeezes, the pads of his fingers kneading into her. “I ain’t a piece of meat.”

“Shut up,” she grits between her teeth.

Rio tsks, head tilting to one side. “Manners, Elizabeth.” His hands splay, fingers caging her hips. His face is inches from hers, so close that she sees the spaces between his lashes, feels his breath when he exhales. He dips his head, mouth ghosting her clavicle. “What would those PTA bitches say,” he murmurs, each word like a brand against her skin. “Huh? You think you’re just like ‘em, but here you are, down in the shit. Rollin’ around in it.” His lips drift higher, to the hollow of her throat. “Think you’re so much better than ‘em, than me. But you ain’t.”

Anger and arousal flush through her in equal parts. He’s always known how to say to rile her up, burrow under her skin like a splinter. She can’t dislodge him, no matter how hard she tries. And the thing is, he’s not wrong. Down in the muck and the shadows, she knows who she is.

He’s shining a light on all her dirty laundry, but Beth isn’t here for that. She doesn’t owe him anything, much less the truth.

So she does the only thing that will shut him up—hooks a hand under his chin, and brings her mouth crashing down to his.

It’s not soft, and she doesn’t want it to be. They trade kisses like punches—she bites his lower lip, and in retaliation his tongue thrusts into her mouth. Her hands are everywhere; sliding around the nape of his neck, curved like claws at his jawline, pressed to his jugular. One of Rio’s hands skates up her sternum, yanking her dress and bra aside so he can tweak a nipple between his fingers. The other hand fumbles with his pants, shucking them down his thighs.

She feels when his cock springs free. He jerks his hips, and Beth gasps as the tip rubs against her cunt.

Rio snags her lower lip between his teeth, biting just hard enough to sting. “You want it?” he rasps, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He brushes her entrance again, but he pulls away slightly as she cants toward him. He’s playing with her, making her work for what she wants. Making her beg. It’s what he’s always done—why should this be any different?

Fuck that. She’s gonna take what she wants.

Beth pulls at her panties so hard she hears the fabric tear. It was a nice pair, expensive, but in this moment she couldn’t give less of a fuck. She pushes against him, swirling around the head of his cock, and she feels a pinch of triumph when he hisses through his teeth.

“You want bossy?” she says, and she almost doesn’t recognize her own voice. “Fuck me. Now.”

She locks eyes with him as he pushes inside, so she sees the moment he breaks. His jaw goes slack, his lower lip plush and jutting out in a way that’s so him, so familiar it makes her chest ache.

She’s dipping into her feelings, too close for comfort. Beth shifts her weight, pushing herself up on her knees before sinking down onto him again, and the pressure in her chest evaporates. He feels so goddamn good, stretching her out the way she remembers. Filling her up, no room for anything else.

Rio thrusts into her, sheathing his cock to the hilt, and the guttural cry that rips from her throat is entirely involuntary. She bears down on him, grinding her hips in a frenetic circle, and then he’s pumping into her harder, fucking her in earnest. The wet slap of skin on skin fills her office, punctuated by the lewd noises each of them is making.

“That’s it, ma, that’s—fuck—” Rio groans. He’s grabbing her waist so hard she’s sure she’ll have bruises tomorrow, but she doesn’t care. All she cares about is chasing the warmth that’s building in the pit of her stomach.

Beth braces her arms on his shoulders and surges up on her knees. His cock slams up into her, right against her clit, and she’s so fucking close, she can almost taste it on her tongue. He rams into her, again and again, and his thumb slips between them, circling just the right spot—

Her orgasm hits like lightning, blinding heat and static. She throws her head back in a wordless cry as all the air swoops from her lungs. She can’t breathe. She can’t—anything. She can’t remember the last time she came this hard.

(Yes, she can. It was in that fucking bathroom, his breath hot on her neck and his name stuck on her tongue).

Rio is still hard, still pumping into her, his arms solid like a wall around her. He’s the only thing holding her up. She’s still coming down, but already she can feel the embers stirring again, stoked by his nails digging half-moons into her torso, his cock inside her.

Will she ever have her fill of him?

“Desk,” she pants, jutting her chin.

His hips stutter, and his brow creases with confusion for a nanosecond before he gets it. In one swift motion, he hooks her legs around him and pivots them so that she’s on her back on the desk. Beth can vaguely feel something digging into her lumbar—a pen, maybe—but she’s too boneless to care.

Rio props himself on his forearms, framing her face. His pupils are blown wide like dinner plates, his chest heaving with how hard he’s breathing. “You cheated, mama,” he pants, fucking into her so hard that something goes crashing from her desk to the floor. “Didn’t—wait for me.”

“C’mon, then,” she breathes, digging the heels of her pumps into his back to urge him on. His eyes flash, and he ruts into her once, twice—

He spills into her with a choked-off grunt, his entire lean frame quivering.

For several moments, the only sound is the two of them breathing. The sun has dipped low in the sky outside, casting long shadows across his face. It makes him look like one of those abstract paintings, something that’s not quite real.

Beth knows what’s real. She suspects that he does, too.

But none of that matters. This will play out the same way it always does—the dust will settle, and they’ll both go back to pretending. Beth thinks they could fill up an ocean with all of the things they aren’t saying to each other.

She could do it. She could break the dam, open her mouth and ask the words that are a thorn inside her, the words she buries deep so he can’t use them against her.

What is this? What are we? Do you feel the same way I do?

What now, her heartbeat says, pounding a cadence against her ribs. What now what now what now—

Rio rolls off her, tucking himself back into his pants. She feels the loss of physical contact like a sucker punch, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to reach for him. For a moment, she just lies there, eyes to the ceiling as she wills her jackhammer pulse to settle.

When she pushes herself up from the desk, he’s already halfway to the door. “You got a good gig goin’ here,” he says jerking his head at the sales floor, but his double meaning is transparent as glass. You got a good thing goin’ with me. His eyes dart to hers. “Try not to screw it up, yeah?”

“Speak for yourself,” Beth snarls, and she’s all iron again, tucking away everything soft and vulnerable.

His lips twitch. “You should wear red more,” he says, deliberately looking her up and down. Even from this distance, his gaze sears against her skin. “It suits you.”

Then he’s gone.

#brio #brio fic #beth x rio #nbc good girls #my fic

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