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duhragonball · 4 years

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (126/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[20 July, 233 Before Age. Nagaoka.]

"Okay, so Treekul's in a bad spot. She should have been more careful about who she got mixed up with. Yeah, and she shouldn't have been so eager to run off on another quest. But that's what makes Treekul cool, you know? Other alchemical historians? They just sit in libraries all day, poring over dusty holo-fiches. But Treekul goes out and finds things. And for once, she had backup. Two Saiyans, Lesseri and Endive, and then we picked up a third, Guwar. With their support, I could discover all sorts of artifacts."

Treekul stopped, shook her head, and gestured to slow down. "I mean she could discover," she said. "Sorry. My therapist always told me this works better if I refer to myself in the third person. You'd think I'd be used to this by now, but I-- but Treekul's under a little more stress than usual. Like I said, it was handy to have three Saiyans backing her up, even if they only wanted her to find things for them, at least she knew no one would mess with her. And she scored some decent leads along the way. There's a treasure trove of artifacts in that penthouse on Quadzityz, assuming it survived the war. Lesseri and Endive killed the owner and wrecked the security systems, and most of that stuff isn't even valuable to anyone else. Nothing to stop Treekul from walking in and helping herself. Another paper for the academic journals. If she ever makes it out of this mess, that is."

She began to pace back and forth around her modest living quarters. The strips of red fabric that made up her "robes" trailed behind her legs as she walked.

"The Saiyans were looking for a cult," she continued. "And Treekul heard it was named after 'jindan', an alchemical term for mercuric sulfide. Or, rather, the fundamental principle that mercuric sulfide represents. So she saw an opportunity and agreed to help them find this cult, using her expertise with a geomantic compass. Guwar was a mathematician, if you can believe that, so he helped out with the calculations. He was a really nice guy. Bit of an inferiority complex, but I get the feeling that goes for every Saiyan."

She stopped herself again. "Not 'was', 'is'. Guwar is a nice guy," she said. "Just because no one's told me what happened to him doesn't necessarily mean he got killed in the war. It's just... Treekul could really use his help right now. Or even if he can't help, it'd be nice if he were here to listen to her, like he did back on the ship, before they found the Jindan cult.

"Turns out the cult was real all along, and they leave just enough bread crumbs out there so that other Saiyans can find them. Their leader is the Saiyan King, Rehval III, but here, he calls himself 'Trismegistus', a reference to the Thrice Blessed alchemist from ancient writings. Rehval seems to think he's uncovered some great secret, something that makes him the greatest alchemist ever, and from what I've seen, he might be right about that. His Jindan potion makes Saiyans even stronger, and he must have thousands of them working for him. Only trouble is that they have to give up their free will. Rehval tells them what to eat, when to sleep, they all have sex in some 'breeding pit' thing that I don't even want to think about..."

She paused to rub the bridge of her nose, then ran her hand over the short green hair on her lavender scalp. It was normally a satisfying feeling for her, but not this time, her hair was too long for that by now.

"The others all did whatever Rehval told them to. All they cared about was power. They brought Treekul here, and no one was interested in how she got home. No payday, no paper, no treasure trove of artifacts. Instead, Rehval decided to keep her as some sort of alien pet. He thinks he can train her to be an alchemist, and so far he hasn't done too bad a job of it, at least when he's not creeping on her. It makes me... It makes her want to scream. But that's okay. It's okay for her to be frightened. She's never been this afraid, and she's got good reason to be."

She stopped pacing and looked intently in the direction of her bed. "So here's the good news. Treekul has options. Sure, she's not any closer to getting off this planet than when she first arrived, but she hasn't been wasting time either. Treekul didn't get this far without being resourceful. She can be absolutely terrified and still get herself out of this. That's what makes her strong."

She went to a small writing desk along the wall of her room and picked up a scroll. It carried a faint odor of rotten eggs and olefins. "Rehval's convinced that she'll become his apprentice, I guess ruling over the Saiyans like a god isn't enough for him, he wants to pass down his knowledge of alchemy. Well, fine. If he's as talented as he says he is, maybe he'll show Treekul a little more than he should. Something she can use to get out of here. For instance, this scroll belonging to Mirdane talks about disguising yourself perfectly, even down to smell and ki signature. If Treekul can get good enough at alchemy to figure that out, she could walk right up to the shipyard and be halfway to the next star system before anyone knew she was missing.

"I know what you're thinking: Treekul's a quick study, but she's an archaeologist who studies alchemists, not an alchemist herself, so maybe that plan is little too ambitious. Fair point. Which is why she's been working other angles. The boss wants her to play one of his priestesses, right? He's dressed her up in a cocktail dress that went through a blender. Well, that gives her access to all his brainwashed goons, and all that undeserved authority that comes with it. She hasn't heard from the acolytes who offered to show me around the hangar, but they seemed pretty enthusiastic about it. Don't worry, when they finally take her on the tour, Treekul won't spend too much time there, just enough to get a feel for the place when it's time for her to snoop around by herself.

"And if that doesn't pan out there's always Endive. Too bad about her. For a while there, I was sure she'd turn on the boss. From what I hear, Rehval does something to the cultist's memories, so they don't recognize him as the king, even of they knew him before when he ruled Planet Saiya. At some point Endive must have found out that "Trismegistus" is the same guy who killed her father, but she doesn't seem to care. He's been using her for one of his casual sex hookups for weeks now. I thought..."

She stopped and took a seat in her chair, then looked down at the red flats on her feet. "I just thought-- Treekul thought Endive was smarter than that. She was so disciplined and focused. You'd think she wouldn't be so easily manipulated, but... she's become completely devoted to him, and the scariest thing is that you can tell she knows it's wrong. But enough about her. If Endive and Lesseri won't help Treekul, then Treekul needs to forget about them."

She stood up and started pacing again. "Speaking of sex... Treekul doesn't want to go down that road, but she has to keep it in mind. Rehval has his followers convinced that he needs a rotation of women to share his bed. Something about 'balancing his bodily humors', but I think we all know he just wants to have a good time. He wants Treekul for some reason. All those women at his beck and call, and he wants the one woman on the planet who isn't interested. It's like he's waiting for her to fall madly in love with him. Yeah, good luck with that. Still... if she's going to earn his trust, she need to play along with his expectations. Maybe she ought to flirt a little, so he'll think his plan is working. He's not exactly unattractive, it's the whole 'delusions of grandeur' thing that's a turn-off."

Treekul stopped and crossed her arms as she looked at the bed. "Here's the problem. If she's not careful, he'll probably get bored with her and have her brainwashed like everyone else on this planet. Or he'll just kill her for being an alien. On the other hand, if she's too careful, and Treekul waste too much time playing the eager disciple, the he won't need to brainwash her, because she'll basically be doing it for him. Ugh! What a fix."

"Um, were you finished?"

"Huh?"

The Saiyan man lying on her bed had sat up and pointed to his ears, which were stuffed with wax. "I'm on duty in ten minutes," he said. "Unless you need me to stay here..."

Treekul gestured at her own ears for him to remove the wax, and so he did.

"Yeah, all finished," she said. "You were amazing, Zhoybok."

"It's an honor, madam priestess," he said as he rose from the bed, "but I really don't understand your species' mating practices. You didn't even touch me the whole time."

"Oh, you don't remember any of it, then?" Treekul asked in mock concern. "I guess the psychic vibrations must have been beyond your comprehension. That happens with aliens who lack the secret eighth sense my people have. You probably just hallucinated me pacing around and talking to myself."

Zhoybok was astonished. "As a matter of fact, I did!"

"To tell you the truth, a lot of my kind frown on this sort of thing. They think it's perverse to have this level of intimacy with life forms who can't experience it properly. But for me, I think that's part of the thrill. It's so... savage, don't you think?"

Zhoybok wasn't sure what to say, but he wasn't interested in disputing the words of a priestess, so he accepted her compliments and excused himself. Once he was gone, Treekul shook her head and lay down on the bed. Lying was tiring work, even to someone as gullible as Zhoybok.

"I really need to get more comfortable about talking to myself," she said.

*******

[20 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

There were only four people aboard Luffa's star-yacht, which now criss-crossed the worlds of the Federation in a frantic effort to keep pace with the Jindan Cult's attacks. The Federation defenses were spread thin, and if any invading ship managed to land on a planet, there were few who could stand up to the alchemically-empowered Saiyans inside. Luffa was getting better at fighting them, but their numbers were beginning to take a toll on her body. Dr. Topsas, her personal physician, had found ways to heal her in time for the next battle, while the clairvoyant Dotz had proven handy at predicting attacks before they happened, so Luffa could plan her travel. The fourth passenger on board, Zatte, was Luffa's wife, and she was beginning to wonder if she served any useful purpose here at all.

"That's ridiculous," Wampaaan'riix said when she shared her frustrations with him over the subspace radio. The Yetitan looked as enormous as ever, despite the desktop monitor scaling down his nine-foot-tall frame. "You practically operate the entire ship by yourself."

"So did Keda," Zatte said. She was rubbing the muscles in her arms and legs while she spoke to him. "And she did it better than I ever could."

"And you find no honor in succeeding a fallen comrade?" Wampaan'riix asked.

"It's not enough," Zatte said. "Keda didn't recognize Luffa as a xan-nil'Dor. For her, Luffa was a friend, and sort of a business partner, I guess you could say. For me, she's my wife, and an instrument of Providence. I have to do better. Especially now."

It was almost impossible to read his expressions through the coat of long white hair that covered most of his face, but the way Wampaaan'riix narrowed his eyes was unmistakable. "You're not thinking of going with her into the field?" he asked warily.

"I already have," Zatte said. "At first it seemed to be just what I wanted. I'd set up somewhere safe and shoot down cultists to keep them off Luffa's back. Trouble is, she took it as a challenge. Lately, she's been making it her business to take out the enemy before I can get a shot off. And that's romantic and all, but--"

"You two are insane," Wampaaan'riix grumbled.

"Look, I have to be there for her," Zatte said. She had moved on to stretching her hamstrings. "She's fighting a war against her own kind. Even the Saiyans on our side don't fully trust her. She doesn't let it show, but I know how much it eats at her. I can't imagine what it would be like to fight other Dorluns."

"I agree, she needs your support," Wampaaan'riix said. "But if you keep pushing yourself you may not be there when she needs it the most. This Dotz woman. She can predict the enemy attacks, can't she? Why not ask her for help? If she can tell Luffa where to go and when, then she can do the same for you, right?"

"That's the problem," Zatte said. "Dotz can't see Luffa's fate, only the planets and battles that lie ahead. We only know Luffa will get involved when Luffa decides to intervene."

"Strange, but even if that's true, why not see what Dotz can read about your own future?" Wampaaan'riix suggested. "I'm surprised you haven't already. You're a survivalist after all."

"I... I can't," Zatte said. She rose from the foam mat on the deck of her cabin and approached the desk.

"Well why not?" Wampaaan'riix asked. "It can't be a moral objection. You seem to have no problem with any of Dotz' other readings."

"Look, I... I have to go. I'll call you back, okay?"

"Just promise me you'll do it in the daytime," Wampaaan'riix groaned. "I know you've been in space a long time, but my den is on a different day-night cycle than--"

She hastily switched off the monitor, and a second later Luffa entered the cabin.

"I set the slow cooker for three hours," Luffa said as she rubbed her hands together. "How long before we get to Dodjem?"

"Tomorrow morning," Zatte said. They met in the center of the cabin and embraced.

"Dotz thinks there'll be ten Jindan Saiyans there," Luffa said with a smile. "Should be interesting."

"I'm going with you," Zatte insisted.

"Oh, I can handle ten," Luffa assured her.

"Then I'll watch you through my scope," Zatte said. "Or I'll shoot a few down for you, but either way, I'm coming along."

"Heh. Okay. You worry too much, you know that?"

"Someone has to," Zatte said. "Dotz still can't see your future, you know."

"Well, her other predictions are getting better," Luffa said. "On Shoust IV, she managed to get an accurate count on the enemy. She even located them to within a one mile radius. I think her powers are really coming along."

"Yeah, but she can't see your future."

"Does that still bother you?" Luffa asked.

Zatte tightened her grip on Luffa's torso and swung her onto the nearby bed. A moment later, she was had climbed on top of Luffa, planting her hands on her shoulders.

"No, it doesn't," Zatte said. "Not anymore."

"I'm not sure how to respond to that," Luffa said with a grin.

"I thought about it," Zatte said after giving her a long kiss. "I prayed about it too. Is it all right if I light some candles?"

"Uh, sure, knock yourself out," Luffa said.

Zatte rolled off of Luffa and went to a storage cabinet on the other side if her cabin. She removed four candles and laid them on the floor in a trapezoid formation surrounding the bed. After she lit each one, she got back in bed and knelt beside Luffa.

"Is the scent too much for you?" Zatte asked. "I know how sensitive your nose is."

"It's fine," Luffa said. "Smells kind of nice, really."

"It's not exactly sacred," Zatte said. The incense is just to keep insects away during religious observances. It makes me feel closer to Providence, though. So does this."

She placed her hand on Luffa's neck, and rested her thumb where she could take her pulse. The she took a deep breath and muttered something in her native language.

"Uh, what's going on here, exactly?" Luffa asked.

"I realized that I was letting Dotz' abilities cloud my faith in you," Zatte said. "I promised myself that I wouldn't ask her to read my future. I was worried that she might find out that I end up living without you somehow."

"I won't leave you, Zattie," Luffa said. "We've had our ups and downs, but you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I have to trust that," Zatte said. "That's why I can't let Dotz's predictions bother me. She's getting better at them, but not when it comes to you. That scared me for a while, so I started meditating on it."

"Go on," Luffa said carefully.

"I came to realize that it makes sense that Dotz can't see your fate, because you're part of the Divine Plan. If she knew what you were going to do and when, then it would be like she was seeing into the mind of Providence."

"Or maybe I'm just so powerful that my ki interferes with her readings," Luffa suggested.

"Sure, that could be all it is," Zatte said. "But I like the version that supports my fanatic devotion to you."

She leaned over to kiss Luffa, still taking her pulse as they embraced. Luffa pulled away gently, and shook her head.

"You know how uncomfortable I get with this stuff," she said.

"I know," Zatte said. "But you keep getting hurt out there, and Dotz doesn't know what will happen next, so this is how I cope."

"I mean, you tell me I'm like God's righteous bludgeon or something, but the other night you... well, it was great, but maybe it was sacrilegious?"

Zatte straddled Luffa again, and held down her shoulders. "It's okay," she said. "Sex is a consecration ritual in my culture."

"Oh yeah?" Luffa asked.

"Dorluns value survival. People don't usually have sex while they're being chased by predators. They do it when they're safe and secure. And it can bring about new life."

"Huh. Maybe that's why my own people are so uptight about it," Luffa said. "In public, I mean. I've always had... ah!... mixed feelings about being safe."

"It's all in how you look at it. We're flying through a vacuum, faster than the speed of light, through a war zone, on a pleasure craft with no crew. And we're not exactly dressed for action right now. But if you're still bored, I'll... mmph!... I'll see if I can keep you amused for a while."

*******

[21 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

The battle on Dodjem went as smoothly as could be expected. Dotz' prophecies were mostly accurate, and Luffa was able to surprise the enemy before they noticed her ship. They fought back ferociously, and Luffa's right shoulder was scorched by a ki attack, but Dr. Topsas was confident that he could heal this in a matter of days. Dodjem was liberated in less than two hours, and Luffa proceeded on her way to the next battle Dotz had predicted, in the Ryllax System.

"Careful," Luffa said, guiding Zatte's hand away from her banadaged shoulder. She had set up the slow cooker once again, and the two of them had convened in Zatte's cabin.

"Does it hurt?" Zatte asked as she gingerly lifted Luffa's blood-stained shirt over her head and other arm.

"Sure it hurts, but that's not the point," Luffa said. "Doc'll really be sore if you mess up his bandanges."

"It's a wonder the whole ship isn't full of this stuff," Zatte said. She tossed the shirt at the laundry receptacle, but it hit the rim and fell out instead. "I mean, where does he put it all after he cuts it off of you?"

"He eats it," Luffa said.

"You're kidding."

"No, seriously. I've seen him do it. He makes all of these bandages from his own webbing. It takes a lot of protein to make that work, so he doesn't like to waste it."

"I had no idea," Zatte said. "You think you know a guy... whuh--!"

Luffa pulled her close with her good arm. "Forget about him for now. I wanted to talk about that shot you took back on Dodjem."

Zatte's expression shifted from genuine surprise to feigned innocence. "Oh, did that bother you, darling?"

"I thought one of those Jindan bastards found you," Luffa said. "I had one of them wide open, ready to kill, and I had to pass it up so I could chase the other one down before he found you."

"He had no idea where I was hiding," Zatte boasted.

"I know," Luffa said. "Even I couldn't find you. How am I supposed to watch your back if I don't even know where you are? You're taking a big risk out there, you know that, right?"

"That's the way," Zatte said. "Talk dirty to me."

"Oh, I'll do more than talk before I'm through with you," Luffa said with a grin. "I'll-- dammit..."

She rolled away from Zatte and drew her arms to her chest.

"Let me see," Zatte said.

"It's nothing," Luffa insisted. "Just give me a minute."

"Let me see," Zatte insisted back. Luffa made an irritated grunt, but didn't resist when Zatte took her hands in her own.

"I was starting to think your hands had stopped trembling," Zatte said as she massaged Luffa's palms. It didn't actually do anything to improve the situation, but it made them both feel better when she did this. "I haven't seen you stuff them in your pockets much lately."

"It's... it's not as bad as it used to be," Luffa said. "I haven't been able to spend a lot of time with Katem, but I think it still helps. Maybe it's all your prayers."

"He's kind of a hot mess," Zatte said.

"Just like his mom, huh?" Luffa chuckled.

"You're not a bad mother, Luffa. What happened wasn't your fault."

"I know," Luffa said. "It doesn't help much, but I know."

"You're still worked up about Fytpall, aren't you?" Zatte asked.

"I've seen worse in my time," Luffa said.

"Maybe, but you were pretty shaken up when you came back from that one," Zatte said. "You don't usually stick around and see what the civilians are going through."

"I'm just... I'm not strong enough, Zattie. I know that sounds stupid coming from me, but I know I could do better than this. If I was just a little better, I could..."

"You're good enough, okay? And maybe you can get stronger, but you can't just get there instantly. It's like you always tell me when we spar."

Luffa didn't say anything, but her heavy sigh was response enough. Zatte continued to rub her thumbs into the scars on Luffa's hands.

"You don't have to be tough for me," Zatte said. "It's okay. It's okay."

Soon enough, the tremors in Luffa's hands subsided, and they went back to what they were doing, although the mood had shifted from flirtation to comfort. Within thirty minutes, their clothes lay on the deck, and they were entangled in the sheets. Zatte occasionally said something in her own language, and kept her finger on Luffa's carotid artery as she muttered to herself. Eventually, she sat up and cradled Luffa's upper body in her lap.

*******

[24 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

"I was so busy favoring my shoulder that I left my knee wide open!" Luffa grumbled. The campaign on Ryllax had ended hours ago, but Luffa's clothes and hair still carried the scent of Ryllaxian pollens from the battlefield.

"Are you going to make it to Eirzee IV?" Zatte asked as she carried Luffa's pants to the laundry receptacle. She took in the strange aroma one last time before shoving the clothes into the hatch.

"Oh, sure," Luffa said. "Doc repaired the worst of it, and I'll have to play it more carefully, but now he's gonna kick me out of the kitchen!"

"You don't know that," Zatte said.

"I can practically hear him, Zattie," Luffa said. "'Saving planets is one thing, but I'll not have you undoing all my work making a casserole, little mammal.'"

"What, now you can see the future, too?" Zatte asked. She was setting up candles around the bed again.

"Heh, maybe. I guess Old Darbock's genes are finally kicking in," Luffa said. "But it looks like I only know how to predict cranky doctors, so Dotz's job is probably safe."

"Well, I hate to take sides, but we can get by on leftovers for a while," Zatte said. "You cook too much food anyway."

Luffa lay back in the bed and groaned. "Still? I keep cutting the portions down for you guys, and it's still too much? That's insane..."

"I'm going to do my litany now," Zatte said. "Any requests?"

"I, uh, I don't think so," Luffa said. "Well, bless Dotz again. And Doc, and the others. And yourself."

Zatte began speaking slowly and methodically, reciting lines from the Dorlun Holybook in her alien tongue. Luffa only knew bits and pieces of her language, but Zatte had been happy to translate for her whenever she asked.

Luffa felt strange whenever her wife did these kinds of observances. She had never been comfortable with being a "chosen one" in Zatte's theology-- or anyone else's, for that matter. And yet, watching this woman pray over her so fervently was somehow inspiring. Zatte had suffered so much in her life, and yet she refused to abandon her principles. It reminded her of Saiyan pride, though Luffa supposed that most beings would just call it stubbornness. Zatte was too zealous to give up hope.

"Thank you for letting me do this," Zatte said when she finished.

"No problem," Luffa said. "Your language is pretty."

She leaned over and fetched a bottle of oil from the edge of the bed. Carefully, she dispensed a small portion onto her fingers, then dabbed it on Luffa's throat and wrists, tracing along the path of major blood vessels.

"All done," Zatte said.

"You've been really ramping up the religious stuff lately," Luffa said. "The litanies, the candles, the oil. I don't really get it myself, but is it helping you?"

"I think so," Zatte said. "The Dorluns prefer not to waste resources on empty ceremony. Some types of xan-nil'Dor call for physical labor. Farming a plot of land, or defending an important place. You, though, well, you're damn near invincible, so you're pretty low-maintenance. I just need something to do. A routine to renew my devotion to your cause."

"Like a practice drill," Luffa said.

Zatte rose from the bed and started putting out the candles. "Yeah, I guess you could call it that. I may not be able to stop your hands from shaking, but at least I can show that I care. I think that's worth doing."

"Maybe," Luffa said. "It's not a big deal. They don't interfere with my fighting."

Zatte lay down beside her and took her hands in her own. "It just reminds me of what you've been through. I can't take away your pain, but I can try to empathize. You taught me how important that is."

"I taught you?"

"Sure. You're the most compassionate person I know."

*******

[27 July, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

Dr. Topsas did not order Luffa out of the kitchen, though after the battle on Gairess, he began to wish he had. He implored Luffa to wait before heading off into another battle, but the point was moot. Dotz had no new predictions, and so Luffa found herself with no choice but to wait. Once more, she spent the evening in her wife's cabin.

"I... I gotta admit," Zatte said as she tried to catch her breath. "Even with the broken ribs... you really--"

"Is this messed up?" Luffa suddenly asked.

"Is what messed up?"

Luffa pointed at herself and then at Zatte. "Us," she said. "I mean, you've got the candles set up, you say a prayer before we go to bed, and then we talk about almost getting killed to get in the mood."

"Don't forget the sparring," Zatte said.

"You know, I never sparred with Kandai," Luffa said. "He never wanted to, and I never questioned it. He was so much stronger than me that he didn't see the point. But the gap between you and me is even bigger, and I love sparring with you."

"We're aliens," Zatte said. "I'm cut off from my own people and you're unique among yours. There's nothing conventional about us."

"I know, but... Zattie, are you ever afraid?"

"Of course," Zatte said. "Fear keeps you alive."

"I mean, are your afraid right now?" Luffa asked.

"Here? With you?" Zatte asked. "No. Are you afraid?"

"Yeah," Luffa said.

"About the war? Your son?"

"I'm afraid I'm not good enough," Luffa said. I feel like I'm gonna screw this up. Like I have before."

She reached for Zatte's face, and gently removed the patch from her right eye, revealing the scar tissue and prosthetic implant underneath.

"If it's me you're worried about..." Zatte began, but Luffa put her finger on her lips to silence her.

"I know, you're prepared to burn for me, or suffer whatever it takes, right? I wish I had a tenth of your courage. I wish... well, I wish there was some other Super Saiyan handling this."

"Aren't you always saying you're stronger than they were?" Zatte asked.

"Maybe I am, but I bet the old heroes never had to deal with the kind of baggage I've got."

"This is about your hands, isn't it?" Zatte asked. She took Luffa's palms into her own, and held them steady in case they began to tremble.

"It was four years ago," Luffa said. "I should have gotten over it by now. I should have gotten over Keda's death, I should have gotten over everything... The old heroes never had to deal with this sort of thing. They just fought and won. Nice and simple. I'm fighting, and I'm winning, but I keep dwelling on it all. Worrying about battles from the past, wondering how I'm going to do in the next ones."

"Maybe they had it just as bad," Zatte said. "Maybe the storytellers just left those parts out."

"Sometimes I wish things were different, you know? You told me before this is exactly how you wanted things to be, but I bet you'd like it better with Keda still alive. Or hell, the rest of the colony."

"But they're not alive, Luffa," Zatte said. "I have to accept that they're gone."

"I could have saved them all," Luffa said. "I had the power. I must have had it inside me all along. If only I had known how to use it then. When it would have mattered. If only I wasn't such a coward..."

"Don't say things like that!" Zatte said. "I know you use that kind of talk to get yourself fired up, but I don't want you believing that sort of thing. You're the bravest person I know."

"It's not enough," Luffa said. "That's what I worry about, anyway."

"And that's what the candles and the prayers are for," Zatte said. She lifted Luffa's hands slightly. "I don't just pray for the tremors to stop," she said. "I pray that the tremors won't interfere with your mission. I pray that you can accept what you are the way I do. You know why?"

Luffa didn't answer, so she lay down beside her and took her hand.

"Maybe you're right, and maybe another Super Saiyan could deal with this better than you could. You've told me that you think there might be another one like you, a thousand years from now. Well, I don't think the universe can wait that long. I think we need a Super Saiyan right now, and you're it."

"You're right," Luffa said. "It's just hard to see it that way from the inside. All these fights I've been having with these cultists, they start to run together after a while. It'd be different if they were stronger, or if I could come at them healthy. But they keep chipping away at me, and there doesn't seem to be any end to it..."

"We've got some time, at least," Zatte said. "Dotz hasn't seen anything new coming up, right? Remember how you used to fly over the coastlines on Luffasworld?"

"Yeah," Luffa said, "but that's way out in the galactic core. By the time we got there--"

Zatte put a finger on her lips. "I know that, but Woshad's not far away. We could take a few days to look around there."

Luffa seemed pleased by the suggestion, but before she could speak, a chirping noise sounded from the cabin's intercom, and both women looked up to see the light blinking on the panel on the wall.

"Um, this is Dotz," came the voice through the speaker. "Well, um, the service robot told me I could talk to the whole ship this way, and I thought it might be faster than trying to find everyone. Despye's been attacked. Or, well, it will be in about twenty hours. It looks pretty bad to me. I saw about twenty Saiyans, and one of those rock creatures they use."

"Oh no..." Zatte said.

"I, uh, set a course for Despye," Dotz continued, "and we should be heading there now, but I thought one of you should check to make sure I did it right. I'm still getting used to the helm controls..."

"We won't get there in twenty hours," Luffa grumbled. "Those bastards will have a head start, again. Even if the fleet can get there before us--"

"I know, I'll take care of it," Zatte said. She rolled out of the bed and went to find her clothes. "You need to get some sleep."

"Fine, but make sure you get some yourself," Luffa said. "I mean... you're going with me, right?"

"So I can watch you wipe them out before I can even line up a shot?" Zatte asked. "Sure, if you want me to."

"Actually," Luffa said as she patted her swollen knee, "I was thinking I might lure a few in for you to shoot. Make things a little easier. For Doc, you know?"

Zatte grinned as she pulled her shirt over her head, and most of that smile was still there when she turned to look back at Luffa. "For Dr. Topsas," she said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Makes sense. He's been working pretty hard lately."

"Just don't stay up all night cleaning your guns, okay?" Luffa muttered.

Zatte pulled on a pair of shorts and headed for the door. "Anything you say," she chuckled as she headed out into the corridor.

NEXT: Rats in mazes.

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #super saiyan #luffa #zatte #treekul #wampaaan'riix #zhoybok #nagaoka

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thinkingeek · 4 years

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#1 The Perpetual State of Loneliness

Hi. I am a person living in the sad world of 2019, soon to be 2020 and I must say, the world hasn’t been as good for me as it is now. This is quite a weird time for me, I am enrolled into a film school which shows zero to no credibility, I have dropped out of my engineering course because it made anxious and depressed, I have no big financial backing or anything else except a few friends to achieve what I want to. Still, I am not scared of the future. And believe me I know what being scared for the future is. I constantly experienced that when I was doing engineering course. But today is not about my or the world’s future. Today is about the only thing which stuck with me from childhood till now, and as sad as it may be, it is the only thing that defines me more than a mass floating on a ball of quarks in the milky way galaxy, LONELINESS.

When I was a child, I had friends and they used to change everyday. Some were constant therefore too boring the others, AMAZING but for just a day or two. But it was fine. It wasn’t until the demons of puberty hit me with their hormones I started to experience something called embarrassment and this idea of “caring what other people think”.

This idea gets a bad rep. It is important to care what others think or else we won’t have a civilization, will we? The idea of a rogue who is just pleasing himself with his work and people stick around because he is dipped in molten gold by the Gods of Metallurgy is a romantic idea and also not true. At Least not for me. I need people, I live off their happiness. It’s one of the reasons I became a filmmaker. When you simulate laughter or terror or sadness or any other emotion for that matter on a human being, it is the most awesome thing ever.

Anyway, last four years of my life were the toughest to live. Multiple suicide contemplations, a dramatically annoying snobbish attitude towards the people around me (as if I know some sad secret of living on earth and they don’t), an all time rejection of everything anyone ever said to me and continuous fear of the future so much so that I preferred closing my eyes than opening them to face the world. This took a massive toll on my relations with everyone around me. People thought I was judging them and I thought they were judging me and in the most dramatic sense, all my friends broke off. It isn’t something you see in a movie, where there is a big fight. Nope. You just stop getting any calls. It was a year or two in this period of my life I realised I was extremely lonely and in need of belonging. Family’s fine but I needed friends. But this goal had a problem, and the problem was I didn’t know where do you go to make friends. I mean, is there a gift shop where I can buy any, or is there some app, remarkably enough there is but things hardly go beyond chats on phone there. This was the time films became my window towards humanity. I was frequently implied a misanthrope by some people around me. And they were kinda’ right as well. They knew I reek of loneliness but I know that I had a desire for belonging, the third from the bottom of the Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Yep. That’s the image linked down below.

So my solution for achieving that desire for belonging was by attacking the last piece of the pyramid, The Self Actualization part by making things. I wasn’t making things you can touch. These were programs run from a computer. I thought that if I were to be a cool guy who knows so much about computers (Yes. Computers are cool where I live) people will come to me with to fulfill my need for love and belonging. This was an extremely naive idea which in a way helped me with other things but obviously didn’t work for accomplishing that third monster on that damned pyramid.

This was also the time I was addicted to the internet, YouTube especially. The people I was watching were cool. They were great and they were living great lives. They were getting so many people who knew and cared about them. And I wanted to be that. So I also start a YouTube channel. It went so far to gain me 3000 eyeballs and the feeling of looking at the view-count is just as monolithic and misanthropic as the word “eyeballs”. This was my life for the last four years, a continuous search for belongingness with the pressure of engineering and future.

Something changed in 2019 though, the best decision of my life was taken by my misanthropic self. And that was to dropout. I had watched a lot of videos about not dropping out on YouTube and all of them focused a lot on this idea that you will have extreme “inferiority complex” once you drop out which obviously will drive me away from my belongingness needs so I held back to drop out unless the academics of engineering was unbearable for me and I quit.

I enrolled myself into a film school in a different city which sprung from a theory that “I can always lie about me not being a dropout and it will be fine.” which I must say, was not at all a bad idea.

I am back home now for my winter break and the happiest in years. I still reek of loneliness but so do my friends there in film school, some don’t and they are uncool for us. On the contrary to what I planned, I didn’t lie about me being a dropout, rather I was the most honest I had ever been in my life. I continuously speak about loneliness and my past life with my friends and many of them compete to tell their stories of similar nature. I still don’t know if it’s just me and a few around me who experience this or is everyone in the constant struggle to attain people and failing at it and I think the second one might be true but I don’t know.

I am writing this post because I am back in my city and I have no one to talk to. I am 20 years old, in the first year of my film school, clueless about future, single (never had a single girlfriend in my life except one time for one year), not cool, kind of ugly, but happy. Comfortable.

Loneliness is fine. It is something which gets on your nerves and trust me I am feeling lonely right now but IT IS FINE! Loneliness, like every single problem with our brains, can only be temporarily fixed by talking to someone you like and someone who likes you. For me, it is my family. Yes, boring but there. Not someone I need to spend all my efforts chasing and tracking down.

Now, is it that I don’t want anything from life now? Hell NOOOO! There are a lot of things I want and a lot to do and a lot of people to meet. I want a girlfriend, I want to make an oscar winning blockbuster, I want to buy a house and have a cat and have children and tell my stories to them and help them get through their problems and die with every single one who matters to me by my side. I want all of it. But right now, I want to click post soon enough to get this out of my system, that’s all.

#tumblr diary #loneliness #first post

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gatewaygeek · 6 years

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A fic I've always wanted to read...

Vulcans allow Humans to stay on Vulcan after a natural disaster destroys Earth (and several billion people). Humans have dwindled in numbers, it went from 7 billion to 3 million. Everything is going fine until Vulcans decide to segregate, noticing how Vulcan younglings are expressing human actions.

The Humans do not argue. It is their planet, the humans sre simply living on it. Most begin to dedicate their lives to building a warp-capable ship to take them to a new colony. When the next generations come, interest is lost in leaving. This is home now.

The human young now have PADDs. One kid climbs to the top of a building and takes a picture over the wall and posts it online; it goes viral in hours.

There is now a picture of Vulcan society, advanced, clean, and unperturbed. The human young are angry. They want a revolution. The adults don't want to seem ungrateful, they tell the young to mind their manners and stop spensing so much time on their PADDs. Some even get them taken away.

In an attempt to calm the nerves of the young, the Humans and the Vulcans decide to elect one child to attend a Vulcan school, to test if the humans are ready for integration. That child was a young boy named Jim Kirk, with no father and a mother who makes minimum wage. His brother had to take up a job at age sixteen to get Jim new clothes for school and help pay the bills. He makes even less.

Jim is ecstatic. He can't wait to learn new things. He is given advice from his mother the day he goes to school.

"Don't mind them, Jimmy. Don't you mind them one bit. They ain't like you, they ain't got the right to judge you. Only God and your Momma can do that." She sends him off with a kiss on his forehead.

That day, Jim is stared at and whispered about, but he's incredibly shy about being there, so he doesn't say anything. He only speaks in the learning pits.

His pit had been programmed to be more fit for his own mind and to become increasingly harder over time. The Vulcan High Council is surprised to see that Jim does well, even when he gets into Quadratic equations, Advanced Chemistry, and Physics. He is accused of cheating. When asked his perspective, Jim says simply;

"It's all numbers, sir. Numbers aren't difficult. It's all just countin', right? Momma always said that if I can do well in Math, I'd be goin' places... I didn't wanna disappoint her."

This attracts the attention of a young Vulcan boy, a few years older than Jim. The Vulcan ambassador's son; Spock.

Jim is packing up one day when the bullies start to come. They tell him his learning pit is easy, that they'll never integrate, that the humans are inferior beings that don't deserve their patience. Jim is pushed down, and his PADD gets broken. Spock intervenes swiftly, tells them to leave at once. Jim is looking at his PADD, lips taut and tears in his eyes that he is trying hard to keep in. Spock frowns.

"You are crying." Jim wipes his tears, frustrated.

"I apologize for the display of emotion." The words are routine. "Thank you for assisting me." Spock leans down and helps Jim up.

"It is of no inconvenience to me. What is your name?" The human looks up at him.

"I'm James Tiberius Kirk, Sir." Spock lifts the ta'al.

"Greetings, James Tiberius Kirk. I am Spock." Jim lifts his shaking hand and does his best to return the gesture.

"You can call me Jim, if you want. Saying my full name is extensive."

"Jim." He looks at the device in Jim's other hand, and notices that the screen is cracked. "Your PADD is broken."

"Yeah... That's the third one this month. My mom's gonna have a coniption. Can't afford to get this one fixed."

"I see." Spock takes out his PADD. "You may borrow mine. I will get yours fixed." Jim looks hopeful.

"Really?"

"Indeed. The passcode is 01 13 01 14 04 01." The two switch PADDs.

"Thank you so much, Spock."

"You are welcome, Jim."

"Spock," a deep voice said, and Spock looked at a taller Vulcan. "Your caretaker has arrived. You must go."

"Yes, Sa-mekh." Spock looked back to Jim, and lifted the ta'al once more. "Farewell, James Kirk. Live long and prosper." Jim lifted the ta'al again, being careful not to drop the PADD.

"Peace and long life. Farewell, Spock." The two Vulcans left, and Jim was left with Spock's PADD.

Spock fixes the PADD with little issue, and is surprised to see there is no passcode on it. He justifies his snooping by assuring himself it's only to make sure all the settings work. He reads through messages, looks through pictures, looks at his study material, reads human literature, listens to human music, and eventually finds Jim's personal log. He is almost brought to tears; the human suffers often. He admits he doesn't eat regularly, so that they'll be able to afford heat. He admits he wants a job, maybe then they'll be able to save up for the lavender sweater his mother wanted for her birthday last month. He admits he has an anxiety disorder, and can't afford help. He admits he missed his father, despite never having met him. He admits that Vulcan is not home, Jim never really thought he had a home, and he admitted that the lack of one leaves Jim feeling uneasy.

But what gets to Spock the most is the most recent one.

He says how excited he is to go to the Vulcan Learning Center. He says he wants to learn everything he can, he wants to make friends, he wants to experience life outside the Human Expanse (the territory given to the Humans upon arrival). He doesn't want to let his mother and brother down.

"Momma told me not to mind any of 'em. But if I don't, how do I know if I'm doin' well? It's difficult, but I'm doin' better than they thought I would. That gives me hope that maybe Vulcans and Humans can live together. Maybe I'll find a home there."

Jim uses the PADD to study. He is enthralled by all the new information, and spends the whole night reading the Teachings of Surak. He understands more complex math equations, writing them down and spending hours solving them. He memorized the diagram of warp cores, and Vulcan anatomy. He was ecstatic.

The next day, Jim performs with flying colors, meets ever challenge head-on because he understands. Finally, he understands! He loves studying the Vulcan material, and when it came time to exchange PADDs with Spock, he was sad to watch it go. Spock notices, and asks why.

"Your studying feature is so much more interesting compared to mine," he admitted. "I read all of Surak's teachings last night."

"I... Admit that I found your human music and literature fascinating," Spock said in a quiet voice. "Perhaps we could exchange PADDs once a week?" Jim's eyes lit up, and Spock's heart stuttered.

"Really? That would be awesome!" He said, trying to keep his excitement contained. Spock didn't smile, but his eyes softened.

"Indeed. Perhaps Tuesdays would work best?"

"Sounds good to me."

"I look forward to it, James." Jim's cheeks tinted at the use of his full name.

"Me too." The two part to their shuttles home.

Spock and Jim develop their relationship through those PADDs for months. Jim would bookmark his favorite stories and illegally download songs. Spock would leave complex equations and write poetry for him. Jim starts to catch on that Spock listens to his personal log, and stops for a while before he starts talking about Spock in his personal logs. Spock makes his own personal logs. They communicate this way, as they can't exchange PADD numbers.

It's three years later, when Spock is graduating from fhe Vulcan Learning Center that Jim gets anxious. Spock assures him they will see each other, that he would miss Jim's voice. Jim kisses Spock.

Spock kisses back.

They date in secret for months before Jim is told that the integration wasn't working, and he would be sent back to the Human Expanse. Jim fights it, and Spock supports him. He takes it to court, where both humans and vulcans are in the jury. Jim is asked to make his testimony.

"Seventy two years, eight months, and twelve days ago, the Humans suffered a natural disaster that destroyed our planet. We were taken in by the Vulcans, and for that, we are grateful. We were segregates, and we didn't fight, because this is your planet. We abided by your rules.

"Seventy two years, eight months, and twelve days later, a new generation is leading a revolution. A generation that has never seen Earth. This is as much our home as it is yours; and yet, we are not seen as equal. And maybe you are right. Maybe we will never be as smart as you, or as strong. But the truth is, it doesn't matter.

"Over the past several years of my integration. I met a Vulcan, and we entered an intimate relationship. We are proof that Humans and Vulcans can work, if you give humans the same opportunities to succeed. But maybe I'm a special case. Maybe I was given a better education in the Human expanse. So, I have decided to tell you of my life prior to the integration.

"When I was three, my father died. Cancer. My mother took a job, making minimum wage, which was about eight dollars an hour. Our inflation didn't help. My brother obtained a job when he was sixteen, and he made even less. I went to public school, and often didn't eat so we could afford to stay in a heated home. Regular meals was a luxury few humans could afford.

"The Integration offered hope for me and my family. I might be able to make something of myself. But it truly would all be for naught if you took me, a human that has passed all your tests and succeeded your expectations, and put me back where I was, not given the chance to use what I have learned. I am but one man. Imagine what would happen if you exposed humans to the Teachings of Surak, taught them fairly and gave them the chance to prove themselves. Don't stop integration simply because you don't like change. We can all benefit if we work together."

Jim's voice is heard. It's his testimony that integrates Vulcan and Human society. Jim and Spock found Starfleet, a branch of the VSA to help humans catch up with the Vulcans and teach them how to reach for the stars.

#not beta read #not beta'd #spirk #this could be much longer #star trek au #star trek

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lurafita · 5 years

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Petvengers Chapter 2

I just realized that I forgot to post the other chapters here as well.

Read Chapter 1 here: Chappy 1

Again, this is also on Ao3, but I want to have duplicates, just in case.

here is the link if you want to read it on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139326/chapters/45486811

The Ao3 version has pictures of the pets!

Bucky & Sam

When Peter had invited her over to Stark tower, so that she could meet Cap's new dog Colonel, and help him brainstorm for the next step of his mission (Ned had also been invited, but had had to decline due to a surprise weekend family trip), Michelle certainly hadn't expected that they would end up sitting cross-legged and drinking hot chocolate on Natasha Romanoff's bed. Said redhead, also known as Black Widow, was sat across from them in her desk chair, sipping on her own cup of the chocolaty beverage.

Her and Michelle had chosen a simple version of the drink; dark chocolate, some milk, a pinch of cinnamon. Nothing fancy and not too sweet. Whereas Peter had doctored his cup with extra sugar, mini marshmallows, whipped cream, vanilla extract, and sprinkles. Michelle was pretty sure that that monstrosity of a drink would cause diabetes in anyone else but Peter. Looking at it alone made her teeth ache.

Hope, Peter's most loyal companion, was for once not curled up, around, or all over his owner, and had instead laid his head on Natasha's thigh, while the former Russian spy was absently scratching his scalp.

"The key to manipulating others is to know what makes them tick."

The Black Widow had found the two teens in the common floor's living room (because even though everyone living in the Stark tower had their own floor, they all somehow gravitated to this one), discussing various ideas on how to get Bucky and Sam into the animal shelter. She had lightly scolded them for talking about a mission in such an open and unsecured place, ordered them into the adjoining kitchen for hot chocolate acquisition, and then corralled them (plus pitbull) down to her own floor and into her bedroom. Satisfied with their new location, Natasha then started to give the teen's a lesson in 'Spy Work 101'.

Peter was devotedly writing everything down, though Michelle had no idea where he had procured the notebook and pen from.

"Every person has a different emotional and psychological makeup and is, therefore, susceptible to different tactics."

She took a sip from her drink. Peter specifically made a note of that.

"So, before you start with your scheme, take your time to study your target. Learn to read them and see the best approach for getting them to bend to your needs."

Peter stopped scribbling for a moment, and looked at the redhead with a frown on his face.

"Couldn't I just do what I did with Steve?"

Natasha raised a single eyebrow.

"Have you heard about the boy who cried wolf?"

Peter nodded insightful.

"Good point."

And then he wrote that down, too.

Since the chance to learn from probably the best spy/secret operative/assassin didn't come by often, Michelle decided to make the most of it.

"Do you have any tips on how to best observe our targets?"

Natasha smirked.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time that MJ and Peter observed the two men, Sam and Bucky were running through an elaborate obstacle course in the Danger Room*.

To be on a more even playing field, Bucky had taken off his vibranium arm and Sam his wings.

"You know, no one will judge you if you just give up. I mean, I will judge you... As will everyone else. But the option is there."

"Please. I'm just trying not to embarrass you too much. I could have already finished if I wanted to."

"You wanna put your money where your fucking mouth is?"

"You fucking asked for it!"

Peter and MJ made extensive notes while the other two sped up.

The next time that found the duo alone, they had somehow been ganged up on by the other Avengers into cooking for every one.

"Don't add pepper to that, it's gonna be too hot."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot that people your age have trouble handling spicy food. Want me to get out some prune juice for you? Should I puree your steak?"

"Maybe I should make some extra spinach for you, chances are you will finally put on some muscle, then. How about a glass of milk to strengthen your bones?"

"How about you shut up and give me a hand with peeling the potatoes?"

Since a picture said more than a thousand words, MJ took great care to draw the exact look on Sam Wilson's face when a detached metal arm landed right beside him.

The third time saw Bucky and Sam playing Mario Kart.

"I'm not at all surprised you chose the dinosaur. Feeling a special kinship with the fossil?"

"No more than you do with Princess Peach. What with you both being on your period."

It seemed that neither man was even out to win the race, but far more invested in hitting the other's character with an item, or pushing them off the track. When they finally crossed the finish line (after many, many swearwords; it was a good thing that Laura and Clint had taken their kids to visit Laura's parents), the two men sat back on the couch and took a long sip from their beer bottles.

Then they simultaneously turned their heads to the love seat beside the couch. The love seat that was currently occupied by one Spiderkid and one Spiderkid's friend who 'was a girl but not his girlfriend'. Who both had notebooks in their laps and pens in their hands and were staring at the men. Rather creepily.

The two pairs held eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Did you two want to play?"

The teens shook their heads.

"You need help with... homework or something?"

Peter smiled.

"Nope, we are good."

The girl waved her hand at the pair.

"Carry on."

It was 1:45 am at night when Michelle was roused from her sleep by her buzzing phone. She opened up the screen to see that she had gotten a text message from Peter.

DefinitelynotSpiderman: Calling in mission report. I'm not getting any new information. Awaiting orders.

MyfriendscallmeMJ: ... Peter, are you currently sticking to Sergeant Barnes ceiling and watching him in his sleep?

DefinitelynotSpiderman: Of course not! Ever since Bucky and Steve started dating, they moved in together on Cap's floor. Not trying to get an eye full of that! What kind of creepy stalker do you take me for?! DefinitelynotSpiderman: I'm observing Sam. DefinitelynotSpiderman: While sticking on his ceiling. DefinietlynotSpiderman: In the dark. DefinietlynotSpiderman: While he is sleeping. DefinitelynotSpiderman: It's super boring.

MyfriendscallmeMJ: Peter, go to bed.

DefinitelynotSpiderman: Roger that.

After another week of close observation (to which the men had by that time caught on and were slightly freaked out by), Peter and MJ presented their findings to Natasha.

"They are like the worlds best frenemies."

Peter had once again made himself a cup full of 'Death by sugar', while Michelle and Natasha were enjoying some very nice tea, that Peter had 'borrowed' from Dr. Strange. (It was part of the training program Natasha had thought up for him to work on his stealth abilities. He had also 'borrowed' 15 single socks from Tony, Clint's fuzzy bathrobe, two pairs of Sam's sunglasses, and just an hour ago, Steve's running shoes. He had so far not been able to slip under the guard of the Winter Solider, and flat out refused to 'borrow' anything from Bruce. Dr. Banner was the god of science and shall not be used for training exercises.)

Natasha, who was at the moment wrapped up in Clint's fuzzy bathrobe, motioned for Michelle to elaborate on Peter's statement.

"They don't miss an opportunity to poke fun at, or insult the other, but even though it may seem as such at first glance, they are never actually hurtful to each other. Mr. Wilson holds regular counseling sessions with Sergeant Barnes, which we respectfully did not intrude on, but are likely about his fighting in a war and other trauma. And Sergeant Barnes helps out with Mr. Wilson's training and helps him to figure out new strategies and maneuvers for aerial combat."

Hope hadn't joined the teens in Natasha's room this time around, as he and Colonel were currently playing with Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel on the Barton's floor, under the watchful eyes of their parents (though Clint was most likely just as excited about having the dogs for some playtime as his kids were. He was fooling no one.)

"Sam has a bit of an inferiority complex, what with both his best friends being enhanced super soldiers, and is constantly trying it one-up Bucky."

Peter continued.

"And Bucky still sometimes struggles with understanding how the present, or in his view, the future and it's course of conduct works. He wants to learn to adapt on his own terms, and doesn't like having these things explained to him like he wouldn't get it otherwise."

MJ finished their report.

"They are both headstrong and independent. They like to help others, but don't like to be in a position where they themselves need help. They are very alike in that. Which leads to everything pretty much turning into a competition between them."

Natasha smiled proudly at them.

"Very good."

They smiled back.

"Thank you, Sensei."

Cue the raised eyebrow.

"Sensei?"

Peter shyly rubbed the back of his head.

"Well, you are teaching us some of the tools of your trade. Which makes you the Obi Wan to our Skywalker. But MJ voted against calling you Master, since that title caters to a patriarchal system. But the female form 'Mistress' sounded a bit too much 'Dominatrix'. So we settled on the more respectful Japanese term of Sensei. But we will totally stop calling you that if you don't like it, Tasha."

He nervously bit his lip as they waited for Natasha's verdict, and even MJ subtly shifted a little in her seat.

"No, I like it. Feel free to use it as much as you like. So now, my prodigious students, after having studied your targets, what have you come up with?"

Her smile widened more and more as the teens told her of their plan.

---------------------------------------------------

Stage 1: Divide

Michelle found Sam in the common floor's kitchen, seemingly enjoying a cup of coffee. Peter had used the terrible combined powers of his and Hope's puppy eyes, to convince Sergeant Barnes that he wanted to go get ice cream with the teen and dog, about fifteen minutes ago. Which led into the next part of their plan.

Stage 2: Conquer

She casually strolled up to the table and sat down across from the infamous Falcon. He gave her a welcoming nod.

"Hey there, Michelle. You didn't want to go with the others to get ice cream?"

"Have you ever seen the absurdly sweet things Parker orders? I didn't feel like getting second hand diabetes today."

He snorted.

"Tell me about it. I swear I could feel my teeth starting to rot, the last time he made himself a snack. And by snack, I mean a deep fried mars bar, covered in whipped cream and wrapped in a chocolate chip pancake."

He shuddered at the memory. Then Michelle went in for the kill.

-Hook.-

"And also, I don't need to listen to Sergeant Barnes rant about your inability to let yourself appear emotionally open or vulnerable."

The man almost chocked on his coffee.

"I'm sorry, what?"

With a casual shrug and a dismissive hand gesture, the girl elaborated.

"I mean, it's not a big deal or anything. We were talking about Hope and Colonel the other day, and how Peter tricked Captain Rogers. Peter thought he should do it again, you know, with someone else from the team. That loser is absolutely certain that everyone needs a pet because, and I quote 'Animals just make everything better, MJ.'."

The statement was followed by her trademark eye roll.

"Well, in the kid's defense, there are quite a few studies about the mental and psychological benefits a close relationship with a pet can have on a person. Especially those dealing with trauma. Many of the veterans I counsel have a therapeutic companion, or emotional support animal, as they are more commonly called."

Sam couldn't help but inject, but quickly got back to the matter at hand.

"What's that about Barnes spouting bullshit, though?"

-Line.-

The teen across from him shrugged her shoulders.

"He simply stated that something like this wouldn't work on you. Since Peter's ploy heavily depended on the Captain being a 'pushover with a hero complex', and therefore unable to turn away from a 'little critter in need of love and affection'. You, on the other hand, were 'too insecure about your manliness, and wouldn't allow yourself to be seen as someone doting on an animal'. His words."

The coffee cup was set down harshly on the table, as Sam pushed himself upwards.

-And sinker.-

"He did, did he." He growled. "Insecure about my manliness, my ass. I'm gonna show that bastard... Say, do you know which shelter Pete got the dogs from?"

Michelle easily suppressed a victorious smirk, and quickly typed out the signal message on her phone for Ned to be ready with his camcorder.

"I will show you the way." He nodded in acceptance. "Great. If we come across a shop selling sunglasses on the way there, remind me to get a pair. I seem to keep misplacing mine."

------------------------------------------------------

They had taken Hope to the park first, and thrown around a Frisbee for the dog to chase after and catch. Natasha had told Peter to spend about thirty to forty minutes in the park, and after that approximately the same amount of time at the ice cream cafe, that was conveniently located halfway between the park and the shelter. (What was even better, was that this particular cafe had ice cream specifically made for dogs. So he had ordered Hope three big scoops of the dogs favorite flavor.)

While Hope was happily licking up his cold treat, and Peter was demolishing his triple banana split with extra toppings of everything, Bucky serenely drunk from his glass of frappuccino. The tranquility of the moment was only disrupted by the vibrating buzz of Peter's mobile phone, which he quickly took out of his pants pocket.

MyfriendscallmeMJ: The Falcon and his new companion have left the building. Ned is awaiting your arrival. Initiate phase 'Lonely Winter' now.

-Alright Parker-, he gave himself a mental pep talk, -your turn. Tasha and MJ have coached you through your lines all yesterday evening, you totally got this.-

"So," -maybe put a little less squeak into your voice!- "Hrm, I mean, so... You know, I think Sam is wrong."

Bucky grinned at him.

"Wilson is wrong about a lot of things. But what in particular are you referring to?"

-Get it together, Spiderman! You can totally do this! Look him in the eye and lie right to his face!-

Peter fixed his stare resolutely on the coffee table and spun his spoon around his now empty bowl.

-Coward!-

"Just something he said. Me and MJ were talking the other day, you know, about how great it would be if the others on the team would maybe adopt an animal from the shelter, too. I mean, the tower is more than big enough for it, and you can't deny that Steve has been a lot more relaxed ever since he got Colonel. You too, actually."

Bucky nodded to that. He had always had a soft spot for dogs, and really anything with big eyes and soft fur that needed his protection. He was always happy to volunteer taking both Colonel and Hope out for a walk, if Steve or Peter were busy. Just like this morning when he went jogging with Colonel, because his boyfriend refused to leave before he found his running shoes. (He hadn't found them. Bucky could have told him that the kid had them, but he was no snitch. Also, he knew very well that this was part of Natasha's stealth training, and since Peter never took things that held emotional value to their owners, Bucky was very satisfied with silently cheering the kid on.)

"Sam overheard us and said that you probably wouldn't go for it."

The Winter Soldiers eyes narrowed slightly.

"Oh?"

-Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic! Lie your heart out you french frying licorice!-

"Yeah, like, you know, he was just like 'Nah, that relic wouldn't even know how to handle all the paperwork that comes with adopting a pet. Bet they didn't have that back in 1920. Probably just ran out on the street and took home the first thing that let itself be cuddled.' Well, something along those lines, I don't remember his exact wording (-because he never said that, you lying liar who lies!- ) and he said that you would be way too proud to ask for someone to explain it to you and stuff..."

He risked glancing up from the table to gauge Bucky's reaction, and holy mother of science! If the stormy look on the man's face said anything, he had totally bought Peter's bullshit!

-Whoohoo! Good work, Spidey!-

Feeling emboldened by this, he tried his best to adopt a casual, earnest posture.

"But, I don't think Sam is right. I mean, you know how to file your taxes and stuff, and I'm pretty sure that more than half the people in New York don't know how to do that correctly. Tony always just lets Pepper handle them. And besides, you are totally awesome with Hope and Colonel, and I don't think you would let something like pride stand in your way if you wanted to adopt a pet."

Another quick glance at the Sergeant revealed a mix of fondness, contemplation, and determination.

"You know what, kid? How about we make a little detour to that shelter of yours and show Sam how very, stupidly wrong he is?"

--------------------------------------------------------

Ned had opted out of accompanying the now foursome back to the tower, as he wanted to save the new video he had made to the file he had on his computer at home. Bucky had either not cared about Peter's friend filming him, while he went through the process of adopting an animal, or hadn't realized that he had been the sole focus of the camera.

When they entered the common floor, Hope tiredly trotting over to where Colonel had laid himself down beside the love seat, they were greeted by the sight of Steve, Sam, Michelle, Natasha and Pepper readying the room for a movie night.

Peter quickly ran over to Pepper and took two of the three huge bowls of chips she was trying to balance.

"Thank you, sweetie."

"No problem. Where are the others?"

Steve answered, setting down two huge jugs of iced fruit tea on the table.

"Clint and Laura are making sure that Cooper and Lila have finished their homework before we start with the movie. Bruce wanted to go over the latest results of some kind of experiment he was running one more time, but promised to be here in half an hour at the latest. May had to fill in for a colleague, and said to tell you to eat something healthy before you stuffed yourself with junk food. Speaking of which, here."

Steve had somehow procured a plate with steamed vegetables and some rice out of nowhere, and was shoving it into Peter's hands.

The younger looked at the food suspiciously.

"Did Aunt May make this before she left?"

Steve smirked.

"No. She tried her hand on a casserole... the smell was a little... pungent, to put it mildly. And Colonel kinda buried it in the flower field on the terrace. So I whipped this up for you."

Then he held out a fork for Peter to take, while the teen smiled in relief.

"Thanks Cap!"

He quickly sat down next to MJ and Natasha and began to eat.

"Where's dad?"

Pepper laughed lightly.

"He is busy disassembling the dryer. Said the machine keeps eating his left socks. How he figures they are his left ones is beyond me, though."

Natasha helpfully slapped Peter on his back, as he valiantly tried to not choke on his food.

Sam and Bucky meanwhile, had kind of squared up against each other, both standing opposite the other, with about three feet between them, and fixing the other with a snarky, triumphant kind of expression.

Sam broke the silence first.

"So, finally made it back, did you? Did the kid and the dog have to slow down for old man Barnes?"

"We took the scenic route, something you wouldn't know about, having so little stamina."

Then, as if they had planned it, Sam whistled sharply at the same time that Bucky stuck his hand in his hoodie pocket.

The human hand came out holding a little raccoon securely in its grasp.

"This is Arthur. He can't be returned to the wild, because one of his hind legs got stuck in a trap and they had to amputate it. And just so you know, I had no problems at all filling out his adoption forms."

At the same time a white cockatoo came flying into the room and landed on Sam's shoulder.

"This is Eames. He used to belong to a very ill mannered Londoner, and randomly spouts British swearwords, which is why no one wanted to adopt him. We bonded over calling you a bloody bastard." The "Bloody Bastard" was directly repeated by Eames. Sam smiled at his bird. "See? And for your information, I have no trouble at all with showing my emotional side."

The two stared at each other for a moment, processing what had been said.

"Why would I want to know that you filled out his papers by yourself?"

"Why would I care that you are not afraid to show your feelings?"

A stretch of silence followed, as everyone in the room was now staring at the two men and their new pets. Then, again creepily in sync, both men turned their gazes to the couch where two teenagers and one redheaded super spy were sitting.

"Pete..."

"Michelle..."

Natasha helpfully took hold of Peter's plate as the two teens stood up from the couch, quickly bowed to her, "Thank you, Sensei.", and then ran out of the room like the hounds of hell were behind them.

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81scorp · 4 years

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Constructive criticism: Spider-Man 3 (2007)

(Originally posted as an editorial on Deviantart Dec 7, 2016)

Ah yes... Spider-Man, one of my favourite marvel superheroes.I remember that there was talk about making a live action Spider-Man in the early nineties and James Cameron was gonna direct it. Some time later in the early twothousands I started to get confirmation that a live action Spider-Man movie was indeed in production. (Directed by Sam Raimi though, but he directed Darkman, which I liked, so he seemed like a good pick.) Before this there had been mostly DC in the cinema when it came to comicbook superhero movies, and pretty much only of two of the most wellknown heroes DC had, Superman and Batman. And it was mostly Batman. In both cases the franchises started good but got dumber and worse with every sequel. It seemed like Hollywood just couldn`t make good superhero movies. Then an X-Men movie came out. Maybe not perfect but at least it understood the sourcematerial. Then came the Spider-Man movies. After waiting for ten years was it everything I hoped it would be? Not quite to be honest, but don`t get me wrong, I did like it and it was good. It had all the basic things that Spider-Man should have; webswinging, a colourful supervillain (both metaphorically AND literally), Mary Jane, Aunt May, Uncle Ben, fights, people being saved, badassery and great powers followed by great responsibility. I would have preferred a different look for Green Goblin though. Give him a costume closer to the comics, but with pants instead of bare legs.Then came the sequel and I liked it even more, it felt like the logical next step for the characters of the first movie to take. Then came the third movie... maybe not bad per se but it felt like a step down from the second movie. If you like it I can understand, it has some redeeming qualities but still... it had more subplots and characters than it knew what to do with. It seemed like Hollywood, once again, just couldn`t make good superhero movies. Anyway, it`s here now on my constructive criticisms. So let us see, in my very subjective editorial, how I would have done it differently.

With great power comes great SPOILERS Sandman, Gwen Stacy and the butler Lose them. As much as I like Gwen, she wasn`t necessary for the story. She was only there so that MJ could get jealous, and it just feels like a step down from how MJ was written in Spider-Man 2.I do like the moment where Flint Marko has been turned into sand for the first time. You can tell by his body language that he`s thinking: "Dear god. What have I become?" But his story takes time and focus from the symbiote plot-line that, in many ways, is the spine of the movie.The butler wasn`t in the first two movies, not noticably anyway, but that`s not the problem. If he knew that Spidey didn`t kill Norman why didn`t he tell Harry that sooner? On the fence: Topher Grace A part of me thinks that Topher Grace was a bad choice for playing Eddie Brock. I would have prefered a little older actor because I think that the idea of Eddie competing against Peter, a much younger and more successful photographer, would only add more fuel to his inferiority complex that would drive him to become Venom. On the other hand: Maybe Topher Grace would have been better as Eddie if the script had been better. So: either keep Topher Grace or replace him with (and this is just some of my personal picks) Jeremy Renner or Nathan Fillion.

Story: The beginning is pretty close to the beginning of the movie that we got: things are going well for Peter and he goes to see MJ perform on stage. In my version however her performance isn`t singing but acting. She performs in a stage version of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (she plays a supporting role, but it`s a wellwritten and important role). After the show is over Pete congratulates MJ and meets Harry Osborn who he tries to reason with but Harry is still hellbent on revenge. Before Pete meets Aunt May to tell her that he plans to propose to MJ he bumps in to Eddie Brock who is in a hurry and doesn`t have time to chat with him because he`s "chasing a big scoop". A masked terrorist named Sin-Eater is mentioned a few times on newspaper headlines, he`s kinda like the unabomber in this universe. (Yes, Sin-Eater is gonna be in this one, but he doesn`t play a big part.) Pete gets attacked by Harry Osborn and they fight, but instead of Harry knocking himself out and losing his memory he chases Pete into an abandoned old building that he demolishes with lots of grenades. There`s no sign of Pete in what`s left of the building but Harry knows that he must`ve escaped. Since Harry knows Pete`s secret identity Pete knows that Harry might use his loved ones to get to him, so he tells MJ to get out of town with Aunt May. MJ reluctantly agrees to this and tells Aunt May that she thinks it would be good for them to get a little time of their own for a little female bonding. They leave early the next morning. Pete does his usual shtick, superheroing as Spider-Man and selling his photos to Jameson but all the time doing so while looking over his shoulder, fully aware that Harry is out there. (Yes, I know that he has spider-sense that warns him, but still.) When Pete`s at the Bugle he bumps into Brock who has just finished talking to his dad on the phone, or rather, his dad`s answering machine. Here`s where we get a little human moment from Brock where he tells Pete that he and his dad hasn`t talked to eachother for some time. He then runs away to "chase his big scoop". We get one scene where Harry visits Aunt May`s house to find that no one is home (thus validating Pete`s paranoia). He smiles confidently and shakes his head. "You`re a clever boy Pete, you knew what I was gonna do." Meanwhile at Aunt May and MJ`s hide out: May realises that there`s something odd about this very sudden "female bonding" trip that MJ practically forced her to join and wonders if there`s someting going on that MJ doesn`t want her to know. Is it about Peter? Is he in trouble? MJ tries to calm her down and says that there is nothing of that kind going on. Aunt May pretends to accept MJ`s explanation but senses that she`s lying, MJ herself feels awful for lying to May. Later that evening at Pete`s apartment: Peter collpapses on his bed after a long day. The black goo that attached itself to his moped on his date with MJ (Yes, I`m going with the movie`s version of how that happened.) comes out of the shadows and devours Pete. Spidey wakes up hanging upsidedown outside a building, looking at his reflection in the window. He feels more confident and powerful. He goes out swinging and finds a masked terrorist who`s about to blow up a mall. Spidey beats him up and uses more violence than necessary. He stops himself from killing the terrorist, webs him up and leaves him outside a police station. Pete doesn`t like what he just did, he almost killed that man. Criminal or not, that`s just something that he shouldn`t do. Could it be the suit? Is it making him more aggressive? But then the suit clouds his judgement and he tells himself that he has everything under control, what happened was just a one-time thing. The next day the police arrests the terrorist who turns out to be that Sin-Eater that has been mentioned in the news. Since Sin-Eater has been caught Brock reveals to Jonah what "the big scoop" that he chased earlier was. All this time Brock had been telephone-interviewing Sin-Eater who had told him a lot about his life-philosophy and about how "decadent he thinks our secular society is". Jonah likes it, it`s extremely in depth. Brock could win the Pulitzer prize for it. Hearing this makes Brock beam with pride. That same evening Spidey is out webswinging and runs into Harry. They fight. At one point Harry uses a sonic grenade and here`s where we learn that the black suit is vulnerable to loud noises. Spidey gets the upper hand, goes really violent and almost beats Harry to death. Harry manages to escape and all of this has been caught by a guy with a video camera. It later ends up on the late news and is seen by MJ. Once again Pete feels bad for going too far and once again the suit makes him think that it wasn`t a big deal.The next day Brock`s interview is published in the Bugle. Jonah congratulates him in his office when Brock`s phone suddenly rings. It`s Sin-Eater! But wait a sec, isn`t he in jail? Maybe he used his one phone call to call Brock? But then Brock (and Jonah) finds out that the man calling doesn`t know that Sin-Eater is in jail, the man calling isn`t even Sin-Eater! All this time Brock was interviewing a mentally ill man who pretended to be Sin-Eater. (The man also has no TV or easy access to the news paper, that`s why he didn`t knew that the real S-E was behind bars.) This is bad! Todays newspaper has already been printed! Jonah fires a distraught Eddie Brock. Later that day MJ comes to Peter`s apartment. (Yes, Pete told her and May to stay out of the city to be safe from Harry, but right now Harry`s not much of a threat compared to Pete.) She saw Spidey`s and Harry`s fight on the news and thinks that he went too far. They start to argue and Peter pushes MJ into the wall... just as Aunt May walks in and sees it. Pete realizes what he`s done and runs out of his apartment to be alone. He sits on top of a building to think, sees a church and gets an idea. He uses the loud noise from the churchbells to rid himself of the alien suit. Eddie Brock happens to be in the same church at the time. After the suit has been separated from Pete it looks for a new host and finds Eddie... who turns into Venom. Pete returns home to his apartment (with clothes that he has taken from some church-charity thing) where May and MJ are waiting. (It`s his apartment after all and they don`t have the key, so they can`t leave it unlocked.) After some talking MJ forgives Pete and a few minutes later May does the same. After this Pete (as Spidey) swings over to Harry to patch things over with him as well. (He is of course smart enough to realize that it`s not gonna be a walk in the park.) When they meet we see that Harry`s face has been damaged from their latest fight and he doesn`t want to reconcile with him. He doesn`t want to fight him either but he wants him to get the hell away from his property. Somewhere else: Venom kidnaps Jonah, takes him to a construction site and soon gets Pete`s attention thanks to the news. Spidey suits up, swings to the site and tries to reason with Eddie, but Eddie won`t listen. He says that he and the suit has a "symbiotic relationship" and after that he starts to refer to himself in plural ("we" and "us"). He knows that Spider-Man is Peter because the suit told him that. Spidey and Venom fight. After a few blows have been delivered Eddie says to Spidey: "Can`t sense when I`m coming, can you? That`s right! The suit knows all about your little extra warning sense! And it knows how to not trigger it!" Harry sees their fight on the news. Spidey manages to incapacitate Venom long enough to break away from the fight and rescue Jonah. But then Venom gets the upper hand and knocks Spidey out. He`s about to kill Spidey when... Harry comes to the rescue! Harry and Venom fight, Spidey manges to regain consciousness just in time to see... Venom stabbing Harry with his own hoverboard! Spidey fights Venom and defeats him (or "them) the same way he did it in the movie. (Harry is strong enough to still be alive, he pulls out a grenade that he throws to Spidey that Spidey throws at the symbiote.) Eddie isn`t desintegrated by the blast, just knocked unconscious by it. Pete and Harry say their good byes and Harry dies with peace in his heart. The next day Peter visits Aunt May, gives her the ring back and says that he`s not ready to marry MJ yet, maybe some day but not in a near future. The next day Pete, MJ and Aunt May go to Harry`s funeral. Next we see MJ and Pete (in Spider-Man costume but without the mask on) on the roof of a tall building staring at the sunset.

The End Mid credit scene: Eddie is in the hospital in a coma. We get a re-play of the moment when the explosion killed the symbiote and knocked him out. A close up shows that a small piece of the symbiote managed to escape. Back to Eddie in the hospital: the symbiote is outside his window, it sneaks in and devours him. We get a close up of one of his eyes as he wakes up from the coma. Yes, I know, my version is not much better than the official version. Even in this one Venom doesn`t appear until the third act. But with Sandman and other distractions gone we at least get more time to explore Eddie and understand his goals and motivations. When I first came up with this I was originally not going to have Venom in it. I was gonna use Lizard since he had already been mentioned and shown in the first two movies and it felt like a waste to not use him.

And no: I`m not gonna do a CC of the The Amazing Spider-Man movies. Because A: I don`t want my gallery to be filled with thousands of editorials. I want my visual art to outnumber (or atleast be in equal quantity to) my written stuff. B: Spider-Man 3 has been on my CC list for a couple of months while TASM 1&2 haven`t been on the list at all. (Not that they don`t have a few things in them that I would like to change though.) If I were to give them the CC treatment I would sum it up like this: a: Don`t reboot them, make them sequels. It is possible to make sequels with a new director and a new cast. Just saying. Or b: Just stop after Spider-Man 3 and let the rights revert back to Marvel.

#81scorp #spider-man #marvel #constructive #criticism #sam raimi

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aboysbestfriendishismum · 7 years

Text

Chapter 44 - The date, the non-date and the no date

In the previous chapter: Melanie gets mad at Mike in front of all his friends because he didn’t tell her Meg was his ex girlfriend, Meg gets mad too and the two girls end up joining forces against him. Violet tries to have her way with Eddie once again and he finally tells her that the girl who stole his heart is Angie. Violet’s reaction is pretty weird: she leaves the club laughing histerically. In the meantime, the Alice in Chains guys, later joined by Mike McCready too, are trying to console and cheer up Jerry, who’s still shaken for his poor figure with Angie’s dad. His friends try to convince him Ray has no idea who he really is anyway and Angie’ll never tell her dad about him, and he apparently calms down, at least until he remembers telling Ray about intimate details of his sexual life with his ex girlfriend. Later that night, the gang plus Ray go to a bonfire party on the beach. Ray smokes weed with his daughter. We find out Ray’s wife is not Angie’s biological mother. Eddie’s with Angie the whole time and looks kinda jealous when she, pretty drunk, has a funny exchange with Mark Arm.

***

“Have you heard anything from Mike by any chance?” my roomie asks distractedly after she kindly said goodbye to a customer at the minimart.

“No, thank god” I grumble, my mouth full of chocolate rolls, my breakfast, I’ve just bought here. Since Angie came up with the idea of excercising, dieting and living a healthy life, sweet food never entered our house again. As if my life couldn’t be worse.

“Well, you’ll have to talk to him sooner or later. I mean, I think you should”

“What? Really? I had no idea this was your opinion. Oh wait, maybe I should have known, since it’s just the 80th time you share it with me”

She’s been going on with this for days, since the night when shit happened between Mike, Mel and I. Of course, she does it her way, trying not to get noticed too much, a little question here, a remark there… after all, I am the one who noses around other people’s life, not her!

“If I share my opinion, it means that I think it’s good”

“It may be good for you, but not for me. And nobody asked you anyway” I add with a smile, before eating what’s left of the second chocolate roll in one single bite.

“Are you not exactly subtly trying to tell me I’m being intrusive?”

“Noooo, not at all! And you’d never be, how could you? I mean, you’re the one who hates when other people pry into her life… nah!”

“My situation is completely different”

“Really? And why?” I’m really curious to hear her excuse.

“Because I’m not telling you to forgive Mike or get back with him”

“Also because if you did, you should be hospitalized in a mental institution or something”

“I’m just suggesting you two meet and do some straight talk once and for all, then you’ll decide” she shrugs as she explains and keeps drawing her little squares on the notepad placed on the counter right in front of her.

“Decide what? How to kill him? Ok, I might accept some advice about the weapon choice if you insist”

“Meg”

“Listen, Angie, I’ve got nothing to tell him and don’t wanna listen to what he has to say, the situation is clear to me”

“Well, good for you that you’ve got your mind made up already, I think I haven’t fully understood Mike yet, maybe just a little”

“I have and I’ll gladly explain Mike to you. At the beginning I was confused too, I thought he was just some guy who didn’t really know what he wanted from his life, someone who creates trouble by simply moving, but basically not a bad person; just someone who hurts you by mistake, unwillingly, only because he does’t know how to avoid it. Like a kitty who hasn’t learnt how to retract its claws yet and scratches you when actually all he wants to do is play with you” I explain and Angie puts her pen down, folds her arms over the counter and starts smiling at me like I think I’ve never seen her before since I met her. She’s almost scary.

“Oh really?”

“Yes. And why the fuck are you smiling like that?”

“You’ve just compared Mike to a kitten”

“A kitten who claws the living hell out of your face”

“A cute and tender kitty cat”

“A fucking scruffy cat carelessly bleeding you dry”

“Still a cute kitten”

“No, I thought he was… a puppy… now I realized he does it on purpose. He really does have fun playing and messing with other people’s feelings, as a sadistic asshole”

“Hahaha who?? Mike?”

“Sure. And there’s nothing to laugh about. Don’t let that sweet and innocent look fool you, his soul is pitch black as the night”

“Sweet uh?” she asks wiggling her eyebrows.

“Fuck you, Angie”

“Meg, I think you’re overreacting”

“Overreacting? Next time you have problems with a guy, I’m gonna laugh at your face as you’re doing with me and tell you not to overreact” I grumpily retort, balling up the wrapper of the chocolate roll and throwing it towards Angie’s face. But she catches it. These trainings with Fitness Wizard Henry Rollins must have improved her reflexes too.

“I’m not laughing at you, it’s just that Mike doesn’t really seem this heartless evil mastermind, that’s all. I’m more for the unwilling confused kitten hypothesis” she answers and throws the wrapping into the bin behind her back.

“At any rate, the kitten’s almost 25 years old, it’s about time to wake up a little”

“I think there were some awakening signals… it’s just about being able to understand them” she remarks, clearly implying something I’m surely about to find out.

“And I didn’t understand them?”

“It’s more that you interpreted them the wrong way”

“Can you elaborate, please?”

“Do you really think Mike didn’t tell Melanie about you because you’re not important to him?”

“If not for that, why then?”

“Well, maybe just because you are important to him, because deep inside he still has feelings for you and didn’t want his girlfriend to mess up your friendship, which in the end was all he had left of you”

“What you say doesn’t make sense from the beginning: he has feelings for me, but he has another girlfriend? Shouldn’t he be with me then? Why isn’t he with me?”

“Ehm… maybe because you told him to fuck off the infamous night of the show at the Off Ramp?”

“Technically yes. But he wasn’t with me even before that, he didn’t want to commit, so the reason is something else”

“Probably he doesn’t want to commit because is insecure, he’s afraid of making a mess of it and, given what happened lately, I’d say it’s a rather well-founded fear. And then… haven’t you ever thought that maybe he feels you’re out of his league?”

“Out of… what the fuck are you talking about?” McCready with a complex?! That’s new!

“Well, you know, you’re beautiful, funny, smart and strong, you know lots of people and basically every guy has a crush on you and would sell one of their kidneys to go out with you”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“Hahaha no, I just wanted to say that, you know, sometimes men can suffer from inferiority complex, with or without a reason. And not just men. It’s a little like me and Jerry… ok, that was a different story, but I’m not talking about the sad ending, I refer to the beginning, before all the shit: when I first met him I thought he was as beautiful as a Greek god and I’d have never remotely dreamt about me and him being together because, I mean, look at me”

“And you were stupid and I always told you”

There she is, talking nonsense as usual! I don’t mind the conversation to focus a little more on her and Jerry uh, I’m kind of tired of talking about Mike after all. But I can’t stand her when she puts herself down like this, I can’t help it. Apart from the fact that she’s so cute and could be with any guy, I can’t believe such a smart girl really gives so much importance to appearance.

“And even when he started to, you know, hit on me, I’ve always kinda avoided him because are you kidding me? Just forget it! And well, maybe that’d have been the wisest choice in that specific case… but ehm that’s not the point. Jerry probably never loved me, but during the months we spent sort of together he must have been vaguely attracted to me at least for a minute, right? Well, I still can’t figure it out, I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand it now. Then, well, the fact he cheated on me didn’t help to convince me he really liked me”

“Angie you’re completely out of your mind, if Jerry was a dick is not because he wasn’t attracted to you, that’s got nothing to do with that” I retort dumbfounded. Ok, Jerry wasn’t the perfect boyfriend, but how can she still doubt he even liked her? There are two possibilities: either her self esteem is lower than I thought or she’s dumb.

“I know but… well, I can’t help thinking that if I looked nicer, none of that would have happened. It’s something I always think about, the answer I give to myself for everything, not just when somebody dumps me. If I were beautiful nobody would have left me…” her voice becomes a little louder but also shakier, as she lists her stupid assumptions “if I were beautiful, Drake the quarterback wouldn’t have dated me only in secret, if I were beautiful I wouldn’t have got the part of the bush in the third grade’s Christmas school play, if I were beautiful I would have got the job as a receptionist in that luxury hotel near the Space Needle, if I were beautiful someone would spontaneously help me get the items from the highest shelves whenever I shop at the supermarket and I wouldn’t be forced to climb them up risking my life every time”

“But you do know there’s absolutely no connection between these things you mentioned and beauty, right?” as if only good looking people were the only ones to go on in life. And then, what does good looking mean? Who sets the standards?

“Rationally I do, but… but no, because I’ve got the deeply-rooted awareness that my life’d be different if I looked better, but my life is imperfect because I don’t and it’s something that’s always with me. It’s not like I’m always thinking about it, I don’t need to, it’s like breathing or hearing, it’s not like you’re always focusing on inhaling and exhaling or on the fact of having ears, but at the same time you breathe and you hear sounds and you don’t need to give too much thought about it to figure out that after four flights of stairs you’re gonna be out of breath if you already know that you’re out of training, you already know it from the first step but you just don’t think about it in the moment because sooner or later your own limits will show up themselves. I don’t need to keep on reminding myself that I’m not beautiful enough because sooner or later I’ll run into something that’ll do that for me.

“Do you think a beautiful person’s life is perfect?”

“No, just easier in certain contexts”

“Well, then your life is very easy, Angie, because you’re a total babe”

“Are you hitting on me?” she uses my previous joke against me.

“Haha no, but I would if we werent’ both extremely heterosexual”

“And it would be pointless anyway because I’d feel so out of your league, like Mike. Maybe” Angie’s so good at changing subject and bringing back Mike again.

“Mike doesn’t have issues about his looks, at least I don’t think so”

“It’s not necessarily about looks, maybe he thinks he’s not cool or strong enough, not loyal enough, funny enough, tall enough, it can be any fucking thing, I don’t know, he might think he’s not left handed enough because he plays guitar right handed” Angie grabs the pen once again and starts drawing a series of thick dots in line, one for each point she mentions.

“Ok, but what can I do about it? It’s his problem, I never did anything to make him insecure”

“Exactly, it’s his problem and he tried to solve it his way, only that way was wrong. For example, how he always told people alternative versions of your relationship, new guys included, like he did with Eddie at the Off Ramp. Kind of the same thing a certain girl did, you know, trying to keep it quiet about her dating a blond-haired guitarist until the end…” she draws a line that goes from the first dot towards the left, ending with an arrow, then she draws an identical one going to the right.

“Uhm”

“Or trying to forget you with Melanie, a girl who’s always adored him and made him feel cool. Kind of the same thing the same unnamed girl we both know did when she let herself go with an old summer fling and thoughtlessly kissed the hell out of him” two more arrows extend from the last dot in the line.

“But I was a bitch to Mike because he deserved that, the long-haired guitarist was an asshole because he is an asshole”

“I’m not saying the two stories are the same, they’re completely different. But there are things about Mike that I can relate to and, in the end, as I already told you, although for different reasons, we both think we got what we deserved, as twisted as it looks to you” the left arrows are now pointing at a small triangle, the right ones at a rectangle.

“Are you on his side then?”

“No, I’m on your side, his and yours. I believe he cares for you and loves you, but the most important thing is what you feel for him. Because you may have spent the latest nights drinking and talking shit about Mike with Mel, but deep inside I think you’re still in love with him, I think you never stopped loving him or you’d have already set him aside as old paperwork and you wouldn’t have got so mad when you felt he had cancelled you from his life since he hadn’t told Melanie about you” she goes on as she’s focused on filling the two shapes at the sides of the paper with her pen.

I hate it when she’s right, I hate her very often then. Basically always.

“Maybe I got mad because I just hate him”

“Hate is not the opposite of love, this is commonly known also among those who select the love messages they put in chocolate wrappers, which by the way is the job that you end up doing if you’re not hot enough to get a normal job”

“The opposite of love is indifference”

“There you go! Your semester of Psychology turned useful in the end!” she puts down the pen and stretches her right hand towards me for a sarcastic handshake.

“Don’t push your luck, darling”

“Anyway, what I meant is, yeah, finding out what’s going through Mike’s head would be nice, but your feelings are what really matters”

“And you know my feeling better than me I guess”

“You know them too, but you do anything to hide them. And, I must add, in vain”

“So? What should I do now?”

“Well I… I don’t want to influence your choices, you gotta do what you think it’s right for-”

“Just cut the crap and tell me what to do, come on” I’m honest, when I want to pry into other people’s privacy I just do that, without beating around the bush.

“Well, literally quoting the words a dear friend of mine told me some time ago, I’d say that… Mike owes you an explanation anyway, don’t you think? You should ask him to meet you, tonight maybe, and put him under pressure and have him talk to you and if you don’t like what he says… you can always start a fight” Angie’s suggesting to me the same thing I told her when the story about Jerry in New York came out and he went to Roxy’s to take her home. That was some good advice, and not just because it came from me, even though in retrospect I should have told her to castrate him and throw his dick in the frying French fries oil.

“I never back up from a fight”

“What a coincidence, it’s the same thing my dear friend once told me”

“I could invite him over at our place… what do you think? Would it be better in a neutral place?” I can’t help giving up, after all I can’t reject my advice.

“Nah, it’d be better in a place when you’re slightly advantaged. And where he can’t easily run away from. So our apartment is perfect”

“Right”

“And don’t worry, I’ll try and stay away, maybe I could go to the library and study a little. Or at worst, I could ring Chris and Matt’s doorbell with an excuse”

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re not working tonight! I can ask Mike tomorrow or-” I completely forgot she changed her shift.

“Don’t dare using me as an excuse, just do it tonight, talk to him”

“Ok… but… there’s a but”

“And what is it?”

“Melanie. We’re friends now”

“A very honest and strong friendship, built on the hate for Mike McCready”

“Exactly. If she knew I’m seeing Mike she’d hatefully kick my ass”

“Come on, she… she doesn’t need to know right now after all”

“Wait wait, the good girl is telling me to lie?”

“Sure, I lie all the time. But this wouldn’t even be an actual lie, it’s just leaving out a little piece of information, which is still incomplete by the way, since you don’t know how things are gonna evolve yet. When you have the whole picture of the situation, you’ll think about what to tell her. That is just my two cents anyway, then it’s up to you…”

“I see, it’s just-”

“And who told you she wouldn’t be doing the same thing in your place? I mean, honestly I think she’ll likely do the same. She could have done it already in my opinion”

She’s smart, I must admit it.

“Ok, you convinced me”

******************************************************************************************************************************

As soon as I get out of the gallery I instinctively pull my hoodie over my head, as I foresee the usual 16:30 Seattle drizzle. I’m extremely surprise when I notice, not only the total absence of rain drops, both in the air and on the streets, but even more than a few ray of lights pointing right at my face, right now that they’re almost going down. Just like a couple of rare gems for die hard fans only at the end of a pretty traditional setlist. I pull back the hoodie as I mentally forgive myself for the forced music metaphor, blaming the upcoming tour and the making of the album for that. Actually the amount of songs we’ve got would be easily enough for three albums… well, not that much maybe, just a couple of albums and an ep. Anyway, since our creative streak’s still flowing and far from consuming I can’t see why we should stop. Half of our work may end up in the gutter, or most likely in my parents’ garage, but who knows anyway, maybe the best song of our album is yet to be written, maybe we’ll write it right today.

After I went off like a shot, I decide to slow down the pace, partly to enjoy a little more this almost unknown solar experience, partly because after you spent an hour and a half in a basement, yet doing what you love the most, you need to breathe some fresh air at some point, also to clear your mind. I enjoy Seattle in its best light and although the panorama of the stores and offices on the alley between Belltown and Blanchard is not exactly postcard-like, it’s got a charm of its own. Even the red and green on the sign of the 7-Eleven where I go buy cigarettes seem brighter. As I walk back to the gallery I pick up the pace a little, because at the beginning of the practice session Jeff said something about a riff going through his head since last night and I don’t want him to play it to the others first while I’m not there. When I’ve almost got to the graffiti covered building, the female figure sitting on the sidewalk makes me slow down until I completely stop in front of her.

“Oh I’m sorry little girl scout, I already bought like ten boxes of your cookies, I can’t give myself the munchies every time only to help your cause” I joke as I notice the green dress under Grace’s white jacket and her small braids Laura Ingalls-style.

“Hello to you too, Stone! How are you doing?” she doesn’t stand up, she just rolls her eyes before saying hi.

“Pretty well, thanks! Well apart from my blood sugar level, it’s all those fucking cookies’ fault…”

“Well, you know, us little explorers walk a lot, burn sugar fast, unlike stoned musicians”

“Given your sense of direction, if you’re an explorer I’m a black belt in karate”

“Do you have nice things to tell me too or you’re planning to focus only on making fun of me today?”

“Actually I didn’t prepare anything to tell you, since I had no psychic premonitions telling me I’d have casually met you in the streets this afternooon, so consider I’m improvising with the first things that come to my mind when I think of you”

“Thank you, I’m happy to see you too. But… I’d not call it a completely casual meeting”

“Because you think fate wanted us to meet and so gave you foot pain just outside my practice space so you’d have took a break right here?”

“Hehe you’re not that wrong, you know? Anyway, more simply, I came here specifically to see you”

“Really? Well, thank you for your visit. Are cookies a present then?”

“What’s up with the record and all the rest?” she asks ignoring my bullshit as I sit down beside her.

“It’s alright, we finally managed to get free from our old record company and deal, I don’t know if I already told you. Anyway, we keep on recording new demos. It’s gonna be a problem when it’s time to pick up what’s actually going and not going onto the album”

“A problem you’re gonna solve by choosing yourself on behalf of everyone else, right?”

“Exactly! You may not be a great explorer, but your insightfulness is remarkable. What about you? How’s it going?”

“I’m fine, thanks”

“Great! Are there… any news?”

“What news?”

“News, I don’t know, new things happening to you that you consider somehow interesting or worth telling, events you usually mention in an average conversation between two people”

“Mmm no, nothing new”

“Ok…” and she came here specifically to tell me nothing?

“I don’t live the hectic life of artists like you, you know”

“Did we already get to that point in the conversation when you insult me as well to balance my cruelty?”

“And I’m not as lucky as some of my friends, who work in retail and can tell funny stories about ehm particular customers”

“Customers? Particular? Who are you talking about?” I know well who’s she talking about, now I know why she came here.

“Oh I was thinking about a friend of mine, his name is Pete, I don’t know if I ever mentioned him to you”

“No, I’m afraid not, never heard of him. Unless his surname is Townshend. Or Sampras. But I don’t remember discussing about them with you”

“He’s a clerk in that huge shoe store in downtown Seattle, do you know that? Right in front of the vegan restaurant”

“Mmm yeah, maybe” it only took me a mini-round of phone calls to find out where the jerk she’s going out with works, ten minutes tops and I had the address.

“Ok, well, anyway he told me a really weird story”

“Wow, I can’t wait to hear it” I say distractedly, with a clearly fake enthusiasm, while I open the pack of cigarettes I’ve just bought and light one up.

“Yeah, about a guy who went there yesterday morning and basically drove him insane”

“Uh really? Everybody knows that after all, that’s how it is when you work in retail” I snicker and I’m not that good at hiding it.

“Like he had him take almost every pair of shoes he had in the shop and not a single one was good. And he kept coming up with more and more absurd technical reasons, like the sole was too thick or too narrow, the color was too colorful, the tip was too pointy, but only after giving Pete the illusion he had found the right one each time. And this was the most evil thing in my opinion!”

“Well, shoes are important, uncomfortable shoes can turn your day into a nightmare, think about it”

“Yeah. And the customer left an hour later without buying anything. Pete wanted to kill him”

“Poor Pete” actually it was an hour and fifteen minutes.

“After he tried on a hundred shoes, he asked if that was all they had”

“Really?”

“And the final nail in the coffin was put as he was leaving the store, when he pointed out that anyway he had just entered to have a look because he had no money with him”

“Come on, is Pete sticking his nose in customers’ financial affairs now?”

“And you… I bet you don’t know anything about it? I mean, about this story…”

“In fact, I know a lot about it!”

“You admit it then?!” she turns around to face me with wide open eyes, thinking she caught me.

“Sure I know about it, you’ve just told me everything!”

So naive.

“Ha-ha, really funny…”

“That wasn’t a joke”

“So have you got anything to do with it? Wasn’t it you, the annoying customer?”

“Not at all, who told you?”

“Nobody, it’s just that Pete’s description of the man reminded me of someone, you know: slender, long hair, big doe eyes, smart ass smile, nice teeth, leopard vest. Does that ring any bells with you?” she turns back around, looking right in front of her.

“If that’s the exact description Pete gave to you, I’d seriously start questioning your boyfriend’s sexuality if I were you, Grace”

“I may have reworked the description a little. Anyway, who told you Pete’s my boyfriend?” she asks me with a side look.

“I tried to guess. Isn’t he?”

“No, he’s not”

“No?”

“I went out with him a couple of times, but I soon realized he’s not really my type and it was the same for him. So we’re just friends”

“Uhm I see. Anyway I didn’t drive your new friend nuts” I retort trying to look totally indifferent at the news.

“That’s too bad though”

“Is it?”

“Well, for a moment I thought it could be you, that you might have been jealous, or simply annoyed, and that you went there with the evil intent of irritating him”

“What?! Hahahah jealous? And wha-” I stand up bursting out in a pretty exaggerated laughter, but what comes next is so unexpected that makes me fall completely silent in a second.

“Do you have any plans for after your rehearsal, Stone?”

“After? Well, I don’t know, after practice I’ll probably go get something to eat and then it depends”

“And what if you go out for dinner with me and then we take a walk?”

“With you?”

“Yeah. Would you like that?”

“And where?”

“Uhm I don’t know, I’d be curious to try that vegan restaurant, what do you think?”

“It’s a trap! You want to take me to Pete for an identification!”

“Hahaha no, Pete won’t be there. And by the way, you’d have got nothing to be afraid of since it wasn’t you…”

“Will you pay for dinner?” I ask her after pretending to ponder about it for a while, in the meantime it seems like she wants to stand up as well.

“If I pay for dinner, you’ll pay for the cinema” she answers and holds out her hand for me to help her up.

“Cinema? Is there cinema too? Isn’t the walk enough?”

“Dinner+walk+movies”

“In this order?”

“We have dinner first, then we can digest our meal by walking and then we can rest at the movie theater, everything has a logic”

“Are you sure you can make it to the movies? You’re tired already, you can’t even stand up”

“Ok well, I’ll be there in front of the vegan restaurant at 7:00 waiting, it’s up to you then. Bye Stone!” she shakes her head, waves her hand bye at me and is about to leave.

“I’ve got practice with the band until seven, make it half past seven” I finally cut the crap and give her a serious answer, so that Grace stops in her tracks and slowly turns around.

“I’ll be there at half past six then” she winks at me, then disappears before I can even say anything, not because she’s fast, she walks away slowly, but rather because she left me totally speechless. And it’s not something that happens to me very often, quite the contrary. And me being left speechless leaves me even more speechless, in an amazed and amazing muteness.

At some point I wake up from my state and come back to reality, so to speak, not completely since I walk up to the main entrance of the art gallery, temporarily forgetting that it’s closed today and that I need to get in from the backdoor. I call myself an idiot before walking around the building and when I’m about to knock on the big door I almost get it right in my face.

“Hey Stone, this is perfect timing. You got any change?” Eddie comes out looking at the sky above him, probably as surprised as I was for the lack of rain, and waves a banknote under my nose.

“Yes, wait, I got some spare change after buying cigarettes”

And apparently, I’ve also got a date.

***********************************************************************************************************************************

The change I just got from Stone’s jingling in my pocket as I quickly leave the alley to go feed the parking meter for Jeff. I came here by bus, public transportation works great here in Seattle. The number of cars in this city is impressive though, basically everybody here has got a car, everyone I know has one and use it to go anywhere, even just round the corner. They sometimes take the bus or train or the monorail too, go to work by bike or skate, but still they’ve got a car anyway. I rarely come here by truck, most of all because of the lack of parking places. The only parking area round here that’s quite large, and free, is Roxy’s one and it was already packed when I came here. As I think about this, I take a quick look at the car park outside the diner, then start putting quarters into the parking meter to add a couple of hours. As I turn the handle to push the umpteenth quarter down, I realize there’s something I didn’t notice in the moment: I look back up towards the diner and focus on the sparkling blue Mini Cooper parked on the left. What the hell is she doing here at this time? She never works this shift. I put the rest of the coins in the machine so that Jeff won’t get a ticket and then quickly cross the road. I don’t need to get that close to spot her through the glass, from behind, as she’s writing down the order of a middle aged couple sitting right next to the window. A few steps closer allow me to better appreciate the sweet curve of her neck, exposed thanks to her protocol pony tail, from which few shorter hair stick out just above her nape and that is the exact spot where all my attention goes, while she nods, smiles and writes down on her little notepad and has got no idea that I’m here, looking at her and wanting to bury my nose right there and give her goosebumps with a trail of soft kisses. I wake up from my cheap romance novel daydreaming when Angie leaves the table and goes behind the counter, probably to pass the order to the kitchen. I sigh, resigned to my pathetic condition, and enter the diner.

When I’m inside, Angie’s already on the other side of the main room, busy removing some empty cups of previous customers from another table. She turns around at the sound of the door bell and welcomes me with one of her usual smiles I’ll never totally get used to, I think.

“Hey Angie” I say hi when we meet halfway, both heading to the counter.

“Hi Eddie, where are you coming from?” she asks and gives me a strange look, stopping in front of the counter with me and placing the tray with the dirty cups on it.

“From the gallery, we’re rehearsing, as usual”

“And you argued with your band mates maybe?” she goes on as she rubs her hands on her apron as if to clean them.

“No, why?” I ask preplexed.

“Did they turn blind then? Because they clearly didn’t even take a single look at you”

“What do you mean?” I insists and I don’t understand and I still don’t understand even when Angie slowly pulls my jacket open and starts unbottoning my shirt. I’m probably giving her an allucinated look because the moment we make eye contact she bursts out laughing.

“Hehehe can’t you see you skipped a button? They’re all messed up”

“Uh… I didn’t notice… I got dressed quickly” I answer embarrassed, as her fingertips unintentionally trace a delicate line going from my chest to my belly, lightly touching me at every button.

“I see. Here, now you’re presentable” she states as she finishes her work adjusting my shirt collar.

“Thank you, mom”

“Wasn’t I a princess? Was I downgraded to mother? Am I that old already?” she inquires, still grasping at my shirt collar with both hands.

“I’d say you’ve been upgraded, to queen, queen mother”

“Haha ok, anyway you’re welcome.” she’s about to let go of me and go back to work, but something gets in the way. And I’m not sorry at all “Oops! Fuck, I must have pulled a thread!”

Angie tries to unstuck the strand that got caught into her watch and still keeps her attached to me and I look at her and smile, doing absolutely nothing to help her.

“Will I still be presentable?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, not a big deal,” Angie manages to pull out the thread from the watchband and then wraps it a little around her finger before cutting it with a quick movement “you won’t remain naked”

“It was like you had me on a leash” I remark, still in the clouds.

“Haha like a dog?”

“Yes. Or like a surf board”

“Do surf boards have leashes?”

“Some do actually. There’s this sort of security cord, you attach the thread to the board and on the other hand there’s a ring you have to tie around your ankle”

“So you won’t loose it when you fall into the water… that’s pure genius” Angie stops examining my shirt when she’s sure that she really didn’t damage it, she goes behind the counter, takes the tray with the dirty cups and spoons and walks away into the kitchen.

“That could be useful for us too, so I won’t loose you when you work alternative shifts” I say as she shows up again on the other side of the counter.

“I’d be the surf board of the two? I thought it was the opposite”

“I am the surfer, so…” I remind her as I sit on one of the stools.

“But I had the ring at my wrist” she retorts showing the wrist where she has the watch.

“Anyway, why are you here now? You usually never work this shift”

“And how do you know?”

“Do I really have to tell you once again I’m a good observer? I feel disappointed”

“I changed shift with Steffy, another colleague of mine, I don’t know if you ever met her. Blond hair, bangs and glasses. Very cute”

“Mmm no, or maybe yes, I don’t remember really”

“She always works the afternoon shift, she was busy today and asked me to swap shifts. She’s also very single, you know? I can introduce her to you if you want” she adds and definitely ruins the moment.

“No, thank you”

“But she’s really nice and funny”

“Sorry if I don’t trust your judgement, since you thought Violet was nice and funny too” I retort as the door bell rings again.

“No, she is for real, really down to earth and… not crazy. At least, she doesn’t look like. Anyway, why don’t you try to find out?”

“Honestly I’m not in the mood for finding out things right now, I’m focused on something else” in fact, in this exact moment all my attention is focused on the two winged lines she drew on her eyelids with the eye pencil. They look identical, but one, the one on the left, is slightly lower than the right one, which must be also a tad thicker than the other one, but it’s a matter of millimeters.

“Yeah, I know, work I guess, with the tour and everything, I can understand” yeah, you really understood everything.

“Right. So what’s your shift then? What time do you end?”

“Oh I’ll be free in an hour more or less” she replies as she walks towards the table where the customers who got here last are sitting, after she gave them some time to look through the menu.

“So your shift ends at six” I tell her as she walks past me, handing the new order and taking the food from the kitchen.

“Exactly” she confirms before walking away.

“What a coincidence, our practice ends at that time too” I lie when she’s right back next to me.

“Really? So early?”

“Yeah, the gallery’s technically closed today, they gave the keys to us and scheduled this rehearsing time”

“I see” she’s apparently lost in her thoughts as she fills the coffee pot.

“Maybe we can do something… together… if you want to”

“Like what?” Angie looks up and her arched eyebrow’s already a sign of suspect.

“I don’t know, like eating something somewhere and then, I don’t know, hang around” I try again, despite the previous failure, for the umpteenth time, and as I do I look at her and see the way she looks at me and I already think about the jokes she’s gonna make, like maybe she’ll suggest to call Stephanie or what the hell is her fucking colleague called, she’ll ask me if there’s something wrong with me, if I’ve got problems, if I’m sad or feeling alone, if I’m right in the middle of a creativity crisis or writer’s block or some other bullshit, whereas I just wanna take her out because I like her so much and I don’t even know how to make her understand.

“Ok, I’m in” she answers, then goes back working on the coffee machine and it takes me a while to elaborate her reply because at the beginning I think I got it wrong and maybe didn’t understand, but I know better than ask her again, most of all because I’m afraid that if I ask her once again I could get a different answer or one of Angie’s typical remarks I referred to before. At some point though I figure out we need some sort of confirmation, someone must make the thing official, because I can’t just drop it without any kind of certainty.

“So is it a yes?”

“Sure, why not? Did you already think of a place to eat?” she says yes and her voice has the same effect of someone pinching you to tell you that no, you’re not dreaming.

“Well, yeah, there’s a couple places that I wanted to try but… we’ll decide together of course. If you want to go somewhere…”

“I have an hour to come up with something, then we’ll decide together, ok?” someone calls Angie from the kitchen, then she comes out with two trays full of plates and heads straight to the tables.

“That’s great! So, ehm, see you here at six then, I’ll come here and get you, I mean, get you out” I try and look not too excited when she comes back, swaying on the stool and placing my elbows on the counter, almost climbing over it.

“Ok, no need to hurry though, take your time, you know, I must get changed and everything”

“Oh ok. So we won’t need to go to your place first, we can go straight away, right?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve got my civilian clothes with me, don’t worry”

“Fine”

“Isn’t it about time to cut this hair?” Angie tilts her head slightly to the left and looks at me with a wide smile, soon censored by the usual quick movement of the lip to cover up the outward pointing tooth.

“Do you think it’s too long?” I ask as I examine a lock of my messy hair, trying to disentangle it with my fingers.

“No, I was talking about this here” Angie moves her hand at my head and then gently strokes the shaved side, which I clearly had exposed without noticing, throwing all my hair to the other side while I was getting all worked up because of her yes, trying to look calm and cool.

“Ah”

“It grew up a lot” she goes on, keeping her hand firm on my head and only brushing her thumb through my hair, both the direction of the growth and against it, up and down, and I think that if she doesn’t stop soon I’ll be screwed because her touch is so delicious that it gives immediate addiction and I gotta go back to the gallery and find an excuse to ditch the guys one hour earlier. And then that one hour will have to pass and I can’t really spend it dreaming of the next time Angie’ll touch me. Also because it’s not sure she’ll do it again and it’d be pathetic to spend our first date trying to come up with tricks to have her touch me.

“Yes, but I decided to let them grow anyway, I won’t shave them anymore”

“No?”

“Nah, I’m tired of that cut, I’ll let them all grow the same and fuck it” I explain as I brush my hand through my hair and lightly touch her fingertips with mine.

“Well, a change is good from time to time. I never did anything to my hair, there are times when I think of having a drastic cut or dying them, I’ll do it sooner or later” Angie pulls away from me and I already miss her.

“A nice side cut for you too?”

“Haha why not? Why not a nice mohawk?” she giggles and I’d want to tell her that she’d be beautiful even if she was bald and had hair drawn in permanent marker, but I decide I’d better spare my best compliments for later.

“Whatever you’re gonna do with your hair, I’m with you”

“Thanks for supporting me! Meg threatens to kill me every time I ask her for advice about changing my hairstyle”

“Well, maybe you should start with something easier, less drastic, then she’ll get used to that. Now… well, I really have to go now, the guys are waiting for me” I stand up from the stool, but I seriously wouldn’t leave this place. Or I’d go but I’d take her with me to the gallery, possibly attached to me or at least as close as possible, maybe carrying her on my shoulders as we did on our way back from the beach party. I’d walk that path back and forth ten times just to feel her all over me that way.

“And you just leave like this?” she asks puzzled and I don’t understand.

“Uh?”

“Don’t you want anything? Didn’t you come here for your usual coffee?”

“Oh! No, actually no”

“Why then?” right, why? To see you, adorable dickhead.

“Well for… for this!” I take my wallet and pull out a dollar “I almost forgot, I need quarters for the parking meter”

Angie gives me the change and we say bye, setting a date for an hour from now.

The door of the diner seems like an inter-dimensional portal, the way back to reality, and when I’m out I need to turn around and look inside the restaurant again to make sure Angie’s really there and that we really talked then and I didn’t dream anything. Only when I cross the road I realize it’s started to rain, the usual afternoon drizzle, a phenomenon that emphasizes even more the contrast between the moment with Angie at Roxy’s and the outside world. As I reach the other side of the road I remain for a while next to the parking meter, pretending to work on it, just in case Angie’s watching and I think I never felt so stupid in my whole life. I still feel stupid, but a little less, when I find the backdoor of the gallery is closed and nobody answer when I knock, although insistently. They’re playing inside and can’t hear me and the drizzle is turning into heavy rain. I try to knock once again, harder, on the metal door, then hold still and listen, not really to hear what they’re playing, but simply to take advantage of the moment they’re not playing to try and knock again and have them come open the door. Anyway time goes by and nobody gives a fuck about me and I end up paying attention to the song, something I can’t recognize. A few more minutes into it and I figure out I really don’t know this song, it must be new, maybe it started from that bass line Jeff was talking about earlier. And the funny thing is the only thing I can hear from the outside is the bass and the more I listen to it, the more it sounds magic to me, but at the same time solid, almost touchable. It sounds like an actual melody rather than a simple bass line. As I lean against the building wall as much as I can, looking for a non existing shelter from the rain, I stick my hands into my pockets and in one pocket I feel the change Angie gave to me, in the other one I find a piece of paper. I pull it out and I immediately remember my little theft: it’s the page of the notepad with the small triangles and squares drawn by Angie at the mini mart. Since I’m locked out I might as well try and come up with something. Luckily I always have a pen in my pocket, I may forget wallets, cigarettes, put on two different socks, button down my shirt all fucking wrong, but I never forget to grab a pen before I leave home. I fold the scrap of paper into four and place it against the wall, I hold my pen and I’m ready to get inspired: and all I can think about right now is Angie, her tender way of looking at me and taking care of me, her hands, my longing for her touch that I can’t wait to feel again, the thread that connected us physically for a moment and the one that figurately keeps us together and helps us finding and not losing each other through the waves, of the ocean. Like my favorite one, the one that’s got her name.

#pearl jam #pearl jam fanfiction #grunge fanfiction #stone gossard #eddie vedder #chapters

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swipestream · 6 years

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Conan: The Tower of the Elephant

Come, reader. Let us continue the review and commentary of the Conan stories of Robert E Howard. This episode is Tower Of The Elephant, first appearing in in Weird Tales, March 1933.

Conan is young here. The internal chronology of the stories is subject to some guesswork. But it is fair to say that this is the second or third tale in Conan’s career, taking place after Frost Giant’s Daughter (1934). We see him for the first time in what will be his signature costume: “naked except for a loin-cloth and his high-strapped sandals.”

I found, as I often do, that not only is Robert E. Howard a better writer than I was able, as a callow youth, to see he was. He also easily surpasses the modern writers attempting to climb his particular dark mountain. From the high peak, brooding, he glares down at inferior writers mocking him, and, coldly, he laughs.

Particularly when Howard is compared with the modern trash that pretends to be fantasy while deconstructing and destroying everything for which the genre stands, he is right to laugh.

Let us list the ways.

Howard, as many pulp-era writers had to be, is a master of structure.

The Tower of the Elephant is divided into three chapters. The first introduces the set-up. In the most lawless quarter of a city of thieves, in a stinking tavern where rogues and lowlifes gather, rumors are spoken of a silvery tower that looms above the city in an isolated garden on a hilltop. In it is a gem of fabled worth and eldritch powers, that is the talisman of a sinister wizard. The tower seems strangely unguarded, or, rather, guarded strangely.

The wall is low, the way is not difficult: but none of the famous thieves will dare approach it. Our very own Conan (whom last we saw as a king) is here a barbaric lad who asks about the tower and the gem, is rudely answered, and rashly vows to make the attempt. Words are exchanged, and a fight ensues. We soon see how tough Conan is.

The second chapter is a heist. We are introduced to Taurus the Prince of Thieves. He and Conan join forces, attempting to elude or outfight the dangerous or unchancy defenders, human or otherwise, guarding the treasure. When even the Princes of Thieves is unable to overcome a particularly strange peril, a second fight ensues. We soon see how tough the Tower is.

The final chapter is pure awesomeness. The weird and supernatural secret of the Tower reveals itself. Even bold Conan, who fears no mortal blade, is petrified, if only for a moment. The dire and supernatural revenge which follows those who meddle in the outer secrets unfolds.

Howard is also the master of the one trick that always seems to elude postmodern writers. He knows how to pen a proper ending: As in a fairy tale of old, Conan is wise enough to obey the supernatural being when it speech, and a pathway to safety is opened for him. He escapes with his life.

What becomes of the mystic gem that decrees the fates of kingdoms? Read the tale yourself and discover: my lips are sealed.

Howard knows that every story must have a moral core. His particular genius, which was the genius of an era where men were weary of the civilization, and yearned for younger, simpler days, yes, even more savage days, was to call on a Pagan moral core rather than a Christian one. There is no mercy, no faith, no forgiveness in Conan’s world. There is, however, courage and honor, even among thieves. The Conan stories glamorize the barbaric while denigrating the corruptions that dog civilized life.

The writer’s task consist of telling, not merely the events of the tale, but the deeper truth they hide, including odd bits of wisdom:

Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.

Or:

A civilized man in his position would have sought doubtful refuge in the conclusion that he was insane; it did not occur to the Cimmerian to doubt his senses.

The writer includes not just the world, but the worldview of his tale. In Conan’s world, civilized religion is rotten because civilization is rotten.

He [Conan] did not trouble his head […] he knew that Zamora’s religion, like all things of a civilized, long-settled people, was intricate and complex, and had lost most of the pristine essence in a maze of formulas and rituals.

He had squatted for hours in the courtyard of the philosophers, listening to the arguments of theologians and teachers, and come away in a haze of bewilderment, sure of only one thing, and that, that they were all touched in the head.

Barbaric religion, on the other hand, is forthright and manly.

His gods were simple and understandable; Crom was their chief, and he lived on a great mountain, whence he sent forth dooms and death. It was useless to call on Crom, because he was a gloomy, savage god, and he hated weaklings. But he gave a man courage at birth, and the will and might to kill his enemies, which, in the Cimmerian’s mind, was all any god should be expected to do.

An absurd sentiment, and anyone raised in a Christian era knows better, or should. On the other hand, one need not agree with the worldview to admire how well it fits the world to which it belongs, and fits the tale it means to tell.

A world where more was expected of the gods would not be one as savage, wild, spooky, and strange as the Pre-Cataclysmic Age of Conan. The whole point of a ‘noir’ story, a picaresque tale, or a yarn about rogues and evildoers is to see antiheroes beat up villains more savagely than Christian knights allow. It is vacation from Victorian uprightness the reader wants. Real gods, or even real fallen angels aspiring to fatherly authority, like Zeus or Odin or Vishnu or serene Buddha, would spoil the fun.

I cannot show how Howard is the master of prose without quoting him at length. He is more fluid and poetic than the barebones style favored these days, but not so florid as H.P. Lovecraft nor as elevated and wry as Lord Dunsany or Jack Vance. The prose, like Homer, is direct, vivid, manly.

Here are the opening lines. Next time you try to run a Dungeons and Dragons game, try, just try, to establish the mood of danger, riot, and lawless liberty of your tavern setting so quickly and clearly. You will find it is not so easy.

Would be writers take note of which senses are engaged an in which order: sight, sound, smell, and in the adroit final metaphor, feeling.

TORCHES flared murkily on the revels in the Maul, where the thieves of the east held carnival by night. In the Maul they could carouse and roar as they liked, for honest people shunned the quarters, and watchmen, well paid with stained coins, did not interfere with their sport.

Along the crooked, unpaved streets with their heaps of refuse and sloppy puddles, drunken roisterers staggered, roaring. Steel glinted in the shadows where wolf preyed on wolf, and from the darkness rose the shrill laughter of women, and the sounds of scufflings and strugglings.

Torchlight licked luridly from broken windows and wide-thrown doors, and out of those doors, stale smells of wine and rank sweaty bodies, clamor of drinking-jacks and fists hammered on rough tables, snatches of obscene songs, rushed like a blow in the face.

Howard is also a master of the art of ‘camerawork’ that is, knowing what not to say. This is from later in the same scene:

‘Heathen dog!’ he bellowed. ‘I’ll have your heart for that!’ Steel flashed and the throng surged wildly back out of the way.

In their flight they knocked over the single candle and the den was plunged in darkness, broken by the crash of upset benches, drum of flying feet, shouts, oaths of people tumbling over one another, and a single strident yell of agony that cut the din like a knife.

When a candle was relighted, most of the guests had gone out by doors and broken windows, and the rest huddled behind stacks of wine-kegs and under tables.

The barbarian was gone; the center of the room was deserted except for the gashed body of the Kothian. The Cimmerian, with the unerring instinct of the barbarian, had killed his man in the darkness and confusion.

Howard also can make a minor character, one stage for but half a chapter, spring to life, such as when the Prince of Thieves schools young Conan with sound advice about his trade:

We’ll strangle old Yara before he can cast any of his accursed spells on us. At least we’ll try; it’s the chance of being turned into a spider or a toad, against the wealth and power of the world. All good thieves must know how to take risks.

A writer not only must set the stage and bring the characters to life. He is also the prop-master. Howard creates a world where even ordinary objects are overlaid with dark glamour. As example, here is the tale of an ampule of poisonous powder:

‘Because that was all the powder I possessed. The obtaining of it was a feat which in itself was enough to make me famous among the thieves of the world. I stole it out of a caravan bound for Stygia, and I lifted it, in its cloth-of-gold bag, out of the coils of the great serpent which guarded it, without awaking him. But come, in Bel’s name! Are we to waste the night in discussion?’

Or a climbing rope:

‘It was woven from the tresses of dead women, which I took from their tombs at midnight, and steeped in the deadly wine of the upas tree, to give it strength.

A writer knows when lure the reader onward with a bit of dark mystery:

Gingerly the barbarian ran his hands over the man’s half-naked body, seeking a wound. But the only marks of violence were between his shoulders, high up near the base of his bull-neck—three small wounds, which looked as if three nails had been driven deep in the flesh and withdrawn. The edges of these wounds were black, and a faint smell as of putrefaction was evident. Poisoned darts? thought Conan—but in that case the missiles should be still in the wounds.

Howard is a master of mood. Some things are just way cool, but one is likely to notice only after reading more of Howard’s world:

‘You are not of Yara’s race of devils,’ sighed the creature. ‘The clean, lean fierceness of the wastelands marks you. I know your people from of old, whom I knew by another name in the long, long ago when another world lifted its jeweled spires to the stars.

The creature is remembering Atlantis. According to Howard’s background, Conan comes from the same long bloodline as Kull.

Finally, Howard is a master of the genre than he makes his own.

And sometimes you stumble over the threshold of strangeness, and realize you are in a science fiction and not a fantasy world, not, or perhaps you realize that the two genres are not two at all, but one. Who told you that imagination was different from speculation?

I am very old, oh man of the waste countries; long and long ago I came to this planet with others of my world, from the green planet Yag, which circles for ever in the outer fringe of this universe. We swept through space on mighty wings that drove us through the cosmos quicker than light…

Howard is a master of the craft. Small wonder these stories are the best remembered of all his prodigious output. Looking at the publication dates, I notice the first three Conan yarns appeared in the pages of Weird Tales in four months: December, January, and March.

If you are wondering, the February issue for that year had stories by H.P. Lovecraft and Clark Ashton Smith, so I am sure the readership yearning for weird tales in Weird Tales were not disappointed. It was a golden age.

Why does our own age seem to have so much tin, which corrodes other metals it touches, so much brass, and so little gold? It may be that a gloss of nostalgia brightens some of the old works. But it also could be that we are not trying to write golden works. We have among us these days men who are the opposite of alchemists. They turn gold into base metals.

Here is the secret to why so much modern fantasy fiction is not just bad, but extremely bad, deplorably bad, deliberately bad: modern fantasy on the whole is morally repugnant, intellectually flat, and viscerally disgusting.

Too many modern fabulists are not friends of the Perilous Wood where dangerous shadows dwell, alarming monsters, fair maidens, and sights fabulous and strange. They are foes. They follow not the tradition of fairy stories reaching from Weird Tales to 1001 Arabian Nights, and the Song of Roland to the Odyssey of Homer. They follow the fashionable nonsense of Marx and Nietzsche and Hegel and Hume, who believe that reality is optional, all morals are manmade hence arbitrary, and that life is merely the endless Darwinian struggle between oppressor and oppressed.

The mind (using the word in a loose sense) of postmodernism holds that reality is merely a story, a narrative, the strong tell the weak in order to oppress them, and that true enlightenment consists of realizing that there is no truth, hence no story to tell.

Postmodernism holds that there is neither good nor evil, neither high nor low, neither fair nor foul, neither virtue nor vice.

But story-telling consists is telling literal truths in figurative ways: metaphors, similes, images and examples. Even the shallowest boy’s adventure tale contains a soul. The story makes a world, and therefore holds a worldview.

In every worldview, there is something uplifted as high, the peak of what is desired and sought, and something else depressed as low, the pit of what is fled. The nature of the drama, whatever the drama is, consist of the struggle of the main character to climb from pit to peak. In tragic stories, his own flaws make him stumble, and he slides down. In happier stories, he struggles and climbs and finds the peak. He wins the girl, or learns a lesson, or saves the kingdom, and returns home and puts his child on his knee and smiles.

And in tales that are deeper, that is, more truthful, we find that after the struggle, the bruised but unbowed hero stands aloft but is surprised that he ends up with a different victory, atop a different peak, than he saw looking up from below, when he started.

But postmodernism is a worldview that says all worldviews are false. One man’s peak is another man’s valley, therefore there is no innate meaning in life, no gods, no moral law, no Aesop’s lesson to be learned, no victory and no downfall. There is no height, and no depth. There is nothing but a flat and featureless plane, reaching endlessly to no horizon, with no water, no shade, and no directions.

Stories of any genre, even if they copy all the furniture of fantastic tales, told in this worldview have nothing to say, and contain no drama. They are executed like graffiti, merely to mar what other, more skilled hands, have put in place.

Now, a well-crafted tale, on the other hand, even if it holds a worldview not to the reader’s taste or liking, the reader will like and admire (and, if that reader is as I am, will adore) any tale whose worldview is not flat and meaningless. A pagan tale of what a pagan calls high and low I may think to reflect a worldview that is only half the truth, but that half is half I can love, if the teller of the tale knows his business.

And Howard knows.

Conan: The Tower of the Elephant published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

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snarksicleblog-blog · 7 years

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Grimsby

By Danaë Brandt

Click.

A pale naked man looked up at the worn-out contraption.

Digital Board: 3 001 768 288 Served.

This naked man’s name is Carl if you must know. That however, is unimportant. He was but one, of countless “hopeful” (and just as naked) applicants, queuing up the narrow hallway to Mr. Grimsby’s door. He breathed a sigh of relief. I’m next. Bout’ fuckin time. He took a step forward toward the red tape on the floor, and stopped. He watched Frat Boy, the guy he had been standing behind, lower his head, clench his butt cheeks, and make his way towards the office door. He stopped just as he was close enough to smell the nauseating green lead paint. The only object around that was new enough to gleam. His left thumb went from tan, to red, to purple as the right pressed into it, suffocating the life out of his manicure.

Where the hell is the guard? Carl thought. He had gone on coffee break a while ago. He would have shoved this idiot in there already. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder, keeping his eyes levelled as to not catch anything below the belt. He could not see where the line ended anymore. The flickering lights were dying along the mile-long corridor, plunging the unfortunates at the end of line into complete darkness. One could be excused for thinking they were trying to gain entrance to the most in vogue underground club in the U.S. instead of a meeting with the terribly trivial Mr. Grimsby. One could also wonder why this place was so under-staffed, or why one man would be in charge of all the applicants in North America. After all, they were in the most notorious of places. Seems positively, unequivocally, really truly… Anticlimactic.

The people in line started sneering at the apparent cowardice of the Head of Gamma-Something-or-Other house.

“Gutless moron,” someone whispered at first.

“Yeah asshole? What happened to that smart-ass attitude?” asked a woman in a nasal voice.

“Not so tough without your polo shirt, huh?” said far way voice. Not the best heckler in the bunch.

“Where your bros at?” added another. Many applicants in line started joining in. The deluge of taunts made its eventual way to the folks so far back, they had never seen the front crowd. Soon enough, they were also mocking the pathetic guy at the door. Then, in a steady and decisive voice, Carl, the man right behind him, let out the last one Frat Boy wanted to hear.

“Pussy.”

The young boy turned around raising both his arms, like a priest during Acclamation… Or a frat boy after a keg stand.

“Oh yeah? Fuck you!”

He turned back swiftly and, in a hyperventilating fit, reminiscent of a child about to dive into glacial water, Frat Boy twisted the silver doorknob and stepped in. The line erupted in cheers. They were glad to be rid of the aggravating boy. Their long wait had been made even more unbearable by Gamma-Douche’s loud and incessant whining. From what Carl had gathered, Frat Boy had driven his Camaro into a minivan, killing a family of five. His parents had managed to bail him out. Clean record and all. Five months later, plastered Frat Boy got himself into yet another accident. Needless to say, a meeting with Mr. Grimsby was unavoidable. Mr. Grimsby could not be bought by daddy dearest. Or by Carl for that matter…

Click. Digital Board: 3 001 768 289 Served.

Carl’s head snapped back to the front. Already? The Digital Board had been so slow, Carl had found himself counting his eyelashes to cope with the painful wait. This time however, it had not been a minute before it was the next person’s turn. His turn. He slowly walked up to the office door and turned the heavy plain knob, inhaling longer than he would, hoping it would slow his frantic heartbeat. With a forceful exhale, he pushed the door.

Mr. Grimsby’s office reflected a life of bureaucratic exactitude. There was one desk in the centre of the room, opposing chairs, the white walls were bare, and the file cabinets neatly locked with the endless contracts he has drawn over the years.

“Take a seat,” said the little man, his attention fixated on the form in front of him. He scribbled with frantic movements of the wrist, his skeletal elbow anchored, steadying his writing arm with the precision of a printer. His green visor blocking his sure to be weasely face, framed his glossy bald head. Once he finished, he tossed the pen into the bin by his bare legs. Carl heard it hit the metal brim, then the floor. He got down to pick it up and toss it himself. He didn’t want to take any chances with the clerk, even if he looked like weakling. Surely he couldn’t be. The bin was already half filled with dried up ballpoints. Mr. Grimsby’s crossed his legs, giving Carl a front row seat to his— THUD.

“Ow! Mother-f—“ Carl cursed after slamming his head on the edge of the table.

“Shall we we proceed sir?” Mr. Grimsby suggested with an impassive expression. His spidery fingers twisted the form to face Carl. His beady eyes unwavering behind his Mat Steel Windsor eyeglasses, “You will need to sign these papers to be permitted passage. Sign on the first dotted line at the bottom of the first and last pages, and write your initials on the the others as you read.

“There must be thousands of pages,” Carl complained.

“Indeed. Isn’t convenient we have all the time in the World? Once you finish reading, and I do suggest you read every page carefully, we can then discuss your options.”

“My options?”

“As to how you shall be spending your time here.”

“I have a choice?”

“We all make choices don’t we? It is what has landed you here in the first place, sir,” his neatly filed fingernail tapped the dotted line. Mr. Grimsby reached for another ballpoint in his drawer, and started scribbling on another form. Carl looked down to the papers:

Nether World District - Perdition Application Admission (NB - 1318)

Permanent Resident (North American Damned)

Carl read through the numerous Hell Residency Situations. It all looked pretty standard. With escalating gravity, the road to purgatory would be lengthier and more torturous. To be expected. Carl identified with situation 329: You have lived a life of sin by committing fraud in the 2010 Synthetic CDO case, trading insider secrets with your competitors at Citigroup, causing your investors to lose their material possessions, emotional stability and in some cases, caused them to take their own lives. You have spent more time pursuing selfish pursuits, causing you to miss eight of your son’s baseball games, two of your other son’s dance recitals and all of your twelve anniversaries—

“I always sent Beth flowers!” Carl muttered.

“I’m sure she appreciated being sent flowers from your secretary. The one you were having an affair with.”

“So? She was a pill-popping washed-up socialite. I was done with her. She wasn’t a better parent anyway.”

“Very astute of you sir. She is scheduled to arrive here six years and two months from now. She still has quite a few wild oats to sow. Your children’s future is still to be decided.”

“Hmmph,” Carl rolled his eyes and signed before finishing the ten page long situation, “Nice first name… Barney,” he mocked as he signed he last page, noticing the small engraved name plate on the desk, “I have to say, I didn’t expect Hell to be so… civilized.”

“How so sir?” Mr. Grimsby asked going over the application and making sure he wouldn’t be cheated by a con-man. He had also worked as a clerk in law firm way back in the day. He had been the type dot all the “i”s, cross all his “t”s, measure the dots above both “i”s and “j”s, making sure they were always perfectly aligned. He also doubled-barred all his zeroes, because God forbid his unfaltering compulsion for order, could be perverted by simpletons. It’s that obsession for the penny-ante that had landed him there in the first place.

“Well look at us? You’d think we’re at the DMV.”

“I’m afraid the Department of Motor Vehicles was established after my time.”

“Where’s the fire? Where are the hook wielding demons? Where’s the big dog guarding the Gates of Hell? This is all I was supposed to be “afraid” of? A scrawny immigration officer in a shitty poker cap?”

“Shall we proceed to the options of residency available to you?”

“I was at least expecting some fucking second-rate James Earl Jones declaring “I am the Gate Keeper” or some shit,” Carl continued. He sat back comfortably in his chair. He had eaten bigger steaks than the pathetic paper pusher sitting opposite him.

“This is not about living up to your expectations of Hades sir. It’s about tailoring your punishment to your worst nightmare… You are now insignificant, and, for all intents and purposes, I am the Gate Keeper.”

“Sure thing sir. Whatever you say “boss”.”

“As you qualify for an extensive list of punishments, you must purge your soul through a minimum of 300 years process—“

“Say Barnster, what landed your sorry ass down here?” Carl interrupted.

“It is of no importance,” he answered, his face as stoic as ever. He had not lived a selfless life. His nit-picky attention to the insignificant, had poisoned his promising accounting career, his family life, and finally his soul. His death had been dramatic in its own pitiful way. His employer had found a mistake in the books. One Mr. Grimsby refused to admit. It had been a mere difference of a few dollars. Nothing worth offering a challenge for. Mr. Grimsby had often likened himself to the misunderstood Third Vice President, Aaron Burr. This would be a farfetched comparison, praising Mr. Grimsby all too much. One could argue for delusions of grandeur perhaps, but most would note an unmistakeable inferiority complex. His employer, his own Alexander Hamilton, had been a skilled marksman, and petty Mr. Grimsby well… He had been vain… And legally blind.

“So you are just some poor sap who died before confession. That explains it. I want to see your manager.” Now that was a new one.

“My manager? Sir?”

“Oh don’t play innocent Barnacle, I want to meet the the Top Dog.”

“I am not familiar with that title.”

“The Big Cheese.”

“Sir we need to sign—“ Mr. Grimsby started before flinching when the other man slammed his fist on the desk.

“Listen here Barnicus—“ Carl stood up fast, his large frame casting a shadow on the Gate Keeper.

“Was that meant to be an insult?”

“I want to meet Satan.”

“Satan?”

“Yes Satan! The Devil, Lucifer, the Morningstar, God’s whiny eternally grounded teenage son. He’s the one that runs this place right? I’m the man to run this dump back to its former glory.”

“Unless you know one of the original demons, you have no connection to Mr. Morningstar. No common damned soul meets with the Head of State here,” Mr. Grimsby explained. His expression static.

“And have you met him?”

“I have a key position in his administration now don’t I?”

“So who’s a guy gotta blow for a job down here? I saw some of the mandatory punishments I got to go through. I’m sure as hell not going through phase two. Phase seven and eight, I can manage. I draw the line at becoming anybody’s money shot.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t how it works, sir,” Mr. Grimsby spoke, with his straight lips starting to twitch at the corners. He was amused.

“Oh come on man, is there anything I can be of use to the Big Guy? I have a array of skills that should be more than useful down here. You need to slice up some bitches? I took anatomy in first year of College. You need to get people to talk? I’m a master extortioner. Just ask Chris Christie. That fat old blockhead stood like a whimpering idiot behind the T Man, all because I got him drunk enough to take pictures with a half naked Ru Paul. You need to teach a slut a lesson? I’ll—“ Mr. Grimsby held up his right hand, and rubbed his temples with the left.

“Please sir. You’re making this process needlessly long. I am behind with the line-up, and I would hate to underperform after turning in my best numbers to date.”

“Please Barney…”

“Mr. Grimsby, sir,” he said, grinning at the large man, cowering at the idea of losing his manhood. Idiot, he already had.

“Mr. Grimsby,” Carl repeated.

“Fine, I’ll show you the way to his office. Forgive me if I don’t follow you. I have no time.”

“Of course, of course. Thank you Mr. Grimsby.”

“Very well,” Mr. Grimsby snapped his fingers. A golden door, carved itself into the bare wall behind the desk. The carvings drew a modern man’s body, in a fitted suit, tossing a coin into the air. His head was that of a large bull. “Send my regards to Mr. Morningstar.”

“Is there anything I should know?”

“If I was welcomed in his administration, I’m sure a strong man like you would have no problem doing the same. Have at it.”

Carl entered the dark corridor, and closed the door at snail-like pace. As soon as it closed, the door disappeared, manifesting a new, and decidedly less ostentatious door in its stead. A horned red skinned demon wearing a security cap entered, holding a steaming white coffee mug with a powder blue logo saying “Jesus is my Bitch!” He looked back the the door, with a puzzled look.

“Did you open The Door?” the demon enquired.

“Indeed.”

“Who went in?”

“A new resident.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He tried to show you up didn’t he?” the demon ventured, and Mr. Grimsby shrugged, “You’re a sick bastard you know that Grimsby?” he remarked in a matter-of-fact tone.

“After over a Century down here… I am loathed to finally admit. I am petty. Send in the next one.” Carl follows the long narrow corridor, plunged into blackness. He made his way slowly, weary of what would be at the end. His eyes adjusted slightly, spotting flickering lights somewhere ahead…

Silence. Digit Board: 3 001 768 289 Served

#fantasy #short story #hell #fiction #prose fiction

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