#putting these two in a jar together for scientific study

[favvn]

Pairing these two scenes together because there's Something about their phrasing that is driving me Insane. (Is it the use of religious imagery turned on its head--purgatory is not a thing to desire much less create for yourself, losing paradise is normally a tragedy to be mourned--to highlight a unifying belief that both Kirk and Spock live by? That both accept the loss of paradise for the uncertainty of life?)

Like. I Know Spock's line about "self-made purgatories" (and what a line! I am gnawing on it like a dog with a bone) is referring both to his Duty to The Enterprise and Kirk as the First Officer vs his experience of love from the plant spores, but it's also referring to him being both human and Vulcan and trying to adhere to one half at the expense of the other and finding himself fitting in nowhere as result (although, I would argue The Enterprise with Kirk is where he fits in as Kirk has consistently shown he doesn't expect Spock to be More Vulcan or More Human but to just be Spock).

And Kirk.... knowing his past on Tarsus IV and how he shouldn't be alive had Kodos had his way.... His dogged determination to beat the odds against him.... Dare I say it's giving Born To Run vibes? The mindset of, "Fine. Paradise is lost, but I'll keep going anyway."

[icethewolf20025]

What is Frankenstein had a roommate?

Now, I am not talking about the monster. In the book, the monster was never named, so when I talk about Frankenstein I'm talking about Victor Frankenstein. So, Victor is a college kid in England, he just moved and he's getting an allowance from his father. He finds that the housing prices are a little higher than expected and he can't afford a flat. So he goes looking for a roommate. He meets a nice young man named Clark who goes to the same school and has a part-time job that can't quite cover rent. They move into a two-bedroom apartment near campus together. Clark is studying literature and is the sole reason Victor can eat (after an incident Victor was banned from the kitchen.) He helps pull Victor out of his books and is good for him. Victor helps Clark with schoolwork and tells him about all the new scientific discoveries. They eat dinner together every night and go on walks in the park. They enjoy each other's company. When Victor writes letters home he tells them all about Clark, how good of a chef he is and how social. Clark does the same, telling his family about how smart and determined Victor is. They stop being able to imagine life without each other. One night Victor says that once they part ways he'll miss Clark and that they should write often. Clark FREAKS OUT about this. He gets super upset cause he doesn't want this to stop. He likes being domestic with his friend and doesn't to live with anyone else. Clark likes Victor, even with all of his eccentricities. And that night Victor gets a letter from Elizabeth, and for the first time, he starts to wonder if he really wants to marry her. He realizes that he just wants to stay here in this flat with Clark.

A month later Victor starts going down the rabbit hole that leads to the creation of the monster. Despite Clark's best efforts Victor stays firmly lodged in his books. Clark gets worried and asks his parents if he could go for a visit. They agree and tell him that he should "Bring that Frankenstein boy you're always talking about." So Clark asks Victor to go meet his parents. Victor wants to but he sees this as the perfect time to work on the monster, so he declines. Clark leaves food and cooking instructions and sets off.

When Clark comes back the flat smells like herbs and has an underlying scent of decay. His mind immediately jumps to "Has Victor murdered someone?" He almost giggled. Victor? His sweet, shy, nerdy Victor? He couldn't kill someone if he tried. But someone else could murder Victor. Someone else could be in here right now. Clark steels himself and walks into the kitchen. It does look like someone was murdered, with body parts in jars and something vaguely humanoid on the table. He cringes and looks at the shelf. "Is that a jar of blood?" He vomits. Clark hears someone rushing into the room and Victor, his sweet Victor is there, carrying something wrapped in butcher paper. He puts the thing down on a chair and rushes to Clark, helping him to bed. Victor leaves for a bit when he comes back he climbs into the bed, snuggling up. It is winter, after all.

When he wakes up the fire is dead and Victor is still curled in his arms. Clark sighs and goes back to sleep.

They don't mention it. Victor's monster of a man never gets discussed. Victor works on it and Clark moves around it. He's sad to see his beloved friend losing himself in this way, but Clark can't do much. The only positive so far has been cuddling up in the same bed on cold nights. Besides that Victor doesn't talk or interact much. Clark decides to visit a friend for supper. He leaves Victor with his dinner and a quick kiss on the head. He's not sure when that started happening, but neither complained. Victor gives him a small, rare smile and mentions that the monster is almost complete.

When Clark gets back he finds Victor had left and the monster was sitting in his kitchen. He quickly deduced that, despite appearances, this is a giant toddler. Clark gives him some food and finds clothes for him. After the monster is asleep he sets to the task of scrubbing his kitchen.

Victor comes back the next day with a strange man. They both seem shocked at the monster sitting on the kitchen floor, eating an apple. Victor almost faints and Clark explains to the man, who he's found out is names Henry Clerival, that right now is not the best time and that it might be good for him to get a hotel room. Henry agrees and leaves after helping Victor to bed.

They name the monster Percy Frankenstein. Victor woke up and freaked out, but Clark told him to take responsibility for the person he created. Percy got Victor's old room after he moved in with Clark. They have reinforced all of the furniture so that Percy can use it. He's quickly able to talk and read. Some people cower but after getting to know Percy they find that he's truly quite sweet. He calls Victor his father and it's true enough. They're happy. And then the letter comes. It's from Victor's father, asking him to come home. It asserts that he's been gone for too long and heavily implies that it's high time he married Elizabeth. So Victor starts planning his trip. He says he will be gone for a month, and makes sure that Clark and Percy will be okay without him. The night before he is set to leave he starts to cry. Clark gets worried and Victor tells him that he doesn't want to go home, he doesn't want to get married to Elizabeth, and he wants to stay here. He says that it all feels so far removed, that he would much rather just stay with Clark and Percy thank you very much. Clark sympathizes, kissing him all over his face and telling him that it will be okay. He promises that he'll write every day, and he'll try to get Percy to do the same. He tells him not to marry Elizabeth if he doesn't want to and to come home as soon as possible.

Clark and Percy go with Victor to get a horse. He tearfully hugs Clark and his son. They exchange goodbyes and he's off. The first week goes by quickly. Clark misses having Victor in his bed, and Percy missed talking with his father, but it's overall very normal. They write letters every day, alternating who gets to write. Percy accidentally breaks a chair and starts to cry, but Clark reassures him and they write it as a funny story for Victor.

The next three weeks are the worst. They're both missing the third piece like crazy. Victor completes their puzzle, and it's awful without him. Percy's never been without his father for this long and is having meltdowns near daily. Clark misses cuddles and quick, scratchy kisses from when Victor forgets to shave. He misses the way that Victor forgets where he puts small things and how he looks so excited when he talks about something he's passionate about. He stops talking as much, let's the house go a bit, and just generally quits being himself.

The last two weeks are better. They're both looking forward to Victor's return. Clark starts to clean with a passion and Percy starts reading Paradise Lost at his father's recommendation. The pair are happier and start going out more. Percy loves walks in the park.

Then Victor's home. They weren't sure when he was going to be getting home, so Clark was surprised when he heard a key turn in a lock at ten o'clock at night. He was having trouble sleeping and had been reading after putting Percy to sleep. For the first time in a month, Victor came home. Clark was up immediately, crushing Victor in a hug that made him drop his bags. Victor said "I love you" and Clark said it back. Percy was asleep but he got a quick kiss on the head from his father.

Victor didn't marry Elizabeth. She and his father had both asked if he loved another. He answered that he loved her, but as a sister. Elizabeth was upset, but not surprised. She had expected this. He had known her from childhood and often called her cousin. He had had a lovely time despite this, but he was very glad to be home.

[rabbitcruiser]

National Save a Spider Day

National Save a Spider Day is celebrated on March 14 annually in the U.S. in part to reduce arachnophobia, a fear of spiders, and to conserve spiders. People are usually afraid of spiders, mostly due to their bites which are considered deadly. Although most of the fear is largely unfounded and exaggerated, spiders are incredibly useful to humans as they work as effective pest control among other things. On this day, we look at the many reasons why we should rather trap a spider in a jar and take it outside than kill it. Let us spin webs about spiders and why they should be saved.

History of National Save a Spider Day

The history of Save A Spider Day, as well as the organization or individual who created it, is still being researched. Natural-resource organizations or biologists may have instituted this National Save A Spider Day in response to the growing recognition of spiders’ significance in both the environment and the daily lives of humans.

In the opinion of specialists, spiders perform a very vital function in maintaining the balance of nature’s ecosystem. Spiders, together with other species such as birds and ants, have a substantial impact on the reduction of insect populations. The world’s natural ecology would be severely out of balance if they didn’t exist. Cobweb spiders and cellar spiders are the two most prevalent types of spiders that have been discovered to invade our homes, according to scientific research. They are quite common inhabitants of the indoor ecosystem, and they can improve the living conditions of our living areas.

This is because spiders prefer to hide in dark places while waiting for their victim. The pests they trap and devour include annoying pests such as cockroaches and pincer ants, as well as disease-transmitting insects such as mosquitoes and flies. Sometimes the spiders work together to kill the toxic spiders, although this is not always the case. Among other things, our good friend the basement spider is well-known for killing dangerous black widow spiders.

National Save a Spider Day timeline

300 Million Years Ago The First Spider is Spotted

The first spider is reported as a species.

30 Million Years Ago The Modern Spider Emerges

Spiders — as we know them today — appear at this time as they evolve from their ancestors.

1998 The Museum Works With Them

Dan Babbit from The Smithsonian Museum works with spiders and comes to appreciate their uniqueness.

2016 The Desertas Wolf Spiders

Mark Bushell and his team of spiders go on to successfully reproduce and bring back 25 spiders from Madeira.

National Save a Spider Day FAQs

Are spiders friendly?

No, they are not. Spiders often are isolated and do not intentionally seek the company of humans if they enter their homes.

Can a spider be tamed?

Spiders can be tamed including tarantulas which is why you can see them as pets.

Do Spiders live on every continent?

Except for Antarctica, spiders can be found on every other continent.

How to Observe National Save a Spider Day

Save a spider

Learn about spiders

Watch Spider-Man

When you see a spider, you can save one instead of killing them. You can put the spider in a jar and then release it back into the wild.

On this day, you can learn about the behavior of spiders and learn about their habits. You can also study the difference between poisonous and non-poisonous species of spiders.

You can watch your favorite superhero bitten by a radioactive spider, Spider-Man. Watching Spider-Man can add to the interest of others so that they are not as afraid.

5 Interesting Facts About Spiders

Arachnophobia is common

Only a few are dangerous

A symbol of good luck

They produce silk

Spiders have gone to Space

This is the fear of spiders and is the third most common phobia in the U.S.

Most spiders do not have venom dangerous enough to the average-sized human.

Many cultures such as Greek, Roman, Scottish, and American Indian cultures consider spiders to be a symbol of good luck.

Spiders produce silk that researchers use to test its strength and elasticity to see how it can be employed in several ways.

Researchers have sent spiders to space to study the effects of zero gravity on their skill to spin their webs.

Why National Save a Spider Day is Important

Spiders are Important Predators

Spiders produce silk

Spiders are sensitive

Spiders eat insects wherever they are situated —inside or outside the house— which reduces the number of insects around. They keep the number of pests under control reducing the diseases that are being spread and fewer insects bothering humans.

All spiders produce silk which is one of the strongest materials that have been discovered. The tensile strength of high-grade alloy steel.

Spiders have poor eyesight but they have sensitive legs. These legs have tiny hairs which help them detect scents, help them find food, find potential mates, and sense vibrations.

Source

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

NASA-ISRO Earth Science Instruments Get Send-Off Before Moving to India Dignitaries from the U.S. and Indian space agencies, along with members of the media, were invited to see NISAR’s science payload in a Jet Propulsion Laboratory clean room. It’s nearly time for the scientific heart of NISAR – short for NASA-ISRO Synthetic Aperture Radar – an Earth science satellite being jointly built by NASA and the Indian Space Research Organisation, to ship out to its last stop before launching into orbit: southern India. Before its departure, members of the media got a chance to see NISAR’s advanced radar instruments up close on Feb. 3 in a clean room at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in Southern California. Journalists spoke with ISRO Chairman S. Somanath, JPL Director Laurie Leshin, dignitaries from NASA headquarters and India, and members of the mission team. “This marks an important milestone in our shared journey to better understand planet Earth and our changing climate,” Leshin said. “NISAR will provide critical information on Earth’s crust, ice sheets, and ecosystems. By delivering measurements at unprecedented precision, NISAR’s promise is new understanding and positive impact in communities. Our collaboration with ISRO exemplifies what’s possible when we tackle complex challenges together.” Somanath, Indian Ambassador and Deputy Chief of Mission Sripriya Ranganathan, and NASA officials toured the High Bay 2 clean room, where they saw engineers and technicians putting the science instrument payload through final electrical testing. Outside the facility, in front of a scale model of the NISAR satellite, NASA’s NISAR Project Manager Phil Barela and ISRO’s NISAR Project Director CV Shrikant ceremonially broke fresh coconuts. The tradition, common in India, often marks auspicious occasions and signifies hope for a smooth road ahead. Leshin also presented the ISRO delegation with a jar of JPL lucky peanuts. Also present were Bhavya Lal, NASA’s associate administrator for technology, policy, and strategy; Karen St. Germain, director of NASA’s Earth Science Division; and Gerald Bawden, NISAR program scientist, among others. “Today we come one step closer to fulfilling the immense scientific potential NASA and ISRO envisioned for NISAR when we joined forces more than eight years ago,” Somanath said. “This mission will be a powerful demonstration of the capability of radar as a science tool and help us study Earth’s dynamic land and ice surfaces in greater detail than ever before.” Members of the media also visited the clean room, speaking with key figures on the NASA mission team, including Deputy Project Manager Wendy Edelstein and Deputy Project Scientist Susan Owen. NISAR will gather radar data with a drum-shaped reflector antenna almost 40 feet (12 meters) in diameter. It will use a signal-processing technique called interferometric synthetic aperture radar, or InSAR, to observe changes in Earth’s land and ice surfaces down to fractions of an inch. Since early 2021, engineers and technicians at JPL have been integrating and testing NISAR’s two radar systems – the L-band SAR provided by JPL and the S-band SAR built by ISRO. Later this month, they will move the SUV-size payload into a special cargo container for a 9,000-mile (14,000-kilometer) flight to India’s U R Rao Satellite Centre in the city of Bengaluru. There it will be merged with the spacecraft bus in preparation for a 2024 launch from Satish Dhawan Space Centre in Andhra Pradesh state. The observations NISAR makes will help researchers measure the ways in which Earth is constantly changing by detecting both subtle and dramatic movements. Slow-moving variations of a land surface can precede earthquakes, landslides, and volcanic eruptions, and data about such movement could help communities prepare for natural hazards. Measurements of melting sea ice and ice sheets will improve understanding of the pace and impacts of climate change, including sea level rise. And observations of the planet’s forest and agricultural regions will improve our knowledge of carbon exchange between the atmosphere and plant communities, reducing uncertainties in models used to project future climate. Over the course of its three-year prime mission, the satellite will observe nearly the entire planet every 12 days, making observations day and night, in all weather conditions. “We have only just begun to envision the new knowledge and tangible benefits NISAR observations will have for communities around the world,” St. Germain said. “This moment is the culmination of years of cooperation between NASA and ISRO and shows our shared commitment to advancing science and benefitting humanity.” More About the Mission NISAR is a joint Earth-observing mission between NASA and ISRO. JPL, which is managed for NASA by Caltech in Pasadena, leads the U.S. component of the project and is providing the mission’s L-band SAR. NASA is also providing the radar reflector antenna, the deployable boom, a high-rate communication subsystem for science data, GPS receivers, a solid-state recorder, and payload data subsystem. ISRO is providing the spacecraft bus, the S-band SAR, the launch vehicle, and associated launch services and satellite mission operations.

[olivedoesmagic]

Journal 84: Gravity Falls Theme Song (2022 Remake) 【cover with lyrics by Emery】

Journal 84: Gravity Falls Theme Song (2022 Remake)

【cover with lyrics by Emery】

I promised percy a copy of my olive brimstone shit even if we’re fighting. The norse gods while I was in the hospital and Loki was in a jar, made me indestructible to seven things. Earth, Air, Water, Fire, Destruction and games. There are two things now that can kill me, a murder or a suicide and that’s about it! Something something, Balder Drama. I was on a cart with them, and I saw things flashing in my eyes, as I made immune to several things. I think Balder is back from the dead as of now, so yay! I’m glad he’s home. Also the greek gods, helped me with some other stuff regarding my form and I used magick to introduce Hephestus to Bismuth from Steven Unvierse. Because all aliens put to paper are real aliens. My gem is a rainbow heart btw. Since I have a form for every species! Also I feel like learning french for the hell of it. Woui Woui Bitch. 

Now for an explanation in several different culture as to how this is possible. All magick is science. Historically all science was magick why is it so hard to believe what we’re currently working with and studying is the same way? So a spell works by taking elements from around you, and pushing them into some sort of vessel for action, and than activating a reaction? Thus a spell is a chemical reaction formed, because each object on earth has elements and corespondents science hasn’t picked up on, sometimes even down to the atom, that can be activated via the intent of a spell. All science can be explained magicaklly and all magick and a sceintifc and chemical route. Rain cycle are the perfect metaphor for reincarnation. Metaphorically it works exactly the same way, and scientifically it is almost identical say for what is being cycled through. Shordiegers cat is the idea is that something is as it always was, and is in constant being while not even existing. It’s a theory in science circles, so when I say souls are rain and shoredigns cat, I’m saying they choose their fate, they are always their destiny, and the differences there in, thus they are as shreodgeirns cat for karma.

In Native mythology everything has a soul, and anything in the likeness of a person can think. This is one way you can call upon a pop culture spirit or the likeness of superman. He is a person, or in the image of one, thus he has a soul. That’s the native perspectives but it differs from tribe to tribe. Google it it’s not my job when explaining my knosis that is commonly understood to dig through links through you. Your interested? Here’s your explanation. Everything has a code. A molecule an atom. Even disases and fridges. Adams are a form of code, and the likeness of a code is in the image of a person. It’s elementary. So thus if it code it has sentiance that’s how brains work, we’re just top dog on this planet. Thus you can call upon anything. But no every single “thoughtform” or “fictional idea” of a person is an egregore. Egregores are a very specific type of spriti and entity, this isn’t commonly known or understood. Yes you can conjure something in an idea, but egregores are not always that. Thotforms aren’t even what these fictional spirits are. You can call upon a spirit in a masc, a spirit from an alternate world, a spirit from a channeling which is what most fiction is even if you worked really super duper hard to “make it up” /hs (half sarcastic). Thus theirs nothing wrong with writing shitty fiction because it really happened somewhere in the multiverse. Multiverse theory is the idea that all ideas that CAN happen because some things just CANT, is real elsewhere in an “alternate reality” a “parllel univers” and “alternate turn of events where things happened differently” thus resulting in a different world. They all exist bubbled together colliding sometimes even, and being their own unique copies of earth. When someone writes a story sometimes they tap into a type of energy “we’d call a spirit” that guides them into writing this shit. That’s what fiction is. Thus all fiction is real, just not always real here. And sometimes such as in the case of my friend Persues, that fiction is literal or prophecy that you don’t get to touch. It’s a real ass vision you transcibe and now your a best selling author rick.

So yeah, don’t freak out over it, it’s not a big deal. It’s magick. But it all has a rational explanation and yes even though I shoudn’t say this even the gods reincarnate. In my story I was the god to divine divinity, and I chose them, from earth, all fo space and time, and yes even other planets where they were as you and I were. The reason I’m so special as Olive fuking Brimstone isn’t because I signed a pact, it’s because I’m not human and I never was. Your planet is strange! You have poverty, politics, and crisis! You have oceans and dear and some people can only dream of that! I’ve traveled the stars I can tell you certainly. You have magick and don’t have peace, and have war and famine, And these are all good things! Other planets laugh but also marvel at earth and they’ve been here, after all I’m speaking to you as deity and something more. Blue blue blue blue blue (that’s an inside joke towards other for me). But because of how earth is, you cannot understand. Until the contact is made which I have arranged for you. Muses cause magick and ideas and chaneling. And if a person becomes a god like my enemy lardass then they will understand as I have. Now I kinda uh don’t age, and can’t die, and they won’t get that, but if you work your ass off. Welcome to the click.

Now to time travel is rather simple. I went with Zone Captor to this event: We drank shampagin it was fun. We told not to write anything down, I was the chubby boy at the time. Now it’s fine to come out with those results but given teh warning we gave them they will probably choose not too. All you need is a magickal gps for time to time travel, it’s basically just astral projection like reality shifting. See now doesn’t this stuff seem easy? /gen it’s all very simple. But then again, I literally created you where I’m from.

So yeah! That’s everything. It’s all just patterns. To get “good” at a language all you have to do is memorize the patterns from one to three languages you know and soon it will just take days and vocabulary to become fluent in anything! Then you can apply that linguistic pattern to magick and building and bam your now a genius who can do just about anything. But a word of advice as someone who’s about to cure a major disease partially do to the help of this blog: They will never beleive you. Not unless they are also on this train. Your not me. Your not dean winchester. So don’t try to be. Your path is your own to walk, and whether that’s of coins and trains and dolls, I can only guide as the one who watches earth, as myself Olive Brimstone and I revealed to you what I am, I can only take a mask and help you further. ^__^

So that’s the secret of the universe. I’m a deity,  I reincarnate every now and then to save this rock and I am in every religion and pantheon. Acrians is my Teacher, he helped show me this shit, and true while I kin him, we are different people. He likes to hide. I like to show off. That’s how you’ll see the difference. He doesn’t do offerings I do. Sweet teas, and honey and anything artistic, if I hurt you it’s to get you where you need to go.

So yes. That’s how this all works. All of it. Even music is patterns, and numbers and shapes. It’s all true. IF your hearing voices as someone who reads this blog does cus I hear your prayers you need to see a healer, and the type of healer you seek weather that be a therapist or a voodoo priest is up to you. Certain things hold certain power, but it is not my job to dictate how you recover, or regain your fortitude or familiarity. Now my disciple Neris is calling me. See ya! Oh and here’s an official art of me. I’m white it’s hard to tell in the drwaning but I am Olive and this is me!

[get it as a sticker or poster or puzzle here!] [Merch Guide]

 -that’s the website sn0wf1ake if your reading in print! And Harmony Occult books google doc again if your reading in print-

Olive Brimstone

2:28 Pm

8/19/2022

[redhawtriot]

Could I possibly have a scenario with a fem s/o who is constantly high but yet Bakugou can’t help but fall in love :) thanks in advance!

Anonymous- “Can I pls get first date with bakugo and reader goes to pay for her half and bakugo shits her down with some tsundere ass response like “I just know if you pay for this you’re gonna complain you dont have money to buy other shit.”

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

I mashed these two request together!

Enjoy the fluff while it last cuz it’s finna get ANGSTY in this bitch!

HnM💕

How Stop liking a Stoner (Bakugou x Reader)

Bakugou absolutely hated you. Of course he didn’t get along with most people that he met, but the way that he despised you felt different  from others somehow. 

It all began the day that the two of you met. You had walked into class with a very distinct odor. You considered yourself to be a professional at hiding your more delinquent lifestyle; however, masked away under the layers of fruity and sweet perfumes that you had coated yourself in, was a slight, but very recognizable, dank and smokey smell.

You also had certain mannerisms that could alert even the purest of minds to your…ahem… extra-curricular actives.

Now, you weren’t a complete noob. You could handle the high well enough that you weren’t overly quiet, or loud, but you did often find yourself in situations that could expose your habits: such as when Mina asked you to feel how soft a furry piece of her hero costume was, and you ended up petting it for a few uncomfortable minutes before someone called you out, snapping you out of your trance.

Bakugou, being the ever perceptive grump that he was, noticed any of these sorts of slip ups and drew up the conclusion that you were indeed a stoner.   

But that wasn’t even what he could bring himself to hate about you. No, it was the way that you made him feel whenever you were around that made him wholy despise you. 

When you stupidly giggled at every slight occurrence, he could only replay the sound in his head over and over. Disgusting. When you absentmindedly swayed your body in a slight dance during lectures he couldn’t help but to watch you with a terrifyingly light feeling in his chest. Fucking gross. Even as you sat chomping on the insane mountain of snacks that you brought to class, he couldn’t fight the urge to steal glances at the little smile that was perpetually plastered onto your face. Absolutely adorable. WAIT? WHAT THE FUCK?! 

God, he couldn’t stand your ass.

The furious blond found himself sitting at his desk, glaring at his laptop. He sat in thought for a moment before violently popping his knuckles and leaning into the search engine in front of him, allowing his fingers get to work.

Is marijuana bad for you? 

Bakugou scrolled along the first page and found many differing views on the subject, but most scientific articles and studies mostly said the same things: “maybe”, “it depends”, and “we don’t know.” He groaned in frustration, before trying another phrasing of his question,

Can smoking have long term effects? 

The teen was surprised by the overwhelming amount data that appeared, before realizing that they were mostly referencing to cigarettes and cigars. He growled and angrily smashed his fingers against his keyboard to correct his question.

Can smoking weed have long term effects?

As he eyeballed his screen he was once again disappointed by very vague and unclear answers. He slammed a fist onto his laptop in frustration. How the hell could you put that shit into your body without knowing what it would do to you later?! 

Wait. A better, more pressing question shoved itself into his mind.

WHY THE HELL DID HE CARE SO DAMN MUCH ABOUT WHAT YOU WERE DOING?!

Bakugou groaned in frustration and roughly snatched a fist full of his hair, as if he were trying to rip you clean out of his mind. He knew for a fact that mind-altering wasn’t your damn quirk. So why the hell does he give a fuck about you? You weren’t even around him, yet he found himself having his thoughts wander to your well being. It pissed him off. 

Bakugou once more smacked his fingers against his keyboard as he typed one final question,

How to stop liking someone?

As soon as he saw the words flash across his screen, it was like the weight of the entire situation finally cracked something inside of him. Shit. He did like you. The boy suddenly slammed his laptop shut and threw it away from him like it had suddenly disgusted him.

He then decided that he was going to pretend like the last hour of his life just didn’t happen. Yeah he was gonna “control, alt, delete” the fuck out of every thought he just had. 

God dammit, he didn’t have time to dwell on crushes if he was going to be the number one hero! That stupid, delinquent girl wasn’t going to get any more of his time or thoughts!!

But.

It seemed like fate had something else planned as you hurriedly walked to your classroom, 1-A, the next morning. You absolutely couldn’t risk being late today. You hadn’t had enough time to grab your eye drops that morning and Aizawa would certainly notice your altered state if attention was drawn to you. 

The hallway ahead of you moved in choppy frames before you finally whipped a turn to enter the door of your classroom. As soon as you turned into the class, you were slapped with a warm sturdy object, sending you flying back onto your butt.

Bakugou immediately thrashed his body around to confront whatever idiot just knocked into him, “HEY WATCH WHERE YOU’RE…” he trailed off as he recognized your figure. Your lunch box that you had been holding had spilled its contents all over you, but the dirty sight of you was somehow still enough to make his heart throb, “…going.” he finally finished.

“Sorry, Bakugou,” you apologized as you rubbed the side your your head, trying to stabilize your whirling mind, “Oh, man! My food!” you sadly exclaimed as you recognized the pathetic mess of snacks and small meals you had prepped for your day all over the floor and yourself.

The sight of your frown in contrast to your usual happiness gave Bakugou’s chest a twinge of pain. He growled at the emotion as he glared at you on the ground, “Well, maybe you should get your head out of the damn clouds and watch where you are going!” he yelled before stiffly turning on his heel and heading to his seat. 

You blinked in surprise at his retreating figure. Well, you hadn’t exactly expected him to apologize or help you or anything, but you also didn’t expect to see the blush that creeped across his face before he stormed off. 

Huh.

You cleaned yourself up easily enough. Honestly, the situation and Bakugou’s subsequent outburst had helped you make it through the day without getting suspended, drug tested or expelled. By the time you cleaned yourself up and made it back to the classroom, your eyes had pretty much returned to their normal state. 

Today might not be so bad after all!

GrrrrRRRrrRRrrr, your stomach screeched, causing almost all of your classmates to whip their heads toward you in surprise. 

Shit…

You hurriedly grabbed your stomach with a nervous laugh, trying to console the despairing little monster; however, you still spent the rest of the school day with your tummy loudly yelling at you. Watching everyone eat during lunch was absolute torture as your stomach cursed at you for being so damn clumsy. You honestly could have died. 

Death by munchies.

However, it seems as if the cannabis lords took pity on you that day and you actually made it through your last class. You were the first one out of their desk as you rushed out of the classroom and down the hall— the thought of food on your mind, but suddenly you felt a heavy hand snatch your wrist,

“Hey, idiot!” When you looked back your eyebrows shot straight up at the sight of Bakugou’s hardened expression, “Let’s go grab some food.”

Um… hWhat? The suggestion completely threw you off balance. You shook your head as if the vibrations that just came in through your ear needed some readjusting,  “Like… together?” you tilted your head in shock. You’ve never seen Bakugou willingly hang with anyone else besides Kirishima, let alone initiate an event with them!

Bakugou fumed at your questioning appearance, “Are you really that stupid!? I could hear your stomach growling from across the classroom!!”

You giggled at yourself in embarrassment, not quite sure of what else you could do in the moment, “…Why do you care?” you laughed.

Your laughed sent a searing wave of heat to his face. You’d… never directed this display of happiness toward him before, and for some reason it made him feel extremely hot,

“I don’t!” he yelled as he tried to fight the warmth away, “I just knocked your food down earlier and… I don’t want to owe you anything,” he suddenly noticed that he was still clinging to your hand. The heat in his face doubled as he snatched his hand away from yours, “So where do you wanna go? I am not taking no for an answer,” he began as he walked away from U.A.’s campus with a rigid nod for you to follow him. 

You paused for a moment. Is this real? 

A large smile began spreading itself across your face– the cannabis lords once gain raining mercy down upon you, “Maybe a… Mcdonalds!” you happily suggested as you skipped into a light jog ran to catch up with him.

“Mc.. donalds?” Bakugou threw you an expression that resided in an area between horrified and disgusted for a moment before correcting himself back into his comfortable anger, looking at the ground as the two of you walked.

“Yeah, like the clown place!” you added. Bakugou growled at your answer. He wasn’t a fucking idiot he knew what a damn McDonald’s was. You laughed at his response as you continued, “You’re not scared of clowns are you, tough guy?” you teased.

“Fuck you,” he simply huffed, refusing to even entertain your accusations. 

“Wow, on the first date?” you boldly retorted with a stifled laugh, causing him to falter in his steps for a moment. He snapped himself out of whatever stupid emotion he felt at your words, 

“IT’S NOT A DAMN DATE!” he roared, causing you to simply shrug, a pleased smile on your face as you continued to walk without him. 

“Where are you going, you idiot?! There is a Mcdonald’s right there!” he angrily gestured to the golden arches the other direction of where you were headed. 

“I like the one by my house better,” you explained, “It had a gas station attached to it, so I can grab some snacks on the way out.”

….

G-gas Station McDonald’s….? Bakugou could have thrown up right then and there. 

“DISGUSTING!” the blond screeched, “I am not walking all the way over there just to walk back to the dorm! Are you an idiot?!”

Alright. Who the fuck did this to him? Made him crush on a complete loser?! Cupid? God?! He was gonna fight whoever the fuck it was! 

“Fineeee,” you laughed and the two of you walked over to the inferior McDonalds. Bakugous eyes widened in repulsion as you ordered both a Big-Mac meal and a twenty piece chicken nugget with a dozen cookies.

As soon as you happily reached out to give the cashier your money, he swatted your hand away and shoved his own cash at the associates face, “No, take mine.” he harshly ordered. The employee shakily agreed and accepted his money. 

You threw him a confused glance but before you could even open your mouth to question him, he spoke up, “I just know that if you pay for this, you’re gonna complain that you don’t have money to buy other shit,” he explained, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. 

You noticed this red tint, but decided to tease him instead of pointing it out, “Yeah, like gas,” you nodded with a sly smile. 

“Gas? You’re fifteen and don’t have a damn car, you idiot,” He argued, but the boy immediately paused as soon as he saw the suggestive expression that you held on your face. Things finally clicked as soon as you wiggled your eyebrows towards him. Gas… you meant weed. He angrily snatched the two soda cups that the cashier was extending out as he loudly yelled at you,  “FUCK! YOU MAKE IT SO DAMN HARD TO BE NICE TO YOU, YOU KNOW THAT?!” He screamed as you cracked up at his uncharacteristically slow uptake.

The two of you had decided to eat at a booth near a window. You found yourself being really surprised at the quality of this McDonald’s chairs. Bakugou loudly chastised you for gawking at the chairs like some freak before the two of you promptly began eating your food. 

It was mostly quiet between the two of you as the textures of the meal performed on your sensitive tongue until Bakugou finally spoke up, “Why do you put that nasty shit into your body?”

“Uh,” Your eyes danced away for a split second, “McDonalds?” your faced crinkled in confusion.

“No, you dumbass!” Bakugou fought the urge to facepalm, “marijuana!” he angrily corrected.

Oh… you felt yourself deflate for a moment, as the question absorbed into your mind. You suddenly let out a giggle, “I don’t know. It makes me feel good, I guess.” Bakugou had to fight another blush at the sight of you adorably shrugging your shoulders. 

“That’s a stupid answer. You can’t feel good on your own?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it for a moment. Of course, you could feel good on your own. Just take a look at you! You weren’t even very high anymore, yet you were still on cloud nine right now for some reason, “Well… I feel good right now with you.”

That did it. His adrenaline flared up in an instant. Bakugou couldn’t even come up with fluid words as a series of death threats and curses instinctively flooded to the forefront of his mind,  “S-shut up.”

You giggled at his loss for words before letting the conversation die again. The two of you once again found yourselves in silence as you sat with a smile on your face.

This time, it was you who broke the silence, “Thank you, for hanging out with me today. I really appreciate it.”

“Whatever, loser. Don’t get used to it,” he huffed, angrily stuffing a few fries into his mouth. 

“So…. there’s not a second date ahead?”

“I didn’t say that,” he grumbled, snatching his glare away from you and out of the restaurant window. 

So it was a date. A huge smile once again spread across your face for the millionth time that evening. You happily plopped another fry into your mouth at the sight of him blushing once more. 

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 12

Ford had not been having a good week.

Well, he was using the term ‘week’ loosely, since he wasn’t actually sure how much time had passed. The last few days and nights had been a blur of calculations and experiments and frustration. Ford had been sure that the mutation (or Warping, as he’d mentally dubbed it, for convenience) would be simple to reverse. Theoretically, it should be! But in practice there were so many variables to account for – not only did he have to know exactly how the physical mutations came about in order to restore living tissue back to its original state with no side effects, but there was the cognitive aspect to consider as well. There was no use restoring Stan to his human form if his mind was still Warped.

The former of the two issues was all but solved. Ford had managed to reverse-engineer the mutation process physically – the insects he had caught and exposed to the Warped crystal fragments, then dunked in hastily-made serum, had returned to their original forms with no permanent physical or genetic alterations. However, they still exhibited behaviour consistent with the Warping and atypical for unaffected members of their species. So even if Ford did try curing his brother Stan still wouldn’t be himself. Most likely Ford would have a wolf freaking out because it suddenly had a human body.

Ford had several pinprick bite marks from the Warped moth that was his last test subject (apparently when exposed to the Warped crystal flecks, moths developed spearhead-like mouthpieces and were unafraid to use them). But since being cured the stubborn insect still held no fear of Ford and had tried (unsuccessfully) to stab him with its now-harmless mouthpiece. That was, until Ford accidentally stepped on it. It wasn’t his fault! Because it was still stuck in a Warped mindset it couldn’t comprehend that its body was once again light enough to fly, so once it had escaped from its jar it had decided to crawl across the floor. Was Ford supposed to watch his every step for stray insects?

In any case, he was left with one part of the equation solved and no idea how to do the rest.

During the standstill in which Ford wasn’t sure where to turn, he had spent some time trying to locate Stan’s car. Stan had mentioned something about his car being around here somewhere and Ford knew it was a shot in the dark but he had to at least try.

He had contacted the local law enforcement department to see if there had been any cars found abandoned around town in the recent months. Luckily they had records of an abandoned car being picked up in the woods some time back. Apparently, since the car had no registration and thus no one registered to own it, it had been sitting idle in the car park of the police station for the past few months. They played cards on the hood. Gravity Falls police were weird.

But when Ford brought the car back to his house (through less-than-legal means) Stan had just looked at it with those dull eyes and then looked back at Ford inquisitively. Of course he didn’t recognise it. He couldn’t even recognise his own name. Ford had been stupid to hope that it would work.

So the car was left parked behind the house while Ford went back to his research. A few things may have been thrown around out of frustration.

Ford had always prided himself on being scientifically-minded, but right now he was strongly resisting the urge to smash things and shout about how it wasn’t fair. Stan shouldn’t just be watching with blank yellow eyes. He should be angry or cheering Ford on or punching him in the face or something. He should be Stan. Instead he was stuck as some animal and the more Ford thought about it, the more he realized that it was his fault.

The wolf that wasn’t quite Ford’s brother anymore didn’t seem to realize that, though. Had instead tried to take care of him, bringing back prey like Ford was a helpless pup, refusing to eat until Ford did, snarling furiously at any trespassing creatures that came near the house. (From the pile of blood and feathers Ford had found outside a while ago it seemed that the griffins from earlier had come back. They didn’t get very close.)

Stan had even tried to help Ford in shifting his ‘gift’, though they seemed to have different ideas of where the deer carcass should go and it had devolved into another tug-of war – which, thankfully, ended with the deer being disposed of. Ford didn’t know he would have done if the thing had made it into his house.

Ford wasn’t sure that he deserved the care and affection. When he’d first realized what was happening he’d been moved to tears.

But that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that even in this state, Stan’s instincts were to take care of Ford over everything. It didn’t matter that the attention was familiar – because for the last few months, even when Ford had no idea, his brother had still been watching over him and dragging him out of trouble. It didn’t matter that this made a lump rise in his throat and filled him with a heavy, itching guilt because Stan had been there for him and Ford had not for many, many years.

No, all that did matter was curing Stan; which led to Ford neglecting the piling-up mail and voice messages on his answering machine in favour of working on a cure.

In hindsight, he really should have listened to those voice messages.

Ford froze mid-step at the scene unfolding before him. The last time he’d seen his parents had been a year ago, the family gathering together to celebrate Shermie and Rebecca’s anniversary back in California. Family never came to Ford’s house. What were they doing here?

“Ford! How ya doin, sweetie?” Ma called out cheerfully as she climbed out of the car. Pa already stood on the beaten dirt path with a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other. He spared Ford a gruff nod.

“Ma, Pa.” Ford forced out. “What – what are you doing here?”

“Too busy to pick up the phone, as usual.” Pa muttered. Ma tutted and straightened to fix her hair.

“Lay off ‘im Filbrick, you know how excited our Stanford gets about his work! Ford honey, we called and left a message to tell you we’d be around. Y’see, we were drivin’ down to visit one of yer dad’s old business partners and I thought ‘that’s near where Stanford lives!’ So we decided to stop by for a visit, see how this science gig ‘a yours is goin’.”

Pa lit his cigarette and took a puff – the bitter scent of smoke drifting across the yard made Ford swallow hard. The glasses hid his eyes but Ford was sure that his father’s gaze was fixed on Stan, judging by the way the wolf was bristling defensively. An irrational fear flooded through Ford. Their father had been spitting mad since the science fair, how would he react to seeing Stan again…?

Except Filbrick wouldn’t know that the wolf facing him was his own son.

Still, of all the times to visit, this had to be one of the worst! Ford was unbelievably grateful that Stan’s car was around the back. If their parents saw it they would ask all sorts of questions like ‘where is Stan’ and how was Ford supposed to explain this mess? And to their parents of all people. He clenched his fists as his breathing quickened, trying to force himself to calm down and think rationally. What was he supposed to do? Turn them away? Waste precious time exchanging pleasantries instead of working on curing his brother?

Ford was spared from having to speak because a low snarl rumbled out. Pa stiffened, and Ford was suddenly reminded that it was possible the negative feelings between Stan and their father ran both ways.

Stan slunk in front of him, hackles raised and lips peeled back to display sharp yellow teeth. Pa recoiled from the threat display.

“Stanford, get yer animal down!”

“Oh – I’m sorry – he doesn’t really like people-” Ford stammered out, trying to grab Stan’s fur, but the wolf sidestepped him and slunk closer towards Pa. Ma let out a nervous little squeal.

“That – yer dog’s pretty big, Ford. Looks almost like a wolf.”

“Yes, he, um-”

“Look at you! Yer letting the animal walk all over ya!” Pa glowered at the approaching wolf. He really shouldn’t be doing that, why was he doing that? It was only making Stan more aggressive and that wasn’t good he was dangerous, he didn’t know what he was doing-

If he did know, would he act any differently?

“You oughta teach it who’s boss.” Pa continued. Stan let out another low growl and that was it.

“Rebus! Heel!”

Stan hesitated at Ford’s shout, fur still bristling but no longer stalking forward. Ford strode over to grab a handful of that fur and give him a sharp pull away from their father, thanking any and all deities that his brother actually listened to him like this. Stan reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled back. Ford rushed to stammer out an explanation, not daring to release his hold on the werewolf.

“I’m sorry, Pa. Rebus is a… a wolf-hybrid that I’ve been studying. He’s quite distrustful of strangers.”

“Ya need ta beat that outta him.” Pa said gruffly.

Ma gave a strained chuckle. “Ah, I reckon Stanford knows what’s best here, what with all his research on the thing. But Ford honey, are ya sure he’s safe?”

“Yes, of course, Rebus would never hurt me.” Ford kept on tugging Stan back, the wolf complying with a dissatisfied rumble. “I apologize. I’ve been busy with a project, I didn’t realize I would be having company.” Distract them, shift their attention away from Stan. “I – I have some tea inside, would you like to join me? I’ll put Sta- Rebus in the shed.”

Pa shook his head and stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves. “Lemme show ya how to handle a real dog. Ya keep treating it like that and it’s just gonna keep walking all over you. Ya gotta show it who’s boss.”

“No, Pa, please-” But the man had already strode up and grabbed Stan by the scruff of his neck, reaching the other hand around to grab his muzzle and hold him tight.

Stan reacted.

Ford yelped as he was smacked in the face by an explosion of wolf. He staggered back more from the shock than the pain. Ma let out a shriek. Stan wrenched himself free and snapped at Pa’s hand, which was yanked back and only barely avoided the clashing of teeth.

Pa growled and aimed a kick at Stan’s face, but the wolf bit down on his boot and yanked, sending him sprawling on his back. Stan sprang forward onto the burly man’s chest. Ford jumped in to grab those jaws before Stan could snap down, holding them shut with all the strength he had and ramming his shoulder into the wolf, trying desperately to shove him away.

“Stop it! Get off him!”

It was useless, of course – Ford’s strength was no match for that of a Warped, furious werewolf – but it worked all the same. Stan backed off, shaking his head to free himself from Ford’s hands, eyes wide and fur bristling but looking more confused than enraged now. Ford lifted his hands and placed himself between Stan and their father, who was sitting up and spluttering furiously as Ma rushed to him.

Stan made a move to growl at the man. Ford raised his voice.

“No!”

This time Stan growled at him.

“No.” Ford snapped. Stan had the grace to look ashamed.

There was shuffling behind him as Pa climbed to his feet, muttering under his breath. Ford didn’t dare shift his eyes away from the werewolf as he spoke to his parents.

“I think it would be best if you came back another day. I’ll – I’ll be sure to check my answering machine more often, so I can lock Rebus away in advance the next time you come.”

“Now you listen here, Stanford-”

“Just leave.”

There was more grumbling and cursing, but Ma’s fearful voice finally persuaded Pa to get in the car. Ford didn’t relax until the rumble of its engine had faded into the forest and he was, once again, left alone with his brother. He slumped with a sigh.

“Well. That could have gone better.”

Padding footsteps approached. Ford squinted resentfully at a rather confused-looking Stan.

“Since when was attacking our father a good idea? Sure, I don’t imagine you have many positive feelings towards him…” Ford sighed again and pulled his glasses off to rub them clean on his sleeve. “I suppose he wasn’t exactly friendly, but our father has never been friendly! Surely you remember that?”

Or not, as the case was. Ford huffed to himself.

“Well, in any case, I’m sorry for shouting at you. But I wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t try to turn Pa into a chew toy.” He groaned. “Stanley, what am I going to do with you?”

Stan, evidently accepting that he wasn’t in too much trouble, leaned against Ford’s side. He kept his gaze trained on the road. Stan’s posture was still defensive, as if wary for Pa’s return.

Pa couldn’t have come off as such a threat, could he? Sure he was imposing and struck a generally intimidating figure but he wouldn’t actually hurt them.

Well. That hadn’t always been true for Stan, at least. Ford could still remember the horrible day they’d been playing in their father’s shop and accidentally knocked over an expensive vase. Stan had jumped to claim responsibility and when Ford saw him again that evening, the usually rambunctious boy was sporting several new bruises and sans a tooth.

Maybe Stan still held a wariness of the man since then, even in his wolf form. But that was years ago. Pa hadn’t hit him since then, right?

Ford shook his head to clear it. Like so many things, that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was curing his brother. And Ford still had to figure out how to do that! It wasn’t like he could just show Stan a few pictures and hey presto, his memories and cognitive function would return!

…actually, if Stan had recognised their father, that might be helpful. Ford had been acting under the assumption that Stan had only retained a few recent memories – namely, the memories of living with Ford under the name of Rebus. But if Stan had recognised their father in some aspect it would imply that those older memories were still there, at least in some form. Perhaps, if the memories had only been covered over instead of completely overwritten, they could still be accessed.

Maybe, with just the right mixture of chemicals – Ford could add that to the formula, of course – the subject’s mind would be more elastic. If Ford could manage that then maybe the mind would be able to re-write the Warped neural pathways and restore itself back to its original state, no extra meddling needed. The stimulant would essentially act as a booster shot to jumpstart the process. Theoretically of course, but…

Ford snapped to attention, mind already working a mile a minute at the prospect of a having new approach to investigate.

“Come along, Stan, I need to find more test subjects to work on. Rats have fairly advanced minds, correct? And they shouldn’t grow so large as to be a threat during the Warping process. Not as much as you, anyway. Now, I wonder if there are any in the shed… and please don’t eat them this time if I manage to find any.”

 ______________________________________________________________________

Brother was chasing Rebus again! It was so much fun darting around the Underground Place, staying just ahead of the reaching hands. Brother was slower and clumsier than Rebus, but he was definitely trying, all red in the face from shouting and running. He was carrying a little vial of something that he seemed very insistent that Rebus have. Ha! Only if Brother could catch him!

Brother cheated by grabbing a sheet off his workbench and throwing it over Rebus. Rebus got lost in the fabric. It forced him to stay still long enough for Brother to get a hold of his fur, voice scolding.

Brother grabbed his jaw. Rebus tried to shake free but the vial was already being upended into his mouth – the bitter liquid made his lips pucker. He whined and tried to back away but Brother clamped a hand over his mouth and nose, forcing him to swallow.

Rebus did, when he had no choice between that and choking. When he got the awful stuff down Brother let him go and Rebus backed away, hacking and sending his packmate a dirty look. Brother didn’t even look ashamed.

Rebus picked up his head to walk away, resolving not to play with a dirty cheater, but – why was the world spinning so much? His legs wouldn’t support him, what with how the floor seemed to be surging up and down. He staggered and collapsed onto his stomach with an oof.

...that wasn’t good.

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Born Into the Wilds - Snippet

This chapter is already 8 pages long and still not finished XD

Hhhmmm, what to choose...

.

.

“I would have loved to see their faces though,” Libertus suddenly said, jarring Nyx out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“With the fire-ash. I would have loved to see the Insomnian's faces when it suddenly grew up from under the streets.”

Crowe gave an amused snort. “Probably as dumb as yours was.”

“Hey! You weren't a paragon of serenity either, so you have no room to comment.”

The two glared at each other until Crowe huffed and rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Yeah, whatever.”

By now they had all seen the newsreels about it. Interviews with upset pedestrians and citizens that their beautiful city had been blighted by a blessing of Ifrit. But on moogle net there were quite a few people voicing their interest in learning more about this. Especially young people. It was strangely heartening in a way.

Nyx looked out his window at the large form of the fire-ash peeking out from behind the buildings. It's crown had grown around the main street of Insomnia and the Founder's Plaza along with a few other places. It looked like round islands of bronze and green in all the grey. Currently there were concerns flying around about how much light the lower districts were getting now with the tree blocking out much more of the sun than the buildings already had, but Nyx could already tell that somehow they now had even more light and that the air had become cleaner.

“You think the sinehär gisdrauhti will declare it a sacred sight?” Pelna asked no one in particular.

“Don't think so,” Crowe answered. “They would never declare something of Astral making sacred. Also, it's at a too inconvenient a place to set up a sacred sight. I give it until noon today at most until the children are climbing all over it.”

“No bet,” Libertus snorted, amused.

The sudden ringing from a phone made them all twitch. Libertus gave a quiet slew of curses and fished his phone out of his pocket, it's screen lit up and emitting a series of semi-melodic high pitched jingles. He answered in Lucian.

“Yeah? Ostium speaking. - Wait, how did you get your hands on this number? - Yeah, okay stop. What did you call me for? - Know what, get yourself over here and we'll talk about our training sessions. - Of course that's alright. Why wouldn't you be able to come down here? We didn't shut us off from the rest of the city, you know.” Libertus sighed and rolled his eyes before giving out the address for Nyx' apartment. “You know how to find it? - Good. See you in an hour then. And don't be late.”

“Did you just invite the Amicitia kid for food?” Nyx asked with a raised eyebrow.

Libertus stared down at his phone like he couldn't believe he had just done that. Suddenly, Nyx grinned.

“Admit it. The kid grew on you.”

His hunting-brother scowled and shoved Nyx in the shoulder. “Shut it, you.”

“But you don't deny it,” Nyx singsonged and ducked out of the way of the kitchen towel sailing his way.

Someone clapped their hands together to gain their attention. It was Crowe.

“Okay, playtime is over. If we want to eat at a reasonable time today, we need to start to clean up. No getting out of it Luche! Don't think I didn't see you try to sneak away. You can help Libertus in the kitchen.”

The bond's expression did not change eve a little bit as he walked over to the kitchenette, where Libertus had finally started to sort through the bags. As always, he had bought at least thrice as much as should be needed.

Nyx turned back towards his bed and started to resort the loose papers into their proper binders, all carefully labelled for easy manoeuvring. It was done relatively quickly, so after he was done, he went to help Crowe, who just shooed him away. So he just shrugged, turned the TV louder and retreated into a corner to mix some limeschti after his Clan's recipe.

“... live from the Founder's Plaza.”

“Thank you, Lucius. I'm here at the Founder's Plaza where you can see the very top of the fire-ash. It appeared yesterday precisely at high noon, causing a minor accident on the Insomnia Main Street and surprising the pedestrians here,” a female reporter in a muted green military styled blazer spoke into a microphone.

“They still harping on about that?” Libertus wondered out loud. “That's old news already!”

“Not for Insomnians,” Luche said. “You know they love to regurgitate things like that again and again, until no one wants to hear it anymore.”

“Thank you. And that was Julia Videte, life on-site. And now please welcome in our studio renown biologist Doctor Sania Yeagre. Thank you for coming, Doctor.”

The screen showed a woman in her early to mid thirties with dark skin and black, curly hair done into a bun on top of her head. Large glasses framed eyes that glinted with a childish enthusiasm rarely seen in adults.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said, a bright smile on her face.

“What can you tell us about the general attributes of a fire-ash?”

“The Fraxinus Ifriti, commonly known as fire-ash, belongs to the olive family. Since the fall of Solheim this tree has become exceedingly rare, for a few centuries it was even considered extinct until they found a living specimen during the construction of the Tomb of the Fierce on Mt. Ravatogh. It also is the slowest growing tree on Eos, with barely half a centimetre per year. Studies also showed that its sap could be used as a strong curative.”

“Can I infer from the scientific name, that there is a connection to the Infernian?”

“No shit,” Libertus muttered, causing Nyx to snort.

Sania Yeagre, not at all perturbed by the leading question, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! In some of the earliest botanical works we have today, it is listed as a symbol of Ifrit's blessing. Which is why the tree must have been very common during the existence of the Empire of Solheim. It is depicted in near every work of art we have left of that time.”

“Then the fire-ash that spontaneously sprouted from Little Galahd, can be seen as a sign of the Infernian blessing the Galahdian people?”

“I imagine so. This is a very rare opportunity. I returned to Insomnia as soon as I heard of the fire-ash's existence. Hopefully the Galahdian leader will let me study it.”

Nyx shared a look with Pelna, who had also finished cleaning up his papers. He stood by the door, papers and laptop crammed under one arm.

“I'll be back soon. Just need to put these away and get Tethys, Moireus and the girls. We'll also bring another table and some chairs. There's no way we'll fit all at this tiny thing you call your dining table, Nyx.”

“Hey. I haven't needed a bigger one until now.”

“Time to get a new one, then,” Pelna teased and slipped through the door.

Nyx scowled after him while Crowe and Libertus snickered and Luche's lips ticked up into a grin. A knock came from the open doorway. There stood Athina, her hand raised and a smile on her face. She looked gorgeous in the dark red tunic dress with a wide cream cloth belt.

“Athina!” Nyx exclaimed, surprised and joyous. “Come in. Can I offer you some tea?”

“Good day, Nyx. Thank you, that would be very appreciated,” she smiled.

She stepped into the apartment and towards the table that looked like nothing had changed for the last ten minutes. Still papers were everywhere but woe to the person who wanted to help Crowe clean up her mess.

“Can I help you? Four hands are faster then two,” Athina asked the other woman.

Nyx was about to open his mouth to tell the dark skinned woman that it was hopeless to ask, when Crowe squinted at her and nodded after a few seconds of staring, which Athina bore patiently. Libertus gave him a wide eyed look. Crowe never let people help her with cleaning. Never. Athina, not knowing what had just happened, just asked their storm-sister where which papers went and started to help as per her instructions.

Very deliberately Nyx turned around and reached around Luche to fetch another tea cup. His last one, since he only owned four. He poured the last of the tea he had made earlier, and earned himself a bright smile when he set it down at a spot of now paper free table. The answering smile growing on his face was more of a flirty smirk that made Crowe roll her eyes.

Not too long after that there was a roast in the microwave oven and Libertus had gone to fetch Crowe's to put the second roast in. Because one was apparently not enough with the amount of people who were suddenly coming. Pelna returned with Tethys and the children not too long after that, bearing a foldable table and chairs along with more dishes. Nyx sent them a grateful look.

“Nyx!” Moireus cried and barrelled into his legs to give him a tight hug around the waist.

“Buhgil! How have you been? My, have you grown taller?”

Nyx tousled the boys hair, which earned him a bright, toothy smile. “I grew this much!” He held his thumb and index finger about two centimetres apart. Nyx nodded, impressed.

He looked up and gave Tethys, Ker and Dione welcoming smiles. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for having us,” Tethys returned with a smile of her own.

“Don't mention it. I think Libertus' secret ambition for today is to feed the whole house with how much he bought.”

“I want to see the pretty tree!” Moireus spoke up, tugging at Nyx' trouser leg.

“You need to ask your parents that, buhgil. Maybe they'll take you tomorrow, if you're on your best behaviour this evening and go to bed without complaining.”

“I will!” the boy nodded eagerly and ran over to his mother to tell her, even though she had clearly heard every single word being spoken.

The TV was turned off and someone set up a CD player on his chest of drawers. At once a lively drumbeat filled the apartment along with their chatter and the smell of meat and steaming vegetables. It gave Nyx a sudden pang of homesickness. What would it be like to do something like this again in his Clan house? To fill it with voices and music and laughter? He hoped he would find out sometime soon.

Not long after everything was set up, the tables and chairs cramped into all the available free space, and they were just starting to set down the plates, there was another knock at the door – which, surprisingly enough, had been closed sometime during this endeavour. Nyx, who was closest, opened it.

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

James Dean and Daria

PART TWENTY-FIVE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of alcoholism, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.3K

Summary: Ella receives a book in the mail and attends an open house.

two years later

A Ramones song was stuck in her head, and Ella hummed along with its tune as she twirled around the diner. Her hair, freshly cut, was back in a black bandana. She blew her wispy curtain bangs away from the sides of her forehead as she served up lunch. Lane was on shift, and they bounced around together in sync. Working with her made everything a little sunnier. Lorelai had always said Ella and Lane were night and day, respectively. The thought of it made Ella smile as she joined her friend behind the counter again. Recently, Lane had been experimenting with contacts, and it was still jarring to see her without her trademark glasses.

They made a dynamic duo, as Luke was off to fix random bits and bobs at the Inn. With he and Lorelai engaged, he was over there doing repairs for free nearly half the time. During which time, especially in the afternoons, Ella was left to look after Luke’s daughter, April. To say she was shocked when Luke told her he had a twelve-year-old kid that some woman from his past had never told him about would’ve been an understatement. But soon, April was fitting into the groove of town. Ella was always glad to do homework with her (not that the brainiac ever needed help per se) or listen to the girl’s long-winded monologues about obscure scientific principles. Sometimes, Ella hardly believed Luke and April were related. The girl could talk for days without taking a breath if she had the chance. Watching April concentrate over her textbooks and scribble essays during the early dinner rush sometimes made Ella’s heart do a little, nostalgic twist. She was no longer the girl doing calculus at the corner table. To everything there was a season.

“‘I Wanna Be Sedated’?” Lane asked, breaking Ella out of her reverie.

Ella turned to Lane with a small smirk, arms crossing over her chest. Breathing out a sigh, she gave a nod. Things were finally slowing down, almost everyone with a plate in front of them. She had taken over the floor for the day. Lane’s wedding to Zach was only weeks away, and Lane was stressed enough as it was. Ella figured having Lane on register would at least be a decent method to avoid her passing out.

Lane narrowed her eyes and tilted her head at her friend. “What’s got you in such a good mood?”

Shrugging, Ella turned to make a pot of coffee. “I don’t know. I’m a college graduate. Besides, is Ramones really good mood music?”

Lane scoffed. “For you? Definitely.”

“Just happy to have all this education, maybe,” Ella said.

Though it had been a whole five days since her graduation, she was still basking in the glow of it. She couldn’t believe she had managed to get through school in three years instead of four. It meant the upcoming summer would be her first real break from school since the summer after high school. During her last finals, she had been nearly ready to tear her hair out. Suffice it to say, it was time to stop studying for at least a little while.

“So, I guess we’ll be hearing about this summa cum laude thing forever, huh?” Lane teased.

Ella’s smile grew wider. “Forever is a strong word. ‘The foreseeable future’ would be more accurate.”

Lane rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“And what’s got you all grumpy today? That’s my job. Did a Freaky Friday situation happen without my knowledge?” Ella asked.

Sighing heavily, Lane went back over to the register, seeing some customers finishing up their meals. “I told you my mom wants me to wear her wedding dress, right?”

Ella nodded.

“Well, she finally showed it to me. And it has pants!”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella swallowed down the laugh which threatened to leave her lips.

“I gave it to Lorelai. Hopefully something along the lines of salvageable will come of it,” Lane grumbled, adjusting her apron anxiously.

“Hey, Lorelai made that renaissance dress I wore to Liz’s wedding wearable. I’m sure she’ll work her magic,” Ella said, turning to see Luke return as the bell over the door jingled.

“We’ll see,” Lane said, sighing again as a young couple came up to the register, ready to pay for their patty melts.

As Luke approached, Ella saw he had the mail in his hands. He looked almost haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. She knew he and Lorelai had been having some problems, but didn’t know the details. It wouldn’t be surprising if the new daughter or the prolonged engagement had something to do with it, though. Since she and Rory had fallen out of touch, Ella saw Lorelai less and less. And it wasn’t like Luke was a chatterbox.

“Something came for you,” Luke said shortly, handing Ella a puffy orange envelope.

As soon as she took it, she could tell it was a book. Confusion painted her features; it wasn’t often she got mail addressed to Luke’s. She’d been living at Lane’s for almost two years. Furrowing her brows, she looked in the upper right corner and her face immediately fell when she saw the familiar, spiky handwriting. Clearing her throat, she plastered on a complacent expression.

“I’m gonna take a fifteen, okay?” she said, clutching the package tightly in her hands.

Luke nodded. “You alright?”

Ella smiled thinly. “Yeah. Just gotta take the smell of the stock room in as much as I possibly can. I’ve only got it until the end of July.”

Rolling his eyes, Luke shook his head. “I’m counting the seconds.”

“Hey, I could quit right now! Then where would you be?!” she exclaimed dramatically, a bit which never seemed to get old.

Luke grunted doubtfully. “Don’t tease.”

Smirking slightly, she finally turned on her heel and went back into the stock room. It was dim, piled high with boxes and cans. But there was the comforting smell of dust and pine, making her feel just a touch less queasy. Sitting on the lone table in the middle on the shelves, her legs dangling over the sides with boots heavy on her feet, Ella stared down at Jess’s writing for a moment. It only made sense he would send her something at the diner. He probably had no idea where she lived, if she was still even in Stars Hollow.

Her mind wandered to their last conversation, her night up on the plaid couch, crying. When Jess had called to tell Luke he was back in New York, Luke said Jess had told him to say hello to her. She’d told him to say hello back, a half-hearted message. And she was glad to know his trip had been safe. Glad he had apparently mended fences with Luke. But when she thought of actually speaking to him, hearing his voice, it made her feel sick with nerves. All she could see was his heartbroken expression when she had told him she wouldn’t come with him. Hear his pleading. Many times, she had pulled out the small slip of paper with his cell number written on it, had thought about reaching out. But, it simply hurt too much.

And she would have no idea where to begin. He had apologized. And she had rejected him. She didn’t regret it, didn’t feel bad about what she had said or done. But she knew there would be a shift between them. All the words they spoke would have a whispered ‘what if’ underneath. It seemed like too much to put him through. Jess probably wouldn’t like to hear her voice either, she thought. As angry as she had been before, she just couldn’t bear to hurt him anymore. It was more trouble than it was worth. So, each time Luke spoke with Jess, they exchanged fleeting greetings through him. It was impersonal, cold, but, they always knew the other was alive. The deal still stood, even after everything.

Running her finger along the address on the package, written in black permanent marker, Ella felt a storm of emotion brewing within her. Time and distance had been kind; when she thought of him, she didn’t think betrayal, she didn’t think resentment. Somehow, their final argument had cleansed her of those feelings. He had come back. She had never expected it. But, at least, he had come back for her, even if she didn’t exactly want it. Instead of anger, there was only sadness, for months. She had walked around with an aura of gloom. But then, life had gotten busier, and it faded.

Instead, as the pad of her finger curved over his name again and again, she thought of her books, filled with their writing to each other. She thought of his smirk, ever-present when she was around. And his brown eyes, guarded but so often kind. And his fears, shared only with her. And, above all, she thought of him telling her he loved her. With tears running down his cheeks, anxious hands raking through his hair.

Love. That word she had always scoffed at. While she still wasn’t one to utter it lightly, she had slowly come around. As the world moved around her, and she was finally away from her childhood home, she began to see it. Luke and Lorelai, mostly. She almost felt silly, having watched a love story unfold before her eyes in the diner for years and years. Perhaps as a teen, she had been too headstrong. Perhaps she had been unable to see how her own fears had stopped her from living the way she wanted to, a pattern she had been able to see so clearly in Lane and Jess. Without the constant reminder of her parents’ doomed union, she felt better each day. More open.

But still, she had no idea how to feel about Jess. Surely, he had moved on. She didn’t know where he was, what he was doing. Luke had only told her he was doing well. And she had never asked for details. No use in ripping open old wounds. But it seemed the ball wasn’t entirely in her court. Jess had made a move. Again. Biting at the inside of her cheek, she heaved a big sigh and ripped open the side of the package. Inside it, she found a book, as she expected.

But her breath caught as she ran her eyes over the black-and-white cover: The Subsect by Jess Mariano. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest and a grin came over her lips before she could stop it. She knew it was only a matter of time. He was a writer. He always had been. As she flipped open the inside cover, a slip of heavy, purple paper fell out. A crease formed between her brows as she took the paper in one hand, eyes gravitating to the words scribbled in pen on the novel’s second page.

Before she could begin the handwritten message, she looked to the dedication. A lump formed in her throat. For Eleanor, it read simply. Her hazel eyes shone with glassy tears, and the surreality of the moment hit her like a ton of bricks. Swallowing down the sob which threatened to escape, she turned to the inscription before she could get caught up in her emotions.

I wasn’t sure how to tell you about this. But I wanted to let you know somehow, considering it wouldn’t have happened without you. And writing in a book seemed like the best way, since it’s worked for us in the past. I included an invite to the Open House thing we’re having at Truncheon, the place which was stupid enough to publish this. You don’t have to come, and I don’t expect you to. But, in case you did want to come see what I couldn’t have done without you, you’re more than welcome.

-Jess

Chewing on her thumbnail, Ella picked up the purple invite and ran her eyes over the address. Philadelphia. She smirked at the coincidence. She could see him there. Always a city boy. And, though nerves coursed through her veins and butterflies flew around in her stomach, she knew immediately that she would soon be seeing the liberty bell.

.   .   .

Smoothing her hands over her dress, Ella took in a deep breath. Her battered blue station wagon was parked behind her on the street, and for a split second, she thought about running back to it. Driving all the way back up to Connecticut in a continuous three-hour stretch. But she knew there would be at least a few familiar faces inside Truncheon Books. Luke had offered to be a chaperone for some road trip with April’s school, and they, of course, were also invited to the open house. Initially, Luke had been wary of them both being away from the diner, but Ella assured him Lane and Caesar could handle it. And, of course, he would have to learn to deal without her by the end of the July. She and Lane would be even when Ella took all the shifts for the week of her and Zach’s honeymoon. Yes, Ella’s final week as a waitress at Luke’s was bound to be grueling.

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Ella opened the door and entered the publishing house before she could talk herself out of it. The place was crowded, lots of people mingling at a table near the entrance and next to the coat rack. The green walls were lined with art, and the room was filled with warm, richly-toned wood. She hung her bag as her heart sat heavy in her chest. She hadn’t realized just how anxious walking into Jess’s new world was going to make her. A small smile formed on her face, though, as she scanned the crowd for Luke and April. When she didn’t instantly find them, she crossed her arms and walked toward the collection of photographs on a wall near the door. They showed visions of the city: an old newspaper stand, a rusty bike, a group of angry teenagers sat around a statue of Thomas Jefferson. She’d never been good with technology, including cameras, and she envied the photographer who could capture images like these.

Across the room, Jess spotted her. Her blonde waves fell down her back, just past her shoulder blades, shorter than he’d ever seen her hair. There was a tattoo on the back of one of her calves, and one on the inside of her left forearm. She was too far away though, and he couldn’t quite make out what they were. As expected, she was dressed only in blacks and greys, her dress checkered with the two colors. And, as expected, her all-black oxfords had no heel. Before he could stop it, a grin crossed his face, and his hand tightened around the half-empty beer bottle he was nursing. Never had he actually thought she would show up. But there she was. Matthew, who stood next to him on the stairs, instantly noticed his friend’s change in expression. He followed Jess’s eyes, and it dawned on him. Jess didn’t talk about the woman he’d dedicated The Subsect to a lot. But the blonde standing before the photography section fit the description Jess had spewed drunkenly on his last birthday almost perfectly.

Matthew raised knowing brows. “Is that her?”

“What?” Jess asked, blinking slightly as he looked away from her and turned back to the co-owner of his business.

Scoffing out a chuckle, Matthew shook his head. “That’s the girl, isn’t it? The one you wrote the book for.”

Breathing a big sigh, Jess took another sip of his drink and nodded slowly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Oh, yeah,” Matthew laughed, clapping Jess on the shoulder. “Now’s your chance.”

Jess snorted a bitter laugh, looking away from his friend and down at his shoes. “There’s no chance.”

Before Matthew could say anything more, Jess descended the final two stairs. Matthew was still chuckling behind him. No matter how much Chris and Matthew drove him up the wall sometimes, he would always be grateful. They’d published his book. They’d welcomed him into the company before it even existed, into the apartment upstairs. They’d become his family without him even noticing it. And he knew no matter how torn up he would be after speaking with Ella (and he knew he would be, at least a little), they’d get him through it. As they had gotten him through the heartbreak the first time, when he’d shown up on the doorstep of a company he’d heard about through some friends in New York, a company which didn’t even have a name, just some printing equipment. Tossing the empty beer in the recycle near the front refreshment table, Jess took another breath in. He could thank her for everything she’d done, then watch her leave without completely crumbling. Maybe if he was confident enough in himself, Jess thought, it would be so.

Walking up next to her, Jess bit down on his bottom lip and shoved his hands in the pockets of his blazer. His palms were sweaty.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jess said, eyes on the photographs. Immediately, he regretted his words. How cliché could he possibly sound? Usually, the nerves didn’t affect his mouth. But not around Ella.

Though she startled on the inside, Ella didn’t visibly jump. Instead, she cracked a small smile. “And yet, here I am.”

“Didn’t expect to see you.”

“Well,” she said, shrugging, “I’m full of surprises.”

“Stealing my line, huh, Stevens?” he asked.

Still, they hadn’t turned to face each other.

“Funny, I didn’t know you had the trademark,” she quipped.

“Touché,” he said, feigning disappointment.

Smile growing, Ella finally turned to him. “Never thought I’d see Jess Mariano in a suit jacket.”

His hair was cut differently, parted and combed. Not as unkempt as it had once been. He had dark, shadowy stubble on his cheeks. Just as any brooding writer would. Underneath his black jacket, he wore a t-shirt with a black-and-white photo of  a little girl smoking a cigarette on a beach. Ella thought she recognized it from one of her art classes, but couldn’t quite place it.

Chuckling under his breath, Jess built up his courage and faced her. “Yeah, well, I guess corporate America finally got to me.”

“I don’t know. I think this place feels pretty counterculture,” she said, eyes flicking around the room again. “Might as well be in the Haight-Ashbury.”

“Coming from you, I feel like that’s meant to be an insult,” he said.

“Trust me, it’s not,” Ella replied, with more sincerity than he was prepared for. Before he could interject with some deflection, she continued on. “I mean...this place. It really feels like you. And the book. It was...fuck, Jess, you’re really too smart for your own good.”

He shook his head, blushing and refusing to meet her gaze. Ella Stevens was still the only person who made him blush nearly every time he spoke to her. “I don’t know. If I could do it again, everything would be different.”

Ella scoffed. “C’mon, Mariano, you and I both know how amazing it is.”

“Whatever you say, Stevens,” he said shyly.

“I’ll keep complimenting you until you accept that you’re a kickass author, who I can definitely tell has a beatnik fetish,” she warned, mock severity crossing her features.

Jess rolled his eyes. “Fine. Thank you, Eleanor.”

“You’re so very welcome,” she replied, eyes alight with a teasing, mischievous glint. But, underneath, Jess could tell how genuine she really was. It made his heart ache for her.

After a moment of awkward pause, charged air, Jess pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the table with the refreshments. “You want a beer?”

Ella shook her head. “No thanks. I don’t really drink.”

“Hm,” Jess hummed, eyes narrowing just a touch. The way she’d said it, he could tell there was more. He knew why she didn’t drink. He remembered her father smelling of liquor on Thanksgiving day. And he remembered how upset she’d been the morning after she stole her father’s tequila. Nostalgia washed over him in a wave, and he was relieved when she took the initiative and spoke again.

“And,” she said, gaining a lighter tone once again, “I’m not of legal age yet, anyway.”

“Oh, well, I certainly couldn’t break the law,” Jess said with a furrowed brow. He was always forgetting he was ten months her senior. She had always seemed older.

“Right,” she said, nodding along, “you wouldn’t dream of it.”

Again, an uncomfortable pause began. It made Ella want to grimace. Things had never been so awkward with the two of them, not even when they’d first met. It had always been easy, without the world complicating things for them. Her eyes did another quick sweep of the room.

“Have you seen Luke and April?” she asked.

Jess nodded. “Yeah, you just missed them. They had to get back to the field trip, I think.”

Ella nodded back in acknowledgement, though she immediately felt her heartbeat quicken. The idea of Luke and April being there as a kind of safety net was half the reason she’d been brave enough to come. But, she’d had a morning shift at the diner, and the traffic had made it so she had shown up only twenty minutes before the end of the open house. All of a sudden, she felt silly for thinking they would still be there. Silly for showing up at all. In the note, he��d said she wasn’t obligated at all. Why had she come again? At the moment, the panicked thoughts were too loud for her to focus on anything else.

“But Luke was here long enough to complain about all the abstract paintings and the spoken word performances,” Jess continued, noticing Ella try to grab for a necklace she wasn’t wearing, and instead fiddle with a lock of her hair. In all the time he had known her, he had never once seen her without the key hanging from her neck. Not even in bed. But he knew better than to ask about it.

Ella’s smile returned, though it was not altogether convincing. “Sounds like him. I think one of the few areas of agreement between the two of you is a natural aversion to poetry.”

Jess shrugged. “I don’t know. I might finally be coming around.” Then, he saw Chris approaching, and felt himself relax. Someone else to act as a buffer. He wasn’t quite ready for the words creeping up his throat, begging to get out. “But, my friend Chris is the real poetry guy. He hires all the acts.”

He gestured for Chris to come over. Ella raised her eyebrows at the man, tall and blonde and grinning widely. A hyper energy practically radiated off of him. She could tell why he was the one on the business end of things.

“Chris, this is Eleanor,” Jess said. “She’s an old friend.”

“Hey.” She extended her hand. “You can call me Ella.”

Somehow, Chris’s smile grew larger as they shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she replied amiably, as their hands broke from each other.

“You have a very firm handshake,” Chris commented, towering over her. Jess was tall, but this guy made Ella feel like a Polly Pocket figurine.

She snorted a chuckle. “Um, thanks. Guess those steroids are really paying off.”

Jess smirked. Sometimes, he thought Chris was to him as Lane was to Ella. Chris laughed, tickled at her wicked humor, as he called it, but soon his expression grew earnest again.

“Well, it’s good to finally put a face on the famous Eleanor,” Chris said.

“I’m famous?” Ella asked, titing a teasing nod at Jess, who blushed but didn’t have time to explain before Chris cut in again.

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know the magazine interview went alright. I’m gonna go catch up with the beat poet and make sure everything’s squared away,” Chris told Jess.

Nodding, Jess glared slightly at his friend, unable to hide his irritation. Chris said once again how nice it was to meet Ella before disappearing back into the central swarm of people, though it was slowly dissipating. The afternoon light outside was slowly morphing from bright to dusky. Evening would soon fall.

Smirking, Ella faced Jess again. He made a pointed effort to avoid her gaze, panic rising up in his throat.

“What is it, Stevens?” he asked, sighing slightly.

She cleared her throat, biting on her bottom lip for a moment. “Nothing. Just didn’t realize I was famous around here.”

He rolled his eyes, embarrassed. “Well, I did dedicate my book to you.”

For whatever reason, the comment caught her off-guard. They both knew he had dedicated it to her. But, she couldn’t help but think about how before, Jess would have never been able to admit such a gesture out loud. Hell, at seventeen Jess couldn’t even admit fixing the toaster in the diner for Luke.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, searching for a witty remark but coming up empty. “Yeah, you did, James Dean.”

He faltered for just a moment. She had come, she had called him James Dean. It was confusing, but nonetheless, wonderful. Still, he knew there was no use in getting his hopes up. He would never have her again, he reminded himself. Furrowing her brows, Ella watched his expression fade from a smirk to a small, sad smile. Jess ran a hand over his mouth and tossed an anxious glance over his shoulder before taking a big breath in and blowing it out through his nose.

“Are you nervous?” she asked suddenly, face softening.

Jess nodded self-consciously.

“You don’t have to be, Jess. It’s just me,” she shrugged, gesturing down at herself humbly.

Regaining a touch of composure, Jess raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know. You’ve got bangs and tattoos. New shoes. Doesn’t look quite like my Daria.”

Ella broke into a full grin, and a warmth swelled in her chest like she hadn’t felt in such a long time. Something shifted within her. For a moment, she worried her eyes would fill with tears. But, instead, she only uttered a breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry. I think I’ll always be your Daria.”

Swallowing thickly, Jess echoed her laugh. Then, he looked over his shoulder again, only partly because he wanted to hide his face. He couldn’t risk her seeing hope flash across his expression. “Can I show you something?”

“Sure,” she said, nodding.

Gently, he grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd of young creatives. The room smelled like weathered books and hot ink. An eclectic variety of bohemian rugs covered the blue tile floor. Maybe it was a little more colorful than she would have initially guessed, but Jess truly looked like he belonged there. People waved and nodded greetings at him as they passed, Jess reciprocating shyly each time. It was refreshing. She had never seen him so in his element before. Something about the way he held himself, confident and relaxed. His hand was warm and familiar.

Eventually, they made it to the far wall, near the staircase and next to the small stage area. A few people sat around on the cushions and beanbags, drinking their beers and writing in small moleskine notebooks. She wanted to snort and roll her eyes at them, but she was simply too happy. The anxiety which had been so nauseating as she hesitated at the door was almost completely forgotten. Because Jess was excited to see her. He had taken her hand. When he disentangled their fingers, he gestured to the wall, with a collection of small frames.

As her eyes roamed over the framed sketches, it took her only a moment to recognize them. They were hers. Nine pictures, all those she’d given to Jess over the years. Jess’s car with skeletons in the seats, a screaming woman, a garden filled with snakes. Others she’d handed him in shining moments, lying together in bed, on shift at the diner, sitting in the gazebo with her head on his shoulder. And, in the center, the Hudson River. Drawn on Mother’s Day four years earlier, as they sat together on a dirty hill and escaped reality for just one day.

Before she could hold them back, tears stung her hazel eyes. Beside the arrangement of drawings, she saw a small, printed index card stuck to the wall.

Eleanor Stevens

Nine Untitled Sketches

Not For Sale

She breathed out a flabbergasted scoff, the ghost of a smile on her lips when she turned back to Jess. He smirked fondly at the look of pleasant surprise on her face. For a fleeting moment, she looked younger. Innocent in a way she so rarely was, shocked and alive. He missed that look, but hardly realized until he saw it again.

“Jess, I…” she said breathlessly, shaking her head in disbelief and facing the sketches again. Eventually, she gathered herself and found her words. “I had no idea you saved these.”

“Of course I did,” he said, shrugging as though it were obvious. “I knew they’d be worth millions someday.”

She snorted a laugh. “Not likely.”

“I’m serious, Stevens. People have been asking about these. But I didn’t want to set a price on them or anything, since I didn’t have your input,” Jess explained, eyes on her as she stared at her own past work.

Ella felt as though she might explode, almost too moved to bear. She sniffed and blinked harshly, unwilling to let the tears actually spill over, especially in public. Her hands were shaking at her sides, and she began wringing them together in front of her.

A few astonished giggles escaped her, and she shook her head a final time before she looked back at Jess. He had grown up, and so had she. But as she locked eyes with him, she felt seventeen again, could practically hear the Interpol song playing in her head. The urge to kiss him came over her, made her skin feel tingly and electric. She swallowed harshly, letting the thoughts fade in her mind. As if he had waited all this time for her. He would surely have a girlfriend. Someone who actually liked Hemingway, who could dance, who didn’t have a sailor’s mouth and a broken family.

“I don’t know what to say.” She fought the urge to bite at her nails.

Jess laughed quietly. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing half-heartedly.

“You don’t have to say anything. I was the one who wanted to say thank you. For everything. I couldn’t have done any of this if I hadn’t met you,” he told her. Jess surprised even himself by being able to maintain eye contact with her.

“You definitely could have,” Ella said resolutely.

He smirked. “No use in arguing with you, I know. So we can agree to disagree but…”

Pausing, Jess sighed and ran a hand over his mouth again. He glanced behind him, and could see Chris and Matthew pretending they hadn’t been staring at the exchange as they bid people goodbye. There were only a few others left milling around. Jess still almost couldn’t believe Ella was standing right in front of him. For two years, he’d imagined what he would say. But, as usual, the sight of her was staggering. Her hazel gaze pierced his scarred heart and immediately all the scripts he’d written disappeared from his head.

“Look, do you...we’re going out for drinks after. Me and Chris and Matthew, the other guy we own this place with. I know drinking isn’t your thing, though I wasn’t planning on getting wasted anyway, and I don’t know when you have to go back but...do you wanna come? We can catch up?” he asked, hesitant.

Her small smile spread to a grin, and the dimple shone in her freckled cheek. “Sure, Mariano. I’d love to.”

[seelaa26]

1. Next Stop, Vegas Please

“Gonna sell my car and go to Vegas, ‘cause somebody told me that’s where dreams would be”

My eyes were confused when I opened them due to the sun setting on my window plane. I lost track of time after so many hours flying but I knew we were arriving to Vegas. From the air, the city was unmistakable; you could distinguish  The Strip, it’s almost a 7 km stretch, known by its concentration of resort hotels and casinos. Honestly, that was the reason why I chose this city to do my internship, besides the fact that the Crime Lab was the best forensic scientific laboratory in the whole country, Sin City had everything; everything and anything you want to do, you can do in Las Vegas.

The airplane landed a while after and when I set foot on the ground, I couldn’t help but smile even though I was terrified. Leaving my country to go to live to another one all by myself. ¿Was it one hell of a step? Yes, but a necessary one. I wanted to push myself because I needed proof of my inner power; if I could do this, there was nothing I couldn’t do. I worked and studied hard for four years, graduated with honors and got the scholarship. The scholarship covers part of my staying in the city during the nine months; pays half my rent and the car rental. The rest of my payroll was for me. Obviously, I wasn’t going to earn the same money as my coworkers, I had a scholarship contract but it was enough to live comfortably.

My college made the car rental for me, a red Opel Astra with manual transmission and Diesel fuel. I only knew how to drive with manual transmission, so I figured that’s why they rented that car. I adjusted the seating position, started the car and typed the address of the apartment. Dream Apartments was a complex with a clubhouse and a gym, besides the apartment of course. It took me 20 minutes but I got there with success. I parked the car in front of the complex, went to reception and after the registration, they gave me the key to my new home. I followed a tile path and saw a wooden door with a door sign; 898 SF, my apartment. I opened the door, climbed the stairs carrying my suitcase and as soon as I was upstairs, I was impressed by the elegance. The apartment walls were white, wooden floor and everything else was black; doors, frames, curtains, paintings.. I loved it. After the excitement, I realized that I didn’t sleep in the plane but I needed to start getting used to the night shift so I had to stay awake at least until 8 am, since the shift was from 11 pm to 7 am. So, ¿where shall I start? Let’s walk around the neighborhood.

***

When I asked at reception where Gil Grissom’s office was I couldn’t believe it. I did not know what I expected, but his office wasn’t it. There was a metal desk in the middle of the room, which was normal but the rest of the office was full of shelves with glass jars that contained all kind of things you can imagine; a small pig fetus, spiders, frogs, snakes.. all of them dead, obviously but still, creepy.

If that wasn’t enough, he also had specimens of butterflies and bugs framed on the wall. When I was a child, I had a collection with various specimens of scorpions, spiders and beetles conserved in glass, but that was just for fun.

-¡Hi! –a voice spoke behind me, which made me jump from the scare, but he smiled afterwards- Sorry. Welcome to Forensics. Gil Grissom, I’m your supervisor on “Graveyard”.

-Laura Serrano –I introduced myself while shaking hands- ¿”Graveyard”?

-That’s how we call the night shift.

-¿Why? –I asked curiously.

-Because of the same reason you chose this shift –I wondered how did he know that, but he answered before I could even ask- ¿Do you remember what you wrote on the application?

-Actually, I do –I nodded- I wrote that I wanted to work the night shift because of the number of crimes that occur at this time. People are drawn by the allure of the darkness, and so am I.

-That quote is the reason why I accepted your internship –he confessed- You know Laura, this job requires someone who is not afraid to explore the darkest corners. CSI’s see everything and deal with the most twisted things you can imagine. It takes a strong mind to handle it, and I believe you have one.

-I agree and that’s why I can’t wait to be on the field.

-We’ll begin our shift when the team arrives, so while we are waiting.. ¿would you mind taking off your jacket and rolling up your sleeve? I need a pint of your blood. It’s mandatory for all new hires.

A few minutes later, we left the office and headed to the locker room, where the CSI’s store their personal belongings, so I could leave my bag. As we were approaching, two male voices could be heard louder. From the way Grissom smiled, he recognized them. Two good looking guys were talking while putting on their shoes leaning on the bench. One of them was an African American with brown hair and green eyes and quite tall. The other was American with dark hair and brown eyes and a little bit shorter, although I have to admit that I fell for his smile. When he smiled, laugh lines appeared around his cheeks and eyes making him look cuter.

-C’mon, give me a winner for tomorrow.

-Green Bay, minus seven and a half over Niners –answered the African American- Always go with the better quarterback.

-Warrick, Nick –Grissom called, making them look at him and me- I want to introduce you to Laura, she’s the girl who comes to do the internship.

-Nick Stokes –the cute one introduced himself.

-Warrick Brown –he shook my hand after Nick did- You’re from Spain, right?

-Yes, Barcelona –I nodded.

-Man, how I wish to be there.. –Nick mumbled- Great gastronomy, cool weather and views to the Mediterranean.

-¿You’ve been there? –I asked.

-Not yet, but I’m looking for a place for my next vacation –he answered- Now that I’m CSI Level 3 I can afford to travel further than Texas.

A brunette woman entered the locker room in a hurry and greeted everyone without noticing me. I guessed she was another member of the night shift. She was tall and skinny.

-Hey Sara, do you remember that the new girl started working today? –Grissom asked, but she didn’t even look.

-Yeah, ¿why? –she answered and looked for a moment, then she realized- Oh sorry, I’m Sara Sidle, nice to meet you.

-Don’t worry –I smiled- Nice to meet everyone.

-Not everyone.. –Grissom looked around- ¿Does anyone know where’s Catherine?

-She had to pick Lindsey up from her ex’s house, but she’s on her way –Warrick answered- It’s Lindsey’s birthday today.

-Wait for her outside, you’re working together and take Laura with you. 401A at Fremont Street –Grissom commanded as he gave me my CSI credential- Nick, Sara, you’re with me.

-¿What’s a 401A? –I asked Warrick while we were leaving the locker room.

-Hit and run.

I put the credential around my neck and followed him to the exit of the building. When we arrived outside, I saw a skinny, blonde woman approaching us with a weary look on his face.

-Hey guys.. –she said- You must be Laura, the new girl.

-That’s right –I smiled to make her feel comfortable- You must be Catherine.

-Nice to meet you, Laura. Sorry for being late –she looked at Warrick- ¿Are we working together?

-Yeah, hit and run on Fremont –he showed the keys that belonged to one of the cars the CSI’s use to do their job- I’m driving.

***

When we arrived at the crime scene it was already cordoned off. Warrick parked a couple of meters away from the police tape and then we got out of the car. The first thing I saw was the victim; a little girl. I didn’t expect that since it was night and kids don’t go alone on the street. Besides, it was a little girl. ¿Who is capable of leaving her there without calling the police? Cowards.

-¿You okay? –I heard a male voice asking that, and then I realized I stopped walking the moment I saw the girl.

-Yeah, yeah.. It’s just that.. –I tried to find the words to say ignoring that they were both looking at me.

-It’s hard –Catherine finished- I wish I could say it gets easier, but I’m not a liar. The only thing you can do is find whoever did this and get justice.

-Then I’m lucky.. Because that’s exactly our job -I looked at them and sighed- ¿Hoy many hit and runs have you had this year?

-Too many –Warrick replied as he bent down to look at the ground- One thing I can’t stand is a punk coward.

-My daughter wants one of these scooters –Catherine indicated with the flashlight- She says that she’s the only kid in the world who doesn’t have one.

My gaze went back to the little girl’s body but it was something I couldn’t control. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else but her. She had a scared look on her face. My heart shrunk from the sadness of her accident. She was so young and full of life and it only took a couple of seconds to take that away.

-¿Do you want me to tell Grissom to put you in another case? -No –I answered- ¿Why?

-¿You feeling alright Warrick? –Catherine asked in a worried tone- ¿It’s that thing with Holly Gribbs, isn’t it?

-I’m just looking out for my partners, you know.. –Warrick replied with a frown- It made me think who I am to you.

-Hey relax –she smiled at him and then looked at me- I’m sure Laura can handle this one.

-I can –I nodded- I’m okay, but thank you for the offer.  

-So, Laura the first thing we do is take a close look at the crime scene and then we take pictures of everything that could be evidence–Catherine explained- In this case, for example, the scooter, the victim’s shoe, the tire marks.. Then we try to recreate what happened with the evidence we’ve got so far. Warrick, ¿you wanna call it?

-Vehicle’s coming down from Rochester, victim was on her scooter heading east, car breaks here, impact here and the vic was thrown.. ¿What? ¿20 meters? –he explained while indicating everything with his fingers.

-And all we’ve got is some paint that’s going to match up to about 20 million other vehicles.. –Catherine sighed- Bastard.

***

I saw them collect the evidence from the crime scene and the next step was get it back to the lab while the coroner performed the victim’s autopsy. Luckily, she was the only dead body that night so it wouldn’t take long. Warrick took the evidence to the rightful departments.

-¿Have you had the chance to walk around the Lab?

-Actually, no.

-I’ll show you around while we wait for the autopsy then –Catherine said and started walking- First we have the DNA Lab, territory owned by Greg Sanders, lab tech specialized in DNA and also in listening commonly rock artists while running lab machines. You’ll meet him, you’ll like him.

-Rock is my favorite genre so I already like him.

-Next to DNA we have Ballistics and in front Audio/Video –we continued walking- We have Trace and Fingerprints over here and down the hall to the right we have the Evidence Garage next to the Evidence Vault and to the left the Locker room, Grissom’s office, the Break Room and the Layout Room.

-¿Layout Room?

-We use that room to review evidence and look for new evidence, compare notes, display the photos from the current case and use the table to draw out rough sketches on maps –she answered with a good explanation- ¿Any more questions? -I have one but it’s not about the Lab.. –she looked at me waiting for me to ask- ¿Who’s Holly Gribbs?

-She was a rookie who started working with us two weeks ago. Holly and Warrick were working together on a case but he left and when Holly was alone collecting evidence from the crime scene, the suspect came back and shot her –Catherine explained it regretfully- She died on the operating table.

-Warrick feels guilty., -I concluded- That’s why he asked me if I wanted to work another case, to make sure I’m okay.

After I finished my sentence, Catherine’s phone rang. It was time for us to head to the morgue, which was downstairs. Before entering the morgue itself, we stopped on the hall to put on the sterile lab coat.

-¿Have you ever seen a dead body?

-Yeah, I took human anatomy classes –I nodded- I wanted to be ready.

-Good –she smiled proudly- Usually, the night shift coroner is Dr. Albert Robbins, but today is his day off so you are going to meet Dr. Jenna Williams.

We entered the morgue and approached the central table while making introductions.  

-This is your hit and run victim –the coroner uncovered the girl and looked at me- Bad thing about this job is you stop asking yourself why. The cause of death was the hit by the car, but I’ve found a bruise on her leg.

-Oh my god.. plate numbers, from the license plate when impacted her skin.

-Looks like a 4.. –I looked at the bruise trying to decipher the license plate- ¿And a J?

-Yeah –Catherine agreed- We have to call DMV.

-¿DMV? –I asked.

-Department of Motor Vehicles, we’ll get them to cross check this partial plate in a 5 mile radius.

***

Actually, waiting for an answer from DMV didn’t take as long as I expected. Within the hour we already appeared at the door of the car owner’s house. This was my first time face to face with a suspect and as my first night was full of unexpected things, an older man opened the door.

-¿Hello? –Catherine said with a smile- ¿Mr. Charles Moore? We are with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We’d like to talk to you about your car.

-We believe it may have been involved in a traffic collision earlier this evening.

-I told the police when they called me.. my car was stolen.

-That’s why we have a search warrant, sir –Catherine gave him the paper- So that we can look in your garage.

When he opened the garage door with that face I already knew we were going to find his car in there and in what condition. From the sad attitude he had, he knew what happened. The front of the car was busted and the license plate hung from its place. We looked at each other, and then we looked at him. We were waiting for an explanation.

-It.. it was an accident.. I saw the girl and I tried to break but I accelerated by mistake. I got confused.. I shouldn’t have left. I was wrong. ¿Is she okay?

-She died at the scene –Catherine said without being affected by the man’s repentance.

-You are going to be charged with manslaughter, Mr. Moore –Warrick added- Felony and run. You have a lawyer?

He didn’t answer, but he looked like he was sad and sorry to hear what happened. Obviously, killing the girl wasn’t his intention, but he had to face it. After finding the car, we had to make sure it was the correct car and we needed evidence so we called Traffic to have the car confiscated and brought in. While we waited, we went to the break room to eat and drink something.

-¿Is it me or did he give it up so easy? –Catherine asked us as she was taking out a cake from the fridge.

-Old guy was scared –Warrick answered with a soda on his hand- ¿What do you think, Laura?

-I also think that he was scared, I mean he almost cried when he heard the girl died but I feel like there’s something more.

-¡You have to see the birthday present I got for your daughter! –Grissom entered the break room while carrying a bag- I had one of this Chem Labs when I was six, I almost blew up the whole house.  

-¿What’s the rule.. how long do I have to be here before kicking in for gifts? –I asked with confidence.

-When your spirit moves you –Catherine answered with a smile- But don’t worry because Lindsey doesn’t want a party.

-¿What kind of kid doesn’t want a party? –Sara asked.

-My kid.

-Hey Catherine.. ¿at what time is your little girl coming by? –Nick entered the room with a gift- I got her a Chemset.

Grissom and Nick exchanged surprised looks. They had bought the same gift.

-Keep it –Sara intervened- You might learn something.

-Stop flirting with me –Nick ignored her- Cath, really, ¿when’s the party?

-¿What do I have to do? –Catherine got up from the chair a little bit upset- ¡There is no party! ¡My daughter doesn’t want a party! ¿Is everybody clear on that?

No one was going to answer after that. Crystal clear.

***

-¿How tall do you think Mr. Moore is? –Warrick asked us leaning on the car.

-Six feet, I’d say –Catherine answered after we exchanged a look.

-Old people must love hugging the steering wheel ‘cause this sit is pushed all the way forward –Warrick opened the door and got into the car. He didn’t quite fit- I’m six feet and this mirror isn’t helping me at all.

-¿Can you start the car? –I asked.

-¿Why?

-If you haven’t noticed I’m 5 feet and when I drive I have to push the sit all the way forward.

-You think that it wasn’t Mr. Moore who was driving but someone shorter.

As soon as he started the car, the radio turned on and a rap song started playing. Warrick whistled impressed by the song and started moving his head to the beat of the song. In my case, I knew the song and started rapping it.

-So they can hear everything that you say when you ain’t home. I guess Michael Jackson was right, “You are not alone”. Rock your hardhat black..

-¿You listen to Mos Def? -Warrick asked impressed.

-I thought you said Rock is your favorite genre –Catherine intervened.

-¡And it is! But I listen to everything and when it comes to rap Mos Def, 2Pac, Nas, The Notorious B.I.G, Eminem, Blackstreet.. are some of my favorites.

-¡I like your style! –Warrick smiled at me.

-Mr. Moore was not the last person to drive this car –Catherine was the only one who wasn’t absorbed by the song- ¿Turn the music off?

Now it was time to find the evidence that would sustain our theory. Since it was my first day, I limited myself to observe how they did the search and collection of evidence. The steering wheel cover was leather but it had small breathable circles and there was something stuck in one of them. Catherine took it with the tweezers and showed it to us.

-¿Can you tell what that is?

-¿Is it me or that is a piece of tooth? –I questioned.

***

After collecting the evidence and come to a conclusion, came the part of the confrontation with the suspect. I wanted to see how my colleagues faced the situation in the interrogation room. I had no experience, so I couldn’t enter just like that. Instead, I watched it all from the observation mirror.

-¿Does anybody else drive your car, Mr. Moore? –Warrick started.

-I was driving yesterday.

-Sir, that doesn’t answer our question.

Suddenly, the door opened and a boy about 19 years old entered the room. It was the suspect’s grandson. The boy seemed lost, but the grandfather more.

-¿What is he doing here? –Mr. Moore asked.

-Your grandson is an approved driver on your insurance –Catherine explained- He had him pulled out of school

-So James, ¿you like Mos Def?

He sat down without saying a word.

-¿Did you hit that girl with your grandfather’s car?

-Pops, let me explain to them –the boy said addressing his grandfather- They should hear what happened.

-No, they are going to from me –he nervously clasped his hands together and began to explain- When I hit that girl, James switched seats and took over the wheel, drive me home. He was worried about me, not the girl. I’m not saying good judgment was used, but that’s what happened.

-James, ¿do you want to add anything to that? –Warrick asked, but since the boy didn’t say anything, he continued- Sir, ¿can we look at your teeth?

Mr. Moore took out his dentures and put them on the table.

-James, we found a tooth chip embedded in the steering wheel of your grandfather’s car –Catherine explained again- It doesn’t appear to be of your grandfather’s teeth. ¿Do you have a chipped tooth?

-Pops, I’m sorry but I got to –he was going to tell the truth.

-He is a good boy.. it was an accident. I make him call, let me know where he is. He drove straight home and wanted me to go to the police station with him.

-I didn’t know that little girl was dead. I swear.

-I wouldn’t let him turn himself in, that was my decision –he appealed to our emotions for his grandson- Boy’s going places, college.. he’s got a real future.

-I’m very sorry, Mr. Moore –Catherine mumbled with a sad tone- James, I’m afraid you are gonna have to be taken into custody.

-Miss, please.. –he begged- I’m willing to serve his time.

-I know you are Mr. Moore but we can’t let you do that.

Two police officers entered the room and handcuffed the boy. Taking him by the arms, they left the room and went to reception, where he was going to say goodbye to his grandfather. When Warrick and Catherine left the interrogation room, I joined them. There was a feeling of sadness between us.

-Hey, ¿why don’t you go home? We can handle this –Warrick said to Catherine- Your daughter gets out of school in a half hour on her birthday.

-I owe you –she smiled at him, and then look at me- See you tonight, guys.

Warrick and I exchanged glances and approached them.

-Don’t worry pops, I’ll be okay.

-My grandson going to jail is never okay. You survive in there, ¿you hear me?

-You too –James nodded- Don’t be going downhill.

They hugged each other for the last time with tears in their eyes and honestly, they were not the only ones who had them.

-James, the first days are going to be the toughest –Warrick took his hand and wrote something on it- Here’s my cell number. If you are in any problems, call me. I’ll be right there. Keep your head up.

James was taken away and his grandfather left too. We both stood there, watching them go. Watching how they were forced to separate.

-That has been very good of you –I said touched by his act of kindness.

-They remind me of me and my grandmother –Warrick confessed- ¿How do you feel after the first case? This has been a pretty tough emotional one. You have seen two very hard emotions; tragedy and sacrifice.

-Thanks to them I have realized something –I nodded- You’ve got so much power in this job, which you use to get the bad guys but once in a while, I’d like to use it to help the good guys.

-¿And what.. forget about little Renda Harris?

-No.. –I looked at him- What I’m saying is that putting James away isn’t gonna bring her back and Mr. Moore was willing to do the time. I mean, the victim’s family gets closure..

-I know.. but we got to follow the evidence, even if we don’t like where it takes us –Warrick turned to face me- Laura, it’s the job. If you start making deals with the devil, you don’t get to walk away. ¿You understand what I’m saying?

-Yeah..

-Now it’s time to go home –he said watching reception’s clock- You did very well on your first day. Get some rest, ¿okay?

I went back to the locker room to collect my things and when I left the building, I got in the car and just sat there. I had waited so long for my first case and to feel that high when I’d solve it, but I didn’t feel that way. Not at all. Instead, I felt guilty and this had only just begun.

[kali-tmblr]

Problematic Atlas Quotes: Volumes 1-3

All of the places on Remnant put together have not produced as many jarring incongruities and mixed messages as Atlas. These are all quotes relating to Atlas that really stood out to me at the time and have stayed with me since.

Volume 1

Penny: I am combat ready! (Yeah, but are you ready for anything else? And who would send out a cute girl robot who was ONLY ready for combat?)

Weiss: The innocent never run, Yang! (Karmic law says that one will come back to bite your ass, Weiss.)

Penny: I don't have a lot of friends, but if I did, I would want them to talk to me about things. (We haven't seen this one come back around to Penny yet. Blake, yes. Penny, no.)

Volume 2

Ironwood: But ask yourself this: Do you honestly believe your children can win a war?

Ozpin: I hope they never have to. (Note that Ozpin believes they can. It's having to fight he considers a failure. Later revelations would make his view even more tragic.)

Ruby: But why not let us know you were okay?

Penny: I... was asked not to talk to you. Or Weiss. Or Blake. Or Yang. Anybody, really.

Ruby: Was your dad that upset?

Penny: No, it wasn't my father... (Ironwood speaks next. An early sign of Ironwood's controlling nature.)

Penny: I'm the world's first synthetic person capable of generating an Aura. (Tell me more.)

Penny: One day, it will be my job to save the world (The whole world? Seriously, tell me more.)

Penny: It's okay, Ruby. They're not bad people; I just don't want to get you in trouble. (And why would talking to you get Ruby in trouble? And why send her to a festival that encourages students to talk to each other if you won't let her talk?)

Penny: Just promise me you won't tell anyone else my secret. Okay?

Ruby: I promise.(If she HAD told Pyrrha, the whole debacle might not have happened. Will this come up again?)

Roman: As some of you may have heard, this right here... (Taps the giant mech) ...is Atlas's newest defense against all the scary things in the world. And thanks to my "employer", we've managed to snag a few before they, uh, "hit the shelves".  (Damn, Atlas, y'all got a lot worse security problems than Ruby.)

(The image of Penny dancing by herself at the ball surrounded by uniformed guards. Say what?)

Ironwood: Ruby, I feel it's appropriate to let you know that I think what you did last night is exactly what being a Huntress is all about. You recognized a threat. You took action. And you did the very best you could. (Ah well, that's nice. Doesn't entirely fit in with the rest of your character James, but it's nice.)

Ruby: Wait. You think this girl is connected to Torchwick and the White Fang?

Ozpin: It's possible. But we still lack the required evidence to link the two together.

Ruby: Actually, I... I think I remember her saying something about a hideout, or something, in the southeast. Just outside the Kingdom.

Ozpin: Interesting.

Glynda: I thought you said the intruder never—

Ozpin: Thank you for your cooperation, Ruby. Why don't you go and spend some time with your team? You have a big day ahead of you.

Ruby: Any time.

Ozpin: And Miss Rose, please try and be ... discreet about this matter.

Ruby: Yes sir. (This tells Ironwood several things. It tells him that Ruby will lie for Ozpin, that Ozpin will cover up Ruby's lie to protect her, and most importantly that Ruby and Ozpin TRUST EACH OTHER.)

Glynda: Why must your answer to everything involve a triumphant display of military bravado!? You treat every situation like it's a contest of measuring di—!

Ozpin: Glynda!

Glynda: Well, he does. (Tell me more, Glynda.)

Ozpin: You're a general, James. So tell me, when you prepare to go to war, which do you send in first? The flag bearers, or the scouts? (Why is a civilian Headmaster schooling a general with a lesson taught to greenhorn Lieutenants? And why does he have to?)

Ozpin:  We fought for countless reasons, one of which being the destruction of all forms of art and self-expression. (SOME kingdom has control issues.)

Glynda: You're a good person, James. You've always done what you think is best for the people, even against strong protest. It's admirable. But it's high time you stopped talking about trust and started showing it. (So Ironwood's trust issues are not new. Tell me more.)

Councilman 1: You've left us no choice! The Vytal Festival tournament cannot be broadcast, let alone held, if we are unable to ensure the safety of the citizens.

Councilman 1: Ahem... Therefore, we have reached out to the Atlas Council and together have decided that the best action is to appoint General Ironwood as head of security for the event.

Ironwood: Thank you, Councilman. Our Kingdom is happy to lend as many troops as it takes to ensure that the event runs smoothly and safely as possible.

Councilman 1: And we thank you, General.

Ozpin: Will that be all?

Councilman 1: For now. But after this festival comes to a close, we are going to have a serious discussion about your position at Beacon Academy. General Ironwood's reports over the last few weeks have left us somewhat... concerned. I am sure you understand.

Ironwood: This is the right move, Ozpin. I promise, I will keep our people safe, you have to trust me.(Damn dude, what did Glynda just say about trusting people? And why do you expect Ozpin to trust you when you clearly have tattled behind his back?)

Ironwood: You brought this on yourself. (Yeah, he did. By trusting you.)

Volume 3

I have already written a detailed post on the vast discrepancies between how Winter Schnee behaves and what she is trying to convey in her first scenes, titled "Snowbirds of a Feather". Suffice to say Ironwood isn't the only Atlesian sending mixed messages.

Ironwood: If you were one of my men, I would have you shot!

Qrow: If I was one of your men, I'd shoot myself.(So y'all have an acrimonious history as well. Okay.)

Goodwitch: While I wouldn't condone his behavior, retaliating like you did certainly didn't help the situation. ("Call yourself a grown-up? I've seen better behavior from first-year students! Why do I even have to say anything to you? Don't answer that.")

Qrow: You sent me to get intel on our enemy, and I'm telling you, our enemy is here.

Ironwood: We know.

Qrow: Oh! Oh, you know! Well, thank goodness I'm out there risking my life to keep you all informed!

Ironwood:Qrow-

Qrow: Communication's a two-way street, pal. You see this? That's the SEND button.

Winter: They had reason to assume you'd been compromised. (So, Ironwood, explain to me WHY, if you seriously think Qrow has been compromised, you haven't brought it up with HIS BOSS before now? Isn't that information kind of important?)

Qrow: Despite what the world thinks, we're not just teachers, or generals, or headmasters. The people in this room, the leaders of the other two academies, we're the ones that keep the world safe from the evils no one even knows about! It's why we meet behind closed doors, why we work in the shadows. So you tell me, James, when you brought your army to Vale, did you think you were being discreet, or did you just not give a damn!?

Ironwood: Discreet wasn't working. (Explain.)

 I'm here because this is what was necessary. (Explain.)

Qrow: You're here because Ozpin wanted you here! (Is it just me, or does anyone else think this sounds like it was an unpopular decision?)

Ciel: Ruby Rose. 15. Hails from Patch. Leader of Team RWBY. Status: Questionable. (Daaaammmn son. We need to talk. You ordered a full background check on a teenage girl just because she talked to your android? And then you gave it to your android's handler? And on top of all that, a gifted honor student from a multigenerational Huntsmen family who leads Beacon's first-year star team, who Ozpin clearly trusts, only rates as "Questionable"? Who doesn't rate as "Questionable"? Oh that's right. Qrow is also "Questionable", and so is Ozpin. Tell me, do you rate yourself as "Questionable"?)

Ciel: Penny? I believe it is best if we move on to our next location.

Penny: Could we have just a minute to talk? (No seriously, is Penny now not allowed any free time?)

Ciel: It's been precisely one minute, ma'am.(Apparently not.)

Penny: Ruby, there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about. I want to stay at Beacon.

Ruby: Penny, they'll never let you do that.

Penny: I know, but I have a plan.(Tell me more.)

Yang: You're from Atlas. What could we expect?

Weiss: Well, seeing as their Kingdom, academy and armed forces are all merged as one, I think we can expect strict, militant fighters with advanced technology and carefully rehearsed strategies.  ... Or whatever they are.(So even other Atlesians think Atlesians send mixed messages.)

Ironwood: For the past few years, Atlas has been studying Aura from a more scientific standpoint; how it works, what's it made of, how it can be used. We've made... significant strides. And we believe we've found a way to capture it.

Qrow: Capture it and cram it into something else. (Dude, exactly WHERE did Penny's Aura come from?)

Ironwood: What I believe and hope this to be is nothing more than the result of stress and adrenaline. When you're out on the battlefield, your judgment can become clouded in an instant. Sometimes you see things that simply aren't there. Even after the fight is past... (That answers that question. You don't trust yourself either. What happened to you?)

Ironwood: Ozpin, the girl... I-I can explain! (You've got a full scale Grimm invasion going on and you're more terrified of OZPIN? What did you do to create Penny, James? How ELSE have you betrayed Oz?)

Ironwood: Qrow! This isn't my doing! (Why did you automatically assume Qrow is attacking you instead of looking behind you? Guilt?)

This post is long enough already, so I'll finish later. While I may be overreacting to some of these statements, that doesn't explain all of them. It's looked from the beginning like there was something fishy going on in Atlas, especially having to do with Ironwood.

[rabbitcruiser]

National Save a Spider Day

National Save a Spider Day is celebrated on March 14 annually in the U.S. in part to reduce arachnophobia, a fear of spiders, and to conserve spiders. People are usually afraid of spiders, mostly due to their bites which are considered deadly. Although most of the fear is largely unfounded and exaggerated, spiders are incredibly useful to humans as they work as effective pest control among other things. On this day, we look at the many reasons why we should rather trap a spider in a jar and take it outside than kill it. Let us spin webs about spiders and why they should be saved.

History of National Save a Spider Day

The history of Save A Spider Day, as well as the organization or individual who created it, is still being researched. Natural-resource organizations or biologists may have instituted this National Save A Spider Day in response to the growing recognition of spiders’ significance in both the environment and the daily lives of humans.

In the opinion of specialists, spiders perform a very vital function in maintaining the balance of nature’s ecosystem. Spiders, together with other species such as birds and ants, have a substantial impact on the reduction of insect populations. The world’s natural ecology would be severely out of balance if they didn’t exist. Cobweb spiders and cellar spiders are the two most prevalent types of spiders that have been discovered to invade our homes, according to scientific research. They are quite common inhabitants of the indoor ecosystem, and they can improve the living conditions of our living areas.

This is because spiders prefer to hide in dark places while waiting for their victim. The pests they trap and devour include annoying pests such as cockroaches and pincer ants, as well as disease-transmitting insects such as mosquitoes and flies. Sometimes the spiders work together to kill the toxic spiders, although this is not always the case. Among other things, our good friend the basement spider is well-known for killing dangerous black widow spiders.

National Save a Spider Day timeline

300 Million Years Ago The First Spider is Spotted

The first spider is reported as a species.

30 Million Years Ago The Modern Spider Emerges

Spiders — as we know them today — appear at this time as they evolve from their ancestors.

1998 The Museum Works With Them

Dan Babbit from The Smithsonian Museum works with spiders and comes to appreciate their uniqueness.

2016 The Desertas Wolf Spiders

Mark Bushell and his team of spiders go on to successfully reproduce and bring back 25 spiders from Madeira.

National Save a Spider Day FAQs

Are spiders friendly?

No, they are not. Spiders often are isolated and do not intentionally seek the company of humans if they enter their homes.

Can a spider be tamed?

Spiders can be tamed including tarantulas which is why you can see them as pets.

Do Spiders live on every continent?

Except for Antarctica, spiders can be found on every other continent.

How to Observe National Save a Spider Day

Save a spider

Learn about spiders

Watch Spider-Man

When you see a spider, you can save one instead of killing them. You can put the spider in a jar and then release it back into the wild.

On this day, you can learn about the behavior of spiders and learn about their habits. You can also study the difference between poisonous and non-poisonous species of spiders.

You can watch your favorite superhero bitten by a radioactive spider, Spider-Man. Watching Spider-Man can add to the interest of others so that they are not as afraid.

5 Interesting Facts About Spiders

Arachnophobia is common

Only a few are dangerous

A symbol of good luck

They produce silk

Spiders have gone to Space

This is the fear of spiders and is the third most common phobia in the U.S.

Most spiders do not have venom dangerous enough to the average-sized human.

Many cultures such as Greek, Roman, Scottish, and American Indian cultures consider spiders to be a symbol of good luck.

Spiders produce silk that researchers use to test its strength and elasticity to see how it can be employed in several ways.

Researchers have sent spiders to space to study the effects of zero gravity on their skill to spin their webs.

Why National Save a Spider Day is Important

Spiders are Important Predators

Spiders produce silk

Spiders are sensitive

Spiders eat insects wherever they are situated —inside or outside the house— which reduces the number of insects around. They keep the number of pests under control reducing the diseases that are being spread and fewer insects bothering humans.

All spiders produce silk which is one of the strongest materials that have been discovered. The tensile strength of high-grade alloy steel.

Spiders have poor eyesight but they have sensitive legs. These legs have tiny hairs which help them detect scents, help them find food, find potential mates, and sense vibrations.

Source

[rainbows-fanfics]

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 25)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

--

Jack Skellington paces around in his observatory, one hand resting on his skull and the other on the side of his hip. He walks around contemplatively as he mumbles under his breath. Zero watches from his doggy bed below, his small head tracing over the skeleton as he moves himself about the room. How am I going to do this? He thinks to himself. Telling the whole town I'm courting someone...This isn't as simple as I thought... He can already hear all of the gossip and judgements from his fans and admirers; attempts to slander Sally's name solely because she has the undead heart of the Pumpkin King. He won't tolerate such misdemeanors, and will most certainly prevent many of them from forming, but even he knows that some things are out of his control...It is his own responsibility to keep her safe, and ensure a better life for her. Even if this is her decision, he wants to be the one to deliver the message as best as he can. He hopes everyone can understand her - to see how sweet Sally truly is and grow to like her. They may not ever know of everything she's done for him, but he has the greatest feeling she'll be welcome with open arms. Maybe not from everyone, but a skeleton man can hope...If she managed to get on good sides with the Band and even make a few more friends in town, he sees no reason she won't make more from this outcome. She seemed to get along with his own friends back in town, after all! Another thought crosses his skull. Jack grinds his teeth and shuts his eye sockets momentarily. That's right...I still have to tell Doctor Finklestein. How will I even accomplish that? I may as well be asking for a second death- EEEK! EEEK! EEEK! The sound of his telephone ringing from downstairs interrupts him. He quickly descends down the stairs and darts into the hallway, taking a sharp turn into his den and picking up the receiver. He hates getting calls like this in the midst of his thinking time, but it may be from the Mayor or someone important, and he doesn't want anything to appear out of the usual. He holds the receiver near his skull and does his best to sound as enthusiastic as possible. "Greetings! Pumpkin King residence, Jack speaking." "My boy! I have something horrible to ask of you." He stiffens hearing the Doctor's voice over the line. "I need some help with my new project. You see, I need assistance creating some...fluids. I know how much you enjoy our scientific sessions!" "It has been awhile, hasn't it? I'll be more than happy to assist you, Doctor. When would you like my help?" "I need this done as soon as possible! Come over when you can tomorrow, and bring nothing but your knowledge of science!" "I'll be there first thing in the morning." He hangs up the phone and stares at the floor wordlessly. Here he was, thinking he'd have to come up with some sort of excuse again to visit the Doctor's tower. He was wondering how to get away with such a thing and to make it the least bit of questionable, but now he doesn't have to worry! The Doctor just invited him over, no strings attached. He'll have to take advantage of his time over there and eventually inform him of the news. This seems like the most opportune time as well - he has never seen the Doctor in a bad mood while he is working with science... This might be easier than I thought... He grins to himself, walking over to his library in search for his book on fluid dynamics.

------------------ The Pumpkin King sticks to his word and leaves for the Doctor's first thing the next morning, having pushed back the rest of his schedule to account for this visit. On the way over, he can't help but remember Sally once mentioning Finklestein's project. How he refused to tell her what it is, considering it something 'better'. Even he can't help but hum in thought, wondering just what it is he's working on this time. He knows of many things the man hopes to improve on, but can't put his finger on what it is exactly. Doesn't matter, does it? He thinks to himself as the approaches the recognizable tower. I'm bound to get answers just working on it as it is... He climbs the steps and comes forward to knock on the door's surface a few times. He waits only a few minutes until it opens, finding Igor peeking outside curiously. The moment his eye finds the skeleton, he grins wickedly and lets him in right away. The skeleton passes by him with a polite smile. He then finds himself in the Doctor's sitting room. The place looks empty, which slightly disappoints him as he was hoping to find Sally somewhere. The man himself soon comes out from the laboratory doorway, and jumps up in his seat finding the King in his home. "Jack! There you are! I was wondering when you'd get here." He comes closer until he's only a few feet away. "We've got plenty of work to do! I hope you're ready?" "I most certainly am, Doctor. Just yesterday I caught up on my book about fluid dynamics. I hope the study was worth it!" "I hope so, too!" He laughs, motioning him to follow with a gloved finger. "Come, come, we shall get started right away!" He leads the two of them into his laboratory, which Jack finds is filled to the brim with various instruments, papers, machinery, and chemicals. He knows for certain that whatever it is Finklestein is working on, it must be big. He's usually so organized with his workspace and rarely has the skeleton found the place like it is now. He looks around curiously and finds a desk filled with papers. He attempts to study one before the Doctor promptly places it out of view, grinning nervously at him. "-Ah, I can't let the King be spoiled of my grand surprise! That would just kill the suspension, wouldn't it?" "You don't intend on telling me what it is we're working on?" "What we're making is a fluid that will preserve a brain. Well, half of one, anyway." He shrugs as he stuffs the rest of the papers into a drawer. "For what it is for, Jack, you'll see very soon." The Pumpkin King doesn't say anything further and allows the older man to re-organize his chemicals. As he's doing this, the skeleton takes a look at the rest of what he has in the room. He notices spools of thread laying around, jars filled with various organs, and a collection of hair stuffed into a box. Before he can scrutinize these any further, the Doctor gets his attention and motions to the cleaner table before them. "Let's get to work, shall we?" ------------------- Sally rubs her eyes as she makes her way down the tower, feeling unusually well-rested. She accidentally slept in this morning on the account that no one ever came to wake her. Which is odd because she's had lots of things to do these mornings, even if the Doctor was busy in his lab. By the time she's down, she finds the door to it closed and hears different noises coming from the other side. Not even bothering to check, she heads straight for the kitchen in search of something to eat for the morning. Before she can find anything, she hears the laboratory door open and footsteps leaving the room. She thinks nothing of these noises, believing it's just Igor. But when she turns around, she finds a tall figure standing in the doorway. Her jaw falls open in surprise as the name leaves her lips. "J-Jack!?" "Good morning, my lady." He greets her naturally, stepping forward so she could see him properly. "The Doctor wanted me to grab something he left in here -- I think it's right behind you." She turns around to find a jar sitting on the counter, but she pays no attention to it. Instead, she jumps forward to wrap her arms around the man, squeezing him with the brightest smile on her face. This was such a delightful surprise! The last thing she expected this morning was to find the man of her screams in their own kitchen. She brings herself back to lay a quick kiss on his lips, giving him no time to recover from this small bit of affection as she steps back and looks at him lovingly. "I didn't know you were here...I'm so glad!" "The Doctor didn't tell you I was over?" He scrunches his skull up. "I've been here for a few hours..." "No, he didn't." "Peculiar..." She remembers why he must be over. She hadn't expected him to visit so soon to tell Finklestein about them...the smile then falls from her face. She picks at her seams as she slowly draws her gaze to the taller man, looking at him hesitantly. "--How has the Doctor taken the news..?" "Huh? Oh! I haven't mentioned it yet." She looks at him in confusion. "-He called me yesterday morning asking if I could help him with his project. I figured this would be the best time to tell him while I was at it." He walks around her to pick up the empty jar. She watches him carefully, tapping a finger on her lip in thought. The Doctor...wanted Jack's help? He usually doesn't ask for such a thing.... She then clears her throat and taps her fingers together, feeling the curiosity overcome her. This must mean Jack knows more about what he's working on, and she can finally know! "Do you know what it is he's working on?" She asks him hopefully. The troubled look on his skull makes her frown in disappointment. "He told me he wanted it to be a surprise. But he did mention half of a brain...whatever that means? I've seen a lot of things around in his laboratory that make me wonder...it feels like he's making something he's already made before." "That sounds very odd..." "Well, I better get back to him. He'll be wondering where I ran off to." "Oh, let me come! So I can let him know I'm awake and all..." The skeleton bows his head and leads the way. Sally follows him as they both approach the laboratory. He lets her in first and the ragdoll immediately gawks at the mess that is inside. There is a certain smell lingering about the room. She attempts to step over the messes on the floor and looks around to marvel at the stacks of papers and jars filled with endless things. She understands what Jack was talking about now - all of these materials lying around seem a little familiar to her... The Doctor notices the new company right away. "Finally awake, my dear?" She jumps at the sound of his voice. "Oh! Yes! I-I am, I apologize for oversleeping..." "No worries. I wanted you to have your rest. I ordered Igor to take care of your morning businesses." "Oh...is there anything else I can do for you?" "Nothing at all! Go ahead and go back to your room. You can do whatever you'd like while I'm busy." Sally doesn't move from her spot, her eyes quickly darting over to Jack. He sets the empty jar down on the table, which is taken by the Doctor's smaller hands. He turns back to smile at her and she returns it, fiddling with her hands and wondering just how she can convince him to stay. What reason does she have to return to her room if he's down here? As she goes to speak, Finklestein sharply turns to her and begins motioning to the door. "I mean it. There's nothing for you to do here. Leave the science to the men and go and make lunch." Jack speaks quietly from the side. "--That's a little uncalled for, Doctor. You and I both know science can be for women, too." "Yes, yes, but she is no Marie Curie. She is not talented in these sorts of things. I wouldn't expect as such from a doll. I would like for her instead remain where she belongs, and that's not in here." Both the skeleton and the ragdoll stiffen at his words. The defeat comes into Sally's charcoal eyes. It makes her feel numb being referred to as a 'doll' in front of her lover. It is humiliating to be berated in front of him, to say at the least. She may as well consider herself lucky she hadn't been called 'wretched' or 'useless' like she has before! She looks at Jack with helpless eyes, and as he turns to look at her, she notices the change in his own look. He forces a smile - she can tell from the ends of his stitches. "The Doctor's right. You should wait outside for us, Sally. Shouldn't be too much longer until we're finished, anyway." "Jack has a point, my dear. Cook us up something in the kitchen for when we're done. I expect that'll be the only thing you do right today." She looks at the skeleton man one more time before slowly leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind her. The two figures remain where they are in silence for a few minutes, the only exchanges being the passing of glass tubes. As soon as Jack is sure she is completely out of earshot, he turns to the Doctor and crosses his arms in displeasure. The shorter man finally looks over to see the look on his skull, and flinches slightly at his sudden change in tone. "Was it really necessary to call her a 'doll'?" Even he bites his lip at the use of such a derogatory term. "Sally is a person who can do more than stay in the kitchen. She has feelings and thoughts just like you do, you know." "I don't understand what you're upset about. That is simply a fact - she's a doll. A doll who doesn't know what she's doing the moment she's in the mere radius of a laboratory!" He grabs a flask sharply. "And why should she? I made her to be a decent housewife and nothing more." He completely stiffens, feeling an unusual vexation in his skull accompanied by the slight fuming in his throat. He tastes the fire on his tongue and takes a moment to calm himself down. He can't get himself worked up now - not when he's trying to build up to what he finally has to confess to the man...as much as it irritates and annoys him to speak so lowly of Sally in his presence, he has to hold himself together as to not lose his patience. That would end in something ugly - and Jack wasn't sure if he wanted that just yet. "You seem to have a poisonous frog in your throat, my boy." He notes his silence with a smug smile. "We mustn't be concerned with that ragdoll, anyway. We've got something better to work on. Something much more important than her." "I thought you considered Sally your 'greatest creation'? Doesn't make much sense to me that you'd push her aside for something like this..." "You'll understand as soon as we're through with it. That doll can wait, and we certainly don't need her around distracting us! Knowing her, she's bound to break something in here with those clumsy hands..." That word again... The skeleton seethes as he grits his teeth together. Has he no respect for her at all!? His temper is being challenged at this moment, and he struggles to keep it under control. He can feel his hands shaking as he holds the flask and takes a deep breath to steady himself. The Doctor doesn't notice his struggling as he resumes his work. He finds it the perfect time to continue his berating of Sally: "I'm sure you know what I created her for, after all! She wasn't made for the sciences, you see - the most she'll ever know how to do is cook and make clothes, and that's the way I want it to be. She is nothing more than a bundle of cloth and leaves I threw together." That's it. That's all it takes for the boiling in Jack's bones to finally reach the end of his phalanges, and for his skull to be completely controlled by anger. He is filled with indignation for Sally, and at the fact that this old man doesn't respect her at all. He takes a step towards the man, and his upset demeanor causes Finklestein to reach for the controls of his wheelchair out of fear. It becomes apparent, very quickly, that he has angered the Pumpkin King. "--You know what, Doctor? I've had enough of your disrespect for Sally, and your constant disdain of everything she does. You think it's perfectly okay to degrade everything she stands for because you think you're entitled to her life just because you made her. And that makes me sick." He practically spits out the last word, pausing only for a moment to realize how fussed he is getting. His hands are clenched tightly and his eye sockets are narrowed so far that they are nearly touching. The heat hasn't left his throat, but the fire has found its way to leave with every word he's screamed at the man so far. The Pumpkin King is momentarily willing to regain his composure, but the moment he sees Finklestein start to relax in his chair, he is quick to explode on him again. "But that's not even the worst of it! Any time she upsets you, you lock her in her room and make her physically unable to leave. You're imprisoning her. And for what? For wanting to leave every time you scream at her? For wanting some fresh air after you overwork her for hours, only to cram whatever free time she has doing things that only benefit you?" The sweat is piled on the Doctor's forehead. His arms are shaky as he reaches towards his figure. "Jack--" "You have the audacity to say my name?" He asks him incredulously. "How about telling me why, every time I've found Sally in town, she's either crying over you or escaped from you after you locked her in her room for a week? The first time I saw her in the same room as you, I could tell she was afraid of you. She was terrified of even talking to me because you brainwashed her not to speak with anyone who wasn't you. And because you kept treating her like she was your slave, she left you to see me. Because I'm the only one who cared enough about her to treat her like she's an actual person." He stops a moment to pace for a few seconds, exerting this anger off in a way he knows best. He needs to catch his breath. If he says the wrong thing, his reason of coming here might slip out from his lips -- and considering how much he prepared himself for the confession, mentally decided what to say and how to carefully say it, he doesn't want the fact to come out this way. To come out in this ugly fit of rage -- but at the same time, it feels very good to finally let this all out on him. To speak his honest thoughts on the old man ever since he learned of everything he's done to Sally. He finally whips back around back to Finklestein, who has managed to back away a little from his prior position. But Jack stands himself firmly in front of him again, refusing to focus anywhere else. "The fact that you see her as nothing more than a 'doll' makes it very clear to me that Sally doesn't deserve you. She shouldn't have to live with your high expectations, your poor treatment, and your inability to recognize the self-worth that she really has. She's an incredible, beautiful woman who deserves more respect and freedom than she's getting." Finklestein's face turns from feared to angered in a matter of seconds, and begins shaking his gloved fist at the skeleton's steaming figure. "--And who do you think you are to make such judgements of me!? You think I'm the only one here guilty of anything!? How about you tell me why you've been seeing my ragdoll behind my back even though you know she's a promised woman?" For once, Jack is taken off guard. He blinks a few times before asking, "What?" "I may be guilty, but I am NOT stupid." He lowers his head. "You think I don't know about everything you've been doing? How you've encouraged my Sally to disobey me? You're the source of her behavior! And you've been taking her out to different places to help her avoid me. But what I truly wonder about this, my boy..." He dips his head for a moment before drawing his gaze back up slowly. "--Is why? Why do you care so much about my ragdoll?" His face undergoes many expressions. His mind is so overwhelmed with anger that he can't even think of a proper refute. Should he really tell him now? When he wants the gratification of it? He can't find a part of him that wants to give Finklestein the pleasure. "Well...I.....She's..." Regaining some of his wit, he replies firmly, "Sally is my friend, and I believe she's entitled to the same rights and privileges as any other citizen. What you're-" "Don't give me any more of those excuses! If she really was nothing more but a citizen to you, you'd have no reason to visit as often as you do." He waits a few moments for the skeleton to respond, but he is met with silence. Finklestein scoffs. A little humorously, but out of spite more than anything. "-That's exactly what I thought..." In this silence, Jack understands he's caught in a tight situation, but that's no reason to let his defense down. He can find a way through this. The poisonous beans have been spilled, but he'll just make a fool of himself trying to deny it any further...If he was man enough to start this argument, he'll at least keep his part in justifying his position here. Finklestein cannot be the one in the right - not after what he just witnessed. "So, what's the point you're making, Albert? That I care more about Sally more than you ever will?" He asks dryly. "How about you step off of your high horse for one moment, Skellington!?" The Doctor snaps, his fists shaking. "Of COURSE I care about Sally! But what's repugnant is how much YOU do! I made her to be MINE. My creation, my partner, my WIFE! But you're not even an ounce of a gentleman, taking out a promised woman and parading around town like she isn't spoken for!" The skeleton arches an eye socket, the pounding in his bones growing louder. "-What are you talking about?" He sits back in his wheelchair impatiently. "I once searched for my ragdoll when I couldn't find her in her room. And you know what I did find? That she was out in town, joining the festivities that I've warned her about countless of times! But that wasn't the issue. Not at all. For, the real issue was, my boy....she was with you." He remains unmoved, but Finklestein catches the slight twitch of his stitches. The Doctor smiles in satisfaction. "I've been keeping a close eye on you two. Every day after that event, I discovered...Sally was always with you. In the town, in the Outskirts, in that god-foresaken Graveyard...I finally found the truth. Such wonderful truth that you've been hiding from my eyes for God-knows-HOW long..." The skeleton's posture completely loosens as his next words slip out. "She kissed you. And. You. Kissed. BACK!</i>" "Doctor-" "I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Jack. When Sally confessed to me that she'd been seeing you behind my back, I believed it was by accident. That she was in her own little world with you - fallen into the same hopeless romantic fantasies all your other little fans are in. But you encouraged her unfaithfulness, and even worse...you courted her knowing she was meant for me. And quite frankly, that makes me lose every bit of my respect for you." "I--" "You've known where my marriage certificate was all along, haven't you?" Jack stares at him for a few seconds before sighing. Through gritted teeth, he confesses. "Yes." "I always thought you were a good man, Jack. But now I know you're as corrupted as the rest of them...you abused your power. You used it to take her away from me. It's because of YOU she kept leaving, poisoning, and taking advantage of me! You turned my hopes and dreams into nothing more than a mockery..." "Doctor, to be perfectly honest...I only kept the certificate because Sally told me she didn't want to marry you. That was far before I fell in love with her." "BUT IT WASN'T HER CHOICE!" Tears are beginning to spill out of his eyes. "Don't you see, Jack...? I wanted to marry her! I made her for MYSELF! This was my last chance at love, and you....you took that...away..." "But doesn't that seem wrong to you!?" He pleads. "Marriage is a partnership, Albert. It isn't a one-way street. You wanted to force Sally into marrying you. You disregarded how she felt just for what YOU wanted. Everything she'd have wanted to achieve...you would've held her back from all of it. You were forcing her into a life she didn't want. THAT'S why she didn't want to marry you!" He attempts to wipe the tears away with his sleeve, revealing his gray eyes from underneath his glasses. "And why was any of that...your concern?" "Because I want to protect my people." He doesn't have to look at his friend to see the disbelief in his eyes. He brings his gaze to the floor and clenches his fists, feeling something rattling in his sternum again. "And I....I got to know her. I fell in love with her. I knew what she wanted and how she felt because she told me. I wanted to protect her more than anyone else..." "Protect her from ME!? She's MINE, Skellington! She is not, and will never be, YOURS! I will make sure of that as long as I am sitting!" He jostles with the controls of his chair. "In fact, I don't want you to see her ever again! And if you try to stop that with whatever powers you have....that gives me every reason to prove to this town that you're nothing more than a liar and a King who takes advantage of his people!" "What? You can't be serious-" "I don't want you to set foot in this tower again! Not for my ragdoll." He waves a finger at him angrily. "Now, I will ask you to leave and never come back for that girl! Do you understand me?" He tenses. It bothers him immensely as to how he is being talked to, but the things he's saying upset him even more. Can the Doctor really stop him from seeing Sally? As much authority as he has, all the loopholes he knows and the actions he can take...nothing would harm his image more than disrespecting a citizen's wishes. As much as Jack wants to fight this, to firmly stay in his place as Sally's rightful lover and take her away from this controlling man...he has no right to. He's already lied, manipulated, and abused his power towards the Doctor - anything more than that, and he'd truly be burying the once peaceful relationship he had with that man. Jack swallows his pride and turns on his heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement. He heads straight through the door and intends on leaving then and there, but then he feels someone pull on his arm. He turns his skull and is surprised to find Sally clinging onto him for dear life, looking completely petrified seeing him heading for the door. His face turns apologetic as he places his hands over her own, wishing nothing more but to stay with her forever. "Where are you going?" She squeaks. He opens his mouth to tell her, but they are both interrupted when Finklestein storms out of the laboratory. Seeing the two nearly embrace, it's understandable why he loses his patience in a millisecond. "SALLY! GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF THAT DISHONEST MAN THIS INSTANT!" She looks back at Jack fearfully before holding on tighter. The skeleton feels his chest grow completely cold as he carefully undoes her grip. Her mouth goes agape as she watches him take her hands off of him, and when she looks at his face, she can see the heartbreak in his eye sockets. It's in this moment she feels the same thing in her own chest - the encapsulating coldness of her phantom heart, and the aching somewhere deep inside of her... "Jack?" She asks very softly. He looks at her slowly. "I...I'm sorry, Sally." "Wha-" "YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE ANYMORE, SKELLINGTON!" The Doctor grabs a nearby book to chuck it at the other man, who barely manages to dodge it. "TOUCH MY RAGDOLL ONE MORE TIME AND THAT'LL BE THE END OF YOU!" She whimpers as Jack is ushered closer to the front door, and again, she grabs onto his side, holding as tight as she can while feeling her seams loosen from the pressure. Tears begin to form in her eyes - shaking her head in denial furiously as he steps closer to the door. No-- he CAN'T be leaving! Not after everything....everything we've done together, all the things we said, the memories we shared! He can't give up now.... "Don't leave me!" She sobs. "Don't leave me...here..." His form loosens under her grip. How his body aches hearing her like this. "Sally-" "I WARNED YOU!" A book finds its way onto the back of Jack's skull. He is sent forward and barely has the time to find his composure, rubbing the back of his head in pain. He helps himself up using the wall and finally takes the door handle, looking back only once to give his girlfriend a sorrowful look. He finds a similar one on her own face, the tears streaming down her cheeks. How he wishes he could wipe them off and hold her in his arms, telling her that everything will be okay. But right now, he knows they won't be. "I'm so sorry..." His tone grows very quiet. "I..." She holds her hands together and slowly brings them on top of her chest, shutting her eyes so she can cry some more. He tries to tell her some more things, but is interrupted when he finds another book flying in his direction. He catches the one this time and carelessly tosses it aside, finally swinging the door open and leaving down the stairs. His pace is quick because he doesn't want to be here a moment longer. Not away from the woman he loves - but from her abusive creator who refuses to listen to an ounce of sensibility... He hears the man's voice from afar. "--AND DON'T YOU COME BACK! I'LL BE KEEPING A CLOSE EYE ON HER SO SHE CAN'T SEE YOU, EITHER!" The skeleton doesn't look back. He keeps going - fast enough that he has no time to stop for anyone or anything. He heads straight for his mansion, where he will lock himself away for the night and the next morning. Lock himself to deal with the results of his own mistakes. The questionable decisions he's made for a few years now have finally come back to hit him straight in the skull...but the true torment will be every waking moment he has to endure separated from the love of his death. ------------------ Igor is the one who has to drag Sally back inside, who attempted to chase after Jack, but failed after falling down the stairs. He struggles to throw her onto the floor before quickly shutting the door again, staying in front of it and blocking her chances of escaping. Dr. Finklestein awards him with a bone biscuit as he wheels himself in front of his creation, who remains crying on the ground with her yarn hair obscuring her face. He waits a few moments expecting that she will stop - but she continues on, sobbing loudly in the middle of their sitting room... "I'm sorry you had to see that, Sally. If I had known-" "THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!" She snaps, snarling at the man. "You...you told him to leave! You selfish, controlling, abusive--" "-I did what was necessary!" He exclaims. "That boy was nothing but trouble. He was the source of your restless behavior. Without him, our deaths will be much better." "THAT'S NOT TRUE! YOU'RE A LIAR!" Her rage turns back into sadness, and she cries into her hands again. "He was...the only one that made me...ha-happ-py..." "You're misguided. Jack was a distraction for you. You went gallivanting all over town with him, ignoring your responsibilities back here and your true relationship with the only man you are promised to! He simply kept you busy." "You're wrong! I loved him..." "He didn't love you, dear." He adjusts his glasses. "If he truly loved you, then why did he walk out of that door just now?" She clenches her fists and stands up quickly, gaining her balance rather quickly this time to point an accusing finger at her creator. "--BECAUSE YOU MADE HIM! He wouldn't leave me willingly...he'd fight to protect me no matter what. You just don't understand!" "I understand plenty!" He argues. "You're obsessed with him because you think he loves you! I can assure you one thing, Sally - he'll be a lot happier with you gone. He doesn't have to carry you around or have you clinging onto his arm all the time! He won't have you to weigh him down anymore." She doesn't have the bite in her to argue back. Instead, she falls into fits of sobs again and runs for the ramps. She disappears above and the two hear the slam of her metal door. Dr. Finklestein rubs his temples as he sits there, wondering just how this afternoon escalated to this. In this silence, Igor looks around with his good eye and blinks wordlessly. He approaches his master slowly and fidgets with his hands. "Is master okay..?" "I'm fine, Igor. Couldn't be happier."  He spat. He should be happy; he just got rid of what's been troubling him all this time! Yet, all this situation has done is leave a sour taste in his throat... "Why don't you lock up the doors and keep an eye on that wretched girl for awhile? Something tells me she'll want to escape again..." "Of course, master! Igor watch Sally." The assistant runs around to lock the doors and leave for her room above. Finklestein takes this opportunity to return to his work, frowning slightly as he sees the unfinished chemical laying on the table. He and Jack were making very good progress together...they are good lab partners, but on the account of what has just happened, he'd rather not think about that. He brings himself to the table and resumes the work, hoping to finish this by the afternoon so everything can still go according to plan.

[rexinferorum]

Private Detective AU / jackson

                                        (  loosely  based  on  prodigal son  )                                                                                                          ft. @sitacross

         he’s  on  the  ground,  a  shotgun  in  his  face.    the  murderer  has  the  heads  of  his  victims  in  jars,  they  stare  back  at  him  like  the  heads  of  his  sister’s  barbie  dolls  used  to  whenever  he  wrenched  them  free.  it  had  been  a  scientific  experiment,  he’d  said  to  their  mother  when  she,  in  horror,  asked  him  why;  he  wanted  to  see  if  they’d  go  back  on  after.   he’d  always  enjoyed  hypothesis  and  experimentation,  in  seeing  why  and  how  things  reacted  the  way  they  did.   he  applied  those  same  curiosities  to  people,  though  he’d  become  a  profiler  rather  than  a  serial  killer  like  the  man  before  him.   two  different  paths,  same  curiosities.    that  curiosity  however  might  get  him  killed  today.     wait  for  back-up,  his  superior  had  said  on  the  radio  when  he  arrived  at  the  suspect’s  home,  don’t  go  in  there  alone,  avery.     he  hadn’t  listened  of  course.   they  only  had  once  chance  to  catch  the  man  off  guard  and  if  he  waited  ?   there  was  a  chance  he  could  bolt  –  ESCAPE  before  they  could  bring  him  to  justice.    he’s  just  about  talked  the  man  into  putting  his  gun  down,  into  going  quietly,  when  the  local  authorities  show  up  and  ruin  everything.  he  ends  up  splattered  in  blood,  the  murderer  DEAD.   there’ll  be  no  justice  served  today.   he  gets  to  his  feet,  stumbles  out  of  the  crime  scene,  and  punches  the  sheriff  before  leaving.

             he’s  summarily  dismissed  from  the  bureau.    conduct  unbecoming.   when  they  hand  him  his  pink  slip,  it’s  with  a  recommendation:   get  some  help.    jokes  on  them,  he  doesn’t  think  there’s  enough  help  in  the  world  to  get  his  head  on  straight.  he  knows  this,  accepts  it  even. 

     he  gets  the  call  a  few  days  later.   the  NYPD  need  help  tracking  down  their  latest  serial  killer.  “  i  don’t  know  if  i’m  your  guy.  ”   he  relays to  the  man  on  the  phone  —  a  man  who  was  there  for  him  over  the  years,  a  man  he  considered  family.    “  you  should  probably  know  i  was  fired  from  the  FBI  this  week.  ”   —  “  perfect,  that  means  you’re  available  to  consult.  ”    he  is,  so  he  goes.   

   he  steps  under  the  crime  scene  tape  when  he  arrives,  taking  a  loud  bite  from  his  apple.  it  crunches,  forces  the  other  detectives  to  turn  and  stare  at  him.  “  sorry.  ”    he  apologizes,  though  he  doesn’t  mean  it.   “  late  start.  ”    he  tosses  it  in  the  trash,  listens  to  the  captain  run  down  the  details  of  the  crime.    it’s  a  grisly  murder;   the  woman  was  strangled  with  a  piano  wire,  then  cut  into  pieces  which  were  arranged  into  a  very  specific  pattern.   it’s  a  pattern  he’s  seen  before  —  why  baird  silvermist  has  called  him  in  to  consult  on  this  case.    “  why  is  he  here  ?  ”   the  detective  —  claudia,  frowns  with  her  hands  on  her  hips.   “  we  can’t  just  have  a  civilian  traipsing  around  a  crime  scene,  baird.  ”      jacks  smiles;  bittersweet,  but  a  smile  nonetheless.   “  hi,  i’m  the  civilian.  ”   he  waves  a  hand  in  front  of  her  face.  he’s  never  been  one  to  avoid  an  awkward  interaction.   “  i  know  i  introduced  myself  as  jacks  avery  but  that’s  not  my  given  name.  ”     he  sighs,  takes  another  look  at  the  carnage  around  them.   “  it’s  jackson  elsey.   my  brother  is  vuras  elsey  …  the  pollock  killer.  ”       he  grimaces.   “  what  we  have  here  is  a  CLEAR  copycat.  ”

* * *

         it  isn’t  something  he  advertises  —  that  his  brother’s  a  serial  killer.   half-brother,  if  you  want  to  get  technical.  vuras  was  arrested  when  he  was  11  and  he’d  changed  his  name  as  an  adult  to  create  some  distance  between  the  horrors  of  his  past  and  his  future.   as  it  turns  out,  jacks  avery  wouldn’t  be  immune  to  the  pollock  killer’s  influence  either.    pollock,  because  he  spread  body  parts  out  in  such  a  way  it  had  once  been  described  as  art  of  the  most  macabre  threshold.   

      his  profile  is  coming  together  nicely.  the  copycat  is  someone  roughly  his  brother’s  age  or  older,  who  grew  up  hearing  or  reading  about  the  pollock  killer’s  reign  of  terror  on  the  news.   with  over  42  confirmed  kills,  vuras  elsey  is  known  as  one  of  the  most  notorious  serial  killers  in  modern  times.   his  arrest  was  made  even  more  shocking  given  he’d  been  a  registered  clinical  therapist.  someone  who  was  supposed  to  help  people,  who  was  supposed  to  be  good,  had  simply  used  his  position  to  get  insight  into  human  behaviors  that  he  couldn’t  quite  replicate  on  his  own.   as  a  psychopath,  the  only  emotions  he  ever  felt  were  ghosts  —   imprints  —  impressioned  from  those  around  him.   any  one  of  his  patients  could  be  the  culprit  and  with  bodies  piling  up,  jacks  knew  he  was  running  out  of  options.   if  he  could  do  something  to  get  more  insight,  to  get  a  lead,  and  he  did  nothing  ?    well  he  was  no  better  than  his  brother.   that  blood  would  be  on  his  hands.  

     so  it’s  with  shaking  hands  that  he  signs  himself  in  at  the  psychiatric  hospital,  pins  a  guest  badge  to  his  chest  and  follows  the  guard  to  v’s  cell.   it’s  a  maximum  security  hospital,  his  brother  only  permitted to  remain  there  so  long  as  he  refrains  from  starting  any  trouble.   his  lawyers  were  sharks  –  they’d  defended  him  to  the  letter,  narrowly  avoiding  the  death  penalty  in  favor  of  a  lifetime  stay  at  asphyxia  medical  center.    10  years  down  the  line  and  the  man  has  his  own  office;    connects  with  clients  via  skype,  or  a  closed  circuit  chat  system.   he  even  has  satellite  tv,  for  crying  out  loud.   (    v   has  friends  and  connections  in  high  places.  even  being  incarcerated  hasn’t  slowed  him  down  any.     the  guard  explains  all  this  on  their  walk.  )      it’s  been  7  years  since  jakson  last  visited.   7  years  since  he  last  looked  his  brother  in  the  eye. 

        he  remembers  that  gleam.    he  remembers  his  brother  looking  him  dead  in  the  eye,  smiling,  and  saying  words  that  haunt  him.   you  and  i,  we’re  the  same.  you’ll  see.  you  think  solving  murders,  helping  people,  will  atone  for  my  sins  but  what  about  yours?  i  see  your  darkness  and  it  matches  mine.   we’re  the  same.     

        they  reach  the  door  as  its  buzzed  open.  the  guard  steps  back,  motions  for  jacks  to  go  inside.   he  does,  taking  a  moment  to  collect  himself  before  walking  in.  it’s  …  not  what  he  expected.   there’s  a  bookshelf  against  the  wall  filled  with  reading  material,  a  filing  cabinet  beside  it  presumably  holding  his  patient  records.   the  man  himself  is  sitting  in  an  office  chair,  he  spins  around  to  face  him.   he’s  older  now  —   has  a  beard,  his  hair  longer  than  he  remembers  and  starting  to  grey.   he’s  in  his  40s  now,  but  his  face  hasn’t  aged  a  day.   he  still  looks  the  same  as  he  did  the  day  they’d  put  a  gun  to  his  head  and  forced  him  to  his  knees,  jacks  the  one  who’d  turned  him  in.   he’s  restrained  to  the  chair;   a  feat  jacks  finds  surprising.   it’s  easier  to  stare  at  the  restraints  than  the  man,  so  he  does.

         “  well,  well,  well.   i  wondered  when  i’d  see  you  again.  ”    his  brother  speaks  and  jacks  feels  shivers  running  down  his  spine.   he  doesn’t  acknowledge  the  comment,  instead  directing  a  nod  towards  the  restraints.   “  that’s  new.  ”       v  laughs.    “  just  a  precaution.   they’re  worried  we  might  have  a  repeat  of  what  happened  last  time.  ”    jacks  blinks,  confused.    v,  in  turn,  looks  pleased.   “  i  suppose  you  wouldn’t  remember.  you  told  me  you  wouldn’t  be  coming  back,  that  you  were  going  to  college  and  starting  a  ‘  new  life  ’  and  wouldn’t  be  coming  back.  ”   his  lips  turned  down.   “  so  i  asked  you  for  a  HUG  —   a  going  away  present,   and  you,  little  brother,  were  dumb  enough  to  believe  it.  ”    he  smiles,  all  teeth.   “  maybe  memory  loss  is  a  side-effect  of  hypoxia.  hmm.  ”     he  pulls  at  the  restraints  violently,  laughing  wildly  when  jacks  flinches  on  instinct.   shit.  he  was  supposed  to  have  the  upper  hand  here.   

      “  i  didn’t  come  here  to  talk  about  the  past.  ”   in  fact,  he’d  like  to  pretend  it  never  existed  to  begin  with.   “  i  came  here  to  talk  about  my  case.   mr.  elsey,  on  behalf  of  the  NYPD,  i’m  here  to  —  ”      v’s  eyes  light  up.    “  oh,  i  know  all  about  your  case,  jackson.   i  saw  it  on  the  news.   the  pollock  copycat   …  not  the  most  original  name,  but  then  again  our  sister  was  always  more  beauty  than  brains.  ”      jack’s  stomach  lurches.   their  sister  had  been  6  when  v  was  arrested,  he’d  hoped  that  v  would  have  failed  to  recognize  her  now  as  an  adult.   maybe  it  shouldn’t  surprise  him  that  he  does.   for  someone  so  disconnected,  he  sure  knows  enough  about  what’s  been  going  on.    “  you  think  i  might  know  something  about  your  killer.   or  maybe  you  think  i  did  it.   i’m  good  but  even  i  have  my  limits.  ”   he  smirks.  “  i’m  a  little  TIED  UP.  ”    the  restraints  get  another  pull.      “  hate  to  disappoint,  but  this  one’s  not  on  me.  ”

         —    “  but  you  know  who  it  is.  ”     this  isn’t  a  question.   he  observes  the  way  v’s  shoulders  tense,  how  his  eyes  flit  to  the  filing  case  every  so  often.   these  are  tells  that  give  him  away,  lead  him  to  believe  that  v  knows  more  than  he’s  saying.   “   we’re  working  on  a  profile.   the  killer  is  male,  probably  struggles  with  mental  illness,  and  is  looking  for  purpose  with  these  kills.  they  aren’t  personal  …  none  of  the  victims  have  anything  in  common,  minus  one  thing;   the  clue  that  brought  him  here  in  the  first  place.   “  each  were  murdered  in  the  exact  style  you  adopted.  ”   he  moves  to  the  filing  case,  watches  v’s  eyes  follow  him.   “  which  means  they’ve  studied  you,  mr.  elsey.   very  closely.  ”   —  “  mr.  elsey.  ”    v  looks  amused.   “  let’s  not  play  coy,  jackson.    you  can  call  me  v.    we  are  family.  ”      jacks  doesn’t  rise  to  the  dig,  continues.   “  …  which  leads  us  to  believe  that  the  killer  could  have  been  a  patient  of  yours.  ”    finally  he  looks  back  at  v,  waits  patiently  for  the  man’s  reaction.   he  simply  shrugs,  leaning  back  in   his  chair.  it’s  evident  he  won’t  be  getting  any  information  from  him  and  without  a  warrant,  he  can’t  search  the  files  himself.    “  fine.  that’ll  be  all,  mr.  elsey.  ”   he  turns  to  go;    it’s  a  calculated  risk,  leaving,  but  if  he  knows  his  brother  he  knows  that  fear  of  never  seeing  him  again  —  never  getting  the  opportunity  to  mess  with  him  —  will  be  enough  to  stop  him.    “  WAIT.  ”       he’s  right.   

               v  gives  him  the  information  he’s  looking  for.   the  information  leads  to  a  half  brother,  one  that  jacks  wasn’t  even  aware  had  existed.    of  course  it’s  a  family  member;   there  isn’t  a  sane  one  of  them  in  the  bunch.    they  use  the  information  in  the  file  to  track  down  the  brother.   he  claims  he’s  innocent,  claims  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  murders,  but  they  find  another  victim  in  his  attic  and  he  goes  down  for  them  all.   he’s  found  guilty,  sentenced  to  LIFE.     it’s  only  when  the  murders  resume  again  six  months  later  does  he  realize  that  v  played  him.   he  led  him  to  the  wrong  culprit  and  hid  the  real  murderer  from  him.    it  takes  them  nearly  a  year  to  track  down  the  true  murderer  —   v’s  boyfriend,  aster  silvermist  …  the  NYPD  captain’s  son.       

[setaripendragon]

The Light of a Pole Star - Part 3

Okay, this part was a lot of fun. The whole birthday scene came out of nowhere as I was writing, it was a complete aside that turned into an actually important plot point XD Also, Maes’s voice will always and forever sound like Opalsong’s reading of The Demon Alchemist series in my head.

“You know your boy is hopelessly in love with you, don’t you?”

“My- Are you talking about FullMetal?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s fourteen.”

“Mm, I don’t think he is. Not really.”

“He really is.”

“Don’t be so literal, Roy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I know what you mean, Madame, but it’s still- I can’t just ignore-”

“Ahh…! Is my baby boy falling in love, too?”

“What? No! That’s not-! He’s a child! I would never-!”

“Pfft. Of course you wouldn’t. I raised you better than that.”

“You did.”

“But he’s not going to be a child forever, Roy. He’s not even going to be a child for much longer.”

“…I know.”

“I’d let him work here in a couple of years. Maybe even one, given how world-weary he seems.”

“World-weary. That’s a good phrase for it. Speaking of, how’s Nina doing?”

“Oh, she’s as precocious as you were, Roy-Boy. She’s recovering well.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“I’ll have someone drop some pictures off with Maes for you.”

“Oh, good god, alright. I’m sure FullMetal will appreciate some as well.”

“Speaking of, I hear his fifteenth birthday isn’t too far off.”

“Mother…!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy, I’m helping you out here.”

“How, exactly?”

“Have you thought about what to get him for his birthday?”

“If you’re about to suggest something salacious, let me cut you off now and say; don’t.”

“Heheh. Only a little salacious. He’s fifteen, I think he can handle a Vittori.”

“A- One of the Vittori reproductions? Really? Why on earth-?”

“Call it a hunch.”

The Hughes residence is packed to bursting. Ed feels distinctly uncomfortable, being at the center of all this attention and effort, but it’s also kind of nice. He isn’t super keen on the idea of celebrating his birthday. He has eight of them rattling around inside his skull, plus two namedays, and a soulday. This one in particular gets lost in amongst the others too easily for him to care very much. Still, Teacher’s visiting, and so is Winry, and a woman who introduced herself as Roy’s foster-sister has brought Nina round, and Roy’s whole team have come, and Gracia has made a freaking fantastic triple chocolate cake.

Al is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the couch where Ed is sitting, passing Elysia crayons for her colouring, and Nina had two slices of cake and is now chattering Winry’s ear off, and Hughes is taking pictures of everyone and everything like a maniac, and Roy’s sister is flirting with Havoc, which seems to be mortifying both Havoc and Roy, which is hilarious. And Teacher is chatting with Gracia and Riza over mugs of tea from her place in Sig’s lap.

It’s good, Ed decides. It’s just good to be surrounded by friends and family and to take one day off from the pressure of righting his wrongs and fixing his mistakes. He’ll get back to the quest to restore Al’s body tomorrow, but today, he has permission to relax a little. It’s good.

“Is it time for presents yet?” Nina asks abruptly, abandoning Winry to throw herself half over the back of the couch, feet in the air and tail wagging, which puts her head somewhere in the vicinity of Ed’s shoulder. “Big brother! You need to open all your presents!”

“Good idea, Nina!” Hughes enthuses, and then suddenly everyone is bustling about retrieving their gifts for him and depositing them on the table. A lot of them, Ed is delighted to see, are book-shaped. Then Hughes holds Elysia up so that she can very solemnly hand Ed the card she’d made for him. It’s covered in glue and glitter, and of course the glitter goes everywhere, and Winry winces when it gets on Ed’s automail, but even she can’t deny that it’s utterly adorable.

“Mine next!” Nina insists, so Ed opens up the clumsily wrapped package she thrusts at him. It turns out to be a hand-knitted scarf, which Ed suspects is the result of Roy’s Mum’s attempts to keep Nina occupied and out of trouble. It’s a little wonky and uneven, but it’s a bright, eye-searing red, and it was made with love, so Ed wraps it around his neck at once and preens. Winry gets him a set of automail maintenance tools, like she always does in a passive-aggressive attempt to remind him to take care of his automail, and Granny sent on a book titled Beginner’s Guide to Combustion Engines, because she thinks she’s hilarious, and only Teacher and Al really get why it pisses him off so much.

Teacher got him a proper Xerxesian kattari, which she must have made herself, and Ed freaks out for a moment, because what idiot decides to take up blacksmithing – even alchemically enhanced blacksmithing – when they’re sick? Sig shares a commiserating look with him when he hands over all the extra bits and pieces Ed needs to maintain the blade. And in keeping with the theme – had they collaborated? – Al got him a book about the few Xerxesian alchemists that history remembers with a handwritten note inside that says ‘you can tell me all the things they got wrong – love, Al’.

Hughes got him a photo album half filled with pictures of Ed and Al and the people they know, with space left over for more, and Gracia added a pile of blank journals to the gift, which Ed definitely appreciates. The rest of Roy’s team all got him various books; a massive scientific treatise from Falman, a recent alchemist’s autobiography from Fuery, a fascinating obscure book about spiritual symbology in alchemy from Hawkeye, a book about the art of making fireworks from Breda. Havoc, on the other hand, had got him a swear-jar. Which sends Ed into hysterics.

Then Roy’s sister – Vanessa – hands over a small, prettily-wrapped package, and Ed splutters a little about how she didn’t have to, he doesn’t even know her, what the hell. She just laughs at him. “I insist. Auntie Chris insisted. At least as a thank you for making Roy’s work stories so much more interesting.”

“Oh, well, um, okay then, I guess?” Ed says, and sets to opening the packet. It turns out to be a couple of pretty hair-clips. Nothing so ornate as to be mockingly ‘girly’, but whoever made them paid just as much attention to form as function. If he wears them day-to-day, he’s going to end up worrying about damaging them. Not that he ever does anything creative with his hair anyway, so it’s a bit moot.

Roy looks mortified, though, so that’s definitely a plus. And, in the spirit of winding him up as much as possible, Ed decides ‘fuck it’ and tugs the band off the end of his braid, shaking his hair out and tugging the top half back into the clip he likes the best. It’s a style he’d worn a lot when he was Proteus, one that Huang had always gotten distracted by when they were researching together. “Thanks!” He says brightly to Vanessa, who looks so gleeful Ed figures she’s caught on to his plot to torment Roy and approves.

“Alright, I suppose it’s my turn, is it?” Roy asks, resigned.

He slides a large square present out from where it had been leaning against the side-cabinet thing that Gracia keeps knick-knacks and Elysia’s toys in, and hands it to Ed over the table before stepping back. There’s an odd touch of apprehension about him, nothing obvious, just a stiffness in his pleasant expression that suggests it’s taking effort to keep it in place.

Ed lays the present on his lap and studies the shape of it. “It’s a picture-frame.” He decides after a moment of feeling the edges.

“The purpose of presents is to unwrap them, FullMetal.” Roy drawls.

“The purpose of giving presents is to shut up and be nice, Colonel Bastard.” Ed retorts, but he does tear into the wrapping paper, and peel the picture out of it. And then he freezes, heart racing and head spinning, because that- that’s him. Or well, technically, it’s her, when he was a her. He presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself blurting out something stupid, and just… stares.

It’s not the original, he can tell right away, but it’s an excellent reproduction. Ed-when-he-was-Lucia is sitting naked in an unmade – and very rumpled – bed dressed in off-white linens underneath a wide window letting in a spill of brilliant morning light that picks out the amber tones of Lucia’s tanned skin and the golden tones of her light brown hair, which is twisted up into a messy, careless bun pinned in place by a paintbrush, many loose strands curling about her neck and shoulders. There’s ink and graphite stains on her fingers and thighs, and love-bites dappled across her neck, chest, and wrists. She’s sitting sort of cross-legged, one knee tucked uselessly under the light sheet and the other propped up so that she can lean a notebook on it and scribble down her ideas.

Several people are asking what it is, and Havoc and Hughes and Hawkeye all shuffle around the back of the couch to peer at it over Ed’s shoulders. Havoc lets out an impressed wolf-whistle, while Hawkeye says, in a carefully neutral tone of Stern Disapproval; “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it, sir?”

Which, no. No, Ed’s not going to let that stand, because it’s not. The moment hadn’t even been sexual, except that they had just had lazy morning sex. But then Ed- Lucia had had an idea, and she’d flung herself out of Fiametta’s arms to find something to write it down with. Only then had she realised that she’d just abandoned her new lover without regard in favour of science, and she’d looked up expecting annoyance and exasperation, only to find Fiametta grinning and looking at her like she was the most perfect thing in the whole world. So Lucia had gone back to bed and settled in to write down her notes, and she’d gotten so absorbed she hadn’t even noticed Fiametta going for her sketchbook, and then her paints, until several hours later.

At which point she’d taken one look at the first attempt, and punched her in the arm for ‘making me look ridiculous, you complete sap’. The consequent versions had only gotten more ridiculous, because Fiametta had decided it was her purpose in life to wind Lucia up like that at every available opportunity.

It’s not inappropriate at all, except for the fact that Roy has no idea what he’s saying with this picture because he doesn’t know. Ed looks up at Teacher, the only one who gets it, and she raises an eyebrow at him, smug. ‘He doesn’t know he knows, but he does know.’ Ed thinks, and it’s… Good is something of an understatement.

Roy is fumbling for an explanation under Hawkeye’s stern stare, trying to play it off as a combination tasteless joke and attempt at winding Ed up, but Ed isn’t listening. He carefully leans the paining against the back of the couch and gets up. Roy’s faux-blasé defence trails off as Ed rounds the table, walks right into him, and hugs him tight. He’s in civilian dress, so it’s actually comfortable to hug him, and as Roy’s body-heat soaks through to him, Ed silently mourns the fact that he can’t just stay like this forever. “Thanks. I love it.” He says quietly.

“…You’re welcome.” Roy replies, just as quietly, carefully setting his hands on Ed’s back, not quite returning the hug, but something close to it.

“Huh.” Hughes says, in his scheming-voice. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vittori, Edward.” He remarks lightly.

Teacher snorts.

“You shut up.” Ed grumbles at her, pointing in her direction without looking. He forces himself to let go of Roy before the hug becomes awkward, and turns to Hughes to try and explain his overly-emotional reaction to an indecent portrait of a long dead Aerugonian alchemist. “She did a good series on alchemy.” He states, crossing his arms defensively and feeling his face heat up.

“Hey, it’s okay, Boss. You’re at that age where-” Havoc begins, his tone gleefully mocking because he’s obviously a sadistic fuck.

“No. Nope.” Ed sticks his fingers in his ears. “LALALALALA!”

Ed is minding his own business, grabbing a quick lunch at a bakery a few streets away from the library, when out of fucking nowhere, Hughes slides into the seat opposite him with a cheerful “Hi, Ed!” and the sort of smile that makes Ed realise why most people find his grins a little unnerving.

“Uh, hi, Hughes.” He greets warily.

“Oh, please, Maes is fine.” Hughes – Maes – insists. “This is a social call.”

Ed gives him a dubious look. “Well it looks kind of like stalking.” He counters, and then takes a huge bite of his pasty. Maybe if he finishes quickly he can escape back into the library.

“That’s hurtful, Ed.” Maes protests, sounding entirely insincere. Ed makes an indistinct ‘mrmph’ noise around his mouthful. “I just wanted to know what your intentions are towards my best friend.” He announces, and although he’s definitely joking, tone jovial and eyes bright, there’s a thread of something a little more serious underneath.

Ed swallows hard, coughs a little, and then starts laughing. Because trust Maes Hughes to see that there’s more to Ed than a fifteen year old with a crush. “Well, I guess my intentions right now are to wait until he won’t have a panic attack if I jump him, and then jump him. Repeatedly. Preferably for the rest of our lives.” He answers, just as light-hearted as Maes, with just as much truth underneath.

Maes’s smile becomes a lot less sharp, softens into something that doesn’t make Ed want to flee to the safety of the library anymore. “How long a wait is that going to be?” He wonders, without any hint as to what he thinks the right answer is.

“Well, I had it from a reliable source when I was twelve that I’d be eligible for moderately respectable sex work in five years, so that’s only two more to go.” Ed replies lightly. Maes blinks at him for a moment, which isn’t the reaction Ed was expecting, but then he laughs. Cackles, really. “What’s funny?” He asks dubiously.

“Madame Christmas told you that, did she?” Maes asks pointedly.

Ed stares at him. “You…” He stops, and wonders if the synchronicity of his lives could get any more ridiculous. “Wait, let me guess. She’s got something to do with Roy, doesn’t she? Oh, that fucker.” He exclaims, eyes widening. “That’s how he knew to get me that painting! She fucking told him, didn’t she? Oh my fucking-!”

“Mm, yes. I think it was one of hers, originally. She likes to hang what she calls ‘dignified pornography’ on the walls of her upstairs business.” Maes confirms.

Ed whines and puts his head down on the table. “Next you’ll be telling me Roy grew up there or some shit.” He complains.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Maes confirms, sounding intrigued, and Ed just groans, because, okay, he walked right into that one. “When she’s not working, she goes by Chris Mustang.” Maes adds, and at that, Ed sits up again.

“She’s Roy’s mum?”

“Biologically? His aunt. But she raised him ever since his parents died. So, yes, that’s who he means when he talks about his mother.” Maes explains. “But going back to that painting, Ed.” He goes on abruptly.

Ed huffs, going a little pink. “What about it?”

“I had a long chat with the Madame after your birthday. You said some very interesting things in between being very, very cryptic, and bringing up conversations you never actually had with Roy about old Aerugonian painters.” Maes states, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in and watches Ed with a pointedly patient expression.

Ed narrows his eyes. “We did too talk about renaissance painters.”

“Yes, but not Vittori.” Maes stresses. “And nice dodge, by the way.”

“Well, I was talking about Vittori, and he got the story right, so it’s not my fault if he didn’t realise, and only got it right because he’s that much like a perverted lesbian hedonist from the fifteenth century.” Ed retorts. “And I didn’t dodge shit. I just addressed the only point you actually made.”

Maes snorts, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re going to be very good for Roy, you know, when he manages to pull his head out of his ass. He needs someone like you in his life to keep him honest, keep him from twisting himself up into contortions with all the games he likes to play.”

Ed eyes him for a long moment, because, hell, but that was a good summary of at least one of his lives in its entirety. The Xingese royal court was a pit of vipers. “Yeah.” He agrees shortly, but apparently even that is enough to put that worrying gleam of curiosity into Maes’s eyes again. This time it’s totally a dodge, and Ed doesn’t even care, when he says; “So, what were those interesting things you wanted to interrogate me about?”

“Oh, you know…” Maes says, with entirely and obviously feigned nonchalance. “Treason.”

Ed snorts. “Yeah? Is this you delivering Roy’s official pitch?”

“No, Ed. This is me asking how the hell you even knew there was a pitch.” Maes sighs, no longer light-hearted at all. He’s watching Ed carefully, worried, and it makes Ed feel bad. He hadn’t meant to make Maes paranoid about discovery. But of course, if a teenage wildcard like him could figure it out, anyone who didn’t know that the knowledge came from lifetimes of experience with Roy and his masks and his stupid doublespeak bullshit and his penchant for self-sacrificial righteousness would be forgiven for assuming that one of the Generals, or the Fuhrer himself, might be able to see it, too.

Ed could lie, or dodge again, or something, but he doesn’t want to make Maes’s life harder than it has to be. He’s a good friend to Roy, and he’s been a good friend to Ed, too, so far. “I bet you looked into Valentino’s Bar, huh?” He asks.

Maes narrows his eyes, but plays along. “What do you take me for, Ed? Of course I did. Headquarters for one of the most successful Aerugonian resistance forces this side of the border in a hundred years before they blew the place up. I looked into this Malka person you mentioned too. And believe me, I’m dying to know what a border scuffle and a mullah from eighty years ago have to do with Roy, but I’d like to know about the treason thing first.”

“Valentino’s Bar.” Ed holds up his hand, and then ticks each point off on his fingers as he goes. “The Wolfsbane killings. Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova. The assassination of General Maultier. The Riviere Traders. The first Xingese Empress.” Ed pauses. “I think that’s… No, wait, you can probably count the Second Drachman Revolution, too, really, although you may have to dig pretty deep to figure that one out.”

“I recognise a few of those.” Maes acknowledges.

Ed nods emphatically, as though it must be obvious even though he knows Maes probably won’t understand. “That’s how I knew. I don’t think anyone else has made the connections, though, so you don’t need to panic.”

Maes stares at him for a long, long moment. “Challenge accepted.” He says finally.

Laughing, Ed shakes his head at him. “If anyone can figure it out, I’d put my money on you, Maes.” He offers, and Maes beams at him.

“Your faith in me is heartwarming, Ed. Almost as heartwarming as my beautiful daughter!” Maes enthuses, and Ed resigns himself to watching the man parade out a stream of photographs of Elysia. At least, since he’s not required to say more than ‘aww’ and ‘wow’ every now and then, he actually has a chance finish his pasty.

This goes on until Ed’s almost finished eating, and then Maes, with well practised insincerity, checks his watch and says; “Oops! Looks like my lunch break is over!” And sweeps all of his photos back into his pocket and stands up while Ed is still chewing on his last bite. “See you later, Ed.”

“Mrmph.” Ed says again, nodding.

Maes chuckles. “And, one last thing, Ed?” He says, pausing on his way past Ed’s chair. Ed looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and Maes hands him a little folded up piece of paper. “Don’t wait too long. Roy will keep you at arms length forever if you let him, because he’s got a martyr complex the size of the Eastern Desert. We’re working on him, but he could do with a reminder from you that you’re older than you look.”

Then he’s gone, and Ed’s left staring at empty space in confusion. If he’s translating Maes-speak right, that was a ‘well, I think you should jump him now’. He looks down at the paper in his hand and unfolds it, only to find nothing but an address written there, and he’d bet his other arm and leg that it’s Roy’s. Maes is an interfering matchmaker, and Ed doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or grateful.

Ed decides Maes’ gift is too good to let it go to waste, so the next time he’s back in East, he breaks into Roy’s house while the man’s still at work and makes himself at home. When Ed had told Al his plan, Al had given him one of those inexplicably readable looks of his where he’s judging every single one of Ed’s life choices in every single one of his lives, and then he sighed and wished him luck, which is why Al is best little brother in the whole wide world.

When Roy gets back, Ed is happily ensconced in Roy’s living room with half the books from Roy’s personal library spread out around him, a fire blazing in the grate, a ridiculously snug blanket over his shoulders, and a mug of some weird fancy tea at his elbow. Roy, of course, comes in warily, prepared for an intruder, fingers poised to snap, and stops dead in the doorway, staring. “FullMetal?”

“Hey, Bastard.” Ed will call Roy ‘Roy’ to his face when Roy calls him ‘Edward’ again. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

Roy is so off-balance that he actually does as he’s told. Ed will have to remember that trick. Then he returns and goes right back to staring. “How did you get in?”

“Transmuted the lock, obviously.” Ed informs him. “I can show you how to alchemically booby-trap your locks later, if you like.”

Roy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. “How did you even know where I live?”

“How did you even know I’m a fan of Vittori?” Ed retorts.

“Touché.” Roy admits, and then just stands there, staring in bewilderment.

Ed glances up from his book at last, and gives the man a judging look. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, idiot. Go order some take-out and then come explain to me why the hell you have bullshit like Dee’s Hierarchy of Elements on your shelf.”

“FullMetal…”

“Food, Bastard.” Ed insists.

Sighing again like the melodramatic bastard he is, Roy goes to call for take-out. While he’s doing that, Ed clears a space for him on the couch, shifting books he’d left lying open beside him when he got caught up in something else. Roy comes back, eyes the newly open space, and then gingerly seats himself. “FullMetal.” He says again.

“I’d say ‘that’s my name, Bastard, don’t wear it out’ except, you know, it’s not.” Ed says pointedly.

Another sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating your personal book collection.” Ed replies immediately. “It’s not half bad, honestly. Although, seriously, what’s with Dee’s shit? His theories were debunked decades ago.”

“Most of his theories were debunked.” Roy counters, and the next half hour is full of good-natured bickering and alchemical debate. Then the food arrives, and the next hour passes by the same way, except now with really good food, too. The conversation takes a slightly darker turn as they dive into discussing human transmutation, biological alchemy, soul alchemy, and the difference between them, but even then, Ed feels more hopeful about his quest than he has in a while now, revved up with new determination because Roy might not have as much knowledge as Ed on the subject, but he’s painfully insightful, and so good at coming up with the things Ed’s missed.

Shit, but Ed loves him.

And it must be written all over his face because Roy falters in what he’s saying, in whatever argument he was making, and his expression turns conflicted and uncertain. Ed hates it. “Don’t.” Ed says, before Roy can say anything. Roy closes his mouth, but doesn’t look any less pained.

“Edward…” He says, half chiding, half pleading.

“Roy.” Ed returns, wry. Roy sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, you know.”

“You’re half my age.” Roy retorts, sounding agonised.

He’s not exactly wrong, even if he’s not exactly right, either. Ed sighs, and looks down at the blanket that’s now draped over both of them. He picks at the edge of it with his automail hand. “Yeah. Why d’you think I haven’t actually made a move on you yet?”

Roy huffs a weird little half-laugh at that. “This isn’t you making a move?” He asks dryly.

Ed snorts. “Believe me, bastard, when I make a move on you, you’ll fucking know about it.”

“Literally, I suppose.” Roy muses wickedly, and then winces. “Sorry, that was-”

“If you say inappropriate, I’m gonna hit you.” Ed warns him, holding up his flesh hand in a fist in warning. Roy very pointedly presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word. “Cause it isn’t inappropriate, it’s fucking true. But I’m not stupid, you know. I do get that you’d feel kind of skeevy if we did anything yet, so- so I’m waiting. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend that there’s even the slightest fucking chance I’d pick anyone else in the world but you.”

Roy’s eyes go wide, and then he closes them. He leans in, and for a moment Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just leans their foreheads together. “You can’t know that for sure.” He whispers, sounding like it hurts to say it.

“I can.” Ed insists. “I do.”

“I know you’ve seen more of the world than most people your age, and I know that- that there’s more to you than just a fifteen year old hellion, but you shouldn’t tie yourself to me before you’ve had a chance to- to explore, and-”

“Idiot.” Ed huffs.

“I’m serious, Edward-”

“I know you are, Roy, that’s why you’re an idiot.” Roy pulls back to frown at him, and Ed wonders if Teacher is right, if he should tell him the whole truth. They’ve already been talking about souls half the evening, after all. But Ed… Ed isn’t quite ready to put himself that far out there when Roy is still battling his fucking conscience. It would feel… manipulative, or some shit. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks, instead.

“Can I stop you?” Roy answers wearily, but he’s smiling fondly, so Ed figures that’s not a no.

“Nope.” Ed squirms around until he’s comfortably leaning on Roy, and Roy hesitates only a moment before curling his arm around Ed’s shoulders. “Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a boy.” Ed begins, measuring out the words.

“A fairytale?” Roy wonders, sounding startled.

“Yeah, sort of.” Ed hedges, because no, it’s not, it’s his life – their lives – but he’s not going to tell Roy that just yet. “Anyway, so this boy, he had real shit luck. Like, the shittiest. His parents died in a landslide when he was four, and not even a year later, he got nabbed by fucking slavers and carted off into the desert to be sold to some rich asshole who thought he was hot shit and that it somehow made him look good to have a tiny ‘exotic’ little boy serving drinks at his stupid parties, and not like a complete shit-stain.”

“That does sound unfortunate.” Roy comments, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but this kid, right, this kid was resilient, and clever. He made this plan. Cause, see, in Xerxes-”

“Oh, is that where this is set?”

“Yeah, shut up. In Xerxes, academia was everything. If you were smart, if you could make a valuable contribution to the Great Library, you could earn your way up to the top, even if you started out a slave. Even if you weren’t Xerxesian by birth. So that’s what he decided to do.” Ed pauses, thinking back and trying to sort an entire lifetime into something he could tell Roy and have it make sense. “One day, when he was out running errands or some shit, this slave just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this building – one of the big manors for the Savants – collapse.”

“Savants?” Roy questions.

“It’s the best translation of the title. Like I said, the heirarchy in Xerxes was about academia, not the military, or inheritance, or anything like that. They were people who- who fucking revolutionised knowledge in whatever field of study. Being recognised as a Savant was, I don’t fucking know, like being a General, I guess, here. You’re powerful, and people kinda have to listen to you, and you get lots of perks and rewards and shit. There were also teachers and shit, Professors or whatever, which was basically one step sideways, not quite parallel, but… the State Alchemists, sort of?”

“I see.” Roy says, sounding a little bewildered. “So… so this manor collapsed?” He prompts.

“Yeah, and this boy- Well, he was a teenager, by today’s standards-”

“Today’s standards?”

“In Xerxes you were considered a child until you were twenty-five, on average.” Ed explains impatiently. “When you completed the standard education and could choose a speciality. Anyway-” Ed presses when it looks like Roy’s about to ask more questions. “So, this boy recognised an alchemical reaction when he saw one, and managed to pinpoint the source in amongst the rubble.”

“Who did he find?” Roy asks, which at least isn’t a distracting question.

“This kid. Nine years old, half crushed by rubble. His entire right arm was so much mush. He’d been being an idiot, trying to get his super-clever Savant grandmother to pay attention to him, and his circle had backfired on him and brought the whole house down. And this slave kid pushed this massive piece of masonry out of the way with one shoulder and grabbed the other kid with the other hand and just hauled him out of the mess he’d turned his entire life into. Carried him to the healers. Went right back and dug out the kid’s cousin. His grandmother was already dead, but if it hadn’t been for that slave, his cousin would have died before anyone got around to getting him out.”

“Edward…” Roy says slowly.

“I’m not finished, bastard, let me finish.” Ed retorts. Roy nods silently, so Ed forges on. “So this kid, this dumbass kid who destroyed his entire life all by himself because he couldn’t appreciate what he had when his dad was gone and his mum was dead, knew that he had to pay back this slave for saving him and his cousin. So he went and found him and taught him everything he knew, everything he got to learn just because he was born to an educated family. They studied together for years, ended up fucking revolutionising alchemy. Heh. The slave was elevated to Savant because he figured out that water is actually combustible if you pull it apart.”

“Is it really?” Roy asks, smirking. “I had no idea.”

Ed cackles. “Sure you didn’t.”

“I assume the other boy became a Savant, too?” Roy questions, giving Ed a soft look under faintly furrowed brows. Like he’s figured out Ed’s talking about them but still isn’t sure what the point is. Jokes on him, because that is the point.

“Yeah. He figured out some really cool architectural tricks. There’s so much cool shit you can do with rocks and sand if you really pay attention to the molecular structure. Like fixing fault-lines in otherwise apparently solid stone.” Ed explains with a grimace. Roy tugs him a little closer.

“I take it the boy’s cousin did recover, too?” Roy asks gently.

“Yeah.” Ed confirms. He knows Roy thinks he’s talking about Al, even though he’s not. Lyco hadn’t been much like Al, really. He’d been a daydreamer, kind but absent-minded, and he didn’t understand people at all, not the way Al did. Ed had loved him just as much, though. “Xerxes was pretty good with healing alchemy, so he got better eventually. And eventually, these two dumbasses got around to admitting that somewhere between the heroics and the research and the awards, they’d fallen in love. It didn’t really change that much, though, they still bickered over theories and played with alchemy together and spent most of their time side by side in the library. It was just that when they went home, they went to the same place, and sometimes they had sex, which was pretty fun.”

Roy makes a sound that’s trying to be a laugh, but is a little too strangled to manage. “I think I see your point, Edward-”

“Still not finished, bastard.” Ed interrupts. “So they got married, and eventually they got asked to tutor the royal children. Which, in case you can’t figure it out, was one of the very highest honours a person could be awarded in Xerxes. They probably couldn’t really have said no without being, like, shunned or something, but it didn’t really matter because… because they really enjoyed it. Not just teaching, which was frustrating as all hell but entirely worth it, but teaching those kids. They were hellraisers, don’t get me wrong, but they were so good, too. Getting to help them discover themselves? Discover the amazing things they could accomplish? Those two stupid boys loved that a whole hell of a lot. Queen Aesara was one of Xerxes most beloved rulers, and they were so proud of her.” Ed pauses, and collects himself. “And they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days or whatever shit. There, now I’m done.”

They sit in silence for a while. Ed doesn’t mind, although he’s a bit restless. “Is that the sort of thing you want from your future, then?” Roy asks eventually. “Teaching?”

“Eh.” Ed shrugs and tries to explain. “Maybe? But there’s lots of things I could do once I’ve fixed my fuck up and Al’s okay. Lots of fulfilling paths to take or whatever. Could teach. Could do research. Could become a doctor. Could open a restaurant. Could go into fucking journalism. Lots of ways to do good in the world. My point is… it’ll be better with you there. I want that. And I think you want that, too. To do whatever we end up doing together.”

He hears Roy swallow, and then let out a breath that shakes. “Yes, Edward. I want that, too.” He agrees. His arm tightens momentarily around Ed’s shoulders, and his head tips to lean his cheek against the top of Ed’s head, and then he turns so he can press an achingly gentle kiss to Ed’s hair. Ed turns into Roy and hides his smile against the man’s shoulder.

[journalxxx]

No Rest for the Wicked (3)

"Hey. Higgsbury."

Wilson woke with a gasp, heart racing and chest heaving as something touched his shoulder. His overwhelmed brain took in his surroundings in a frenzy of disconnected bits: the setting sun, the rough table he was napping on, the spilled ink on his half-finished blueprint, the blood rumbling in his own head, the tiny pins and needles tickling his left arm, the gaunt harasser standing beside him.

"Say, pal. You don't look so good."

Wilson blinked at Maxwell, wondering why he was still alive. Oh, right. Not a dream, this one. Not a dream. He wondered if the other man could hear the gears furiously turning in Wilson's brain to sort through real memories and fleeting visions in an effort to make sense of his current situation. He probably could, it felt like they were very rusty and grind-y.

"Can you please. Never say those specific words to me again. Please."

"Have I caught you at a bad time? It didn't seem like there was much inventing going on at the moment."

Wilson drummed his fingers on the table nervously, still dizzy with adrenaline. He focussed very, very hard on eliminating all thoughts of sadism and murder and assorted violence from his brain, but the sight of Maxwell's nonchalant mug made it exceedingly difficult.

"You always catch me at a bad time. When you want to disturb me, just assume it's a bad time. And then don't do it. What do you want?"

Maxwell regarded him with something unpleasantly akin to amusement. He glanced at the ruined sketch on the table.

"Strange dreams, eh? What was this one about?"

"...You don't want to know."

"I beg to differ."

Wilson squinted at him, rubbing his arm to restore the circulation. Well, if he insisted.

"...I wanted to observe the effects of prolonged consumption of raw monster meat on humans. You were the test subject, but you refused to eat it, so I made an incision in your epigastrium-" He poked at the exact spot on Maxwell's abdomen as he explained, "and created a fistula large enough to introduce the minced meat directly in your stomach from the outside. It made you turn into that half-beast thing you used to scare me with when I was travelling to the throne-" He illustrated that passage too, hunching his back and mimicking claws and fangs with his hands and mouth, "and, since you behaved like a rabid dog, I had to put you down. Via decapitation. Then I dismembered you and put your organs in jars with formalin for later study. I think I was doing something with your liver when you woke me, but I can't remember what."

It was rare for Wilson to manage to reduce Maxwell to silence, but those precious few times were always so deeply worth it.

"...I'll say." He eventually commented, scratching his chin pensively. "I never thought there could be any decent material in that hairy nogging of yours, but it looks like you may have turned out not too disappointing a King, after all."

Wilson groaned, rubbing his hands on his face.

"What do you want, Maxwell?"

"Why do you keep asking me? You said you needed my help with some project of yours, remember?"

"Uh... yes, yes, I do. Give me just a moment." Wilson quickly gathered his tools and cleaned up the mess on the table. "You always have such impeccable timing. I've been sitting here all afternoon, but of course you show up the moment I put my head down for five minutes."

"You said I could come when I was free. Well, I'm free now." Maxwell crossed his arms condescendingly. "If your beauty sleep has the priority, I can come back next week or so."

"You've got a busy schedule, haven't you? I suppose that standing around doing nothing and glancing judgementally at people who are actually working does eat up time." Maxwell was about to reply, but Wilson opted for a strategic retreat. "I'll be right back."

"So, what do you need me for?" Maxwell asked when Wilson came back with an armful of equipment. He watched with silent disapproval as Wilson dropped the items messily on the table, save for one vial filled with transparent liquid, which he carefully placed in a roughly-crafted canister. Wilson didn't miss the brief glimpse of concern that crossed Maxwell's eyes when he opened the case containing the syringe. "...I'm just realizing I should have asked this much sooner."

"You know that weird feeling you get after being revived - the feeling that you are indeed very much alive and well, but not quite as healthy as you were before? And no matter how much you eat or rest or heal, you never seem to regain your top shape?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was sure you would, given how vocally you complained about it when you burst out of my meat statue two months ago." Wilson paused to observe the content of the vial against the light: no suspicious discolorations or sediments. "As it turns out, it's a shared affliction. It happened to me too before... before, and others in the camp have confirmed experiencing the same problem. So I decided to see if anything could be done about it."

"I take that you are concocting some sort of serum. Do you need some specific ingredient or magic boost you think I can provide?"

"A fair assumption, but no. I believe I've already hit on a promising formula, and now I only need a suitable subject to test it."

"Ah. You see, that was my second guess, only because I gave you enough credit to reach on your own the obvious conclusion that I would never agree to that."

"Come on, don't be difficult. I promise you it's perfectly safe."

"Says the man who thought that powdercakes were safe for consumption." Maxwell squinted at the vial, hands clasped behind his back. "What's in there?"

"Oh just, you know... some minerals and... organic material. You needn't concern yourself with the technical details-"

"If you had said snake oil, it would have sounded less fishy. Which minerals? What organic material?"

"Well..." Wilson scratched his chin, pointedly avoiding Maxwell's inquisitive gaze. "Some nitre and ground bee stings. And- you know those funny-looking hyphae that were growing on the eggplants we forgot we had? Well, I thought-"

"You must be joking." Maxwell's face contorted into the most comically over-the-top expression of affronted disgust Wilson had ever seen. "Dirt and mold. You mixed dirt and mold into a bottle and you called that a cure? How did you even come up with such a ridiculous idea?"

"Exactly like I come up with every ridiculous idea I've ever had in this wretched place: by using our ridiculous machines, that's how. Or are you going to claim that there's more scientific merit to grinding flower petals to make dream gasoline, or whatever that foul thing is supposed to be?"

"Well, at least that foul thing isn't supposed to go straight into my veins! Your 'cure' is going to give me lockjaw or bubonic plague, if not both at the same time."

Wilson decided to dedicate a single moment of his life to envisioning how risus sardonicus might look on Maxwell's already grotesque set of facial features. He found that his imagination wasn't yet capable of producing such horrors, and he was ultimately grateful for it.

"I told you it's safe. I've already administered samples to some rabbits and pigmen, and they're all perfectly healthy. I've even had a dose of it myself, and as you can see-"

"You took it yourself?" Maxwell gaped at the scientist in utter shock. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Well, rabbits and pigmen aren't humans. Results obtained on them are only partially reliable to predict the effect the serum might have on actual people. And I didn't think it wise to use a potentially flawed drug on an already debilitated patient. I haven't died yet since we met, so I figured I would be the perfect subject to take note of any relevant side effects or issues. There haven't been any, by the way."

"You're a lunatic." Maxwell's bewilderment almost made Wilson laugh. It seemed like such a simple and straightforward process to him. "A complete, raving madman. That thing could have killed you more painfully than I ever did."

"That's extremely debatable, but let's not get sidetracked." Wilson joined the tips of his fingers, flashing his best ingratiating smile at Maxwell. "Care to assist?"

"No, not really. Besides, I've just finished recovering from that accident with the spider queen, so I may still be a tad too 'debilitated' for-"

"You've been 'just finishing recovering' from those two glorified scratches for at least a week. I don't doubt that that is due to the aforementioned post-resurrection weakness, and it is not even remotely just an excuse for you to be even less productive than usual. However, as the resident physician, I am positive you're at least well enough to withstand a harmless drug trial. Does this quell your fears?"

Maxwell pursed his lips, surprisingly giving some serious thought to the matter. "...Wolfgang has died too, once. And he's certainly fitter than me at any given moment. Why didn't you choose him?"

"To be fair, I did ask him first. But..." Wilson considered his fingertips. The memory of that colossal man mewling in horror and backing away from the raised syringe like a cornered animal would haunt him for the rest of his days. "I think he has a phobia of needles. Among the other things."

"Hm. Hard to blame him on that one. The needle of that syringe is barely smaller than an organ pipe."

"It's the best I could put together with the materials I found. Just be thankful I was able to craft one or I would have to resort to scarification."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"You wouldn't like the feel of that either."

Maxwell scrutinized him and his whole apparatus with blatant hostility. He didn't speak, and eventually Wilson sighed in defeat.

"...I can't force you, of course. But I do mean it when I say it's safe. It has given me no side effects whatsoever, I just need to establish if it's actually effective or not." Wilson tapped his fingers on the table, pensively. "I guess I could try again with Wolfgang. Wickerbottom could help me talk him into it, she’s good at that. After keeping him on a light diet for while. If he threw a fit in his best shape, he'd probably break my neck with an accidental flicker of his-"

"Oh, fine! Stop whining!" Maxwell burst out, throwing his hands to the sky. "And don't you dare say that I never do anything helpful. I'm literally throwing my own health to the wolves for your divertissement here."

"Splendid!" Wilson grinned, immediately filling the syringe with the precious liquid. "Uncover your shoulder. You don't have any allergies, do you?"

"If I said yes, would you reconsider my involvement?"

"I guess that's a no. Sit." Wilson stood up, politely leaving the chair free for his unhappy subject. Who didn't sit. Nor uncovered his shoulder. Wilson rolled his eyes. "What is it now? I swear, all this fussing for a single prick. Next time I'll just knock you out beforehands and save myself half an hour of pointless arguments."

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that I can simply refuse to sit to foil your brilliant plan altogether. There's little you can do to my shoulder from down there."

"...Wow, a height joke. Haven't heard one of those in a while. You're just desperate to buy time at this point. Sit before I stab this in your rear."

Wilson patiently waited as Maxwell begrudgingly complied and took as long as humanly possible to remove the several layers of clothing hiding his shoulder. Wilson also merrily ignored the constant muttering as he applied some antiseptic on the area.

"Mankind owes me a lot for confining you here and saving any possible future patient of yours from your misguided attempts at- Ow!"

"Yes, I'm sure such a charitable deed completely outweighs the God-knows-how-many unexplained kidnappings you've perpetrated in your whole life."

"Not as many as- Ow! This thing burns!"

"Hardly. I'd like to say you deserve a statue for your past and present heroism, but I think there are already far too many around here."

One last completely unwarranted 'ow' marked the end of the unbearable torture as Wilson pulled out the needle and pressed a patch of silk gauze on Maxwell's shoulder.

"Done. It's going to be just a little sore for-"

"You literally just said no side effects whatsoever!"

"That's not a side effect, it's a completely normal local reaction. It won't last more than a few days anyway."

Wilson put away his tools while Maxwell nursed his achy joint with a scowl. "Fine print and shady semantics are more tools of my trade rather than yours, you know?"

"Maybe, but at least I make a point of rewarding blind faith instead of squashing it. Your contribution towards scientific advancement is highly appreciated." Wilson smiled, producing a life-giving amulet from his pocket and handing it to Maxwell with a flourish and a small bow. "Please accept this for your trouble."

Maxwell froze in the middle of buttoning up his shirt, gaping at the item with sheer horror.

"...Oh God, I am going to die."

"No, no no no, this is just for... extra precaution. Just in case. Just in the remote eventuality that the serum might have some utterly unexpected and yet unobserved contraindication. Which it won't, I'm sure. Do feel free to bring to my attention any malaise that may bother you though."

"I hate you."

"Oh come on, I'm joking. Mostly." Wilson chuckled as Maxwell motioned to take the amulet. He instinctively gripped it harder though, suddenly struck by an unpleasant thought. He met Maxwell's puzzled glance with firm eyes. "By the way, I would dearly appreciate it if you used it as intended, this time."

"...I believe I should be granted the freedom to decide how to employ my payment, shouldn't I?" Maxwell's expression changed as well, subtly but unmistakably. Wilson already regretted breaching the subject, but he had no intention of backing down from his request.

"I'm serious. If this ends up like the last one, I'm not going to trust you with another again. They're far too precious to be wasted."

"Wasted, uh?" Maxwell scoffed, letting go of the amulet and standing fully straight to look down on Wilson. Wilson hated how easy it was for the man to look effectively imposing. "Maybe you should give this to someone else then. God forbid I should ever use it to look after myself in the way I see fit."

"You did nothing of the sort. You broke it. You took a resurrection tool, a literal life-saver, and disassembled it.” Wilson clenched his fists without even noticing, the argument from a few months before still fresh in his mind. Sometimes Maxwell’s behavior was truly unjustifiable. “And for what? To make another goddamn nightmare amulet!”

“That is what I’d call ‘looking after myself’’, yes. All this time you’ve spent around me, and you still don’t get how my powers work. You’re dreadfully unobservant for a scientist.”

“Look, I know what you’re driving at, but how can you possibly not understand that there’s nothing more important than resurrection items here?! They’re our only lifeline! They literally avoid death! We should scavenge for parts to craft them, not the other way around!”

“You’re astoundingly wrong. The smartest thing we can do is to avoid dying in the first place. We don’t build meat effigies during a famine, do we?”

“That’s not the same thing-”

“Maybe not for you, but it is for me!” Maxwell burst out suddenly. “I need nightmare fuel, don’t you get it? Suppose I get slaughtered against some unholy monster with no fuel and a resurrection amulet. I get brought back to life, and then what? If the monster wakes too early, it may very well slaughter me again before I can make a run for it! And even if I manage to get away, do you really think I can gather all the materials I need to survive quickly enough on my own? If I have fuel though, my duelists can lure the enemy away or maybe even kill it, and my gatherers can collect resources for me even if I’m injured. So yes, Higgsbury, having a functional nightmare amulet and therefore decent fuel reserves does qualify as safeguarding my life, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I- wait, wait a minute.” Wilson shook his head, momentarily stunned. For whatever reason, Maxwell hadn’t bothered to explain his reasons in such detail before, and the scientist had to admit there was a logic in them. Still, the remaining flaw was glaring. “You’re talking as if you had to survive completely on your own. There’s no need for you to be so obsessed about the fuel when you have plenty of other people to rely on. Anyone can help you find food or gather materials or get out of a tricky situation, you don’t need to have puppets ready all the time. No one can bring you back if you get killed though.”

“A brilliant reasoning. One, however, that is based on the certainty that you won’t be left behind, if things took a turn for the worse. In case you haven’t noticed, my puppets take care of almost all the heaviest and most time-consuming tasks around here, which is surely a great encouragement for my former captives not to lynch me. But if I run out of fuel, who’s to say they won’t suddenly remember their grudges?”

“Oh come on, that’s ridiculous. We’ve been camping together for months, you can’t possibly still believe the others to be so untrustworthy. We’ve had each other’s backs dozens of times by now, you must see that they’ve let bygones be bygones. No one would hold it against you if couldn’t provide materials for a while. We could easily split the work among ourselves.”

“Do you really trust them that much?”

“Of course I do! They’re all perfectly respectable-”

“Then why haven’t you told anyone about the throne?” Maxwell’s smirk was sharp, contrasting strongly with his eerily soft tone. Wilson was caught off guard.

“...I… It’s not the same-”

“Again, it’s exactly the same thing. You haven’t because you’re not sure how they’d react. And you’re not even the King who brought them here. Consider my position for one moment and you’ll see that I have excellent reasons to be unsure how they’d react to anything I may do or not do. Hence my interest in having my own backup always ready at hand.”

“...You’re looking at this all wrong.” Wilson shook his head again. “You have more backup than ever, or at least you would if you bothered to acknowledge it as such, and yet you still stick to your paranoid schtick. Hell, you’d rather stroll on your own among spider nests instead of honestly asking for help. Anyone would have come with you if you had asked. I would have come with you if you had asked.”

“I did ask you!” Maxwell retorted venomously. “Last month! Or have you conveniently forgotten?”

“What- You didn’t ask me for help! You asked- no, you demanded a red gem! Without even explaining why. A red gem I couldn’t give you because I needed it for an amulet!”

“Oh, right! The amulet you then gave to the robot. The goddamn robot, of all people! It doesn’t even live here! It shows up only when there are giants around, drops gratuitous threats against all things organic, and then vanishes again. Why would you even bother to craft an amulet for it? I’m sure it just wants to see us all dead-”

“You mean like you did?!” Wilson’s voice raised without him really noticing, too caught up in the discussion. “Do you even hear yourself? If there is one person here who shouldn’t ever dare question other people’s honesty, that’s you! At least WX has never actually done anything to hurt us, which automatically makes them more trustworthy than you!”

Maxwell didn’t reply immediately. He waited, hands clasped behind his back and a strange, unreadable scowl on his face, until Wilson properly registered the meaning of his own words.

“...That. That is exactly it. That’s what everyone thinks, that a perfect stranger would be easily more trustworthy than me, no matter the circumstances. That’s what would make anyone hesitate to help, even just for a second. And a second of hesitation can mean a lot when I’m about to be mauled by a hound. That is why I need my own backup.”

There were times, many times, when Wilson genuinely thought that Maxwell was hopeless. That he would ultimately seal his own fate through the sheer stubbornness of his own self-absorbed idiocy, no matter how much effort Wilson put into trying to avoid that. And yet.

“...I have never hesitated.” Maxwell didn’t meet Wilson’s eyes as the scientist spoke, apparently too busy with fixing his tie and waistcoat. “Not once.”

“...You needed backup too. And I was the only one around to provide it. You have a wide choice now, though.”

“Do you really think that?” Wilson asked bitterly, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Do you really think that’s all there was to it?”

Even though Maxwell’s attire had long since been freed from any wrinkles or unsightly folds, he was still messing with it. Nevertheless, Wilson patiently waited for his answer, as one waited for a bully to decide whether he felt like dedicating ten seconds of his life to stomp on the elaborate sand castle one took two hours to build.

“...No.” Maxwell didn’t elaborate any further. It was a fortunate decision, for Wilson was already nearing his limit of tolerance for the day, and the umpteenth gratuitous jab or tirade against his stupidity, his morality, his naivety may have just convinced him to never spare another glance at Maxwell’s mug again. Or so he liked to think.

“...Good.” Wilson nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you can consider me your backup then.”

That finally tore Maxwell’s attention off his goddamn suit. Wilson shrugged in response to his befuddled glance.

“Honestly it’s ridiculous that I even have to say it aloud after I’ve effectively been your backup for God knows how long, but I guess you might benefit from hearing it. I’m not going to leave you behind, or ignore a request for materials or assistance, if only you can find it in yourself to spare two minutes to motivate it. You have my word on it. And if you were to leave the group for any reason that doesn’t involve egregious misbehavings on your part, like trying to murder people in their sleep or something of the kind, I’ll leave as well. How does that sound?”

Wilson may as well have turned into a turnip halfway through his speech, judging by the sheer bewilderment of Maxwell’s expression.

“What the devil is this about, now?”

“This is about making you stop wasting resources on problems that aren’t there. You can go without fuel for a few days or even weeks, if you need to, even if you can’t take care of the foraging. Just ask me, if you don’t feel like asking the others. And for heaven’s sake, take this and wear it!” Wilson outright slipped the amulet around Maxwell’s neck, pressing it firmly against his chest to drive the point more clearly. “Don’t break it. Don’t repurpose it. Just wear it.”

For the second time that day, Maxwell was shocked into silence, his eyes darting between Wilson’s face and his hand. The amulet pulsed under Wilson's palm, instantly warming up as the protective magic activated, and started to beat faintly, like a second heart perfectly in synch with the wearer's. It was a refreshing change to feel its natural, regular beat, without the rush and unsteadiness that blood loss and such distressing circumstances caused. The rhythm was pleasantly familiar, and distracting enough for Wilson to suddenly realize that he had been idly standing before Maxwell for a little too long, a little too close. He let go of the amulet and took a few steps back, until he bumped against the edge of the desk, his mind oddly blank.

“Why are you so obsessed with these things, anyway?” Maxwell asked, his tone somewhat subdued as he took the pendant in his hand and rubbed some invisible dust off the red gem. “We have meat statues and even a couple of touch stones. I could die three times within the next hour and I’d still be able to come back without an amulet.”

“Statues can be destroyed and the closest stone is almost a day away from the camp. Amulets are always the safest option.” In truth, Wilson couldn’t quite explain it. Maxwell was perfectly right, living in a large group had allowed them to secure plenty of materials for more resurrection items than Wilson himself had ever hoped for. But, as irrational as it may be, Wilson only felt truly safe when he and everyone around him were wearing a life-giving amulet around their neck. “I just don’t like taking any chances.”

“Mh. If I didn’t know you to be so scientifically inclined, I’d be tempted to call you superstitious. I guess it’s only anxiety then.”

“You can call it however you like, but it’s the reason I’ve managed to survive this long. Always having a backup plan is what allowed me to best the oh-so-dreadful King of the Shadows.”

“Ah! That’s precious.” Maxwell laughed, without any real bite. Unexpectedly, he leaned against the table too, beside Wilson. He regarded him with a conspiratorial smile, all traces of the previous argument gone from his demeanor. “No need to embellish the truth, pal, I was watching too. Remember the first time you jumped into a wormhole without amulets and the like and without having any idea what would happen? Where was your backup plan then?”

“Ah, but you forget that at the time I was being cornered by a tallbird at the edge of a cliff, without proper armor and at dusk. Jumping in the wormhole was the backup plan, you see.”

“...God, you really are the one who bested me. Why. How.” Maxwell lamented as he covered his face. “Did They really wish to humiliate me so? Why couldn’t it be Wickerbottom? Surrendering the throne to her would have been immensely more dignified. Honourable, even.”

“Maybe you just weren’t as good at your job as you thought. Or I am a genius survivalist. Take your pick.”

“Neither.” Maxwell rubbed his shoulder absently. “Are you planning to study the effects of whatever filth you poisoned me with watching me as I slowly shuffle off this mortal coil, or may I retreat to meet my end privately?”

“You’re free to go. Many thanks for your unwavering trust and enthusiasm.” Wilson simply watched as Maxwell shrugged on his coat. He tried his very best to sound as casual as possible with his next question. “Oh, by the way. Have you been experimenting with your puppets again?”

“Hm? No, not lately. Why?”

“Oh, never mind. I was just wondering.”

“...You were just wondering.” A single glance from Maxwell was enough for Wilson to know that he was simply hopeless at sounding casual. “And why were you wondering, may I ask?”

“I was just wondering! You do that sometimes! They used to work differently when I met you, and now they’re more specialized or something-”

“I only ever revised them that one time, because they were giving me troubles. You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t think there was something wrong with them. Why?”

“I, uh… well… to be honest, they did a strange thing yesterday. And I was wondering if it may be because you were, I don’t know, trying out a new spell or-”

“Did they try to attack you? Because that would be your fault. I told you you’d eventually get on their nerves if you kept getting in their way while they’re working.”

“No, no no. In fact, it’s… it’s the exact opposite.” Wilson stopped for a moment. “You know how they always pretend I don’t exist, right? They don’t communicate, they don’t listen, they walk through me, they don’t even look at me, and all that-”

“Yes. I am aware of how my own puppets work. Get to the point.”

“Yes, right- by the way, why do they do that? I remember you said they behave exactly like you, but you don’t-”

“They behave like I would behave if I were an entity of pure shadow with no need or obligation to interact with other people in order to survive. Thus, they ignore you. The point, Higgsbury.”

“Right, right. So, the other day I was following a koalefant track up north, between the forest and the swamp. Your puppets were there too, chopping and mining and the like. They didn’t acknowledge me, as usual, and I ignored them too.” Maxwell crossed his arms and threw his head backwards with deliberate slowness, staring stolidly at the sky with a groan. “I guess, uh… I guess I must have been a bit distracted. The next track was very close to the edge of the swamp, but I thought I was far enough from- are you listening?”

“Regrettably.”

“...Right. Anyway, I must have gotten too close to the swamp and I didn’t notice the tentacle springing from the ground until too late. I was- it was about to hit me, but… one of your puppets pushed me out of the way.” Maxwell didn’t move, nor he replied. Wilson continued. “The tentacle actually struck it. It vanished. The other two had stopped working too, they were watching the whole thing, but then they resumed their job as if nothing happened as soon as I got far enough from the tentacle.”

“...Mh.” Maxwell eloquently commented.

“...I thought it was odd. Even in battle your duelists tend to let me get slaughtered if I don’t stick close enough to you. And your harvesters are even more passive. So I was wondering if you had changed them.”

“I haven’t.”

“...Doesn’t your neck hurt?”

“No.” Maxwell finally directed his scowl at Wilson instead of at the murky sky of the Constant. “Is this the conundrum? The puppet probably just tripped. You can add this to the long list of strokes of luck that have spared you yet another painful death. Rejoice.”

“It didn’t look like it just tripped. I don’t think it was even near me when I knelt down to examine the track. And the other two were staring too-”

“Look, I’d understand your perplexity if they had tried to skewer you, but they actually helped you for once. All the better, yes? Why does this concern you so much?”

“Why doesn’t it concern you?” Wilson insisted. “Your puppets are behaving abnormally without your direct input. What if something or someone else was influencing them?”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” Maxwell scoffed. “There are no other shadow magic users around here. And They certainly wouldn’t hijack my puppets to save your neck.”

“Well, maybe there’s another possibility.” Wilson hesitated. Discussing the matter with Maxwell had seemed like a good move the previous night, while disturbing thoughts were keeping him awake long past the sunset. In that moment, not quite as much. “What if there was someone else with the same powers you have?”

“Bollocks. I’m sure there are only two human beings who ever became acquainted with shadow magic, and the other one is the current Queen. Not to mention I would have already noticed. I keep a keen eye on the invisible forces at work in the area, you know?”

“Maybe it’s someone you haven’t noticed because… they haven’t used their powers yet. Maybe because they don’t know they have them…”

“...I’m not sure I’m quite following you, although you seem to be heading in a very specific direction.” Maxwell frowned. Wilson felt like he was melting under that stern scrutiny. All right, there was no point in beating around the bush.

“...Listen. I sat on the throne, right? I’ve been King. Maybe while I was there, I did absorb a bit of shadow magic. Maybe the puppet responded to that, and therefore defended me. Or maybe- maybe I made it defend me without noticing-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Maxwell raised a hand to stop him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this what it’s all about? Are you still being paranoid about the throne? I told you you’re fine, stop overanalyzing every trifling thing that happens to you.”

“But how can you be so sure?” Wilson insisted. “What if I did take control of your puppet for a moment, without noticing? I was about to be killed, I asked for help! Maybe not vocally, but surely subconsciously. And help I did get, from shadow slaves that barely even bothered to acknowledge my presence before! Don’t you find it weird?”

“...Oh my God, you’re-” Maxwell muttered through his teeth, and then stopped abruptly. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of literally biting Wilson’s head off, flushed and irate as he looked. However, he reined himself in with uncharacteristic grace. He rubbed a hand on his face, then he sighed and drew the Codex from the inner pocket of his coat. He held it before Wilson’s eyes. “Listen, and listen well. Shadow magic isn’t something you just ‘absorb’ because you sat somewhere for a while. Even if They allowed you to tap into its power freely, without proper study and willing sacrifice, you couldn’t use it for anything more than cheap parlor tricks. I’ve been honing my own skills for decades, at great personal costs, and I’ve barely scraped the surface of what this book has to offer. Now, ingrain this simple concept into your brain: the mere thought that someone like you, without an ounce of talent or knowledge or training about magic, could overturn my own spells, even for a second, even by accident, is utterly ludicrous.”

Wilson wrung his hands nervously. “...Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Maxwell did sound as sure as one could possible get, but his stern demeanour deflated into a discouraged sigh before Wilson’s unresponsiveness. “But you won’t be convinced that easily, I guess.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust your expertise on the matter, mind you.” Wilson offered. “It’s just that… I keep thinking about it, and I can’t help but feel that I can’t just have left the throne room unscathed. And all these weird things that have been happening-”

“Are definitely not weird at all. I thought we’d been over this. Why have you been fixating on this so much?” Wilson shrugged, not knowing how to reply. Maxwell considered him for a moment, scratching his chin. “Have you tried doing it again?”

“Doing what?”

“Controlling a puppet.”

“No, of course not! I-”

“Well, shame on you then. What good can your harebrained hypotheses be without repeatable evidence?” Maxwell suddenly grabbed Wilson by his arm and dragged him in a seemingly random direction. “Come. Maybe some good old scientific method will convince you.”

“Wha- wait, where are you going?” Wilson stammered, stumbling along.

“To test your theory. Or rather, to make you fail at it as many times as you need to be convinced that it’s impossible.”

“Why are you suddenly so invested in this? I thought you were busy.”

“I’m always invested in watching you make a fool of yourself. Ah, there’s one.”

Maxwell pointed at the farm just outside the camp, where one of his puppets was filling his third- no, fourth basket of berries, freshly picked from the neat rows of bushes. They stopped to the side of the field, and Wilson watched the puppet accomplish its task with methodic precision for a few moments.

“Well, have at it.” Maxwell plopped heavily on the ground and popped a few berries into his mouth from the closest basket as he opened his book and idly started flipping through it. Wilson gaped at him.

“I have no idea how to do it!”

“Do whatever you think you did before. See what happens.”

“You aren’t being very helpful, you know?”

“Because there’s nothing to help you with. It’s impossible. We’re only here to establish that.”

Wilson muttered unrepeatable words under his breath. He tried his best to forget about Maxwell and focussed on the puppet. He stared at it, took in its featureless silhouette, a seemingly two-dimensional Maxwell-shaped smudge of inky blackness. He tried to take in its very essence, its unthinking, unfeeling existence, created for the sole purpose of going through a limited and established set of motions. If there was really any power in him, it couldn’t be too difficult to steer such an empty vessel towards his own desires. He decided he wanted to make it drop the basket. Easy enough. He focussed on that thought. He visualized it. He imagined the exact gesture, he imagined the puppet’s grasp on the basket loosening, his hand opening, the item dropping on the ground, spilling its contents all over. He ordered it. He willed it into reality. He put every ounce of his mental faculties into that specific wish. He wanted it.

Nothing happened.

“Your face is redder than your waistcoat. Try not to get yourself a stroke, I’d certainly be blamed for that.”

Wilson found himself slightly short on breath. Had he been holding it without noticing? “How am I supposed to command these things? How do you command them?”

“I don’t. They don’t need orders, they’re autonomous and smart enough to know what they have to do.”

“Do you really think there’s no chance I did that?”

“Let’s put it this way. The day you’ll manage to take control of any of my puppets for half a second will be the day I’ll entrust the Codex to you as the legitimate owner and superior user of its dark arts, and I’ll also humbly prostrate myself at your feet begging for your teachings. How likely does that sound to you?”

“Not much, but it’s certainly an excellent motivation to keep trying.” Wilson grumbled. He tried again. He stared at the puppet hard enough to bore a hole in it, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists with the sheer effort. He absolutely, positively, unmistakingly bid it to drop the basket. He even outstretched his hand towards it, as if to transmit his order through his very own body, and- and then Maxwell snorted loudly and he got completely distracted.

“What? What?” Wilson burst out, his cheeks burning. “You gesticulate all the time when you’re channeling your magic!”

“Yes, because I have magic to channel. What are you channeling?” Maxwell cackled. Unhelpful bastard. Wilson groaned in defeat.

“I can’t do it. Not like this, at least. Maybe it happens only in very specific circumstances, like if I’m very stressed or in mortal danger.”

“A brilliant hypothesis. Let’s test that too.” Maxwell sprang to his feet, radiating the most unsettling merriment. “Give me a minute to fetch my sword.”

“Quit it.” Wilson grabbed his jacket to stop him. “All right, you win. I must have been wrong. That still doesn’t explain your puppet’s behaviour though.”

“Maybe he just wanted to end it.” Maxwell shrugged, putting away his book.

“End what?”

“Its life.”

Wilson blinked. “Is that a thing that they do? Do they get… depressed?”

“You’d get depressed too if you were a somewhat sentient, disposable tool forced to chop trees for the entirety of your fleeting existence.”

Wilson considered the silent worker for a long moment, before Maxwell stretched his back with a showy yawn.

“Well, as entertaining as watching you achieve absolutely nothing for the last fifteen minutes has been, I think I’ll head off. Feel free to keep trying if you think that you may have better luck without me interfering with your blooming powers.”

“...Right. I think I’ll head off as well.” Wilson murmured. He turned on his heels and took a step towards the camp, and found itself right before- no, within the puppet, as it was passing by to put down another full basket. The puppet seamlessly phased through him, as they oft did, but the basket could not. It bumped against Wilson’s chest and fell on the ground, berries rolling everywhere. The puppet stopped. It looked down at the basket, somewhat dejectedly. Then, its eyeless face turned towards Wilson. Straight towards him.

Maxwell clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Wilson’s blood froze in his veins.

“...Uh, sorry.” He found himself saying as he knelt down and started gathering the scattered fruits. “Here, I’ll just…”

The puppet observed him for almost a full minute. Then, when Wilson was almost done cleaning up the mess, it grabbed two full baskets and walked off towards the camp.

“...When you say that one of these days getting in their way will get me killed, you’re clearly joking, right?”

“Not really. A duelist could definitely do it, with enough motivation. But foragers don’t have much violence in them.” Maxwell stopped for a moment. “Although, if I were them, and I am, I wouldn’t be above ganging up on you, tying you to a tree and chopping off a few of those luxuriant locks of yours.”

Wilson instinctively run a hand through his hair. “That’s not funny.”

“That wasn’t a joke either.” Maxwell smiled one of those creepy smiles of his. “Good afternoon, pal.”

Wilson silently tried his hand at an improvised hex centered around broken ankles, bees and Glommer’s goop. Just in case. He shook his head as he finished gathering the spilled berries. He put the basket near the remaining one, wondering if carrying them to the camp himself would be enough of an apology for-

He blinked, his thoughts finally connecting. It had dropped the basket. The puppet had dropped the basket.

“Maxwell, wait!” Wilson called out, but Maxwell had already disappeared. Should he find him, tell him? It may have been an accident. Maxwell- he would almost certainly deem it an accident, wouldn’t he? And yet, the puppets were always so very precise with their movements, and so very aware of their surroundings… Could Wilson have…?

He stared at the baskets, more confused than ever.