#she used to have lighting powers but I’ve kind of left those behind | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ice-cap-k · 8 months

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The Engineer that Couldn't

Really feeling the burnout. Only a few more days left.

Cross-posted to AO3 here: The Engineer that Couldn't

______________________________________________

The panel dropped back into place as I pulled the lever. The floor heaved beneath me, almost sending me stumbling back into the engine car’s door. My free arm braced against the wall, refusing to let go of the lever even as I felt it twist in my palm. "Come on. Come on. You got this…"

I willed it to work with everything I had in me. I prayed, I begged, I wished… All my knowledge on how to run this train wouldn’t matter if I couldn’t get it to start. The universe answered in kind. The engines whirred to life in a flurry of blinking lights and fluttering gage needles. The floor lept beneath my feet once more. This time, I couldn’t keep my balance. My legs slipped out from under me and I hit the corrugated metal with a grunt of pain. That was going to leave a bruise.

Wrought metal groaned as wheels began to move somewhere beneath me. It worked! So I let go of the lever, letting it flick back into place. The familiar rattle of the old RBBX was music to the ears. The engine room hummed all around me as lights blinked in lazy, brightly colored patterns.

A laugh bubbled up from deep inside my chest as I looked around. I was so tired. It had taken all night, but I had finally done it! The train was finally functional once more.

I slapped my hands against the denim covering my knees and pushed myself back onto my feet. A flick of a few switches later, and the car powered back down. The main control panel was a little warm to the touch but not enough to be a cause of concern. She would be fine. Despite knowing that the train couldn’t feel it, I felt the need to pat the edges of the main control table fondly as if to congratulate it on the job well done. “Good to have you back.”

The motors began to slow to a smooth hum.

Once the last of the clicks and groans died out, I flipped the latch on the door of the engine room. The morning sun was blindingly bright compared to the cozy little car. The light highlighted every grease smear I had accumulated along my arms and down the legs of my pants. They hadn’t been as noticeable in the dim cab. I shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Keeping this thing running was always messy work.

The train was like my baby. It was my pride and joy. As the engineer who ran it, it was my responsibility to keep her as happy and healthy as a train could be. It hasn’t always been easy, though. It was old. Really old. Old enough that replacement parts were no longer in production. It was getting harder to find usable components, but lately I had been finding ways to get creative. This wasn't the first time I’ve managed to repurpose a few loose scraps of iron.

I was just in the middle of admiring my own work, taking in the sight of the old train framed by the nearby trees when I heard the telltale sounds of grass shifting. It was subtle, but it was there. Someone was coming up from behind, and their wheels sounded a little squeaky. I smiled, wondering if I had left a can of oil back in the engine cart with my toolbox. I could fix that squeak in no time.

"I saw those lights flash a moment ago," a familiar voice asked from somewhere behind me. "Did it work, Impulse? Was it the starter thingy like you thought?"

"It did.” I could feel the smile stretching across my face. "It was."

"Look at you! Amazing!"

"Thanks, Scar." One of my cheeks was beginning to itch in the slight morning breeze. Without thinking, I reached up to scratch at it absent-mindedly. My blackened fingers came away smudged, and it dawned on me that I still hadn’t cleaned up. There had to be grease marks on my face by now. "At the very least, it will last us until the next town if we have to leave."

Scar rolled up closer until I could see him through the corner of my eye. The other man was already dressed in his elaborate red tailcoat. His signature top hat was sitting on his lap, half obscured by the armrests of his wheelchair. The ringmaster looked just as pleased as I felt. "Appreciated. I don't plan on us having to pack up right away for any reason, but it's good to know she'll live to chug another day."

There was a flutter of red as Scar offered up the handkerchief from his pocket. I flashed him a grateful smile before reaching out and plucking it from Scar’s hands. I didn’t want to get any grease on him. Scar had a show he was preparing for tonight and other things to worry about. I didn’t need to add ‘accidental grease stains’ to the list so I was careful not to accidentally bump his fingers with my own.

At least the scrap of fabric worked surprisingly well to rub away the layer of black and grey coating my hands. "Alright, Scar. You caught me in between projects. What do you need?"

When I was done, I offered the soiled handkerchief back out to the other man. "Well…" Scar took it with a thinly veiled look of disgust and a shrug. The look on his face almost made me laugh as he draped it across one of his armrests instead of returning it back to his pocket. "I know you’ve been busy, but now that you’re finished with the train, could you take a look at one of the rope thingies in the big top?”

I felt my own eyebrows raise. Scar was no expert on tools. That’s why the ringmaster and many other members of the circus came to me for help. I was the guy who made things happen, that way the people who actually performed in the show could do so without a hitch. But I still needed more information to go off of than that simple description. “Rope thingies?”

“Yeah! You know, the thing that pulls the rope up when we raise the tent. It’s like a big fishing reel, but for rope instead of string.”

“You mean the winch?”

Scar snapped his fingers and grinned. “That’s it! That’s the thing. The wench!”

“Winch,” I corrected softly, fighting to hold back a snort of laughter. “Why? What’s wrong with it?

“Oh. Well, there’s smoke coming out of its side, and something definitely fell from the east pole."

That wiped the smile right off of my face. That didn’t sound good at all. “You mean one of the poles propping the tent up? That east pole?!?”

“Yeah. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Uh… yeeeeah,” I said nervously. There were any number of pulleys, hooks, or ropes on that pole that were meant to be supporting the tent. The rigging had to be carefully placed to keep the heavy canvas held in place. And if the winch was failing, then that end of the tent was probably going to-

Someone shouted from the edge of the big top. “THE TENT!” I whirled around to see Pearl and Grian come rolling out from under the tarp making up the side wall of the tent. As soon as they managed to crawl clear of the fabric, they scrambled to their feet and backed away just in time to watch one of the ropes holding up the canvas snap.

I broke into a run. In retrospect, I feel bad for leaving Scar where he sat. He couldn’t keep up with me on his own, but my brain was short-circuiting with all the panic. I couldn’t just sit there and watch. I had to do something.

I tore my way across the open field towards the two performers. The tent was starting to wobble on its supports as I got close. I cupped my hands around my mouth to make myself louder and shouted “Get out of there! The whole thing’s coming down!”

Pearl and Grian had enough sense to back away from the tent as quickly as their legs could carry them. A few other people came streaming from the front entrance as it started to sway. I could see Stress among them, and behind her came Wels and Ren. They were having some difficulty moving considering the three were in full makeup and costume, but they still managed to clear the tent flaps. It vaguely occurred to me that they had probably been practicing their act, but that train of thought went abandoned when the east support wobbled.

The center of the tarp was dragged back and forth, back and forth, back and forth with the motion of the pole. Half the tent collapsed in on itself as it finally tilted a little too far. It knocked into the center and westward poles like dominos. The tarp they supported came fluttering back down.

Surprised shouts and startled screams of the circus workers still inside reached my ears.

It kicked up a massive breeze as all the air was pushed out from under the falling canvas. The center fell flat like a deflated balloon so that only the outside edges of the fabric propped up on smaller stakes around the tent border remained standing.

My feet carried me to its edge a few seconds later, Grian and Pearl rushing into action beside me. “I don’t know what happened,” Pearl said, voice wavering. Grian shoved aside the fabric covering one of the poles so we could get to the underside of the fallen tarp.

“I think I do,” I said. Without waiting, I rushed through the opening Grian was holding and started shoving my way forward. I reached out ahead of me as I moved, heaving the canvas up over my head so I could keep making headway. The effect was almost claustrophobic. The fabric pressed in ahead of me and fell away behind me like the tunnel of a cave. Pearl brushed past the fabric at my side, rushing head-first under the canvas as well. “Let’s just get everyone out,” I said, falling in behind her. “And then I’ll fix this.”

_______________________________________________________________

Turns out, they were pretty lucky.

Most of the people who had gotten caught under the fallen tent were close to the sides when it came down on top of them. Nobody had gotten hurt. Just a little shaken.

Helping with hauling the pillars back upright was a lot of hard work. They were extremely heavy and tall, so everyone in the circus pitched in as well. We had to clear away the tent tarp to hook loops of rope into the top. Then the base had to be grounded in place and tilted upright once more.

But now things had settled down. The beams were back upright, but the tarp still had to be pitched. The others were dispersing, leaving to go back to whatever they had been working on before the big top fell down. Scar was redirecting people to take care of the equipment that had to be dragged off the train just so they could lift the pole. I managed to catch his eye with a wave of my hand. Scar nodded in acknowledgment but was still busy talking to Gem and Etho about where the truck they had used to redirect the poles was supposed to be parked.

I took that as my que to go find the winch. It would still need fixing, and now that the tent cover was back on the ground they would need it more than before to help heft the fabric back up to its place on top of the supports. When I started shouldering my way through the crowd, away from the truck, someone else fell in my wake.

“Hey Impulse.”

“What’s up, Grian?”

Grian stepped up alongside me with a smirk. “Nothing much. What about you? Where are you going?”

“Not far. I’ve got a winch and pulley system to check before the tent can go up again.”

“Yeah… about that…” He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket. To my surprise, he pulled out an entire pulley block that looked two sizes too big for his pocket. “This thing nearly got me in the dome before the whole place came down.” He held it out for me and I took it, turning the block in my hands to get a better look.

The oblong object had two large pulleys nested in a black casing that ended in a large loop meant to clip onto a bracket. The loop itself was broken. The clasp hung uselessly from its hinge. That would need fixing. “Dangit,” I hissed. The hinge practically fell to pieces when I poked at it. “Well, it’s no wonder that the tent fell.”

Grian froze at that. There was a guilty look in his eyes as shoved his hands into his pockets. “I take it that means you’re going to be busy with that for the rest of the day?”

“Nah. It will take a bit of time to weld up, but I should have it fixed in no time.” I decided to leave out the part about the winch. Grian was following me towards the back of the half-pitched tent where it was supposed to be. First I needed to check how extensive that damage was, but it probably wouldn’t take too long to get running once more. “Then we can get the tarp back up.”

The guilt in Grian’s eyes immediately shifted to excitement. “Great! And what are you doing after that?”

Oh. So Grian actually wanted something from me. That nearly stopped me in my tracks. I stumbled a little but corrected myself. Considering a recent crash the pilot had been a part of, I had an idea of what was coming.

The winch was in sight by now. So was a trail of smoke coming out its side. I nearly let out a whistle in awe. Scar sure hadn’t been kidding. That wasn’t a good sign at all.

Still, that winch wouldn’t take too long, right? What else did I have on my list of things to do today? Sleeping would have been nice, since I didn’t get much last night. Getting the train functioning again was more important, though. I could live without sleep. Then there were the lifts and the pyrotechnics that the acrobats used that still needed to be set up for tonight. And Etho’s spinning mechanical see-saw that needed to be hauled out of the storage cart and checked for damage. And the spinning target wheel for Cleo and Jevin’s act needed to be assembled…

“Uh… Maybe fixing a few things here and there,” I finally answered. “Why? What’s up?”

“Well, as you know, there was a little incident with my plane the other day,” Grian said, drawing out his words with a knowing smile.

“Mmmhmm.” I nodded, fighting back against the urge to roll my eyes. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

Grian’s act was a dangerous one. He was a barnstormer. He earned his living by flying an old Jenny propeller plane that was even older than the RBBX train. Once in the air, he was supposed to set the controls so the plane would fly itself while he crawled out onto the wings to perform tricks.

We all knew he had accidentally forgotten to check the autopilot before taking off.

“And until my plane can get back in the sky, my act is grounded,” he continued. “So I was wondering if you could take a look at it and see if it’s something you could fix up quickly? I really want to be part of the show tonight if I can.”

“I thought Mumbo was helping you fix that thing up?”

Grian let out a heavy sigh. “He was,” he huffed, sounding a little bored. “I guess he still is, but lately he’s been busy with some big new project of his. Besides, you’re much faster. Everyone knows that you’re the guy to go to for help. Especially this kind of stuff.”

“Well, yeah,” I admitted. I scratched at the back of my neck as if that would help hide the fact that I wasn’t feeling confident about this at all. “But an entire plane in a day, Grian? That’s a bit of a tall order…”

“Please! Just a look.” His dark eyes grew wide and pleading, sparkling like a puppy begging for a scrap of food. It was a powerful look, and it was working.

What’s one more thing on his plate?

“Maybe just a peak,” I said, giving in. “I’ll take a look after I’m all caught up and see what I can do.”

“YES! Hee hee heeee!” Grian threw both fists into the air. He shook them excitedly before bouncing over and gripping my shoulders. It didn’t hurt, but he gently shook me with a smile like it was meant to be some sort of hug. “Thank you, Impulse! You’re the best.” He let me go, only to turn back towards the remaining few people lingering by the truck. “I’m supposed to be helping False, so I won’t be able to help you right now. I’ll check in at five and see how it’s going. See you then?”

“I’ll be there,” I say, backstepping. I couldn’t help but spare a glance at the broken pulley block still in my hand that I somehow needed to get fifteen feet up in the air and attached to the load-bearing rope. “See you then.”

_______________________________________________________

The winch was finally fixed.

It took me a few hours, but the winch was fixed and the pulley block was in place. Both were working hard to haul the tarp back up to its rightful place. I was working alongside a few other circus carnies, making sure the ropes didn’t become tangled with each other as the machine spooled them. With a heave, I used a metal bar to pry the bindings apart before they could overlap. By the time the tent was back in its place, it was past noon and I was exhausted.

“Nice work,” Beef said, shaking out his arms to loosen up the muscles after pinning the rope to the ground with a rod and a few swings of the sledgehammer. “Looks like we’re back up and running.”

“Great,” I said, dropping my makeshift crowbar and moving toward my toolbox. “Now back to work.”

“Work?” Doc stepped out from behind the winch, where he had been keeping an eye on the newly replaced motor gearbox in case any more issues reared their ugly head. “I thought I was the one who was always on the grind. Where are you off to, man? It’s show night.”

“Exactly.” My arms protested under the weight of the toolbox, but I ignored the aching soreness. “I’ve still gotta go take care of some things.”

“Like what?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Someone needs to check the lifts to make sure they’re safe. And Etho’s rig needs to be tested. And I’m pretty sure Jevin and Cleo’s wheel still needs to be put together. I didn’t get around to that last night. Oh, and Grian asked me to take a look at his plane too.”

Beef and Doc shared a glance before turning back to me. I smiled and shrugged at the concerned looks they were giving. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but clearly, they thought otherwise. “Uh, that sounds like a lot, buddy,” Beef said, picking up the prybar I had just dropped. “Are you sure you’ll be able to get all that done on your own?”

Doc nodded. “Do you need some help? We could probably take care of a few things, and Etho knows his way around redstone signals, too.” Beef snapped his fingers at Doc, smiling as if he had just realized something. “Good point! He could probably take care of his own machine tonight.”

“It’s fine. Thank you for the offer, but you both know I don’t mind helping out. I do need to get a move on, though, so if you gentlemen will excuse me…” They frowned as I pivoted on my heel. There were a few footsteps from behind me, but whether they intended to follow and decided against it, or just shrugged it off and moved on to their next task, I wouldn’t know. I didn’t look back, and by the time I had made it three steps out from under the big top, Gem appeared.

“Hey Impulse,” she said, practically skipping up. “How’s it going?”

“Hey Gem,” I hummed back. I didn’t slow down for her. Instead, she quickened her pace to walk alongside me. “Going great. How about you?”

“I’m good. Actually, I was just talking to Scar about starting a petting zoo.”

“Oooh, and how did that go?”

“Not so great.” Her eyes narrowed and nose scrunched up as she spared a look towards the ringmaster’s personal train car. “He’s worried about transporting the animals, but we already have an entire cart dedicated to Bdub’s horses. I didn’t think it would be that difficult to find some space for a couple of goats and chickens.”

“Is that all he’s worried about?” I chuckled. “I could probably whip up some automated holding pens.” It wouldn’t even be that difficult of a task. There was always room in the stable cart’s loft.

“Well, he did mention having to buy feed as well, but I think it would be worth it. We could always charge to feed the animals. Just think of all the kids that come to the circus. What little kid wouldn’t want to pet a goat?” She huffed. “Maybe you could talk to him about that holding pen tonight?”

“Tonight?!”

“Yeah! Of course tonight. And you know Scar. He’s going to want to see what you mean. If you could have an example made up by then, then there’s no way he’ll think it’s a bad idea if you’re the one doing it. You always have good ideas. Maybe you could convince him that it would be worth it?”

She wasn’t pulling out the puppy dog eyes like Grian, but this was Gem. Gem was great, and a good friend. We got along well, and when she set her sights on something there was no changing her mind. She also knew how to butter me up. “Alright,” I agreed, adding another mental note to the growing checklist of things that needed to be done.

“Thank you, Impulse,” Gem beamed. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was not surprised that I had given in so easily. “I’ll see you tonight after the show. Are you going to be in the stands?”

If I had time to watch the show, I would. But that’s not what I said, though.

“I’ll be there.”

_____________________________________________________________________

“Hey Impy! How’s it going?”

Tango’s blond head appeared upside down in front of me so suddenly that I nearly jumped out my boots. The socket wrench dropped from my hand as I scrambled backward. “AHHH!”

“Hehhehhehhehheh,” he giggled, swinging back up out of sight. “Sorry! Sorry, but man you should have seen the look on your face. I really got you there.”

“You did not,” I snapped, snatching the wrench back up. “I was just super focused. That’s all.”

When I looked up, I could catch flashes of his red pants and bright hair through the trusses beneath the lift. He was lowering himself from the top of the counter weight. The metal bars clattered as he climbed through them with ease. I would have said something about how dangerous that would be if the lift started to move. It was a good way to get yourself squished. But Tango knew what he was doing. He had a good eye for circuitry and electronics, just like me. He knew that the lift was fully powered down for the moment.

I could still hear him laughing from somewhere above me. “Hhmhm hmph… Sure you were.”

The bars clattered again. I had just enough time to step out of the way before Tango slid down the set of ropes tethered to stage weights beneath the platform floor. He lept off before he could hit the ballast I was working on and dropped down next to where I had been standing. “Whoah!” He rocked on his heels, struggling to maintain his balance. Arms pinwheeled as he tried to right himself.

I had half the mind to give him a little push. Nothing hard enough to hurt, but just enough to tip him over the edge. What I actually ended up doing, though, was reaching out to give him my hand.

He grabbed on tight, and I held firm while he used my grip to anchor himself. I let go when he had both feet stable on the ground. “Thanks, man!”

“Looks like you need more practice before the show tonight,” I teased, turning back to the lift. There was a snag in the motion of one of the ropes that I was trying to get to the bottom of before they started admitting audience members. It wasn’t about to take care of itself.

Tango waved my words off with a brazen grin. He made himself comfortable instead, sitting down on one of the scaffolding poles holding up the stage around us. “Nah. I’m not interested in becoming a flier. My act is still on the ground for now. At least until we can figure out the best way to keep the ropes from catching on fire.”

“Stress would thank you if you could keep your clothes from catching on fire first.”

Tango only shrugged. “Hey, these things happen sometimes. It’s an occupational hazard. Now what are you doing?” He leaned in a little closer as I loosened the bolt on the side of the ballast. There was a curious glint in his eye as I pulled the box open to check inside. Sure enough, the stacked weights were tilted. It wouldn’t cause any damage to the finely tuned weight system, but the uneven balance had caused the ropes to pull unsteadily. Thank goodness it was such an easy fix.

“Trying to make sure everything checks out alright for tonight,” I said. The ballast door slammed closed a little harder than I intended. “Why? Do you need something?”

“Nah. I’m good. Just thought I’d keep you company. Maybe ask if you wanted to hit up this restaurant I’ve been hearing about since we rolled into town… Why do you ask?”

I thought of Scar and Grian and Gem. Enough people had come by asking for things that I must have just come to expect it. “I guess I just thought you might have needed help for some reason. I’ll have to pass on lunch, though. There’s too much I gotta do, still.” Once the counterweights in the ballast were righted, I swung the door shut. It hit harder than I expected. Both me and Tango winced as it slammed into place.

The smile dropped off of Tango’s face, only to be replaced with a confused frown. “Lunch? Buddy, it’s six in the evening.”

Six?

“You’re kidding! No, it’s not…” I looked at my watch. Sure enough, it was ten minutes past six. “Oh my gosh, it is.” Where had all that time gone? At least I had managed to check the gas lines and Etho’s rig hadn't been oiled. But I still needed to set up the sparkler machines and I had promised Hypno two hours earlier that I would finish hooking up the spotlights for tonight's show. Not to mention that I hadn’t even started looking at Grian’s plane or Gem’s holding pens.

Grian! I had completely forgotten about meeting up with Grian at five!

I had to get this thing closed up and rush to the next thing, and fast. The show would be starting in two hours. That wasn’t nearly enough time to get everything done. So I stuck my socket wrench over the bolt and wound it up as fast as I could.

“Hey, if you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast then I can help out with something,” Tango offered, standing back up. Oddly enough, I couldn’t remember if I actually had breakfast at some point. I suppose the snack I had at midnight when I took a break from rewiring the train counted as breakfast. “Hand me a wrench or something and we can get this done,” he added, holding one hand out, ready for me to give him a tool.

“Thanks, Top, but I’m fine, really.” The bolt finally stuck in place. I pulled off the socket wrench and tossed it into my toolbox. He dropped his empty hand back along his side. “I just finished up here, actually. Now I just gotta go on to the next task.” I made to move through the path between the scaffolding, but Tango stepped in my way. I nearly grit my teeth in annoyance. He was purposely blocking my path and eating up precious seconds.

“Well, what’s that? Maybe I can help you with the next thing on your list?”

“I’ll be fine,” I say a little more harshly than I intend. The frown on Tango’s face deepens. It makes me feel a little bad, but I’m also relieved when he makes no move to stop me as I push past him. “It’s my responsibility. I said I would do it, and I’ve gotta stick to my word.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off as I quickened my pace. “You’ll have to tell me after the show what that restaurant is so I can try it later. Good luck! You’ll do great tonight!”

And then I turned away. Tango, usually so bright and sunny, almost seemed to dim when I did.

I didn’t really wait for a reply from my buddy, although he did actually say something. I had heard his voice shouting back at me, just not the words. I didn’t have time for that. Somehow I would make it up to him later. We could hang out when Skizz got here and I had fewer people depending on me.

I made my way through the dark underworkings of the stage towards the opening in the side of the tent. As I walked, I couldn’t help but wonder what I looked like to Tango as I ran off. Did I look nearly as exhausted as I was feeling?

__________________________________________________________

I couldn’t do it.

There was only a half hour left before the show. It had gotten to the point where I was trying to juggle two things at once.

The plane had been stashed in the back of a hollow shed that the circus had thrown together as a cheap cover for the assets that were too big to keep hauling on and off the train. Beside the bi-plane were also False’s hot air balloon and a number of very large automated puppets Mumbo had once built for a show. It also made for a make-shift workshop where me and the other carnies could work in peace without worrying about the public seeing. Right now, it acted as a good way to hide my shame as I struggled to remove most of the damaged plane’s parts while also putting aside anything salvageable that I could use to make Gem’s gate.

While most of the damage had been limited to the outer body, Grian's Jenny was still in shambles. The framework for the wings was broken and would need replacing. Same with the propeller, and when I pulled open the casing over the engine, an entire piston fell out of the engine block.

I couldn’t keep convincing myself that the damage was small enough to have it finished in time for tonight’s show. But I also hadn’t run into Grian either. He must have been too busy helping Scar prep for the show. I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t even do my job right. I was letting people down…

I was so tired.

“Impulse?”

My heart sank when I heard Grian’s voice.

“Are you in here?”

That sounded a lot like Gem too. Were they both here together?

“You should come out.”

“We heard about everything you’ve been up to. We’re here to help you out.”

Huh? That was Doc and Beef. They didn’t normally hang out with Grian and Gem. What were those four doing together?

As embarrassed as I was, the curiosity won out. The circumstances were too weird not to address. I poked my head out of the cockpit to see a small crowd of my fellow carnies coming in through the open shed door. Doc, Beef, Gem, and Grian were among them, but I could also make out Tango, Etho, Scar, and Zed. It was like half the circus had come for me.

That thought was intimidating.

“What are you guys doing here,” I asked, feeling a little shy with all those eyes on me. They weren’t unkind, but there was a firmness there. It almost made me feel like a child about to be scolded. “Shouldn’t you all be getting ready? The show’s about to start…”

“Which is why you shouldn’t be worrying about my plane,” Grian said with a smirk.

I shrank back. “I know I won’t have it done in time, but I can still fix it up for you,” I offered. “I can get it up and running for you by the next performance night.”

“Or Mumbo can,” Doc said firmly. “Or me. Or Tango-

“Or me,” Etho butt in. “I heard you’ve been the one doing the maintenance on my wheel of death. You know I can handle that on my own.”

“Or all of us together, even,” Doc continued, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a half smile. “At a time that works for us and without… ehm… without overworking ourselves…”

“And you don’t have to worry about the pen,” Gem chimed in. “You should have told me you had so much on your plate. My silly little idea isn’t that important.”

“But Gem,” I say, climbing out over the plane’s side. “It isn’t a silly idea. I want to help you out.”

Scar nodded. “We know. And we know that you’re really good at what you do. You helped save the day first thing this morning, after all. But we don’t want you going and over-exerting yourself.”

This was starting to sound like an intervention. My eyes went to Tango and Zed, who had been silent up until now. Tango was guiltily looking down at his feet, not willing to meet my gaze. Zed, though, stepped up and spoke up.

“Tango told us about how you didn’t eat today.” Now it was my turn to feel guilty. My stomach growled just then as if Zed’s words had reminded me that it was empty. Gem and Grian even looked a little ashamed of themselves as well, rubbing at their arms and looking at anything other than me.

“And I know you didn’t sleep last night,” Zed continued. He gave me an impish grin as he added teasingly, “kept me up all night with that racket a few carts down. But at least I still got a few winks of shut-eye.”

I sighed. It didn’t seem as bad as they were making it out to be. I was just trying to help. There was a lot to do, sure, but I could get it all done if I just kept at it.

They were making some good points here, though. So I tried to put myself in their shoes. If one of them hadn’t slept all night or eaten at all the next day, I suppose I would be concerned too. “I guess I am a little hungry…”

“A little?” Tango finally managed to look at me. He couldn’t resist the urge to poke fun, and that made him a little bolder. “I could hear your stomach growling all the way from the other side of the big top.”

As if to highlight his point, my stomach growled once more. I laughed. Some of the others even laughed along with me.

It was like someone had flipped a switch. The tension left the room in a rush. Everyone’s mood immediately lightened. Everything was going to be alright.

“Come on, you,” Zed said, throwing one arm around my shoulder. I let the toolbox drop from my hand as he and Tango led me towards the door. “Let’s get you something to stuff in your gob. Me and Tango brought back something from dinner for you that we think you’ll like.”

“That will be perfect. I can heat it up while you guys go onstage.”

Tango nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. “Oh no you don’t. You’re going to eat, and the three of us are going to hang out.”

“But your acts-?”

“Are later in the show,” Tango said, cutting me off. “Bdubs or someone can come get us when it’s almost time to perform.”

“And after that, you need to go to sleep, mister," Grian said, following behind. “Leave the plane until tomorrow. Doc and Etho already offered to help, so you better let them.”

“And you really don’t have to worry about the pen,” Gem added. She elbowed Scar in the shoulder as he rolled up alongside her. “Me and Scar talked it out and I managed to convince him to start with a few animals!”

Scar nodded. “She drove a hard bargain, but I think we can make it work. And a petting zoo will make a nice addition for the kids.”

I would have gladly helped with her animal pen idea, but I wasn’t too disappointed with the fact that I no longer had to build an animal pen. It was good that the two of them worked it out. And it was a relief that Grian didn’t seem to mind that he would be sitting tonight’s show out. Oh well. No barnstorming performance tonight.

But now that I finally had the chance to think of something other than the next job I needed to get done, it dawned on me how exhausted I really was. I found myself yawning, looking forward to a chance to sit down. Hopefully I could stay awake long enough to eat the food Zed and Tango had saved for me.

With another yawn, I brought my arms up around Tango and Zed’s back and pulled them in tight.

“Thanks guys.”

#whumptober #prompt no. 26 #working to exhaustion #hermitcraft #creative writing #impulsesv #goodtimeswithscar #grian #geminitay #docm77 #vintagebeef #tangotek #zedaph #alternate universe - circus #overworked #comfort #engineer impulsesv

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no-thoughts-only-soup · 1 year

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Recreyo has become my hyperfixation (again) and I can’t stop thinking about the SCP eps. So enjoy some writing!

Edit: FUCKING DAMMIT I SCREWED UP HIS NAME

——————

Curt started asking questions after the second test.

Truth to be told, he’d been having odd feelings about the whole thing from the beginning, but he’d kinda brushed them off. Chilly not being in the cell with the others was something he couldn’t brush off though. The others told him one of the scientists, accompanied by a bunch of guards, had asked her to come with them. Christian had a bad feeling and tried telling them to fuck off, but they reassured them nothing would happen to her.

The biggest reason it was so odd though, is that he hadn’t been informed about any of this.

He had been in charge of the chaotic group for two tests and he had known them for much longer. That they had chosen not to tell him was… kind of weird.

Which is why he flagged down an A-Class personnel.

“Oi, I just heard Chilly was moved elsewhere. What happened?”

The man in front of him raised an eyebrow. Curt sighed.

“Chilly Panda, girl with the panda hat, pretty dumb and loud, you know, the girl I’ve been in charge of?”

“Oh, miss Panda. I had assumed you’d been informed.”

“Well clearly I haven’t. Where is she?”

For a moment, the man was silent. Finally, he clasped his hands behind his back. On the name tag, Curt could read: ‘Jonathan Snee’.

“New evidence has brought to light that miss Panda couldn’t possibly be responsible for the c-18 incident. As such, she was found innocent by the court, and as we only employ death row inmates as D-Class personnel - and we do have morals, unlike what some people might say - we gave her the choice to either continue working for us as C-Class Personnel or leave the Foundation entirely. Evidently, she choose the latter.”

Those words felt like a slap across the face. Or a punch to the gut.

“She… left us?”

Sure, Chilly could be an asshole sometimes, just like all of them, and at first glance abandoning them to save her own skin would be in line with her.

Except.

“She didn’t even come to say goodbye…”

Chilly would have informed them. Maybe come back to the cell, mocking them. At the very least send them a letter or call. To just disappear on them felt… wrong.

“I’m sorry Richy, but that is what she choose.”

Curt ran a hand through his hair, underneath his cap, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“N-no, she wouldn’t. She’s a jerk but she wouldn’t…”

Snee interrupted him harshly. “Then I guess you didn’t know her as well as you thought.”

That stung, although stung was an understatement. It felt like getting stabbed by Den.

“Now then, are there any more questions you have for me?” Snee asked.

With a deep breath, Curt tried his best to swallow the feelings of betrayal down and looked at Snee.

“Yes, sir. I was wondering… why are my only assignments related to my fr- squad D-45?”

Snee cocked his head slightly. “You have no other tasks?”

“I-I do, but they’re all… paperwork that literally could be done by any C-Class Personnel. I’m B-Class, shouldn’t I be having more responsibilities? Why don’t I get to lead more squads or tests, why—“

He cut himself off upon seeing the dark look in Snee’s eyes. It was accompanied by a threatening, powerful aura, that pressed down on him like a large rock.

“Mr Richy.” Snee began, tone coated with warning. “You should do best to remember that a B-Class Personnel is to take orders from A-Class Personnel without question. A-Class is not obligated to disclose all information, and you should trust that it isn’t without a good reason. Some things are better left unknown, especially in this facility, where even knowledge can be dangerous to your health. Please trust that we know what we are doing and are doing it to protect both humans and SCPs.”

He took a step forward, and Curt had to use every nerve in his body to avoid stepping backwards. Thankfully, Snee’s glare became less harsh.

“You are a valued member of B-Class personnel, Richy. And I’d like to keep it that way. Now, are there any questions left you want to ask?”

The unspoken was clear.

“N-no Sir.”

“Good.” Snee nodded, then took a folder from his jacket, handing it to him. “I have a new assignment from you. Be careful, this assignment involves SCP-173. Be sure to evacuate to your designated area in case of containment breach.”

Curt took the file, flipping through it, noting that it involved his friends again.

“Yes sir.”

Snee almost turned around there and then, but stopped himself.

“Oh, one more thing. I have taken the liberty to replace one of your squad members. Her name is Kristine. Be sure to treat her like you treat the other D-Class in your squad.”

Frowning, Curt flipped a little further to see a photo of a girl with flowers in her hair.

“What’s she in for?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“An incident we believe is related to the C-18 case.”

The tone in Snee’s voice indicated he wasn’t going to reveal much more on the subject, so Curt merely nodded and closed the folder, putting it under his arm. “I will gather a few guards and D-45 and head to the assignment immediately, sir.”

Snee gave a nod. “Excellent. You are doing very well, Richy. I hope the rest of A-Class notices your efforts too and give you a raise.” He complimented, but for whatever reason, it felt empty.

“Thank you, sir.” Curt managed to get out.

Snee turned around and walked away, leaving Curt with his thought. He took a deep breath and headed the other way. Dawdling wouldn’t help him right now. He would deal with this later.

#recreyo #curt #curtrichy #Curt Richy #curtis richy #my writing #fanfiction #scp recreyo

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its-malarkey · 8 months

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I’ve been randomly consumed by the concept of an LMK Gravity Falls AU (thanks to YouTube comments) Here’s what I’ve got so far:

MK- Dipper

Mei- Mabel

Macaque- Stan

Wukong- Ford

Red Son- Pacifica

DBK and PIF- the Northwest parents

Spider Queen- Gideon (I’m so sorry Queen 😔 but you do both build a mech and serve the main antagonist before turning against them and also exist mostly as a minor annoyance aside from your one big moment)

LBD- Bill

Sandy, Tang, and Pigsy all kind of vaguely fulfill the concept of Soos, Wendy, and Stan but not so much in a story manner

-MK finds the staff (which had been left behind much like the Journals, except Macaque left it where it was because he couldn’t lift it) and unlocks his powers in messy and chaotic ways so he and Mei train on FFM with Macaque

-Macaque is pretending to be the Monkey King, claiming he “started going by Mac around mortals, might be easier for all of us if you called me that too”

-MK and Mei get into various demon-related shenanigans thanks to MK being Monkey King’s successor. Macaque himself rarely shows up to help with those unless they’re in actual danger because he doesn’t want it getting out that the Monkey King is missing and that the Six-Eared Macaque is impersonating him

-Macaque: “I can’t lift the staff or use my Monkey King powers anymore because I passed them on to you. Heh, it’s okay, gold never was my color anyway”

-he and Wukong had their big falling out under the mountain, and after that, they didn’t see each other for ages. LBD grabbed a hold on Wukong’s mind during a thoughtless, impulsive move of his, and while she can’t quite possess him without her full power, she can feed his negative emotions and whisper thoughts into his head. He knows this and calls out to Macaque for help with “a curse” without explaining why (as usual)

-Macaque, the simp he is, arrives to help and immediately gets met with an LBDified angry Wukong ready to kill him. Mac, confused and upset, can’t keep up with a full-powered not-holding-back Wukong, and loses his eye. He panickedly pulls him into a shadow portal that he can’t control because his powers are going haywire with his panic and fear. He’s been dreading Wukong’s return, but in recent years, he’s gotten concerned and been trying to locate him because if Wukong hasn’t returned after this long, could he be… gone?

-Wukong chooses to spend time hunting down information on how to end LBD instead of returning, and he gathers the rings of Samadhi. He returns to FFM where he senses Mei (ya know, descendant of Ao Lie and all that), only to find Macaque fighting with a strange kid filled with Wukong’s own glowing light and power. Immediately assuming the worst, he jumps into the “fight” to stop it

-Mac is terrified, and Wukong is just terribly confused because he doesn’t know why he’s THAT afraid of him, the two haven’t even seen each other since their big argument… right?

-MK and Mei jump in to protect Mac and Wukong is, again, terribly confused

-MK: “Who the heck are you?”

Wukong: “Uh… I’m the Monkey King. You have my powers, don’t you know who I am??”

MK: “What? Nah, Mac’s the Monkey King”

(Macaque is very stealthily trying to escape)

Wukong, just befuddled: “Wh— no, I’m the Monkey King. Indisputably. Always have been.”

Mei, who was a little suspicious anyway but still liked Mac: “Prove it. Pick up MK’s staff.”

Wukong: (smirking) “Easy.” (It is in fact very easy) “See, kiddo?”

MK: (jaw-dropped, turning to Mac, who suddenly looks very guilty) “You LIED TO ME??”

Mac, rubbing the back of his neck: “Well—“

MK: “Dammit, I should’ve known Mac didn’t make any sense as a nickname. If you’re not Monkey King, who even are you??”

Wukong, before Mac can say anything: “His name is Macaque. Well, the Six-Eared Macaque is his full name, but— he’s definitely not the Monkey King. He’s a trickster, but,” (baring his teeth) “I never thought he’d stoop to stealing my identity.” (He looks at Macaque, who’s frozen) “Lazy identity theft, at that. What the hell have you been doing with my name, Macaque? Dammit, it’s been YEARS. How petty can you GET?!”

Macaque, finding his voice to be angry: “PETTY?! You TOOK MY EYE!”

-Wukong is, again, as always, confused because he would remember doing that… right? And Mac doesn’t elaborate and they continue bickering (with escalation) until Mei and MK break it up and explain what Macaque has been doing with them and how he hasn’t done anything evil and has, in fact, only been good

-Wukong settles down and decides he wants claim on training his successor which sparks an argument until they agree to compromise. Wukong, as typical, doesn’t tell anyone about the Samadhi fire. They end up bickering a lot during training

-LBD finds them anyway and starts the ritual and kidnaps Mei

-after getting Mei back, they have to all work together to beat her using the Samadhi fire, and they end up having to use it on her while she’s inside of a vessel that isn’t the child she was possessing (because no children murder). Macaque makes the sacrifice in Wukong’s place

-I’m not sure how it ends, but Macaque does come back :))

-the end, it’s 3:30AM and I have many more thoughts but am so so eepy

#lmk monkey king #lmk six eared macaque #lmk wukong #lmk mei #lmk sun wukong #lmk mk #au #alternate universe #lmk macaque #lego monkie kid

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ariel-seagull-wings · 1 year

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@themousefromfantasyland @the-blue-fairie @angelixgutz @giuliettaluce @princesssarisa @faintingheroine @amalthea9 @silverfoxstole @lioness--hart

“As you see, within our bodies each of us has the elements needed to produce phosphorus. And let me tell you something I've never told a soul. My grandmother had a very interesting theory; she said that each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves; just as in the experiment, we need oxygen and a candle to help. In this case, the oxygen, for example, would come from the breath of the person you love; the candle could be any kind of food, music, caress, word, or sound that engenders the explosion that lights one of the matches. For a moment we are dazzled by an intense emotion. A pleasant warmth grows within us, fading slowly as time goes by, until a new explosion comes along to revive it. Each person has to discover what will set off those explosions in order to live, since the combustion that occurs when one of them is ignited is what nourishes the soul. That fire, in short, is its food. If one doesn't find out in time what will set off these explosions, the box of matches dampens, and not a single match will ever be lighted. If that happens, the soul flees from the body and goes to wander among the deepest shades, trying in vain to find food to nourish itself, unaware that only the body it left behind, cold and defenseless, is capable of providing that food.

That's why it's important to keep your distance from people who have frigid breath. Just their presence can put out the most intense fire, with results we're familiar with. If we stay a good distance away from those people, it's easier to protect ourselves from being extinguished.

There are many ways to dry out a box of damp matches, but you can be sure, there is a cure.

You must of course take care to light the matches one at a time. If a powerful emotion should ignite them all at once they would produce a splendor so dazzling that it would illuminate far beyond what we can normally see; and then a brilliant tunnel would appear before our eyes, revealing the path we forgot the moment we were born, and summoning us to regain the divine origin we had lost. The soul ever longs to return to the place from which it came, leaving the body lifeless.”

(ESQUIVEL, Laura. Chapter Six; June: A Recipe for Making Matches; Like Water for Chocolate, 1994)

#laura esquivel #like water for chocolate #literature #quotes #inspiration station #romance

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tarithenurse · 1 year

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A sneak peek

Fandom: Naruto Pairing/starring: Uchiha Itachi x fem!reader Word count: 1006 Content: Smut without plot, kind of voyeurism, getting off in public, maybe out-of-character behaviour, probably something I’ve forgotten. A/N: Drabble-esque. Inspired by a random thought from Maladaptive-Ninja-Returns so blame her.

A sneak peek

... Itachi ...

He knows that he ought to stay away from Konohagakure. Anytime he shows up, it’s a risk to him and in extension to the Akatsuki. But he has too many arguments for why he must come and why no one else can do what he does in Konoha and so he has returned “home” once more.

Idly wandering through the city, Itachi adjusts the simple disguise while ticking off his accomplishments on a mental list:

- Get in through the hidden path that none of the other Akatsuki know about. Check. - Confirm that Danzo is still up to his usual business. Check. - Listen in on assignment distribution with the Hokage. Check.

And the more personal ones:

- Check out the old Uchiha neighbourhood, spending a few minutes in the room where he sealed his brother’s fate. Check. - Follow said revenge-hungry little brother for a while, watching him train with a fury reserved for those fuelled by hate. Check.

Now there’s only one more thing left to do and he’s well on the way to accomplish that too which is visiting a specific little tea house where they make the best jasmine tea. Self-indulgent, maybe, but he thinks he deserves a bit of a treat.

It’s a busy little place but he’s fortunate to get a seat in the corner where he has a nice view of the interior with the comings and goings of patrons. Glancing around, his eyes meet those of a woman sitting in the corner near the entrance but he quickly averts his gaze, knowing better than to risk leaving a lasting impression. He’s seen enough to know that she’s gorgeous, though. If circumstances had been different, he might have tried his luck with this beauty but as things are, he has to be discreet.

That’s why he’s concerned when he glances in her direction again and finds her openly staring at him. Well, not staring at him...more like through him. The pretty mouth slightly agape, her chest is rising and falling faster than would be expected, and Itachi worries that this stranger somehow has recognized him.

Thankfully, a skilled Uchiha can deal with this situation without creating a fuss and he fixes his gaze on hers. Even in the dim light, he can see colours in her eyes that most people would miss and he allows himself to enjoy it before diving deep into her mind.

Dōjutsu.

Under normal circumstances, Itachi would imprint his own visions into the target’s mind, ensnaring them in a world of his creation where they could be trapped for what could seem like days on end. This time, however, he doesn’t get as far as to do anything because he’s taken aback by what he sees:

It’s the tea house...but there are no other patrons left to witness what is going on. Clothes haphazardly pulled aside, the woman is lying on a table with her legs wrapped around the waist of Itachi himself as he rails her – there’s nothing tender about it and so it’s the only appropriate term he can come up with. Each thrust of his hips makes the woman groan and babble. She’s keening and begging fore more. Her hands are scrabbling for purchase and with the power behind Itachi’s trusts, he knows that it’s only the grip on her hips that is preventing her from careening off the table and onto the floor.

Baffled by the display, the real Itachi simply watches, acutely aware of the growing need that he’s true body is starting to feel.

Never once do they use each others’ name, not even as she spasms around her Itachi’s cock, making him stutter in his ministrations and grit his teeth. The real Itachi knows that he must be on the verge of cumming and is surprised to see the dream him pull out and get on his knees to lap at the woman. Slow and careful, he cleans her like this and coaxes her down until her breath evens once more.

“More, please,” she whispers and Itachi sees his own smirk on the figment of imagination.

Merging with her daydream, Itachi’s point of view changes to be looking down at the ruined woman. Breasts spilling out of clothes that are askew. Puffy lips. Eyes that are swallowed by lust.

He wants to feel her, have her.

Leaning down, he plants a languid kiss on her mouth before whispering: “Come with me, when I ask you.”

And with that he enters her in one swift thrust.

... Reader ...

Shaking yourself back to reality, you’re first hit with a wave of satisfaction. Your core is throbbing, so close to the edge like you’ve never been before from a simple daydream. No...this isn’t being on the edge, you realize. This is from coming down! Imagination has made you climax? Oh, but what a daydream.

Blinking, the world is brought into focus once more and you notice the handsome stranger looking right at you, a smirk on his lips. You must have been staring! For how long? It feels like a long time, but you know that time is an illusion when it comes to the games the mind can play and so you try to brush the nagging thought of having stared creepily at a stranger for hours aside.

With shaking hands, you reach for the remainder of your tea only to find that it’s gone cold.

Something makes you look up and there’s the stranger, standing right next to you. Your heart begins to race now that you can pick up his scent and you recognize it from the last half of your daydream.

He bends, lips brushing your ear, to whisper: “Thank you for your lively imagination...how about we go elsewhere so it won’t only be a daydream?”

You’re stunned at the offer but even more so at how perfectly it fits with what you’d imagined might happen and you find yourself putting the teacup down and accepting the stranger’s hand.

#Itachi #uchiha itachi #Itachi x you #itachi x reader #itachi x fem!reader #Itachi Uchiha #Naruto fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #no plot #writing #naruto #akatsuki Itachi

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madamebaggio · 2 years

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Notes: Should I be doing this?

No.

Do I have any self-control?

Also no. Besides I’ve been reading those books about people in college, and well...

I’ve had this just gathering dust on my drive for a looong time -literally a few years -so I’ve decided to let it see the light of day and see where it goes.

This is just part one, so if you like it... Let me know ;)

***

Sansa Stark had no idea how she’d let Margaery Tyrell -her best friend- convince her this was a good idea.

This was not a good idea. At all.

Maybe the wine Margaery had given her was spiked or something. Maybe her friend had the power to control minds and was now controlling hers.

Maybe Sansa had finally gone mad.

She was still going through with it, apparently.

She was mad.

Sansa took a deep breath before entering the house. It was another fraternity party, but she knew he was going to be there.

Jon Snow. The University’s biggest player.

Wait! Not as a ‘player’, like with girls. As in a guy who played a sport. He was the captain of the lacrosse team.

Jon Snow didn’t go around charming girls with easy smiles and pretty lies. He didn’t treat girls like they were made to be used and discarded. He was a quiet guy –downright broody. He wasn’t one for small talk or silly smiles.

He didn’t date –ever –; it had something to do with some ex-girlfriend or something like that. But word got around: Jon knew what he was doing on a bed. Or a couch. Or in back alleys, behind pubs, if rumors were to be believed. He didn’t have a new girl every night or week, but did go out with girls, as long as it was clear there were no strings attached. I

Sansa could admit one thing: Jon was hot. Those curls, those eyes, that mouth… He wasn’t a tall guy, but his body was a work of art. And so was his tongue, according to the same rumor mill.

She’d admired him from a distance –they all had –but she was different from him on a very basic level: Jon didn’t do relationships, Sansa only knew how to handle serious relationships.

Not that it ever ended well for her.

Her first boyfriend –Joffrey –had been abusive. After that, she’d had a huge crush on Loras -Margaery’s brother -until her friend explained to her why it was not going to happen. After that she’d dated Podrick, who’d been really sweet and all, but was crushingly insecure about their relationship. Then, more recently, Harry.

Apparently, she’d been on a serious relationship with him, but he’d been fucking his way through the sororities.

When she’d found out about it and confronted him, he hadn’t even been apologetic; he just said he was a guy, he had needs, and she wasn’t doing it for him. It was her fault he had to go around looking for girls in other places.

Sansa kneed him in the balls and left, but the hurt remained. She felt stupid and insufficient. She didn’t want to fall for his bullshit, but she started to wonder if she really was this terrible in bed. Joffrey never managed to get her off and always said it was her fault. Podrick had treated her like a Victorian bride; Harry thought she was boring and a prude.

Hell, maybe she was one. Maybe she was a terrible lay.

Margaery had refused to let her think like that, so she decided that Sansa needed to get laid by someone who knew what he was doing.

“The best way to get over someone is getting under someone else.” She told Sansa wisely.

That was where Jon Snow came in. He was the one supposed to do the laying part.

Margaery swore she’d seen him giving Sansa looks, the kind that made it obvious he thought she was hot.

“He looks at you like you’re the juiciest steak ever.” She insisted.

Sansa arched an eyebrow. “So now I’m a piece of meat?”

Margaery rolled her eyes dramatically, like Sansa was being purposely obtuse, just to annoy her. “It’s just sex. Rebound. Who cares if you’re a piece of meat?”

Sansa gave her a look. “I do.”

Margaery took a deep breath, like she was asking the Seven to give her patience. “Look, stop overthinking this. I’m not telling you to go and marry the guy. I’m telling you to go have some fun. Let a guy treat you right for once. If it’s bad, forget about it. If it’s good…”

“If it’s good?”

Margaery smirked at her. “Then you can do it again.”

***

Sansa had decided she wasn’t going to do it. She didn’t even know how to start a conversation with a guy like Snow, and she wasn’t about to throw herself at him.

She wasn’t like that.

She was fine. Sure, she was heartbroken and angry, but she wasn’t going to sleep with some random guy just because of that.

She wasn’t.

Then she was stupid enough to let Margaery convince her to go somewhere. She only realized where they were going when she saw the bleachers.

“Marge, no!” She complained, but –as usual –it went unheard. Margaery basically dragged her to the bleachers.

Harry played tennis with his father on weekends. He thought that lacrosse was a stupid game, made for apes. Since they’d started dating, Sansa hadn’t managed to catch one single match.

She wasn’t the biggest fan of lacrosse, but Robb played since he was a teen, and she’d followed all his matches. After he graduated in the previous year, she’d planned on keeping watching, if nothing else to support her university, but Harry complained so much she’d stopped even asking about it.

And now Margaery was dragging her to a practice.

Of course, the excuse was they were going to see Loras –who was on the team –but Sansa wasn’t stupid. They were going to see Jon. Well, at least Margaery wanted her to see him.

When they got there, the team was already halfway through the practice. Sansa felt silly, since only girlfriends and fangirls were watching it, but Margaery told her to be quiet.

At some point, Loras saw them and waved, attracting Grenn’s attention. The big guy followed Loras’s line of sight and saw them. He then proceeded to elbow Jon on the ribs.

“Keep your eyes open.” Margaery murmured amused.

Grenn was pointing at them –not bothering to be subtle at all. Jon was ignoring him, dropping the gloves he was wearing on a bench.

Sansa was about to tell Marge she was delirious when Jon pulled his shirt up and threw it on the bench.

“Oh my.” Sansa couldn’t help but admire his back.

Grenn had finally lost his patience with Jon and pulled him by the shoulder, forcefully making him look in their direction.

Wow… His front was even better than his back.

And Sansa would’ve stood there for a good while admiring his chest and his six-pack, if Marge hadn’t pinched her.

She was about to ask what the hell was that for when she realized what Margaery wanted her to see: Jon was looking at her.

Like she was the juiciest steak he’d ever seen.

Well… Fuck.

***

So that look was basically what got Sansa to this stupid, crowded fraternity party.

***

Notes:

Grenn: Jon, the redhead you have a crush is here. Act naturally.

Jon:

#madame baggio #crackship #modern au #gifs not mine #game of thrones #Sansa Stark #jon snow #jonsa #sansa x jon #better than revenge

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call-me-double-trouble · 2 years

Photo

Meet Charlatan, my Double Trouble fankid! He’s trans, bisexual, and 13 years old. He’s best friends with Finn (Adora and Catra’s kid, for those who don’t know), who is 15 years old in this timeline.

He’s adopted, but used shapeshifting to resemble his moddy better. In my lore, I go with the AU where DT is the long-lost ruler of Green Glade, thus getting their power from a runestone and being able to share that power with Char. However, if that’s not your vibe, he could also probably use sorcery to shapeshift. Either way, he’s only able to shapeshift partially so far, so bits of his original form peek through (he’s based on a gila monster, hence the coloration, pattern, and thicker tail).

–More character info and another drawing under the cut–

DT found him as a baby in the Crimson Waste. His mother had just been murdered in a mugging-gone-wrong, and the baby lizard was left in her cold arms, crying and wailing. He was left there for a while before DT happened to pass by and noticed. They took pity on the poor creature (in my lore, they were in a similar situation as a baby when they got taken from Green Glade to the Crimson Waste, so the whole ordeal reminded them of themself, which compelled them to go against their instincts and do something). They tried to find some relative, someone to take care of the orphan, but no luck. Since they’d recently discovered through being Finn’s godparent that they didn’t mind kids, actually kind of liked them, and was rather good with them, they decided to raise the baby as their own, with help from Casta (yes, this is in the Castaspellma AU too–my mind works in crossovers).

Although Char lost his mother when he was a baby, he still gets anxious when alone and doesn’t like being separated from DT for too long. DT was his first source of comfort after his mother’s death, and their heartbeat became his favorite lullaby. He likes to hug them and rest his ear against their chest to listen to it and know that he’s safe when in their arms. It’s the surest way to calm him down during a panic attack. Most often, he hugs them koala-style so they can still walk around and do stuff while he clings to them. It was a little easier when he was still a small toddler, but even though he’s getting too big at age 13, DT still holds him and lets him sit in their lap. They’re completely used to it at this point.

Char grew to be one of DT’s biggest fans and attends every play they have (so long as they’re PG-13 or under). DT tried to get him into acting, but they both learned the hard way that he gets terrible stage fright. Thankfully, his first role was as a tree, so freezing up actually helped in that case. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, and searched the audience until he found the first familiar face. He locked eyes with Glimmer and stared at her the entire time, in desperate need of moral support. Ever since then, he only helps out behind the scenes; building sets, helping tech master Bow with the lighting, making props, and assisting Finn in watching and critiquing DT’s rehearsals to ensure they’re at their best with each performance.

Speaking of Finn–I’ve seen lots of interpretations of them portraying them as DT’s protege, learning acting from DT, or otherwise being closer with DT than anyone else, so I thought, “Wouldn’t it be funny if DT’s kid was like that with She-Ra?” Everyone jokes that Finn’s and Charlatan’s personalities were swapped at birth. Whereas Finn’s quite the budding actor, Char’s been obsessed with She-Ra ever since he first learned about her. He’s been studying sword-fighting under her wing and is getting decent at it, but still has a ways to go. He even made a DIY She-Ra sword bracelet to match how Adora used to carry her sword around. He has big dreams of becoming a hero like She-Ra, and he knows all the legends and stories surrounding her. Because of this, sometimes the crew jokingly refers to him as “Flutterina.”

Everyone expected Char to turn out more like DT. Some thought he’d be an exact copy of them, and his striking resemblance to them didn’t help. Even DT expected they’d rub off on him a little more. Char chose to rebel by not rebelling. Everyone thought DT’s kid would lie, steal, cause mayhem and chaos, and get into all sorts of mischief. Therefore, Char tells the truth, gives people gifts, does favors for free, follows rules, and is a relatively quiet kid who rarely gets into trouble of his own accord, though often gets pulled along with Finn’s schemes. DT will often say things like,

DT: Okay, bedtime is 8 PM. I’m going to be out until midnight and definitely wouldn’t know if you stayed up late.

Char: Ok, 8 PM it is.

DT: I mean really, I would have no idea if you disobeyed me and, say, invited Finn over and ate junk food and broke something.

Char: Is that so?

DT:

Char: Then I might go to bed early.

DT: Listen here you little shit--

It’s not that Char has anything wrong with how his moddy acts–he loves his moddy more than anything, but he’s just not the same person as them, and he doesn’t like the pressure other people have inadvertently placed on him to act just like them. That’s why he sometimes goes out of his way to do the opposite of what they would do, and he struggles a bit to find himself. He changes his appearance here and there in an attempt to find what feels like him rather than DT. The pink hair was one such thing. Sure, he based it on Glimmer’s hair color, but it still feels like something that’s his and helps set him apart from his moddy. In adulthood, he’ll differ from them a bit more, but still resemble them enough. I don’t have a solid design yet, but I imagine he’ll let more of his gila monster traits shine through and will have built more muscle than DT has since he’s more of a fighter.

Thank you so much for reading all that! I know it was a lot. Let me know if you want to see more drawings of Char, or have me write a scene with him, or if you have any questions about him! I’m happy to talk about my OCs any day. If anyone wants to draw him, you can--just tag me!

#double trouble #she ra double trouble #spop double trouble #spop #double trouble fan kid #spop dt #she ra dt #long post #charlatan #my oc #my art #mine

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wilders-girl · 2 years

Text

Gilded City- Part One

Pairing: Pattinson!Batman x fem!reader

Rating: Mature, PG-13 type violence

Warnings: Detailed descriptions of violence, mild gore, profanity, implied drug use, reader is a sex worker I guess, also no use of y/n

Word count: 1457

A/n: this is super like. Artistic and self indulgent... I totally got carried away in a drabble so there's minimal plot sry hehe ,,, anyways!! I hope you enjoy!!!

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I hesitantly walked through the door, preparing for the neverending war that awaited me outside the comfort of my apartment. I put so much trust in the weathered old thing. For a city that was constituted of danger, violence and filth, I had to rely on something. It wasn’t half bad when looking at what surrounded it.

I pulled the jacket tighter around my body, it was going to be a long, cold night. Clutching my duffel bag, I adjusted my hair and put my hood up to step out of the refuge of the veranda.

It was raining. But it’s always raining in Gotham City.

—

Every day is the same. Same weather, same customers, same coworkers, same shit. You’d think I’d get bored of it, living the same day over and over again. But the truth is, it brings me some sense of comfort, knowing that every day will be the same. I don’t take well to change. But sometimes, change is necessary to achieve something greater.

It got to be too much for Selina. She left town shortly before the Iceberg went under. Who can blame her, really? The layers of deception, betrayal and corruption run deep in the veins of the elite in this city.

But look at who’s in power.

There is a disease running through this city, and I’ve begun to think it’s terminal. It will rip itself apart until it has nothing left to destroy. It will ooze into the cracks of anything that used to be right or just and consume it. This dilapidated shithole will have moved on to something worse than death.

But I think there could be a glimmer of light breaking through the permanent night the clouds offer the city. Not a cure to the disease by any means, but something harsher, more brutal to fight the ruthlessness of the disease. The dictionary definition of cruelty. Something like a searing hot iron to cauterize the angry, infected sores created by evil.

Something downright sadistic. Vengeance. The Batman.

He’s not an angel. He's no “superhero”. But he’s the one. He’s the savior and curse of Gotham at the same time. Bringing the rats out into the light to burn as they deserve.

I was honestly not entirely convinced he was real. I saw the victims of his heinous acts on the news, but not him. For a man who does so much for the community, you’d think he’d do more to be a part of it. But that would paint a big target on his back, wouldn’t it? And he wouldn’t want that.

I like to imagine what he’s like under that mask. What kind of life does he lead outside of his little “hobby”? How does he balance his two halves? Does he balance them at all? What keeps him from the temptation of turning into the scum he fights? Where does he draw the line?

The Batman is something else entirely. Sometimes I can’t imagine he’s a man at all, rather, something of a cautionary tale. A ghost story to put fear in the hearts of those who think they can rule the world.

—

I stepped through the back door of the club, flashing the bouncer my ID.

“Hey, Jinx.” He spoke gruffly.

I waved behind me, not bothering to give him my full attention.

I only work on club weekdays. Monday through Thursday. I don’t necessarily need the money anymore, but I’ve been working this job since I did. Things just don’t change here.

Walking into the dressing room, I set my bag down with a sigh. I sat down, checking my watch: 8:15. I had a couple hours before I went out on stage.

“Hey! Good to see you here a little less early, Jinx.” One of the other girls, “Angel”, smiled and briefly hugged me before setting up at her own station.

I took the opportunity to put my earbuds in and stare at the mirror, not recognizing who looked back. I chose this life, but it’s treated me harshly. I had a future before I came to Gotham, but I don’t like to think about that anymore. This is who I am now.

One of the bulbs in my vanity mirror was dimming. I rotated it a bit both ways, and it squeaked before flickering bright again.

I finally brushed through my hair, brushing any stray pieces behind my ears before pinning them back to begin my makeup. Out of my periphery, I saw two other girls walk in, but they only waved. The girls know not to talk to me when I’m doing my makeup. Those 30 minutes are when I walk the line of knowledge and freedom. Liberation and release.

Meticulous as it is, it’s when I truly become who I’m expected to be. I completely obscure who I was upon entering and replace her with someone more suited for her environment. I don’t work as myself, I work as Jinx. She is a part of me, but she is apart from me.

I sweep my signature purple eyeshadow across my lids, then precisely wing my eyeliner. I’m almost gone now.

As I apply my jewelry and begin to stretch, I’ve completely transitioned into someone else. The nights are a blur when she’s there. She knows exactly what to say, what moves to do, when to flash smiles and when to wink. She is a perfect product of her environment. She was programmed to entertain, and only that. So it is, so she shall, and so it must be.

—

I shouldn’t emerge at night. It should be her, not me. Even leaving the club, I let her take me home. She can sweet-talk her way out of any trouble, so I let her. I shouldn’t be there at night. But tonight, I was.

I began to regain consciousness as myself as I walked through the back door of the club. I felt my stomach churn as I walked past the usual instigators, expecting the worst at every turn.

I made it the first block or so without running into any trouble. I was about to sigh in relief and thank God for sparing me until I saw a group of intoxicated men a little ways ahead in my path. I had to take a detour. This led me into a narrow, dark alley that I wouldn’t have gone in during broad daylight. This might have been my biggest mistake.

The men followed me into the alley. I heard their slurred speech behind me, crude remarks and laughter echoing off the mildew and brick. I felt my fight-or-flight kick in. I knew I was not making it out of here alive. Or worse, I was.

I decided to fight. I knew I couldn’t run away, so I decided I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I heard their obnoxious voices gradually get closer to me. I reached for the switchblade in my boot, stancing and dropping my bag when I felt their rank presences around me. I was no longer afraid to die.

One of them reached out to twirl my hair between his fingers, and I sliced his wrist open, staring him in the eyes as he screamed out in agony.

My moment of happiness didn’t last long. I was kicked to the ground and beaten. I got some slashes into one man’s ankle, distracting him until I cut through his achilles tendon, making him fall over.

Two others grabbed my hands, pinned me down and tried to tear my clothes off. I was snarling, shrieking and trying to stab the man closest to my right hand.

I freed my hand and almost got to sink my blade into the man’s neck before I was kicked in the ribs by the one with a slit wrist. I screamed, almost blacking out due to the pain.

I lost hearing in my left ear as my head got kicked, and I coughed out blood. The world was spinning and my vision was going foggy.

I was almost gone.

The last thing I saw before I blacked out was a shadow coming from the darkness to my left, his boots clinking ominously with each step he took. I vaguely saw some of the men cursing and running away, with about half standing and challenging him.

The shadow didn’t accelerate. Not even when one of the men pulled out a gun.

I saw a bright flash. He’d tried to shoot him. I would have laughed if I wasn’t dying in some conspicuous alley.

My vision finally gave way and my hearing succumbed not long after. But not before I got to hear the tortured howls and cracking bones of the men who had wronged me.

God wouldn’t offer me retribution. Neither would the law, or the government, or any normal person.

But he did.

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I hope u enjoyed this, everyone! I'm excited to share this story with you and I hope you are interested in where it will go!! Stay safe and have a good evening/day 💖

#bruce wayne #pattinson!batman #the batman #batman x reader #self insert

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erigold13261 · 1 year

Text

📢Psychonauts NSR AU, Chapter 8: LARS Rap 2📢

After the concert. Milla and Sasha decided to get something to eat. They got their burgers. And decided to have a chat about the concert they just hijacked.

“Camilla?” Sasha asked.

“Yeah? Is everything alright?” She asked.

“I was wondering… are we taking this Revolution too far?” Sasha asked.

“I… I don’t know.” Milla responded. “But we had to do what was right, we had to take down the NSR artists. And there are still more to go.” Milla replied.

“I know, I’ve been thinking about what we did to Lili.” Sasha responded. “We broke an instrument. We broke what made her popular. Don’t you think that it’s incredibly wrong of us to do this?” Sasha explained.

“That might be. But what we’re doing is right. We want to bring back rock. And that’s that.” Milla explained. Sasha couldn’t help just rub his temple, then he heard a noise. A noise that was very familiar, a noise that made him very angry.

“Oh hell no.” Sasha spoke. He then immediately left, with Milla following behind him.

They arrived at the alley way and saw LARS. Sasha was incredibly annoyed to see his father.

“Ah, Sasha! Wo bist du gewesen? Gerade auf der Toilette geweint? Wie das letzte Mal, als ich versehentlich eine abgelaufene Zutat verwendet habe? Du weißt, dass ich es manchmal vergesse, richtig?” LARS asked.

“Dad, look, we must stop this.” Sasha replied. “There are bigger things we need to deal with here.” He explained.

“Like what? Versuchst du, ein anderes Mädchen zu fischen?” LARS asked. “Sind Hollis und Milla nicht genug? Sascha, so frech.” Lars asked again.

“UGH! Das ist es! I’m here trying to be civil about this and you. Your mouth keeps spewing all of kinds of garbage!” Sasha yelled.

“Sasha, calm down.” Milla replied to Sasha.

“No, Milla! This guy needs to know that it’s not my fault he became a deadbeat!” Sasha snapped back.

“Autsch, das tat ziemlich weh. Warum nimmst du nicht diese Wut und stellst dich mir in… einem Rap-Battle!” LARS explained.

“Stop it! You’re not gonna pull that stunt on me again—”

“I’ll go first!” LARS interrupted.

“God fucking dammit!” Sasha cussed, the rap battle was on.

LARS:

Even when you messed me up in life

It never killed me, it gave me strife

I stood strong and grew larger

My vocabulary, it was extraordinary

My roots were sewn deep from the underground

I was centered on ground zero

No cash, no money all around me

Though it ruled the world all around me

I grew big, I grew strong, my rap game was so on

From the seed, grew an empire, my words spit fire

Through the city, I made sure everyone knew who LARS was

Aha aha!

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

Sasha:

Hey Lars, my father, I meant no disorder

We got bigger issues to deal

Than past life ordeals

NSR the evil empire

We gotta bring them down

Kill ‘em with fire

Seal them with music

Put our differences aside

And bring our powers together

For a ride

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

LARS:

Easy for you to say Sasha

You make me want to look aha

Forget all our past

But it has not passed / yet

In college, you wanted to be president

Rule all the residents

But your heart was never noble

You just did it to get back at me

It stemmed from your jealousy

Your never ending rivalry

Well, Imma bring my cavalry

My rhymes loaded with poetry

My words laced with symmetry

My rhythms pure artistry

What you got besides

Oh yeah, nothingry aha!

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

Sasha:

Ah Dad you only know anger and violence

Remember when those NSR fans burned down your car

You dissed them and hissed them

Till they missed their own sanity

And acted out with profanity

To light up your car

And see it burn

Coz you lit their desire

Of hate towards yourself

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

LARS:

My rivalry with NSR was the tipping point

I left Vinyl City, no one had to force me

I gave Ford the Horn of Mending

For if he ever wanted to reconcile

He could blow the horn

And I would accept his apology

No worries, no problem, and that ain’t an analogy

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

Sasha:

Your solution to everything is just run run run

You ran away from NSR

You ran away from Vinyl City

You ran away from home

You ran away from me

When I was more popular than you

You couldn’t stand it through and through

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

Lars:

Hey Sasha stop blaming me all the time

If you weren’t so jealous

We wouldn’t be so messed up

It’s your fault our relationship was ruined

SASHA’S Fault

Take responsibility for your irresponsibility

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

Sasha:

I tried my best to keep in touch with you

But you never replied, radio silence zero decibels

So when you say it’s my fault

The heck I am pissed for your blame

I ain’t taking the blame for your own thing

In fact forget this, forget you

You’re no father of mine

I disown you, we ain’t related

You’re no father

You ain’t no father of mine!

Crowd:

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

L-A-R-S

He is the best

After the rap battle, LARS was shaking. Shaking by what Sasha, his own son had said.

“Sasha. I’m no father huh?” LARS chuckled. “Yeah weißt du… ich geh einfach zurück… zu mir nach Hause.” he said. “LARS out!” he cried.

“Good! You better leave!” Sasha responded. This caused Milla to look very worried.

“Sasha…” Milla responded.

“What?” Sasha asked.

“You’re no father? How can you say something like that?” Milla asked.

“I tried to be nice Milla. I’ve looked up to him all mu life and for no reason he reats me like garbage! Who do you think has been trying to reach out to him all year. ALL YEAR LONG! And now he just pops up from GOD KNOWS WHERE. And he still has the gall to say that all his is my fault?! ARGH!” Sasha explained.

“Well… he does. And if you keep this up. It will be your fault Sasha.” Milla scolded. “Now we need to go. Let’s talk to Gristol on who’ll we meet next.” She explained.

“About time.” Sasha responded as he left. Milla looked behind him and saw the tracks left by his father. And saw where LARS was. In his trailer, softly sobbing in it.

“Milla? Are we going?” Sasha called to her.

“Coming!” Milla responded as she left, if there was another rap battle between the two. She’d better get involved.

#submission #nsr #no straight roads #psychonauts #othau #othfic #noart #oh i liked this one a lot #sasha wanting to be president to get back at his dad?#sounds like Lars tried to live his life through his son #and when Sasha didn't live up to expectations #he kinda abandoned or neglected his son #Sounds like Lars peaked in high school or college #so Sasha showed that he was better than his father #and still hasn't peaked #or something like that #good writing!

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casicroaks · 7 months

Text

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 10

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW YORK, 1986

We both had some experience with packing, but this was on another level. I was one to keep all sorts of junk for sentimental reasons, it had to be said, so choosing what to take with us and what to leave behind was all kinds of torture.

“We should pack light…” Chucky reminded me, for the umpteenth time.

We couldn’t take any furniture with us, obviously, but we didn’t have enough luggage or boxes to take too many things regardless. No bedsheets, no appliances, nothing but clothes and other essential personal belongings. What, exactly, was an essential personal belonging was up for debate.

“Alright, but I can’t leave behind my dolls,” I said, wrapping the more fragile ones in newspaper. “Or the magazines –I’ve been collecting these since nineteen-seventy-seven. They don’t take up as much space as your books, anyway. And also, I have my cutlery and dishes… They’re so pretty, I can’t not take them with us.”

“They got dishes in Chicago too, you know—”

“Well, I don’t know if they got these ones!”

There was always a chance they would arrive at our new place all in pieces –but I’d rather take my chances, I decided, and end up with only one whole pretty dish among a bunch of broken china, than never seeing any of them again. After some heated arguing, we managed to agree on taking our favorite mugs, and one dish each, but leaving the glasses and the cutlery behind. Except for the carving knives, of course. Couldn’t leave without those.

Once it was done, and all the cardboard boxes were full and taped and ready to go, it was only a matter of choosing our ride –or, at least, that was what I had thought. To my delighted surprise, as if the trip by itself wasn’t enough of a gift, Chucky had another early birthday present up his sleeve.

“Nineteen-sixty Pontiac Parisienne, four-door wide-track. Back when bigger was unapologetically better,” the pasty old guy told us, walking around the car.

My attention shifted between it, shiny even under the gray cloudy sky, and the salesman himself. How did he get it? Had he just lucked out? Was it a gift from rich parents? This was a nice neighborhood, nicer than the one I had grown up in.

“Comfortably seats six. Perfect for the growing family, by the way.”

I stifled a giggle, shooting Chucky an amused glance. Did we look like expecting parents?

“Three-eighty-nine V-eight engine topped with Tri-Power carburetor, making it the ultimate cruiser of its day.”

He did have that right. I did my best to curb my enthusiasm, but I couldn’t stop grinning at the sheer sight of it. It was a truly nice car, the sort you just don’t get the chance to hotwire. The sort I would have never had the chance to get. The sort not even Heath would have a chance to get his hands on.

“Superior handling, and just the quietest purr from this pussycat.”

Yeah, it had been his , I concluded. You can say the script if you were just a random car salesman, but you couldn’t fake the fondness this guy had for it. I wondered if, with him mentioning family, it had been where he got to plant the seed of his. He looked like your typical suburban dad, with his hideous pastel shirt, the barely-disguised beer gut. His kids were probably teenagers, or even maybe our age, by now. Maybe he had thought they weren’t worthy enough of daddy’s precious cruiser. Maybe his wife had talked him into selling it for a summer house in Florida.

“And I love the color,” I chimed in with a smile, running the tip of my finger over the top of the headlights. It was glossy, shiny, clearly freshly-painted. It was so new-looking that, if it hadn’t been about to be mine, I might have keyed it out of sheer envy.

“Coronado red,” the guy explained proudly. Now that was a color I didn’t remember reading in the label of a nail polish. “Just put on a fresh coat last month.”

“Chucky, it’s perfect .”

He gave me a little smile before turning back to the salesman. “You heard the lady. How much?”

“Just a thousand bucks.”

I think he said that, I’m not sure. I wasn’t listening anymore –I was too busy peeking inside, checking the leather seats, the chrome steering wheel. I wanted to get my hands on it so bad. I only perked up when the guy mentioned having to legally disclose something –that did sound pretty interesting.

“What’s that?”

The guy wasn’t very comfortable talking about it, but he seemed to want to get over it as quickly as possible. “Um, unfortunately… This car was... There was an accident.”

Chucky’s attention was piqued as well. “What happened?”

“Young couple got killed.”

“How, exactly?” I asked him.

“Well… If you must know, I believe they were decapitated.”

I leaned in through the window. How do you even get decapitated inside a car? It wasn’t a convertible. Did it get through a particularly nasty crash? Against what? And just how big was the reconstruction job on the Pontiac, for it to be looking spitting new again? More proof of the guy’s love for it. Not even death could taint it in his eyes. He would rebuild it, as if nothing had ever even happened in the first place.

Or maybe that death was why he wanted to sell the car. He might be unable to shake the unsettling feeling of sitting where someone else had died, despite his fondness for it.

“ Ooh, ” Chucky said with fake shock. He peered through the side window at me, while I examined the upholstering of the front seats, wondering if they had been sitting next to each other when they died, and barely glanced back at him, far too fascinated with the idea of owning a haunted car.

But I stood up, allowing myself just one more little question. “Both of them?”

“More or less,” the guy muttered. No idea what he meant by that. I hoped they did, though. If you’re gonna die a gruesome car-related death, a run-of-the-mill sudden impact wouldn’t cut it. Decapitation was really the way to go.

I looked back inside. If there had been a crash in it, you wouldn’t be able to guess. An amazing reconstruction job indeed. Whoever had done it was a hell of an artist.

“We’ll take it,” I declared, as if I hadn’t already made up my mind a few minutes ago.

“Really?” The guy sounded surprised. “Great! Good for you!”

Chucky took another drag of his cigarette. I went back to filing my nails. Now that we had confirmed it, I just had to wait a little. See how the scene played out. Scour the area, make sure there were no witnesses. And be ready to step into position, when the time came.

“It’s a stunning automobile,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard me just saying we were already sold on it. “And a true classic never goes out of style.”

Chucky frowned, moving away from the car for a second.

“What’d you say?”

The guy kept his salesman's smile plastered on his face. “I said, you got a real classic here.”

“Liar.”

I grinned, turning aside, pretending to focus on my nails.

“Pardon?”

“Technically, it isn’t even an antique,” Chucky argued.

The guy chuckled nervously. “Well, sure it is. It’s… It’s vintage. Retro!”

I wondered where he had heard those terms applied to a car from nineteen-sixty. How old must he have been, back then? Twenty-something, thirty, already? Maybe it wasn’t quite the car of his youth. Maybe it was his early midlife crisis solution.

“It’s not vintage, or retro,” Chucky continued, now stepping towards him, and gave me a look. That was the sign. I smiled and went on filing my nails, walking up to the guy as well. “ Or an antique. It’s just plain old.”

The salesman was baffled. He was too baffled, in fact, to notice me creeping up behind him.

“Kinda like you.”

I flicked little pieces of dry nail polish off the blade, and gave the neighborhood one quick last look. No witnesses. Everyone else was off to school, or at work, or fixing lunch. That would make things much easier. And I was itching to get to it.

“But don’t worry, we’re gonna give you another paint job, too.”

He stood just beside the salesman. Enough talk , I thought. Let’s get on the road.

I reached my arm right in front of the guy, and with one swift flick of the wrist I sliced his throat with the edge of the file. Didn’t need to hold his head back –not that he had any hair for me to do so –didn’t need to get him on his knees –just one clean slice. I was getting quite good at it. There was a spray of blood right over the windshield, like a swarm of bugs all splattering against the glass at the same time. Chucky cackled, as the guy fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings were cut, still somehow clinging to life. While he was too busy gurgling and trying to stop the gash, Chucky leaned over and pulled the keys from his pocket.

“Here you go,” he said, handing them over to me, giving me a quick smack on the butt, hurrying me along.

“That’s… A –a thousand bucks—” the guy somehow managed to blurt out.

“That’s real cute,” I laughed, stepping over him and tossing the ‘For Sale’ sign to the side.

We climbed in. It felt good, sitting in a car that was finally, really ours. Yeah, well, we would have to change the license plate, of course. No biggie. I quickly checked whether we had enough gas to get back to the apartment and pick up our stuff… But my attention drifted off to the bright shade of the blood on my nail file. I smiled. It was really close to that Coronado red. If someone dared to ask, we could just say that the car’s paint job had gotten a little messy.

“I just love that color,” I commented.

“Yeah, it matches your lip gloss,” he chuckled.

I started the engine, and we got cracking. In a matter of minutes we were in front of my old apartment, loading the moving boxes in the trunk, struggling to close it, setting a couple bags over the back seats –and before three o’clock we were already on the highway, on our way to the great state of Illinois.

“Hey, you chose the music last time,” I said when I saw Chucky taking out the bag with the tapes.

“Did I?”

I wasn’t sure, but I was pretty positive I was right. “Yeah. It’s my turn.”

“… Alright,” he huffed. “But I’m choosing the album.”

I nodded, giving the road ahead one more quick look before adjusting the rearview mirror. “We got Heart’s latest, don’t we?”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” he agreed, pulling the tape out of the bag and putting it in, turning the volume as loud as it could go.

It had been his idea, funnily enough, to move to Chicago. At first I had assumed some old skirmish had resurfaced –maybe he owed someone money, or had pissed off the wrong person –something that he couldn’t just stab away and that would really force him to leave behind our darling New Jersey. When I asked him about it, though, he just said he thought I might like that, the change of scenery, and that Hackensack was getting too small for us anyway. And then, of course, there was the fact that an old acquaintance of his had to skip town and, coincidentally, had a place in Chicago he could leave us. Everything lined up just perfectly for us, so in a week or so we got all our stuff sorted out, gathered all our savings, bought a road map and, just in time for my twenty-eighth birthday, we finally had that cross-country (well, close enough) trip I had been wishing for.

“ If looks could kill, you’d be lying on the floor, ” we sang along, me rocking my head, him drumming on the dashboard. “ You’d be beggin’ me please, please, baby, don’t hurt me no more— ”

The first half hour or so passed us by in a flash, singing along to the music, racing through the open road, discussing what we would do once we got to Illinois. Chucky had unfolded the map and marked where we had passed, telling me which exits to take and where I needed to turn; but, at some point, he had gotten tired of that, and told me to just keep straight ahead going west, that we would eventually end up in Illinois. After Heart was over, he chose the next band, I chose the album, and he had a smoke, leaning out his window, watching the view zooming past us, of forests and factories and rivers and a few other cars, just as anonymous as we were, with their own journey’s ends. I gestured at him to share the cigarette. He did, and while I took a drag, he seemed to remember he had brought along some reading material for the long trip, and took out a little black book from his coat pocket.

“You know, you’ll get dizzy if you read in the car,” I told him.

Chucky scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”

I reached out and grabbed the book he was reading to take a better look. ‘ The Ultimate Book Of Voodoo’ . I frowned. I didn’t remember that title in the spine of his shelves.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a hobby,” he snapped, suddenly all testy, pushing my hand off the dustjacket.

I raised my eyebrows. “Jeez, how touchy…”

Chucky didn’t reply to that. I shrugged, and turned the music back up. A minute or so passed before he finally huffed and tossed the book into the glovebox. I snickered.

“So –voodoo, huh?” I said, glancing at him. “Isn’t it, like, a whole religion?”

“Yeah, but it has some…” He made a vague hand gesture. “Some interesting specific practices.”

“And you’re gonna enter the church of voodoo just for a couple specific practices?” I laughed. “That’s like getting into Catholicism just for confessions and wafers.”

“I never said I’m gonna enter any church. It’s just a hobby.”

“Why can’t you get into more mainstream stuff?” I asked, speeding up to get ahead of a minivan that was moving at a snail's pace. “Like Buddhism, or Satanism.”

“Tried both. No results.”

“Well, what results were you looking for?”

“Slow down, Jesus…”

We soon got close to the state line. I was suddenly reminded of when dad would stuff me and Bri in the old family ride and take us to Newark, to visit our uncles. That was the closest thing to holiday trips we got. We’d always complain about the other being on our side of the backseat, or about the other chewing the Rice Krispies mom had packed for us too loudly, or having to pee and ask how long before we got to a gas station, and annoy dad enough for him to start yelling at us to stay quiet and hold it in. I chuckled to myself. We were really insufferable, back in the day. It was a miracle neither one of our parents had killed us in the crib, especially Bri.

“What’s so funny?” he asked me.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

Chucky looked at me like I was crazy. I just gave him a little shoulder shove.

“Say bye-bye, hun,” I said, speeding up, as we neared the back of the welcome sign, where someone had spray-painted ‘ good riddance ’ in big red letters. “I don’t think we’re gonna step foot back in the Garden State for a long, long time.”

I held my breath in, like I used to do when we passed by a graveyard. Chucky leaned out the window. Once we were close enough, he spat at the sign.

“Did you get it?” I asked him once I breathed again.

“Think so!”

I chuckled. “Boy, it’s been a while since I’ve been out of Jersey.”

“Right –you lived in New York for a while, right?” he said, plopping back into his seat. “Lucky you, hanging ‘round in the heyday of The Damned, Misfits and Blue Oyster Cult...”

I grinned proudly. He was so jealous, I thought, imagining how bored he must have been, back in our sleepy little town. “And you, sweetface?” I asked him. “Always been a Jersey boy?”

“I mean, I moved around,” he shrugged. “You know how it is, you get what you can get. But... Yeah, I think I never really crossed the state line.”

“Won’t you feel homesick?”

Chucky stared at me for a moment, before cackling like mad. “For fucking Hackensack, New Jersey?”

I laughed along, realizing just how stupid I sounded. “But really, sweetface –don’t you think you’ll miss it, at least a little bit?”

“Fuck no,” he grimaced. “Did you miss it, back then?”

“I guess I kinda did,” It wasn’t that I had any kind of real deep love for my hometown, though. “It was more of a feeling of being away from home for the first time.”

“Huh... And how long did that homesickness last?”

I slowly smiled to myself. “A week. Two weeks, tops.”

He cackled again. I couldn’t help but laugh, too. And with our goodbyes out of the way, we were fully on the road, ready for our new lives.

We had spent quite a while packing our things, having a cup of coffee each, and then we had spent another while putting all the boxes in the Pontiac, and then we had wasted even some more time, when Chucky somehow managed to get us lost by telling me to take the wrong exit. So, by the time we finally found our way back to the highway, I was starving and couldn’t cheat my stomach anymore with bubblegum and cigarettes. Just an hour or so had passed since we started our trip, but Chucky was already feeling rather restless and fidgety. Luck would have it that we passed a little roadside convenience store just after crossing the Delaware.

This time, we didn’t forget the gun.

I started things off slitting the throat of the customer standing closest to me, a middle-aged woman who opened her eyes wide and let out a really funny, deep croaky gasp. Before giving her any time to do anything, Chucky got the clerk girl away from behind the counter, just in case she tried to pull any funny shit. But she didn’t put up a fight at all. Another customer, a big trucker sorta type of man, tried to play hero, brandishing a crowbar he got from who knows where like an idiot, swinging it at Chucky who just stared at him, pretty amused. He hadn’t seen me kill the other customer (and one of the advantages of throat-slitting from behind was avoiding unseemly bloodstains), so I pretended to scream and cry in panic, moving closer behind him, while he yelled at me to take cover. Too many Arnold movies, I guess. Just to mess with him a little more, Chucky pressed the muzzle of the gun against the clerk girl’s temple and shouted at the guy to stop fucking around, get on his knees and drop the crowbar, or the bitch would get it. The man finally got some sense knocked into him, and slowly left the crowbar by my feet, kneeling down, turning back to look at me and softly promising me everything would be alright. I smiled, and nodded, and fluttered my eyelashes at him –then I grabbed the crowbar and got back on my feet –and clobbered him, beating him over and over and letting loose, still careful not to hit him too often on the head, just so he wouldn’t die too quick. I laughed brightly at the shock he had in his eyes just before he began flinching and writhing like a worm in the mud. You don’t get that kind of unbridled fun with a quick throat slit.

“Wanna deal the final blow, darling?” I asked Chucky, once the man had stopped squirming.

The clerk girl stood still and silent, barely trembling, as the gunshot echoed in the little store. She remained just as well behaved (if not a bit snotty with her sobbing) while Chucky emptied the cash register, and watched us pick up a whole bunch of snacks without saying a word, even offering to give us directions when Chucky and I began arguing again about the quickest way to get to Cleveland. It seemed like she really believed we would grab the stuff, leave her alone and drive off. Honestly, I found her rather pleasant, despite the sniveling.

We did have a strong no-witness policy, unfortunately for her.

Since the day’s body count for me was already at three, it was Chucky’s turn to stab the girl to his heart’s content. I watched him have his fun while checking out the postcards and deciding which ones Molly and Annie would like.

As our disposal expert, I always made sure that, if it was someone we could possibly be linked to, or that we could have been seen with, the body would be as hard to find for as long as possible. Dumping the body in a field where nature could run its course, or chopping it up in smaller pieces we could put in different garbage bags, or leaving them in a hotwired car in some neighborhood far away from ours, or dissolving the meat off the bones in a chemical bath, if I managed to have all the necessary ingredients –these were all some of my favorite methods. I knew that, if it was up to Chucky, he would just leave whoever wherever they had kicked the bucket. Sometimes I really wondered how he had managed for so long without me.

If we left no witnesses, and were somewhere in the middle of nowhere, though, there was no reason to make too much of an effort.

“Is this a murder spree, or just your garden-variety serial killing?” I asked him, leaning back against the hood of the Pontiac.

Chucky shrugged, tearing open a packet of green apple Pop-Rocks. “Bah, I never bother with the details.”

He’d shown an unusual amount of restraint while offing the girl, getting it over with pretty quickly. Possibly because the woman didn’t seem scared enough for him to enjoy it, possibly because he knew that it wouldn’t be the smartest choice to look too sloppy so early in our drive, and especially with him as convinced as he was that we would end up getting pulled over for speeding. Whatever the reason, at least we were well supplied with a whole bunch of snacks that, while not really satisfying the hunger, was good enough to nibble on, for the time being.

“You think this might reach the news?”

He frowned in confusion.

I laughed and elbowed him, gesturing towards the trail of destruction we had left behind us. “C’mon, never wanted to be famous?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “Hell, I wanted to be the next Morrison.”

“Really? So, what happened?”

“I can’t sing for shit.”

We laughed. I had only heard him singing a few times, along to his music –never on his own –but I believed him. Not that being tone-deaf ever stopped quite a few big rock stars from getting to the top of the charts.

“That’d be really nice, though,” Chucky said, chewing thoughtfully. “Maybe not Morrison, but perhaps the next Manson.”

I snickered, and took a bite off a cookie. “The family’s far too small."

“Give it time.”

I shot him a glance. He was just joking, right? I was about to question him further, but decided not to. It was probably just a joke. Still, I went over his comment in my head a few more times while we doused the bodies of our three kills with gasoline and improvised a cremation. Just in case we had left any evidence, we emptied a couple more gallons over the store’s sticky linoleum floor, had one more smoke, and let the place burn to the ground. And once that was done with and we had our daily fix of sugar and salt, the Pontiac’s backseat filled with enough snacks to last us a week, we got back on the road.

Chucky had insisted on trying to make it to Chicago before the sun went down, even though I knew it was basically impossible, considering how much time we wasted on finding our way –when he had been the one who got us lost –and with how little attention he paid to the map.

“I told you we should have gotten that travel guide,” I huffed.

“It cost an arm and a leg!” he claimed. “Besides, we’d never use it again.”

“You never know when it might come in handy...”

Despite all this, the snack break had really been a blessing. We talked for a while about the new apartment, and what we were gonna do once we arrived in Illinois; we played Twenty Questions, and then Would You Rather, and then I Spy, and then we argued about which was the best Runaways song –which was obviously either Cherry Bomb or American Nights .

“God, but you ever seen that picture of Currie, during this one performance of Dead End Justice ? With her, all covered in blood…?”

Chucky gave an appreciative wolf-whistle. I laughed.

“That awakened something in you, huh?”

He chuckled, scratching his head. “Yeah, guess so...” he said, and turned to look at me. “What about you?”

“I’m not telling,” I answered with a quirk of my eyebrows. “You’ll just get jealous.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t!”

“Yeah, you will! I know you.”

“I’m not gonna get jealous of whatever damn teenybopper crush you fantasized your kissing practice to, Tiff,” he insisted.

I rolled my eyes and said nothing. Chucky kept silent as well, for once, waiting for me to finally talk. Now that he had brought it up, and I didn’t budge, I could tell it was eating at him.

“Fine. I’ll just guess,” he said while putting his feet on the dashboard. “Robert Plant?”

I shook my head.

“Too far off the mark?” he asked, but I didn’t say a word. “Alright then… Uh, Michael Gray.”

I shot him a look. He frowned back at me.

“Don’t fucking tell me you were into one of the Brady Bunch guys, for God’s sake.”

I snorted. “You don’t know shit about me, or my tastes. Clearly.”

“Huh... I thought you liked this little birthday gift,” he said, patting the passenger’s seat’s door. “But we can change it for something else, I guess, if you hate it so much—”

“Like hell you will, Charles.”

He laughed out loud. “I do know you, Tiff. You know I do.”

I turned to look at him. He was still smiling, eyes shining, when he looked back at me. I kept gazing at him for a little longer than I probably should.

“... What?”

“Nothing, I guess...” I chuckled to myself, looking back ahead to the road stretching in front of us. “I guess you do kinda know me.”

He chuckled, too. I smiled a little wider, giving him a look out the corner of my eye. I don’t know exactly what he understood by that –but he leaned forward to me, brushed a curl over my ear, and gave me a kiss on the temple, so I wasn’t gonna complain.

“Hey,” I muttered when he began to move away, and laid a hand on his cheek, and he came back to me to kiss me again, a real kiss.

“Eyes on the road, babe,” he told me, but stayed right by my side, kissing the edge of my mouth. “So, then, what d’you say?”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the car, sweetface.”

“Hm,” he said, slinking a hand over my thigh, his mouth going down to my jaw. “I think you can do better than that to thank me.”

“Thank you very, very much...” I said in a sigh, cocking my head so he could go on kissing my neck. “Very... Very... Very...”

It had been quite some time since he tried something on me, so I should have seen it coming. Truth be told, I had been expecting something like that ever since we left the convenience store. His hand on my thigh started to squeeze a little, and I wondered what his end goal was. If he asked me, I could definitely just pull over to the side of the road so we could fully christen the new family member. He was in such a hurry to get to Chicago –but at the same time, he knew I was looking pretty damn good that day, and it would be a shame for him not to acknowledge this, in his own way.

“Hey, Tiff...”

With one hand still on the shiny chrome wheel, I reached out my left hand to grip his knee.

“Watch the road.”

“You’re asking too much of me, hun...”

“Oh, so you’d rather I stop–?”

“No, no,” I said, shaking my head, moving my hand further. “Keep going...”

He slowed down for a second, rethinking whether or not it was a risk he was willing to take; but then he most likely decided that it was not the sorta thing he liked to mull over. He grabbed my thigh, spreading it to the side. I arched my neck and breathed, looking down through the windshield that had begun to look hazy, with the sounds of the world outside the car becoming lower, and focused entirely on the hum of the engine, my panting and his own little anxious groans...

His hand had begun to move slower. I was getting impatient. I blinked, still making an effort to pay attention to the road, but I just needed it closer –and in the end I just shut my eyes and released the steering wheel and gripped his hand with a moan–

“Tiff – look out —!”

I looked back ahead and turned the wheel before we ended up rolling off the road. There was a thump! –I didn’t see it, but it sounded just like Chucky getting his head bumped on the side of the door again. Another car darted past us, honking furiously. I laughed. Chucky didn’t seem as amused.

“Jesus, woman, you’re gonna get us both killed—”

“Aw, relax,” I said, still giggling, stretching my fingers back over the steering wheel. “I’m just breaking it in…”

I interrupted myself with an unexpected yawn. I was already feeling a bit worn-out, but only then did it really hit me just how beat I really was. I’d never driven for as long as I was driving right then. My eyes were tired, and I could feel them having started to glaze over. Lights seemed brighter than a couple hours ago –though that might have been because it was getting dark out already and the cars dashing along with us had their lights turned on, drawing glowing trails behind them. I chewed on my rather dry lower lip. Most of the time I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but right then I was in some real need of a break, at least to make sure I wouldn’t somehow end up crashing my beautiful new car.

“Sweetface, keep your eyes open for a stop,” I told Chucky, slowing down.

“What? You’re tired already?” he protested. “But we’re so close!”

“I’ve been driving for about nine hours straight,” I insisted. Easy for him to complain, all he did was annoy and distract me from the passenger’s seat. “I’m not tired, I’m exhausted !”

“Fine… Let’s see,” He unfolded the map again and took a moment to find us in it. “There should be a stop coming up, in the next three miles.”

A large blinking sign lit up the night road, advertising a roadside motel: the Starlite Motor Inn, with cable TV, pool, air conditioned, honeymoon suites and whirlpool tubs. Sounded just about perfect. I turned at the exit and the car skidded right into the motel’s parkway.

The lobby-slash-office was small, but much, much nicer than the old Hotel Broslin, which was barely a hotel anyways. This place actually had carpeted floors, and pleasant soft lighting, and curtains on the windows, and pretty framed pictures of birds decorating the walls. The only person in there, an employee sitting behind the reception desk, was reading a magazine, feet crossed over the desk, with a radio beside him that blasted the latest Peter Gabriel single. When he saw us walking in he hurried to put his feet down, brush off the desk, lower the music and put away the magazine.

“Hello there! Welcome to the Starlite,” he greeted us with a well-practiced smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I think you can,” Chucky said, resting an elbow on the counter. “Me and the missy are looking for a place to crash in for the night.”

I noticed a silver call bell on the desk, and rang it. Behind the guy, a whole bunch of keys dangled neatly from rows of nails. By the look of it, they had plenty of rooms available. Only two of the nails in the board had no key: room four and room twelve. I wondered if the guests came on their own, or with their partners, or with their whole families. Maybe they were going on a long cross-country trip, like we did.

“Ah, fantastic,” he nodded, before facing me and gesturing to the board. “You can have your pick. Perks of traveling in the off season, right?”

“So, they’re all the same?”

“They all have double-size beds, cable TV, air conditioned and central heating—”

“Yeah, yeah, we know all that,” I said, gesturing with my nail file. “Isn’t there any one that’s better than the rest, though?”

“… They’re all truly clean and fine, if that’s what you’re asking—”

“Well, if they all have the same stuff,” Chucky asked with a frown. “Then what’s the point of having our pick?”

I shot him a little smirk, before looking down to file my nails.

“So!” the guy said, knocking on the desk, after a nervous chuckle. “Where are you two lovebirds headed to?”

“What about the honeymoon suite?” I asked, looking up for a moment.

“Ah, I’m afraid the honeymoon suite is currently being occupied, ma’am,” he said, still in his chipper tone.

“That’s okay,” I grinned, leaning forward over the counter. “The sign outside said honeymoon suites . We’ll just have the other one.”

He still smiled, but his voice faltered just a little. “Oh, um… We only have one, actually, ma’am.”

I lost my smile. Chucky and I exchanged a glance. He sighed.

“Well, now that’s just false advertising.”

In the blink of an eye, Chucky grabbed the bell and hit the guy on the head with it. Too shocked to even react, he just stumbled backwards, trying to hold onto the desk. Chucky climbed over it, shoved him down to the floor, and smashed his head in, over and over, ringing and ringing, leaving a large wide open gash. I went around behind the counter as well. Chucky tossed the bloodied bell to the side with one last bright ring! , and gave me a look.

“Service’s not what it used to be, huh?”

I giggled. The guy sputtered some blood.

“Whose turn?”

“Go ahead, hun.” I said, leaning over his shoulder and giving him a kiss on the temple. “Knock yourself out.”

Chucky turned his attention back to his victim, with a big smile. He took out his hunting knife from his pocket –and the man whimpered, his eyes open wide, shaking in terror, and tried to crawl away –and Chucky sank the blade in the middle of his chest, cleanly and quickly, and twisted his wrist, pushing deeper, and the blood soaked the man’s shirt and it gushed out like a fountain –the man tried to scream –and I grinned wider, watching his arm shoot back up, splattering blood all over the pink walls –and gave his little satisfied exhalation that I already knew so well –and plunged back down, going even deeper, up to the handle –and pulled it back up, with a brief grunt –and back down, back up, swinging the knife, over and over…

I knocked on the door of room four: “Room service!”

A guy in his plaid pajamas opened the door. He looked at me, and blinked, and frowned –but before he could say anything –I raised my nail file and sliced his throat. The man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own legs, and landing with his back to the blue carpeted floor. By that point I knew very well just how close I needed to be, how deep I needed to cut, depending on what I wanted to do. A quick death would’ve been really easy, with how close he was standing to me –but where’s the fun in that? All I needed was for him to keep nice and quiet and die choking on his own.

I peered inside his room. There was an open suitcase on a chair, a pair of worn shoes beside the bathroom door, and a suit stretched out on the neatly made bed. By the look of it, seemed like the guy was a salesman of some sort. While he twitched and his body bled out, I walked in and glanced around for anything worth something. Sure enough, on his bedside table, beside a pair of reading glasses, there was a brown leather wallet waiting for me to pick it up.

“Won't need it much now,” I hummed to myself, as I opened the wallet and checked the nice fat wad of cash stuffed in it. “Such a shame to see things go to waste.”

“C’mon, Tiff, we can raid the place later!”

Still riding the high of his last kill, Chucky hurried me out of room four and towards room twelve. Cabin fever must have been affecting him worse than he let out. He’d released some of the tension back at the lobby, but he needed more.

“Time to check out!”

Chucky kicked the flimsy door open. A curly-haired woman screamed, throwing her blue nail polish on the sheets of the bed. A short man, standing beside her and halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, was a bit slower to react. He stared at us for a second, before realizing Chucky was carrying a gun. When he did notice what was going on, he became pale, and raised his hands.

I looked around the room: so this was the honeymoon suite. Dusky pink wallpaper, fuzzy purple carpet (that must be hell to clean up), polished white furniture, and a big bed with deep red sheets and a pretty sheer canopy.

“That fucker lied,” I said when I realized just how different the suite was to room four. “That’s not a double –that’s a queen size!”

“Please,” the man said in a shaky voice. “Please, we’re not doing anything, we’re… We’re just celebrating our anniversary—”

“Shut up, and get over here, you two,” Chucky ordered. I smiled. Seemed like we were gonna have a little fun. “Sit on the floor, right here.”

The woman went first, hands raised, and walked towards us. The man, walking behind her, partly hid by her night robe and her big curls, appeared to do the same –but when he passed by the bathroom door he thought he could make it –and tried to hurry and sneak in –but Chucky was quicker, and fired a warning shot that just about grazed his nose.

“Hey! You deaf?” he yelled. “Or just fucking stupid?”

“Alright… Alright. No need to go nuts.”

I closed the door to the bathroom, just in case the guy thought of giving it another shot. The man and the woman sat side by side on the floor, hands still up, trembling a little.

“Listen… Please, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but –but I’ve got my children, they need me…” the woman sobbed. “Please, please, don’t do this to my children—”

“You two got kids?” I said brightly. “Hope you got a good babysitter for them.”

The man looked down. I found the woman’s bag over the open suitcase, and picked the wallet.

“Yes, they’re these three little angels…” she said with a nervous smile. “The youngest one’s barely two years old… Please, I’m begging you—”

“Who’s that?”

I took out a little photo from the wallet, and crouched in front of the woman, raising the picture for her to see. She blinked. Her eyes were already red.

“That’s… That’s my little girl, Kristin, and my baby Ned—”

“I mean the guy, you silly,” I insisted. There was a smiling man in the photo, holding the baby in one arm and the girl in the other. “Who’s that?”

The woman looked down at the photo, then up at me, and the first tear rolled down her cheek. “T-that’s my husband… Freddie.”

The man hung his head even lower. Whoever he was, he was certainly not Freddie.

“Oh… So we got a cheating situation over here,” I said, getting back up to my feet, tossing the photo to the side, and turning to the man. “You married, too, asshole? I bet you are.”

“You done, Tiff?” Chucky grumbled, gesturing at them with the gun.

“No. No –you know what? Let’s play a game. See if you can win fair and square,” I said, getting all worked up, waving around my nail file. “We choose what you two are gonna play, and the winner gets to live. How’s that sound?”

Chucky thought for a moment. Then he nodded in agreement. “Not too bad. What game, though?”

“Tic-tac-toe?”

“Hm,” he shook his head. “Rock-paper-scissors sounds better to me.”

“That’s too quick.”

“Well, they’re not gonna play fucking chess for their lives—”

“I know how to play chess,” the man mumbled.

“You got your cards at hand?”

“I got the deck somewhere in my suitcase,” I said. “What about a game of rummy?”

“Nah, that won’t work either.”

“I like the idea of chess—” the woman muttered.

“Thumb wrestling?”

I snickered.

“Alright, we’ll go with rock-paper-scissors,” he decided with a clap of his hands. “Two outta three.”

Chucky leaned against the window, resting the hand with the gun on his leg. I stayed by his side, watching the two cheaters, filing my nails. There was a moment of silence. The woman and the man exchanged a little nervous look, but stayed still.

“Go on,” I hurried them. “Get playing.”

They looked into each other’s eyes again, as if trying to find something to say. An apology, maybe, though it was hard to say how much they really cared about the other, especially when they were about to play to win. There were no doubts about that.

In the first round, the woman had rock –the man had scissors. A smile twitched in her lips. I wondered which one of them I would rather have losing, but at the end of the day, it didn’t make much of a difference to me. In the second round, the man had scissors –the woman had paper. She lost her smile as he breathed and thanked his God between teeth. I glanced at Chucky, who despite looking rather stone-faced, was clearly paying close attention. He leaned forward a little as the cheaters punched their open palms, ready for the next decisive round. Me, I already knew what the woman was gonna choose. She had already signed her death warrant. Indeed, in the final turn, the woman had scissors –and the man had rock.

The man shut his eyes and let out a shaky relieved sigh as his whole body loosened up. The woman began sobbing again, looking up at us two, sniffing and chewing on her lip.

“… Three outta four?”

“That’s just changing the damn rules of the game,” Chucky said.

“Please –you want money? I can get you more!” she shrieked on her knees. “I’ll give you anything! Anything you ask for! If you let me go –I won’t tell a soul, I’ll forget everything, I’ll –I’ll do anything! Just –please, please, kill him …! Let me live!”

“ Sandy !”

The man stared at the woman in complete disbelief. The woman looked back at him, all confused, as if it hadn't been the normal response to being threatened. And then the man quickly turned back towards us, eyes wide open in sheer panic.

“ I won – I get to live!”

Chucky and I burst out laughing.

“Please,” the woman kept blubbering. “Please, give me another try… I’ll do anything. Please—”

“C’mon,” I finally said, wielding my nail file. “Don’t be such a sore loser.”

I crouched in front of her, grabbed her face and carved a deep line, from the corner of her mouth to the ear. The man let out a loud, terrified scream. The woman just stared at me with big, wet eyes, whimpering and quivering, weakly trying to pull away or push me off her –but I had sunk my nails on her, pinning her down with my knee on her torso, and wouldn’t let go for anything –and I kept drawing the line, moving slower, the skin breaking like butter. With a brand-new smile on her face, the woman blubbered and tried to cover the bleeding gash with her shaky hand. I heard Chucky’s little snicker behind me, and remembered that he was also itching for some: so I got mine done with. I grabbed the woman’s curls and yanked her head, and hacked at her neck with my nail file. It wasn’t a blunt instrument –it was fantastic for delicate work, but not the best for stabbing, it had to be said –but I always manage. It did make quite a mess. The blood spurted out the slit, spraying my face, and when the woman tried to turn around and away from me, the man got caught in the splash zone. He screamed even louder. I laughed, and backed off to admire my work, letting gravity and pressure do the rest of the work of finishing her off. As much of a show it was, to watch the woman bleeding out her throat like a burst pipe, the guy was quite entertaining himself –trying to cover his red face with his hands, twisting and squirming and screeching like mad.

Once the man was done screaming and calmed down a bit, though, and had managed to strain through a few sharp shaky breaths, he forced a smile, and looked up at the two of us.

“Thank you –thank you, thank you for letting me live… Thank you—”

“Hey, we said ‘gets to live’…” Chucky said. “We never said for how long.”

I laughed again, high and giddy with adrenaline. Still on my knees, I leaned towards the man, and pushed the blood-soaked hem of his shirt to the side with the hooked tip of my nail file, watching his chest going up and down. I ran the edge of my file, carefully shaving a few hairs, smearing a couple droplets of blood. Searching where his heart was, I laid the tip of my file over his skin, pressing gently, careful not to break the skin yet. He was Chucky’s kill, after all… I was just warming it up for him a little more.

“You... Like this, don’t you?” the man muttered.

“I have my fun.”

“Listen, I... We could...” he said, quirking his eyebrows. “We could reach an agreement, here.”

“Tempting,” I smiled, pushing the tip of the file deeper into his chest, as he winced, and I made the smallest wound in his chest, just a tiny little prick. “But sorry, I’ll pass. I’m just not into short guys.”

A tear trickled down from the man’s cheek. “You two are crazy—”

“Crazy…?” I heard Chucky say behind me. When he spoke again, his voice was lower –almost a snarl. “You wanna see real crazy?”

I giggled, about to move back and let him do his thing. And then –the man shoved me to the side –and I tumbled over the carpeted floor with a little oof! –and he rushed to try to escape out the front door, somehow thinking he could get out faster than Chucky could aim –and he was mostly right –as soon as he managed to stumble away from me and almost make it out, Chucky stepped back and took his shot –and it blew right through the man’s thigh.

“ Bastard !” I yelled at him, standing up again, once he had stopped screaming his head off, grabbing the sides of the bleeding hole he had now in his leg. “You broke my nail—”

Before I could pick up my file and get him to pay for that, Chucky shoved the gun down the waistband of his pants, and grabbed the man by his shirt’s collar –and gave him a pretty damn good punch.

I blinked, without even realizing I was holding my breath. It sounded real painful. The man tried to sit, coughing and groaning.

“Do it again,” I said.

Chucky glanced at me. He picked him right up, and punched the guy once more. I smiled.

“Harder.”

While the man tried to prop himself up again, nose broken and bloody, with shaky arms, Chucky stared at me. I looked up at him, staring right back. He knew what I was thinking. He liked the idea.

Chucky grabbed the man once more, gripping him by the neck, and pulled his arm back, and threw a punch right to the mouth. He groaned once he let go –the teeth must have hit his knuckles. I watched it all with wide-open eyes, fascinated. He kept going. Kneeling on the carpet, he breathed in and punched again, beating him harder, blood splattering, the skull cracking, him panting by the effort. We rarely if ever used just our hands. We both knew we could get better results with tools. But maybe the thrill of the previous kill had him worked up enough to ignore the wounds on his knuckles. Maybe it helped him focus. Maybe it just helped him get in the mood.

Whatever it was, he had his eyes wide open and the biggest grin on his face, as he beat the man til his face was a red battered pulp.

Once he was done, Chucky stood up and stretched his fingers, opening and closing his fist, finally feeling the bruises. He gritted his teeth, and let out a deep breath. It surely hurt like a bitch.

I got up back to my feet –backed him up against the wall –grabbed his jaw –and kissed him. He was surprised, but he certainly didn’t turn me down or put up a fight. With his hands already gripping my waist, pulling me closer, I pressed myself against him, feeling his racing heartbeat under his stained shirt and the outline of the gun under his belt.

“I thought you said you were tired—” he smiled, when I took a moment to breathe.

“Shut up,” I told him, and he grabbed my nape and kissed me back.

Along with the bags of snacks and drinks we had brought over from the convenience store, we also took our sweet time finding and bagging soap, towels, sheets and pillows from the honeymoon suite. I know, it may seem like a bit much, but it really wasn’t –not when one keeps in mind that our new home was, most likely, absolutely empty, and that sooner or later we would have to find all these basic goods ourselves somewhere else. All in all, it was just smart of us to ransack the place.

Sometime after midnight, by the early morning, I decided to fix myself a bath. I hummed to myself, sitting and splashing around in the heart-shaped whirlpool, amused by the quiet whirring of the motor under my legs and the gently bubbling streams that hit my skin. Not even Cesar had had a whirlpool in his flashy bathroom, I don’t know why. It was the sort of thing I could totally imagine someone like him having.

Back in the bedroom, Chucky had turned on the TV and was watching some news program. I stopped humming for a moment and listened carefully. Maybe there would be some interesting newsflash on the violent robbery of that convenience store –but there wasn’t any, just an old piece on one of the guys from Mötley Crüe who had pleaded guilty to vehicular manslaughter.

“First on the list of things to get when we get to Chicago,” I said out loud from the bathroom. “Is a good lightweight TV. The kind you can take with you places.”

“Places?”

“Yeah, so that we can watch in the bedroom, in the bathroom… Places, you know?”

His chuckles reached me through my half open door. We were both in a pretty good mood. For it being our first cross-country trip, it had gone a lot smoother than what I had expected. I smiled, soaking my legs. Chucky came into the bathroom, scratching his head, still a bit groggy, stumbling over one of the dead bodies. I smiled wider, dipping my feet back in, lowering my head until the top of my nose just barely touched the water. There was still some blood splatter on his face and neck, and a bunch of dry blood clumps in his hair. He noticed at least some red dots on him when glancing at the mirror over the sink, but apparently didn’t think it was anything urgent. I had thought he had come into the bathroom to watch me, or to talk to me, or at least to keep me company. It turned out he had just come over to piss. Regardless, I stayed very still, as if stalking him, as if he didn’t know I was there at all.

“Put the toilet seat back down…” I whispered, as if casting a hypnotizing spell. “You want to put the toilet seat back down so badly…”

Out of the corner of his eye, still standing in front of the toilet, he shot me a glance. I grinned. He gave me a little smile.

“What’re you doing?”

“No-thing,” I replied innocently, in a sing-song voice.

Once he finished, he flushed; he didn’t put the toilet seat back down; and washed his hands. I stared at him for a moment longer, waiting for him to remember. Then I gave a sudden kick, splashing water all towards him.

“Hey!”

“You forgot about the toilet seat,” I told him, pointing at it. “Besides, you could use a little water. You’re all filthy.”

He looked back at his reflection. “Am I?”

“Being covered in blood may fly in Hackensack,” I said. “But we don’t know how Chicago cops might react.”

“Huh… You do have a point.”

He took off his briefs and got into the tub as well. With a big grin, Chucky took a deep breath, closed his eyes and dipped his head in the water. I stretched out my hand, and almost grabbed his head to hold it under for a couple seconds more, thinking back to when me and my sister were small enough to bathe together and I did the same to her –only for her to start screaming and crying, every single time –but before I could even try, I felt a pinch on my thigh.

“ Hey! ”

Chucky’s mop of sopping wet black hair came out of the water. I splashed him again. He just cackled.

“Great,” I laughed. “Now we’re both stewing in the same dirty water.”

I picked up the sponge, soaked it up and wringed it over his head. Chucky bore it for a moment before he shook the water off, like a dog drying itself, showering me with little water droplets. I screamed and laughed, and he laughed along with me.

“So what’s it like, being twenty-eight?” he asked me. “Feeling old yet?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

He chuckled, and threw his head back, letting the remaining water drip down from his scalp. I watched the movement of the pale wet skin stretched over his throat and collarbone. Sometimes, I tried to imagine what he would look like in the future. I thought of my dad, and of Cesar, and the few older guys I had had one-night stands with. The sprinkles of dark spots, the drooping flesh, the white hairs. It all sounded so foreign to him, to us.

“You know where I’d like to go someday, for some other birthday?” I said, eyes fixed on a spot on his neck. What I had thought was a bloodstain was actually just a hickey that had turned a deep red. “Las Vegas. Bet we could have some fun there.”

“Well, we could go for… For our thirtieth. What d’you say?” Chucky suggested, sprawling his arms over the tub’s edge. “By then we’ll have enough dough to actually afford a room someplace nice.”

I beamed. “You mean it?”

“Sure!”

“You think we’ll still be together, by then?”

I regretted asking this as soon as the words came out of my mouth. Something about even mentioning it was like jinxing it, like saying your birthday wish out loud. What was more, it terrified me to think he might think it over and decide that it was actually unlikely.

But Chucky just smirked. “I don’t think so. I know so.”

I grinned at him, giving him a couple little playful kicks under the water’s surface. He gestured with his head.

“C’mere.”

I dove over to his side, snuggling him and resting my head against his chest. He placed his arm over my shoulder, and I closed my eyes, letting out a deep breath.

“Life should always be like this,” I sighed.

He planted a little kiss on my forehead. “We'll make it so.”

This time we decided to leave things as they were. I was kinda proud of my work with the woman’s smile, and I knew that he was pretty happy with the beatdown he gave to that guy. We both liked the idea of it showing up in the news someday soon, us two being the only ones in the world who knew what had really gone down at the Starlite.

There was also all the money we got from the three guests at the motel (which wasn’t much, but it was something, alright), their valuables (each one of the cheaters had their wedding ring hidden out of sight among their belongings), some clothes (not a lot, since the three of them had pretty bad taste), and a few things we found in their cars (some decent tapes, a nice pair of spare leather shoes, a little case of good-quality makeup): a nice loot for our first days in the city. That, added to all we had gotten at the convenience store, and to what we had taken from the Starlite rooms, made for a pretty tight ride the last miles, yeah –but the Pontiac could take it, and what was most important, we’d be nicely set for the time being. Whoever said that crime doesn’t pay must had been shit at being a criminal.

The Pontiac was soon running out of fuel by the time we reached Indiana. We stopped at a gas station, and after a brief moment in which we considered robbing it too, we decided there were far too many witnesses there and too much of a risk. We were running out of bullets, mostly. It would have to be up in the shopping list, once we got to our new place.

We waited for a while, among the crowd of drivers and their cars, for someone to show up, until I remembered we had to fill the tank ourselves.

“Oh, shit. Right.”

Examining my options, I hoped I could more or less wing it by sheer intuition. Meanwhile, Chucky went over the last few tapes we hadn’t listened to yet during the trip, before deciding that was way too boring and getting out the car.

He lit a cigarette, watching me unhooking the chosen pump. “Premium?”

I glanced at him. “Yeah. It deserves it.”

“Tiff, are you really gonna spend that much just on gas?” he said, playing with his lighter, turning it on and off.

“It’s my damn car, Chucky,” I said, turning around to look back at him. “I’ll put whatever the hell I want in the tank.”

“ Your car, but it’s our money!”

“Well, I’m not putting shitty regular in the Pontiac!”

He tried to grab my arm and pull the pump away from me. I gave him a shove. He instinctively shoved me back, and I hit my elbow against the door of the car. I tried to give him a kick, but he dodged my heel. I fixed the coat over my shoulders, pretending that just didn’t happen. A couple people were giving us weird looks already.

“Jesus...” Chucky huffed. “Listen, just... Just leave what’s in there, and fill the rest with regular.”

I stared at him as if he was stupid.

“You don’t mix gas types, you dumbass!” I replied, gesturing with the pump and waving it around, splashing a couple drops his way. “It’s not a fucking cocktail!”

He jumped back to avoid the squirt, and looked up at me with eyes open wide. “God, you bitch –are you blind or something!? I got a cigarette on! Are you trying to set me on fire!?”

“It’s your fault you’re enough of an idiot to be smoking at a gas station!”

We kept arguing over stupid stuff like that for a while, until some employee at the gas station finally came along and tried to tell us to keep it down. Bad choice: if there’s something Chucky doesn’t like (who does, after all?) is to be told to keep quiet. Of course, if someone else was being loud, he’d be the first to complain, but when it was him who was making a racket...

“Please, sir,” the employee told him firmly. “I’ll have to ask you to leave–”

“Where the fuck you think you are, some high-class shithole!?” he yelled at the poor son of a bitch who had provoked him. “This is a damn gas station! So get off my dick, and mind your own damn business!”

Usually I would just let it play out; but with the couple adventures we had had on the road already, and with the amount of people around us who would be ready to identify us to the cops if Chucky’s outburst got out of hand, I wasn’t sure if I was as ready to face the consequences as he was. “Hun, just leave it–”

“Oh, you’re scared people won’t be stopping by for your wonderful service anymore?” he kept yelling, and I looked around us, at the faces of the other drivers who were already appearing to be pretty concerned. “I’ll give you a damn fucking reason to be scared–!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged me right off.

“And another thing–!”

“ Chucky !” I cried, since that was the only way to get his attention, apparently, and he finally turned around to face me. “Don’t you think that’s more than enough?”

Only then he seemed to notice all the people that were staring at him, at us , because of his tantrum. His expression didn’t change, but he did, at the very least, give a couple steps back. I got into the driver’s seat and started the car, our cue to leave.

“You’re pretty fucking lucky, asshole,” he hissed at the employee. “You got that?”

He got in, slammed the door, and I drove us away as soon as possible. I could still feel the eyes of the crowd staring at us through the rearview mirror.

“... You really didn’t need to do that.”

“Huh?”

“You really think you can solve anything by just screaming at it?” I told him. “Or stabbing it until it stops moving?”

“Babe, c’mon, you know I was right–!”

“Do I?” I said, raising my voice to match his tone. “‘Cause I know you weren’t thinking about how now there’s a whole crowd of people who know what you look like!”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. “Don’t tell me you think anyone’s gonna suspect–”

“No, I guess they won’t, ‘cause I managed to pull you back in the car before you actually did anything stupid!” I claimed.

“You were the one waving the pump around like a fucking waterhose in July!”

“Well, you weren’t exactly helping me out there!”

So far in our trip, we had had a couple little squabbles, sure. I mean, you can’t be trapped inside a metal box with someone else for so many hours straight before you start to get sick of the other. But this one was different. I hadn’t yelled so much at someone else since I was still sharing my room with my little sister. And, unlike Bri, who had our parents’ support and her innate child annoyingness, Chucky had a much more colorful vocabulary and always went for the throat.

“You know how fucking hard it is to stand you!?” he ended up shouting at me. “You’re impossible! Everything’s a damn issue! I don’t even know how I got this far with you!”

That was it. I swerved off the road and onto the shoulder of the highway. As usual, with him not wearing his seatbelt, Chucky got a pretty rough shake before I stepped on the brakes.

“The hell are you doing!?”

I stopped the car. He kept yelling, so I got out and locked the doors. That really got him to lose his shit.

“Tiffany! Tiffany! ”

He banged on my window, gesturing at me to open the door, and I just shrugged, mouthing a mock apology, pretending I was saying I couldn’t hear him. He shook the door handle, trying to force it open. Good to know the Pontiac had nice sturdy doors.

I walked far enough for me to be able to focus on the sounds of the woods on the sides of the road, instead of Chucky’s muffled screaming. At last, some peace. I lit a cigarette and took a long drag, breathing in and out, mumbling curses between my teeth. A faint squeaking made me finally turn around. He had gotten the passenger’s window open, and somehow managed to climb out of the car through it. I barely stifled a grin when he clumsily fell onto the ground butt-first with a loud oof!

“Tiffany!” he kept yelling, once he managed to get himself back on his feet. “Get back in the car!”

“Fuck you!” I shouted back.

“Jesus fucking Christ–”

Chucky started walking fast, stomping in anger like a kid throwing a hissy fit. I immediately tossed my cigarette to the side and picked up a pebble.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He kept coming towards me, truly thinking I wouldn’t dare. I raised my hand and threw the pebble right in front of him, as a warning. That got him to flinch enough to stop.

“I said –don’t you dare fucking touch me!”

He remained fuming for a few seconds, glaring at me, having to reconsider his strategy. Just in case, I picked up a large branch laying around on the ground and swung it as if scaring off a wild animal. He moved back, but burst out laughing.

“Oh, well, isn’t that cute!”

“Shut up!” I cried.

“Who’re you trying to scare with that, huh?”

“Shut up, you asshole!”

I kept swinging it, fast enough so that if Chucky even attempted to get a hand on me he would end up with a nasty scratch. The dumbass he was, he indeed tried to grab the branch –with such luck that I got him a big scrape on the back of his hand. He hissed and flinched again. He looked at his new wound. And he glared at me and I knew I had really pissed him off.

“Well, that about does it–”

I swung the branch again but he covered his face with his arm, and before I could do anything he had grabbed my wrist and was trying to shake the branch off my grip. Since he clearly didn’t get the message, I just did the only thing I could do right then: I bit his hand, and not a playful little nibble –a full-on, clenched-jaw chomp. He screamed and let go of my wrist and tried to shake me off, but I sank my teeth a little bit deeper before finally releasing him, for good measure. See if that taught him not to fuck around with me.

“You’re fucking insane! You know that!?” he yelled, holding his wounded hand. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he was making it out to be. The branch graze was barely bleeding, and the teeth marks weren’t deep at all. Hell, he’d given me worse bruises on purpose. “You crazy fucking bitch!”

“Leave me alone!”

“ Get back in the damn car! ”

“Go away!”

Chucky charged once more towards me. Jesus, that man just didn’t give up. I tried to punch him in the chest but he grabbed my arms and tried to pick me up. I screamed and kicked and struggled, enough for him to lose his balance and almost trip onto the overgrown grass. Once I got my feet back on steady ground I elbowed him off me and tried to run away again. This time he was smarter, and grabbed my ankles and pulled and made me trip and fall on the ground as well. I was quick enough to land on my side, and when I managed to sit on the grass I saw him crawling towards me.

“You come any closer and I’ll kill you!” I cried, trying to get a good kick to his face. He gripped my ankles again, dragging me to him. “Let go!”

He managed to climb on top of me, straddle my hips, and grab my upper arms. I kept struggling and trying to break free, moving the rest of my arms and landing little punches on his sides. He winced and huffed, but didn’t let go. Instead, he shook me furiously, as if trying to get some sense into me, as if I was the one acting foolish.

“Jesus, just stop it! Fucking... Stop !”

He shook me again, a bit rougher this time. And unable to kick him, shove him, or bite him, I did the next best thing, the sort of thing a lady shouldn’t really do. I spit as well as I could (which wasn’t very well, since I was lying on my back and being shaken back and forth) and it landed somewhere near his chin. He flinched as if I had spat snake poison at him, as if I had gotten him in the eye. I blinked, waiting for him to react to it, maybe decide he had had more than enough and let me go. Instead –Chucky closed his hand in a fist –and threw his arm back, ready to throw a punch. I gasped. That was his main goal, after all, to scare me into submission. But he didn’t hit me. He just stayed like that, fist up in the air, aimed at me, gritting his teeth, really, really wanting to follow through with his threat. The fear gave way to fury.

“You wanna hit me? Huh?” I cried, showing him my teeth, too angry to even smile mockingly. “C’mon, sweetface, don’t be a pussy and bark without biting.”

He kept his fist closed, but his arm faltered. The fact that he still had his fist up, though, made my blood boil.

“You dare land a punch on me, and I swear, baby,” I said, my voice trembling with pure rage. “You’ll never see me again in your damn life!”

“Oh, please, that’d be a fucking improvement!” he yelled.

I finally managed to push him off me. He gave me a little kick in response, but that was the end of it. I looked down at my stockings, all ripped from the dumb fight we could have easily avoided if he just stayed in the car and waited till he calmed down, instead of making a stupid scene by the side of the road, and I sighed.

“Of course,” he said with a scoff. “You’re only really upset when you mess up your outfit.”

“You’re a complete bastard,” I said quietly. “And you know that, and you’re just not in any hurry to change, is the worst thing.”

“Listen, just get back in the car. We’re wasting our fucking time here.”

“I fucking hate you,” I insisted. “And, clearly, you hate me too.”

He got up from the grass. A few cars passed us by. It was a quiet afternoon, despite everything, and slowly my breath became steady again, and my blood stopped pumping like wild, and I closed my eyes and threw my head back and exhaled, doing the best I could to relieve the tension I had been building up.

“Goddammit, Tiff...”

I could feel a sob coming. I didn’t want to cry, not in front of him. Instead, I thought of his fist up in the air, and how much he had wanted to hit me, and how happy that would have made him, and I kept chewing on my anger until I swallowed any sadness I had trying to climb up my throat.

“Go away. Isn’t that what you want?” I muttered, gesturing at him to leave me alone. “Go away.”

There was a silence. I swallowed and wiped some of the spit that I still had on my lower lip with the tip of my nail, wondering if Chucky was really considering ditching me there in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

“I can’t,” he sighed, clearly annoyed about it. “No matter how much I wanna. Not without you.”

I turned my face to look up at him.

“I mean, you still got the keys.”

I gave his legs a little shove, and he chuckled. I chuckled too. We were really being two knuckleheads right then, and we both knew it. Problem was, I also knew that I was right, and that he was wrong, and that just as I wouldn't change my mind, neither would he.

“Is your hand okay?” I asked him.

He checked it quickly. There was a little bit of swollen redness around the cut, but at least the bite, the one that had him actually screaming, seemed to just leave a bit of a bruise. “Bah, I’ll live.”

Chucky reached his other hand out to me, and helped me get back up on my feet.

“How long do you reckon, till we make it to Chicago?”

“Couple hours, at the most,” I replied, shaking the grass blades off my skirt. “If you don’t get us lost again, that is.”

He scoffed. We walked back to the car in silence. He picked up the cigarette I had thrown aside before our fight, took a drag, and handed it back to me.

“Y’know,” he said, while I changed my skirt for a pair of tights. “The ripped-up-stockings look isn’t so bad on you.”

We arrived in Chicago just before Powerage was done, around six in the afternoon. Chucky leaned out the window with a smile, his eyes squinting from the wind whipping past him, biting down his cigarette to keep it from flying off his mouth. I glanced at him from time to time while I drove us through the lakeshore. No matter how much I wanted to stay mad at him, I never succeeded for long. The city was unfolding in front of us, and there was so much to do and see, and I couldn’t do any of that if I got all stubborn and refused to have fun. Not that I couldn’t –just that I didn’t really want to anymore. So we didn’t mention it. It was as if we hadn’t even argued in the first place.

The Wood and Lake Street apartment building was pretty big, almost like a hotel; it probably was so, before it was eventually bought by some rich guy and remade into a rental. When there’s so many people in one place you don’t really get a lot of neighborly affection: everyone’s minding their own business, which suited us just fine.

Ours was the apartment two-three-seven, on the third floor. Chucky beamed at the sight of it, dangling the ring of keys in his finger.

“Hey, like the room in that one movie!”

“What movie?”

“That one, with the… Uh…” he insisted, staring up at the ceiling and trying to focus. “… You know, with the elevator full of blood!”

“Huh?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve not seen it.”

“How can I know if I’ve seen it or not, if I don’t even know what it’s called?”

He thought about it for a moment longer. “… Meh, I’ll remember, eventually.”

“Just open the damn door,” I said, rolling my eyes, with a smile on the corner of my lips.

Chucky unlocked the door and pushed it open. I walked in first, carrying my suitcases, admiring our new place.

“Home, sweet home,” he declared.

I had a good look around, just short of gasping out loud. I’m not really sure of what I was expecting; probably something much smaller, like my cramped little apartment back in Hackensack. But here –there was a kitchen, and it was separated from the rest of the rooms by a wall and a door. And it was a whole kitchen, with enough counter space and with a window looking out into an alley and all. And the roof –it was so tall –and it all appeared so new, as if with a fresh coat of paint –no stains, no clutter, nothing but possibilities. I opened the door to the next room: either a living room, or a bedroom, or both, with wall trims, an open fireplace, and a big beautiful window. Much classier than anywhere else I'd lived.

“It’s just darling ,” I grinned, barely able to hold back my glee.

I dropped the bags. He turned on the lights of the room with a loud click! that echoed in the empty walls.

“Not bad for our first rattrap, huh?”

Delighted as I was with the place, I couldn’t really see his expression. Regardless, I could have sworn I heard a smile in his voice. I peeped inside the little bathroom, and switched on the lights. Pity it didn’t have room for a proper bathtub, but oh well –win some, lose some. Still, it was miles better than what I could have imagined.

“Nothing a few throw rugs can’t fix,” I commented, drumming my nails against the doorframe, as I began a mental list of things we should get to make the apartment a proper home. “Maybe some wallpaper…”

He patted the mantle of the chimney. I could already picture my dolls on the box downstairs, right at home on their new spot, sitting all pretty over the black wood.

“We could even get a plant,” I said brightly, thinking about his sad half-dead pot sprout that he had to part with. Thank God. Some actual lush greenery would do the space some good, after all. Give a little extra life to the place.

“Hey, uh, Tiff,” he said, peering out of the windows. “I’m feeling kinda hungry… Wanna order a pizza?”

During the whole trip we had been nibbling on snacks, nothing really hearty. We hadn’t had breakfast, and I was pretty hungry too… But then I understood what he actually meant.

I smiled, and bit my nail. “I think that’s a great idea.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling my neck while I laughed. Yes, there was nothing I could do. I really hated him –but I really, really, really loved him, too.

“Hello? Good afternoon,” I said, twirling the telephone cable around my finger. “I’d like to order a pizza. Oh, and two beers, please.”

“ Alright, what’s the address? ”

I was about to tell him, but I thought it over. I looked at Chucky, and then through the window, looking out into the city.

“ … Ma’am? ”

“Yes, yes, it’s… Uh, Wood and Lake Street. Number two-six-seven, apartment two-three-seven.”

Chucky shot me a confused glance, and mouthed the correct number. I shooed him off.

“ … Alright, that would be Wood and Lake Street, number two-six-seven, apartment two-three-seven. ”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“ Alright then, it’ll be there in twenty to thirty minutes. ”

“Thank you.”

“ You’re welcome. Have a good one, ma’am. ”

I hung up. Chucky was still staring at me.

“So?” he frowned. “Someone else’s gonna get our meal!”

“Calm down. I’ve got a plan,” I said. “Dinner and a show.”

I told him what I had in mind. It took a minute to explain it to him, thick in the head as he was, but once we had discussed the details it seemed pretty good enough for him. Only thing we had to decide was on how to finish it. And, for once, Chucky and I disagreed in that regard.

“Strangling’s clean,” he argued, opening his suitcase and digging around. “No blood, no fingerprints, no evidence—”

“It’s so boring , though. So… Procedural. So surgical –but if you were like an ear doctor, or something,” I complained. “You don’t get to see real guts!”

Chucky finally pulled out a spool of fishing line from under a pile of t-shirts and underwear, and smiled. “Well, you just haven’t seen a good strangulation yet, Tiff.”

I crouched behind him and leaned against his back, resting my arms on his shoulders.

“You know, Chicago’s much bigger than Hackensack…”

He turned around to look at me. “Yeah, I’d figure—”

“What I mean is, we have to be careful,” I explained. “We aren’t used to this place, and it could get… You know, tricky.”

“Like you said, it’s a big city,” he said, putting the spool down and looking for something else. “One more dead body’s not gonna make a difference.”

He had a point. I still had a right to worry. We were both so used to Hackensack, knew the streets well, the daily police rounds, and the ways to dispose of our victims. Chicago wasn’t like that. At least not yet.

I dragged my bags to the bedroom –the room I assumed was the bedroom. It was bigger, with the same large windows as in the living room, though with no fireplace. It didn’t have any furniture either, so we would have to live out of boxes and suitcases for a while. There was no bed, not even a bedframe in there, just a big old table lamp on the floor and a couple dusty pillows against a corner. The window was about the same size as the one in the living room, this one with blinds instead of curtains. I peered out. Sun was already setting over the skyline. A few windows in the neighboring buildings were already glowing. Whatever tiredness I had when we first arrived was soon gone. Soon the whole city would be lit up, and we needed to be out there when it happened –as nice as our new nest was, I was definitely not gonna stay locked in when there was so much to see.

“This guy who left you the place, whatshisname… He didn’t just drop the load for you to carry, right?” I asked out loud, coming into the kitchen where he was looking around inside the cabinets. I was obviously thankful, but a nice whole apartment wasn’t exactly a normal gift. That sorta generosity often hid other intentions. “You sure he took care of all the leads to this apartment?”

“If anyone comes asking, Tiff, we’ll just tell the truth: we are a young happy couple who have just moved into the Windy City, and got the place from a friend of a friend whose name we can’t recall,” he said simply. “No need to worry or point fingers.”

Taking off my heels, I wondered if he had any steady friends in the city. We could use some locals to help us out during the first few weeks or so. But we had plenty of time to worry about that later.

I changed into my black lace slip, my nightrobe, and put on some slippers. I had told Chucky to wait up in the apartment for me to bring our meal –but he insisted on staying around, to keep an eye out in case anything happened –as if anything could happen with such a foolproof plan. But we couldn’t waste much time, so I finally agreed, as long as he would stick to what we’d discussed.

It turned out they don’t call it windy for nothing. I sucked on the filter of the cigarette, fidgeting with my nails. With the excitement of moving in I had barely noticed the sudden drop of temperature, and how everyone else had their scarves and coats on, with me looking like I had come down in a hurry and thrown on whatever I could find. I tied my flimsy nightrobe as tight as I could, wrapping myself in it, feeling the cold settling in my knees, and hoping the delivery didn’t take much longer…

A noisy motorcycle stopped right by the lamppost. I flicked the butt of the cigarette and put on my best smile. The delivery guy took off his helmet, pulled out the pizza box, and was about to head to the building next door, when I rushed to meet him.

“Excuse me! Mister?”

He turned around and gave me a look. He was barely more than a kid. “Yes, miss?”

“I’m sorry… You came with the pizza, right?” I asked, fluttering my eyelashes. “For Wood and Lake Street, number two-six-seven?"

“Uh—”

“I’m so sorry, I called again at the place, but they told me you had left already… I’m Christine, I made the call?”

The delivery guy looked around him, before turning back to face me. “Y-yeah, Christine—”

“I just moved here, and I’m still not used to the address change… Two-six-seven, two-six-four, it all sounds the same to me,” I giggled with a little shrug, and pulled a strand of hair behind my ear.

He smiled back at me –and his eyes wandered down for a second.

“It’s alright.”

I smiled a bit wider. He took the bait.

I fumbled in the pocket of my nightrobe and took out a bunch of bills. I pretended to count them, double-checking to be more convincing.

“Ugh, I’m just short on five bucks…” I whined, before looking back up at him. “Um, would you mind coming along? It’s getting cold out here, I’d hate to make you wait…”

“Please, miss, I—”

“And I also wanna give you a tip, of course, since, you know, you had to go through all this trouble…”

“Please, it’s no trouble—”

“Still, I insist…”

I gave him one more smile, and a little wink. That sealed the deal. He smiled back at me, nervously, knowing this wasn’t exactly normal; but didn’t protest. He just followed me along.

“Hold the door.”

Once I had unlocked the door, let the delivery guy come in first, and then slinked behind him, Chucky hurried to slip through the crack. I gazed at him out the corner of my eye. He returned the gaze, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. The delivery guy barely even glanced at him, distracted as he was with me.

We all went up to the elevator in silence.

“… Hey there, Mr Ray,” I finally said after a moment, with a little smirk. He smiled back, reaching out to brush his hand against my nightrobe.

The coldness of the street was replaced by the nice warmth coming from the pizza box in the delivery guy’s hands. I realized just how hungry I really was. I raised my chin and looked up at the flickering overhead light, resting my back against the wall of the elevator, drumming my nails. I knew he had a fishing line in his coat pocket, but my own pockets were far too small to carry anything bigger than a little wad of cash. Taking a deep breath to disguise my impatience, I looked back to the delivery guy, offering him another syrupy smile. He didn’t even notice. He was staring down my chest, and not even subtly. I glanced at Chucky. He wasn’t smiling anymore. I heard –and I assumed the delivery guy didn’t –him cracking his knuckles.

We got out of the elevator, me first, then the delivery guy behind me. I crossed the hallway, dangling the keys in my hand. I had enough experience to know when someone was staring at me, even without directly looking at them. You can feel it with enough practice, like a tension in the air, in the silence of the watcher, holding their breath. There’s an anticipation, a hesitance, as the watcher wonders if they are satisfied with just looking, or if they want to do something about it, to act. I knew the delivery guy’s mind was racing with thoughts and fantasies. But I knew what was going to happen. I had no doubts about it at all. And I could barely wait.

I opened the door to the apartment. The delivery guy was almost breathing down my neck. I turned around with a big grin, stepping back, letting him in. He gave a couple steps forward towards me –and then Chucky walked right in behind him –slammed the door shut –and circled his throat with the fishing line. Jolted, the delivery guy dropped the pizza box, gasped and tried to reach for his neck –but Chucky pulled tight –and the line sank into the guy’s skin, choking him hard. I laughed. Even Chucky, unable to properly see the delivery guy’s face as he was, let out a laugh, too.

“Isn’t she breathtaking?” he said to the delivery guy, pulling his head against his shoulder, glancing at me before turning to look at him. The kid tried to scream, his mouth wide open, with only a silent wheeze coming out. I laughed even harder.

After a few seconds, though, when I calmed down, and the delivery guy was turning half purple and Chucky’s hands were almost completely white, I realized something.

“Stop…!” I shouted. “Stop, stop !”

Chucky shot me a glare, but he relaxed his arms a bit, and in the end, he let the delivery guy drop to the ground, still clinging on to dear life. Writhing on the kitchen floor, panting between hacking coughs, in too much pain to even stand, still with the mark of the fishing line pressed on his neck, he tried to crawl away. Chucky gave him a kick to keep him in his place. I punched his shoulder.

“Hey! The hell was that for!?”

“Can’t you see, you idiot?” I said, pointing down at the half dead guy by our feet. “He’s still alive, alive enough so that we can really do a number on him. It’s much more fun that way.”

He didn’t seem as excited as I was about this opportunity.

“Why didn’t you suck him off, while you were at it?” he asked me, raising his voice.

“What—?”

“Back at the elevator—!”

I rolled my eyes. “Come on, don’t be so dramatic… It worked, now, didn’t it?”

“There had to be another way that didn’t involve you flashing your tits.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

The pizza delivery guy let out a long groan. Both me and Chucky gave him a harder kick.

“ Stay out of it! ” we yelled at him.

Chucky huffed, rubbing his temples. His hands were still a bit too pale and marked from the strain of the fishing line.

“Something less complicated?”

“Can’t you just appreciate a good thing, instead of always trying to find the fault?” I said, pulling out my nail file. “Jesus Christ, what matters is it worked. Didn’t it?”

He muttered something under his breath.

“And come on,” I said, with a little satisfied smile. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t well planned.”

“… It wasn’t your worst plan yet, I’ll give you that.”

“Is it so hard to just pay me a straight compliment?” I sighed, walking over the delivery guy, and giving him a look. “And besides… Now we got him all to ourselves.”

He finally smiled back at me, and pulled me to him for a quick kiss.

Nail file in my hand, I got on my knees and slashed the delivery guy’s chest, opening gash after gash, over and over, making sure not to finish him off yet, while Chucky watched. Soon he ended up looking like a newbie lumberjack’s messy first job. Once I decided I was done, sucking on my nails, it was his turn. He surveyed the bleeding gashes for a moment, as if considering what his options were, before surprising me and deciding to go with stomping on the guy’s arm –breaking it with a loud cracking noise. The guy tried to scream, but Chucky had done a good job on his throat –he could only let out a thin croak, barely interrupted by some coughing. Once the delivery guy was already a gurgling and sobbing mess, only then he took out his knife.

I watched him work for a while, sitting on the kitchen floor, and took a peek at the pizza. The cheese had spilled a bit over the edges, but it was still warm. It was much taller than I thought it would be; I had forgotten it was that weird local deep-dish thing. I had just been wondering if it would be enough, one large pizza for the two of us. It appeared it was more than enough. I had a slice, having to use both hands to keep it from spilling even more cheese, while I watched Chucky use the guy as a pincushion.

“He’s dead already, sweetheart…” I told him, standing up beside him, by the point in which the delivery guy was no longer even twitching. “Dinner’s gonna get cold.”

Finally, Chucky moved away from our kill, with a big, weary, thrilled smile, slightly breathless, wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat. He took it off and dropped it to the side. We were gonna need to get some hooks for the door, when we eventually went shopping for furniture.

Chucky brought the pizza box and the beers I’d forgotten about into the main room of the apartment. I remembered I had brought a couple wine bottles from the store, which I preferred much more to that cheap beer he liked to guzzle. In the meantime, he sat on the hardwood floor, with his back against the wall. Once his breathing got steadier, he took a pizza slice out of the box –and was startled by the big oily chunk of tomato and cheese dripping off of it, half of the whole slice dropping onto his pants.

“Ah, shit …!”

I laughed, coming back from the kitchen. “We already got a fresh batch of clothes to take to the laundromat, it seems.”

I took a swig of the wine bottle, shrugged off the nightrobe from my shoulders, and sat on his lap, facing him.

“There’s plenty of floor to sit on, you know,” he said, mouth full, stuffing his face with the greasy pizza and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, well… Until we get some proper chairs,” I said, leaving the bottle beside us, next to the beer and the pizza box, and lit a cigarette. “Guess this is the most comfortable seat in the house.”

He chuckled, washing down the slice with a gulp of beer. I smiled and took a drag.

“You were jealous,” I noted, tilting my head to the side. “Back there at the elevator.”

“… Maybe,” Chucky grumbled, while he ran his hand over my thigh.

“You needn’t be.”

Chucky gazed up at me, his face half in shadows, half lit by the red glow of the only lamp we had in the living room. Even then I could see the blue and silver in his eyes.

“You like it?”

I gave him a little frown, unsure of what he meant. He nodded toward the box, taking the cigarette from between my fingers.

“Hm. Deep dish is good,” I said, with the tiniest pout. “But I miss Jersey pizza.” It was hard to call deep dish a pizza at all. It was more like a cheese quiche than anything else, pretty difficult to eat without fork and knife, something that would take some getting used to.

“I don’t know,” he said, holding my hand by the wrist and examining it, dirty as it was with pizza grease, tomato sauce and who knew what else. It probably got deep under my nails. “I kinda like the mess it makes.”

Chucky sticked my index finger in his mouth, looking up at me, and sucked it clean. I giggled, feeling a flush creeping up my cheeks. Even almost three years later, he could somehow still find ways to make me blush. He pulled it out of his mouth, with a little pop! sound. I laughed –he laughed too –and he bounced his knees, threatening with shaking me off his lap, and I kept laughing, holding onto him, and he embraced me back.

I knew we were gonna like it there in Chicago.

Once we were satisfied, after dinner was done and over with, we decided that, given our current lack of real tools, our best option to dispose of the dead body we had on our kitchen floor was to drop it in the lake. First off, we needed to make some space for the stiff: so we took out a few of the boxes we had squeezed into the trunk and brought them up to the apartment, and did the same a couple more times until we had enough room to fit a folded-up, scrawny six-foot load in the back of the Pontiac. Not without some light complaining first, I finally agreed to use a couple of the red bedsheets we had gotten at the Starlite to wrap the lump with.

It was dark outside already when we dragged the dripping body out the building and inside the trunk. The road map wouldn’t be of much use to help us get to the shore, but I more or less remembered having seen some nice scenic spots where we could throw something in without being bothered.

“Y’know, I thought you’d be sick of driving for the rest of the year,” he commented while I drove us back home. The disposal was done with, and with minimal bloodstains: a real success.

“Like I told you –I’m breaking it in,” I smiled, speeding up after the red light changed to green. “It’s just wonderful, darling. Best birthday gift I’ve ever had… I don’t think I’d ever get sick of it.”

“Well…” He turned to me with a smile. “Your birthday’s not over yet, is it?”

I glanced at him. Still smiling, he took out another map from the seemingly endless pockets of his coat, unfolded it, and searched where we were.

“Where are we going now?”

“Just keep on straight by the lakeshore,” he said, gesturing towards the road ahead. “You’ll see.”

We passed by a large park, and a boardwalk, and then another little boardwalk –when, coming up over the treetops, I finally saw what he had in mind. An amusement park glowed just a few miles away from us, big and bright and colorful.

“Wait,” I gasped. He smiled wider. “Really!?”

I parked the car as quickly as I could, and hurried out. I sprung back and forth, my heels clicking on the concrete, hopping in place, just barely repressing squeals, and I ran around, all excited, unable to choose where to go first. I was fifteen again, back at Coney Island, dazzled by all the lights and the sounds.

“Come on !”

Behind me, Chucky was still walking, taking his time to glance around, completely expressionless behind the sunglasses. I huffed. I rushed back to him, gave him a little playful shove, and pulled him by the arm, hurrying him along. He laughed, pulling back, trying his darndest to stay behind, just to tease me.

All lined to the sides of the boardwalk on the way to the rides, rows of carnival stands were waiting to swindle customers eager to try their hand at winning all sorts of cheap prizes. I was feeling pretty lucky: I went straight to shooting the ducks.

“Bullshit,” I cried. “This is rigged!”

Apart from being impossible to hit anything with it, the worn-down air rifle got jammed after taking every shot. I shook it around, hit it against the counter, did everything I could to unjam it –and, of course, after each time I managed to take another crappy shot, it jammed again.

Chucky clicked his tongue, and took the rifle from my hands. “Here, let me show you how it’s done.”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try—!”

He made a whole show of it, taking off his sunglasses, squinting to fully focus on his aim. He had told me once that bright lights annoyed him, as a sort of excuse for wearing them so often, come rain or shine, as if I didn’t know he wore them just to look cool. And, after taking in a deep breath, measuring the speed of the wind and the angle in which he was standing and whatever else he could do to stall it, he finally squeezed the trigger. Somehow, the pellet hit the roof of the stand.

“Fucking bullshit !”

Chucky began yelling at the carnival barker, who stayed stone-faced, probably pretty used to these outbursts. Even when he tried to grab and shake him by the collar, almost climbing over the counter, the guy didn’t even flinch. I wondered how the barker would’ve ended up if I hadn’t managed to drag Chucky away from the stand before he did anything reckless.

It didn’t matter much; there were plenty other things to try out. He chose the next one, throwing darts at balloons. He was really, really good at it, certainly better than either of us were at duck-shooting. With bullseye after bullseye, and me cheering him on, he got in a good enough mood that he offered to teach me his secret foolproof techniques. I didn’t burst them all like Chucky did –but I really liked it when he found the patience to try to teach me something. And besides, I’m not gonna deny it, I also liked it when I gave him a reason to hold me up close like that in public, one hand on my waist, pushing my back forward into the best position, another hand under my elbow, telling me how light I had to hold the dart, how I had to stay facing straight ahead. Even if I didn’t learn anything, I could tell he got a kick out of getting to boss me around without me complaining for once.

“Well, you do have promise…” he said proudly, when I finally burst two balloons in a row, all by myself. “And a pretty good throwing arm.”

I chuckled, aiming for the next shot. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Not half as good as mine, of course—”

On my second try I didn’t quite get all the balloons, so he took over and cleaned up the board. Being given the option to choose whatever prize he wanted from the assortment behind the barker, Chucky picked out a teddy bear, strikingly similar to that one I had brought with me and lost to New York so many years ago. I’d been gathering so much stuff over time, but even with my doll collection, I hadn’t had a plushie in more than ten years. Grinning until my cheeks felt sore, I giggled and hugged the teddy tight, kissing its head over and over, as if it were Chuckyʼs. I caught him staring at me with this little smile of his I knew so well: the one he had when I told him a joke and he didn’t want to admit how funny it really was; the one he had when I made his favorite for dinner; the one he had just before telling me I looked good.

“… Why’re you looking at me like that?” I asked him with a chuckle.

“How can you be so damn excited over a cheap toy?”

“It’s not just a cheap toy,” I frowned, mock-serious, squeezing it protectively against my chest. “It’s a cheap toy you won for me.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

I stuffed the teddy in my bag, his fluffy little head popping out the zipper, so I could have my hands free. Chucky said that if I just relied on holding it everywhere for the rest of the night, I’d eventually forget about it, and lose it, and I’d be left a sobbing mess. I scoffed, but I couldn’t really argue with that. Honestly, though, I don’t think anything, not even losing his little present, would have pulled me down from the big fluffy cloud of joy I was floating in.

We bought a candy apple to share, so we could have more money to spend on the attractions. Taking turns chomping down on it, he wandered off ahead of me for a moment, and walked up to the high striker, looking up at the top, calculating in silence. An automatic voice called out ‘ Test your strength! ’ and ‘ Who are the men out of the boys? ’. I grinned, knowing full well that, now that I had gotten close enough to hear the dare, Chucky wouldn’t be able to move on without giving it a try.

“You think you can get the bell to ring?” I asked him casually.

“You can’t trust any of the games here,” he said, barely turning around to face me. “You know that.”

“How rigged can this really be, though?” I teased him, grabbing the mallet’s handle, feeling its weight. “It’s just a puck, a lever, a bell…”

He looked down at my hands holding the mallet, then back at me. I raised my eyebrows.

“Well, let’s see how well you fare.”

So I gave it a try. I didn’t have much experience with the high striker, but I could clobber someone up real good, and I had tenderized a few steaks in my life. That should be experience enough. Putting my weight into the balls of my feet, I swung the mallet –shifted it all to my arms –as I smashed the lever. Eighty-seven, the blinking lights declared. I let out a triumphant laugh.

“But I didn’t hear any bell ring,” Chucky said, with a shit-eating grin. I stuck my tongue out at him.

After I’d done it, it didn’t take long for him to pick up the mallet. He curled his fingers around the handle and took in a deep breath, staring up at the bell, as if he could get it to ring out of sheer force of will. The mallet swung over his shoulder, he raised it high above his head, and…

“Put your back into it!” I yelled out of a sudden, breaking his concentration.

He shot me a glare. “Shut up!”

I snickered, taking another big bite of the candy apple. He huffed –adjusted his grip –took a deep breath –and raised the mallet high once more… And slammed it against the lever –the puck shot up –and hit the bell with a loud clear ding! I whooped and clapped. He turned around, gave me a smile, and bowed.

“What’s the prize?” he asked me, sticking his hand in the back pocket of my tights.

“A nice boost of your ego,” I laughed, patting his chest. “As if you were really needing that.”

Once we got past the carnival stands, it was time to really choose what we were gonna go in first. We decided to start with the Gravitron –his favorite attraction, he told me. I had no idea what it was all about, and he insisted he wanted it to be a surprise. There were no seats in there, no warnings, no safety measures. A motor began humming and moving beneath our feet, and soon it got spinning like mad, and the floor somehow lowered, my heels hovering above it and leaving us glued to the walls like a fly. Chucky hollered and grabbed my hand, and, pulling the other one up as best we could, being twirled inside that hellish washing machine, we both made a huge effort to stand on the wall, arms stretched out into the center of the wheel, laughing our heads off. A rainbow of lights flashed across our faces as the wheel spun even faster, and I gripped his hand tighter, trying my best to keep standing up straight, till I couldn’t anymore, and tumbled over him, pushing him back against the walls of the Gravitron with me. We laughed, and I grabbed his hand again, and we clumsily crawled around till we were upside down, howling and feeling the pull of the whirl hard enough we could barely move anymore.

We got off the ride with wobbly legs, dizzy and hoarse from screaming. It was exhilarating. All that, and we were just beginning.

We gave everything a spin. We went into the funhouse, where we got separated in the mirror maze, bumped into each other’s reflections and became lost for quite a while; on the pirate ship, where my favorite purple scrunchie flew off into the night, never to be seen again; and to the Ferris wheel, from the top of which we could see all of Chicago, glittering from above. The tunnel of love was closed and undergoing repairs after some kind of incident, so instead we went into the ghost train. It was much more fun than I’d expect: not scary, per se, but it was crammed with bright, neon fluorescent ghouls, demons and zombies popping against the pitch-black darkness under flashing lights, and there was spooky music booming under a choir of groans, moans and screams. There, we necked until the ride was over. Then, we went back in again four more times.

And after that we found a nightclub at one end of Navy Pier, which didn’t charge much at all and played good enough music for us to go and dance. I had turned twenty-eight, but I didn’t feel it at all. To me, I was still a teen, able to go through the night without a single yawn, wanting nothing but more and more light and noise –more life –more movement –more thrills to make it a real night to remember.

“ The fire in your eyes… Keeps me alive… ”

The strobing lights captured little moments in time, funny still images of us thrashing madly. We kicked around, rocked our heads, flailed our arms, all in godawful impressions of dances we had seen on TV. We danced badly, but we didn’t care. If it had been only me on the dance floor, making a fool of myself, I’d probably have held back a bit. I would’ve cared more about doing smaller shoulder movements, little steps, imitating the other girls there. With Chucky along with me, making a fool of himself too, I didn’t really have any reason to give a shit.

“ I’m sure in her you’ll find… The sanctuary… ”

We spun around, with him twirling me first, holding my hand over my head, before I did the same with him, and we laughed, tripping over ourselves and holding onto each other, laughing again and again, louder, but never louder than the blaring music, the electric guitars and the drum beats. We were there to have fun, and we were determined to have the time of our lives.

“ And the world, and the world, the world turns around— ”

By the time we stumbled out of the dance floor, we were like drunks, giggling like crazy, staggering and grabbing the other to stay more or less upright. We linked arms and made our way through the pier, away from the crowd, towards the edge. It was colder there than what I had expected, especially with the thin layer of sweat that was covering my neck and brow. The wind was no longer a little breeze, and the waves crashed and shook the shadowed boats. I leaned against the old wooden handrail, taking a deep breath of the frozen air, staring out into the night.

It was sort of strange, to think of how much I had dreamed of leaving my neighborhood, my family, everything that had me so fed up back at home. And then I had my misadventures in New York, where I had become so disillusioned with it all, with the promises of a brighter future, of something like real true love. It had all been just an endless series of disappointments. I would’ve been amazed to know I’d live past twenty-seven. And then –then, there I was –in a dazzling new city, with a promising new life, doing what I loved, living for the day. As if, all along, this is where I was supposed to be. As if I was, just now, truly living.

No more hiding. Just being myself, doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, for as long as I could.

Chucky’s arm circled my shoulders, pulling me close and wrapping me with his long black coat. I snuggled against him, thankful for the warmth.

The bright lights of the pier reflected on the water. It was a beautiful sight, almost as beautiful as the one up the top of the Ferris wheel. Even with my heart still racing in my throat, there was a kind of joyful peace. A complete satisfaction. Bliss. I felt breathless –not tired , just breathless –as if I was so full there was nothing else that could possibly bring me any higher than where I was.

He took off his sunglasses and offered me his cigarette. I accepted it, and took a deep drag. To someone else in the distance, I thought, we probably looked like a freakish, black-clad two-headed creature, leaning against the rail and sharing a smoke.

“There was this thing, back in the day… A music festival, performed right here at Navy Pier…” he said. I could hear his own breathlessness in his voice. “The Chicagofest.”

“Is that so?”

I handed the cigarette back to him. He took one last drag, and his white hand peeked out the lapels of the coat to flick the little glowing stub into the dark water. “That would’ve been a better birthday present, huh?”

He was just talking nonsense now, too dizzy after all that fun. I looked back at him over my shoulder.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, and turned around, and gave him a little peck on the nose. “This is perfect.”

Still holding me close under his coat, he stroked my cheek, pushing stray hair strands away from my face. The wind was really blowing now, sweeping my platinum curls and his black waves and tangling them together, and I was feeling rather close to feverish, my body nice and cozy but my head turning cold. His hands, though, were warm.

I slipped my hand behind his nape, pulling him closer, as close as possible, and he rested his hand on my hips, leaning forward –and we kissed, softly at first, like a little sigh of relief, barely tasting the sickly sweet-and-sour taste of the apple that’d been lingering in each other’s tongue –before he opened his mouth a bit more –and I held him tighter, and went in for longer, deeper. It really was perfect. It was just where I was supposed to be.

“Happy birthday, Tiff.”

#chucky series #childs play #fanfiction #tiffany valentine

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thebrokentale · 1 year

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Chapter 6- Number 13 (Carnage)

Previous Chapter- Number 14 (Care)

Tilda’s flesh and blood came back to her, and she redid her clothes as well. She looked around once again. The wood was healed, looking squeaky clean.

“Hello?” There was no answer.

“Who has the element of wood? I know you’re reforming the boat. Come out.”

Tilda frowned. “Ok, what about that other voice I heard? Who was that?”

Still no answer. “Natsume, can you see anyone around us?”

“Yes. Just one person. They are outside of this room, Though, for some reason my radar is acting up. The direction is funky.”

“I noticed that. This boat…”

Tilda walked out into the hallway, but found that it was hard to navigate.

“It’s like a maze. It hurts my head to look at.”

“Think about it. Before, this whole ship was made to look like a cruise liner, right? So it stands to reason that the power to do that might still be used. Now it’s just being used to mess up our sense of direction.”

“I just have to wonder what kind of being they are. Are they a spirit? A god? Or maybe even a ghost-”

A large crash came from the ceiling, and another being went flying through it. They slammed onto the ground, landing into the hallway.

“Your adventure ends here.”

“Already?!”

Tilda summoned Reverse from her body, and got into a battle stance. The figure in front of her was clouded in smoke, but it slowly moved away, revealing the force of nature in front of her.

“Which one are you? 13, I’m guessing?”

The person stood up, their green, white, blue and yellow eyes lighting up.

What? Their colors were out of control. Their hair was green and white, almost looking like a leak. They had their hair tied into a short ponytail. They wore a relatively normal outfit, a blue varsity jacket over just a simple black t-shirt. They wore very short jean shorts, their legs bare. They also didn’t wear shoes, which was very odd considering the wooden floors. They seemed extremely powerful though. They had a bandaid on their cheek, supposedly covering some kind of scar.

“I’m Number 13, also known as your worst nightmare. My name is Gravity Mover, and my element will completely destroy you.”

G- Gravity? No way… It can't be…

Even though they were her enemy, Tilda still bowed, recognizing the unnatural energy.

“I regret to fight you.”

“Unfortunately for you, you don’t have a choice.”

There was something strange about Gravity Mover though. Stranger than everything else.

“What’s that sticking out of your hair?”

Gravity Mover became embarrassed, and turned red. “Don’t talk about that!”

“Wait, those are horns.”

True enough, Gravity Mover had very, very short horns sticking out of their head. Or at least, the base of them. They had been cut off, like the base of a carrot.

“Why on Earth did you cut them off? Now you only have one life.”

“You really want to know? For one, I don’t need horns to beat you. I already told you, my element is unbeatable. But more importantly, I hate Hell.”

Tilda flinched from those words.

“My parents, my home, I hate it all. Back there, I never fit in. I just wanted to be a spirit. Not a stupid demon.”

“No way… You aren’t a…”

“So I left. I left everything behind thanks to Rust. She showed me a new way out. And now I can finally be myself. I’ve become a Fallen Demon, and I’ve never been happier!”

Normally Tilda didn’t really care about people’s backstories, but she wanted to hear more. “Why would you be happy about that?”

“Tilda, I hated my parents. They told me to keep my element to myself. It was too strong to ever be released. And that… That really hurt. I had such an amazing power, but I could never show it to anyone. I could never fight anyone! I could never be myself!! But not anymore. Never again! They can take my sister, I don’t care. As long as I can be myself, none of it matters!”

Gravity is so strong… But enough for it to be locked away? I’m beginning to understand their hatred.

“I’m glad that Rust helped you.”

Gravity Mover was surprised and smiled. “Tildawn, you’re the only one that can survive against my element. You’re the only one that is able to see my true form. So I thank you. To be honest, I have no ill feelings towards you. But in order to be myself, I have to annihilate you. So I've joined with the rest of these powerful men and women.”

“So tell me, just what is your unbeatable element?”

Gravity Mover smiled as their energy crackled like popcorn, starting and then stopping as their hair flew in the wind. They smirked, their eyes burning with pride.

“Glue.”

Tilda was confused.

“Glue? Not gravity? I mean, your name is…”

“Gravity? Why would it be that?”

“Heh.” Tilda laughed.

“Haha.” And she laughed some more.

“HAHAHAHAHA!! Your element is glue?!”

Gravity Mover was honestly confused themself. No one had ever reacted this way to their element before.

“Hey…”

“That’s hilarious! How on Earth can you use that in a fight? Are you gonna make me stuck?”

“It’s not funny!”

Gravity Mover was blushing brightly, and was heavily upset.

“Hahaha! You blush so easily! It’s very cute!”

“I… I thought you were an honorable warrior!!”

Tilda’s laughter began to slow down. “Haha… Honor, huh?”

Tilda stood up straight, and put her hand on Reverse, which was seated at her hip. “I haven’t heard that in a while. Tell me, what part of me is honorable? Maybe you could say that to the fictional version of me, but to the real me? HONOR?”

Tilda spat on the ground. “I am a ninja. It doesn’t matter what I did before, I still am one. A samurai is an honorable warrior. Like you. But I am not a samurai. And don’t ever think of me as one. You are the enemy. I wear no armor. I come in my true form. I am laid bare because that’s what a ninja does. We don’t bother ourselves with useless materialism. Honor is easily broken.”

Tilda got into a fighting stance, her hand on the grip of the sword. “Anyways, what do I call you? Gravity Mover is a really long name.”

“So is Zabbaninja.”

Gravity Mover got into their own fighting stance, crossing their arms, almost making an ‘x’ shape.

“Tilda.”

“Gravy.”

“Gravy?”

“It’s what my college friends call me.”

“Thank you.”

Gravy’s hands exploded like fireworks, and a white substance bathed in energy emerged from them. They flew out like webbing, and grabbed the wood at the top of the ceiling. Once attached, the spirit ripped it out of the wood and lunged it towards Tilda. Tilda blocked it, but was surprised to see it again on a larger scale. Gravy quickly grabbed pieces of the boat, chucking them at Tilda in quick succession. Thirty, forty, then fifty, tearing apart the boat from the inside slamming giant pieces of wood into Tilda, never giving her time to rest. They would jump up and down, using their body weight to fling the wood with all their strength. Eventually they all crashed into Tilda, wood and splinters flying everywhere. Both Tilda and Gravy stopped for a moment, and then Tilda spoke.

“I’m sorry I underestimated your element.”

“We haven’t even started yet.”

Gravy’s energy spiked, and then they put their hand to the ground, and a portal opened up beneath them. It rose and got bigger and bigger, consuming the world until-

“A spirit zone!”

When Tilda opened her eyes, they were no longer on the boat. Instead, a sprawling, open city was awakened to her. Skyscrapers the size of mountains, roads as long as the great wall, and lights as far as the eye can see. Both Tilda and Gravy were standing on a moving train, passing through the infinite city at high speeds. The city sped by as the train roared, heading towards nothing but more city.

“Welcome to your end, Ninja of Legend. I hope you’ve said goodbye to all your loved ones, because you won’t get another chance.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve cut through far worse than this.”

Tilda gripped Reverse tightly, and her arm turned to stone, flooded by orange energy.

“So be it.” Gravy quickly released their glue onto a pole in the ground, and then launched it at Tilda, who quickly sliced it in half. She ran towards the spirit, slicing anything that came her way.

“My swords are stronger than anything you throw at me!”

“Do you really think that’s true? Anything?”

Gravy launched more of their glue out of their hands, and this time they threw several cars, which were once again sliced in half by Tilda. But this time the ninja was slowed down, having to work more to cut the giant automobiles. Gravy threw more and more, increasing in speed. They could throw the cars so fast, it was as if they were nothing to them.

“Your strength is unimaginable! It’s not just your element-” Tilda’s sword ran through another car, cutting it in half and making it fly behind her.

“It’s your spirit as well!” Gravy threw a fire hydrant at Tilda, which she wasn’t ready for. It hit her skull, and red blood came out of it, flying into the night air. Tilda reached a hand for the spot where her skull was missing, feeling nothing but blood.

“What’s wrong? Did that hurt?”

“You asshole…” Tilda’s purple eyes glowed even brighter than the neon lights, as she gritted her fangs and stared at Gravy. Her blood was flying so fast she couldn’t call it back to her, which meant she was losing a lot of it.

“You can’t back up. If you do, I’ll just carefully throw things at you from a safe and comfortable distance. I don’t have to move to kill you.”

More cars were thrown at Tilda, and she destroyed every single one. But then Gravy shot out a spread of glue, which latched onto the window panes of the skyscraper next to them. The panes flew directly into Tilda, twenty or so at a time. Tilda tried to cut them, but the glass separated into pieces, and they ran into her skin, causing her to lose more blood. They were like knives, stabbing into Tilda’s flesh.

“God… You are insufferable!”

“But you’ll live, right? This shouldn’t be a problem for the Ninja of Legend!”

Gravy kept sending more and more shards of glass, a tornado of it crashing into Tilda, tearing apart her blood.

“I’m impressed. You weren’t actually kidding about your element. Glue is… Very strong.”

“Die, Tilda.” Gravy grabbed onto the entire skyscraper with their glue, and threw the whole thing at Tilda. It clashed with her sword, with her barely being able to slow it down, but then she sliced up and down, only making a small dent in the gigantic building. So she did it again and again, chopping up and down hundreds of times, eventually slicing through the building, only to be met by another one, in which she had to do the same thing.

“AUUGHH!!” More and more parts of the building ran into Tilda, tearing her flesh. She summoned Chamber, now slicing with double the speed, tearing through hallways and office complexes. She twisted and turned like a tornado, rapturing through the glass and concrete, burning through it like a wandering flame. When she cut through it, she was met by an enormous chunk of Earth, the entire ground thrown towards Tilda. She began to twist her swords around and around, and carved through it, dirt and rock crashing into her blood. But even so, she ran through it, twisting and turning, her swords making a way forward. She fell back onto the train, only to be met by another train, which she quickly sliced in half. She looked at Gravity Mover, enraged and hurt.

“Bravo! Amazing! So this is the power of Zabbaninja! I’m so amazed!” Tilda was bleeding out from almost every part of her body, her breathing intense and dramatic. She had glass sticking out of her flesh, and dirt all over her body and clothes. She was so angry her energy was visible, moving and weaving like her mind.

“I think your parents only wanted to protect you.”

Gravity Mover turned to Tilda. “What?”

“I think they did it not only so you wouldn’t kill people, but also so you wouldn’t be killed yourself. There are many who only live in this world to find great battles and challenge them. You would have been found out and someone would have fought you. Maybe you kill them. Now you’re a murderer. Or maybe, they’re so strong they kill you.”

“What are you saying? There is no one in this world that is stronger than me!”

Gravity Mover held out their arms, and glue grabbed onto the ground. “You don’t understand Tilda. My family is from a very, very long line of spirits and demons, who have grown stronger each and every day. Tell me, have you ever wondered who the first spirits were? Hahahaha!! It was my distant, distant ancestor who was the first to gain power of his own! We were the first spirits, and we’ll be the last!! I’ll end you with this next attack!! Earthen Grave!!”

“Damnit!” Tilda suddenly began to fiddle with her golden bracelet.

“Why isn’t this working?”

Gravity Mover stopped, wondering what Tilda was so troubled about.

“The Ring of Revelation, what’s wrong with it? There’s no way… It couldn't have been broken in the fight, right? It’s the only thing keeping me alive… It can’t break now!”

Gravity Mover looked at the ring. It was glowing, almost pulsating with energy. It had to be extremely important. It had to be… “So that’s the source of your power! Maybe I don’t even need to use my ultimate attack!”

“What?”

Gravity Mover shot glue out of her hand and grabbed onto the ring.

“Die Tilda!!”

They pulled and pulled, the ring not wanting to budge. But their element was so strong.

“No! You can’t! If you do that you’ll-” They pulled and pulled, until it ripped open, and a noise like tearing a piece of string was made. The ring fell off of Tilda’s arm, and came barreling towards Gravity Mover. But then something strange happened. The ring began to glow, getting brighter and brighter. Gold energy surrounded it, as it crackled with lightning.

“I’m sorry Gravity Mover, but your family will never outlive me.”

“What?” The ring got brighter and brighter, angelic words coming out of its golden writing. It began to make a horrible sound, getting louder and louder, until it all released as it was inches away from Gravity Mover’s face. As the corpses breathed on them, tears began to well in their eyes.

“I Am, can you please answer a question?”

The golden haired god turned to look at the ninja. “What is it?”

I Am pretended to be annoyed, but actually liked his company.

“Why did you attach a bomb to every angel? What is the purpose of the Ring of Revelation?”

“To make sure no one will ever beat an angel.”

Zabbaninja frowned. “There has to be more to it than that.”

I Am wrinkled his eyes under his glasses. “Have you ever considered that that is a very personal question?”

“O- Oh. Sorry.” The two people stood in silence, bathing in the warmth of Satan’s library. But still, this was the older I Am. The one that had no one.

“Alright, I’ll tell. When the Endless Death took everyone, did you know how many angels were left?”

“No.”

I Am had a cold look. “Twenty.”

He sat down in a chair, breathing in and out slowly. “My angels were massacred. Even more so than the demons. The only reason I survived was because those twenty made me leave. They were smarter than me, I suppose. But the result was devastating. I had to start over. Begin again. Still, after the fight, I went back to the spot. Where they all died.”

Zabbaninja sat down as well, intently listening by the fire.

“What I found was a fountain of energy. Yes, there was a flood of mud, but over it was a gift. All of the dead angels had combined their energies, in a mass fusion of their souls. What was left was a combined energy that had no intelligence or thought. It was just pure energy, left there for me to use. There was so much concentrated power, if you touched it, it would melt your flesh instantly. And there was so much of it. So, so much. I didn’t want my angels to die ever again. So I took that energy, diluted it, and put it into a ring. But that one ring could only hold so much of it. I gave the rings to the rest of the living angels, and as I made more, I gave them a ring as well. There are a couple thousand angels now, and still I have plenty left over.

“That ‘bomb’ is actually the energy left over from everyone who died. A golden, unlimited energy source that is formed from the loyalty and rage that all the angels felt as their lives were taken away… By my stupidity. Why did they still support me? Why did they like me? I led them all to die!”

I Am put his glasses on the end table next to the chair, and wrinkled his eyes yet again. “When I touched it… I heard them. They told me… Thank you. Thank you. They actually thanked me.”

I Am’s red tears left his eyes and stained the carpeted floor. “The writing on the rings is their message… To never die again. And whoever breaks that promise will be consumed in the energy of everyone. That is the true nature of the ring. And why…”

Someone opened the door to the room, and then frowned. “Oh. Why are you two here?”

The ring exploded. Voices cried out of it, as ghostly images of thousands of angels formed around each other to make a vague sphere like shape. They completely consumed Gravity Mover, tearing them apart in an instant. It’s gold energy pumped over and over, lighting up the entire city, no darkness being exposed anymore. It screamed again and again, a terrible sound coming from the explosion.

The train slowed down, coming to a stop, and Tilda held out her arm. Blood slammed into her body, and slowly it began to reform, the flesh intertwining with her blood. She watched as the explosion coursed around itself, moving in a circle. She formed some water and poured it into a bottle, drinking as she took a small break. The explosion was beautiful, but sad as well.

It’s smaller than the one Zadkiel had. Maybe there was more in his ring since he lived longer. Or maybe it’s because this one was made by Stella. I’m going to have to ask her for a new one.

The spirit zone around Tilda began to fade, leaving behind the world and the explosion. She stood up, and almost welcomed the swaying boat, as it rocked upon the choppy waters. She stayed still, having a moment of respite. She just stood there as the boat moved, listening to the roar of the ocean and the creaking of the wood.

“T- Tilda! Don’t get safe yet! Someone’s coming!”

Tilda quickly held onto the hilt of Reverse, watching close at all the openings that would lead towards her. But then Tilda relaxed as she saw who it was.

“Raiga?”

The woman appeared out of the darkness, and stared at Tilda. “Tilda? Thank goodness you’re ok. Were you attacked too?”

Raiga walked up to Tilda, and stood right in front of her. She still wore her cloak, her hood around her face. Though this time it was clearer to see, with her spirit energy on full display. Her brown eyes glowed in the darkness, flickering like the flames in a bonfire. Under her cloak she wore a slightly tattered and well-used school uniform, all black with a white scarf. She wore a very short skirt, and Tilda looked at her legs. She had very full thighs, almost looking like marshmallows. On one leg she had a black stocking, and on the other a garterbelt, which almost seemed to squeeze her leg tightly. Drops of water were littered all over her legs, making them almost sparkle.

“Y- You’re staring…” Raiga then had a look of revelation. “Ah! That’s right!”

Raiga no longer had sleeves or gloves on, and pulled her arms up, showing them to Tilda. “Check it out! They’re just like your legs!”

Raiga had metal arms, looking nearly identical to Tilda’s legs. Several metal rings all surrounding her arms, strong in nature but smooth as butter. They were bursting with energy however, brown lightning sparking up and down them. “S- Sorry if my energy seems out of control, I can barely control myself.”

“Raiga, do you know who I am?”

Raiga nodded, a scary look on her face. Then she suddenly changed, to a face of joy. “You’re Tilda of course! You told me earlier. I’m so happy to have another spirit to talk to! Though… I wish we were in a more… Relaxed environment.”

“Hey, Raiga, you don’t have to hide anything anymore. You don’t have to pretend or act a certain way. Just be yourself.”

Raiga breathed deeply, the energy in her arm started to slow down. She backed up against the wall, and both Tilda and Raiga sat down.

“This ship… All these people… They’re really strong.”

“Can you tell me about who attacked you?”

“Some girl with the power of sweat. She was badly injured, but she still gave me a run for my money. Before I could kill her she was swallowed by the sea, and taken to god knows where.”

“I see.”

“What happened on your end?”

Tilda paused. “I took out some strange man with the powers of an angel and a demon, and then a non-binary person named Gravity Mover.”

“Wow… Sounds pretty tough.”

“It was, but here I am.”

Raiga paused. “Tilda… Do you know why this is happening?”

“They’re here to kill me.”

“What did you do to get a team of hitmen after you?”

“A lot of things.”

Raiga sighed, as if she was taking a smoke. “Things you regret?”

Tilda stared at the wall, watching it as it rose and fell with the tide. “I’m not sure.”

Raiga’s arm coursed with energy for a moment, and then it evaporated. “Out of curiosity, what is your element? It must be pretty good for you to have survived against such a formidable enemy.”

“Regeneration.”

“Wha-”

Raiga got up on her knees, and stared at Tilda. “Really?! That’s insane!”

“It’s true.”

“Wow…” Raiga sat back down. “All I have is fate.”

Now Tilda was shocked. Deeply so. Her eyes went wide and her breathing got more intense. “What?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you say… Your element was?”

“It’s fate. I have the element of fate.” Raiga brought her knees closer to her chest, and held onto them as she talked.

“It’s not as useful as it seems. Things seem to happen with no reason, and everything moves at a set pace. During a fight… I can feel the threads of where it goes and what will happen. It’s the only reason I’ve survived this long.”

“What do you do most days?”

“Me? I work at a restaurant. Wait tables.”

“You’re a spirit. You don’t need to do that.”

“Yeah, but it’s fun.”

“Have you met any other spirits besides me?”

“No. I have met a couple gods though.”

“Have you met the Goddess of Treasure?”

“Rust? No, but I’ve heard a lot about her. She’s extremely passionate, and is completely driven by revenge. Something about her father. I guess you don't have a lot to do as a god. It’s interesting, isn’t it? This world… And the Ocean.”

The rain could be heard overhead, the pitter patter of it rebounding off of the wooden ceiling. “Here on Earth, there are rules, systems and all sorts of things put in place. A government, different territories, countries and presidents. Kings and queens. But on the Ocean and in the world of souls, no such thing exists. There is no government. There are no laws. You are free to do as you please and there is nothing stopping you other than people. The only real restraint is Matter-Head and his far reaching hand. But other than that, there is no real stability. The entire thing could fall apart in an instant because the people hold the power.

“Battle is what’s mainly important. What determines your worth is essentially tied to what element you have. For some people it’s a dream, for others a nightmare. Gods must fight to do what they want. Spirits must fight to survive. Demons and angels must fight to serve their god. Vampires, zombies, all creatures of the Spirit Realm must battle if they are to do anything in this world. It’s completely unfair. But more importantly than anything else is justice. There is no justice. Even the God of Justice kills those that he wants and doesn’t face any consequence. There is no punishment for you kill, because there is no prison. There is no police, it’s all up to, once again, the people. Matter-Head can do anything he wants because no one can stop him. There is no creature in this land that can stop him, so he faces no trial. It’s why Tatsumi was allowed to do what he did. He may have been a grotesque villain, but he exposed the truth to everyone.

“As a spirit, the only way you can bring justice to the world is by doing it yourself. No one is going to do it for you.” Raiga got up, and then walked towards where Gravity Mover crashed through the ceiling. She looked up at the stars, staring at space’s beauty.

“My ancestors keep telling me to do what needs to be done. They’ve waited so long for this moment… But I have to keep them waiting just a little longer.”

Tilda walked up to Raiga, and for a second, she could only see Rogan.

“Do you hear that?”

Raiga paused. “Hear what?”

“The rain… It stopped…”

The ceiling was suddenly ripped open, an entire skyscraper crashing through the boat and aimed directly at Tilda and Raiga.

“RAIGA!!”

“TILDA!!” Tilda unleashed Vortex, its metal compartments wrapping around her body, as the yellow sword was wrestled out of its sheath. She held it above her head and stopped the skyscraper from crushing Raiga. But its size was truly immense, and it was pushing down so hard on Tilda.

“I CAN’T… HOLD ON!!”

“What is this?!”

“This is insane! It can’t be, can it-”

The skyscraper pushed down even further, Tilda’s sword beginning to crack under the weight of it. She began to scream out, the jets blasting to keep it from crushing her, but it wasn’t enough. Raiga was able to get out from under it, but that’s all she could do. Eventually, Tilda’s grip broke and the building pushed past her, sending her through the wooden floor. She screamed as she fell further into the ship, going past it into the deep blue sea. Only to move past that and into yet another spirit zone.

Now she was in the air, falling further and further towards a ground she would never reach. Her jets pushed forward, and she launched off of the building, moving to the left and away from it. She managed to fly under it, and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when another one came, this one falling in front of her, narrowly missing her. As she fell, she watched the reflections of the glass window panes as they revealed what was behind her. It was a glorious sight, a sunset over a city skyline. The skyscraper never actually ended, just an infinitely large building that kept falling and falling.

And then another one came on top of Tilda, this time so fast she couldn’t block it. She was being pushed down again, but this time she carefully took her sword and moved it to her side. She took the full force of the building into her skull, in which the flesh was torn apart, only leaving the raw skeleton to push against the building. But at that moment she swung her sword, blasting through the ground of the skyscraper and inside the building itself. Tilda’s blood slowly reformed her flesh as she blasted through the building, carving open every floor until she reached the top. She broke through every piece of metal and crashed through it, floating in the air as skyscrapers fell all around her. It was a sight difficult to describe, as the sun melted across the horizon.

And then Tilda saw something out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look at the reflection in the building, and saw a gigantic tree. A huge forest, with all sorts of overgrown vines and foliage. It was enormous, possibly the size of New York itself. And then it vanished, being replaced by the skyline again.

What was that? Another skyscraper ran into Tilda, cutting the flesh off of her arm this time. Instead of crashing through it however, she just knocked it away with all the force in her arm, making it fall to the non-existent ground. Tilda could see them, far away, floating in the air. Their blood dropped into the bottomless pit, as they held their broken body together.

“You… You monster… You will die… YOU WILL DIE!!” Gravity Mover’s entire body was cracked and chipping like a broken piece of china. Their energy was flickering, as blood seeped out of the cracks.

“No. I’m going to kill you.” Tilda didn’t have any joy in that sentence. She just had a look of shame, and the broken spirit understood. Tilda’s demonic wings spread out, and her horns glowed with energy.

“Do you think you’re strong? That you have any power? You don’t. You are nothing!! I am stronger!! I am the one who’s going to murder you! I can’t die… I’m the strongest… I’ll… I’ll make you cry.”

The glowing spirit formed another building with their energy and threw it at Tilda. The fire station crashed into her, and she cut inside of it. The tiled building caused things to fall in it, including a large fire truck, which headed directly towards Tilda.

“Shit!” The ninja cut through it and launched upwards, cutting through pipes and machinery, making it out the other end. Gravity Mover then threw a gas station at Tilda, only for it to explode in a mass of flames. It did nothing however, as even flames were no use against Tilda. She screamed and roared as she blasted through the air like a bullet. She was exploding with energy, and ran through more and more buildings as they were thrown at her. She leaped over skyscrapers as they were thrown towards her like knives, and she dodged and weaved from them, avoiding their massive weight. She landed on miles of window panes, her feet making the glass explode and fly into the air. Her blood stained the glass, making it appear red as she ran across it.

More and more buildings came after her, but they were grazed on her sword, as she used her bones to deflect them. The ground she was standing on suddenly burst open, The cruise ship from before coming into view. Tilda, her eyes burning like a beacon of energy, crashed into it and began to run down its gigantic deck. She kept swinging her sword, which now looked like a lightning bolt, destroying everything in her path. Glass continued to shoot into the ship, hundreds of white specks being shot like bullets out of a gatling gun. Entire buildings ran through the ship, trying to crush Tilda but only just barely missing every time.

Asteroids were thrown into the ship, and she just cut through them, taking in the flames with pride. She cut the beams of the ship, causing it to all fall apart. Two skyscrapers come at her now, one on her left and right, aiming to flatten her. She jumped over them as they collided, and then stuck her sword into another one falling from the air. She glided across it, her sword tearing open the building, carrying her across the bottomless realm. She soared across its broken landscape as she flew through a sea of glass and wreckage.

Gravity Mover roared one final time and launched an enormous parking garage at Tilda, its insides falling apart and ripped to shreds. Tilda launched through it, but took heavy damage entering its inside. But then she felt a surge of power. She could see the route she had to take. Her feet moved without thinking, and she blasted through the garage like lightning. She connected each pillar together with the trail of her energy as she bursted upwards through it, sword strikes slicing open the concrete in an instant. Her sword moved so fast it was only a glint in the air, as bright as a star. Her purple energy destroyed the concrete, as an ocean of gray parts swam across the world. In only a couple seconds, Tilda was right in front of Gravity Mover.

A blizzard of glass and wreckage erupted from the air, and the spirit couldn’t believe their eyes. Tilda held her sword with both hands at her shoulder, ready to swing like a baseball bat. Her body was crumpled, almost looking like she had just been through a garbage can. Glass shredded her body, stuck to her like glue. Her blood oozed out of her, her being completely unrecognizable. Her eyes were spiraled, the purple light beginning to consume the sunset. Her lightning sword, Simulation, was now so filled with energy it appeared like a firecracker, a volcano of purple and yellow fluid. Lightning was wrapped all around her body like a ribbon, burning and bounding again and again. But there was something else around her. A different energy. It was white as snow, and it leaked across her palms, her eyes, her legs and arms. It was even on her face, and it seemed even Tilda was unaware of it. The white energy howled, and then moved through Gravity Mover. And then in one moment, Tilda decapitated the spirit, their soul falling apart and being ripped to nothing. Blood exploded outwards, and the spirit zone cracked like a snowglobe, and then burnt up in flames. Gravity Mover’s pieces of their soul exploded as well, their energy and blood burning up like the sun, until it was all extinguished, not a single trace of their existence managing to live.

Characters-

Tilda/Zabbaninja- The Ninja of Legend. A demon who heavily respects and adores Hell and all in it. To hear that someone hates the people she grew to love is vexing.

Gravity Mover- A Fallen Demon, Number 13 of the Samurai. Non-binary. A demon who grew to despise their parents, and who went on to leave Hell, hoping for a place to test out their devastating power. The only opponent that could possibly withstand them would have to be Zabbaninja. In the Ocean, non-binary people are heavily respected to an almost absurd degree, due to the fact that hundreds of years ago, the God of Mud ended the Endless Death by sinking tens of thousands under their element. Before this non-binary people were insulted by the majority. After Kleo showed everyone how powerful and amazing non-binary people are, the exact opposite took place. Gravity Mover couldn't care less what people think of them. Element- Glue.

Raiga- The distant descendant of Rogan. Is now involved with all of this, and still seems to be hiding something. She has metal arms just like Tilda's legs, and seems to have quite a lot of energy. Element- Fate.

God/Stella- I Am's son/daughter. The God of the Earth. Due to unknown reasons, God appears differently depending on who is looking at him/her. He's said to appear as whatever you think God looks like. Tilda sees him as he sees himself, a woman named Stella. They formed a cautious friendship, as while Tilda is one of the few people to understand Stella, she can't condone her killings. Stella is the one who turned Tilda into an angel. Respects her father. Element- Ressurection.

Information-

A Spirit Zone is a strange phenomenon where by using their own energy, a being with a soul can create their own world with whatever they want in it. The creator of the Zone can lose control of it if they lose focus, though this rarely happens.

A Spirit Weapon is the personal weapon of a person who has a soul. It's similar to their element, though instead of a power, it is a weapon. Like an element, they can essentially be anything. Most people get theirs when they are young, but sometimes it can be difficult to obtain one, and the person must undergo some kind of trial to get it. Each Spirit Weapon can be summoned at will, and if broken, can be reformed in an instant. They are a spirit's secondary form of offense, aside from their element. The most common spirit weapon is a sword. Tilda's is Vortex, a large white cross which can disconnect and from a small sword, with the rest of it attaching to her like armor.

Next Chapter- Number 11 and 12 (Clash)

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