#to have his lab turned into someone else's cash cow

[aimzicr]

A bunch of would-be adventurers coming into the Adventurer Mart's Bhaalspawn Experience, stepping into the Spooky Dungeon and reading the plaques and talking about the way they would have handled themselves if this was their first dungeon, checking for traps, swinging some punches at the mannequins etc.

Then they turn the corner and see someone kneeling down in the middle of a room full of Spooky Cages, someone who gets up and leaves as soon as the group calls out to them. They don't respond, but they leave behind two bouquets of flowers. On closer inspection, the flowers are labelled: one is 'for Khalid' and the other one is 'for Dynaheir'.

"Huh," the visiting would-be adventurers say, "Weird." And then they move on with the tour.

[txtniipped]

time, ever moving

pokemon (gameverse) -- green oak/reader

(1892 words)

ao3 version

What snapped Green out of his funk was some cocky brat from Johto. His name was Gold, you learned, when Green complained to you at some banquet. He spoke about Gold bugging him at Cinnabar, about how the kid wanted to fight him right there, on top of all the ash and cinders. You had smiled wryly at him, and had told him, “I bet you would have if you were still twelve.”

Green snorted in response, lifting his glass of champagne to his lips as he spoke. “Good thing I’m not twelve anymore then.”

You’re not sure when your relationship with Green Oak changed.

When you were kids, he was a menace. You were no better, but it was always Green getting the two of you in trouble. Between rushing through the tall grass Pokemon-less, exploring nearby caves with “borrowed” equipment from Professor Oak’s lab, or dumb dares down at the coast south of Pallet, the blame would befall both of you, despite all of the instigating being Green’s doing.

Even during your journey, most of your trouble—when not dealing with an interregional crime syndicate—came from the one and only Green Oak.

Roadblock of the century, Green Oak was always waiting for you. Town after town, route after route, you found him flaunting his progress, forcing you to pause in your own as he challenged you. Given, you’d always win, and Green always gave you some piece of advice or a tip you genuinely didn’t know after, but it was still a momentum breaker; another bullet point on your list of annoying habits of one Green Oak.

Squaring up against him at the final point in your journey, however, was much more fitting than fighting Champion Lance.

Green was devastated when he lost, despite the front he put on for you. There was no name for the way he left after his grandfather came into the room other than retreating, and if Professor Oak hadn’t corralled you towards the Hall of Fame, you would have run after your rival.

Champion duties took over from there, and though you were a kid, you were swamped with work. Between interviews and tv appearances, photoshoots and League meetings (the last one, you’re sure, was the only true duty you had. The other stuff was most likely Lance fishing for funds for the League—two child prodigies claiming the title of Champion within a few months of beginning their journeys was honestly quite the cash cow), you rarely saw Green.

You found out later—sometime after most of the euphoria had died down—that Lance had hired Green as the new Viridian Gym Leader.

As Champion, you had the final signature on the paperwork to make it official. When Lance presented it to you, you almost thought it was a joke. Green Oak, willingly working with the League? With you?

He’d gone radio silent the moment he left the Plateau after you won the Champion battle. You only learned from Daisy after you nearly knocked a hole in the Oak residence’s door that Green left for Sevii Islands— that he’d been gone for weeks now, I thought he let you know?—and when he got back, he had ignored you. You! Rivals, best friends, whatever, he hadn’t said a word, and now—now?!

You signed off on it, of course. Your beef with Green was yours, not the League’s, and with how desperate you knew Lance was on filling the empty hole where Giovanni once stood, you weren’t going to be petty about this.

It turned out that Green was actually an excellent pick for a gym leader. You knew he would be—duh, he was Green Oak—, but you were proud of him anyway.

Viridian perked up nicely with a new gym leader at the helm—the influx of new trainers in Kanto the season Green stepped into his position nearly rivaled the season following the Champion battle between the two of you the year before. It was a testimony to Green’s fame, as well as another boost in profits for the League, which always made for a happy Lance.

Your rival had a way of elegantly beating aspiring trainers into the ground. Sometimes, it was the breaking point for journeys, and others, it drove home just how determined they really had to be to continue. The average rate of Earth Badges actually being given out per season dropped with Green as the Viridian Gym Leader when compared to Giovanni, but Lance had agreed with you—Green was every bit the better gym leader.

Until, at least, he seemed to get bored.

Viridian Gym fell to the wayside some time during Green’s second year of running it. Your rival had openly complained about paperwork, about guest lectures and special appearances, about the banquets and meetings and get-togethers whenever someone would spare him a second on the topic. It wasn’t a surprise to see Lance pulling Green away at all those gatherings to scold him, and you weren’t surprised by the way Green would always let it roll off his back either. 

Green Oak operates by no one’s rules but his own when he can get away with it, and if the worst repercussion Green was going to face was Lance being disappointed with him, you knew nothing would change.

What snapped Green out of his funk was some cocky brat from Johto. His name was Gold, you learned, when Green complained to you at some banquet. He spoke about Gold bugging him at Cinnabar, about how the kid wanted to fight him right there, on top of all the ash and cinders. You had smiled wryly at him, and had told him, “I bet you would have if you were still twelve.” 

Green snorted in response, lifting his glass of champagne to his lips as he spoke. “Good thing I’m not twelve anymore then.”

Gold tore through Green’s gym when he finally arrived, about a month later. 

You heard about it from your mother first, who apparently had been keeping up with Gold’s journey after the boy came through Pallet and charmed the little town with his familiar and nostalgic ambition. Your immediate thought upon hearing the news was how Green would want a rematch without the League rules he was required to follow as a gym leader weighing him down. When you saw Green the following morning, he voiced that exact sentiment to you. You laughed at his predictability.

Shortly after Gold had bested you a few weeks later, Green stepped down from Viridian Gym. He had an internship in Kalos under Professor Sycamore, as well as a scholarship to some college there for evolution sciences. Apparently, he spoke enough Kalosian to get by, and hearing him speak it to some lab assistant over the phone while dining at a cafe with him rattled your brain. 

Green kicked your shin under the table, and, belatedly, you realized you had been staring. Cheeks rosy, you settled on staring at your drink instead.

League meetings were insanely boring without Green there to take your mind off them after he left. Gold had won the title of Kanto Champion, yes, but he had already besieged the Johto title, and held the responsibilities that came with it. He had stepped down from any sort of toe-in-the-water as far as Kanto went, and thus, Lance had kept you around. Besides, after a rematch a month later, you had beaten Gold anyway. The two of you were on pretty even footing.

These meetings though—they were boring. Green somehow never paid attention and yet always could summarize them for you afterwards. Now, with him halfway across the world, you had to struggle to keep your eyes open alone under Lance’s droning voice. At least you could find comfort in Erika, who always fell asleep at some point in these meetings without fail.

Unova was where you saw Green next. The Champions Tournament was an event entirely too flashy for your tastes, but you could see the way Green shined under the attention. His battles were magnificent and dramatic while still being calculating and precise. You ate up the way he directed his hand towards the camera with a blinding grin on the tiny television in your hotel room at the start of one battle, and from the tinny shrieking blasting through the shotty speakers, so did everyone in the arena.

Your battle against one another was apparently referred to as the highlight of the tournament, and while you understood why everyone screamed in delight as Green’s Aerodactyl took down your Charizard, you couldn’t quite place why they practically deafened you upon your victory. You had nowhere near the showmanship Green did, but when Green shook your hand post-match, the way he looked at you… His smile was soft, proud in a way that could only be directed at someone else, and with his eyes locked with yours, you realized his pride was placed in you. That was a rush of emotions not even ten thousand people chanting your name could ever hope to give you.

He was on break, Green told you later in your hotel room. He was doing fine in school, which you knew meant he was acing every one of his classes, the bastard, but the highlight for him was the data collecting he was doing for Sycamore. It took him all over Kalos, from rocky shores to snowy mountains, from quaint little towns so similar in feel to Pallet, to eternally autumn forests. Green had stated somewhere between his descriptions of the aquarium in Ambrette Town and the sundial in Anistar City that he would love to show you the region one day. When the two of you turned in that night, with Green passed out in his day clothes on the other side of your bed, you dreamt of summer days exploring a new region with your oldest friend. Maybe, after Green had finished his research under Sycamore, the two of you would make up for your childhood journey.

Your chance came nearly two years later in the shape of a man named Kukui.

He was a professor from the Alola region, a region famous for its beautiful shores and stunning flora. Your mom had vacationed there once upon a time, you knew, back when your dad was around. The way Kukui described it was from the view of a man in love with his home. When he asked for your notoriety to draw in more than just vacationers to their region, you almost gave in due to his passion alone.

Convince Green Oak first, you managed to tell him. If he had your rival on board, you’d go too.

Alola was humid, you found out. Humid and hot, forcing your clothes to stick to your skin as you trudged through the wilds of the routes. The benefit, you discovered quickly enough, was that Green would unbutton his polo down as far as the shirt would let him when the sun was at its peak.

He was a view, under the glow of the Alolan sun, no matter the hour of the day. Even the moonlight felt like it knew how to accentuate his features for you to admire as the two of you camped along routes. His hair lightened with the weeks, and his skin took on a sunkissed complexion that suited him so nicely. He had teased you for staring multiple times at first, but between weeks of Mantine surfing, battles with locals who only had passing knowledge of yours and Green’s fame, and evenings spent talking softly between the two of you, you had noticed his eyes on you just as much.

You’re not sure when your relationship with Green Oak changed, but, as you kiss him in the evening light, cool ocean waves lapping at your waists, you don’t think you particularly care.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.13

Keith came out the shower doing his best drowned rat expression to date. With the towel around his shoulders, Lance wondered if Keith was protecting his neck, or preventing his shirt from soaking through. Having already showered, Lance had a glass of blood wine in one hand, and his phone in the other, dinner plans having gone out the window while he was busy playing with Keith

“Do you want the good news, or the bad news?”

Keith crossed his arms, Lance having to stomp down his compulsion to go dry the younger males hair off with a towel

“What?”

“Well, remember my friends from the other night, yeah, Hunk’s going to be here in about 20 minutes to pick us up”

“I’m not going”

“You don’t even know where we’re headed to”

“I don’t care. We’re not going”

It didn’t escape Lance that “I” had turned to “we”. He figured the hunter wouldn’t trust him to go out alone, and if he hadn’t been totally awol from his normal life he would have been turning down the invitation for some serious self pampering time

“Sorry, but you see, when my friends want to hang out, I don’t turn them down. You need to go get changed into something more bar appropriate”

“We’re not going. We haven’t finished talking. You turned me, and I need to know more”

With the number of times Keith had accused him, Lance felt like he’d know Keith far longer than a week and a bit... God, he couldn’t even remember if it had been a week, Keith’s idiocy was spreading

“And I hear I was thinking you’d finally gotten a clue. We’re going, because I’m invited. I’ll go on my own if I have to, but I had the feeling you’d freak out and think your prey was running away”

Keith’s emotions flickered across his face, obviously arguing mentally about the fact he couldn’t say no, and nor did he have the power to stop Lance

“Fine, but only so I can make sure you don’t turn anyone else. If you so much look like you’re going to bite someone, I will decapitate you”

“Excellent. I think I should have something in wardrobe that’ll fit. I’m guessing you like black on black”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“You’re wearing a black onesie. Some people might be into that, but at a bar, that suit’s a crime against fashion”

“It’s not made to be fashionable”

“No, it’s made so you can be all “bump in the night”. Blargh. Go change already”

Keith told Lance at least several times that wearing his clothes had been forced upon him. Lance wasn’t sure why, when Keith had chosen his own wardrobe out of what was available. In ripped skinny legged black jeans and a black silk button up, Keith looked passable. Lance chalking up the weird sensation of wanting to pat Keith’s butt to the fact he too was recovering from being poisoned. Keith was soooo not his type, never mind the fact the guy was a freakin’ human, Keith hated him with a passion. Nope. Keith didn’t look good in his clothes, nor would he look better out of them. Lance was just... going through a lot. That was it. He was not getting suckered in by those piercing purple eyes, or the way Keith’s collarbones peaked out of the shirt. The blood in his body had enough to deal with, without it deciding it needed to make a trip down south over absolutely nothing.

Leaving Blue feeding her face on wet food, Lance headed for the door, back tracking to grab Keith by the wrist and drag him along behind him. Keith was starting to object all over again, but Lance wasn’t having it. If he had to socialise around drunks, then the punishment should be shared by Keith for being so goddamn hot and stupid... mostly stupid with a dash of stupidly hot sprinkled on top, kind of like unwanted chilli flakes. Lance was feeling pretty confident in his own outfit, blue jeans, white shirts and cropped tan jacket, but Keith had one upped him without even trying. Maybe Keith would get laid and lose some of his prickliness? The anger loaf needed to let that anger go, and turn into that beautiful emo butterfly hidden inside his cocoon of douchery. Towing Keith out the house, Lance left the alarm off in case Shiro came back. Explaining Keith’s presence seemed a hard enough challenge as it was, explaining why Shiro was breaking into his house... that was a whole other kettle of fish.

*

Lance had been lied too. There was no bar, they were in fact in Platt, running a rehearsal of Hunk’s date with Shay on the weekend. Picking up Pidge, she’d thrown herself into the back of the car, hand narrowly missing Lance’s junk in her rush. Oogling Keith, Pidge had elbowed him as she buckled herself in, all Lance could do was offer a shrug. Hunk’d already been shocked enough for the three of them, Lance lying his arse off saying Keith had offered to stay a few days and help Lance take photos of his house as he was thinking of repainting. The photos were for the online lab thingo where you could upload your rooms and pick colours there. Yep, those were the words he used too, technology was forever changing and he openly admitted he missed the days before social media... other than the cat videos and memes.

With Keith having no cash, Lance paid. Choosing gold class tickets meant the food was included, and the seating private. The hunter looked spooked by human interaction, Lance ordering steak dinners for the pair of them because damn if he wasn’t in the mood for some budget dead cow. Buying the biggest coke they had, Lance enjoyed the fact that the mix ratio was whack with more syrup than soda water, the straw ending up chewed on before they’d even made it into the screening room. Lance wasn’t sure about the movie selection but with Hunk and Shay going to see the one rom-com playing, Lance steered the group away from buying tickets for it so his bestie and Shay could enjoy seeing it for the first together.

Taking their seats, Lance wound up between Pidge and Keith. Pidge immediately started playing with the chair remote, and Keith sighed in annoyance. Leaning in, Lance kind of felt bad that they hadn’t wound up at a bar. Keith would have been able to have a few drinks and kick back, then find someone to take to the bathroom and work that aggression out. Just because he hadn’t done the do, didn’t mean Keith wasn’t a seasoned professional

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know we were going to see a movie”

“Whatever”

“I’m serious. I didn’t know. I would have dressed warmer if I did, and would have insisted you put a jacket on”

“I’m not a kid”

“I know you’re not. I just feel bad. I was hoping you’d be able to relax a little...”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore”

“Okay, but I really am sorry”

When dinner came out, Keith poked at until he finally gave in, pretty much wolfing it down, half an hour later Lance had to excuse himself to the bathroom, finding Keith gone when he returned. Taking his seat beside Pidge, Lance leaned in

“What happened to Keith?”

“He said he needed the bathroom. Didn’t you see him?”

“No. How long ago did he leave?”

“Not long after you... Dude, what’s your deal with him?”

“My what?”

“Your deal. What’s he still doing here?”

“I asked him to take some photos of the house for me”

Pidge crossed her arms

“If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing”

“Who said I’m lying?”

“You did. I know you, and I know when you’re lying. Something’s off with Keith, and you’re acting really weird”

“I’m not acting weird”

“Are you two dating? Is that why you’re being weird? You feel like you can’t talk to us...”

“No! No, no, no, no, no... ewww. No. I’m not dating him, he’s a stranger”

“A stranger you bring to a movie night with your best friends”

“It was either leave him the house or bring him with me”

“So he’s staying with you, like, staying staying?”

“Only for tonight. Shiro’s going to pick him up. I’m thinking of repainting the living room closer to its original colours, and I figured having a fresh set of photos would work”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

Pidge’s words went right over his head, before looping back and slapping him in the face. Pidge had had her feathers ruffled by Keith “taking” what would have been her “job”

“Because, my Pidgeon legged friend, you would start hunting for ghosts in my house, then try to steal Blue as you left”

“You’re dodging the question”

“I’m not dodging the question. I only asked him because he’s a professional. You’re still my number one tech guru. I’m sorry I’ve been sick and haven’t been able to hang out, but I’ve missed my gremlin. No one can replace my little anger muffin”

“You’re a wanker”

“So I’ve been told”

“Has your cold when passed? You still look pale”

“Yep. Clean bill of health from the doctor. Just the usual take it easy for the next few days, fluids, sleep, platonic dates with your best friends, the usual post cold instructions”

“I’m still shocked you’ve got Keith staying with you”

“I’m shocked too. But I keep telling myself it’s only for a few days and soon it’ll all be over”

“Dude, he was wearing your clothes”

“And?”

“Lance, you know I’d never judge you for your sexuality...”

Lance laughed, him and Keith simply too ridiculous to even go there

“It’s definitely not like that”

“Are you sure? I mean... I’ve never seen you like this...”

“What? Invaded by a photographer?”

“No, not like that... I mean... like, he’s wearing your clothes, staying at your house... it’s not like you”

“Keith didn’t have any clothes that weren’t a crime against fashion, or acceptable at a bar, which I totally thought we were going to, thanks to a certain someone. Nah, he’s just staying a couple of days then Shiro is going to pick him back up and that’s that”

“Something still feels off”

“Pidge, I promise I’m okay, and I promise Keith and I aren’t in some whirlwind romance, or whatever that brain of yours has thought up. I’m actually pretty sure he hates me, if that makes you feel any better”

“Nope. It just makes it weirder... Should we be worried that he hasn’t come back?”

“Nah, I’ll go see if I can find him. Dude’s got the social aptitude of a rockmelon. He probably peopled himself out and is having a sulk”

“If you say so. Now go away, I’ve already missed part of this riveting plot”

The plot wasn’t riveting. It was badly thought through and designed for the masses. Like most things...

Keith wasn’t in the cinemas entrance hall, nor the bathroom, Lance heading outside to search for him. Not at the front of the cinema, Lance was starting to get pretty annoyed with his missing idiot. The last place left to check was the parking lot, where he found said idiot cornered by three men. Great... just... great. He took his eyes off him for two minutes and he’d already wandered off into trouble. Walking over to stand just short of the three strangers, Lance eyes Keith who had his arms crossed, scowling at the group

“Heya, fellas. Something wrong here?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You know, just a concerned citizen. You’ve got my friend cornered, so if you could just see it in your hearts to let him go...”

Lance stepped back, escaping being hit in the face as the stranger bared his teeth. What the fuck?! Was Keith dense as fuck? Or did he think he had the skill to take on three idiots

“Your wallet or you life”

“Seeing you’re getting neither, I suggest you run along home”

“What did you say to me?!”

They hadn’t even had to go to bar to find trash. Lance sighed as he pulled out his phone

“Well, we are living in the age of technology. This miraculous little device lets me call the police when people like you start messing with people”

“You won’t get the chance”

“We’ll see”

Avoiding being attacked was laughable. His attackers had like zero grace, they must instead rely on numbers to look “intimidating”. Each swing that didn’t connect made them madder, their “leader” pulling out a small blade, as Lance danced around them. Putting the phone to his ear, he made as if he was calling the police and not his home phone

“I’m going to kill you...”

Raising his pointer to his lips, Lance hushed the man

“Didn’t anyone teach you its rude to interrupt someone on a phone call?”

If someone was watching, the would have found the way the three morons were falling over each other hilarious

“Yes, hi, I’d like to report an attempted robbery at the front of Platt Pictures. There’s three guys that have bailed up two men...”

Dropping down to dodge the punch thrown at his face, Lance swept the leg of the leader, snatching his blade out his hand as the man’s eyes widened for the millisecond as he fell

“Yep. There still here... I’ll wait. You guys should probably run if you’re going to. Cops are on their way”

The look in the leaders eyes was something feral, spitting like it made him cool, the man wiped his mouth

“I’ll get you for this”

“I’ll be waiting, but I won’t be holding my breath. Also, I’ll be keeping hold of this blade of yours. Evidence and all that. It’s amazing this fingerprint technology...”

“Forget it, lets scram!”

When the leaders two goons split, the man pushed himself up, running off like the coward he was. Lance giving them a little wave as they did. Ending the call to his house, Lance slipped his phone back in his pocket, before holding out the blade to Keith

“Here, a souvenir of our time together”

“I could have handled that”

Lance rolled his eyes

“Never said you couldn’t. Anyway, take it. You seem to like knives and I’ve got no use for it”

Keith frowned at the offered knife

“But the police...”

“Aren’t coming. Let’s just say I have a job where I need to keep my name squeaky clean”

“What the hell?!”

Lance sighed at Keith

“What? Do you want me to call them? I totally can, I remember all their facial features”

“You didn’t do me a favour...”

“Never said I did. Oh, you totally skipped out on movie night. Do I want to ask why you’re not inside pretending to be scared like everyone else”

“The movie was shit”

“Finally, something we can agree on. But, Hunk and Pidge are trying to be friendly with you, so leaving is kind of a dick move”

“They don’t even like me”

“They might if you’re not out here hiding. Also, Pidge thinks we’re dating, so come on darling, we’ve got a movie to finish”

Lance took Keith by the wrist. Socialising wasn’t about to kill him

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dragging Keith’s along, Lance spoke as they walked

“Well, that’s a long story. You see a long time ago a little boy was turned into a vampire. He grew up to become a lawyer, living as human like as he could, as he tried his hardest to give back to humanity so no other little kids got hurt. He never fed from a single person, took a lover, or like harmed any one more than what you just saw... You could say things were going well for him and he was happy. That was until two hunters crashed into his little corner of the world. He was forced to drink blood from an actual person for the first time in his life. Which upset him, because he felt he’d lost a little of the humanity he wanted. Now he’s trying his hardest for a stranger who wants him dead, and refuses to listen to him, because he’s some disgusting, revolting, beast that deserves that’s not even fit to be on the bottom of your shoe”

“That’s just it, why are you trying?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what’s getting under my skin”

Dragging Keith the whole back to their seats, they got there in time for the heroic ending where the main character saved the day. Hunk was sobbing, Pidge had gotten herself some skittles and was attempting to catch them in her mouth as she made a mess around her. Seeing they’d mostly missed the film, he and Keith remained standing there until the credits started and Pidge called “time to bail”. Ditching holding Keith’s wrist, because he’d honestly forgotten he had, Lance wrapped his arm around Hunk’s waist

“Good movie?”

“She was so brave...”

“I know, man”

Pidge cuddled up to his side until Lance looped his other arm around her

“What did you think?”

“It sucked. There were so many plot holes. I want my money back”

“Aw, never mind Pidgeon. It’s over now”

“That’s 133 minutes of my life I am never going to get back. You and Keith are arseholes. You missed most of the film!”

“Are we arseholes, or are you cranky we escaped?”

“You’re both definitely arseholes”

“Now, to be fair, Keith hit his people limit of the day. You’d never know, for all his conversational skills, but he’s a lot like you, Pidgeroonie. He gets very tired of people fast, and cannot do the brain without the coffee”

“That’s because people fucking suck!”

Pidge’s loudness caused the people walking near them to stare, staring was awkward forever one involved, Lance didn’t want the night to end awkwardly

“Okay, that’s enough exposure to the public for one night. Why don’t we grab something and head home? I’ll even pay”

“Yay! I want a super sized slushie. I should have thought of it sooner. I wonder if that slushie place with the weird flavours is still open”

Hunk groaned

“You’re making me do city driving?”

“Dude, relax. It’s night time, meaning there aren’t as many people on the road. Consider it practice for your date”

Hunk blushed, Lance laughing happily

“Don’t be mean to him, I’ll drive. Pidge, you’re in directions. Hunk, music, naturally, Keith, you get to sit in the back with Pidge and make sure she doesn’t get up too much mischief”

“What? Why?”

“Because I said so”

*

Keith opted to stay in the car and be a buzz killer as the three of them rushed to the slushie store. Minutes from closing, they were those annoying customers that all retail staff dread. Pidge was in heaven as she eyed the walls of flavour, Lance paying and limiting her to two without added energy drink. Hunk went for bubblegum flavour, Lance for strawberry. Keith hadn’t come in, but part of Lance didn’t want him feeling left out. With all the scowling faces Keith had pulled since they’d met, lemon was ruled out as a potential flavour, instead he went for iced coffee labeled as being lactose free. Keith might not be the nicest person in the world, but that didn’t mean Lance was going to be a douche over something Keith couldn’t control. He knew the man liked coffee, so it was the most logical choice. Pidge ended up unable to decide. One abomination made of orange, pineapple and mango, the second strawberry, bubblegum and coke. Making sure he’d left the woman behind the counter a very generous tip, Lance ushered Pidge and Hunk back to Hunk’s car, a little proud of himself when he got Keith’s door open with his foot in the door handle. Glaring up at him, Lance beamed in pride

“I got you one”

“I don’t need one”

“Yes, you did. It’s iced coffee, lactose free. Consider it an apology for venting on you earlier, if you need an excuse to take it”

Handing Keith the drink, Keith eyed it in suspicion

“Dude, it’s fine. Legit went from the machine to the cup then out to you. Pinky swear and all that. If you don’t want to drink it, I won’t get offended. I just thought it’d be nice to include you”

“Whatever. Thanks and stuff”

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you back home away from all these people so you can take a nap”

Keith’s expression soured, Lance was sure he was going to have the iced coffee slushy thrown at him, so shut the door quickly. Keith wouldn’t be a big enough douche to ruin Hunk’s interior. Hunk was a human, someone Keith was supposed to protect, meaning hurting his feelings had to go against whatever code hunters were bound to. Being caught up in everything going on, Matt came to his mind as Lance opened the driver’s door, his heart sinking. He hadn’t thought about Matt all night. Pidge had probably spent the whole night missing her brother and wishing it was him at the movies with them instead of Keith. He didn’t want to seem down, but it was hard to perk himself up now that he’d remembered he didn’t know how to act around Pidge. Climbing into Hunk’s car only made his heart ache more as Pidge and Hunk bickered over her flavour combinations. There was a code of privacy within VOLTRON, so he couldn’t enquire into Matt’s status. He couldn’t do anything to help Pidge with her Matt situation except for maybe confirm he was alive, which Shiro had already confirmed. Goddamn Shiro. He was ruining his night and the man wasn’t even here.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 13

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Updated 2019.01.29. Minor name tweaks. Uhh, Jared TW.

With a simple hand wave as Jared turned back inside the foreman’s office, Barb and Hewlett knew to wheel Melancholy up the long bar grate ramp that traced the far side of the assembly line floor. ‘Choly knew better than to contest whether he propel himself or they propel him--Jared had not only easily forty warm bodies in his stead, but also a number of active turrets. Once the two raiders had delivered him to their boss, they fell back to the steel mezzanine to remain on call.

“Good to finally meet you.” The painted black man took a seat himself in the segmented office chair and flipped the tails of his sleeveless leather coat out from under him. “What’s your name?”

“You can call me Melancholy,” he fumbled, still clutching his syringer. The whole automotive plant hung in a stale, metallic rot. ‘Choly couldn’t say he’d seen this man’s face perching in rank on the car plant’s roof. “And you’re... Jared.”

“Melancholy? Huh. Not gonna ask how you came about that one, but I’m also not gonna question it.” Jared stroked at yesterday’s stubble and squinted at him. “No, it can’t be a coincidence, you being in a chair like that. Tell me, friend... How’s your experience with Jet?”

The chemist wasn’t sure what the wheelchair had to do with anything. His cowl concealed how genuinely baffled he was by Jared’s comment, unable to tell if it meant anything at all.

“Lot of effort just to place a work order. I can get you some, if you hook me up with the resources and space to manufacture it, if that’s what you’re asking. My lab’s not currently set up for Jet. Not ideally, anyway.”

He hadn’t himself ever distilled Jet, but he’d helped a retainer who’d used him and Hawthorne as a middleman enough times to know the basics.

Jared’s eyes widened a bit and he crossed his arms slowly.

“Now that’s a reply I wasn’t expecting. What kind of resources we talking?”

The lack of probability in this encounter boxed ‘Choly’s ears a bit. Everything felt at once both covertly coded and non sequitur.

“Brahmin manure. Lots of it. And every plastic container you can find.”

“Sounds pretty simple.”

“Oh, it’s really--not,” he saved, realizing he nearly let the entrepreneurial edge slip past him. But then it sank in Jared had no objections to brahmin and 'Choly hemmed a bit. “Brahmin are cows with entrails mutated by tainted feed before the war. I don’t know how many of those have survived. Regular cows aren’t going to work.” When Jared grew visibly irritated, ‘Choly coughed. “And even if you could find me brahmin, it’s honestly quite sophisticated to distill Jet. Takes a lot of precise measurements. And, by extension, the means of metering doses into ampuoles.”

“You must be quite the chemist. I’m impressed. My outfit thinks you’re a real showman.” Jared kicked his feet up on the file cabinetry next to him, and casually flicked out a switchblade from some pocket, to pick at his fingernails. “I don’t know what rock you crawled out from under, but brahmin are the only cattle that survived the war. We can discuss nitpicking details later. But first, back to the actual type of answer I was expecting...” After a while of trying to stay calm, he jammed down the switchblade in the arm of the chair and left it. “What kind of experiences do you have with taking Jet?”

‘Choly’s eyes glazed a bit at even trying to recall his recent fly-blown veneer. He sniffed.

“Gives me some interesting inspiration. I don’t dabble with it much. More of a Berries fellow, personally.”

“Berries?” That got the raider leader’s attention. “What kind of berries?”

“Berry Mentats,” ‘Choly elaborated, more self-conscious by the minute. “They’re far more potent than typical Mentats. Taste better, too, if you ask me. I’ve got a wide selection of things I can get for you. Stuff I can guarantee you haven’t heard of since before the world ended.”

“And what’s stopping me and my outfit from storming that dandy little ‘pharmacy’ of yours and just taking it all for ourselves?”

“You need someone to cook the stuff, don’t you?” A muffled giggle came from him, an attempt to cut the stress of having his new home threatened like that. “...Besides, I don’t have all the components I need. I have most of them, for most things, but I will guarantee you, very little of what’s stocked in that building is viable without a chemistry degree to revitalize it.”

Jared began to rock in the chair impatiently, then stared deadpan at him.

“Melancholy, that hood is starting to piss me off. Take it off.”

“Why? I like it.” The momentary lapse of better judgment folded the wad of canvas into his lap in concession. Jared was still staring, and ‘Choly trembled. “I--”

“You are a scrawny little fucker, you know that?”

“I--” ‘Choly wheezed, still unable to read the guy. “Yeah. No shit.”

“And you keep derailing me. Pay attention. Are you fucking high right now?”

“I’m fond of sampling the goods, yes.” He caressed his cheek with the side of the copper barrel of his blowgun, and looked to Jared thoughtfully. “I’m paying attention. I just don’t get what you’re trying to get at. Are you afraid to ask outright? I mean, it’s impossible to waste my time right now. I was about to deliver the day’s chems, when your folks grabbed me. That caught me by surprise. I never would have thought I’d get ambushed on a roof.”

“Like that, did ya? Gonna have to tell Lonnie how it worked so well, even you were impressed by it. Couldn’t say no, could ya?” Jared grinned at him. “Does Jet give you the sight? Or those Berries? What do they make you see? Are you seeing anything right now? Is that what’s got you so weird right now?”

Sight? Was ‘Choly supposed to understand?

“Mentats and Jet are a... most unsavory pairing.” His voice cracked a bit, and he glanced down to his dart cases. “At least, in my personal experience.”

Jared stopped grinning, his glare intense.

“Do... does what you see with them ever, like. Actually end up happening?”

“Fuck, I wish--” In an instant, ‘Choly clamped a hand over his own mouth, writhing in an ache of just imagining his vapors manifesting in reality. He squinted and squirmed lower in his chair to prevent a grunted moan from escaping between his fingers. He unclenched and melted backwards a bit, heels fast in the stirrups of the chair to steady himself, trying to save face. With every statement escaping his lips, he wondered why his mental filter culled some idiot commentary while permitting others that seemed just as poor in taste. “...What, do yours?”

“That’s between me and them,” Jared muttered. He rose abruptly and began to pace with restless rigor and a ragged breath. Suddenly he pointed at ‘Choly from across the room with a near glower. “You draft up a list of what you’re gonna need to cook stuff for me. Be as precise as you’re bullshitting me that you need to be. I’ll make it happen. This whole fucking town needs to be swimming in Jet.”

“I can do that. Not sure what you intend to do with that much cow shit, but-- hm.” ‘Choly stroked at the blow gun, conniving. “Delivery. Now there’s a word with several flavors. Jet, as I’m sure you know it, is an inhalant. A vapor. Would it be weird of me, to posit the intrigue of edibles, or even... inject-ables?”

“What, no! One thing at a time, you ass. Don’t derail me. You get Jet flowing through this place, and maybe we can talk about getting you set up to toy with experimenting with other chems. ...I gotta ask, though. The rumor’s too strong.” The blow gun drooped. “Why cash?”

“Everyone keeps trying to convince me no one uses cash anymore, but when I don’t budge on my prices, it still ends up lining my pockets. I don’t understand.”

“Gotta wipe your ass with somethin’, I guess.”

That definitely got under ‘Choly’s skin, and he clenched his teeth a moment.

“What should be my asking price? Should it be in caps?”

“That’s the sane and normal thing to demand.” Jared didn’t like this, his brow knitted wild and tight. “God, how high are you? What else is there but Nuka caps?”

“Maybe I ought to go by Rip Van Winkle, rather than Melancholy. If all this has been a trip, I hope it kills me.” ‘Choly looked to Jared, eyes dull but pleasant. “Maybe it did kill me. Trapped in my last hit for eternity.”

“...Well--” Jared squirmed just enough ‘Choly could see it. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but. You are so fucking weird. I can’t tell yet if I like you or hate you.”

“You’re going to end up doing both, I assure you.”

“--No, more like it’s been real.” Jared chuckled at his own inside joke, but shut up abruptly when ‘Choly hadn’t left yet. “Get out of here and take inventory of your shit. I’ll send somebody to collect your... shopping list around midnight. Leave it in your... capsule pipe or somethin’. Hey Hewlett, Barb.” When they came into the office, he waved them at ‘Choly. “Take Melancholy back to his pharmacy.”

Barb leaped at the opportunity to terrorize him again, snatching the chair handles with a lunatic glimmer in her saucer-wide eyes. He imagined she had to have been grinning like a Cheshire under that kerchief.

“You ready to ride like hell? ...You look miserable with the hood off, dreg.”

“I. I know. ...Before I go, can we make the rounds of the assembly floor? I need to plan out some things for Jared, and I think there might be some useful equipment here for what he’s contracting me for.”

“Whatever.” Hewlett grunted, hitting his handrim wheel with her bat, not unlike a rider spurring a horse. “Get goin’.”

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT WOZNIAK

If our competitor had done that, the last round of investors would presumably have lost money. I'm not too worried yet. If a company wants to make a port run efficiently, it can't coax startups into existence.1 But even those they use no more than necessary. And a program that attacked the servers themselves should find them very well defended. I learned to program by writing stuff of my own, particularly by trying to reverse-engineer Winograd's SHRDLU. A cash cow can be a dubious measure, but in this case was meaningful because it was too hard to sell to them, or the market wasn't ready yet, b the founders solved the wrong problem, instead of reading scripts to them. I know delivering a prewritten talk your attention is always divided between the audience and the talk—even if you've memorized it.2

The Web let us do an end-run around Windows, and deliver software running on Unix direct to users through the browser. But because the buildings were built at different times by different people, the place doesn't have the sterile, walled-off feel that a typical large company's headquarters have. 0 referred to whatever those might turn out to be a lot of people probably thought we'd have some working system for micropayments by now. American attitudes. For example, I stumbled on a good algorithm for spam filtering because I wanted to try being a painter, and the classics. After trying the demo, signing up for the service should require nothing more than filling out a brief form the briefer the better. But he's also their man: these newly installed CEOs always play something of the role of a political commissar in a Red Army unit. You might even know about it right away so that we could hire someone whose job was just to worry about installation going wrong. And since one person can only manage so many deals, each deal has to be designed by hackers who understand design, not designers who know a little about software. Startups happen in clusters. And the Japanese don't like immigration.

I don't mean to suggest by this list that America is the perfect place for startups. The recording industry hated the idea and resisted it as long as the gap is closing fast enough you'll be ok. The MROSD manages a collection of great walking trails off Skyline. You can figure out a definition of Web 2. That's the nature of their work turns them into jerks. In existing open-source language effort like Perl or Python. But Palo Alto is a place they come to meet investors. A guilty pleasure is at least a pure one. VisiCalc, the first spreadsheet.

How hard can it be? The goal is that the only thing to interest someone arriving at HN for the first time in history that a committee has designed a good language, it was. Desktop software forces users to become system administrators. There is a train running the length of it, and learn a lot about this question, and it would be a lost cause to try to create a silicon valley in Germany, because you control the whole system. In fact, it's the classic villain: alternately cowardly, greedy, sneaky, and overbearing. Web-based applications are cheap to develop, and easy for even the smallest startup to deliver.3 These buildings are a pretty accurate reflection of the VC business. And my theory explains why they'd tend to be short.4 I don't find that I'm eager to learn it. We always looked for new ways to give stuff away for free could be pretty high-handed about it.

A year after the founding of Apple, Steve Wozniak still hadn't quit HP. I have to walk a mile to get there, and sitting in a cafe feels different from working. What students do in their classes will change too. They're a lot of startups writing mainframe applications. Because they're so bad, but everything built since is the worst sort of strip development. When you switch to this new world as they did the world of desktop applications.5 But if you do that you can't.6 So you have to make it easy to understand what they're saying—in corporate announcements of bad news, for example, because no one said anything definite enough to refute. Some larger merchants were reluctant to use Viaweb because they thought customers' credit card information would be safer on their own servers.7 The bad news is that the project is technically, and that work means working for a big company, and for the first conference, someone must have decided they'd better take a stab at explaining what that 2. But I think angel rounds will start to develop standardized procedures that make acquisitions little more work than hiring someone. Fortunately, this process also works in reverse: as groups get smaller, you have to start over.

We launched on under $10,000, and it doesn't seem there's anything to see. Bold? When you're hosting software, someone has to be designed by hackers who understand design, not performance. But even at the most advanced acquirers, identifying companies to buy is extremely ad hoc, and completing the acquisition often involves a great deal of unneccessary friction. The theory is that minor forms of bad behavior encourage worse ones: that a neighborhood with lots of graffiti and broken windows becomes one where robberies occur. I didn't understand or rather, remember precisely why raising money was so distracting till earlier this year. It was simply a fad. You see it in Diogenes telling Alexander to get out of the bust, there would need to be software for making them, so we decided to write some. However, for better or worse it looks as if server-based applications. The very design of the average site in the late 90s was that they never imagined we could be had so cheap. At Y Combinator we still only have four people, so we try to standardize everything. Use your software yourself, all the changes had to happen; you could just show a randomly truncated slice of life, and that this must have in turn been expanded by the editors into throngs of geeks.

Notes

I know for sure a social network for pet owners is a qualitative difference in investors' attitudes. I spent some time trying to describe the word philosophy has changed over time.

We care about. Garry Tan pointed out, if you ban other ways to make money, the less educated parents seem closer to the option of deferring to a degree that alarmed his family how much they'll pay.

Perhaps the most successful ones. I have so far the closest anyone has come is Secretary of State and the valuation turns out to be naive in: Life seemed so much worse than the type of mail, I can't safely omit any type we tell.

According to the ideal of a business is to use those solutions.

But then I realized that without the methodological implications. Maybe it would be enough. And they are now. Here is the following scenario.

Actually, someone else created earlier. There's a sort of Gresham's Law of conversations. 01. Perhaps this is certainly more efficient, it would grow as big as any adult's.

High school isn't evil; it's roughly correct for startups, whose founders aren't sponsored by organizations, and we don't want to avoid sticking. What they must do is fund medical research labs; commercializing whatever new discoveries the boffins throw off is as frightening as it were. Incidentally, Google may appear to be a startup.

[literal-fand0m-trash]

Psychic Wars Part 4. Bloodlust Part 1

Note:  I do not own any of the Supernatural characters or stories, but I do own Dakota Winchester. Please leave comments and let me know if you want to be tagged.

Summary: Sequel to Dakota Elizabeth Winchester

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3

The windows of the Impala were rolled down, letting the warm summer air in as the Winchester’s spend down a forgotten country highway in the newly rebuilt ‘67 Impala.

“Whoo! Listen to her purr! You ever heard something so sweet?” Dean smiled.

“Ya know, if you two want to get a room, let me know.” Sam sassed.

“Don’t listen to him Baby. He just doesn’t understand us.” Dean said caressing the wheel.

“Okay, now this is getting awkward.” Dakota said.

“You’re in a good mood.” Sam commented. Dakota had noticed as well, Dean’s mood had been all over the place since their dad died a little less than a month ago, but he seemed to be extra cheery today.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Dean asked. “Got my car, got a case. Things are looking up.”

“Wow. You hear of a couple severed heads and a pile of dead cows, and you’re Mr. Sunshine.” Dakota joked and Dean laughed.

“How far to Red Lodge?” Dean asked Sam.

“About another 300 miles.” Sam answered and Dakota groaned. She put her headphones in and leaned back, enjoying the warm breeze as Dean revved the engine.

……….

“The murder investigation is ongoing, and that’s all I can share with the press at this time.” The sheriff said. Dakota, Sam, and Dean were sitting in the Sheriff’s office in Red lodge in their FBI outfits posing as reporters.

“Of course, we understand that, but just for the record, you found the first head last week, correct?” Dakota asked and the officer nodded she pretended to write the information down on the pad on paper she had when really she was doodling.

“And the other, a Christina Flannigan?” Sam asked.

“That was two days ago.” The officer answered. “Sorry, times up. We’re done here.”

“One last question. What about the cattle? The cows found dead, split open, drained, over a dozen cases.” Dean asked.

“What about them?” The Sheriff asked.

“You don’t think there’s a connection?’ Sam asked. Dakota saw that the officer looked at them like they were crazy.

“Sir, what he means is that decapitation and cattle death are often signs of a cult or satanic ritual and we simply want to inform are readers as best we can of what we are dealing with.” She interjected.

“Those cows aren’t being mutilated. You want to know how I know? Because there’s no such thing as cattle mutilation. Cow drops, leave it in the sun, within 48 hours the bloat will split it so clean it’s just about surgical. The bodily fluids fall into the ground, get soaked up, cause that’s what gravity does. But, hey, it could be satan. Now get out of my office.” He yelled.

Once they were out of the building Dakota turned to look at her brothers, “What a condescending dick!”

“I know, come one. Let’s get to the morgue.” Dean said.

They drove the short distance to the morgue and kept their fed outfits on, but threw lab coats on over them before walking into the building. There was, as usual, some college age student guarding the door to the exam room.

“Manners! Dr. Dorkin needs to see you in his office right away.” Dean said reading the guy’s name tag.

He stood up, but looked confused, “But, Dr. Dorkin is on vacation.”

“Well, he’s back and he’s pissed, and he’s screaming for you.” Dean assured him. Manners sprinted out of the room. Closing the door behind him.

“Hey, those satanist in Florida, they marked their victims didn’t they?” Dakota asked as she grabbed a pair of rubber gloves.

“Yeah, reverse pentacle on the forehead. So much F’ed up crap happens in Florida.” Dean commented.

Sam walked over to the wall of freezers and opened the door containing the first victim, with her decapitated head in a separate box by her feet.

“Alright. Open it.” Dean said.

“No way! You open it!” Dakota snapped back.

“Wuss.” He picked up the box and carried it to the exam table. He threw it opened and looked at it in disgust.

“Well, no pentagram.” Dakota commented looking at the woman’s face.

“Poor girl.” Sam said.

“Maybe we should look in her mouth, see if the wacko shoved anything down her throat. Like the moth in ‘Silence of the Lambs’.” Dean suggested.

“I’m pretty sure that only happens in movies.” Dakota said as Sam gently reached for the girl’s mouth and pushed it open.

“Kota, get me a bucket.” Sam said.

“Did you find something?” She asked in disbelief.

“No, I’m gonna puke.” Sam answered.

“Wait! I think I saw something!” Dean said. He lifted her lip up and they leaned in close.

“Is that a hole in her gums?” Dakota asked. She pushed on the area and a fang descended from the hole causing her to jump back.

“Retractable set of vampire fangs. You got to be kidding me.” Dean said.

“Well, this changes things.” Sam said.

“You think?” Dakota sassed.

……….

With no leads and no direction they made a plan to gather what information they could in a town this size, go to the bar and catch up on the local gossip. The bar was long, narrow, and falling apart. They walked up to the counter and sat on the stools.

“How’s it going?” Dakota asked the bartender.

“Living the dream. What can I get for you?” He said

“Three beers, please.” She responded.

“So, we’re looking for some people.” Sam started.

“Sure, it’s hard to be lonely.” The man said and Dakota saw him shoot a glance at her.

“Yeah...that’s not what I meant.” Sam said pulling some cash out.

The man looked at the $50 in Sam’s hand then moved down two seats to look at Dakota, “I don’t like taking money from people looking for help. What do you need, doll?”

“These people, they would have moved here six months ago, pretty rowdy, like to drink.” Dakota smiled.

“Really night owls. Sleep all day, party all night.” Dean snapped taking a sip of his beer. Dakota ignored the obvious annoyance rolling off of him, one day he would have to grow up and realise she was a twenty four year old woman who could do as she liked.

“Barker Farm got leased out a couple of months ago-real winners, they’ve been in here lot, drinkers, noisy. I had to 86 them once or twice.” The bartender said.

“Thanks.” Dean said standing up and walking for the door. Dakota reached into her pocket to pull out money for the beers.

“No charge, darlin’.” He smiled and she walked out the door.

They walked for a minute and right before they reached the car Sam said, “I think I have something stuck to my shoe.” Dakota looked up at him in shock, that was their codeword for when someone was following them. She looked around Sam at Dean who nodded and casually turned them down the nearest alleyway.

They split off ducking into the shadows as a dark figure walked down the alley, once the figure stopped they pounced on him, pinning him against the brick wall behind him. The man barely seemed fazed by three people jumping and pinning him.

“Smile. Show us those pearly whites.” Dean demanded.

“Oh, for the love of God. You want to stick that thing someplace else? I’m not a vampire. I heard you guys in there.” The man said.

“What do you know about vampires?” Sam questioned.

“How to kill them. Now seriously, bro, that knife’s making me itch.” He answered before pulling up his upper lip so they could see there were no fangs.

Dakota didn’t trust this man as far as she could throw him, whether it was her X-Man power, hunter's instinct, or just common sense everything in her was telling her this man was bad news.

Dean released the man and pulled the knife away from his throat, “Now, who the Hell are you?” He asked.

“Tell us your’s first.” Sam snapped.

“Let’s take a walk.” The man suggested. Sam and Dean followed on the man’s heels as he led them to his old, beat up car, but Dakota hung back.

“I’m Gordon Walker.” He introduced.

“Hey, Gordon, I’m Dean Winchester. These are my siblings Sam and Dakota.” Dean replied.

“Sam, Dean, and Dakota Winchester? I can’t believe this. You know, I met your old man once. Hell of a guy, great hunter. I heard he passed. I’m sorry.” Gordon said, the first sincere thing to come out of his mouth.

“Thank you.” Dakota said.

“It’s big shoes, but from what I hear you guys fill them. Great trackers, good in a tight spot.” Gordon said.

“You seem to know a lot about our family.” Dean commented.

“Word travels fast. You know how hunters talk.” Gordon said. Dakota looked between her brothers who both looked equally confused.

“No. We don’t.” Dakota confessed.

“Guess there’s a lot your dad never told you, huh?” He said.

“So, those two vampires, they were yours?” Sam asked.

“Yup. Been here two weeks.” He answered.

“Did you check out Barker’s Farm?” Dean asked.

“It’s a bust, a bunch of hippie freaks. Though they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone.” Gordon joked.

“Where’s the nest then?” Dakota asked furrowing her brow.

Gordon smirked, “I got this one covered. Look, don’t get me wrong. It’s a real pleasure meeting you, but I’ve been on this thing for over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I’ll finish it.”

“Okay.” Dakota agreed at the same time Dean said, “We could help.”

“Thanks, but I’m kind of a go-it-alone type guy.” Gordon said.

“Oh come on. I’ve been itching for a hunter.” Dean said and Dakota tried to figure out what he was trying to accomplish.

“Sorry. But, I hear there’s a chupacabra two states over. Go ahead and knock yourselves out.” Gordon informed them.

“We will. Nice meeting you.” Dakota said grabbing Dean’s jacket and pulling as Gordon got in his car and drove away.

“What the Hell was that?” He snapped at her.

“He is bad news. He’s got my empath crap going all over the place and my skin crawls when I look at him.” Dakota confessed.

Dean had insisted that they tail Gordon for the night much to Dakota’s dismay. It turns out he had the right idea, they found Gordon in a warehouse by the river being attacked by a vampire. The vamp had him pinned to a conveyor belt that was about to go through a saw. Like a well oiled machine, Dean grabbed Gordon by the legs and pulled him off of the conveyor belt while Sam punched the vampire in the face sending him flying towards Dakota, who unsheathed her machete and behead the vampire, it’s blood spurting on her face, destroying the threat within moments.

She looked over her shoulder at Gordon, “You’re welcome.”

“So...I guess I owe you guys a drink?” He said.

……….

All four of them were sitting in one on the back tables of the bar they had been in earlier and Gordon kept ordering them rounds and shots.

He held up his shot glass to them, “Another one bites the dust.”

“That’s right.” Dean said toasting him.

“Dean, you gave that big ass fang one Hell of a haircut, my friend. That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Gordon laughed and Dakota didn’t bother to correct him that she had been the one to gank the vampire.

“You alright, Sammy?” Dean asked looking over at them.

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Sam said nodding to Dakota.

“Well lighten up, Sammy.” Gordon said and Dakota glared at him.

“They’re the only ones who get to call me that.” Sam snapped pointing at his siblings.

“Okay. No offence meant. Just celebrating a little. Job well done.” Gordon said throwing his hands up in defense.

“Right. Well, decapitations aren’t my idea of a good time, I guess.” Dakota said taking a sip of her beer.

“Oh, come one, it’s not like it was human. You got to have a little more fun with your job.” Gordon said.

Dean smiled, “See, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell them. You two could learn something from this guy.”

“Yeah, I bet we could.” Sam sassed. “Look, I’m not gonna bring you guys down. I’m just going to head back to the motel. Kota, want to join me?”

“Yes. please.” She said quickly standing up and grabbing her jacket, “We’ll get a cab, you can drive Baby back.”

“No. I’m going to keep drinking. I shouldn’t drive.” He said and he threw Dakota the keyds, “Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later, alright?”

They drove back to the motel room in silence and Dakota slammed the door as she walked into the room.

“I hate him! He’s bad news! We should go back and drag Dean’s ass back here with us!” She exclaimed as she started passing the room.

“He won’t listen to us. He’s found another hunter he can look up to.” Dean said.

“Well his Daddy Issues are going to get him killed!” She yelled.

“You don’t actually know that he’s anything more than a creep.” Sam pointed out.

“So I doubt your visions? No. So why are you doubting my empathy?” She pouted sitting down on the bed and crossing her arms. She grabbed her phone out of her back pocket.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as Dakota hit the call button and pressed the phone to her ear and Sam came and sat next to her.

“Harvelle’s Roadhouse.” Ellen answered.

“Hey Aunt Ellen. It’s Dakota.” She said.

“Hey sweetheart. It’s good to hear from you. You and the boys are okay, aren’t you?” Ellen asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve got a question for you. Have you ever come across a hunter named Gordon Walker?” Dakota asked.

“Yeah, I know Gordon. He’s a real good hunter. Why you asking, sweetie?” Ellen asked.

“We ran into him on a job and we’re kind of working with him I guess.” Dakota answered.

“Don’t do that, Dakota.”  Ellen harshly whispered down the line.

“Why not? I thought you said he was a good hunter?” Dakota asked.

“Yeah, and Hannibal Lecter’s a good psychiatrist. He’s dangerous to everyone and everything around him. If he’s working on a job, you let him handle it and you move on.” Ellen warned.

“Ellen…” She started.

“No, Dakota Elizabeth...you just listen to what I’m telling you, okay?” Ellen asked.

“Yes ma’am.” Dakota answered.

“Good. You call me if there is any trouble and you come here if you need to, okay?” Ellen said.

“Yea. I love you, Aunt Ellen.” Dakota said.

“I love you too, sweetie.” Ellen said hanging up the phone. Dakota looked over at Sam who had a curious expression on his face.

“We’ve got a problem.” She said.

Tags:

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