#yeah in retrospect i fancied the pants off her

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 32: The Circumstances (Epilogue)

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby,

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The winds of change blow down the eastern seaboard all the way to New Orleans. While on date night, Taylor and Ryder join Katherine in finding out just how bad things are for their friends abroad.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Several days earlier...

By the time Taylor takes his fourth lap around the perimeter of their floor, Ryder decides enough is enough. Reaching out to catch his wrist before he can get too far — he pulls the halfling back into the booth and practically on top of his lap. It’s about the only place he doesn’t get any resistance these days.

Not-spoken too soon. Immediately the hunter has his arms full of squirming anxiety with blond hair and, upon closer inspection, a few scraps of skin missing from his bottom lip. Worn away by teeth picking relentlessly.

“Not right now, Nik,” mumbles Taylor restlessly, “I’ve just — I’ve gotta move. Too much energy, you know?”

“Oh, I know. You’ve been doin’ laps in bed all week.”

Taylor’s nose crinkles at that. Not because he feels bad about it or anything, but he knows how little sleep Nik gets as it is and the thought of being yet another thing keeping him awake just drops a cherry on top of his worries.

“… Sorry.”

For both their sakes it’s shrugged off; forgotten. For a lot more than that, too. They can’t afford to get into any argument tonight, no matter how fickle.

“I would’a thought a world-class actor like yourself would be better at playin’ it cool.”

Taylor blinks in surprise. It’s enough to still him for the moment. “I’m totally playing it cool.”

“Sure — and I’m a pixie.” Ryder jerks his chin up and out, motioning for Taylor to give a (subtle) look at the booths around them. Most notably how his constant round-and-round-and-round has them on edge too; shifting weights and too many drinks ordered to quell the jitters even for a crowd as uppity as Persephone’s.

Of course, being Taylor, he’s about as subtle as a freight train, but the point gets got.

“Sorry,” force of habit, “I’m just…”

“Hey, I get it. An’ I know it’s been a bit since you’ve been on a job with me but you’ve got to relax or it’ll all be for nothin’.”

A job; the way he says it so casually. Taylor scoffs.

“This isn’t just any old job Nik — and you know it.”

“Sure I do. But if we don’t treat it like any old payday things tend to go wrong. The pressure…” resting broad, scarred hands on his boyfriend’s trembling shoulders — thumbs pressing deep to try and relieve some of that tension, “will keep ya from makin’ the right calls when and where they need made.”

A few moments of silence and circles of pressure at the young man’s collarbone and eventually—finally—Taylor relaxes. Enough that Ryder can let him sit all on his own, even.

“We’re exactly where we need to be,” the man continues lowly, “nothin’ more we can do but watch and wait.”

But that’s all they’ve been doing; and Taylor has to physically bite his tongue to keep the words from being said. Ryder’s well aware just as Taylor’s well aware and pointing it out doesn’t do either of them any good. If it did then something big would have happened by now.

No word from Cadence. No word from Nadya — or any of them. Just a month of watching the news reports out of New York City getting weirder and more dangerous. A month… and tonight.

Come to Persephone. Just after sunset. Make yourself seen, and whatever you do, under no circumstances are you to approach me. Stay away. For your own good.

I.

Doesn’t exactly take a spy-criminal-mastermind to figure out what has Isadora de la Rosa reaching out for the first time since the Council meeting Cadence had called. Something’s going on, something she can’t say to them in person or via letter or messenger. Something that made her shut down Flechette for ‘temporary renovations’ that definitely weren’t needed at the beginning of the week and kept her from responding to any of the fancy-pants official missives Vera had sent on their behalf under the title of the Smoke.

Ryder reaches for his glass and downs the last dregs of his bourbon with a sigh. “Still think we should’a brought backup.”

“Yeah and I’m still kinda disturbed by that.” It’s not an unreasonable reaction in Taylor’s honest opinion. Since when did Nik Ryder ask for backup?

Since recently, apparently. “I take risks but I know when they’re worth taking. And there’s not a damn thing that could ever be worth takin’ on vampires. Especially ones like Smith was goin’ on about.”

Old, bloodthirsty, powerful and power-craven vampires, to be more specific.

“Ask me nicely and I’ll think about it.”

Together Taylor and Nik whip their heads around so fast they nearly collide — and wouldn’t that have been something. But really, in retrospect, neither man is surprised that the booth behind them is occupied by a familiar cheeky voice.

Katherine slings her arm around the back of her booth, turning to face them with an eyebrow raised and less mirth in her smile than normal; which isn’t saying much. Unlike everyone else around the club (Taylor and Nik excluded; only because they spent their ‘Fancy Party Threads’ budget on more important things this month — like groceries, and Garrus’ rent) she’s kept her leathers on for tonight. Hair tightly woven in a long violet braid kept out of her eyes and with her muddy boots carelessly kicked on top of the shiny chrome table in front of her.

He’s honestly never been so happy to see her in his life.

Well… unless that time… nevermind.

“What,” she glances between them with mild amusement, “don’t tell me you two idiots are surprised. You’re like Tweedledee and Tweedledum without an adult to make sure you don’t burn the place down.”

Ryder groans with the effort of his eye-roll. “You accidentally let one fuckin’ elemental loose on an abandoned warehouse and never hear the end of it.”

“You couldn’t stop a fire elemental on a harbor pi— you know what, no, we’re not doing this right now.”

“You started it!”

“And I’m ending it —” Katherine swings her legs down and stands, cracking her neck side to side, “— especially since you can’t seem to banter and pay attention at the same time.”

They follow the path of her eyes down below, through the iron-wrought ornamental railing to the level below. Between the gambling tables, bar, and dance floor it takes Taylor’s senses a second to adjust and focus on sight over everything else — just one of those not-at-all-cute quirks that came with developing his fae heritage.

Lo and behold — and like she didn’t vanish off the face of the earth for a brief period of time — Isadora de la Rosa crosses the main floor of the club with the same confident stride she does anything. She doesn’t weave in and through the crowd; they part for her because they know it’s their job to. And those who don’t learn. Fast.

Even from this distance he can feel the nervous energy billowing out from her; thick like fog and just as unsettling. It makes Taylor give a full-body shudder. “She’s freaking out,” not that her impassive nonchalance would betray it, but this is Izzy de la Rosa they’re talking about, “like… heart-going-a-mile-a-minute you-know-what-I-mean freaking out.”

Ryder gives his fellow Nighthunter a quick jab with his elbow without looking away. “You get a personal not-invite too?”

“No,” she elbows him back—harder, “but I’ve been keeping tabs on her. Shiny Bentley picked her up outside Flechette about an hour ago… I must’ve beat her here.”

“Not like it’s a long drive.”

“So what’s she been up to for an hour?” asks Taylor, mostly to himself. It earns him two deadpan stares and a flush of shame. Because what else would the city’s most important vampire be doing before a social evening where the club offered everything but blood donors?

“Got it. Carry on.”

Katherine sweeps another look about the floor, focusing on the path Isadora leaves in her wake. “Weird not to see her tailed by… anyone. No guards, not even her daughters.” And her daughters go with her everywhere. That’s just one of those things, you know — facts.

“I’m more interested in who Izzy’s got at her hip, myself.” Ryder comments; and a second look proves him right. It’s hard to catch pairs in the fast-paced movement of dancers, gamblers, drinkers and already-drunks, but she isn’t alone. Whoever keeps up beside her, face obscured from this angle by a wave of dark brown hair, does so easily. A little too easily.

“Can’t get a good look at her…” He trails off. Suddenly, Taylor feels the burning question in his boyfriend’s eyes without fail.

A twitch of his nose — focusing as best he can… but it’s always harder with someone he doesn’t know. Harder still when they aren’t human, or alive for that matter. Finally Taylor exhales, face red from strain while he shakes his head. “I can’t get a read on her.”

Not even when the woman throws back her head in a laugh a little too loud; the kind of laughter that comes from the want—or need—to be seen. To demand it of anyone within earshot. Lilting and sweet and just enough to be heard over the club band.

Her fangs catch in the light of a chandelier overhead. As if they needed confirmation of what she was.

Beside them Katherine’s breath hitches; caught in her throat with an icy grip. Taylor tears away from their target long enough to catch a glimpse, to see if she’s okay, and holy shit she is not okay. “Nik—” She’s white as a sheet, just as fragile too. He can feel her from here, the terror that clings to every bead of sweat on her forehead, then on his own.

Ryder doesn’t even open his mouth before it’s all bottled back up. Kathy’s always been good at that. Even for an empath, Taylor can’t quite understand how she does it. It’s frightening, honestly.

“You know her then.” Ryder isn’t asking. Katherine’s hands tighten on the railing as she nods.

“That’s… fuck…” her shudder cuts her off, makes her start over, “that’s, uh, Priya. Priya Lacroix.”

Wait. “The fashion designer?” Just when Taylor thought he was getting a hang of keeping up with them, too.

“The former member of the Council of New York,” she corrects, “leader of Clan Lacroix.”

Oh. He’s caught up now.

Ryder’s frown deepens. “Didn’t Smith say she was one of the ones who…” He trails off; doesn’t finish the thought — or maybe he can’t.

It’s okay though. They were all there. They know how it would have ended.

The woman Isadora coaxes through a roped-off doorway, a friendly hand resting on her lower back, is in league with the King of Vampires. She sold out Adrian, and Nadya, and Nadya’s girlfriend, and Cadence and all the rest of them; a traitor in the name of power.

Not… the greatest look Isadora’s ever had. But surely there’s a reason… right?

Before the fae attendant can close off access to their private reservation, the woman herself stops and allows herself to take in the opulence of the club for the first time tonight. Not that it looks any different than normal… but everything makes a little more sense when part of her reverent moment includes looking directly up and right at them.

Taylor’s heart catches in his throat. He waits, and watches…

Isadora gives a tiny nod, barely a twitch, before sliding the mask of a smile back in place and joining her guest out of sight.

Like a gunshot Katherine’s up and starting off towards their level’s interior rooms. “Come on,” she snaps at them over her shoulder, “we can cross them if we take the back stairs.”

Taylor and Ryder scramble up to join her. But before he gets too far the hunter doubles back, swallows the rest of his drink in one large gulp, and jogs to catch up.

The back stairwell is usually restricted to attendants and other staff. Tonight is no different, other than the fact that they have need of it, so restrictions don’t really apply. They approach the locked door and Ryder manages to coax Katherine back, both of them giving the halfling a wide berth to do his work. Sparks at his fingertips, cool to the touch like a glass of water on a hot summer day, iridescent with no-name colors as they fall on the handle and lock. The metal sizzles where they make contact, a thin stream of smoke makes his eyes water.

But he’s been practicing quite a lot recently, and it doesn’t take long before his fae magic overloads any other; cancels it out and allows the door to swing open of its own accord.

“You’re gettin’ better at that,” comments Ryder; and Taylor flushes at the compliment. He takes the lead — always the first to run into danger. Taylor and Kathy keep close behind.

“Lessons with Elric have really been paying off. It’s not all giant black pyres and feeling your horniness before you do.”

“Was that a hint?”

“Surprisingly not this time.”

Beside him Katherine pretends to gag.

It’s a mad rush to the ground level. Hunters stepping back automatically this time, and maybe it’s just Taylor but the second lock doesn’t take nearly as long. He blows the smoke from his index finger like an imaginary blowtorch snuffed out.

Pushing past them both, Kathy pokes her head out first. There’s a stake in her fist that wasn’t there a second ago, aimed and ready, but the tension doesn’t last long before she steps aside. “Now we’re fucked…”

When they join her in the corridor it makes sense. Stretching out from their doorway left and right — it looks almost endless in the dark. He can’t even see the distant lights from the gambling floor. Just another of the illustrious wonders this place is known so well for — and so not the thing they need right now.

“How are we supposed to know where they went?” Taylor looks at each of the closed cherry-wood doors with growing dismay. “We don’t have time for this.”

“No fae magic trick up your sleeve?”

“I don’t have one for everything.”

“You had one for opening the pickle jar.”

Taylor scoffs indignantly. “That—That was a serious issue!”

“Can you two try and take one thing seriously?” snaps Kathy, hissing between clenched teeth. “Lacroix skins her houseboys for fun. This isn’t a dinner date going down.”

Nik really doesn’t like being scolded though.

“Then what is it, All-Knowing Kathy?”

“What the fuck do you think?” When she doesn’t get an answer; “Isadora’s part of the bloodline, don’t you see? Made by Carlo, who was made by someone… I couldn’t find a name in Cade’s research. But Carlo’s Maker was definitely one of the Augustine progeny.”

Butterflies flutter in Taylor’s gut as he thinks over her words. “So… what, Izzy’s on his side because of parents or something?”

Kathy hesitates to answer. Never a good sign. “I don’t know. I don’t — that’s why we need to find out what they’re up to. Now.”

The three of them keep close, in case the hallway is really as magical as it seems, and scour for any sign of… anything. Nik beats them out, pulling them back to him with a whispered “There—” as he points to the only light source around — was that even there before?

Ye olde gas lamp flickers a soft orange glow up ahead. A beacon in the fabricated night. And in front of one door no different than any other door, but for the waves of emotion—cruelty—bitterness—amusement—boredom—hunger—that definitely means they’re in the right place.

The trio hesitates several paces back, using the darkness as a cover while Ryder gives the door a more detailed look-over. “No guards posted,” —odd for a place like this, even Taylor knows that— “but the door doesn’t seem bewitched. If I get us close enough, Taylor, think you could use some of that empathy to hear what’s on the other side?”

If he can’t they’re sorta screwed, so better to try than not. The hunters slip across the hall with practiced stealth and ease; Katherine’s silent steps and Nik’s pretty epic (and definitely show-off-y) barrel roll.

They flank the door and wait—listen—before gesturing at Taylor to join. He just… tip toes over. No parkour needed. Joins Nik on his side and takes a moment to steady his breathing and focus with his eyes closed. They really don’t have a second chance at this.

Slowly the world around him begins to fade. The musty carpeting no longer tickling his nose; unable to taste the dryness of his own mouth. He drowns out three heartbeats all out of sync, the whistle of the air in a vent overhead, the hiss of the lamp above.

“Hey, Rook.”

“I’m kinda focusing.”

“I know. Look at me.”

All the sounds come rushing back like a tidal wave and Taylor opens his eyes a little nauseous for his troubles. He’s glad he did, though. Because for all their banter and mockery and how Ryder refuses to ever ever open a pickle jar for him, there’s just something about the trust, honest and open, that makes the man’s eyes light up from the tiny flame overhead.

“You can do this.”

The sincerity makes his cheeks burn all the way down to his toes. Taylor has to look away for fear of drowning in the combined emotion of them. “Was that ever in doubt?”

“Don’t make me answer that.”

Attempt number two. Closed eyes, heartbeats—whistles—hisses all reduced to something less than white noise. Pushed back until he can force whatever’s left of his senses both inside and out through the door like it’s a sheer curtain instead of solid wood.

Slow, steadily the room comes into view behind his eyelids.

Isadora sets her drink on the arm of her chair. One leg crossed over the other and the liquor in her glass jostles, ice clinking softly, but never spills.

“What your King — and you by association — seem to have a hard time grasping is that down here things are simply done differently. There are rules of decorum. Legalities; traditions of respect that are followed to ensure everyone lives… calmly at the very least.”

“Why would His Majesty give a damn about anyone else’s lives here in this miserable mosquito net of a town?” The woman’s voice pitches with unsung laughter as she speaks. Her fingernails tap-tap-taptaping repetitive on the side table where her martini rests.

To her credit, Isadora remains cool and level-headed.

“As I’m to understand it, all of the traditions carried out by our cousins overseas are of his making, are they not?”

“I guess so. I don’t bother slumming it with those gutter rats. If I’m in Europe, I’m launching a new line.”

“Then your Council, we’ll use that as a perfect example.”

“The Council is gone, Izzy darling. The Clans are disbanded, those idiots hiding in the tunnels have been smoked out. There’s only the King’s Realm, now.”

Every word seems to jab into Isadora like an individual knife. The glass in her hand creaks dangerously as she grips it tighter.

“Bully for him then. My point stands.”

“Oh you poor thing… I don’t think you actually get why I’m here, Lady de la Rosa. Which is sad, really, and totally on you for thinking you could get out of choosing sides.”

The other woman shifts, switches her crossed legs and looks down her nose at Isadora; there’s a first time for everything. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about the way you want things done. Because that’s not how they’re going to stay.”

Isadora’s eyes flash dangerously. “Then enough of your placations. Why are you here, Priya?”

“That’s Princess to you, hag.”

“Ha, don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m not here with a request. I’m here with a command.”

“This is America, if you’ve forgotten. We don’t take kindly to kings here.”

“No, you don’t,” sneers Priya in reply, “but that’s only because you’ve been waiting for the real one and didn’t even know it. The throne is clear and the butt it was made for is finally seated and ready. His Majesty isn’t totally disgusted with the way you’ve been running things down in the South. You’re lucrative, profitable, and your family name inspires loyalty.”

“A concept you aren’t quite acquainted with, as I’m to understand it.”

Priya grinds her teeth together, lips pursed into a thin line.

“You don’t know shit. But since you think you do… let’s make one thing clear. My loyalty is to power. Whoever’s got the most gets my vote.”

“Kings aren’t voted in.”

“It’s a fucking figure of speech. I’m on the winning team, whatever. The more you pull this shit, the less likely that option becomes for you.”

A smart woman; always in control — Isadora leans forward and sets her glass down on the table before them before she plucks her response out of careful words.

“Continue then.”

Priya “hmmphs,” sounds for a moment like she won’t out of pure spite. But she’s here for one reason, and she won’t risk that careful affair she has with the new power in charge.

“The King is choosing to graciously overlook the fact that you should have already come to his Court to swear fealty to him. He likes your family line, or whatever. But it’s a one-time kindness.

“You, Isadora de la Rosa, are duty-bound by blood to serve Gaius Augustine. He’s the founder of your line — of all our lines actually — and when you took over the family business you took on the family oaths with it. You’ll come back with me, to New York, and take a pretty knee. Everything you do will be in his name, for his benefit, and in return you get to keep your weird little… playpen with the mortals until he decides otherwise.”

Ryder’s hand, heavy and warm against the ice in his veins, drags Taylor out of the room and back with the hunters. The man’s face is etched with worry; his expression grim.

“What’s the matter? What are they saying?”

He doesn’t waste time shushing — just focuses back on the vampires with a lump in his throat.

Isadora raises her chin slightly. “And if I do not agree to the King’s… generous offer?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

Don’t do it Izzy. He wants to scream; burst in there with Katherine’s stake and just do the thing. But he’s frozen in place. At the mercy of the undecided future of not just the city’s vampires, but New Orleans herself.

“Well,” Priya snaps with impatience, “what’s it gonna be?”

Isadora closes her eyes.

[lillaxtrigger]

Young hope: Chapter 18

Within the void of a dark room, light begins to poor in upon the crack of the door. A young red headed teenage girl peeks within the retreating darkness and calls out for whoever it might dwell. “Opal? You in here?” Chloe wonder aloud. Once she fully opens the door, the hallway lights begins to flood the decorative bedroom. Several dishes litter the furnishings of the less then well kept room, the leftover food they still hold looking not as appetizing as they once were. The once proud dragon girl that she sought could be found laying upon her bed, stewing in the woeful market brand soup called depression, now with extra bits of sadness. “Beat it. I’m not in the mood for any of your crap.” the monk demands. “Oh, Opal. I can’t stand to see you like this...Later.”

Beginning to depart from the room, she figures if she wants to lock herself in her dank ass bedroom for the rest of time, that ain’t no skin off her back. But Chloe halts in her tracks once she hears the frosty ice dragon command and ask her to: “Wait a moment. Why did you come here? You didn’t just come to kick me while I was down, did you?” Upon turning back towards her the bed ridden monk, she admits after a sigh that: “Ryu wanted me to come over and check to see if you were doing alright. Said something about you not returning anybodies calls. He tried to come over, you’re mom told him that you didn’t wanna see anyone.” “But she’s not home right now. The doors are supposed to be locked.” “Yeah, I broke in, but that’s not the point. The point is that you haven’t been showing up to school in days. Everyone is worried sick about you and they won’t stop bitching at me to do something about it for some god forsaken reason.” Hearing this, Opal finally raises from the groove left in her bed to question that notion of worry with: “Oh, now everyone’s concerned about me? That’s priceless. Wasn’t enough that Ryu came out of the closet, but both Renee and Tricia haven’t been answering either. And on top of all this avalanche of trouble, my powers haven’t been acting right ever since that whole deal with Circe.” “You’re powers?” “Yeah, I can’t turn into a dragon anymore. No matter how hard I try, not even a scale pops up.” “Can you still control water?” To demonstrate, the fallen dragon casts her palm toward a cup of clear water resting upon the nightstand and lifts the liquid right from the glass. From their, she twirls the water all around the room, weaving the liquid both around her and unwelcomed guests. Finally, she tosses the water towards one of her unsuspecting posters, freezing into icicles and embedding themselves within the bedroom walls. A disheartened breath escaping the dragons once mighty lungs, the water warrior sadly admits that: “It just doesn’t feel the same. Like a part of me was just ripped away.”

“I don’t see what the whole friken she bang is, honestly. So you can’t turn into a scaly ice breathing monstrosity anymore, big whoop. I’d call that a plus.” “You don’t get it! Dragon transformation is a big deal on my moms side of the family! I’d be like saying to her: “Hey mom. The part you gave to me that made me a part of your heritage was ripped straight outta me in the blink of an eye. Too bad I wasted it all on nothing but petty teen soap opera shenanigans fighting over some stupid cute looking boy!” If she found that out, she might never look at me the same way again.”

With that admittance of defeat, the fallen dragon flops right back onto the comfort of her awaiting bed. A sorry site to behold for sure. One that tugs on her former nemesis heartstrings. Where before, the redhead would bask in seeing the ice monk in such a pitying wreck of torn emotions and battered feelings, now she can’t help feel like an asshole upon such a thought. With Ryu having been taken out of the equation, they don’t really have much of a reason to engage in such bad blood battles anymore. Their whole damn rivalry was kinda shallow and petty upon retrospect. Two young ladies fighting over little more then the passing fancies of an oblivious cute boy. Fucking reality TV drama all up in this bitch. Best get to work on digging their way out from the shallow remains of this broken love triangle they once had the gaw to call a relationship.

The red head begins her excavation by sitting on the side of the morning girl bed, grabbing Opals attention but with a light touch to her shoulder. “Look, the whole Ryu thing wasn’t that big a deal looking back. The dates that Ryu took us both on never led into anything serious. Probably why I never spared much thought on it when he came out.” This claims start reaching the ice monk, pulling her face out from the folds of her pillow. “As for the dragon thing; That witch bitch snatched up a lot of kids and tried to drain them of their powers. That whole fiasco wasn’t your fault.” “Yeah it was. I got careless. One night, I heard a cry for help in a dark alleyway, the next thing I know, a weird glow surrounded me I a was on the slumber express. I’m lucky to even be alive.” “That’s the thing. You are alive. I’m sure as long as that was the fact, your mom couldn’t give less of a shit about your powers.” “I don’t know. I always felt such a sense of pride when going dragon. Like I was doing that side of my family proud. Without it, I don’t even feel that much anymore.” “Quit spouting that self pity horse waste and listen. You don’t need any powers to feel like that. You’re already good at so many other stuff.” “Like?” “Um...Uh well, Mmm...You’re pretty good at getting on my nerves?” An upset exhale through the ice monks nose passes before Opal sinks back to the comfort of her bed sheets. Seems like this mission to bury the hatchet is hitting hard rock fast. Gonna need something to punch through before the ground below collapses. Perhaps a bit of dynamite might fair to shake things up.

“Alright then, fine. Stay in here and rot for all I care. I guess with you all cooped up in here, I’m gonna have to be the bearer of bad news to your mom.” The threat is more then enough to shock her former rival out from the folds of her sheets and call her out. “You wouldn’t dare. I can call the police before you even get the chance.” she counters, her phone ready at the dial. “Got her number from the sticky note on the fridge. Care to try me?” she boasts, threatening the same notion with the mothers number on the screen. The two phone toting teenagers stare each other down, their fingers itching for the call. The air gave off a much less risky wild west shootout, but with the guns being their phones and the bullets being the blackmail.

Finally, ice monk caves into the red head threats and lowers her cellular device. “Just let me get changed.” “There we go, now was that so hard?” “Fucking glaciers.”

Their trip on this self esteem recovery cruise is first through the metaphorical oceans of the Townsville mall. Although the damage from the town wide riot proved to still linger, repairs were already halfway done. Though Chloe is barely able to notice as she proves herself far too distracted by Opals choice of apparel. “Good god girl, what are you wearing?” “What?” “Why in high hell did you decide to go out in that?” “My sweater?” Opal checks, a warm green sweater wrapped around her body. “Yeah.” “It’s just in case of cold snaps. I’m been getting them ever since Circe messed with my powers.” With a disgruntled groan, the redhead turns away from the walking fashion disaster she called her guest on this trip. It’s far worse then she thought. The poor girls taste in clothing had gone off the deep end. Something must be done to cure this deterioration of clothing choices, post haste, before the poor girl crosses into the realm of the hideously abstract.

Chloe looks about the repaired walls of the mall for a single glimmer of hope to remedy Opals unfashionable affliction. Beyond the gushes of the fountain, a newly added boutique could be taken in view. Perfect. Now to just convince the victim in question to come along for the shopping spree. Best to approach this carefully. One backhanded insult could sink this entire cruise before it even leaves shore. “Hey, you know what always cheers me up when I’m feeling like a puddle of street piss? Buying some new clothes. Nothing like a shopping spree to perk those sorrowful spirits, my mom always says.” “Why? What’s wrong with what I wear now?” Opal questions. “Oh, nothing, nothing. I just wanna see what cute outfits you look good in.” “I don’t know. Growing up in a temple out in China for most of your life doesn’t exactly develop your taste in fashion.” “Well all that’s gonna change now. Come on.” A swipe to the wrist and Chloe set off towards the clothing shop with Opal in hand.

Within the shop of fashionable apparel and cute accessories, the duo partake in the fashion line inside to their hearts content. Tee’s, jeans, and accessories they go through, helping each other on what looks best on whom, though Chloe does most of the judging for what builds Opals wardrobe. Gotta build up a sturdy sense of fashion for the future. Upon one point in their shopping spree, Opal manages to pull out a pair of jeans with a design of a sky blue dragon stitched on the legging. Never though she’d get such a cruel reminder from a pair of pants of all things. Before the ice monk has the chance to dwell on what she lost a moment further, her red headed host snatches the glittering garments from her grasp and instead lends her a new pair of designer jeans, these sporting a pink petals design lacing the leggings. A site that cheers up the dragon a fair bit and reminds her to look towards the future anew.

With their fresh line of fashionable fair in hand, the pair head straight towards the changing room, eager to garb themselves with the clothes they picked. One at a time, they enter and exit, switching who changes while the other judges, even exchanging their picks at several points.

Once that fashionable changing montage has run its course, they walk out with their bags of newly perched apparel in tow. Chloe seems to notice Opals mood having lifted. looking like her woes were starting to lift away. “Seems that mini shopping spree might have done the trick. You’re looking a tons better.” “Yeah. I’d admit, I didn’t think I’d enjoy it as much as I did. Wearing the same old stuff everyday and you never really appreciate how you look.” The young monk pulls from her bag of acquired wares a dark purple skirt, one that she had taken a fancy eye to. “Not once did I think I’d pick out something as cute as this.” Upon inspecting the piece carefully, the red head finds it best to give out one more piece of expertise to her budding bud. “Opal, listen, listen...That skirt would go amazingly with something of a light violet.” “You think so.” “Oh trust me girl. Boys would be throwing sticks of dynamite to get a piece of you.” A light giggle escaping her lips, she gives her appreciation for the piece of advice with a humble: “Thanks Chloe.”

Looking ahead, the conductor of this blissful bullet train lays her sight on an obstruction upon the tracks. Their former crush on the approach, with a yellow and black haired individual at his side. God dammit, why does his dreamy ass have to rear itself now of all times! If Opal takes a peek of him hanging out with that bumblebee haired douche bag, it’ll send her back on a one way trip to the precinct of misery and sorrow. Time for this Spicer express to take a sudden detour off the rails. Hastily, she shoves Opal into the nearest store before her site rest upon the approaching duo.

Recovering from the sudden shove, the monk turns towards the red head, and naturally demands an explanation. “What the hell, Chloe? What’s your deal?” “Sorry, thought I might have spotted something in here that you might like.” “In business attire?” “Yeah, sure will find something in this little-what?” Finally, she notices the shop that Chloe had shove themselves into and finds Opal to be correct. The two found themselves in the midst of a business clothing store. Not even a good one where the choices avalible were stylish, more along the lines of causal office wear as the red head looks on in horror the droll line of dress shirts and khakis filling the racks. Oh god. What kind of dorkish hellscape have they forced upon themselves? Even standing aside such passe choices of wares is enough to make the girls skin creep. Best make their escape as soon as possible. “Oh, whoops. My bad. Must have been something I imagined. What’d you say we bounce outta here and look somewhere else for you to where did you go?” Beside her, the ice monk seemed to have slipped form her side, witnessing Opal travel further into the depths of the store. Dear god no. The red head hesitates not a moment further to chase after her guest, rushing into the racks as fast as she can.

Chloe takes her frantic search through the racks and shelves of this office depot, hoping to pull Opal out from the deep wells of this company appointed shop. Has the poor girl finally delved into the depths of madness, or she bravely naive enough to think that she might find something to pull a decent look off in this joint? Dammit, it won’t be long before the spirit of drab office apparel consumes her very being. There might be no saving her at that point. A fate she intends to have not befall the monk.

Her search takes her to the back of the store, the girl she sought coming out garbed in a long sleeved lilac dress shirt in junction with her new purple skirt. “Well, how do I look?” Opal wonders. “You...You look...Not half bad actually.” “You think so?” “Yeah. The skirt actually makes the whole thing surprisingly work.” The red head takes a quite sigh of relief upon the girls overall look. That was quite the scare for the minute there. Thought she’d had her sense of fashion poisoned within this horrid realm of dull business apparel. “Glad you like it so much. Just wish I had enough money to take it home. Spent the last of it over at the other place.” “Oh don’t you worry about cash. Let me take care of cash.” “Are you sure?” “Of course. I’m god damn loaded. Just give me a second.” As the red head goes off to pay for her former foes new digs, the watery young woman looks over to her sweater that rested within one of the bags with a mix of slight attachment and worry.

The next stop on this road trip in the RV of gleeful merriment and mirthful recovery was grabbing a bite to eat. Since Chloe picked where they went at the last few times, she figures it might be time for Opal to take the wheel on a couple stops. Where the ice monk decides to take this road trip was at a Chinese restaurant. And not one of those cheap ass takeout restaurants you find along a strip mall either, we’re talking about the exotic stuff all up in this biz.

The two ladies await for their servings to arrive, admiring the décor planted throughout the restaurant mixed with the eastern style music playing on the speakers above. The variety of food being served to the awaiting people matched the eastern motif like no other, emitting the unique scents that one would find in the land of dragons. The entire restaurant gave out the vibe that you just stepped within a little slice of China. “Wow, this place looks so exotic. Nice choice for a stop, girl.” “Yeah, I thought coming here might cheer me up a bit. The food they serve always reminds me of the stuff I’d eat at my dad temple. Hope he’s doing alright over there.”

Upon that wonder, their food arrives, the waiter resting the delectable dishes before them. While Opal has ordered herself a delectable bowl of chow mein with a side of fried rice, Chloe was given a saucy serving of sweet and sour chicken. The combining aroma’s of the dishes create an overwhelming scent that girls noses eagerly take in. They can practically feel the tantalizing tastes of the Chinese already and hesitate not a moment longer to dig in.

Although the water warrior does not hesitate partaking in her decided dish, relishing the nearly nostalgic flavors; the same cannot be said for the red head, having trouble as early as handling the pair of chopstick she was given No matter what way she choose to hold the foreign utensils, the sticks would always slip from her grip. Looking over, Chloe finds her former rival having next to no trouble accomplishing such a task, taking in bite after bite of the noodles set before her. How the hell does anybody eat with these damn things? Who’s the jackass that thought that eating your food with a pair of sticks would be the most practical idea? The better question is how it became a standard in some countries? Ah, well. No shame in asking for a fork.

After grabbing the attention of a nearby waiter with a wave of her hand, Chloe asks them: “Excuse me. Have you got any forks or spoons I can use?” “Oh, sorry. I’m afraid we can’t serve anyone those at them moment. All of them are being washed.” The waiter takes their leave, leaving Chloe little option but to risk experimenting with the unique set of utensils. Well shit, guess this exotically enticing meal will have to wait for the doggy bag, then. But the red head stomach relay’s to her its objections upon waiting a moment further with quite the upsetting growl, demanding the food before them enter her body at once. Fine, you win stomach. Guess no better time to practice then now.

One more time, she holds the sticks together, pinching them carefully between her fingers. Slowly, she navigates the ends towards her chicken, pinching the piece between the tips. Ha, gotcha! Now to just lift the sour sweet piece and finally partake in the long awaited flavor. But inches away from her gaping mouth, it slips from the sticks delecate grasp and plops upon the table. The gooey sweet and sour sauce splatters upon impact, tempting to land on her newly bought designer garments if not for the red head blocking palm. Jesus, that was close! If even a single drip of this tantalizing nectar got on her person, its doubtful the stains would ever come out. Why didn’t she just order the fucking rice bowl?  Damn this enticing Chinese explosion of sauces and flavors. The taste of exotic foods was always such a crippling weakness to the young lady, no matter how unashamedly juicy it may present itself. Its all just so damn tasty.

Opal on the other hand proves to be halfway done with her chow mein, taking in the delectable noodles with nothing but pinches from her chopsticks. As she continues to dine on her dish however, she can’t help but notices Chloe’s fumbles upon the same venture, watching as she struggles to lift even a piece of her chicken. Where before, the monk of water would take the opportunity to show off amidst her former rivals falls from grace, she instead feels motives for a much opposite form of action.

Pinching the piece of sweet and sour chicken with a stick in each hand, she slowly lifts the longing flavor of the saucy poultry towards her mouth, only to have the piece fall right back on the plate. Right from the cusp of a boiling rage, Opal cools her growling with a grasp of her shoulder while relieving the sticks form her grasp. “Chloe, relax. Chopsticks aren’t that hard once you figure out how to use them. Let me show you how to hold them before you stab someone’s eyes out.” The monk returns the red head sticks back to a single palm, placing them between her index finger like a pair of pencils. “Just place the two sticks between you’re index finger and hold then with your middle finger and thumb like so.” That step finished, the next one shows Opal guiding their hands towards Chloe’s awaiting delectable dish, pinching a piece between the tips of the sticks using her finger and thumb. Finally, the piece makes its trip towards Chloe’s long awaiting lips once more, finishing its abrupt journey with a well deserved bite. At long last, the red head can savor the sweet and sour flavors that swirl within her mouth, the exotic tastes queuing a satisfied moan.   After swallowing a piece of her well desired dish with an ending sigh, the red turns to the water monk, with a thankful: “Thanks a bunch, don’t know how much longer I could risk getting any of that sauce on my clothes.” “Hey, don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do after you bought this shirt for me.” “Now I can finally dig into this bitch!” Eagerly, Chloe pinches another piece and quickly laps up the chicken towards her mouth, but she proves that she still need work with the utensils as she drops the piece just as fast. A lowkey growl escaping the cracks of her teeth, Opal gives her reassuring calm by noting: “Hey, don’t sweat it. All it takes is a little patients and some practice. You should have seen the first time I handled them, one of them wound up flying in my dads ear.” “Really?” “Yeah, I was almost grounded.” Sharing a pleasing giggle, the two return to their meals with the aim to finish.

After a while, the duo finally end their meals with a relaxing slouch and a hearty sigh. “Man that hit the spot. That chow mein you shared with me wasn’t half bad.” Chloe admits. “That sweet and sour chicken you picked out was pretty nice too. This place serves some good Chinese.” Opal shares. “Well, hope you hadn’t had you’re fill yet. We still got some day to burn off to make some stops.” Rising from her booth, the red head prepares her trip towards the bathroom with the followup of: “But first, I gotta make a stop myself.”

One trip to the bathroom passing and Chloe prepares her walk back to pay for the check. Something that catches her eye makes her halt in her tracks however. Her former crush, Ryu, sitting in a booth facing the young man he walked beside with earlier. Are you fucking for real, here? Is he just following them or is this just some massive ass coincidence. Better bolt it before the site strikes Opals gaze, else the whole day plan might come to a screeching stop.

As the ice monk prepares for their departure, she takes witness to her red headed friend making a swift rush in her direction. Quickly setting the money she owes upon the table, Chloe takes Opals hands and rushes for the door. “Come on. The night is burning.” she insists. Little do both of them fail to realizes is that the water warrior has yet to retrieve her sweater, resting upon the seat of their former booth.

With their stomachs stuffed and their taste buds quenched, Opal yet again takes the reins of this frolicsome venture, riding into the realm of infinite possibilities as the day soon fades to make way for the towns dusk. However, in what seemed like a cruel joke, the water monk decides that the next stop upon this girls night out was an office supply emporium of all place. “You know, Opal. You had me with the restaurant and then you lost me here. We’re supposed to be having fun tonight. Why did you drag us hear of all places?” “I just need to stop in here to get several things. My supplies stock has taken a huge nosedive and I need to refuel.” Hearing a load groan escape the redheads lungs, Opal reassures her to: “Don’t worry. I promise we won’t be here for long. Maybe you can help me pick out some cute files.” With that, a much louder groan escapes the red head.

Surely, an excuse that she has heard many a times by now. It’s always just a couple minutes, isn’t it? But a couple could soon easily morph into several, as evidence by the so many times Kingsley has drag her and her parent to this accursed depot of business tools. Seriously, every time she wound up in here, the minutes just slug on to a dead crawl. She’d even try faking sick a couple time just for the hope of relief from the ticking of the clock. Though the red head dares make an acceptation this time around, as her determination to put the petty past behind beckon to the call. This is a day of redemption dammit, a day that will not be tainted by the impulses of rising boredom. If her budding bud wishes to partake in this spree through the mart of office supplies, so be it. Chloe’s only concern is how long she’ll be able to last amidst the droll wilds.

And its not long before the red head resolves swiftly begins to wear thin. The trip through the depot leads them through shelves of staples, plenty of papers, and countless amounts of pencil and pen alike. While Opal enjoys the weirdly tranquil calm of looming through the interior of the store, the redhead was beginning to loose her mind trekking through all of it once again as the horridly shitty excuse for store music breaches her ears for the 10th time in a row. Seriously, its all they fucking play here! She’s heard it on loop, so many times, she occasionally hears echoes of its reprise long after she’s departed. If she has to navigate her way through even another hall of boring file organizers, someones spine is coming out of their backs. The wonder if her former rival just dragged her hear to make her suffer, begins to take hold.

Upon the cusp of a rage induced shit fit, something that catches her eye halts her readying freak-out. Twas nothing more complex then a simple pen, a pen with a rather unique design catching Chloe’s eye. It looks...really nice actually. The elegant pattern swirling along the barrel, the gracious clip seamlessly matching the design of the cap, almost like the designs of a fashionable dress. How the hell is it possible for a pen to look this good. Throughout all the times she’s been through this god forsaken office store, she’s never noticed such a gem. Can’t let this catch slip through her grasp. Taking her newfound pen, she turns back to find she has lost site of her frosty friend. Dammit, where did she wonder of to, now? Swear, you take your eye off some people for a moment and they’re gone, just like that. Better find her before she looses herself in the swirling nether of clip boards and printer ink.

In the midst of her search through this office emporium, Chloe comes across a mess of supplies forming trailing throughout the isles. These supplies seems a little familiar. Staples, paper, pen and pencil. Weren’t these the things that Opal was shopping for? Hard to say for certain. Almost everything in here looks the same, all of it blending together to the red heads point of view. But something still feels amiss. She knows Opal isn’t this incompetently clumsy just to drop her shit everywhere like this. Whatever’s happened, she better follow the trail fast.

The path of paper and pencil leads Chloe all throughout the depot, weaving through the countless isles of supplies and customers. Each second passing is another moment the red heads worry grows. The trail beginning to wear itself thin the further down it leads, she hopes that the path doesn’t come crawling to a close soon.

The paper and pen path leads towards the back of the store, Chloe finally coming across Opal huddled in the corner. “Opal, finally. What the hell happened? Why’d you just ditch me like-...Huh?” A closer look upon the ice monk revealed her to be suffering from a nasty shiver, her breath on full display within the heated space. “Opal, what’s going on!? What’s happening!?” “Cold snap...Can’t find...sweater...Need warmth...now!”

Not a moment further does Chloe wait to drag her freezing friend out from the business depot, ignoring the alarm that sounds off as they pass. Out in the parking lot, the red head looks around, hoping to find someplace for her bitter cold bud to thaw. Can’t take to the skies, gliding through cold evening air is just asking to make things worse. Too far from home either. The trip potentially taking roughly an hour on foot. Not the kind of time she has to spend. There’s gotta be somewhere around here a couple gals can shelter themselves from the chilling cold of the fall winds. Wherever that may be, they better find it fast, else Opal might make for a fine example of the looming dangers of hypothermia.

Up and down and all around the block they go, hoping somewhere around was the salvation of heat and warmth the freezing monk so desires. With each passing second, her shaking worsens. Chloe feeling Opals shivers against her body worsen as the red head holds her tight for warmth. Come on! There has to be somewhere here that can save them from the freezing faults of fall. Another minute longer and shemight succumb to a frightening frosty fate.

In the midst of her frantic search for the desiring relief of warm do the duo spot an orange glow, piercing through the darkness of an alleyway on the wayside. Not a moment longer do they rush towards the light, finding within the alley a burning oil drum that few of the cities homeless have huddled around to bask in its heat. Perhaps not the most appealing places to seek shelter from old mans winters knock at the door, but given Opals dropping temperature, it’ll have to make do. The freezing monk wastes not an another moment to approach the glowing blaze, warming herself against the radiating heat. “You feeling better?” the red head asks her. “Yeah...Warming up at least.” “Hah….that’s nice to hear. Thought for a minute there you would have ended up turning into a grape dragon popsicle.” “I...I don’t get it.” “Ah, see it’s cause you’re wearing purple and you almost froze to-” “My sweater! I don’t know where it could have possibly wound up. I need to get it back.” “Oh...Well don’t beat yourself up about it. I’ll just get ya something even better to where. Maybe even a designer coat with silk lacing in the-” “No!” The suddenly harsh objection from the warming warrior makes the fiery red head and the other homeless jump back. “I need that sweater back ASAP...I can’t go home without it.” she demands under the frost of her breath. “Alright, fine, Jeez. I’ll get it back for you.”

As Chloe takes flight from the orange lit warmth of the burning blaze, she wonders what the hell bossy MC ice fangs deal is. It’s just a stupid sweater. Not even a good looking one either. That snot colored abomination didn’t even look that good on her to begin with. If she was that worried about getting cold, it’d be best to get her a much more stylish designer coat instead. Perhaps something of a magenta color would tie her look together quite nice. Something to spare thought to as she begins her search for the ice monks sweater. Don’t want all that hard work and cash in cheering the girl up to go right down the drain. The only question left unanswered is where they could have left the damn thing. Only four places it could possibly be at. Seems this mystery is gonna require retracing their steps.

First stop on this mystery march was back at the business supply emporium. “Nah, we haven’t seen you’re friends sweater, But we did see you two run off without paying.” the cashier mentions. A disappointed sigh escapes the red heads mouth as she pulls out the money she owns.

Second stop upon this sweater search was at the boutique, the cashier at the front claiming: “No, you’re friends sweater wasn’t left here. Good thing, too. That horrid thing best not be left in our shop.” Although inclined to agree with the sneering comment, the red head ultimately takes her leave.

Up next was the office dress shop, and much like the other shops before that Opals sought after sweater is: “Ain’t here. Sorry. Though while I have you, would you like to try out are new membership plan. You get a new pair of khakis sent every month?” Nope. An irritated growl seeps through her teeth as she walks out.

Only place left to check on the list was the Chinese restaurant they dined at earlier. Luckily Chloe manages to strike a bit of gold during the hunt, the waiter confirming that: “Yes, it was here. You two left it at the booth you dined after rushing out.” “Really? Mind if I have it back then?” “Oh, sorry. A couple of guys that came in here earlier snatched it up on their way out before any of us could grab it.” “What!? Can’t you at least tell me what they look like?” Chloe pleas. “Eh, not really sure. Didn’t really get a good look at them going out. Don’t know what to tell you.” “I-...Thank you for your time...” A weary moan leaves the girls lungs at she exits the restaurant.

Well, that proved to be a complete waist of time. Going around everywhere only to find out that Opals stupid sweater was stolen. Who in their right mind would look to a sweater left on a random seat of a Chinese restaurant and go: “Ah yeah. That shits mine, motherfucka!” Fuckin really now! Now how to break the news to her as gently as possible?...Wonder if the boutique still open?

A round trip back to the alleyway the fiery red head left her frosty friend behind and she finds the lady of the hour has left the scenes entirely. Oh, where the hell did she wonder off to now? Can’t exactly message the girl to see where she’s at. Never bothered to get her number. Okay Chloe, calm down. She’s not stupid. If she left, then that means that her cold spells must have wore off. At least she’s alright for now. Only question left was where she went. Now think; where would someone who grew up in a Chinese temple for most of their life go to when feeling like frosty shitcicles? ...

Within the confines of the Townsville park, a wide view of Chinese themed scenery stretched before her. Flora and fauna from the very country it was attempting to emulate planted throughout the section of park. Buildings matching the old atheistic placed about to go with the tranquil scenery, some housing public services. A calming stream leading throughout the park flowed from the ponds almost like lifeblood, little wooden bridges connecting the lands for safe passage. Completing the entire eastern aesthetic with the paper lamps suspended upon the poles. Its a miracle this place remained untouched during the town wide riot. It always looked so gorgeous. The redhead can’t imagine what would happen this beautiful portal into the land of dragons were destroyed overnight. The park just wouldn’t be the same. But now’s not the time for exotic admiration, there’s a friend that needs to be found, dammit. Best find her soon before this nightly fall air makes her succumb to another cold snap.

The koi ponds, the ancient bell, the lily garden, the bamboo thicket each and every corner the red head looks for the lady of the hour, finding not a single speck of the frosty lass anywhere. Checking in the buildings around proved to be just as a fruitless endeavor, the ice monk failing to be in any of them. Maybe she just went home after all. As Chloe begins her trek out from the eastern themed park, her expression perks upon spoting a familiar figure standing atop one of the wooden bridges crossing the streams.

Opal herself was busy staring down into the flowing stream below, entranced by the passing koi fish as a senses of waning nostalgia envelopes her. “Hey girl!” The call for attention snaps her out of the enticing trance, finding her fiery red head friend approaching from the side. “There you are. I was getting worried you might’ve went home. Good thing I caught ya hanging around here, huh. Nice to see that you’re feeling better too.” “Uh, thanks...Did you find my sweater yet?” “Ehhh...No, wound up getting stolen.” “What!?” the ice monk exclaims, visibly distraught by the baring news. “But don’t you fret. I got you something even better. Ready?” With that, the red head presents her final gift on this metaphorical merriment cruise liner: a top of the line fur designer coat. “Ta da!” Placing the coat in Opals grasp, Chloe goes into further detail about said gift with: “Figured it’d help you plenty with any freeze spells you might catch, with it’s thermal wool interior and heavy outer fabric, that baby should keep you warm no matter how low your temperature drops.” “I...Um...Th-thanks...I guess.” “What, you don’t like it?” “It’s just...I really wanted that back sweater back is all. And hearing it get stolen is just-” “You still going on about that national offense of fashion? Just forget about it. That coat I picked out for you is way better then that snot green disaster any day of the week” That snide remark manages to set the water warrior off to boil, arguing with: “Excuse me!? That offense of fashion was special to me. You can’t just replace something like that.” “Oh, come on. I guarantee you that coat you’re holding has had a lot more money dunked into it then that mucus colored mess ever held. What kind of value could that hideous excuse for clothing possibly have?” “It was a gift from my cousin, you bitch!” A mix of shock and guilt befalls the red head upon this fact reaching her ears. “I haven’t seen him in years, but he sent me that sweater as a birthday gift several months ago.” “Opal, I-” “You know, I was honestly hoping that we could have put all all our bad blood business behind us and maybe bury the hatchet. I actually liked hanging out with you and thought you were really cool. Like, I was thinking, “Hey, I guess she isn’t as bad after all.”… But I was wrong. You’re really are just and as selfish and inconsiderate as I thought.” Her words of bitter scorn and deep remorse delivered, the fallen dragon tosses her newfound coat into the mercy of the sky, the fall winds above claiming her ill received gift for themselves. The emotionally wounded warrior then departs, leaving Chloe to stew in the wonder of her actions.

Hmm, figured that conversation could have taken a much smoother route. Things might have not taken such a drastically worse turn if the red head hadn’t crashed into the ice monks nerves like that. Maybe it’s not to late to apologize for the sudden wreck?...You know what, no. If that bitch isn’t thankful for all the money I spent on her, so be it. There’s better things to do with ones time anyhow.

Ready to depart and leave the upset dragon to her woes, Chloe turns around to find her former crush right behind her. “Hey Chloe, what’s up.” “Ryu, hey.” Whoa, when the hell did he get here!? Wait a second, did he catch that whole fiasco? Judging by his upbeat expression, its a safe wager to assume that he didn’t see much. Play it cool, Chloe. “So, what brings you around here?” “Just hanging out with this cool guy I met the other day. I spotted you and Opal at that Chinese restaurant earlier and was hoping I could catch you two to talk for a bit.” “R-really? With what?” “Well, this might sound kinda weird. But I always got the impression that you two might have been fighting over me.” “What? No. No. That’s crazy. Whatever gave you that silly idea?” Oh god. “Well, I kinda figured that both of you had a thing for me and wanted to say sorry if I may have broken a couple hearts coming out.” “Ryu, it’s no big deal. Honest, I’ve moved on.” “Okay. I was a little worried there. Hey um, if you see Opal, mind giving her something for me as a sort of apology.” Curiously, the red head awaits as the boy before her turns from behind, requesting her to: “Wait for it...”

Shortly, he pulls his of apology which takes the form of Opals lost sweater. “Her sweater!?” “Yeah, I kinda saw you two rush out of the restaurant without it. Figured she might want it back. You know where I can find her?” “Um-Uh… Swiftly, she nabs the sought after garment from the boys grasp, promising him that: “Don’t sweat it. I’ll make sure she gets it the next time I see her.” “Oh, great. Thanks. You know, I’m so happy you two are finally getting along. I guess with me outta the game, there’s really no reason to fight, is there?" “Ha ha, yeah. Good to hear. Ha.” God dammit. “Cool. Listen, I gotta get back to this guy that I’m hanging out with. Maybe work up the nerve to ask him out. Tell Opal I said hi!” With the boys leave, Chloe gives her wave goodbye, waning the further he goes as she says farewell with: “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell her. Good luck on your little date, Ryu. Ha ha ha...ha ha...ha...Shit.”

Whelp, guess that was the final nail in the coffin, wasn’t it? The red head felt like a complete asshole. I mean sure, at first she did all this because nobody would shut the hell up about it, even tempting to leave when the fallen dragon proved to be too stubborn. But during their time spent together, they found more common ground then either of them realize. Maybe there was even a chance to form a budding relationship where war once waged. Fuck, why did all that have to come out of her mouth. Hope the soil isn’t too far tainted for anything to grow now.

Around the park she goes once more, hoping to catch the ice monk before her bitter departure. However, another sweep around the park proved fruitless as she fails to find Opal anywhere. Please say she didn’t leave already.

Within the confines of a hidden grotto, she finally found the frosty dragon of ice, dwelling in the darkness upon a stone seat. Opal herself not to happy that her depending rival uncovered her, evident by questioning with a mildly harsh: “What do you want?” “I um…I was hoping to catch you so I could say sorry for the sweater. Didn’t know it meant that much to you. I shouldn’t have made us leave without it.” A depressed breath escaping the fallen dragons mouth, she turns her gaze away from the red head. “But guess what, it didn’t get stolen after all. Ryu stop by to chat and found it.” Reaching around, she presents the treasured sweater in question, prompting Opal to slowly approach. Showing little emotion, she takes the sweater from the red heads grasps and after inspecting it asks: “So Ryu found it, huh? Did he say anything else?” “Just sorry that he kinda broke your heart.” “Oh...” Her sweater in hand, the icy monk returns back to the shadows of the grotto, her gaze breaking with Chloe once more. “Listen, if it’s Ryu you’re still worried about, you don’t need him. You-” “It’s not Ryu I’m mad about. I’m over him. It’s about you.” “Me?” “The way you treated my sweater with callous disregard, it showed how little you think of me. That you barely even considered how losing something like that made me feel. It make me wonder that all we did today was just you trying to look like the bigger woman.

Hearing this, Chloe approaches the dragon monk, sitting beside her upon the hard stone. “Look. I’m just gonna come clean with you. At first, I just did this because everybody wouldn’t stop coming to me about you, like whatever you do is my damn business. But the more time I spent on this whole trip, the more I began to enjoy it. I mean picking out great clothes, teaching me how to use those chopsticks, finding an amazing looking pen. I’d never thought I’d have much fun hanging out with you, until today. And about your sweater, you’re right. I acted like I could just buy my way outta loosing it and never thought it might have been important to you. I always just took that kinda of stuff...for granted. You’re honestly one of the coolest girls I’ve ever met and I really don’t want things to end like this, but...I understand if you never wanna see me again. Later.” Her heartfelt apology dealt, the red head prepares to take her leave from the darkness of the grotto.

Right on the cusp of taking her sorry leave, Chloe hears the sound of the water monk call out and demand that she: “Wait.” A quick turn about towards her staring frosty friends request and she wonders what the girl might have left to get off her chest. “...Thanks for...getting me out of the house and taking me shopping. You’re whole encouraging blackmail trip actually kinda helped. I was beginning to feel a lot better. Lord knows how long I’d stow myself in my room if you hadn’t forced me out. Do you...do you still think we have time to hang out?” A warm smile drawn across her face, the red head approached and reassured that: “We’re teenagers. We can make our own time. But you might wanna better way of hanging onto that sweater of yours. Hang on.” Taking the garment from Opals grasps, she ties the warm sweater around her reforged friends neck. “There we go. Don’t look half bad on you when you wear it like that.” “Hee, thanks. Come on.”

Upon emerging from the darkness of the grotto, the sound of the ice monks phone halts the two in their tracks. “Oh hang on.” Digging the phone from her purse, she takes the answer, only to be met with the ballistic screams of her mother on the other end “Mom...S-slow down, what are you talking...The business depot...They said I did what!? Ha-hang on mom! I can explain, I...um, I...” Struggling upon what to say to the furious parental figure, the fallen dragon feels the calming touch from her once bitter rival upon her shoulder, looking back to find the fiery red head with a reassuring smile. The doubt and fears leaves the renewed monks person with a soothing breathe, determined to face the fury of her mother head on with: “Mom...There’s something that I need to tell you...”

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With this chapter, I wanted to try and explore the dynamic between Chloe and Opal in the aftermath of their burnt out rivalry. I thought it might be interesting for Chloe to try and help out a former rival having been weakened by the scares left behind by Circe, exploring a different side to the whole coping story that I did with Roy a couple Chapters back

(Also as a good story excuse to retcon Opals dragon powers, but never mind that.)

[tumblingletters]

Emerald Genesis Chapter 06

“Not sure about redheads.  Dreadful temper.”  

                                                                                   - James Bond

Chapter 6: Asuka Strikes and Shinji Strikes Back

           Somewhere south-east of the shores of New Yokosuka (Old Odawara) Captain Misato Katsuragi had taken Shinji Jordan, Toji Suzahara and Kensuke Aida on a small “date”.  

           “Wow!”  Kensuke cried out holding his video camera and taping everything that he could see, “A MIG-55 Transport Helicopter.  I never thought I’d get to see one of these things, much less fly in one!  It’s great to have a friend like you, Shinji!”

           “He’s never happier unless he’s near military stuff,” Toji pointed out while he adjusted his white and black striped hat.

           “No question,” Shinji smiled.  

           The helicopter passed by a few clouds and came out to the ocean where Kensuke cried out, “Wow!  One…two…three…five aircraft carriers and four battleships!  And there’s the Super-aircraft carrier ‘Over the Rainbow’!  That’s a vintage model from just before the Second Impact!”

           After the helicopter landed and Kensuke had set about taking his camera and viewing everything that he could see, Shinji had observed that he was pretty much like a kid in a candy store.  Probably the one thing that would have made him even happier would be if he was allowed to pilot one of the airplanes but, of course, the chances of that would be none to negative.  

Toji on the other hand was happy by the fact that he was allowed to come on this trip with Misato.  He even bought a stripped cap for the occasion that he so proudly proclaimed would never take off.  

           It did occur to Shinji how odd the situation was that Misato and Shinji were going on this military operation to deliver the power cable for the arriving Unit Two and yet here they were bringing along civilians on it as if were a school field trip.  He quietly smirked at his own observation when he thought that all they needed was a packed lunch.  

           There was a good strong wind blowing over the deck of ‘Over the Rainbow’.  So much so that it blew off Toji’s special cap that he was chasing like a parent after their child at an amusement park.  

           “Stop damn you!”  He kept calling.

           Until at last the cap landed at the feet of someone. Toji was glad until one of the persons feet had lifted and stomped down on the cap.  

           Shinji was watching the event unfold in front of him when Toji developed an annoyed look and tried to grab at the cap that was being held down onto the flight deck by a girl in a yellow sundress.  Giving her a better look, Shinji did see that she was rather cute with her red hair that flowed down to the center of her back. She had blue eyes very similar to Shinji if only a few shades brighter.  Her expression was slightly arrogant with the way that she grinned as if she were saying to the world “I’m always right because I’m so super and you’re all so stupid.”  

           The only peculiar thing that Shinji had noticed right away was the fact that at the top of her head where her hair was tied up there were a pair of red sync nodes that looked as though they were being used as hair clips.  If Shinji were to look back on it in retrospect he would have made the connection that the sync nodes on her head almost looked like small horns.  

           “Why helllllll-o, Misato.”  The girl in the yellow sundress said.  

           “Been a long time, Asuka.”  Misato greeted in return.  “My you’ve grown.”            “Ah-huh.”  The girl named Asuka answered.  “And I’m not just taller my figure has filled out too.”

           “Let me introduce you.”  Misato presented.  “This is the designated pilot of Evangelion Unit Two.  The Second Child.  Asuka Langley Sohryu.”

           Then, just as if it was on cue, a good high wind blew across the flight deck and blew up the hem of Asuka’s yellow sundress to the point where Toji, Kensuke, and Shinji could actually see that she was wearing white panties.  

           The redhead began to burst out in obscenities of German as she slapped Toji and Kensuke but when she came up to Shinji he blocked her oncoming slap as easily as catching a ball.  

           “You really shouldn’t do that.”  Shinji said.  “It really wasn’t our fault.”

           “Why not?  You’re the pervert who was looking!”  Asuka protested.

           “And I’m the idiot who thought it was smart to wear a sundress on a windy flight deck?”  Shinji asked.

           Asuka’s face fumed and she raised her other hand in a surprise slap attack across Shinji’s face.  

           “Hey!”  Toji interjected.  “What’d you do that for?”

           “That’s my fee.”  Asuka stated in arrogance.  “Quite a bargain if I say so myself.”

           “Well in that case here’s mine!”  Toji said as he pulled down his pants and flashed himself at Asuka.  

           Aghast at what she saw she began to spout German again and gave Toji a second slap across the face.  

           “So then, now that that’s out of the way which one is the famous Third Child?”  Asuka asked but she looked over at Toji whose face already had twin red hand-shaped welts on his face.  “Ack nein…please don’t tell me it’s him.”

           “Its okay, Asuka.”  Misato smiled and pointed to Shinji.  “It’s him.”

           “This jerk?”   Asuka sneered.  “They say he’s American but he looks Japanese to me.”

           “I was born in Japan but I was raised in America.”  Shinji corrected.  

           “That figures.  You act like a Yankee jerk.”

           This girl really did get Shinji’s hackles up and he answered back with, “I’d rather be an Yankee jerk than a Kraut cunt.”

           “Shinji!”  Misato cried out.

           “VAT?!”  Asuka cried out as she raised her hand to slap him again until Misato stepped in between the two of them.

           “Okay children.”  She commanded.  “Let’s just cool out, okay?”  

           “Fine.”  Asuka groaned.

           “I’m fine with it as long as someone finds a proctologist on this ship to take the stick out of her ass.”  Shinji quipped.  

           “That’s enough, Shinji.”  Misato said sternly.  

           “You still haven’t changed have you, Katsuragi?” A voice called out.

           “KAJI!”  Asuka squealed like a fan girl at her favorite music artist.  

           Shinji looked back at Misato who developed a look of overwhelming dread when she looked at where the voice came from. Looking in the same direction Shinji found a rather scruffy looking man wearing a shirt that had the first few top buttons undone and a tie that was loosened a little far.  He had long brown hair tied up into a shaggy pony tail. His face had a good growth of beard stubble across it.  But then there was his expression that could only be described as being like a used car salesman: sneaky and sly.  As if he were trying to think of a way to screw everyone over while still keeping on a pleasant “have a nice day” smile on his face.  

* * *

           The group had headed down to the ships’ mess hall but to say that there was tension in the air would have been such a grand understatement.  From what Shinji was seeing it looked like there was going to be a real smack-down about to erupt.  The man named Ryoji Kaji was leaning forward and giving Misato the eye like a man trying to pick her up for a good night lay.  

           “So, do you have a boyfriend right now?”  He asked.  

           “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Misato said with a sour expression on her face while she looked off into the corner to avoid eye contact with Kaji.

           “I’m hurt.  Ow.”  Kaji feigned his pout but then turned to Shinji who was sitting on his side of the table with Asuka between them.  “So I understand you’re living with Katsuragi.”  

           “Yeah, I am.”  Shinji answered.  

           “Tell me is she still so wild in bed?”  Kaji smirked.  

           All around the table everyone developed a shocked look while Misato looked like she needed air while her face was turning to the same shade as a cherry tomato.  

           Shinji responded in good humor.  “Yeah.  We nearly broke the bed last time.”  

           “You do realize that she sleeps on the floor, right?”

           “Yeah, that’s what I mean we nearly broke through the floor into the apartment below us.”  

           “SHINJI!”  Misato cried out.  

           “Nope.”  Kaji smirked. “She hasn’t changed a bit, has she Shinji Jordan?”

           “How do you know who I am?”  Shinji asked.  

           “I ought to know you.”  Kaji pointed out.  “You’re pretty famous in the defense business.  The famous Third Child who piloted an Eva in his first battle with no training.”  

           “Oh that.”  Shinji shrugged.  “Beginners luck, I’d say.”  

           “Luck has nothing to do with it.  It’s your destiny.  It’s your talent.”  

           Upon hearing Kaji’s praises Shinji couldn’t help but notice how Asuka was giving him daggers.  She had the look of a child who saw someone else with a fancy toy that she had wanted but never got.  

           “Asuka.”  Shinji pleaded.  “Would you quit glaring at me?  People are going to think I just broke up with you.”  

           “Hmph!”  Asuka responded turning away from him.  

           “Well, I will take my leave.”  Kaji said before excusing himself from the table.

           “And I’m going with Kaji.”  Asuka added.  “Since he’s the only real man on this ship.”

           “And you know where to find me when you get disappointed, missy.”  Shinji chided.  

           Asuka turned and stomped off muttering something in German while Misato had her hands on the sides of her head as she looked down and muttered something that sounded like “nightmare”.  

           “So, what my dad said was right.”  Shinji commented.

           “What’s that?”  Toji asked.

           “Redheads have a bad temper.”

           “You got that right.”

           “Though that Mister Kaji is pretty interesting.”

           “He hasn’t changed at all that chauvinistic pig!” Misato snarled.  

           “Bad ex, I take it?”  Shinji asked.

           “You have no idea.”  

           That was when she came back.  

           “Hey, Third Child.”  

           Shinji looked over his shoulder and found Asuka with her hands on her hips and a very stern and sour expression on her face.  

           “You’re coming with me.”  She commanded.

           “Did Kaji disappoint you already?”  Shinji humored.  

           “No.  I have something amazing to show you.”

           “But you already flashed me.”

           Once again she spat out her German at Shinji before changing languages to say, “I want to show you my superior Eva.”  

 * * *

             Asuka had taken Shinji on a short helicopter ride from the Over The Rainbow to a ship that looked to be a converted super tanker with a massive tarp covering something on its deck.  All the while Asuka had such an arrogant grin on her face especially when she brought Shinji to the side of the great tarp covering and pulled it up.  Shinji looked inside and found Evangelion Unit Two.  He didn’t see much of it but he saw that it was red all over.  

           “Interesting color.”  He said.  

           “That’s not all that’s different about Unit Two.” She said as she led Shinji inside to get a closer look at the machine.  The thing was submerged in a pink liquid that Shinji had seen before with his Unit One back home.  He stood on a makeshift bridge that was basically wooden planks set on top of empty barrels that acted as floatation devices while Asuka climbed up onto the Eva and stood proudly like she was the Queen of the Hill.  

           “Unit Zero and One were the prototype and test type respectively.”  Asuka began. “The fact that Unit One synchronized with an untrained pilot like you is proof of that.  However, Unit Two is a little different.  My Unit Two is the world’s real first Evangelion.  Designed for actual combat it’s the final production model!”

           “Cool.”  Shinji said sounding very uninterested.  “By the way, is it lonely up there on your pedestal, Asuka?”

           “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”  Asuka shrieked as she climbed down from Unit Two.  She stomped her way up to Shinji and looked him in the eye and shoved her finger into his chest as she said.  “Say that again.”  

           “I asked if it was lonely up there on your pedestal, Asuka.”  Shinji repeated.  “Or did you want me to ask if it’s dark with your head up your ass?”  

           She raised her hand once again but before she could deliver the blow there was a great explosion followed by the ship rocking and the gangplank shaking back and forth.  

           “What the hell was that?”  Shinji asked.  

           “Undersea shockwaves.”  Asuka assessed.  “And pretty close by the sound of it.”  

           They dashed from where Unit 02 was being held to the guard rail on the ships deck.  They looked out and saw one ship explode in a plume of purple smoke followed by a series of waves as if something underneath was moving.  

           “So it’s an Angel.”  Shinji observed.

           “A real one?”  Asuka asked.  

           “I’m afraid so.”  

           That was when Asuka grinned like a mad scientist as she looked back at the tarp that covered Unit Two.  

           “Wunderva.”  She uttered to herself.  “Now’s my chance.”  

           She then turned to Shinji and said, “Wait here.”

           She then dashed away as if she were running the hundred meter dash.  Her yellow sundress flailing in the wind and the sharp motions of her legs and within a matter of moments she came back with a red bag that had the numbers “02” on the side.  She then yanked Shinji by the hand and took him back inside where Eva Unit Two was being stored.  

           Back inside the storage area she stopped on the makeshift bridge.

“Turn around, Third Child.”  She ordered.  “And don’t peek or you’re dead.”  

           Shinji shook his head as turned around.  This whole thing was pissing him off.  There was an Angel attack going on outside and yet this obnoxious German redhead was ordering him around.  

He then heard a few noises coming from behind him.  There was the rumpling of cloth, the pulling of a zipper, and the sound of plastic against plastic.  He turned his head and for a flash he saw Asuka changing clothes into something resembled his plugsuit.  In the next flash Asuka glared at him and cried out.

           “Don’t peek!  You pervert!”

           “And if it was Kaji?”  Shinji asked turning his head away from her.  

           “That’s none of your business!”  Asuka cried out.  

She pulled Shinji by the shoulder, turning him around and shoved a red plugsuit into Shinji’s arms.  He looked at it very confused and puzzled.  Looking back up at Asuka he saw that she was wearing the same kind of red plugsuit as the one that he was holding in his arms.  

“Well?  Put it on.” She said with that same arrogant smile.

           “Fuck no.”  Shinji said tossing the suit back at Asuka.    

           “What did you say?”  Asuka glared.

           “I said ‘fuck no’.”  Shinji repeated while he began to take his backpack off.  It was something that he had brought with him on this small excursion with Misato.  If NERV had taught him anything it taught him that one should be prepared for almost any contingency.  Then again, using the ring was much easier than carrying around what he had in his bag. He reached in and pulled out his blue and white plugsuit along with the new type of sync nodes.  This type was attached to a headband that would fit around his head.  

           “Oh, such a prepared child, aren’t you?” Asuka asked derisively.  

           “As opposed to you.”  Shinji said slipping on the sync node headband, unfurling his plugsuit and starting to undress in front of Asuka who began to blush the same shade of red as her suit.  She turned around, covered her eyes and spat obscenities in German.  

           Shinji hadn’t taken off his ring when he slipped his hand into the plugsuit’s sleeve.  After he pressed the button on the wrist controller he could see the lantern symbol bulging through the plastic but he knew that he would be the only one that could see it.  Otherwise Asuka would have made some kind of cutting remark about a boy wearing a green ring.  

           Seeing Asuka in her plugsuit Shinji was pretty sure of what insanity was going to happen next.  Then again given the situation it was the best course of action since none of the weapons that this small escort fleet had would even work on it.

           “I’m ready.”  Shinji said.  

           Asuka turned around and grabbed Shinji by the hand. That was when Shinji had enough. He yanked it out of her grip.  

           “Are you blind?”  Shinji spat.

           “Vhat?”  Asuka asked.

           “Are you blind?”  Shinji repeated.  

           Asuka was silent.

“Then why do you keep grabbing my goddamn hand?”  

           Asuka’s lips scrunched as if she took a large bite into a lemon and was still allowing the acids to slip down her throat.  

           “Okay then.”  Shinji said.  “I’d ask you what we’re planning to do but it is fairly obvious.”

           “Are you stupid?”  Asuka asked.  “We’re going to beat that Angel with my unit two.”  

           “Oh brilliant plan.”  Shinji rolled his eyes.  “With what weapons?”

           “The progressive knife should do it.  And if that doesn’t work I’ll kill it with my Eva’s bare hands.”  Asuka said proudly while she was working Unit Two’s controls to eject and open the entry plug.  “This will be an even more famous battle than yours.  Get ready for an amazing display of piloting, Third Child.  Just sit back and don’t get in my way.”

           “If you don’t want me to get in your way then why are you basically dragging me with you?”  Shinji retorted.  

           “Because I want you to see that I’m far more awesome than you.”  

           Shinji followed Asuka into the Entry Plug.  He knew that she really was a moron if she was going to go through with this and he had to be there in case she really did mess up in however dozens of ways possible.  She may be a bitch but he wasn’t about to let her get killed.  

           Upon climbing in and the entry plug closed up Asuka began to speak the instructions. “LCL Fullung.  Anfang der Bewegung.  Anfang des Nervenanschlusses.  Auslosung von Linkskleigung.  Synchro-stat non!”

           The internal computers began to click and turn on. The screens were changing color but then everything stopped and a single red word appeared over and over again across the inside of the entry plug.  The word was “FEHLER”.

           “Fehler?”  Shinji said aloud.  

           “It means ‘error’, stupid.”  Asuka grunted.  “It’s thought noise.  I told you not to disturb me.”            “And what did I do?”

           “You’re thinking in Japanese, aren’t you?  If you must think do it in German!”  

           Shinji giggled.  “Actually, I thinking both Japanese and English but I’ll try.  Du Hast Mich.  Du Reicht So Gut. Ich liebe Dich, mein Schatz.”

           Asuka’s eyebrows rose before she barked, “Dummkoft!  Nevermind! Switch language to Japanese.”  

           The moment she gave the instruction the word Fehler was gone and the screens began to show what was outside the Eva.  

           “Evangelion Unit Two.  GO!”  Asuka commanded and the Eva began to rise out of the pink liquid and push against the gigantic tarp like a sleeping giant.  

           “Abort!”  The voice of the Admiral came through the entry plugs internal speakers.  “Stop the Eva Activation sequence!”

           “Don’t listen to that moron, Asuka!  Go for it!”  Misato cheered.  

           “What’re you doing!?  That Eva and its pilot are under my jurisdiction!  You’re violating my authority!”

           “Who gives a damn about your procedures?  This is an emergency!”  

           Shinji had to roll his eyes and smile upon hearing the back and forth argument between Misato and the Admiral.  It made him think of two ants fighting over a cube of sugar.  

           “Oh dear lord.”  A voice came through the speakers.  “Unit Two is still using the B-type equipment.”  

           “What?”  Shinji asked. He looked at the back of the entry plug. Right behind the pilots seat there were the printed words of B-TYPE EQUIPMENT.  “If we fall into the ocean we’re screwed.”  

           “Then we won’t do that.”  Asuka answered back.  

           “Brilliant.”  Shinji muttered.  

           “Shinji, are you in there?”  Misato asked over the intercom.  

           “In a word, unfortunately.”  Shinji answered back with a laugh in his voice before he turned to Asuka.  “Okay, time to kick some ass.”  

           “No need to tell me twice.”  Asuka smiled as she took the controls and the Eva leapt through the air like some great hero out of an old world legend.  And it landed feet first upon a nearby destroyer, pinching in its roof like it was aluminum.  All the while the Eva still held onto the gigantic tarp like it was a cloak making it appear like a superhero out of a comic book.  

           Shinji looked to the internal clock.  

           “We’ve only got fifty-eight seconds left of power.” He reported.

           “I’m aware of that!”  Asuka snapped.  “Stop side-seat driving, Yankee!  Misato, move the power cable onto the flight deck.”

           “You got it, Asuka.”  Misato answered.  

           Through the entry plugs monitors they could see the waves and wakes of the underwater monster maneuvering between the ships like it was looking for something among the different ships.  

           “Now, let’s play hopscotch.”  Asuka said.  

           Shinji looked at her and then at the ships.  “Oh you’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”  

           Unit Two leapt once again, this time it threw off the gigantic tarp.  If Shinji were standing on the flight deck of one of the nearby ships he would have been awestruck by seeing this great machine being able to fly through the air. It seemed so absurd by the sheer fact that the Eva was so many tons in weight and yet it could leap so easily.  

           It wasn’t really hopscotch as Shinji saw it. It was more like leapfrog.  

           Within a few jumps they were close to the aircraft carrier.  

           “Eva Unit Two coming in for a landing!”  Asuka announced.  

           The Eva landed upon the flight deck of the aircraft carrier making it tilt and sending several of the fighter planes into the ocean before at last coming to a balance.  A fair distance away the wakes made by the Angel were coming in rapidly. Shinji wished that he could use the ring but all opportunities were gone the moment that Asuka had yanked his hand and tried to show off her “superior Eva”.  

           “Switching to External Power.”  Asuka announced and the countdown stopped.  “Switch completed.”

           With the power problem taken care of, Asuka had made her Eva draw out its progressive knife.  It held it out like a street gang member ready to have a knife fight. Looking towards the incoming waves and wakes they saw the Angel arise out of the waves.  Its body was long and pale beige similar to the skin of a beluga whale.  Sitting atop of a ridge there was that tiny skull that Shinji had seen before in the face of the Angel that he had fought.  It was a round circle with a long downward protrusion like a fang while sitting in the center of it were two black dots like dolls’ eyes.  

           “Shit, that’s huge.”  Shinji uttered.  

           “The bigger they are…”  Asuka smirked.  

           The Angel leapt out of the ocean like a flying fish.  It’s body covering the entire flight deck of the super aircraft carrier.  Its weight caused the might ship to sink further down until the water had nearly reached and splashed up upon the deck.  The sudden shock had caused Unit Two to loose its progressive knife but the Eva was too busy struggling against the sheer weight and will of the Angel.  Its mass had shoved the Eva to a section of the ship where there was a small vehicle elevator.  The Eva’s foot tripped into it and that sent it and the Angel tumbling into the ocean.

           “Asuka!”  Misato called out.  “It’s impossible to fight underwater with the B-type equipment.”

           “You know what they say you never know until you try.”  Asuka retorted.  

           “Yeah and they already tried it.  That’s why it’s impossible.”  Shinji interjected.  

           “Oh butt out, Third Child.”  Asuka growled.

           The Angel swam and wriggled its head from left to right.  All the while Unit Two held on for dear life as if the Angel’s face was the only thing holding it from death.    

           “The cable’s about to run out!”  Misato shouted through the cockpit speakers. “Brace for the shock.”  

           Within seconds, the Eva snapped to a stop and floated while the Angel swam away like the one catch that had gotten away from the fisherman’s hook.  

           “Ferdunt.”  Asuka grumbled.  

           Even with the sheer adrenaline rush of fighting the Angel, Shinji couldn’t help but look out of the cockpit windows and look at the sunken city streets and buildings below.  Each of them crumbling and rusting from the salty and slightly polluted waters.  Even though it really wasn’t the time to reflect upon it, Shinji couldn’t help but feel a little saddened by what he saw.  That was when he thought about how it was the fault of the Angels that the city was a sunken wreck.  He turned his attention back to the open ocean looking for signs of the son of a bitch.

           Instantly, there was a pop-up window showing a magnification of one area within the screen.  It was the Angel approaching the Eva with speeds that would rival a shark.

           “Here he comes.”  Shinji whispered.  

           “He won’t get away from me this time.”  Asuka grunted as she took hold of the controls but the Eva did not respond.  “What? It’s not moving!”

           “Told you, it’s B-Type Equipment.”  Shinji repeated.

           “What’re you going to do?”

           “What am I going to do?”

           “You’re the famous Third Child.  So do something.”

           “Oh so now you need my help, don’t you?”  Shinji rolled his eyes but then snapped his attention back to the screens and saw the Angel was only a few hundred meters away.

           Its mouth opened wider than any oceanic beast that was or ever had been.  Within the gum lines of its jaws were several rows of long dagger-like teeth.  A long, thick and pink tongue led the way to a red core that hovered at the back of the Angel’s mouth as if it were its uvula.  

           “T-teeth.”  Asuka shivered.  

           Within seconds the jaws of the Angel had come down upon the Eva like a worm on a hook.  It shook its head from left to right so vigorously that it knocked Shinji from where he was and threw him over Asuka’s lap.  

           “Get off my lap, you pervert!”  Asuka shrieked pulling at Shinji’s face to get him off of her.

           “Oh for god’s sakes, not now!”  Shinji yelled back before pulling back and crouching near the pilot’s seat.  

He kept looking around the cockpit screens and only saw the inside of its shut mouth with the red core floating just out of hands reach of Unit Two.  Looking at the teeth of the Angel something had clicked inside of Shinji’s head.  He began to hear a melody in his head.  

           Duh duh... duh duh... duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh...    

           “Hey, ever seen ‘Jaws’?”

           “What’re you babbling about, Third Child?”  Asuka demanded.

           “I know what Shinji’s talking about.” Misato said.  “And I have an idea.  Admiral, I need your cooperation.  Here’s the plan.  We’ll sink the two remaining battleships, the Illinois and the Kentucky, in line with the umbilical cable as a trap. When the Eva opens the Angel’s mouth the ships will in.  Once inside, both ships will fire their bow cannons and self-destruct via remote control and thus destroying the target.”  

           “Preposterous!”  They heard the Admiral say.  

           “Preposterous maybe but not entirely impossible.” Misato answered back. “Shinji.  Asuka.  Do you understand the plan?”  

           “Got it.”  Shinji said maneuvering himself closer to the pilot controls and placing his hands upon them.  

           “Hey!  Don’t pilot my Eva without my permission!”  Asuka protested slapping her fists against Shinji’s back.

           “Will you concentrate on the problem at hand?” Shinji growled.  “Or do you want to die today?”

           They heard Misato give the order.  “Reverse the cable!”

           There was a severe yank backward.  The cable was being reeled back up the super aircraft carrier and it was pulling the Angel up to the surface and the sinking battleships were only a minute away.  The time to defeat the Angel was coming close.  

           “Hey, are you rubbing against me on purpose?” Asuka yelled.  “Cut it out you dork!”  

           “Jesus Christ!  Will you shut the fuck up!?”  Shinji spat.  “Concentrate goddamn it!  We have to open the mouth!”

           “Just don’t get any funny ideas.”

           “Whatever.  Just do it.”

           Asuka placed her hands upon Shinji’s.  

           “Open! Open! Open! Open!”  Shinji thought while grinding his teeth.  

           Within the Angel’s mouth, something had happened, Unit Two began to move its eyes opened and within its black sockets two pairs of glowing slits had shone through.  One hand went for the roof of the mouth while the other went down to the jaw. They push and pushed open the mouth until the Eva was not only free but it was wide enough for the sinking battleships that were only seconds away.

           “Smile, you son-of-a-bitch.”  Shinji smirked.  

The ships rammed through cracking away its teeth and making the creature look as silly as a man trying to shove more than one hot dog into its mouth.  

           “FIRE!”  Misato cried out.

           The battleships fired its cannons and the creature began to bubble from within like a popcorn bag ready to burst until at last it exploded in an underwater cloud of pink and purple.  On the surface of the ocean there was an upward eruption of water and at the top of it was Eva Unit Two that flew up and out like a child’s bath toy that had slipped out of grip.  At last it landed face first upon the deck of the aircraft carrier.  With its umbilical cable lost in the explosion its battery coming to a halt with a dying whir.  

 * * *

             At the docks of New Yokosuka (Old Odawara) the damaged Eva and the damaged fleet were pulling in.  Shinji, Asuka, Misato, Toji and Kensuke had already disembarked and had come back onto land where Doctor Akagi was waiting for them. Misato had an armful of printouts that she handed to her.  

           “My-my-my.  Looks like this one put you all through the ringer.”  She observed.  

           “I should have anticipated it.”  Misato apologized.  “But at least we collected a lot of valuable data.”  

           Doctor Akagi looked it over.  Her eyebrows rose.  “Misato.  This data is important.”  

           “Why’s that?”  Shinji asked.  

           “It appears that you two broke your synchronization ratio record.”  Doctor Akagi answered.

           “But only for seven seconds.”  Misato added.  “Must have been because of the danger.”

           “Or because we were concentrating.”  Shinji countered.  “But there’s something that was weird about that whole thing.”

           “What’s that?”  Misato asked.

           “The way the Angel attacked.  It’s like it was looking for something.”  

           “Could have been Unit Two.”  

           Shinji shook his head.  “I doubt it.  If it was looking for Unit Two it would have done more than just bit into it.”  

           “Oh well.  One more mystery that probably won’t be solved today.”  

           As the two of them were conversing about it, they didn’t notice how Asuka kept looking around everywhere like a little girl looking for her father.

           “Hey, where’s Kaji?”  Asuka asked with anticipation in her eyes.  

           “He took a powder.”  Misato sneered.  “He’s probably back and the headquarters by now.  That jerk.”  

 * * *

             “My goodness that was an eventful trip, wasn’t it?” Kaji remarked looking away from the window of Commander Gendo Ikari’s Office.  “Was it caused by this?  I wonder.”

He stepped closer to Gendo’s desk where there was an abnormally thick case that had all kinds of warning stickers on it, including “Biohazard”. Gendo had opened the case and a mist wafted out of it and the two of them looked down at its contents.  

“Quite amazing that it has restored itself this far.” Kaji observed.  “It’s frozen but still alive.  So this is the key to the Human Instrumentality Project, right?”

“Correct.”  Gendo confirmed.  “This is the first human being.  This is Adam.”  

“By the way.”  Kaji said. “On my way here I met someone who has an interest in you.  He also has come bearing a gift.  He wanted to meet you directly but in light of circumstances he felt it best to meet you through me.”

“And who is this individual?”

Out of the shadows behind Kaiji came a very tall man with purple skin, yellow eyes, pointed ears, slicked-back black hair and a pencil thin mustache.  He was dressed in a black suit with a yellow tie and carried a yellow case.

“I shall tell you after I give you this.”  He said as he set the yellow case on the desk.  Upon opening it Gendo Ikari looked inside and found a yellow lantern and a ring.  

“What am I supposed to do with these useless trinkets?” Gendo asked.

“You see so little potential in anything.”  The strange man had stated.  “But I knew that you were the best candidate because my ring could sense the fear within you.  It can see into your mind.  You fear the old men that may stop your goals.  You fear that you may fail in your endeavors.  You fear you will never see your wife again.  And that fear will give you power.  And that will be channeled through these.  Give me your hand.”  

Gendo wasn’t a man who took orders very well but something compelled him to lift his hand to the purple skinned man who grabbed his wrist, took the ring out of the case and shoved it onto his finger.  There was an eruption of yellow light and Gendo Ikari found himself wearing a skintight uniform with a strange symbol on his chest and the ring was glowing with that same yellow light.  

“What is this?”  Gendo asked.  

“This is a weapon of fear.”  The purple-skinned man answered.  “My name is Sinestro.  And you are now part of my corps.  Now say it.”

“In blackest day, in brightest night,” Gendo uttered, “beware your fears made into light.  Let those who try to stop what’s right, burn like his power…Sinestro’s might!”  

 * * *

             Meanwhile, back at Shinji’s school, Toji, Kensuke and Shinji were sitting at their desks discussing the events that happened out at sea.

           “She may have been cute but she was a real bitch” Toji observed.  

           “Yeah, I’m certainly glad that’s over” Kensuke added, “and we won’t have to see her again.”

           “But Mister Big Shot here will have to work with her.  I really feel sorry for him.”  

           “Your condolences are much appreciated, Toji” Shinji grinned.  

           No sooner had the words been said that the door to the classroom had opened and the three boys looked and with shock, horror and revulsion they realized who it was when the young girl with flowing red hair passed the front rows to the chalkboard and wrote her name in German and Japanese.  She turned around with a very pleasant smile.  

           “I’m Asuka Langley Sohryu” she introduced, “charmed huh?”

 Next time:  

Carrol’s Voice:  After a very disastrous battle, Misato devises a plan so that Shinji and Asuka must work together but Shinji finds the situation to be very compromising since there’s too much at risk for his secrets to be learned.  Will he still keep it hidden and manage to defeat the Angel with this new partner?  Find out in the next chapter.  

But I still think she’s a bitch.

Misato’s voice:  Hey, don’t diss my pilots!  And by the way there’s going to be fan service.  

 Neon Green Evangelion: Chapter 7 – Moving in, Close Calls and Dancing

© Green Lantern - DC Comics

© Neon Genesis Evangelion - Studio Gainax

[jujubeehan-blog]

four times jaehee friendzoned MC and one time it came back to haunt her

honestly?? the entire jaehee route is an artistic representation of kristen stewart holding hands with that girl in paparazzi photos and the media labeling it her “hanging out with her gal pal!” 

i love you very very much, sorry this took so long baby @moonlightvrs

♡ ship: jaehee x mc

♡ word count: 1.3k+

♡ warnings: not really angst, mostly just gay frustration; i swear once: half-nudity but no nsfw

five times jaehee kang put MC in the friendzone and one time it came back to haunt her

1. Lesbeans

On the café’s opening day, Jaehee was absolutely radiant. The carefree beam that danced across her features was enough to make MC’s heart feel as though it would shoot out of her chest with love. There was still so much work to be done, but the once perpetually strung-out woman was thriving on the high of cappuccinos and freedom.

The two worked side-by-side to tend to the influx of customers that were flooding in with a little help from some very aggressive advertising from the defender of justice and small businesses, and every once in a while they’d brush hips as they passed by each other, further injecting MC with heart palpitations.

As the last straggler of the day meandered out and Jaehee switched the sign to closed, she leaned against the store with a content sigh, her cheeks flush with hard work and excitement.

Overcome with a sudden bout of happiness, Jaehee surprised both herself and her business partner by throwing her arms around MC with a disbelieving laugh.

“That went better than I could have ever imagined!” she rambled, hugging her close, “It’s all thanks to you, MC.”

“It’s thanks to both of us, Jaehee,” MC managed to respond amidst dying of happiness at the contact, “This place is your baby, you brought it to life. I’m so proud of you.”

Spurred on by the unusual behavior Jaehee displayed, MC worked up the courage to place a chaste kiss on her left cheek.

Jahee’s eyes widened momentarily before she started giggling.

“Wow, I’ve never had such a close friendship before!”

“Friendship?” MC squeaked, “Right, yes, friendship. The friendliest friendship that ever did… friend.”

2. mr. steal yo girl

When Zen got the lead in a huge musical, his two biggest fangirls were, naturally, front and center at the very first show.

Of course, MC was a bigger fan of the serene smile that graced Jaehee’s lips when she watched the performances, but you didn’t hear that from me.

After the show ended, they went backstage to greet their friend and shower him in the compliments he thrived on.

In retrospect, perhaps MC had been laying it on a little thick by jumping into Zen’s arms and proclaiming him to be a musical savant and the face of their generation, but there was no quicker way to get the man she considered an older brother smiling.

Jaehee was much more reserved, as was the norm, but this time she seemed to be a little… put out.

As the two waited for Zen outside the theater while he changed, the chilly air matching Jaehee’s demeanor, MC shoved her hands into the pockets of the coat their silver-haired friend had insisted she put on awkwardly, sparing little glances at the brunette beside her.

Finally, Jaehee cleared her throat, adjusting her collar and turning to face MC.

“I know it’s not really any of my business, but if you and Zen are planning on getting together, I think you should reconsider,” Jaehee spoke concisely.

MC whipped her head to face Jaehee so fast she thought she was going to get whiplash.

Her intentions of immediately denying the implication died out and were replaced with curiosity and a dangerous, dangerous spark of hope.

“Yeah?” she tilted her head to the side, “Why would you say that? Are you… jealous?”

“Jealous?” Jaehee spluttered out, her cheeks turning red, “Of- of course not! It’s just, from one friend to another I can’t see it ending in any other way but heartbreak for yourself and damage to Zen’s career.”

MC bit her tongue so hard she thought she was going to bleed.

3. holly jolly jealousy

At the RFA Christmas party, MC stuffed her face with the HBC that Saeyoung had smuggled in amidst the way-too-fancy hors d’oeuvres and watched on grumpily as yet another man flirted with Jaehee.

The woman was growing comfortable with herself outside of the corporate world, inside and out, and people were starting to take notice. MC was pouting because she had noticed first and why did anyone else think it was okay to flirt with her Jaehee, damn it.

“What’s wrong MC?” Saeyoung snickered, “Girlfriend troubles?”

“Shut up, ugly ass fuckin tomato head,” she threw , before sighing, “if only I had girlfriend troubles.”

At this moment, a flustered looking Jaehee ambled over, looking at MC pleadingly.

“MC, thank God,” she sighed, “if another man flirts with me, can you pretend to be my girlfriend? I have no idea what’s going on, but I-,”

“Yep,” MC linked arms with her without any hesitation, startling Jaehee slightly.

“Thank you so much!” Jaehee smiled, “You’re such a good friend.”

MC discretely flipped off Saeyoung as he cackled wickedly behind them.

4. the great pajama incident

Exhausted from a long day’s work, Jaehee insisted that MC sleep over at her place since it was much closer.

MC set up the movie while Jaehee went to go change into her pajamas, pushing one of Zen’s musicals into the DVD player while popcorn popped in the microwave in the kitchen adjacent to the living room.

“Oh!” Jaehee called out, rushing into the room as the opening credits began to play, “I don’t want to miss the first scene.”

In her haste, she had yet to put on her pajama shirt and thus came out clutching it, only in pajama shorts and a modest bra.

MC started wheezing so hard she had a coughing fit, immediately turning around to face the opposite direction, her face a mess of red.

“What? Oh, sorry did that make you uncomfortable?” Jaehee shrugged on the shirt, a little embarrassed, “I just assumed you’d be fine with it, since we’re friends and all.”

“No problem,” MC squeaked out, barely breathing.

The two stood in awkward silence for a moment before Jaehee cleared her throat.

“Uh, MC?”

“Yep?”

“The popcorn’s burning.”

“Oh God.”

1. we finally made it

Jaehee looked up from cleaning the counter to observe MC laughing loudly with a man near the front of the café, and a pang of something resonated throughout her.

As the man leaned down to kiss MC – her MC – on the forehead, Jaehee scrubbed so hard at the countertop that the paint began to rub off slightly.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as her friend excused herself from the suspicious male and approached her.

“Hey,” MC gave her a cheerful smile, “Will you be alright if I head out for a few hours? I’ll be back before the evening rush.”

“Uh, we’re so busy though,” Jaehee’s voice came out a little squeaky.

MC frowned in confusion, turning around to scan the nearly-empty café.

“I mean, sure,” Jaehee sighed in resignation, “Go have fun.”

“Thanks Jaehee!” MC brightened, “You’re an awesome friend. I’ll pick up a shift on Monday to pay you back.”

Jaehee didn’t understand why that commented made her sick to her stomach as MC linked arms with the man and exited the premises.

In fact, she was so overcome with confusion that she accidentally spilled coffee all over one of their regulars.

“Gee,” the man grumbled, “Your girlfriend is a much better server.”

And just like that, realization crashed over her like a wave of gay.

Without so much as an apology to the man, she quickly untied her apron and tossed it behind the counter, racing out the doors.

It only took her a few minutes of running down the city blocks like a mad-woman to catch up with MC and her date, letting out a cry that caused the two to turn and look at her in shock.

“MC,” she panted slightly from the physical exertion, running a hand through her slightly grown-out hair, “I.. don’t want to be your friend.”

She winced slightly at how blunt it came across, but a look of utter jubilance graced MC’s features.

“Finally,” she mumbled, before crashing her lips to Jaehee’s.

Along the sidelines, MC’s cousin awkwardly looked away.

[extraneousdominomask]

Fashionably late, but here at last! It's time to meet finally face our favourite fox inspector in

Chapter Four: Synergetic Aesthetic

which, of course, is a nod to Dimitri's Kinetic Aesthetic (and one of my favourite chapter title puns). Dimitri may be absent, but his presence lingers in the background, like the wisp of a cookery fire.

After a bit of (rightful, if ineffectual) self-reflection from Judy regarding her Cowboy Cop tendencies, we open on her and Nick taking in some of the #zany characters running for election. This story is definitely a product of early 2016. Said candidates are, in order: -Frederick F. Fazbear Junior - the eponymous bear from Five Nights At Freddy's, although with that 'Junior' it's hard to say which version. Nick's crack about "a minimum of child deaths" is intentionally ambiguous. It's... probably fine. -Tortimor Sonchou - the previous mayor from Animal Crossing, before he retires in New Leaf. Suited my purposes nicely. Not a mammal, so strictly speaking he shouldn't be here, but if I gave Bentley a pass I can stretch it a bit. -Toriel Dreemurr - Goat Mom! From Undertale, of course. I needed a character who could conceivably be an actually decent mayor, and Tori was a great choice. Regal but grounded, and motherly through and through. Giving her the Special Power of motherhood was a lot of fun. -G. Bufufftlefumpter - an amalgam of two Gravity Falls characters, Mayor Euctace Huckabone Bufufftlefumpter and Gompers the (non-sentient) goat. -Taka "Scar" Kifalme, amoral fop. Wealthy, educated, and criminally lazy - sounds about right, wouldn’t you say? 'Taka' is from a dubiously canon book series, and is the best and only answer for what his parents actually named him. 'Kifalme' is just the Swahili for 'royalty', in grand Lion King tradition.

Blake Belladonna was also going to be a mayoral candidate, with the joke being she was unreasonably young ("How old is she? Like, seventeen?!"). A better idea solidified, so we'll be seeing her again soon. She was replaced here by Gompers, the candidate with least plot significance. There was going to be a joke where he'd be depicted eating a napkin or something at the fancy party near the end, but it can be hard to slip in quick jokes like that in a non-visual medium so it was scrapped.

Sly's ""disguise"" - blue parka with hands resting in the pockets - is a visual nod to Toriel's joking buddy, sans. No word on whether Sly's also wearing slippers. And, as ever, the pants situation continues to be ambiguous. "But as... eager as I am to get to know you personally," ten seconds in and already flirting. that's our boy.

I open Nick's scene with a quick moment of weakness before he slides his careful nonchalance back into place. That's something I always bear in mind when writing him; that cool exterior is masking a lot of stress. I probably overdo it, but hey.

"She was tall for a fox – taller than Nick, at any rate." yeah she's fuckin six foot, that's one and a half nicks While I'm thankful Zootopia mostly does away with the (very stupid) trope of Girl Furries Have Hair, I'm also thankful it doesn't remove it entirely - characters like Gazelle and Fru-Fru demonstrate it's still on the table. Carmelita's hair is a major part of her (great) design, so that would've potentially been awkward. moved 'Lita's badge from her necklace to her jacket, as per Sly 4's design, because I couldn't find a way of phrasing "her badge hung from a collar she was wearing" without it sounding incredibly kinky (and it ain't that kinda fanfic, bud) "There was something red and boxy on her belt – Nick assumed it was some kind of red box." #foreshadowing "She spoke with a noticeable accent." #world-building

“Oh, please. I'm not nearly as accomplished as the fox combat pilot.” This throwaway nod to StarFox predates the actual inclusion of said pilot's boyfriend rival in the story. Writing novel-length fanfictions as you go is a hoot.

I think Nick's knowledge of the city works as a pretty good excuse for justifying why Carmelita would partner with such a rookie. Don't want to prioritize him just because he's A Protagonist, y'know?

In retrospect, Judy's "vacation" is a little dubious. I spent a long time working out how to give her the freedom I wanted her to have; a concession of plot in what I think is otherwise a mostly character-driven story. I don't know if this deal is all that in-character for Bogo, and if accepting it so blandly is in-character for Carmelita (even when she's older and less strict). But here we are.

She gave him a wry smile. “I look forward to working with you, Nick.” she likes youuuuuuu

And here we see a good example of the angle I take when writing Nick. "Negative" isn't quite the word I'm looking for, but... compared to reveling in his undeniable strengths, I find his weaknesses and foibles a lot more interesting. Take it as a compliment, Nick. A character is only as interesting as his flaws. Case in point: Nick's here because of Judy. Entirely because of Judy. There's no indication he ever wanted to be a cop, more than a tailor or an actor or an underwear model. Judy's the one who thought (correctly) he'd have a good future in law enforcement. And if your personal and professional life did a total 180 due to the actions of just one person, I think it's fair to assume that you'd kind of cling to that person. But that's not healthy - not for anyone, and certainly not for a cop. Nick and Judy are a dream team, but it's Bogo's job to inject some reality. So Nick's arc is self-reliance; solidifying his aptitude as an officer without Judy, either alongside Carmelita or entirely by himself. This story has arcs. That still kinda surprises me.

“She could get transferred, or worse – something could...” “... Something could happen to her,” said Nick softly. and there's Judy’s arc. Death.

“Is there really a fox combat pilot?” ### “Yes, there is,” said Judy firmly. After using them so much last chapter, I couldn't resist throwing in one last Answer Cut. also it's literally true

When Sly claims he doesn't know what cops do when they actually catch someone, that's a) a subtle but powerful boast that he's never been arrested and b) a straight-up lie, because he's been a cop. Don't trust charming strangers you meet on park benches.

“Are you... still wearing your domino mask?” “Maybe.” he didn't take it off while in disguise in front of Carmelita, so when I write Sly, it never comes off. (He removed it between Sly 3 and 4 because he was No Longer A Thief. That's it.). One running gag I refuse to let go.

Speaking of, the theme of zeppelins (which I adore) also started here as a simple one-off joke. Like I said, writing these stories one chapter at a time is its own fun.

[tumblunni]

Startd reading The Ancient Magus Bride! Here’s my opinions and stuff as of chapter 1- i probably don’t have a good impression of it yet so it would be funny to see how my opinion changes by the end of the first volume!

okay, so.. the premise is kinda worrying Literally all I knew about this is the title and the cover art- so apparantly this lady is married to this cool gentlemanly monster guy and that sounds awesome. BUT I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS THE 'SHIEKH SLAVERY’ ARCHETYPE WTF AAAAA The thing where for some reason some lady is forced into a marriage with some guy, often a really huge and hulking ‘jerk with a heart of gold’ stereotype who’ll hurt her repeatedly before she finds out he’s ~really good~ and then she doesn’t object to being forced into the marriage so its all ~totally okay~ And VERY OFTEN it follows this formula where the woman is a slave and he literally bought her, and its like ‘oh well i have nowhere else to go’ or ‘oh well at least this rape marriage is better than being enslaved in a less polite way’... AND ALSO very often it’s a racist fetish of ‘exotic’ men apparantly all being like that, even though actual sex slavery happens AN AWFUL LOT in america and europe. And many cases of marital rape are incredibly similar to this even if it isn’t literal slavery, and our justice system is stacked against the victims. BUT YEAH its usually an “exotic arabic shiekh” or a “noble savage tribal warrior” or god knows what... like its somehow okay to call an entire race a bunch of savage rapists as long as you say “oooh but i have a rape fetish so its a good thing” SERIOUSLY WHY ARE 75% OF ALL ROMANCE NOVELS SUPER PROBLEMATIC

God, like.. from the first chapter the magician demon guy seems really nice and all, he doesn’t fill the ‘savage shiekh’ part of the stereotype. And its kinda subverted cos he pretty much rescued her from slavery by buying her and then freeing her to do whatever she wants. But its still really sketchy and weird that he’s giving her this one condition of being his bride?! like I mean I KNOW that the way this archetype always goes is that the slave lady does actually end up falling in love with him cos blablabla contrived nonsense lets make up an excuse to dodge the whole question of whether this is rape. I mean ha ha she never actually said no so we never get to know what he would have done to force her into it... *shudder* Please say this series is gonna subvert this trope, jesus christ I mean it DOESN’T FUCKING HELP that she looks like 1/3rd of his height and really damn young cos of the art style! please tell me he’s just extra tall cos he’s a monster, and she’s actually the ordinary height of an over 18 adult...

BUT ANYWAY, BEYOND THAT It does look really good aside from that :/ I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know if I should judge it this early on. i mean I don’t even necessarily know if its gonna play the premise straight or subvert it? and the demon guy’s design looks really cool and he’s all nice and fancy nobleman, and the worldbuilding has already got me hooked! the protagonist apparantly has hidden mage potential and that’s why he decided to save her, and he’s gonna be mentoring her to become able to use her magic. And seriously this could have been so good if it was just a platonic mentor student relationship like that, gah... and its really sad with how she got kidnapped and sold into slavery cos someone found out about her powers, and apparantly she didn’t fight back because she was suicidal and felt maybe this was for the best?? and then she’s found some of the first kindness in her entire life when this guy took off the chains and gave her a warm bed and food and freedom. And then just GAHHH it tries to present it as a comedic chapter ending that he wants to fucking marry her?? How is that not a sad betrayal ending?? “I’m regaining my faith in humanity cos this is the first time someone’s done something nice for be and hasn’t been lying- oh wait actually he just did it so he could get in my pants.” Thats fucking depressing. Seriously PLEASE say they somehow avoid the fucking rapey implications here... Like the only damn story that’s ever done this right is disney beauty and the beast! Give me that! At least that!! :<

anyway ANOTHER INTERESTING WORLDBUILDING is that apparantly her magical potential is a super rare version that’s basically like a summoner? its really dumb though, they say the name of it is “sleigh beggy” “you’re a sleigh beggy” like.. WHAT. Really should have changed that in the translation, that’s just a completely nonsensical mishmash of english... But yeah the interesting worldbuilding is that apparantly magical creatures can sense her power and they flock to her to seek out her help. And some of them seek her out to manipulate or kill her, the demon gentleman dude saves her from a bunch of cutesy fairies who were trying to drag her to the underworld! ...which in retrospect DOES NOT MAKE SENSE, cos we’re shown clearly that she’s been able to see spirits her entire life and logically if she survived this long she should have already had experience with like.. at least one bad one, ever. Why is she a total noob getting easily tricked, except so that he can save her? :/ Man I’m probably being way too critical just cos the premise is such an inherantly shady one that takes SO MUCH effort to pull off in a non gross way... I HAVE MY HOPES, MANGA PLEASE DON’T BE THE TERRIBLE

...also the design for the evil fairies was really cool, and what we’ve seen of other monsters too. At least even if it turns out bad, the art is great!

[artificialqueens]

And All You See is Glory (Trixya) - Imogen

AN: Hi! This is the first thing I’ve written and it’s basically 1.something K of non-au Trixya after show angst because it made me sad to think of them going seperate ways after a show knowing they wouldn’t see each other for a long time. Ya fancy?

She was magnetic, really- and disgusting, Trixie thought, watching Katya lick stacks of bills and shove them down her bra to some Russian version of a musical track from side of stage. Katya gave a slobbery kiss to a guy’s cheek in the audience and he made a face such a mix of excited and grossed out that it made Trixie cackle. As she wheezed for breath Katya looked over at her and gave an exaggerated wink, making the laughing fit worse.

At the end of the number the MC called them both up again to say their goodnights to the audience. Katya grinned up at her and wrapped her arms around Trixie’s middle as she spoke.

“Thank you for letting me perform with this revolting doll, who happens to be the love of my life, here tonight” the crowd screamed and Trixie held onto Katya’s hands, clasped tight between her ribs and they both swayed slightly, “We don’t get to do this much anymore now that we’re both A list celebrities and I miss this woman every day, Mama!” Trixie turned, searching Katya’s face for something but the other queen avoided her eyes.

“Also, if you hear any voices in your head telling you the aliens are coming, let me know Barbara, I need to prepare too.” They broke down into a fit of laughter again; the moment lost, and started stumbling off stage. It was made harder by the fact that Katya wouldn’t stop clinging to her back and the fact that Trixie didn’t want to get her off anyway.

“Fuck, wait!” Trixie snatched the microphone away in time to actually say goodnight (what they were supposed to be doing) before they walked off stage together, arm in arm. 

“Well, Trix, that seemed like an absolute success to me.”

“I still think we should have both become lawyers.” Trixie laughed.

“Girl, I would have jumped out of that office building window four months in.” Katya said, gingerly pulling the lace off his forehead in the cramped green room they shared.

Trixie grinned and sighed, rummaging around in his bag for the container he kept his lashes in. They settled into a comfortable silence as they each went about taking off their drag. Trixie thought about Australia and how they’d been able to do this together every night for a week, something twinged in his chest. Stupid. He pulled out his phone and saw the text from his manager,

Greg 10:35pm

Gate 7, don’t miss it.

Just as he’d finished replying, a thumbs up emoji, he looked up and noticed Katya looking at him softly through the mirror. Trixie’s lip twitched and he raised an eyebrow, but Katya just kept staring, damn him. He inhaled deeply.

“So, I don’t know if I told you but-“ Trixie started.

“But you and I are going to watch some gross documentaries about serial killers and hoarders and braid each others hair all night?”

Trixie’s face fell, “I have a redeye. Montreal. I tried to move it- but, you know. Schedule.”

Katya turned from the mirror and looked at him for real, “Sorry. Shit. That sucks. I mean. I’ve missed you. You know? It’s been so long since we could- I know you know. Sorry.” He smiled, a red stain still lingering on his lips and his green eyes vacant.

Trixie looked down to busy himself with shoving things into his cases and let out an “mmm” because he didn’t trust opening his mouth and letting words out. When a few minutes had passed with the sound of makeup and clothes being squashed and zipped into their various bags and no one had lightened the mood yet he heard Katya mumble something about a cigarette and pad lightly out of the room.

The air left his lungs in a great heave and Trixie’s face crumpled into his hands. He gave himself one minute before he had to get his shit together again. Fucking touring. Fucking Katya. Fucking airplanes and clubs and makeup and stockings. He breathed slowly, trying to calm the stinging in his eyes and the bitter lump in his throat at least until he could get into an enclosed private space later on. As his body stopped trembling and he zipped up his carry-on bag he pulled out his phone and requested an Uber. Fifteen minutes.

“Kat?” he called as he wheeled his bags out into the back parking lot.

Katya turned, glancing at Trixie’s bags and exhaling smoke and foggy breath into the night. He was lit all orange and heartbreaking by the streetlamp to his right.

“Sorry for having a small mental breakdown in there.” He called back, voice light.  Trixie laughed softly and made his way to sit across from Katya, perching on his suitcase.

“I could have reacted better, in retrospect.” Trixie replied, a twinge of laughter in his voice. He pulled down the sleeves on his jumper and watched Katya smoking. Was it fucked up that the smell of cigarette smoke made him feel calm now?

Trixie searched for something to say that wouldn’t lead down a path neither of them wanted to go down right now, coming up blank. Things used to be so easy.

“I think-“ Trixie cleared his throat, “I think that traveling is getting to me.”

Katya didn’t say anything, which was better. Trixie focused on his rhythmic inhale and exhaling and the smoke whispering out of his body rather than his clear eyes.

“I think that I thought this whole thing would be easier. And that I could see my family and see my friends, see you and also see the world and maintain a healthy work life balance because, you know, I’m deluded.” Katya laughed, short, cutting himself off to listen.

He continued, “So sometimes when I do see someone, like my Mom or my friends, it’s worse. Like when I see you it’s worse because then all I want to do is see you. But, I can’t.”

After a long moment, Trixie looked up. Katya’s eyes were closed and a pained expression rested on his face.

“Trix, I thought-“

 “Shit. The car’s here. Hey Kat, don’t worry about me, I’m just in a mood, it’s nothing.” Trixie said, lights were sweeping across the pair and illuminating the car park through to the back exit, door still cracked open. He stood from where he sat on his suitcase and Katya stepped into him, wrapping his bare arms around his middle and burying his face into his neck. Trixie closed his eyes, closing his arms around Katya’s back and shuddering out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“We film in August, yeah?” Katya murmured, “So I’ll see you then.”

He nodded. Six weeks. August. Okay. Trixie steeled himself and pulled away, lifting his bags into the boot the driver had opened for him, opening his door and sliding inside in a quick succession. As the car started Trixie allowed himself to look out once. He saw Katya standing in a striped tee shirt and sweat pants, barefoot against the concrete lighting up another cigarette and turning away.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through unread texts to get to Katya.

Can’t believe I used to be fun-

He deleted that.

Sorry for acting weird. Think your third eye hypnotised me into being an emotional wreck for no reason-

The bubble came up to show Katya was writing something and Trixie quickly erased the message.

Katya 11:03pm

If I come to Montreal tomorrow will my name be on the door? I really want to watch documentaries about hoarders with someone and no one else is returning my texts.

Trixie quickly typed back, a smile on his face.

Might be able to make that work. Sorry for, you know. All that.

Katya’s reply came quickly.

Don’t flatter yourself, your crazy is not that crazy, Tracy.

Trixie replied,

I love you.

He locked his phone and leant back into the seat. The hum of the car and the heating were the only sounds as he watched the muted, out of focus lights of the city rushing past the window.

[pastelsandink]

You unlock your phone, and, ignoring the shaking of your hand, answer the call. “Hey” you say, not even trying to compress the wound, too far gone as you already are, “no, i’m fine. I’ll be with you in a minute or two… 

Kate was no stranger to death. Hell, that was an understatement. She’d lost count of the amount of times she’d brought about the end of someone’s life for a quick buck. She’d never been caught. No one had ever suspected her. She’d made sure of that. God, Kate, you’re such an idiot. Why the hell would you go killing people from the god damn aristocracy? Why did you fucking think that you could change things? You’re one woman, you’re some low-life assassin, and now you’ve got a knife in your stomach all because of your own stupidity.

Well, that last part wasn’t necessarily true. Kate had managed to slide the knife out of her a few minutes ago and it was laying beside her. In retrospect this was a bad idea--the knife could have at least slowed the bloodflow until she could drag herself back home and Sasha could stitch her up again. But in her defense, she was panicked. She’d never been stabbed before and, God, did it hurt. It hurt more than anything she’d ever felt before. Her entire lower half radiated with painful heat and it hurt even more to press down onto the wound. But she had to--she had to stop the bleeding. She needed to slow it down and then hobble back to the outside world and away from the dead body laying across from her.

His house was nice--the nicest house Kate had ever seen. Kate had saved up quite a bit of money over the years, but the only place it could get her was a two-bedroom house with barely-running water that was a half-step above living in the slums. Kate had never seen such clean tile floors, never imagined a marble staircase, never thought a roof could be so high... Kate felt sick when she’d first walked in.

She hated directly confronting targets. She hated talking to them. She almost never did. But killing a nobleman was next to impossible. She couldn’t get near him without formally requesting an audience of some kind. And even then, security guards were everywhere. Cameras, too. Kate had an easily-forgotten face, she had the ability to hold conversations that weren’t interesting, and overall she could blend into parties and social gatherings and get close enough to her target to finish him off. She was no master of stealth and sneaking around, which her friends had told her would someday get her killed.

So, Kate had to throw away her traditional means of execution and just dig a shiv into a few people’s necks, smash a few cameras, and waltz right into the mansion of the duke. The fucking duke, Kate, what the hell were you thinking?!

Well, what she was thinking was that she was so tired of people starving in the streets and she was so tired of reading about how great the world was before the bombs fell, before the aristocrats erected huge walls to seal out the outside world and made themselves the rulers. She was tired of children getting sick and dying while the rich had not a care in the world.

Why did you think you could possibly change the world? No, Kate didn’t think she could change the world. What she did think was that the duke was the biggest piece of shit she’d ever seen. And she’d told him that right before he plunged a knife into her stomach and she’d shoved her knife into his skull.

Blood was caked across Kate’s pale fingers, and had quickly stained most of her pants, her shirt, her coat... God, why won’t the bleeding stop?! Why won’t it stop?! Kate pressed down harder on the wound and couldn’t help but release a loud half-moan, half-scream. Harder, harder, you need to stay alive, there are people who need you!

But it wouldn’t stop. Kate’s hands shook as she leaned back against the wall and watched as the pool of blood around her grew and grew.

What a fucking life it had been. She couldn’t wait for clients to turn up at her door, only for Joe and Sasha to tell them she was dead. It was a bit morbid, but Kate imagined the faces of everyone once they learned that the bounty hunter that had terrorized the streets of Conriston for the last ten years was dead.

Some said she was a vengeful god of calamity, come to strike down those who had wronged her. Others said she was a god come to liberate the people. Some said she was part of the rebellion.

None of those were true. Kate was just Kate. And now Kate would soon be dead Kate. Fuck.

Kate was startled out of her reverie at the sound of buzzing from her pocket. It was her phone. She pulled it out with violently shaking hands and unlocked it, seeing that the number across the screen was Joe’s. She didn’t tell him where she was going. She didn’t tell anyone. Kate felt her heart sink into her chest.

“Hello?” Kate rasped. Her voice sounded awful--like she hadn’t spoken in fifty years.

“Kate.” Joe sounded worried. “Are you okay? You sound terrible.”

“Huh? No, no, Joey, I’m fine.” Kate eyed the gaping wound in her stomach and chuckled. “I’m just fine.”

“Well where the hell are you? We woke up and you weren’t here.”

“Early job I had to do. I... I just picked up the pay from it.” Kate felt cold. “I’ll be home in a few minutes, yeah?”

“Who was it?”

“... what?”

“The job--who’d you need to kill?”

Kate glanced over at the duke, his skin paled and blood cradling his face and staining his fancy clothes. “... No one you’d know.”

“You didn’t tell me about it. Did you tell Sasha? Or Percy?”

“No, no, it was someone I knew already. I had enough information already to just go in and do it so...”

“Tell me next time, Kate. You know we worry.”

“Mhmm...” Kate fell silent for a moment, trying to blink the black shapes out of her vision. “... Hey, Joey?”

“Yeah?”

“... You’re.... You know you’re my best friend, right?” Kate laughed a little. “You know that I’d do anything for you guys, right?”

“... What’s this all about? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I swear.” Kate absentmindedly began to swirl her free hand in the blood on the floor. “I just really love you guys. Is that so wrong?”

“No, but... Kate, where are you?”

“Is Percy okay? Is she still asleep?”

“Yeah, she’s still asleep. Kate--”

“Joe, I want you to promise me you’re gonna take care of her, yeah? You and Sasha. She’s still got her whole life ahead of her. Kid’s like a daughter to--” Kate pulled the phone away as she broke out into a coughing fit. Dark blood ran out of her mouth when she was finished.

“Kate, what the hell have you done?!” Joe demanded on the other line. “Where the hell are you?! I’m coming right now--”

“Joe, don’t. I’m gonna be home in a couple of minutes. I’m just...a little sick, yeah?” She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “... Joey?”

“Kate, you tell me where you are right now. What have you done? What--”

“Joey. Do... Do you think you can tell Sasha that she’s been fantastic and that I’m really sorry for being such a reckless bitch all the time. And can you tell Percy that...” Kate sighed and thought for a second. “... shit, I don’t really know what to tell her. Just... that she’s beautiful and I wish... I wish I could watch her grow up. I wish I could get her out of this shithole town. Tell her I love her, too, I guess...” Percy’s smiling little face flashed across Kate’s memory--her olive skin, dark curls, her little voice... Kate hated the fact that she’d taken to some orphan so quickly. Kate loved that kid more than anything--how would she react to the news of Kate dying?

“You never fucking call me Joey, Kate, what the hell’s going on?!” His voice was watery and unstable but it was rising with angry panic. “You fucking tell me where you are!”

“Joey, you’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had.” Kate heard her voice break as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I love you more than anything... more than the cat. Are... Are you happy I said that?” Why was she laughing?

“Kate, please, just tell me where you are so I can help you!” Joey pleaded.

“I’m just a few minutes away, I’m fine, I’m fine... Make sure to feed the cat for me, yeah?” Kate smiled sadly at some point off in the distance. “... Tell the aristocracy to go fuck themselves, too.”

“Kate--”

“Joey, don’t forget about me.” Kate’s voice had broken down into full-on sobbing. “Don’t you ever forget about me, okay? I don’t want to be forgotten. I don’t want to die alone...”

“Kate--!”

“I love you, doofus. You’re my best friend. You’re like my brother. Please don’t ever forget about me. Don’t...”

“Kate, god dammit, tell me where you are!”

Kate smiled, and breathed once more into the receiver, “Bye, Joey.” Then she let the phone fall out of her hands and to the floor. Sunlight was beginning to seep through the windows--the world was getting blurry but oh well, Kate could still see the light.

She could hear Joey’s faint voice still yelling, screaming from the phone, but that was okay. He was okay. He’d be okay. 

It would be okay. She’d be home in a few minutes. Just a few minutes. Three minutes... Three minutes... Three

[exosmuttytalk]

Burn - Exo Suho One Shot

Characters: Kim Junmyeon/OC/You

Summary: If you play with fire...

Genre: Smut

Warning: The summary is so shitty, it can’t even be considered a summary. I feel that appart from dom/sub relationship, every other kink has made its way into this story. Including, but not limited to: slight cuckholding, oral sex, orgasm denial, dirty talk, etc, etc. If you happen to have any doubts about any of those things and don’t feel like looking up straight up porn, ask Wikipedia or me.

Appart from all that, this is a mess. Enjoy!~~

Chugging down what was left of your drink, you stared at the standing figure of your boyfriend Junmyeon, who had been sharing a seemingly enthralling conversation about stock markets and other financial stuff you didn’t quite understand past the basic everyday level with their co-workers for the past half hour.

It was the third anniversary of the company he had been managing since the beginning and the executive team liked to throw a fancy party every time the occasion came, to celebrate the company’s good health with their employees and as a social gathering with possible future investors or contributors as well.

Contrary to what seemed popular, according to the conversations you had shared with whoever wanted to approach you, Junmyeon and you hadn’t met at work, but in a coincidental encounter at the hospital where you worked. He had incidentally sliced his palm open with a knife and you were the one who stitched him up and took care of his wound. Skipping all conventions regarding that aspect and after observing you closely as you worked on his hand, he had asked you out on a date, without any other formalities. Skipping all your usual preventions, you had accepted.

Four years later, there you were, bored to death in an environment where you didn’t feel comfortable, along with a boyfriend who hadn’t taken a look at you for the past hour. The last years, you had managed to skip as many social events regarding his job as possible, but this year, he had been especially insistent.

“But why do you need me to be there? I have nothing to do with all of that and I don’t know anyone!”

“You do know some of my colleagues,” he answered.

“Yeah, and in the times we’ve met, you have started talking about money stuff and I have been left to stare at the ceiling.”

“Please, babe, just come with me,” he sighed. “I’m one of the top managers of the company and the only one who hasn’t properly introduced their partner. I want you to be my first lady. Do you think you could do that for me, please?”

“This is the 21st century, Junmyeon. No man or woman should need to bring their partner along to be better considered. But I’ll do it for you.”

But you’d do it your way.

The evening leading to the party, you had made sure to strut around the house in your best underwear as you got ready, flaunting your body shamelessly but refusing any advances your boyfriend played on you, before making it disappear under his favourite dress of yours, an elegant, dark blue, body-hugging dress, that showed off just the right amount and that was quite short despite the fact it was a night time party.

During the process, you had offered yourself to help him get ready in his white shirt, black tie and suit in a similar shade to your dress, looking all innocent as your hands stroked his body in a more than intentional way. When you finished adjusting the knot in his tie, you pressed yourself against him and tiptoed to kiss his neck, ever so slightly. That simple gesture and your closeness made his body react just the way you expected, and he had to stop to readjust himself inside his pants before leaving the apartment.

But as for the moment being, it seemed like none of your efforts had yielded fruits, because after introducing you to the rest of his colleagues, the top executives of the company, he had immersed himself in business stuff, as if they were still in working hours and not in a party that was supposed to be fun. Not only that, but you had to stand the glances of superiority of one of his female co-workers, who obviously knew what they were talking about and had decided to discreetly make you feel even more inadequate than you already felt.

“Hello.”

A male voice beside you interrupted your train of thought and made you raise your eyes from the ice cubes at the bottom of your glass.

“Is this seat taken?” he smiled as he pointed at the seat next to you in the sofa.

The man was tall and fit, with wavy hair parted to the side and a beaming smile, and dressed in a dark suit; definitely attractive. Taking a last glance at your oblivious boyfriend, you smiled and invited him to keep you company with a gesture.

Jongdae, which was his name, didn’t know who you were and showed an obvious interest in you. In an attempt to avoid any compromising questions, you took the lead and learnt he hadn’t been in the company for long, that he liked his position, but he had other ambitions outside the company. He then asked about your hobbies and tried to get to know you a little bit better, he probably supposed you worked at the company as well, so what fun was there in talking about the same stuff you two dealt with every day?

You surprised yourself actually enjoying Jongdae’s company. He was charming, witty and knew how to play his cards to flirt with you in a way that made you feel flattered, but not uncomfortable. You were so invested in the conversation, you actually hadn’t checked on Junmyeon again.

With the intention of taking you to the bar to invite you to a drink, he offered his hand to help you stand up, and you accepted. Once you got there, and as you sipped on your drink, you giggled and threw some flirty looks at your companion, ignoring the voice inside your brain shouting you shouldn’t be playing with that cool guy’s hopes in such a ruthless way, but you completely brushed that thought off as your eyes wandered through the big hall and by chance, found your boyfriend fixed stare.

You didn’t know how long he had been noticing what you were doing, but after the initial shock, you decided to go on with your plan. He would have to activate his most public façade, but he was good at pretending anyway.

You moved a little bit closer to Jongdae and with the excuse that his knot looked a little loose, you worked on fixing it. You could feel his eyes all over you the moment you stepped closer; you returned his gaze with a sly smile on your lips before finishing what you were doing and going back to your drink.

After a few minutes and just in the moment when it looked like the conversation was going to lead to more personal matters, you felt a body creeping up behind you and didn’t even need to turn around to know who it belonged to.

“Hey, babe,” Junmyeon put an arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. “Where have you been all this time? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course, I have just been around. Do you know Kim Jongdae?”

In retrospective, you felt like such a bitch for putting poor Jongdae in such a situation, but he handled it more than professionally. Junmyeon did know him, as he actually worked in his section of the company and even though he wasn’t his direct superior, he made sure to meet all their subordinates, especially new ones. They chatted amicably about general work topics and Jongdae made sure to let him know how happy he was in the company.

“So, have you two been talking for a long time?”

“Yeah, he’s kept me good company while you were busy,” you answered nonchalantly. “He’s also been kind enough to buy me this drink.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you for taking care of my princess, Jongdae. We have to go because there’s someone I want to introduce her to, but I’ll be seeing you around in the office, alright?”

“Sure, nice to talk to you both,” Jongdae said with a wide smile painted on his handsome face, but you could’ve sworn there was resentment in his eyes as he looked at you for the last time and you couldn’t blame him.

But in that moment, Junmyeon lead you through the hall, sorting people, not going anywhere specific. He was gentle and even if he hadn’t, you knew that wasn’t the moment to put up any resistance. He had dropped the cue and you complied happily.

In the end, you both ended up walking down a corridor, and after making sure there was no one else around, he pulled you into a room that happened to be an office, probably his.

“Well, well. Aren’t you such a little brat, princess?”

You grabbed your hands in front of you, your gaze low, playing your part. He approached you and gently grabbed your chin to make you look at him.

“Aren’t you answering, princess?”

“I was bored,” you said pouting.

“I can see that. But did I tell you could go around trying to get other men’s attention?”

“No…”

“No, what?”

“No, daddy.”

“That’s my baby. Do you know what happens if you don’t follow what I tell you, princess?”

“I get punished,” you answered in a whisper, almost shivering in anticipation.

“That’s it, you get punished.” You looked up at him, expecting something else to happen. “But not now. This is not the time, nor the place for scandals, princess. Take off your panties and give them to me.”

You did as he commanded and put the piece of clothing in his extended hand. He smiled when he felt the wetness at the fabric and put it away inside the pocket of his jacket.

“Good girl. Now go back there to the party. We don’t want anyone wondering, right?”

He walked past you to open the door and before you could make it out of the room, he gave your ass a squeeze that made you squirm.

The rest of the night was utter torture for you. Junmyeon was much more attentive, but his touches on you sometimes lingered in a way that left you wanting more, desiring his hands on your flesh, but that wouldn’t come soon. The tone and the names he used with you in occasions such as those minutes in his office were usually more than enough to get you flushed and almost dripping; but this time, you felt the fire creeping around your whole body and never extinguishing, as all that kept your mind busy was what would come next.

You also had time to look around and notice Jongdae wasn’t anywhere to be seen, which wasn’t completely surprising. Little by little, as the night went on, more people left the party, but it was never you. As one of the managers, Junmyeon had to play his part and stay until the end, no excuses. He progressively dedicated more time to you, talked to you, brushed a piece of hair out of your face; all of those very public-friendly moves. But his eyes were scorching as he looked at your face, in a way only you were able to see.

When finally most of the people had left, Junmyeon put a hand dangerously low on your waist and said goodbye to all of his workmates, including that other woman, who looked at the way your boyfriend touched you disapprovingly. He then led you out of the hall and into the garage where your tinted windows car waited.

You sat down without a word and shifted around to put on the seatbelt, but Junmyeon’s hand on your knee stopped you.

“Uh, uh. We’re not going anywhere for now. Open your legs, princess.”

Hesitantly, you looked around to make sure no one else was in the garage before slowly following his order.

“Are you worried someone might see you? You didn’t look very worried when you were whoring around with that guy.”

You just kept silent, waiting for the next order.

“Don’t you have anything to say, baby?”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I won’t do it again.”

“You better don’t. Now, put your hand between your legs and tell me how it feels like.”

Your hand slid down your dress up to your yearning centre, heartbeat fastening at the possibility of being caught.

“It is…wet. And warm.”

“That sounds just ideal.”

He leaned over you, making your breath halt until you realized he was only reaching around for the seat belt, which he adjusted around your body before putting his on and starting the engine.

“I want you to put two fingers inside yourself, baby. Move them in and out and get them nice and wet.”

You did just as he was telling you to and started pumping your fingers, building the need of him even more. Junmyeon meanwhile, just drove around the city aimlessly; he had missed the way for your home long ago.

“Now, take those fingers out and start circling your clit, princess. But don’t you dare to come, understood?”

You just nodded and responded with a moan as your fingers grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“How do you think poor Jongdae feels?” but this time, it was a rhetorical question. “Do you think it is nice to approach a girl to realize she was only using you? I bet the guy has gone home feeling worthless, but with a nice hard on.”

He was smiling as he kept talking.

“Do you like that, princess? Do you like teasing men to like you and leave them wanting more? Do you like the idea of them touching themselves while they think of your body?”

“I like that,” you let out between moans.

“Oh, do you? What do you like exactly?”

“I like them thinking of me. I like being a tease. I like making you jealous because I’m attractive to other men and you can’t control that.”

“I see…”

By the growing bulge in his pants, you knew he liked those ideas too. He then took a turn and began driving through roads you didn’t know, until he got to a viewpoint in the hill of a mountain from where the whole city was visible. There were no streetlights in the place; the only visible lights were those of a car in the furthest point across the viewpoint, probably occupied by people doing more or less what you were doing as well.

Junmyeon engaged the handbrake and just sat there in silence, contemplating the views before him and apparently paying no attention to your moaning and writhing on the seat.

“Stop what you’re doing,” he raised his voice again after a couple of minutes.

You opened your eyes and slowly took your own hand away of the mess between your legs, screaming internally, as he had made the command just when you were really getting into it.  

“Get out of the car.”

You looked at him hesitantly.

“Did I stutter, princess?” He asked, looking at you in all seriousness.

You pulled down your dress to cover as much of your legs as the meagre cloth allowed and stepped out of the car. Shortly after and to your relief, he imitated you to then walk up to the front of the car and sat over its hood, tapping right beside him for you to do the same.

“Go on now,” he ordered as he laid back over the metal hood with his back against the front windshield, making himself comfortable with his hands behind his head as he looked at you expectantly.

“Here?” you asked in a whisper.

“You had no shame in being panty-less at a party full of people, why would it be any different here? Let’s put a good show for our friends over there,” he said making a gesture towards the other car. “Shall we?”

But you knew saying “no” wasn’t a possible answer. With your heart beating so fast you could almost hear it, you copied his position, raised the hem of your dress, although not completely, and took it back from where you’d left it. You had to admit it to yourself; the possibility of someone else watching what you were doing was completely exhilarating and was sending even more pleasurable shivers all over your body.

“You need to learn there’s times when it’s best to not go against my desires, baby,” he told you in a whisper. “It’s for your own interest.”

You let out a strangled moan as an affirmation. He moved in closer to you and rested one of his hands on top of your thigh. You squirmed around, trying to get him to touch more of your skin, but he didn’t falter.

“Now, baby, you are going to move your fingers faster and faster, okay? Just like I do when we’re home alone, watching TV and you press your butt against me.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice. “Keep going until you’re about to finish and then tell me. Don’t be afraid to be vocal, there’s no one here who can hear you.”

Following his instructions, you picked up your pace. Your mind flew off to one of those times he had just described, when his hands would roam your whole body freely as you two laid on the sofa. Your hips buckled against your own hand and you bit down hard on your lip in a vain attempt to muffle the sounds that were coming out of your mouth, despite the fact you knew Junmyeon did really enjoy them.

“I-I’m so close…” you whimpered.

“Good.”

In a movement so swift you didn’t even notice it, he reached around your hip and pulled your hands away from your body. You let out a frustrated scream, as you felt all the tension build up inside your body rise for the last time and then disappear into nothing, leaving you panting but completely unsatisfied. You turned your head to look at him, with a look of betrayal in your eyes, but he had a sly smile on his face.

“Did you really think I was going to let you finish, princess? What kind of a punishment is that?”

He held your hands off your body and lulled you until your breathing was back to normal and your body was all limp over the car for the lack of energy. Then, he let go of your wrists, unzipped his pants and put his arms back behind his head.

“You know what you can do now. I’d better be satisfied,” he warned before closing his eyes.

As fast as you could move, your eager hands were all over him, pulling down from the hem of his pants and boxer to let his erection out into the chilly night. You were not beating around the bush anymore and you wrapped your hand around his hardness, feeling the stiffness and the heat that had been condensing for such a long time, since you started teasing him back at home. His lips parted when he felt your skin against him and gasped when you started pumping.

Looking over your boyfriend’s laying form at the other car in the distance no movement could be seen, but the tingly sensation from doing something so risky came back. The motions you were performing at your boyfriend’s crotch became faster and harder, hoping you would be able to get him so worked up, he’ll just want to turn you around and fuck you right there on top of the car.

“Don’t you think things are a little bit too dry, babe?” He suggested before actually pushing your head down in a gentle manner.

Smiling at his demeanour, you pulled out your tongue and started teasing around the tip, the length of his shaft and his balls, and back up, before he got sick of your fooling around and pushed you harder by the head so most of his cock was engulfed by your mouth.

Junmyeon had never been one of those quiet guys during sex, so his moans and grunts started right from the moment you started bobbing your head up and down, spreading the wetness from your mouth where it was needed and using the tongue to stroke the most sensitive spots.

“Oh, baby,” he moaned in a low voice. “I love your mouth. You’re so good at this; you need to do this every day…”

His words sent a shiver of desire to the pit of your stomach, and the sensation was even greater when he reached down your back to grab the hem of your dress and pull it up, exposing the bare bottom half of your body. His hand toyed around your butt cheeks, groping them forcefully, giving some playful smack each once in a while and reaching between your legs to barely graze your wet core. Then, that same hand travelled up to your covered breasts and started teasing and caressing, making your nipples harden even though there was no direct contact, as you kept on sucking on him enthusiastically.

“Go faster,” he commanded with a voice that sounded much more authoritative and demanding than just a few moments before.

You picked up your pace, tightening your lips against his shaft, and used your free hand to cup around his balls. His moans erupted again, but he fought them back to say:

“I’m going to come. I don’t want to see a single drop landing on my body, my clothes, your face, your body or your clothes. Do you understand?”

You mustered a yes before going back to your duty so wholeheartedly Junmyeon’s tip hit and went past the back of your throat.

“Good.”

His hand was again on your head, leading your movements without making you feel too strangled. His breath became faster and shallower after sucking deliberately at the tip of his cock. He had almost reached the point of no return. Then, you quickened the movements of your mouth on his shaft and could feel him reaching his highest point; you made sure to fulfil his command the best way you could.

Both of you laid back on top of the car; he, with his eyes opened and staring at the sky, still enjoying the post orgasmic dizziness; you, eyes closed, grimacing at the slight pain in your gut built up due to all the unreleased tension.

When he turned his head to look at you, he was smiling as he handed you your panties from his inside pocket.

“You’ve done great, princess. But you deserved a punishment. You know what happens if you play with fire…”

MASTERLIST!?

[kristablogs]

These ultramarathoners say life is easier after running 40 miles on frozen backwoods trails

‘I could do this all night,’ O’Neill thought. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

It is 10°F outside of the wood-beamed shelter at St. Croix State Park, a 34,000-acre pine-and-oak expanse in eastern Minnesota. Hell, it’s cold inside, despite two fireplaces blazing, their smoke pulled into flared metal chimneys that resemble the business ends of rockets. The 54 athletes standing around keep their hats on, for the most part. Each has spent good money to embark on exactly the kind of endeavor most people would pay to avoid: running or skiing—whichever suits their fancy—for 40 miles. At night. In Minnesota. In January. While pulling a sled packed with 30-plus pounds of supplies.

This torturefest is called the St. Croix 40 Winter Ultra, and its participants find pleasure in the hardship. At 4:30 p.m. they jiggle their legs and apply insulating tape to their cheeks and noses while the organizers give a prerace pep talk.

Of sorts.

“No one died last year,” says Jamison Swift, deadpanning. “Let’s keep it going.”

He soon passes the stage to Lisa Kapsner-Swift, his co-organizer and wife, who talks about what the racers can do if they feel like they’re coming down with the winter-ultra baddies: trench foot, frostbite, hypothermia.

The advice washes over Meredith O’Neill, who wears glasses and bright blue snow pants; two Heidi braids hang down her shoulders. She’s prepared for months, training to be alone, cold, and tired for what might feel like forever as she runs across an Upper Midwest oak savanna, passes through stands of pines, and treks across acres of trees felled by a storm. She’ll go and go and go until she returns, finally, hopefully, to this same building sometime tomorrow.

It’s fun. Not the normal, easy kind that comes with games of horseshoes or beach volleyball. Wilderness-seeking enthusiasts often call that “Type I Fun.” Instead, this is the more complicated variety, “Type II Fun,” which basically encompasses an activity—like backpacking up a steep mountain or scaling a sheer rock face—that suuuuuucks when you’re doing it but seems cool in retrospect. (Their categorization system also includes “Type III” activity, which is never actual fun and puts your life in danger.)

Type II recreation appeals to a variety of nature-loving folks, including a growing community of runners called ultramarathoners—those who think the traditional 26.2-mile course isn’t a big-enough test of physical endurance and mental fortitude. Their events mostly take place on remote trails, rather than on big-city streets with live bands and aid stations stocked like curbside Trader Joe’s. There were just over 100,000 finishes in ultraraces around the world in 2018, compared to 1.1 million for marathons. The extreme feats have to cover at least 31 miles (50 kilometers) and sometimes include extra challenges, like St. Croix’s sleds and snow. For tonight’s contest, participants must bring along, among other things, insulated water containers, gear for sleeping in the elements, a stove kit, and enough food to finish the course with 3,000 calories to spare.

The St. Croix winter ultramarathon covers 40 miles—from dusk till done—and draws athletes considering longer events. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

Sports psychologists have investigated the why of races like this one, looking closely at people who think that “more than a marathon” sounds like a terrific Saturday. What they’ve found is that ultrarunners get a kick out of tackling self-imposed challenges, forming community while also pursuing solitude, exploring the wilderness as well as their own limits, and then applying the idea that they can nudge their own boundaries to their tamer everyday lives.

If you ask athletes like O’Neill why they push themselves to and through mile 37 toward the finish line, their anecdata matches scientists’ findings pretty well. “In road marathons, there’s a lot of people, and I’m more introverted,” she says. “I wanted something a little quieter, more nature-filled.”

After her first ultra, a 31-miler outside of Minneapolis, O’Neill knew this was the sport for her. It wasn’t about fast finish times or jostling with other competitors. Participants like her go slower, mostly alone, through pretty places. She liked that. “I could do this for eight hours,” she thought. “I could do this for 12 hours; I could do this all night.”

O’Neill realized she could continue beyond where her biology told her to stop. That it was thrilling to go past her usual boundaries. “Your brain is holding you back a little bit to protect you,” she says. “But that’s sort of a wiggly, wobbly line that you can push further.”

It’s an idea exercise scientist Tim Noakes first suggested in the 1990s and dubbed the “central governor” theory: Your brain sends a signal to the rest of your body, informing the muscles that they’re too tired to possibly go on, and that if they do, they might damage themselves. But that signal comes long before it needs to, when the body still has tons of energy left.

Finding out how much literal and figurative fuel she has propels O’Neill into the now-single-digit Minnesota night—that, and seeking the kind of peace physical exertion provides. “It’s one of the few times I don’t really think about anything other than how far I’ve gone and how far I have to go and whether I feel okay,” she says. “I’m very present. I like it. I like having that calm.”

At 5:55 p.m., when it’s just below 10°F, O’Neill stands in full moonlight next to her sled, which is about the size of a Flexible Flyer a kid would ride downhill. Some entrants have wrapped their gear in fancy REI stowage; others merely tote big, blue IKEA bags with the handles knotted together. O’Neill’s kit hides in a black duffel. Her camp stove, like everyone else’s, rests atop the snow, ready to be lit in order to show that she can boil water in the cold—required before she can start moving her legs. Unlike road races and traditional ultras, this event requires all runners to demonstrate not just that they’re able to last a long time, but also that they have survival skills to fall back on. When the official says, “GO!” to signal the start, O’Neill’s cooker engulfs itself in a ball of flame, then settles down. A hundred feet away, two rows of primary-colored triangle flags wave from the start of the course.

Across the snowy ground, a participant named Bill Hansel has decked out his sled with Christmas lights, their blinks reflecting aggressively off the white flakes. Nearby, a spectator in an inflatable T. rex costume dances, a Cretaceous cheerleader. Hansel is a veteran ultrarunner who also organizes his own events, the Storm Trail Race Series, as a fundraiser for youth mental-health initiatives. Like O’Neill, Hansel loves what distance challenges do to his brain. “You’re alone with your thoughts a lot,” he says. “It’s my meditation.” But he also enjoys the community. “Trail runners are a very welcoming group. Everybody wants to help everybody,” he continues. Even if you’re mindfully alone for 25 miles, “you can pick up a random person” in the middle of nowhere and chitchat through ragged breaths.

Runner ­Meredith O’Neill likes being surrounded by nature. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

Hansel starts working to get his cold fuel to light.

Standing still like that, the elements start to intrude. At first it doesn’t feel so bad. Crisp! But then you breathe in sharply, and the insides of your nose flash-freeze together for a second. Frigid! Your lungs contract. Ouch! Then all of a sudden you realize that the iciness has slithered into your veins. It’s part of you now. And just as you can’t really remember exactly what it felt like to be a teenager, you can’t recall what it felt like to be warm. Maybe, you think, you never were. Maybe you’ll never be again. But the seemingly never-ending chill is temporary.

This, too, shall pass. Hansel talks in phrases like this sometimes—aphorisms interspersed with regular sentences, snippets of wisdom that are about running but really could be about anything: “There’s ups and downs, and it will get better if you keep going.” “Even if you run the same race, it’s not the same course.” “Don’t look at the big picture.”

That last one will buoy him throughout this challenge, as it has during every other ultra. He always, for instance, sets the timer on his watch for 10 minutes. When it’s up, he’ll take a drink of water. He’ll reset his watch. He’ll shift his attention to the next interval. “I have run 200 miles, 95 hours, 10 minutes at a time,” he says. He’s persisted so long that he’s hallucinated recreational vehicles (multiple times)—tales he swaps like drinking stories with other Type II enthusiasts.

This, though, is his first winter ultra, and he’s going into it with the same three big aims he always has: to finish, to have fun, to not die. He likes to play around with what he calls his superpower, which is the ability to go very slowly for a very long time. To take pleasure in how the moonlight hits the snow, to really notice his body at work, to hear only his footsteps and internal monologue, and to feel from afar the support of friends and family.

Soon, the water in his stove bubbles, and he begins moving toward his trifecta of goals. As the yellow moon rises over the trees, Hansel jogs between the flags, which lead down a snowmobile trail. He and O’Neill and the others will follow the path for the first 24 miles of the race, watching for yellow signs with blue reflective arrows to appear out of the darkness, showing the way to the only checkpoint.

More than one-quarter of the 54 people who set out on this evening will quit there.

O’Neill prepped for months to run the St. Croix trail ­ultra in frigid temperatures (Ackerman + Gruber/)

So, yeah, the St. Croix 40 Winter Ultra does claim some victims. But it’s actually one of the easier cold-weather endurance events out there. The Swifts founded it specifically for people who weren’t ready yet for the truly masochistic affairs: the Iditarod Trail Invitational 1,000, the Alaskan original and still the mother of all these races; the Tuscobia Winter Ultra, whose 160-mile route is a step toward qualifying for the Iditarod; and the Arrowhead 135, a challenge that begins at International Falls in northern Minnesota and that more than half of all starters don’t finish. (The numbers in the names refer, of course, to distance in miles.)

The Swifts want to give anyone interested in trying a winter ultra a safe place to practice something “short”—especially considering that even out here, in a straightforward test, it’s not very hard to die simply by standing still for too long. That’s why the runners have to show off their survival skills: so that someday, if they do have to set up a subzero camp, they’ll be ready.

Kapsner-Swift gets that. She does similar races herself. Last year she completed her first 24-hour run. “It was terrible,” she says, “and I loved it so much.” Her statement echoes the dichotomy articulated by another St. Croix participant, Adam Warden: “You want something that’s going to suck,” he says. “And be beautiful.”

For Kapsner-Swift and Warden, and for most ultrarunners, getting through the gut-wrenching parts is a game, like a tough chess match. “Not to get all existential,” Kapsner-Swift says, “but we have this incredible privilege of having, generally speaking, very comfortable lives.” That’s great—most of the time. But challenge is good for human beings. It’s how we grow. “Sometimes a little fear and self-doubt go a long way,” another participant, Kari Gibbons, explains. “I don’t feel that anywhere else in my life. That means I’m not pushing myself. I’m not taking a risk. If I do feel that, I know I’m doing something important.”

If life doesn’t give you lemons, in other words, you should probably pluck a few and bite down. Then, when you actually do get lemons, you’ll know what to do with them. That shift—from athletic challenge to regular existence—may be easy for ultrarunners, according to a 2014 dissertation from organizational psychologist Anthony Holly, now a director of strategy and analytics at PRO Unlimited, a workforce management company. He wanted to understand how these athletes’ mental toughness plays out in the workplace. By interviewing runners, he projected that the discipline, patience, and tenacity they use to complete races are skills they could transfer to job environments. It sounds a little Hallmarkian to say, “Because I could plod more miles, I knew I could handle the frustrations of office politics and rough deadlines.” But it seems to work. The St. Croix athletes have found that the extremes help them cope with personal and professional troubles.

St. Croix athletes pull sleds with emergency supplies. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

To understand why people initially decide to go to such lengths, Rhonna Krouse-Adams, an associate professor of health science at the College of Western Idaho, studied endurance athletes. After she failed to find any data on women ultrarunners, she decided to focus her research on them. She herself was one, and had become fascinated by the community and camaraderie among these women, who technically are competitors and mostly fly solo. “They’re noncompetitive people who form almost a family unit through this process,” she thought.

Surveying 344 participants, Krouse-Adams found they cared about health and used running to give themselves a sense of well-being. They focused on self-centric goals, like just finishing the race, rather than outward-facing ones, like besting a competitor. “The sense of freedom and accomplishment” topped the “why” list. “A sense of belonging was really high,” she says. It’s a whole identity—not just a hobby. According to a 2018 study, finishers are more motivated by their group affiliation and a feeling of happiness and fulfillment than those who complete shorter distances.

This is a self-selecting bunch, though, Krouse-Adams points out. “You can’t commit to something for 25 hours a week and have a lot of other commitments,” she says. “This was not a sport chosen by families. Not by moms.” Perhaps not surprisingly, other researchers have found that ultrarunners in the United States are around 85 percent male, 90 percent white, and more educated and richer than average. It’s a pursuit often taken up by those with lots of leisure time and money to spend on the $100-plus entry fees.

Life circumstances aside, not everyone is mentally suited to endurance events. Gavin Breslin, a sports and exercise psychologist at Ulster University, sees a focus on self-challenge. “The marathon is achievable,” says Breslin, who also coaches a team of Olympic hopefuls. Ultrarunners ask, “‘What can you do above that?' There’s risk-taking involved.” The uncertainty is that you might not be able to do what you set out to do. The fist-pumping triumph is when you do it anyway. As O’Neill puts it, “That was liberating, to know that when I thought things were over and done, I had a little more.”

Breslin and his associates have also looked at how distance athletes score on a personality test of five major traits, sometimes called the Big Five, which in concert can define character: extroversion, agreeableness, openness, neuroticism, and conscientiousness. Ultrarunners tend to score significantly higher than average for that last trait, thanks to some mysterious mix of genetics and upbringing. You can cultivate this quality, he says. “You can develop goal setting. Somewhere within us all, there’s a level of ultraendurance.”

At the 24-mile checkpoint, some of the St. Croix participants might be questioning Breslin’s assessment. The ones who decide to bow out join volunteers inside a billowing warming tent that looks like it was fashioned from the inflatable T. rex at the starting point. Other crew members stand slump-shouldered around a fire, waiting for each bedraggled, frigid racer to emerge from the darkness.

The first athlete arrives around 10 p.m., but the last runner doesn’t get there until around 2:30 a.m. If they plan to take on the last 16 miles, they have to again prove they have the skills to stay alive in an emergency. They must stop, set up their bivy sack (basically a body-shaped tent that envelops their sleeping bag), climb into the makeshift bed, wait around 30 seconds, then pack it all up before leaving. That sounds like a pain, sure. But no big deal compared to running 40 miles, right?

Counterclockwise from top: foam pad, sleeping bag and bivy sack, water bottle sleeves, camp pot and stove, fuel (red canister), snacks, trekking poles, microspikes. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

Wrong: When the temp nears zero, and you’re sweaty, you get cold quick—the kind of chill that seems to attach itself to your DNA. Some who feel too frosty after their survival demo, or just beaten, call it quits and either walk a mile (as the crow flies) on a road back to the finish line or catch a ride in a volunteer’s car.

Around 3 a.m., back at the starting point, the race crew begins making breakfast in the shelter for the people who’ve returned, either humbled from the checkpoint or triumphant from the trail. There are flaky eggs, bacon, Krusteaz pancakes, bags of Colby Jack cheese, and Activia probiotic yogurt. Also a big orange cooler with a piece of paper taped to its side: “TANG!” On the registration table, not-yet-cooked bacon languishes—which is fine, because it’s still too cold inside for bacteria to propagate.

Hansel comes in around 4 a.m., shaken. Shaky, actually. His lips are blue like Frost Glacier Freeze Gatorade, and his fork wobbles as he brings eggs up to them, or tries to cut into the pancakes.

“I had dark times starting after about five miles,” Hansel says. He didn’t really see anyone else—at all—till the checkpoint. “I’m used to dark times,” he continues, “but not that early.”

To keep going, he says he thought of his family and all of the people who support him. Would he do it again? No. “Was it fun?” Hansel asks aloud. “Yes,” he answers himself. Perhaps that’s Type 2.5 Fun. (Within a couple months, though, he would be training for next year’s St. Croix 40 Winter Ultra.)

When O’Neill comes in around two hours later, after more than 12 hours on the trail, she looks jubilant. She caught that heightened state of being she’s always chasing through the woods—what psychologists call “flow,” or total absorption in a task. You lose track of time, you feel totally in control, like you are in charge of yourself and the world. “I’m not thinking of anything but what I’m doing, my footsteps, what’s around me,” she says.

She removes her coat, revealing a pale blue argyle sweater, the kind you might wear to the office, and a down running skirt over her bright blue snow pants. The race appears to have barely fazed her. She says, in fact, that it was “90 percent Type I fun.” Her only trouble was that all her food froze—except for a stash of Twinkies. But no big deal: She just ate Twinkies, fully present to sense their spongy outsides, their gooey centers, their sugar flowing into her veins. Crisis averted. Achievement unlocked. Game won, and over.

This story appeared in the Summer 2020, Play issue of Popular Science.

[scootoaster]

These ultramarathoners say life is easier after running 40 miles on frozen backwoods trails

‘I could do this all night,’ O’Neill thought. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

It is 10°F outside of the wood-beamed shelter at St. Croix State Park, a 34,000-acre pine-and-oak expanse in eastern Minnesota. Hell, it’s cold inside, despite two fireplaces blazing, their smoke pulled into flared metal chimneys that resemble the business ends of rockets. The 54 athletes standing around keep their hats on, for the most part. Each has spent good money to embark on exactly the kind of endeavor most people would pay to avoid: running or skiing—whichever suits their fancy—for 40 miles. At night. In Minnesota. In January. While pulling a sled packed with 30-plus pounds of supplies.

This torturefest is called the St. Croix 40 Winter Ultra, and its participants find pleasure in the hardship. At 4:30 p.m. they jiggle their legs and apply insulating tape to their cheeks and noses while the organizers give a prerace pep talk.

Of sorts.

“No one died last year,” says Jamison Swift, deadpanning. “Let’s keep it going.”

He soon passes the stage to Lisa Kapsner-Swift, his co-organizer and wife, who talks about what the racers can do if they feel like they’re coming down with the winter-ultra baddies: trench foot, frostbite, hypothermia.

The advice washes over Meredith O’Neill, who wears glasses and bright blue snow pants; two Heidi braids hang down her shoulders. She’s prepared for months, training to be alone, cold, and tired for what might feel like forever as she runs across an Upper Midwest oak savanna, passes through stands of pines, and treks across acres of trees felled by a storm. She’ll go and go and go until she returns, finally, hopefully, to this same building sometime tomorrow.

It’s fun. Not the normal, easy kind that comes with games of horseshoes or beach volleyball. Wilderness-seeking enthusiasts often call that “Type I Fun.” Instead, this is the more complicated variety, “Type II Fun,” which basically encompasses an activity—like backpacking up a steep mountain or scaling a sheer rock face—that suuuuuucks when you’re doing it but seems cool in retrospect. (Their categorization system also includes “Type III” activity, which is never actual fun and puts your life in danger.)

Type II recreation appeals to a variety of nature-loving folks, including a growing community of runners called ultramarathoners—those who think the traditional 26.2-mile course isn’t a big-enough test of physical endurance and mental fortitude. Their events mostly take place on remote trails, rather than on big-city streets with live bands and aid stations stocked like curbside Trader Joe’s. There were just over 100,000 finishes in ultraraces around the world in 2018, compared to 1.1 million for marathons. The extreme feats have to cover at least 31 miles (50 kilometers) and sometimes include extra challenges, like St. Croix’s sleds and snow. For tonight’s contest, participants must bring along, among other things, insulated water containers, gear for sleeping in the elements, a stove kit, and enough food to finish the course with 3,000 calories to spare.

The St. Croix winter ultramarathon covers 40 miles—from dusk till done—and draws athletes considering longer events. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

Sports psychologists have investigated the why of races like this one, looking closely at people who think that “more than a marathon” sounds like a terrific Saturday. What they’ve found is that ultrarunners get a kick out of tackling self-imposed challenges, forming community while also pursuing solitude, exploring the wilderness as well as their own limits, and then applying the idea that they can nudge their own boundaries to their tamer everyday lives.

If you ask athletes like O’Neill why they push themselves to and through mile 37 toward the finish line, their anecdata matches scientists’ findings pretty well. “In road marathons, there’s a lot of people, and I’m more introverted,” she says. “I wanted something a little quieter, more nature-filled.”

After her first ultra, a 31-miler outside of Minneapolis, O’Neill knew this was the sport for her. It wasn’t about fast finish times or jostling with other competitors. Participants like her go slower, mostly alone, through pretty places. She liked that. “I could do this for eight hours,” she thought. “I could do this for 12 hours; I could do this all night.”

O’Neill realized she could continue beyond where her biology told her to stop. That it was thrilling to go past her usual boundaries. “Your brain is holding you back a little bit to protect you,” she says. “But that’s sort of a wiggly, wobbly line that you can push further.”

It’s an idea exercise scientist Tim Noakes first suggested in the 1990s and dubbed the “central governor” theory: Your brain sends a signal to the rest of your body, informing the muscles that they’re too tired to possibly go on, and that if they do, they might damage themselves. But that signal comes long before it needs to, when the body still has tons of energy left.

Finding out how much literal and figurative fuel she has propels O’Neill into the now-single-digit Minnesota night—that, and seeking the kind of peace physical exertion provides. “It’s one of the few times I don’t really think about anything other than how far I’ve gone and how far I have to go and whether I feel okay,” she says. “I’m very present. I like it. I like having that calm.”

At 5:55 p.m., when it’s just below 10°F, O’Neill stands in full moonlight next to her sled, which is about the size of a Flexible Flyer a kid would ride downhill. Some entrants have wrapped their gear in fancy REI stowage; others merely tote big, blue IKEA bags with the handles knotted together. O’Neill’s kit hides in a black duffel. Her camp stove, like everyone else’s, rests atop the snow, ready to be lit in order to show that she can boil water in the cold—required before she can start moving her legs. Unlike road races and traditional ultras, this event requires all runners to demonstrate not just that they’re able to last a long time, but also that they have survival skills to fall back on. When the official says, “GO!” to signal the start, O’Neill’s cooker engulfs itself in a ball of flame, then settles down. A hundred feet away, two rows of primary-colored triangle flags wave from the start of the course.

Across the snowy ground, a participant named Bill Hansel has decked out his sled with Christmas lights, their blinks reflecting aggressively off the white flakes. Nearby, a spectator in an inflatable T. rex costume dances, a Cretaceous cheerleader. Hansel is a veteran ultrarunner who also organizes his own events, the Storm Trail Race Series, as a fundraiser for youth mental-health initiatives. Like O’Neill, Hansel loves what distance challenges do to his brain. “You’re alone with your thoughts a lot,” he says. “It’s my meditation.” But he also enjoys the community. “Trail runners are a very welcoming group. Everybody wants to help everybody,” he continues. Even if you’re mindfully alone for 25 miles, “you can pick up a random person” in the middle of nowhere and chitchat through ragged breaths.

Runner ­Meredith O’Neill likes being surrounded by nature. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

Hansel starts working to get his cold fuel to light.

Standing still like that, the elements start to intrude. At first it doesn’t feel so bad. Crisp! But then you breathe in sharply, and the insides of your nose flash-freeze together for a second. Frigid! Your lungs contract. Ouch! Then all of a sudden you realize that the iciness has slithered into your veins. It’s part of you now. And just as you can’t really remember exactly what it felt like to be a teenager, you can’t recall what it felt like to be warm. Maybe, you think, you never were. Maybe you’ll never be again. But the seemingly never-ending chill is temporary.

This, too, shall pass. Hansel talks in phrases like this sometimes—aphorisms interspersed with regular sentences, snippets of wisdom that are about running but really could be about anything: “There’s ups and downs, and it will get better if you keep going.” “Even if you run the same race, it’s not the same course.” “Don’t look at the big picture.”

That last one will buoy him throughout this challenge, as it has during every other ultra. He always, for instance, sets the timer on his watch for 10 minutes. When it’s up, he’ll take a drink of water. He’ll reset his watch. He’ll shift his attention to the next interval. “I have run 200 miles, 95 hours, 10 minutes at a time,” he says. He’s persisted so long that he’s hallucinated recreational vehicles (multiple times)—tales he swaps like drinking stories with other Type II enthusiasts.

This, though, is his first winter ultra, and he’s going into it with the same three big aims he always has: to finish, to have fun, to not die. He likes to play around with what he calls his superpower, which is the ability to go very slowly for a very long time. To take pleasure in how the moonlight hits the snow, to really notice his body at work, to hear only his footsteps and internal monologue, and to feel from afar the support of friends and family.

Soon, the water in his stove bubbles, and he begins moving toward his trifecta of goals. As the yellow moon rises over the trees, Hansel jogs between the flags, which lead down a snowmobile trail. He and O’Neill and the others will follow the path for the first 24 miles of the race, watching for yellow signs with blue reflective arrows to appear out of the darkness, showing the way to the only checkpoint.

More than one-quarter of the 54 people who set out on this evening will quit there.

O’Neill prepped for months to run the St. Croix trail ­ultra in frigid temperatures (Ackerman + Gruber/)

So, yeah, the St. Croix 40 Winter Ultra does claim some victims. But it’s actually one of the easier cold-weather endurance events out there. The Swifts founded it specifically for people who weren’t ready yet for the truly masochistic affairs: the Iditarod Trail Invitational 1,000, the Alaskan original and still the mother of all these races; the Tuscobia Winter Ultra, whose 160-mile route is a step toward qualifying for the Iditarod; and the Arrowhead 135, a challenge that begins at International Falls in northern Minnesota and that more than half of all starters don’t finish. (The numbers in the names refer, of course, to distance in miles.)

The Swifts want to give anyone interested in trying a winter ultra a safe place to practice something “short”—especially considering that even out here, in a straightforward test, it’s not very hard to die simply by standing still for too long. That’s why the runners have to show off their survival skills: so that someday, if they do have to set up a subzero camp, they’ll be ready.

Kapsner-Swift gets that. She does similar races herself. Last year she completed her first 24-hour run. “It was terrible,” she says, “and I loved it so much.” Her statement echoes the dichotomy articulated by another St. Croix participant, Adam Warden: “You want something that’s going to suck,” he says. “And be beautiful.”

For Kapsner-Swift and Warden, and for most ultrarunners, getting through the gut-wrenching parts is a game, like a tough chess match. “Not to get all existential,” Kapsner-Swift says, “but we have this incredible privilege of having, generally speaking, very comfortable lives.” That’s great—most of the time. But challenge is good for human beings. It’s how we grow. “Sometimes a little fear and self-doubt go a long way,” another participant, Kari Gibbons, explains. “I don’t feel that anywhere else in my life. That means I’m not pushing myself. I’m not taking a risk. If I do feel that, I know I’m doing something important.”

If life doesn’t give you lemons, in other words, you should probably pluck a few and bite down. Then, when you actually do get lemons, you’ll know what to do with them. That shift—from athletic challenge to regular existence—may be easy for ultrarunners, according to a 2014 dissertation from organizational psychologist Anthony Holly, now a director of strategy and analytics at PRO Unlimited, a workforce management company. He wanted to understand how these athletes’ mental toughness plays out in the workplace. By interviewing runners, he projected that the discipline, patience, and tenacity they use to complete races are skills they could transfer to job environments. It sounds a little Hallmarkian to say, “Because I could plod more miles, I knew I could handle the frustrations of office politics and rough deadlines.” But it seems to work. The St. Croix athletes have found that the extremes help them cope with personal and professional troubles.

St. Croix athletes pull sleds with emergency supplies. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

To understand why people initially decide to go to such lengths, Rhonna Krouse-Adams, an associate professor of health science at the College of Western Idaho, studied endurance athletes. After she failed to find any data on women ultrarunners, she decided to focus her research on them. She herself was one, and had become fascinated by the community and camaraderie among these women, who technically are competitors and mostly fly solo. “They’re noncompetitive people who form almost a family unit through this process,” she thought.

Surveying 344 participants, Krouse-Adams found they cared about health and used running to give themselves a sense of well-being. They focused on self-centric goals, like just finishing the race, rather than outward-facing ones, like besting a competitor. “The sense of freedom and accomplishment” topped the “why” list. “A sense of belonging was really high,” she says. It’s a whole identity—not just a hobby. According to a 2018 study, finishers are more motivated by their group affiliation and a feeling of happiness and fulfillment than those who complete shorter distances.

This is a self-selecting bunch, though, Krouse-Adams points out. “You can’t commit to something for 25 hours a week and have a lot of other commitments,” she says. “This was not a sport chosen by families. Not by moms.” Perhaps not surprisingly, other researchers have found that ultrarunners in the United States are around 85 percent male, 90 percent white, and more educated and richer than average. It’s a pursuit often taken up by those with lots of leisure time and money to spend on the $100-plus entry fees.

Life circumstances aside, not everyone is mentally suited to endurance events. Gavin Breslin, a sports and exercise psychologist at Ulster University, sees a focus on self-challenge. “The marathon is achievable,” says Breslin, who also coaches a team of Olympic hopefuls. Ultrarunners ask, “‘What can you do above that?' There’s risk-taking involved.” The uncertainty is that you might not be able to do what you set out to do. The fist-pumping triumph is when you do it anyway. As O’Neill puts it, “That was liberating, to know that when I thought things were over and done, I had a little more.”

Breslin and his associates have also looked at how distance athletes score on a personality test of five major traits, sometimes called the Big Five, which in concert can define character: extroversion, agreeableness, openness, neuroticism, and conscientiousness. Ultrarunners tend to score significantly higher than average for that last trait, thanks to some mysterious mix of genetics and upbringing. You can cultivate this quality, he says. “You can develop goal setting. Somewhere within us all, there’s a level of ultraendurance.”

At the 24-mile checkpoint, some of the St. Croix participants might be questioning Breslin’s assessment. The ones who decide to bow out join volunteers inside a billowing warming tent that looks like it was fashioned from the inflatable T. rex at the starting point. Other crew members stand slump-shouldered around a fire, waiting for each bedraggled, frigid racer to emerge from the darkness.

The first athlete arrives around 10 p.m., but the last runner doesn’t get there until around 2:30 a.m. If they plan to take on the last 16 miles, they have to again prove they have the skills to stay alive in an emergency. They must stop, set up their bivy sack (basically a body-shaped tent that envelops their sleeping bag), climb into the makeshift bed, wait around 30 seconds, then pack it all up before leaving. That sounds like a pain, sure. But no big deal compared to running 40 miles, right?

Counterclockwise from top: foam pad, sleeping bag and bivy sack, water bottle sleeves, camp pot and stove, fuel (red canister), snacks, trekking poles, microspikes. (Ackerman + Gruber/)

Wrong: When the temp nears zero, and you’re sweaty, you get cold quick—the kind of chill that seems to attach itself to your DNA. Some who feel too frosty after their survival demo, or just beaten, call it quits and either walk a mile (as the crow flies) on a road back to the finish line or catch a ride in a volunteer’s car.

Around 3 a.m., back at the starting point, the race crew begins making breakfast in the shelter for the people who’ve returned, either humbled from the checkpoint or triumphant from the trail. There are flaky eggs, bacon, Krusteaz pancakes, bags of Colby Jack cheese, and Activia probiotic yogurt. Also a big orange cooler with a piece of paper taped to its side: “TANG!” On the registration table, not-yet-cooked bacon languishes—which is fine, because it’s still too cold inside for bacteria to propagate.

Hansel comes in around 4 a.m., shaken. Shaky, actually. His lips are blue like Frost Glacier Freeze Gatorade, and his fork wobbles as he brings eggs up to them, or tries to cut into the pancakes.

“I had dark times starting after about five miles,” Hansel says. He didn’t really see anyone else—at all—till the checkpoint. “I’m used to dark times,” he continues, “but not that early.”

To keep going, he says he thought of his family and all of the people who support him. Would he do it again? No. “Was it fun?” Hansel asks aloud. “Yes,” he answers himself. Perhaps that’s Type 2.5 Fun. (Within a couple months, though, he would be training for next year’s St. Croix 40 Winter Ultra.)

When O’Neill comes in around two hours later, after more than 12 hours on the trail, she looks jubilant. She caught that heightened state of being she’s always chasing through the woods—what psychologists call “flow,” or total absorption in a task. You lose track of time, you feel totally in control, like you are in charge of yourself and the world. “I’m not thinking of anything but what I’m doing, my footsteps, what’s around me,” she says.

She removes her coat, revealing a pale blue argyle sweater, the kind you might wear to the office, and a down running skirt over her bright blue snow pants. The race appears to have barely fazed her. She says, in fact, that it was “90 percent Type I fun.” Her only trouble was that all her food froze—except for a stash of Twinkies. But no big deal: She just ate Twinkies, fully present to sense their spongy outsides, their gooey centers, their sugar flowing into her veins. Crisis averted. Achievement unlocked. Game won, and over.

This story appeared in the Summer 2020, Play issue of Popular Science.

[tango-uniformed]

Tango first 5000 words

August, 2018

5:00 PM

Amtrak en route from Baltimore MD to Greenville SC

Vivienne Bastian considered himself a fan of public transportation. He knew how to drive, but rarely did so, preferring to walk when he could or take the metro or the bus when he couldn't. He disliked riding bicycles; he had tried to get into it in college but after nearly swerving into traffic and getting hit by a dump truck, he'd given up on all that. The best kind of public transportation was riding the train. Especially long train rides. He liked to sit by the window and watch the landscape change. He liked talking to the strangers who he would never see again. It was all so terribly romantic. He fancied himself a character from one of those black and white noir movies, one of those reporters who talked like Humphrey Bogart and got into trouble and solved the mystery and saved the day.

Those guys always carried around old fashioned recording equipment and talked into it as they moved the story from act to act. It would be interesting if he started to do that, to move his own story along as he moved through it. Or, he thought, he could be like Dale Cooper and treat his recording equipment like a friend or co-worker and act like he was bouncing ideas off of it. Was that strange? It wasn't strange, was it?

To do something like that, of course, he would have to have access to the recording equipment on his phone. And the ability to speak without his uptight, insane brother ranting at him on the phone from hundreds of miles away.

"I think you've really lost it," his brother was saying in his nasally faux-New Englander voice which was an affectation he had picked up to get him further along in his career. "You pick up and leave in the middle of the night and get on a train to Tennessee of all places? I mean, I know you don't have a job to worry about, but you're an adult, you can't just abandon all your responsibilities like that. Are you having a nervous breakdown?"

"I have a job, Will," Viv said, for the thousandth time. He was sitting comfortably by himself on the train. There weren’t many passengers at, despite the fact that it was early summer and the schools were still out. "I make things and people pay me for it."

"On the internet," Will said derisively.

Viv smiled and imagined how much better life would be if he had been smart enough to not call this prissy sad sack of a man in the first place. Once Will knew where he was, it was only a matter of time before he bypassed his self-imposed oath to never talk to their parents again, and then go snitch.

"I think you're having a nervous breakdown because the theater fired you."

"That was a year ago and I am not having a nervous breakdown, you're totally projecting." Would a person who was having a nervous breakdown bother to pack a week's worth of clothes that were all planned out, outfit by outfit? Viv had even researched the weather in Chattanooga and packed accordingly. Supposedly it was pretty humid there. Would a person who was having a nervous breakdown call a friend to take care of their plants for a week? Would a person who was having a nervous breakdown even call their brother to let him know they were ok? No, no, and no. If anyone was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, it was his recently divorced brother. "I told you that I'm just trying to find Christian, I'm following the clues he left me and--"

"--You're living in an insane fantasy world--"

"--since it's clear he's tracking his old buddies down, the closest one was Virgil Osborn, who went back to his hometown in Tennessee after the service." Talking to Will was like talking to a sea-urchin. Every little thing made him spiky and defensive. Impossible. He was worse than Dad.

He was only  an hour away from Greenville. Once he got there, he planned on renting a hotel for the night. He'd put the final touches on the episode-- the first episode of a series, he hoped-- and then upload it. That would really set the whole thing into motion. It was what would make it real. Once he put his intentions out there, into the universe and into the public, there was no going back. He'd have to follow through.

The only thing Viv knew about Greenville was that they had a big theater that Hamilton would be coming to later in the year. He hoped that meant they were ok with gay black people. He anticipated it being more accepting than Jeptha, the Eastern Tennessee town of 2000 he was on his way towards the next day.

Will was still ranting at him. Viv tuned back in. "Christian isn't missing. Christian is never missing, or hurt, or in trouble, or what have you. He's just him. He ran away. Again. He'll turn up when he wants to turn up. He's the only one of us who gets away with everything, and you're a fool for falling for his bullshit again. It's like you're the youngest brother or something, instead of us all being born at the same time."

"If you read the Google Docs he left--"

"--You mean his obviously PTSD fueled manifestos--"

"--There's all this shit about what happened in Kandahar, with him and Blue and the others before they all got discharged. And I think-- I mean, I'm guessing-- there was some kind of cover up that goes back to the OVA. Or the OVA found out about it through a military leak, I don't know. Christian must have thought it was a big deal, so when Osborn and Jankowski turn up dead a few months ago, he freaked out and thought this big conspiracy was behind it. And yeah, after reading it, I'm inclined to think so too." Viv took a big gulp of the canned Starbucks Frappuccino he had bought at the last stop. He needed the caffeine. He wondered if he could vape on the train. He hadn't seen any signs saying that he couldn't. Would it set off the fire alarms or something? He took his Juul out of his pants pocket and looked around for any attendants or other passengers who looked like they would complain.

"Yeah, PTSD fueled manifestos," Will said dryly. "The OVA only deals with magic. Why would he think they care about some idiots who got drunk in Afghanistan one night and only narrowly avoided getting court-martialed?"

The only passenger nearby was a middle aged white lady who looked like she had taken about a hundred valium. Viv surreptitiously took a drag on his electronic cigarette. The pod he was using was green apple flavored. He felt his nerves immediately calm and hoped that he wasn't addicted to nicotine. That couldn't happen with vapes, right? He exhaled and fanned the air a little bit as he kept talking, in a more lowered voice. "Did he tell you what happened in Kandahar?"

"He told me what he thought happened."

"With the, the black slime that started moving up from his fingernails and the way he couldn't remember any of it?" Viv thought about his own fingernails and felt the need to take another drag from his vape.

Will was silent.

"You still there?"

"Why didn't you go to Boston to see Blue if you think Christian's army buddies are showing up dead?" Will asked, staunchly changing the subject away from dissociative periods and black slime. He never liked to talk about it. Not even when it was right there in front of him affecting him. "If there really was a pattern and Osborn and Jankowski's deaths are connected, wouldn't he be next? Or wouldn't Christian have gone to him first since he's so close?"

The few times that Viv met Blue had been deeply uncomfortable since he had introduced himself under the assumption that Christian was dating him. Which was ridiculous in retrospect, since Christian had never dated anybody. But Blue had a variance that allowed him to control his own heart rate, so at least it had been fun to trick his mother into thinking the guy had fallen over dead at her table.

"There wasn't as much on him," Viv said lamely. "Just some articles from 2015 when that girl tried to rob the place he was working at and put him in the ICU for 3 days."

"I forgot about that."

"Yeah." The vapor around Viv looked a little thick. He kept waving it away and glancing around for employees. "Anyway. I don't know. It'll be interesting, an interesting story. I think people will like it."

"Don't you mean 'I think I'll find my missing brother'?" Will asked, and laughed cruelly. He laughed through his nose for some reason. Nobody else in the family laughed through their nose.

Viv wanted to put a knife into this particular brother and then twist it. "How's Emmy?" he asked.

That took all the pompousness right out of him. "Good. Almost walking," Will said, deflated. "I had her this weekend. I have to see Jennifer's attorney to finalize custody next Friday."

Hopefully that meant Jennifer would be getting more custody of Emily than Will was. His brother's ex wife was fun, attentive, and thoughtful in a corn-fed Midwesterner kind of way. She didn't need to be subjected to the dysfunctions of the Bastian family any more than she needed to be. And the baby definitely didn't need to be around any of them.

"That sucks," Viv said, as fakely as possible. "I guess I'll have to go over to your-- I mean to Jennifer's house the next time I want to babysit my niece. I'll send you pictures of her."

Without so much as a 'fuck you', Will hung up.

Viv shook his head. So dramatic. It was sad that he had to punch below the belt like that, but sometimes Will forced his hand. At least Christian never mocked him.

The last time he had seen Christian was almost a month previously. He had shown up at Viv's apartment in the middle of the night without warning, soaked with sweat and ranting about how they-- the Bastian triplets-- were not safe. That was when he had shared the Google documents with Vivienne. It was nearly 3 gigabytes of information, most of it incomprehensible. It was not the first time he had shown up out of nowhere like that, but it was the first time that he had proof to back up his claims. Most of Christian's collection of documents were information accessible from the public-- articles, screenshots from twitter, videoclips, even basic information from Wikipedia. But some of it was from the Office of Variant Affairs, as well as from the military and looked...official. He wouldn't answer any of his brother's questions, he was too amped up, just repeating that they weren't safe. By the time Viv had gotten him to de-escalate, Christian had determined that he had to go. He said that he was off to Tennessee, where Osborn had died 4 months ago, and left.

Still, Viv had not reported his brother missing. Nor had Will. Nor had their parents-- not that Christian had any contact with them recently. But surely they knew. There was no way that they were going about their lives unaware that nobody had seen one of their sons for an entire month, could they?

He had heard that if someone was missing over 30 days, they weren’t really missing any more. That was when you were supposed to send the authorities their dental records. Viv had no intention of doing that either. He knew his brother wasn’t dead, Christian was too….Christian for that. He had just Gone Girl-ed himself for whatever reason and was probably in trouble.

So he hadn’t filed a missing persons report. And he wouldn’t.

It wasn't because he didn't trust the cops to find Christian. It was because he wanted to find him himself. It was a better story that way.

Contemplating this, Viv took another long drag from his vape and exhaled.

And just like that, the smoke alarm went off.

********

ETN.ORG

APRIL 15 2018

JEPTHA MAN FOUND DEAD AT STILLWATER MOTEL DIED OF DRUG OVERDOSE

Shelly Asburn

JEPTHA-  A 32 year old man who died earlier this week at the Stillwater Motel overdosed on drugs, says county medical examiner.

Virgil Alexander Osborn, of Jeptha, Tenn. was found the morning of April 13 in a car in the motel's parking lot, according to county medical examiner, Jerry Xi, who conducted the man's April 14 autopsy. The car, parked in the westward lot, was running, Xi wrote in his report, and the heat was on high.

The toxicology report has not been released. Autopsy reports show Osborn's manner of death was accidental.

County Sheriff's Office deputies found Osborn dead inside the vehicle just after 8:00 am after responding to the motel for a medical call.

Sheriff Brian Craddock had previously said foul play was not suspected in the death.

Reach Shelly Asburn at Shasburn(at)ETN.com and follow her on twitter (at)ShellyAsburnETN

*******

August, 2018

7:45 PM

Greenville, SC

The hotel Viv checked into after disembarking the train (thoroughly humiliated and publicly shamed by an attendant for vaping) was actually pretty nice. Greenville wasn't the pit of despair he had imagined it to be. It was located on a river, which he had walked next to while scoping out the big theater, the Peace Center. The place wasn't like Baltimore, but it was pretty good for the South.

Well, for what he imagined the South to be like. He had never been down there, unless you counted trips to Miami to visit his father's sister. The rest of his extended family all lived in Cuba (his father's family) or Haiti (his mother's). Between that and Viv's own dismissal of every part of the United States that wasn't California, Florida, or located above Maryland and below Maine, he didn't have much room in his heart for travel.

But Greenville was very nice. If he had more time there, he could see himself maybe going to a play and checking out some of the local restaurants. He did not have time. The bus that would drive him to Chattanooga was leaving at 8:00 in the morning, so all he could do was wind down in his hotel room.

He reclined on the bed, wearing the terrycloth robe that came with the room. The bed was comfortable, more comfortable than the one he had at home. Hotel beds always were. Viv had his headphones on and his laptop perched on top of his round stomach, carefully finalizing his edits of episode 50 of his podcast, "Slack". It was a...variety show. Most of the time he just talked about music and invited guest speakers to discuss politics or pop culture with him. Sometimes he did some investigative journalism-- mostly having to do with the arts scene or true crime. He really hadn't found his niche, but had enough listeners to scrape together barely enough to live by on Patreon. Sure, it wasn't the same as when he had been in charge of sound design at the Owensby, but it was enough.

Plus, he was his boss and could do whatever he wanted now. He had total creative control. That's what counted.

If Viv thought too hard about what Will said about him finally having a nervous breakdown over being fired, he actually would have a nervous breakdown, so he focused on work. The sound of his own voice was already starting to irritate him. He sounded very Maryland and very gay, neither of which were affectations.

"I'll keep you guys updated on this story as it unfolds," his recorded voice from 3 days ago was saying. "And for Patrons of a $10 level or more, I'll be uploading some of the documents my brother left for me-- the ones I feel safe doing so with that is." Viv rolled his own eyes at himself and tugged off his headphones.

For a few minutes he blindly surfed the internet until he found himself watching a video of a squirrel getting stuck in a bagpipe for no reason. He exited Google Chrome.

He used the remote to turn on the tv. Whoever had stayed in the room before him had left the channel on Fox News, which was like kryptonite for Viv. He stared at it for a moment, transfixed in horror. A Republican Representative from Indiana was talking, clearly begging for her seat as mid-terms approached.

"I'm just saying," she told the camera, all big teeth and dead black eyes. "There are people out there who have the inherent ability to kill others using nothing but their minds, and the OVA does nothing to regulate this. Sure, these school shootings get a ton of press, but what about the guy who goes postal and snaps his wife's neck telekinetically? What about the people who can create fires just by blinking? Shouldn't everyone else have the right to protect themselves using firearms?"

An image of his father, who had walked with a cane since the age of 35 after his left leg was irreparably mangled by gunfire during his service came to Viv's mind. He shook himself from his trance and flipped the channel to Real Housewives of Orange County.

He exited out of the sound editing software on his laptop and pulled up Christian's Google docs, scanning through them to see if anything new caught his eye. So far, he had only organized them into sections. One section pertained only to Tennessee and Virgil Osborn. Another contained information about Monty Jankowski's death in California. One section was about Blue. One was just for Christian-- for some reason, his discharge papers and medical records were all scanned in there, although there was nothing out of the ordinary there. But Christian had also included his report cards from Elementary school, as well as notes from 2008 when he had been forced to see a therapist. Then there were miscellaneous bits and bobs of information. There were emails Christian had exchanged with thauma-slurry distilling factories from some big company, Proverge. There were old scanned paper documents in Russian that Viv couldn't make heads or tails of. Academic studies from the OVA's disease prevention branch coupled with Wikipedia pages on biological warfare. Every single episode of his podcast. A video of their mother playing the piano at a concert in Germany during the 1980's. A photograph of their father when he was young, surrounded by smiling people. Will's medical records. A copy of Jennifer's sonogram when she was pregnant with Emily. A copy of the pink slip Viv had received when he got fired.

How did an ex-military chump turned security consultant like Christian get his hands on all this?

He clicked on Osborn's files and rapidly began going through them again, preparing himself for the next day. The toxicology report had not been released yet, but Christian's notes emphasized that he had died overdosing a methamphetamine-fentanyl speedball. Since Christian seemed to know everything these days, Viv believed him. His brother had even narrowed down Osborn's dealer from blurry convenience store camera footage; a tall young woman called Arlene Kennelly who was involved in the local criminal organization.

The puzzle pieces were all there but it was up to him to put them together. He was less good at detective work than he had once assumed, and it frustrated him. He clicked out of Osborn's files.

Viv watched the video of his mother playing the piano, hoping that it would calm him down. It was from before she had triplets, and she was beautiful and happy. She was a better pianist than anyone he had ever paid to see, it was no wonder that she had gone all over the world when she was in her 20's. In the video, Maya Bastian (for some strange reason, Viv's father had taken her name and let go of his name, Perez) played the solo piano part of Rhapsody in Blue in front of a crowd of people in uniform. Her hair hid her face from the camera.

Hearing her play made him feel a little bit better. It reminded him of being a kid, when she was teaching him and his brothers. It made him think of the way she would guide his hands on the keyboard, and the way that everything seemed right in those moments.

It made him feel better but not better enough to forget that at one point Christian had rooted through his garbage like a psychotic raccoon in order to retrieve his pink slip.

Thinking about that made him feel itchy. He snapped his laptop shut and grabbed the room service menu, eyeing the mac and cheese. Food was good. Food would make him feel better, along with a hot shower. He had another long drive in the morning, to a probably terrible little town that nobody had heard of. Viv needed his rest.

I AM NOT TORTURING MYSELF BY WRITING VIV BEING ANNOYING FOREVER JUST PRETEND IM WRITING THINGS THAT ARE SIGNIFICANT AND I'LL FILL IT IN LATER I GUESS. I’M JUST GOING TO SKIP AROUND.

********

ROBERT RAPHAEL KENNELLY

Booking Number: ########

Booking on: 05/26/2010

County: Hamilton

Date Of Birth: 01/15/1989

Charges 1. Violation Description: FELONY POSSESSION SCH II CS

Bond Amount: $50,000

********

In his dream, Viv looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom of his childhood home and saw that he was 7 again. The child version of him was fatter than he was at 32, and wore his hair in a little afro because his mother thought it was cute. He wore a t shirt with a dinosaur on it and red sneakers. But Viv was only looking at his face. His child-self's face. He was unable to look away, or even break the gaze from his own big brown eyes.

And in his dream his nose and mouth were covered with thick black slime.

*********

US ARMY DD214 PARTIAL TRANSCRIPT

BASTIAN, CHRISTIAN MATEO   #########   ########

ARMY RA                                 #########   02 SEPT 2007

#########                                 MARYLAND  30 MAY 1986  

OTH                                          ##########  ##########

#########                                ##########  ##########

#########                             ##########   #########

#########                            ##########  #########     

AFGHANISTAN 02 SEPT 07-- 13 JAN 08

                          #############       

*******

August, 2018

8:00 AM

Stillwater Motel, Jeptha, TN

There was no free continental breakfast at the Stillwater, but the woman at the front desk noticed how dead on his feet Viv looked, and made him a fresh pot of coffee. She even poured it for him and seemed to want to sit and chat as he drank it. Her name tag read "Beth". She was exactly what Viv imagined when he thought of someone who would work at a crappy motel in Appalachia. A white woman in her 50's with a weathered face, badly bleached hair, and a big smile that he couldn't quite let himself trust. Her features were slightly abnormal in the way that people who were exposed to certain kinds of magic became. Sharp teeth, big ears. Her sandpapery skin was mottled green on her neck and hands, as if she was permanently bruised. As if she was rotting.

"What you here for?" she asked him as he took his first sip of coffee. It was surprisingly good. She had added two creams and two sugars just like he had asked. Underneath her accent was the distinct lisp that anyone whose mouth and teeth were affected by magic got. "The only thing 'round here for visitors to do is hunt, and the season don't start for months."

Did he look like the kind of guy who went blowing holes in defenseless animals? He was wearing dark wash jeans, sneakers, a black t shirt and a light grey hoodie over it; his 'dressed down' look. He was trying to keep any hint at flamboyancy out of his voice. Was he that good at acting or was this lady making fun of him?

“Well,” said Viv, thinking wildly as he drank his excellent coffee. He might as well try to find the girl who sold Osborn the drugs that killed him. Waving a picture of Christian and asking if anyone had seen him seemed less effective, more disastrous. He would save that for further along in this particular excursion, when he had some solid ground to base his assumptions on. “Well. I’m looking up my friend who I met on the internet.”

“Ah,” said the desk woman, Beth. She smelled like tobacco. “How millenial.”

He decided to just go for it. This was a town of 2000, after all. The chance that any given person he talked to knew someone who he actually needed to talk to was phenomenal. “Do you know an Arlene Kennelly?”

“I know some Kennellys. Not sure about an Arlene,” said Beth. She unfolded a local newspaper, appearing uninterested. “There’s a whole hive of Kennellys around here.” For a second she looked up and made eye contact with Viv, just long enough to be meaningful. “Not sure ‘bout your friend, but my mama wouldn’t let me play with nobody from that family when I was coming up.”

What the fuck did that mean.

Viv backtracked. “My friend is very nice,” he said, knowing for a fact that that was not true. Well, he was guessing it was true. The woman he was looking for didn’t have anything in Christian’s collection, as far as he knew, and cursory google search of her name had brought up no arrest records. On the other hand, it was clear that she was a drug dealer partially responsible for the death of Virgil Osborn, and, according to Christian, involved with the whole plot. “Thanks for the information, though. And the coffee.”

“Anytime, sugar.”

He retreated to his room to get ready for the day and to make sense of what the desk woman had meant. Since he planned on staying in the area for more than a few nights, he didn’t want to piss any service employees off. Hopefully she would make him coffee again tomorrow, and maybe they would talk again and he would bounce some things off of her local knowledge.

In Viv’s room was the following: all he had packed since he got on the train to come south. 7 outfits. His pajamas. 2 pairs of shoes. Toiletries. His laptop, his headphones, and the cords for both of those objects. Nothing else. It made him feel like he was a foreign journalist in Malaysia or something. Living rough.

As he paused to grab his phone charger, he caught a glimpse of himself in the old mirror that hung above the room’s dresser. It was something that had been bought in the 80’s or 90’s, with a yellowing trim and warped face. Viv usually avoided looking at himself in mirrors, for a myriad of reasons, but he decided to right then. He looked tired. There were bags under his eyes like he had not slept. His skin looked dry. He was not smiling, not excited.

There was nothing to be done about it.

********

Cedars-Sinai Medical Center

8700 Beverly Blvd

Los Angeles, CA

90048

###-###-####

######@##########

March 17, 2005

Levi Monday

############

############

Los Angeles, California, 661

Dear Mr. Monday,

Our repeated attempts to collect the balance due on your mother's account which you cosigned for have been ignored. Your account has been referred to an outside collection agency, ####### Collection Agency Services. In order to prevent negative marks on your credit history, we suggest you contact us immediately to make a payment. We accept MasterCard, VISA, and Discover.

If your payment is already on its way, we thank you and ask that you please disregard this notice. If not, we would appreciate receipt of your payment as soon as possible. If you are unable to make payment in full due to financial difficulties, a reasonable payment plan is available so you can satisfy your obligation and keep your account in good standing. If you would like to further discuss the details of your account, please do not hesitate to call patient billing at ###-###-####.

Sincerely,

Patient Billing

Cedars-Sinai Medical Center         

**********

August, 2018

11:30 AM

Main Street, Jeptha, TN

At least the weather was nice.

That was the only good thing Viv could say about this small town, after wandering around it all morning. It was balmy outside. Not too hot, not too windy, barely humid at all. A moderate summer day. Pleasant. He had been expecting more heat, but really, it was not much different than it was back home.

“Ok,” he said, speaking into the recorder on his phone and hoping that he came off as more of a ‘Dale Cooper’ than an insane man who was talking to himself. He thought about naming his imaginary audience. Who could be his Diane? He liked the name ‘Francis’ but was leaning towards the more classic ‘Dear Listeners’. “It’s been hours now and I haven’t learned anything apart from everyone in this town knows a Kennelly or two. I just haven’t found the one I’m looking for. Getting frustrated. I feel like I did when I was canvassing in college.”

He was sitting on a bench in the downtown area of Jeptha. If you could call it a downtown area. There were a few little stores lining Main Street-- a hardware store, a diner, a pawn shop and the like-- but nothing of any real interest and nothing that would lure in tourists. The whole place was run down. From what he could tell, most of the town’s jobs came from a nearby factory, the boiled cabbage like fumes of which he could smell and were making him ill. It was a place that would have made him sad, if he had sat down and thought about it. But Viv only had room in his mind for his purpose there and shoved any contemplative thoughts to the back of his mind for later, when he would need them for adding flavor to his story.

“Thinking about getting lunch,” he said into his phone. A stretched-out looking teenage boy wearing a Black Sabbath shirt walked by him and made eye contact. Viv didn’t look away from him. He wasn’t scared of any redneck high schooler, variant or not. “There’s a Bojangles near the motel. And there’s a diner. I don’t know, it looks like some local flavor. Maybe I can ask around in there. And there’s probably pie, that’s always a plus.”

[oc-fics]

~On the Edge~

Fanfic for @skipperwing, featuring The Crimson Fly (Below cut for length)

In retrospect, wearing a mask and leaping out into a stranger’s presence in the worst part of town could be misinterpreted as an attempted mugging. With a wry grumble, the Crimson Fly rubbed their aching shoulder. That old lady must have had bricks in her handbag! That’d be the last time CF would offer help with someone’s groceries. Well… last time for that particular night. Unless someone else was struggling with groceries. Then maybe. Probably. Okay, they’d definitely get help.

Blasted moral compass.

Steady dripping echoed in the depths of the city’s storm drains as the costumed kid trudged along the fractured sidewalks, choosing to save energy on flashy leaps and general acrobatics for the moment an audience was present. The cat following behind didn’t count. Yet. As desperately boring as the evening was becoming, though, no crime on the radar was a good thing, right? In theory it was. Of course it was. But… quiet nights were also uncomfortable; allowing whispering doubts to creep their miasma straight into any self confidence about the sort of difference a masked vigilante might be making in the world.

“Hey, kid! Halloween was last month. What the heck are you doing in a place like this?”

CF blinked and turned toward the voice. Just a patrolling officer.

“Uh,” CF paused to pick at the neck of their costume, stalling. “You know. Fighting the good fight? Keeping watch over a sleeping city? Trying to lose the cat who’s been following me for an hour because I smell like tuna because I fell in the dumpster behind the fish market because I misjudged a jump and it’s not like I need a reminder about-“

“Breathe, kid.” the officer interrupted with a wince.

“Right. Whew…”

“Officer Edge,” the badge on his chest was indicated by way of an introduction. “I’m just glad you’re not, ya know, a goblin or somethin’. This is a spooky shift, I’ll tell ya. It’s really been rustling my jimmies if you know what I mean. The jimmies. They aaaaare rustled. Probably best for you to scoot along home.”

Was that an attempt at humor? Something to calm a wandering child? How irritating. It was only sometimes that the mighty Crimson Fly was denied entry to a PG-13 movie, and maturity had nothing to do with a number anyway! Couldn’t the cop see the tricep definition? Did he need a ticket to the gun show??? Deflating a little from the internal argument, the Crimson Fly decided to forgo making too many assumptions just yet and simply responded with a forced chuckle of recognition. Pick your battles to win your wars. Time to make an exit.

“Thanks, officer Edge. I’ll do that.”

“Sounds like a plan,” the officer smiled. “OH! But stay away from 3rd Street, yeah? That’s where we’ve seen all those goblins, and holy moley you do not want to run into one of those! They bite. Dunno why I said that. The bus stop outta here isn’t anywhere near 3rd Street. Oh, well! Have a good night, pajama dude!”

As the officer turned on his heel, pajama dude squinted up at the street sign. 2nd Street was spelled out in peeling white font, paralleling 3rd Street just through a squat row of various businesses. Well, now it had to be investigated! To keep up appearances, CF marched in a completely different direction long enough to be certain that nobody would follow… besides that cat!!! GO HOME ALREADY!!!

Maybe up and over would be the best approach. With a bracing hop in place, they sucked in a harsh breath and leaped up to scale the wall of a tall apartment building, finger pads stuck fast to the aged brick. It was working. It wouldn’t fail tonight. One hand after the other… concentrate… don’t look down. It played on repeat as a personal mantra of success. Soon enough, a perfect height presented itself to launch in a flailing arc to force a fall or flight response spasming through their body to trigger the buzzing wings into action!

“Wooo! Aha, yes!”

Adrenaline pumped hard, assuring a safe flight (prompted mostly through sheer exhilaration).

“That’d better not be you, kid!” officer Edge called up, alerted by the sudden whoop of victory.

“Don’t worry! It’s not!” CF yelled back cheekily.

“Okay good!” was not the response expected, but it was the one given.

Perhaps this particular fellow was not the brightest taco in the apple stand. Shocked and delighted by the lack of obstacles regardless, the Crimson Fly darted in a quick zig-zag to the next street and came to light on a fire escape. Sputtering street lights offered little in the way of illumination. It was barely enough to drive the heavy shade of evening into submission even in its smallest doses.

“Allllright, ‘goblins’. What are you really?” CF mumbled quietly, struggling to ignore the funk the mask was giving off from earlier dumpster diving.

Thankfully, their patience wasn’t tested too heavily. A soft creak sounded below. Action! The warehouse next door rumbled and squeaked in protest as a metal grate was shoved aside to offer exit to a hoard of at least two dozen… goblins. Goblins?! They were real??? Actually real?! Whoa. This was a little above the Crimson Fly’s pay grade, but if it wasn’t looked into… moral… compass… argh.

Once the last creature had lumbered off into the night, CF nabbed the opportunity to drop and roll through the door before it screeched shut.

Giant tubes filled with viscous red fluids were sprawled across the interior, each with its own goblin creature suspended inside. Even in the state of supposed slumber, they were a creepy sight to behold. The vigilante slowly reached out as if to touch the container when a voice interrupted the bad decision.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!”

CF spun in place, fists balled and legs poised, only to realize that it was officer Edge. The posture relaxed fractionally. At least the fuzz was showing up to help. A little action beforehand would have been more fun, but at the end of the day the authorities were doing their job. Weren’t they? Where was the backup? You were supposed to have backup in a raid, right?

“I told you to go home. I didn’t account for your clearly crippling disability of selective hearing.” Edge droned, his voice losing all of the bumbling, friendly overtones. “Since you’re here, though, perhaps… an opinion?”

“Yeah! My opinion is that you’re a crooked cop! You’re involved in this!” the Crimson Fly asserted, pointing an accusatory finger.

“We’re well past that, try to keep up.” Edge sighed, signaling for the returning hoard to close off the exit. “This is my brainchild. Aren’t you tired of seeing the world as it is? Don’t you find it demoralizing to know that sometimes there’s just nothing you can do to upset the apple cart for the better?”

“Oh-kaaaaaay? What do goblin monsters have to do with any of that?” CF asked.

“If you release enough pigeons, people will never notice the dove in the flock.” Edge replied with a strained smile. “While my goblins raid the streets, it will cause a bump in police activity by necessity. The media will be in a frenzy, spreading fear and unrest like a disease. Panicked people make poor decisions, you know. Very poor decisions.”

“…And?”

“And I’m afraid that’s all you’re getting for now. I’m not about to monologue the entirety of my plans. That would be foolish.” Edge smirked, signaling for the ranks to close in.

From the way the beasts had lumbered about on their initial exit of the building, CF would have thought them slow and stupid. On the contrary, they gave him a run for his money in a big way with their synchronized attack formations! He dodged, leaped, kicked, and flew, only barely keeping a step ahead of them to pick off each assailant one by one.

“Whaddaya think of that?” the kid panted as the last goblin tumbled dramatically to the ground.

“I think they’ve done a splendid job of herding you like a sheep among many collies.” Edge answered brightly.

A crane above suddenly released a moderate stack of wooden pallets directly on top on the startled hero. It fell with a splintering crack, splatting CF flat to the floor. All of the air left their lungs in a great whoosh, leaving them gasping in a desperate attempt to breathe as they crawled from the debris. Unfortunately, they only made it a few feet before a heavy foot pressed down on their back, halting any progress.

CF gave a strangled cry as the cuticle attaching wing joints to skin and muscle strained and stretched under the false officer’s boot. Wheezing breaths stained the fabric of their mask with spittle and coppery blood. This was wrong. The good guy charges in and the bad guy is defeated in a blaze of fancy footwork and jabs. That’s how it works! That’s how it’s supposed to work! Panic seized their chest at the realization that nobody would be coming to break this up. A missing kid would be static noise in the news, lost in the rabble, and they would die here, crunched under someone’s shoe like a helpless bug.

Help me.

CF wriggled and bucked, only to be forced back into place by superior weight.

“You won’t get away with this…!”

“You’re probably going to die here, and that’s the best thing you can think of? Pretty tired line, don’t you think, sport?” Edge commiserated. “I’m not going to outright kill you, as an aside. But I would love to study you… this fffffun little anatomy addition you’ve got. The power of flight. What a time to be alive. Flying goblins would certainly help in the fear factor.”

For a moment, Edge seemed lost in thought, as though he’d completely forgotten the Crimson Fly was there. In his mind, he could see something beautiful in the near distance that wasn’t quite within the realm of reality. It wasn’t enough of a fantasy that he budged his boot even an inch, but is was enough that he was oblivious to the ball of flying claws and fluff that leaped down from the rafters above! With a tiny meow, er, war cry, the cat which had been following CF all night latched itself onto the villain’s back. Beads of blood peeked through the dark fabric of Edge’s uniform, prompting an angry curse and a fair bit of struggling. Just enough for an escape!

Goblins all around were staggering back to consciousness, cluttering the floor with unsteady bodies. All the afternoons trying to dart through a busy subway station were finally paying off! Closely followed by the cat, the Crimson Fly darted though the chaos and out into the street. They only had a moment at most, so they gathered up the cat and beat feet to the bus station, clambering aboard the roof of it just as it veered out of the side streets. It wasn’t until they’d moved from an off ramp onto the highway that the hammering in the little hero’s chest slowed, if only slightly.

“This guy’s gonna be harder to deal with than I thought…” they muttered, idly stroking the cat.

To be continued...?