#yeah sure we just gotta get you sized but we can get one from cvs for you

[pixie-broom]

Anyone have any tips for decorating a cane? I might be getting one to see if it’ll take some of the pressure off of my bunions and I want it to look as fruity as I am

[shiftytracts]

This was gonna be a scenario post, hence the A and B format, but got so long (2.4k) it almost counts as a story. I’m less sure it counts as emeto--it’s all nausea/general digestive upset, no actual vomit. Also mentions scat and weight gain, but those tags would definitely constitute false advertising; they’re more like incidental story elements than kink elements.

--

A’s on new meds, whose side effects include slight but near-constant nausea. They wander one morning through the dark, brown-carpeted house they share with B (their SO) and another housemate (C), coffee cup in hand, still slightly sweat-sticky from bed but without the time to shower. It’s a small, thin-walled house, and C’s not up yet, so A and B keep off their shoes for as long as they can, trying not to make too much noise. A muffles their burps into the crook of their elbow. B makes eggs and toast for both; A’s gotta wolf ‘em before their appointment, but wishes they hadn’t—or at least that they’d skipped the orange juice, and maybe saved brushing their teeth for after breakfast. They head to their appointment with their heart pounding in their gut, queasy and bloated and short of breath, bubbly stiff cramps forming in new places every time they bend a different way, belly rumbling so much they wonder if B can hear it, if they can see it shake, can see A’s navel through their t-shirt.

(“Be honest”—A implores, when they wander back from the can to the kitchen sink where B stands washing grease off the breakfast plates—“do I look like a total fatass?”

(“What? No.” B laughs, rhetorically, and adds, “Why?”

(“Well ‘cause I sorta feel like one is all,” A says, peremptorily stroking up and down past their navel, but regretting it when this uncalled-for jiggling further upsets their stomach.

(“Aw. No, you look fine,” B assures them. They look back to their dishes, then at A again with preemptive shrug: “I guess if they were really looking someone might figure you’d had a big breakfast, but.” A yanks at their shirt, hoping to obscure this; “Don’t do that, you’ll stretch it,” B reminds them.)

A tries to crap before they leave but no dice—not time yet. Nasty cramps and cold sweat all through their shrink appointment. Comes home, gives vent to the pyroclastic flow, then collapses supine on the bed and unbuttons their shorts. Takes a nap.

Despite their best efforts B’s doings in there an hour or so after that wake A up; they direct A to the water glass they set by the bed. “Oh. Thanks,” A yawns, and asks if B’ll hand them pajama pants. B smiles and complies.

“Not going out again then, huh? Not feeling well?”

A shrugs. “No, I’m okay now, just kinda.” They try to make a hand gesture for tired or loopy, but judging from B’s lack of answering nod they figure this doesn’t suffice as explanation. “Might later though, I don’t know.”

“Mm.”

“Should eat something, probably.”

“Ah, yeah—get back on the horse?”

“Haha yeah.” Meanwhile A rubs their belly up and down as though to sound its opinion on the level of drawstring tightness they’ve selected. B sits next to them for a sec, puts a hand on their back, pecks their jaw.

“I guess you are a bit chubbier now,” B admits, feeling guilty for how they dodged A’s question on that score this morning.

“Seems that way,” allows A. This, they’re pretty sure, is the previous med’s fault. They wouldn’t’ve switched were that its only sin, of course, but the thing had the gall to be useless aside from its side effects of weight gain and insomnia. “Is it gross? Should I.”

“What? No,” B says again, and laughs rhetorically as before. “‘Gross’? Of course not.” B bats A’s jaw, very gently, playfully. “No matter what happens, I’m just happy you’re getting help.”

A’s answering smile lasts maybe a quarter of a second. “Thanks.” All the same they stand and spread their arms out to either side, to give B a better look. “Sure you don’t mind?”

B smiles, shakes their head chidingly, incredulously. “Why would I mind? It’s kinda cute, if anything.” To prove they mean it they go around behind A, rest the side of their face on the back of A’s neck, snake their hands around to A’s front and slot each one atop their waistband so B’s palms fit in the hollow between pelvis and flab. Roots around til they find the end of A’s shirt, pushes it out of the way, un- and re-does the drawstring so their pajama pants sit at a more flattering height. “That too tight?”

“No, it’s kinda grounding actually,” A shrugs. “Thanks.”

“Mhm. Now go eat something.”

A eats some leftover rice with soy sauce—C ordered way too much rice with their takeout two nights ago, and left the extra up for grabs. Then A figures they can handle two Oreos. Can’t stop burping after that, but only feels a little queasy, little squirmy. Lies on the couch with their laptop, alternately studying and playing Tetris (they’re a week or two into the fall semester; today’s Friday, which they have off from both classes and work). Until C gets home, at which point Mariokart happens. This makes A feel sick, though, not sure whether in a too much food or not enough kinda way, so they take their computer and go back to the bedroom, telling C they just want to remove themselves from the social distraction. Maintains this ruse until about halfway down the hallway, then lets go the foodbaby they’ve been suckin’ in and moves their free hand up and down it as they round the corner into their bedroom doorway. B’s all dressed and ready for their friend’s party now; has to go soon. They’re crisscross-applesauced on the bed looking at their phone, but they look up when A comes in. “Hey.”

“Hi! Feeling better?” B asks, with a slight frown that suggests they know the answer.

A busies their hands with setting their laptop on the bed so they can say, “Nope—queasatronic,” without seeming too self-pitying.

B nose-laughs but says, “Aw. I’m sorry.”

A shrugs, sits. “Eh.”

“Want me to stay home?—I could—?”

But this time A says, “What? No. ‘Course not, you should go. I’m fine, I’m.” (Shrugs, realizing already that this’ll sound like a guilt trip and wondering whether they secretly mean one. But they’re too bushed to think of another ending to the sentence.) “I’m used to this; don’t need a babysitter. You should go.”

“Okay. Thank you. If you’re sure.”

“No, please. Seriously.”

“Alright. What time is it?” B chirps, then presses the top button on their phone and reports, “5:24—yeah okay, I should go. Take care, feel better. Need anything?—I could stop at CVS, or.”

“Uh…” A mimes thinking about it, then spaces out for real.

“Well, you can text me if so,” B laughs.

“Cool. Sure. Have fun.”

“Thaaanks,” B says, swinging themselves by the hand around the doorjamb as they slip out. A arranges themselves supine again, hands folded on their stomach. Lets out an unimpressed sigh as though in summation. Doesn’t really wanna take a nap, but they try playing Tetris again and feel too icky when they try to focus their eyes on the screen. Closes their laptop but does not remove its warm weight from their lap, even though in the 5pm heat its plastic sticks to their wrists. Burps, mouth open, not loudly exactly but sorta high-pitched—as though they were an adolescent boy with a soda can, they scoff. Then wonders if they have any more diet ginger ale. Wanders out to the kitchen, in the extra wall space between which and the dining room (B calls it a “breakfast nook,” but A just assumes that’s a joke they don’t get) they keep their soda cans stacked on the floor next to the milk-cratey recycle bins. There is indeed one left. They grab that and a cup (and two ice cubes outta the tray in the freezer), too lazy to fetch the one B put water in for them earlier, and remind themselves to text B that they’ve run out.

C’s still out there, and notices A’s choice of beverage. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just. Guts’re on the fritz again.”

“Hm. Sorry, pal.”

“It’s cool.”

“You gonna be able to find something you can eat?”

“What?”

“Tonight, I mean. Is there food you can eat?”

A shrugs. “Still some rice left I guess.”

“I ask ‘cause I’m going to the store in an hour, so. If you want some saltines or something.”

“Oh.” A laughs; adds, “thanks. Think we still have some from last time though.”

“Okay. Well, if you think of anything you want.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

“No problem; good luck.”

At this departure from Hope you feel better A laughs slightly. “Thanks.” Heads back to their room, drinks their soda and melty ice. This is the hottest-ass part of the day, so when it’s gone they balance the still-cool glass on their clavicle. They feel much better now, if sorta bloated and fizzy. Quease level comparatively minimal. Figures they should eat again while they’ve got the, uh, guts for it.

Once they start on their second round of rice A finds they’re pretty hungry. Adds soy sauce a lot more zealously, this time, and risks the last leftover spring roll as well but regrets the grease. Has to make up for it with the unsauced bits of rice clinging to the edge of the styrofoam box—you know, like, a palate cleanser or whatever. They hiccup a little, then belch when they bring their plate to the sink, from the contact between gut and the edge of the counter: hadn’t thought about the extra room they take up now. Rubs a peremptory circle into the left side above the navel but finds they feel alright, for now—then 20 minutes later heads into the can, expecting lava from how their stomach cramps and rolls, but gets out only some air and a few wispy pebbles. Notices with greater dismay, then, on the way back to their room, how their belly queasily sloshes around when they walk. Doesn’t seem to have shrunk much.

In B’s mirror, back in their room, A finds they look pretty gigantic, too; they changed into a looser shirt after the first one got too sweaty, and in this comparative tent all you can tell is that the gut’s the widest part of their profile. They set their hands down on it to bring it down to size, and are dismayed at how little difference this makes. Does feel nicer that way though; leaves ‘em there as they trudge slowly back to their side of the bed, and pushes slow circles into each side. Sits heavily on the edge of the bed, hunched over a little. Can feel the tightness in their stomach that means either it’s going to rumble in that long drawn-out violating way where you feel like it’s loosing all your secrets or that you’re going to belch so loud you’ll wonder if you have to puke. Waits, then gives up on waiting and slowly, laboriously lies down. Stretches a little, tempting fate, but it kinda hurts: ties a weird knot high up on the right when they loosen back up. They put three fingers on it gently, and try to iron it out back and forth. Ah!—there it goes. Stomach starts growling, seems to shake everything up, then once that uneasy shifting’s done with it still keeps up the sound what seems a ludicrous, embarrassing long time. When that’s done they sigh and then burp a little. Laughs at themselves for this display. Carefully carefully carefully turns onto their side, facing away from the door, and tries to sleep, a protective hand curled around their stomach.

When B gets home much later that night they wake up a little (“Oh. Hi. How was the thing.” “Hey! Sorry to wake you. It was fun; I think it went well.” “That’s good.” “Mhm.” “Anyway good night.” B laughs: “Haha okay. Go back to sleep A.” They mean to reply at your service but instead say, “Open sesame”; B laughs and pats their hair so it itches their nose. When A swipes at it snot comes loose. They decide not to open that pandoras wormtails); figures they’ll fall back to sleep quick until the consciousness of nausea slides back into place, at which point they try to roll onto their back and find themselves ludicrously heavy. It takes several tries, and all their breath. They groan with bored self-pity, forgetting they’re not alone in the room.

Meanwhile B struggles out of their clothes and into pajama pants and an inside-out (but not backwards) tank top in the dark. “You okay?”

“Blugh. Not great.”

“Aw, still?”

“Yeah… nah,” A says, blinking, confusedly forgetting which answer is appropriate. “I gotta pee,” A decides. This helps a little, since it wakes them up all the way and therefore allows them to disentangle the need to pee from their other woes. In the bathroom mirror they look mostly deflated up top but still extra puffy and round lower down; at least it doesn’t hurt their stomach to stand up anymore. Only hurts like a menstrual cramp does after you take ibuprofen, but the quease that in that case is only incipient is much worse here. At one point they cough, and dread this “pandoras wormtails” too when it alerts them to all the mushy brittle things in their throat and chest. This also makes them start burping again, so that that’s how they end up greeting B when they get back to the doorway of their room: fist over their mouth, wincing a little, leaning into the wall for balance. B’s a good sport though. They face each other in bed and B lays both their warm hands on A’s stomach, whimpers in pity at how blown up they can tell it is.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” they say in that affectionate half-asleep tone that always comes out querulous.

“It’s cool,” A says back.

B sloppily nods so that their jaw thuds against their pillow, hair spilling into their eyes, and tells A, “Just try to go back to sleep; feel betterinthmorning probbleby,” trying to get all the words out before a yawn.

[headoverhiddles]

Go On, Smile - Marilyn Manson x Reader

Synopsis: You and the band terrorize the local mall. AKA The totally fictional, fucked up origins of the samples from Cake and Sodomy. 

Notes: Portrait era! Warning for intentions of assault (not from Manson) and general immature debauchery. 

There's nothing left to do in this town.

You, your boyfriend, and a few members of his band that aren't still sleeping, are wandering around the small town they're set to perform tonight. The venue's gonna be tiny, just like the town, but at this point, any gig is a good gig. They're touring their asses off to promote their first studio album, an album nobody thought could possibly get produced. Lots of touring meant a few shitty stops (okay, a fair amount), and it meant days of either doing drugs in hotel rooms, pasting flyers around the city, or trying to do normal things.

"We could vandalize buses," Jeordie suggests. 

"There's only one bus that comes by here, once every hour at half past sharp," Pogo replies, staring at the palm of his hand. "I've been watching it."

"What about the mall?" you suggest.

"Does barbie want to go shopping?" Pogo mutters. You throw a crumpled up fast food bag from the ground at him.

Brian finally speaks up. "The mall's not a bad idea, actually. There might be makeup stores there, I can swipe some pancake shit for tonight's show."

Now that their fearless leader had spoken, everyone grunted their own form of agreement, getting up off the park bench.

Making it to the mall, Jeordie runs over to the directory. "I'm going to the candy store." Pogo seems to like that idea, and the two walk off. Brian calls after them.

"Assholes! Meet us back at the doors by six, we've got a show to get to!" He turns to you, taking your hand and rolling his eyes. "As if they don't get enough drugs. Now they need sugar highs too."

The two of you walk toward the drugstore to check out the makeup. Brian immediately heads over to the lip aisle, and starts pocketing some reds and plum colours.

"You know... I wouldn't mind a bit of candy," you tell him, swinging your hand with his, "A nice, big lollipop."

Brian licks his lips. "How would you lick it, baby? Swirl your tongue over the tip?"

"I'd get it all into my mouth, then when it hits the back of my throat, I'd swallow all that sweet sugar." Brian groans, starting to walk toward the candy store with you too, and you shrug. "But I'd settle for some sugar babies."

"You get the sugar babies," he smirks, "I'll get the sugar daddy."

"You are not a sugar daddy," you laugh. He scoffs.

"I could be!" He slides his hand down to feel up your ass. "I could be your daddy, babygirl."

"You're the same fucking age as me, and you've got no money."

He shakes his head. "Just give this record a little more time. Once Interscope pushes it and Portrait sells a billion copies, stadiums all over the world'll want Marilyn Manson to scare the crap out of their upstanding citizens. We'll be in demand! Then I can buy you all sorts of weird relics."

"Special," you smile, "Normal sugar daddies buy their babies diamonds. No, I get prosthetic hands and Eichmann's aluminum dentures."

"You love it." 

"I do," you giggle, and his eyes suddenly take on that mischievous glint.

"Photo booth."

"Bri, really?"

"We gotta go in, and do a porno shoot."

"What?!"

"There's nobody around but us. Come on baby, let's take really fucking dirty pictures."

"You know, they probably save these somewhere to print them, right?"

"Good, you can flash your tits, make the mall cop jack off. Here, we can record, and put it on the new single, Cake and Sodomy! It'll be perfect."

You blush, and he pulls you into the little tent in the middle of the pathetically empty strip mall. He sets up the camera, closes the curtain, and you keep giggling.

"You go here," he sets you up on mark like a master movie director, and you check the screen, making sure the star anatomy is properly centered. Then you reach down and pull your top over your head, unhooking your bra. Brian bites his bottom lip.

"Shit, you're gonna make me have to jack off." You knee him lightly in the crotch playfully.

"Focus on the shoot, Spielberg." He puts his hands over your breasts from behind, and you yelp.

"Jesus Christ, Brian!"

"What?!"

"At least warm your hands up a little. God, it's like being fondled by the Grim Reaper!”

“Geez--”

“Boobs are very delicate things, okay, they're not like dicks, you can't just whip them out and expect--"

"Okay, alright, there. There! All warmed up. You happy?" 

"Yes," you pout, and he kisses your cheek quickly, before darting forward to press capture and resuming his position. The first flash goes off, with Brian's hands grabbing your breasts. Second one begins to count down.

"What should we do, quick, what should we do?!" you squeal, laughing, and he looks around. He gets on his knees, bringing his face up, and sucks on your nipple for the third shot.

"Get your dick out," you urge, "Hurry, do it!"

He unzips his pants, and gets his dick as close as he can to the camera.

For the fifth shot, you get on your knees this time, holding Brian's dick and licking the tip as the last flash goes off. He presses play on his tape recorder, and you stand up, kissing him and making the sexiest noises you can.

"Alright.... mmm... mmmm!"

The two of you are laughing uncontrollably like children as you exit the booth with the printed strip. "Gorgeous," you nod, inspecting it.

"We're hot. I'd wanna fuck us," he says.

"God, same."

"We should use these as album art."

"Go for it," you shrug, "I'm sure it'd help sell all those billions of copies you promised." You bite your pinkie nail, looking back at the booth. "What if there were cameras that were watching inside, though? Like other cameras?" He massages your shoulders as you walk.

"I told you, there probably were. I already shoplifted, might as well be arrested for public indecency as well. It'll help my, uh... dangerous rock star image."

You groan, hiding your face in Brian's shoulder as you two keep walking.

You meet up with Jeordie and Pogo in front of the candy shop, Brian having shoved the strip down his back pocket. Jeordie has a bag full of sweets.

"What did you get?" you ask, burrowing inside it. He hands you some laffy taffy.

"I know you like this stuff."

"Jeord! I absolutely love you!"

"I know." He grins. "Hehe, Star Wars."

Just then, a big, hairy motherfucker of a security guard approaches you four quickly. He's an imposing figure, even on your 6'1 boyfriend.

"I promise I paid for all these gummy worms," Jeordie begins to tell him, but he looks at you and Brian.

"You the kids from the photo booth?"

You're too shocked to speak, so Brian, ever the antagonist, nods, sizing him up. "Yeah. Is there a problem?"

"You're going to have to come with me," the portly guard says sternly, and Brian shoves him off.

"Like hell, buddy." 

The guard starts to take something out of the back of his belt, so before either of you can find out what, you stop him.

"Wait! Wait, it's okay. We'll go." You lean in to Brian pleadingly. "The most he can do is give us a warning. Don't get your show banned here over some stupid, bloated mall guy with a bone to pick."

"Fine." You and Brian turn, noticing Jeordie and Pogo had fled the scene. "Great friends," Brian mutters, and the two of you start walking.

The guard leads you into a dark, grimy room down some steps under the mall's CVS, where you see a bunch of security camera feeds, and... your topless photos displayed on one of them. It smells strange down here, like spoiled chicken and vaseline. The guard sits down.

"So. You think creating pornography in public is funny, do you?"

Brian lets loose a stream of vitriol you knew had been simmering. "I do. In fact, I think it's the most goddamn hilarious thing I've ever done, you stuffy old dickhead!"

"Brian..."

"You wouldn't know much about that though, since you're probably so miserable working overtime for a mall who sees the local crackhead walk through maybe once every month or so and that's it--"

"Brian."

"--Getting paid to sit behind a desk in the dark, eat donuts and creep on people like a glorified cam-stalker--"

"Brian!"

"I bet you liked looking at my girlfriend's tits, huh? You like em, you fucking pervert? Why don't you--"

The guard finally has enough, and gets up out of his chair, walking behind Brian and tying a gag around his mouth. You go to stop him, but he grabs some duct tape, and sits you down, tying your wrists behind the chair. He does the same to Brian, restraining him. Shaking in fear, you sit still, paralyzed, as the guard sits back down in front of you two.

"You kids now and your alternative lifestyles. Think that acting outlandish and wearing black, Satanic clothing that never would've flown in my day is the way to give us civilized folk here in this good, god fearing little town the middle finger, huh?"

He sneers down at your leather miniskirt, and then to Brian's thick platform boots, looking him up and down. He's not really helping disprove the man's point about outlandish clothes, with his lipstick and shaved eyebrows. You think you see Brian fiddle with something in his back pocket, but your attention is directed back to the guard.

"Performing sexual acts in my mall. You won't get away with that."

"What are you gonna do?" you whimper.

"Put on a little show of my own," he starts to smile sadistically. You start to feel cold all over. He doesn't mean...

Brian's eyes close. Of course the two of you had found the Buffalo Bill of mall cops. Fucking lucky. Well. It'd be a story for the show.

The man sits back. "Smile."

Brian watches the guy closely. "You touch her..." your boyfriend warns. You struggle to pull your restraints free.

"Smile for me," the guard repeats, growing impatient.

You swallow. "Just let us go. We're really sorry about the photos!"

He finally stands up, cracking a fist. "Go on smile, you cunt!"

Brian jumps up, and though his wrists are still bound like yours, he turns around to grab you, pulling you both to the door. He spits the gag out. "Run."

The two of you dash out the side entrance to the mall, and keep running until you can't hear the guard yelling anymore.

Jeordie and Pogo come out of the woodwork, quickly gathering around you.

"Fuckin' redneck tyrant!" Brian shouts back, grabbing and tossing Jeordie's milkshake at the building. Jeordie stares in longing at the destroyed strawberry goop on the ground, debating if the 5 second rule worked for drinks too. Pogo takes a switchblade out to cut you two loose.

"I got the perfect sound bites on tape we can sample for Cake and Sodomy, of you moaning like a whore and that guy being a general asshole," Brian tells you, and you roll your eyes.

"After nearly being killed by a psychotic mall cop, that's all you have to say? Typical."

"What did you guys even do?!" Jeordie asks.

You dig out the photo strip from Brian's back pocket, and pass it to the other guys. Pogo nods, stroking his goatee like a critic.

"That's art."

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 25 (Orange)

Summary: Well... when Bo fucks up, she really fucks up, Luckily, CVS is open 24/7. Even luckier, Alistair’s coming with her. How hard could it be to get some damn pink hair dye anyway?

---

There was nothing like the Normandy needing some repair work done that made him appreciate down time.

“You like that, Saren? I got it from your favorite place as a little surprise while I was out getting supplies for everyone.”

The small, round ball of fur continued to shove his food into his bulging cheeks. He was going a little faster than usual of course – that's what happened when he got his favorite snacks – but soon it would all be stored away for later. Until then, he would continue to look absolutely adorable as he sat in his enclosure.

Alistair had picked up more food and bedding for the hamster while he was out, along with a few chew toys and a new hide. Maybe he was spoiling Saren, but... well, why not? Space hamsters may have lived longer than their Earth counterparts, but they still maxed out at 10. They hadn't been sure how old   he was, so... why not make every day count?

Besides, he had pissed on Miranda. That made him a hero.

“It was really busy at the shop when I popped in today. I guess word got out that I go there.” He chuckled as he watched his hamster finish stuffing himself silly. “All full? You look like a little beach ball, Sar.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore he saw Saren's cheeks puff out in indignation.  At any rate, he was soon tunneling into his bedding, to wherever he was storing his food in this cage layout. Alistair would find the remains eventually when he cleaned. It was kind of like one of the weirdest treasure hunts he had ever taken part in...

“Well, bye I guess.”

He shrugged his shoulders and started to return to his desk. However. A beeping from his omni-tool drew the Spectre's attention. There was a message there from Bo – fucked my omni-tool again, might have water damage. Fix?

Oh great... water damage.

“She's lucky I got some extra parts when I went shopping.” Alistair shook his head as he grabbed his tool box and jacket. “Saren, watch the room while I'm gone. If you see anyone from Cerberus sneaking around, you know what to do.”

That was of course look cute to entice them in, then bite the shit out of them. It was a good plan, and Saren executed it like a pro. That's why he always felt a little better when he left to go on missions. How could he not when he had his own personal attack hamster?

Bo hadn't said where she was, but he knew her enough that he stopped by the crew floor to find the XO office. The door was open, so he nudged it open and stepped through. There was water running – was she showering?

Well, good to know she trusted him.

“It's on the desk!” Her voice called out over the water. “Did Saren like the snacks you got?”

Alistair settled into his CO's desk in order to fix her very water-logged omni-tool. He cocked his eyebrow as he examined it further. At first he thought it was a trick of the light, but parts of the band looked to be faded to almost white. A smell test confirmed it as he shook his head. Luckily, he had a replacement band in her size.

“Yeah. Did you forget to take this off when you were bleaching your roots though?”

Bo shut the water off – must've been done rinsing. “Some of it dripped while I was working.”

Of course it did. Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled the stained band off. After that, it was simple diagnostic and replacement. Apart from the soldering of some replacement bits around the screen, he could've done it in his sleep. Luckily, he was awake so that made it go much faster.

He hummed to himself as he worked. “No big deal, I figured you'd need a new one eventually so I picked one up.”

“Gotta love a well-stocked tech.” Bo sounded like she was shifting around. Then she stopped moving. “Aw fuck...”

Alistair cocked his eyebrow as he put the omni-tool down briefly. “Everything alright in there?”

His XO didn't answer. From the sounds of things, she was getting dressed. At least he knew she hadn't fallen or anything, but her silence was a little concerning. However, going into the bathroom was a bad idea, so he was left waiting on the other side.

“Bo?”

Two red eyes were soon on him. “We're going to have to go back to CVS.”

At first, he started to open his mouth to ask why. That question was answered for him as Bo came into view,  adjusting her shirt as she walked. She had indeed finished bleaching her roots and touching up the color but...

Well, that wasn't pink. In fact, it was pretty damn fucking orange.

She shot him a look that definitely could've killed. “Well, get it over with.”

Alistair returned the omni-tool to his toolbox for later and started patching up details for returning to the dock. “Well... let's be honest, ginger's better on me than you. You can fix that at least, right?”

After all, there was only one redheaded Shepard on the Normandy, and he was under 6 feet tall. Besides, pink really was more her color anyway. He may have been an utter failure when it came to fashion, but at least he sometimes knew basic color theory.

Sometimes, anyway... he still didn't see why he couldn't wear neon blue sneakers with green laces.

“Yeah, just go already.” her hood was already up over the nightmare. “Before anyone really starts making Shepard siblings jokes.”

Perish the thought...

---

“Have I mentioned how much I hate C-SEC?”

“Many, many times.”

Alistair could feel a dull headache throbbing at the base of his implant as he and Bo finally cleared security. For some reason, flying in on the fucking Normandy always attracted some measure of attention. He wouldn't have minded, but they were kind of on a tight schedule.

Bo still had her hood up as they walked. “I swear I checked that damn box before I bought it, how the fuck did this happen?”

“You're asking the wrong guy, maybe the manufacturer mixed up the packages or something.” He shrugged. “I'll check it out later once we get back.”

Hell, maybe a low blood sugar had caused it. Bo might not have been as sensitive to biotic-induced hypoglycemia as he was, but there were times she still got it. For all he knew, this could have been a hypo fuck up. Of course, he'd never suggest that – that was just insult to injury.

What could he say, he was a paragon of virtue like that. Though, maybe he should consider adding a CGM to her omni-tool when he got back...

At least the CVS didn't look too busy from the outside. The parking lot looked pretty empty, but that was probably due to the time. Even the Citadel had slow periods between shifts after all – people had to sleep and eat sometime. It was just a stroke of luck they hit it when they did.

What wasn't so lucky was the guy Bo all but body checked as she entered the store.

Alistair opened his mouth to apologize, but he didn't get the chance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone coming. His reflexes kicked in, and soon a glowing blue barrier was erected around whatever was moving towards him. A shot ricocheted, and then they were down on the ground with a hole in their leg.

Huh. Now why would two guys in dark masks with guns be in a CVS? And why did the few people in there look like they had just seen a ghost?

“Oh, thank God. I thought - “ The clerk paused, realizing who was standing over her would-be robbers as if they did this every day – which, to be fair, they kind of did. It was just usually in armor. “Wait... are you Commander Shepard?”

Alistair was already checking vitals through the barrier. “Yeah. Bo, go get your stuff. I'll handle these two until C-SEC shows up.”

Their gear and weapons were honestly nothing special, and their plan seemed laughable at best. It was just their luck they had run into amateur hour at thievery school. Well, no doubt they had both earned scholarships to clown college for their boneheaded stunts.

At least the bullet wound didn't look like it had broken anything vital. He'd be able to stand trial for sure at this rate.

“Fuck...” Yeah, his sentiments exactly. “How'd you find us?”

Bo appeared from the aisle, carrying the correct box under her arm. With her hood still up, she slid it over the counter. “We walked in. Can I buy this now, or does C-SEC need to count the total?”

“Oh, they didn't get the chance to take anything! You two showed up just as soon as they drew their guns!” There were stars in the clerk's eyes as she ran Bo up. “I don't know how to thank you, I thought I was going to get shot!”

Alistair's medigel applicator dinged as it dispensed the appropriate dose for the would-be robber still trapped in his barrier. It would hold until he got proper medical attention with C-SEC. With that done, he checked on the other genius. He was still on the floor, groaning.

No surprises there – it was hard to take a full body check from Bo “The Pink Monster” Shepard and  make it out without anything broken. Definitely had at least some kind of concussion if the unfocused vision was anything to go by.

Well, at least he didn't crack his skull. Those were messy.

“I doubt they would've hit, their aim was terrible.” Bo accepted her bag just as the C-SEC sirens announced their arrival. “Well, took them long enough.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Al, mind handling them? I'm gonna get back to the Normandy.”

Normally, this was the part where a commanding officer would have totally pulled rank and made his XO stay. After all, he hated dealing with C-SEC as much as anyone did. However, unlike most CO's, he wasn't a total asshole. That he saved for people who deserved it.

“Yeah, hurry up before they realize it's you.”

Bo actually passed two C-SEC officers on her way out, hood pulled low. Alistair shook his head as he straightened up. His hands still felt sticky from the medigel, but there wasn't much he could do about that at the moment.

At least there were no news cameras.

“Stop right-” A turian with purple tattoos lowered her gun. “Commander Shepard?”

He responded with an awkward wave that highlighted the sticky residue from the medigel. At least nobody could blame him for the gunshot – for once he wasn't armed, even though his Spectre status gave him that permission. Who needed to bring a gun into CVS anyway, except idiots like the ones on the floor? “Wrong place, right time. These two need medical attention, but I think they'll be ok. Their pride, not so much, but I can't fix that.”

That dull headache promised to get worse with the incredulous looks he was getting from the officers. Alistair could only hope that the store's cameras were working, otherwise they were going to have to interview him. And oh, he hated going down to the C-SEC offices more than pretty much everything except the Illusive Man, low blood sugar, and the sound of his own voice.

Bo better thank him for this one later... hopefully when her hair was back to pink. Again, orange really was more of his color. Chalk it up to the Irish genes and all.

“So... guess you want to have a chat then?”

Why did he even ask... fuck. He should've stayed in his room with Saren.

[frommainetospain2020]

The Visa Saga

Ultimately, the most daunting part of the pre-study abroad process, is obtaining a visa. In the era of COVID-19, this daunting task is magnified ten-fold. Not wanting to be outdone by my 2016 counterpart, I took it upon myself to be overly abundantly prepared for my visa appointment. The pandemic has limited travel to the point that people need a valid visa in order to get into the country. CIEE had to push the dates of orientation because of all of the delays with getting placements, and getting the necessary documents to people.

The hardest part of the process, as I said in my previous post, is to get the background check. The background check also requires a thing called an apostille, which is basically an internationally accepted notarization. If you ask others within my program how long the FBI apostille process took, the answers may shock you. I, however, went a different route. The Boston consulate allowed a state police issued background check. Let me back up a second. I couldn’t get the FBI background check and apostille because my fingerprints were rejected, and the places I could go to have them done were extremely limited. Because of this, I got them from the Maine State Police and the Secretary of State. My apostille, from the time I sent in the request, to the time that I received it, was about a week. The FBI, in contrast, takes like 8 weeks.

In the same regard as college study abroad Steven, I made like 4 copies of everything. If they needed an original or a copy, I was gonna be ready for it.

So, I won’t bore you with the knitty gritty details about the visa process itself. If you’re curious, it’s available online. Google it. These blog posts, while shared for you to read, are a way of helping me to remember these experiences, when I inevitably forget them a few years down the line.

So let’s get to the experiences themselves... Picture it, Bangor, August 3, 2020. I had gotten a Greyhound ticket to get to Boston because the thought of driving in Boston stresses me out. I drove to Bangor International Airport in the morning for my bus which left at 9 AM. I parked my car in long term parking (which cost me $22 after a day and a half. The second trip was more manageable, which I’ll explain in a bit). Eventually, the bus came and a handful of people got on with me.

Now, if you’re reading this, and you’re a Facebook friend of mine, you may recall a post about how you could make a sitcom solely based on the characters you meet on a bus. And to that notion, I was most definitely not kidding.

Enter character #1. Smoking mother who doesn’t understand online banking. The woman sat a few seats behind me. At some point early in the ride, she called her bank, and I could tell from the tone of her voice that she was agitated. She apparently didn’t know that certain transfers in online banking had a charge that went along with it, and was asking for the bank to remove them. Sorry lady, that’s not how it works. She also left her kid as she stepped off the bus to smoke. “I’ll be right back” she said, to her son who was like 5. In her defense, it was super quick, but anyway...

Enter character #2, the woman with a better resting b**** face than me. It’s no secret that I like to sit alone on transportation. So, I was banking on not having to sit next to anyone. Until we got to New Hampshire... There was a girl sitting across from me, and by the time we got to Portsmouth, NH, we were the only two that were sitting by ourselves. However, when a rider needed a seat, he looked at the two of us, and made the decision that I looked more approachable. At least, as approachable as one can look with a face mask. So you win this round, lady with a better RBF than me...

In all honesty, the guy who sat next to me was super nice, and helped me navigate South Station to get where I needed to go, so cheers to you friend. I don’t remember your name, because I’m writing this over a month after it happened, so I apologize.

So, after a grueling 5 1/2 hour bus ride, we make it to South Station. For this initial visa appointment, I opted to couch surf with my cousin, who lived in Boston. So I made my way to the Fenway T Stop.

When I got there, I wasn’t sure how strict Boston was with jaywalkers, so I walked to the crosswalk at the end of the street and waited for the walk signal. Spoiler alert, that didn’t really last very long...

So my cousin greeted me, but I sat quietly for a bit because my cousin and her roommates were working virtually, so I mainly just surfed the internet.

That night, we went to a Greek restaurant, and I got a gyro. Barely ate any of it, because, you know, the whole “stomach the size of an egg” thing. But I digress...

She had an air mattress that I slept on, but deflated drastically by the time the morning came.

By that point, it was time to go to my visa appointment. I made my way to the consulate, showed the doorman my ID, he printed me a name badge and I made my way upstairs. The elevators were interesting, because you choose your floor from a screen and the elevator you get will get you to your desired floor. You gotta enjoy the little things.

The appointment took a bit longer than I anticipated. The person processing the visas was in a meeting, so it was a lot of “hurry up and wait”. In this time frame, a guy went up to the counter a few times for some reason, speaking in semi-understandable Spanish. Once I finally could come to the window, there was a woman who looked like a Spanish Ariana Grande beside me. I assume she was trying to either get a green card for herself, or her American husband. At least, that’s what my subpar Spanish skills understood.

After having to fix a field on my visa application, I was told to email the consulate in 3 weeks to see if the visa is ready, so I had accomplished what I needed to do. I made my way back to my cousin’s apartment and waited until I could go to the bus terminal for my return ride.

My cousin and I then went to a Mexican restaurant, basically next door to the Greek one from the day prior. I got a burrito bowl, and again, barely ate any. To kill time while my cousin and her roommates were working, I decided to crack away at my read-through of the Song of Ice and Fire books. I eventually made my way back to South Station and to the bus terminal. This bus was PACKED. The line of people was suuuuuuuper long. I barely found a seat. Luckily, the woman I sat next to was getting off in Portsmouth, the first stop, so once she left, I had the seat to myself.

Enter bus character # 3: The loud woman who doesn’t practice common courtesy on a bus full of people. Again for all of you Facebook friends out there, I made a post about a woman that sounded like Pensatucky from Orange is the New Black. Yeah, this is her. She was talking to her boyfriend, I’m assuming, but she was doing so extremely loudly, in a practically quiet bus. The girl that sat across from me looked at me, and we both gave a look of “WTF?”. I conversed with this girl for most of the bus ride, where we talked in depth about Harry Potter, which ya’ll know I’m very oft to do.

The return to Maine was rough, because it was pouring rain off and on. Because of the weather, the bus driver said that he was gonna drop Bangor off at the park and ride instead of the airport, which posed a problem, because my car was at the airport. Eventually, he said he’d go to the airport, so it worked out fine.

So, I paid my $22 parking fee and went on my way. This was also rough, because the rain made the Interstate drive very difficult. I didn’t get home until close to midnight.

Fast forward 3 weeks. Picture it, Bangor, August 24, 2020. I, again, take the Greyhound to Boston. The same bus driver. This time, it was boarded at the park and ride, so I didn’t need to pay $22 to park there, which was nice. Also this time, I managed to keep my seat to myself, which was nice. This bus ride probably had the least amount of interesting bus characters, but honestly, I don’t mind...

The bus ride was fairly standard, the main difference between this one and the first one, is that this one had much less people at the big stops.

When we got to Boston, I maneuvered my way to the Arlington stop. I had gotten a hotel room this time, as my cousin was moving out of Boston. I stayed at the Hotel 140 in Back Bay. Not horrible, but not great... So, the first thing I did in the hotel, was the thing I do literally every day of my life. I took a nap. 

After that, I ventured out to find something to eat for dinner. I went to the Prudential Center, which was just down the street. There was a lot of construction happening, so it was a bit tricky to maneuver, but I managed. I decided to see what stores were there and see what food outlets there were. While doing this, a guy was maskless and a security guard told him to put on a mask, to which he replied “I have freedoms.” or some BS similar to that... I discovered a grocery storeesque thing called Eataly. Some of you may have heard of it. It had a bunch of Italian food and other stuff, but it was EXPENSIVE. So, long story short, I didn’t buy anything there.

The meal I ended up having was a chicken caesar salad from California Pizza Kitchen. I managed to get a couple meals out of the half portion salad. If that salad was a half portion, I’d hate to see the full sized one...

After I got the salad in a to-go container, I bought a few Vitamin Waters at the CVS right next door, and went back to my hotel. That was about the extent of what I did of interest that night.

In the morning, I wanted to try to take advantage of the hotel’s continental breakfast, but it was very mediocre, so I decided not to. I decided to walk to Dunkin Donuts. I ordered 2 egg and cheese wake up wraps, and 10 Munchkins. If my dieticians read this, I know. I shouldn’t have them. I’m making progress though, so 🤷‍♂️.

Because I’m lazy, I took the T back, because it was about a 15 minute walk. I ate one of the wraps, and a single munchkin, and then set off for the consulate, which was basically right around the corner. Went through the same song and dance, show the doorman your ID, get the name badge, go to the 9th floor, yadda yadda yadda.

So I go in, and there’s a girl at the visa counter who I learned is doing the same program I am. After her initial appointment was done, they got my visa for me. When they handed it to me, they handed it via my Italian visa. This confused me, but then I turned back a page to see my Spanish visa on the other side. So to that, I bid them farewell, the guy at the consulate said “Enjoy your time in Spain!” and I left.

Because checkout at my hotel was at 11, and my bus was at 4:30, it was gonna make for a long afternoon. When I got back to the hotel, I took a shower and surfed the internet for a bit, before I had to check out.

Once I checked out, I went to the T station, where the card that I thought had money on it didn’t, so I had to buy another. I took the T back to South Station. From there, I continued to read through the Song of Ice and Fire books, as well as checking social media, as one is oft to do these days. I used my power bank sparingly to last the time I was there. I gotta say, 5 hours of downtime in a bus terminal is ROUGH.

So, fast forward to right before boarding, and enter bus character # 4, thug looking guy with a heavy NY accent. This guy was actually super nice. We chatted before the bus boarded. He’s the same age as my mom, but honestly looked much younger to me. We mainly complained about how long the bus was taking, but yeah, despite not being crazy, I’d still classify this guy as a character.

The biggest character on this bus ride was actually the bus driver. He was, I’m guessing, from India or a similar country. When someone was parked where they weren’t supposed to be in Portsmouth, he honked his horn and loudly called them a motherf*****, so that the passengers could hear. 

I wanted to wrap this up since it’s a pretty long blog post, so basically we got back, no issues, and I drove out of the park and ride to drive home. Shortly before my exit, the right lane of the interstate was blocked off for construction. This was like 11:15 at night. So I had one lane, and as much visibility as my car headlights could give me. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much, because I accidentally hit a porcupine. 😢 I almost hit a skunk too, but he was enough in the closed off lane to be out of the way. This broke the clamp on my exhaust system and started making a noise until I got it fixed. It was a mess.

Anyway, that’s the end of the visa saga, meeting interesting characters along the way, and getting the thing that got me where I am now. In Madrid.

Fin.

[honeybee-babe]

Sharing is Caring (Except When You’re Sick) Part 3

Part three of my collab Sick Luther and Sick Klaus fic with @hargreevesstyles. Can also be read on her blog!

Meanwhile, at the CVS check-out counter, Klaus held the sleeve of the hoodie Diego had forced him to wear up to his face.

“Hih… xngt-ishuu! Ht’TDZshieww!” He scrunched up his nose afterwards and the itchiness that had barely been affected by the sneezes, and rubbed his hoodie-sleeve covered knuckles underneath his nostrils to prevent another outburst. Diego tried not to watch. He would definitely be washing that before he wore it again. In fact, maybe he’d just give it to Klaus.

“Bless you, dear!” The middle-aged cashier flashed him a warm smile as she put the cough suppressants and expectorants (“Might as well get both, knowing you!”) into a brown paper bag.

“Thanks! I’ll take that!” Klaus said with a grin as he took the bag from her, punctuating the sentence with a watery sniffle. Diego rolled his eyes, not looking up from the card reader as he punched in his pin. The total was a bit higher than he’d hoped for, but he tried not to let his frustration show. At this insistence of Vanya’s frantically scribbled list, they’d stocked up on tissues, cough drops, Gatorade, the whole nine yards, even buying extra of the stuff they already had at home. Plus Emergen-C for Klaus. And ice cream, he’d insisted on ice cream (“It’s for Luther! It’ll help with his throat.”). Yeah, right. But Diego had agreed, not wanting to waste time arguing with a pouty Klaus. He just wanted to get home and give everyone their pills ASAP.

“Always best to plan ahead, I guess, hmm?” The cashier smiled at Diego, holding up the last remaining item -- Echinacea -- and putting it in the bag turned to Diego. “You make sure your boyfriend takes this right away before that cold gets worse!” Diego blushed deep red. Klaus chuckled out loud, stopping himself when he felt a bit of a tickle forming in his throat at the tail end of it. He cleared his throat subtly, which subdued it, but it still lingered a bit.

“Will do. But he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my brother.”

“Oh my god.” The cashier brought her hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay. We’re not exactly twins -- and I’m not sick,” Klaus said with a proud smile. “It’s for my brother.”

“You’re sick?” The cashier looked at Diego with a raised brow.

“No,” he sighed, “he means our other brother.”

Speaking of brothers and twins, Five was surprised to find Allison and Vanya speaking in hushed tones in the living room. He licked the peanut butter off his fingers as he stood in the entryway and watched them deep in conversation

“I don’t know, Van. But I’ve never seen him so sick, he’s always had a pretty decent immune system”.

“But then how did he get so sick?” Vanya asked, voice soft and scared. “I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Five cut in, crossing his arms smugly over his chest as he stepped into. Allison whipped her head up at him and shot him daggers.

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, Five.”

“Let me guess, you’re talking about Luther, who is sick, and you’re trying to figure out how it happened.”

“Is this some sort of weird twin thing?”

“No, Allison. It’s a having-a-brain thing.”

Five explained how it really hadn’t been that difficult to figure it out, even without his ability to literally jump through his brother’s locked bedroom door -- which he’d only done once, when he heard him whimpering, thank you very much. The fact that Luther had been holed up in his room for two days was enough for him to draw that conclusion -- and let’s just say the largest Hargreeves sibling wasn’t exactly the best at stifling his sneezes. Plus, Five had passed by the pot of chicken soup boiling on the stove. It had to be for someone.

“And to answer your previous question,” Five turned to Vanya, “have you ever tried living in complete isolation for four years? Because I doubt you would feel very healthy when -- “

“We come bearing gifts!” Klaus stood in the doorway to the house, holding up one of the paper bags from the drugstore up above his head with a huge grin on his face. Even despite his chipper energy, his red-tinged nose and slightly-more-pronounced than usual pallor was unmistakable. As was the slight hoarseness of his voice.

Diego trailed behind with two more bags, filled to the brim. You couldn’t even see his face behind them. Vanya rushed to grab one of the bags off of Diego. As they started unpacking everything, Klaus started laughing.

He joked, “What, are we opening up our very own hospital?”

“Come here, ghost boy. We’ve gotta get some of this stuff in you,” Diego ordered.

Klaus groaned and sat down next to his stabby brother. Diego opened the Emergen-C and a water bottle and poured the drink mix in. He shook it up and handed it to Klaus who just set it down beside him.

“Drink it, headass,” Five said.

Again, Klaus groaned. He opened the bottle and drank about a quarter of it. As soon as he put the bottle down, Diego was forcing pills into his hands. Mucinex and Sudafed along with a couple of cough drops.

“I’m not sick!” Klaus said.

Vanya jumped in, “You’re going to catch it. The thermometer I brought downstairs that Diego took your temperature with...I had just used it on Luther and I don’t think we cleaned it in between uses, and...yeah.”

“Hh’-gkSCHh-nGXTchiew! Hh’tsxchyuu!” Klaus caught the sneezes in his palms like normal, but what he forgot was that Diego’s sweatshirt was about four times his size and the sleeves draped over his hands. “Sorry.” He sniffled lightly.

“Bless you,” Allison said pointedly.

The attention of the whole room was on Klaus, something he’d usually bask in but this time he felt vulnerable and uncomfortable in the spotlight.

He grumbled, “I’m not sick! I sneeze all the time!”

Five shrugged, “He’s not wrong.” Still he picked up the thermometer off of the coffee table and blinked over to Klaus’ side. “Open up.”

“Really? This? Agai-ow, what the hell, Five?” Klaus scolded, as his tiniest sibling tried to shove the thermometer in his mouth as he was speaking. Klaus ripped the device out of his brother’s hand and put it in his mouth. After it beeped, he looked at it. “Look, 98.7. It’s pretty much the same as last time.”

“You went up a tenth of a degree,” Diego noted.

Klaus rolled his eyes. “What-fucking-ever, Diego!”

“Take the pills already!”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard that from you,” Klaus chuckled.

It was Diego’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah and it’s the fucking last time too so don’t get used to it.”

Klaus ignored him and swallowed the pills dry. With another threatening look from Five, he took another swig of the Emergen-C.

“I’m gonna go check on Luther,” Allison said.

Five added, “I’ll come with. I’ve yet to see him in all his sick glory.”

The two disappeared, Five actually walking with Allison instead of blinking away.

“Hehht’TSCHHhyeu-nkTT!” Klaus moaned lightly after.

“Bless you. Where’s Ben?”

Klaus rubbed his nose vigorously. “Uhh, he’s right here. Yeah. No, no I’m not. Shut the hell up! Whatever.” He turned to face his visible siblings. “I will not be manifesting Ben for the time being, as he is being a complete bitch!”

“What’s he doing?” Vanya asked.

“Pestering me! He’s all like ‘Oooohhh Klaus! This is exactly how Luther was at the start! Blah blah blah!’ like, I don’t care!” Klaus ranted. “I feel fine! I know that you’re all used to me being useless but I actually think I’m okay for once and no one will hip off my fucking dick!”

It was silent. Klaus sighed. He felt guilty. Sure, Ben was annoying him but Klaus was the only way his siblings could see Ben. He couldn’t keep him from them like he was his master. He didn’t want to be like that.

“Whatever,” Klaus muttered. Slowly, Ben became visible.

Klaus tuned out the conversation as he slumped back down on the couch.

Up in Luther’s room, Allison and Five were trying to give Luther everything they could without absolutely filling his stomach cavity with different types of medicine. They used some spray Klaus found that was supposed to numb your sore throat. Luther said it didn’t work.

They waited a few minutes after applying everything. Allison was impatient to see improvement. She hated seeing any of her siblings feel like this, especially Luther. He was supposed to be their leader, and when he couldn’t lead them who was supposed to?

For the next hour, Allison checked Luther’s temperature every fifteen minutes. It finally dropped back down to 100. Still a fever, not not nearly as bad as his 103.4 degree fever from before.

“Allison?” Luther asked weakly. His voice had become so much more raw and broken as his coughing had increased. “Can I have another cough drop? My throat hurts so badly.”

Allison nods and goes to give him another one. She hands him two this time, just in case. She then announces that she’s going to go get some tea for him because the cough drops aren’t working as well as she’d like.

All Allison can think about is how sick Luther was. She had had to change his shirt because of how sweat-soaked he was. Luther was obviously embarrassed but he let Allison do it without complaining. That was a big clue to Allison that he was really miserable. He had started having more productive coughs, ones that were wet so everyone in the room could feel his sickness.

Five had left shortly after Allison had taken Luther’s temperature the second time. She didn’t know where he went, but she knew that Five didn’t like seeing his brother in such discomfort. Luther wasn’t one to really show how he was feeling. He was almost always still as a stone. It was odd for them to see him break his walls down for once.

As Allison poured the tea into the kettle, a quiet voice asked, “Can I have some? Only if there’s enough water. Diego said I should keep drinking it just in case.”

“Of course. Sit down,” Allison said.

It was Klaus who had entered the room and he sat down quickly and quietly. Allison would have noticed that he was acting off if she wasn’t so worried about Luther.

“I’m gonna take this up to Luther and then I’ll come back down to hang out with you,” she promised.

Klaus shook his head, “No no no, you don’t have to. You can stay with Luther, I know you want to. You don’t have to feel obligated to stick around. I’ve got Ben here.”

“Klaus, I want to hang out with you,” Allison’s voice faltered. “I thought it would be nice.” She couldn’t help but be upset that Klaus thought she was only offering to hang out with him out of pity. That’s what Klaus was used to: people pitying him.

“Oh, okay then.” He grabbed a napkin off of the center of the table and held it up over his face. “Hh’eiishieww-ishhew! H’nxght!”

“Bless you. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

Klaus nodded, “Must be pollen or something. Diego took my temperature and I feel pretty okay otherwise. I’ve been sneezing all day, but that’s something I’m pretty used to.”

He was right. Klaus was a pretty sneezy guy. Due to his several-year-long relationship with snorting cocaine, Klaus was set off by almost every strong smell there was. He had grown up being allergic to pollen and he had found out in his late teens that he was quite allergic to cats. Klaus wondered if there was anything Luther even could be allergic to on the moon. Moon dust? Recycled air? He didn’t know.

“As long as you’re not feeling too badly,” Allison said.

“Hihh...hh...fuck I...hh’ishhyu! Ugh. My god!”

Allison giggled.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Allison continued laughing.

Klaus feigned anger. “What’s so funny?”

“You just had that dramatic ass buildup for that tiny sneeze!” She confessed.

Klaus cracked a smile but then quickly went back to faking his furiousness. “My sneezes aren’t tiny! They’re quite average, thank you very much! They come out so damn fast sometimes, it’s like they’re all on top of one another. They all fuck me in the ass one after another. It’s like a damn orgy but without any orgasming.”

“One time I read that if you sneeze enough it can make you orgasm,” Allison doted. “Not sure if that’s true though.”

“I’ll have to try it out someday,” Klaus said. “Not today though.”

Allison joked, “You better be quiet about it because Diego would not be happy to hear about you triggering your allergies or your asthma on purpose.”

“You’re doing what?” Diego’s voice came in.

“Nothing! Just fun and games, that’s all,” Klaus said.

“Allison mentioned your asthma is it acting up? Are you feeling alright? Christ, Klaus you have to tell us these things Allison where’s the thermometer-“

Klaus laughed, “Calm the hell down, Diego. It’s not acting up, I promise. I’ll tell you if it is, you know that!”

It was times like this where Klaus really saw how much Diego cared for him. He could become so worried in .2 seconds and it always threw Klaus off of his game. Part of Klaus’ whole routine was people not caring about him and it kind of threw a wrench in things when people started to care.

Diego looked at Allison with the same urgency, only calming down a bit when she nodded her head in agreement with Klaus, who was sniffling and rubbing at his nose.

“You mentioned his asthma --”

“In jest, Diego. Jeez, lighten up!” Klaus play-chastised his brother, shoving him lightly with his free hand, which of course left his brother completely unfazed. Diego was similarly unfazed by Allison’s explanation of their previous discussion. While Allison and Klaus chuckled again, Diego’s jaw remaining locked and he rolled his eyes.

“Hilarious. Klaus is getting sick, Luther’s upstairs hacking his lungs out and you think it’s the perfect time for a stand-up routine.”

There was a silence after that. The spoon Allison was using to stir a cup of tea hovered in mid-air. Even Klaus’ sniffling and nose rubbing stopped as he stared at Allison in excitement, waiting for her response. Finally, she started stirring the cup of tea again.

“Yes, Diego. My brothers are sick,” she said, voice calm. A small smile on her lips. “And I’m making them feel better by being a nice, pleasant presence. You should try it, god forbid you might like it.”

“For real, D, don’t be a dick. Sissy is a mom, she’s the best at this kind of thing -- see?” Klaus took the cup of tea from her hand as she offered it. “Thanks, Ally!” He blew on it as Diego shot him a look. “Hey, you’re good at this stuff, too, man!” he quickly added on. Klaus was truly grateful for all of the times Diego had helped him out in the past when he was sick, before he was sober. But now his brother went into panic mode the second he heard him sniffle. It really killed his vibe.

“You’re just a little… intense,” Klaus said with a small grin, quickly covering it up as he raised the mug to his lips. He sipped way too quickly. Not only did he burn his tongue, but steam rising from the mug made his nose itch. He rubbed at it again to delay the inevitable reaction.

“Well, if you’d been in my shoes all these years maybe you’d understand why I don’t think it’s funny to see you make a joke out of it when you’re sick.”

“But I’m not even sick!” Klaus bit back, in that same whiny tone Diego had become familiar with over the years. His nose chose the perfect time to finalize its reaction in that moment. He hastily set the tea down on the counter as he again buried his face in his hoodie sleeve. “nxXGsht-ixgtshu! Hih! H’dtZshiuhh--fuck!”

“Not sick my ass-”

“Bless you!” The three siblings whipped their heads to the entrance to the kitchen, but Vanya was standing at the stove seconds later, having rushed in in a panic. She was just as bad as Diego. She fussed over the large pot of soup boiling on the stove, lifting a small spoonful up to her mouth to taste-test and blowing on it. “Diego, I told you to watch it while I was gone!”

“Sorry, Van, I was too busy watching over our idiot brother.”

“Rude!” Klaus gasped, moving his hand to cover his mouth in pretend shock.

“Klaus, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick yet?” Vanya asked, as if it was an inevitability. She turned to look at him for concern, the spoon still raised to her lips, her anxiety over his well being overpowering her anxiety over dinner. Diego swapped anxieties with her, diving in with another spoon and tasting the soup without blowing on it before she could bring the spoon to her lips. He burned his tongue in his haste, but he nodded through the little wince of pain.

“It’s done.” Vanya shifted her focus back to her own soup-filled spoon and finally tasted it, nodding in agreement.

“Klaus, come get your soup.” Vanya started ladling the soup into the six bowls she had laid out.

“Wait, it’s for me?” her curly-haired brother asked in mild shock (again, people caring about him was not the reality he’d known most of his life). Though what came across was annoyance as he crossed his arms over his chest. He’d sat at the counter watching them prepare the soup for the last hour, sniffling discreetly and rubbing his nose as Diego rapidly chopped vegetables and flung them into the pot with perfect accuracy, Vanya quietly stirring and adding the seasonings. “Give it to Luther, he’s the one who needs it. I’m not--”

“Klaus, eat the damn soup!” Ben had apparently appeared behind him, and he could hear the eye-roll in his voice. Klaus’ living siblings had blinked at him when he’d apparently cut himself off mid-sentence, assuming he was going to sneeze, since he’d cut himself off in the middle of the sentence. When it didn’t happen, Allison sprung into action, picking up a bowl and putting it into Klaus’ hands. She chuckled as she brought a perfectly manicured hand up to his cheek and patted it gently.

“Klaus, do you really think we made this whole pot of soup just for you? And you guys say I’m a narcissist.” Klaus watched as Diego shook his head and walked over to the table with a bowl of soup, Allison and Vanya following shortly after.

“Oh.” Klaus looked down at the soup in his hands and tried to hide the little smile that had formed on his face. He knew for a fact that they had made the soup because of Luther and him, and even if he was convinced he wasn’t sick, the fact that they cared so much and they were going to make a family dinner out of it made him feel just a little bit warm and fuzzy.

“Where’s Luther?” Klaus asked as he set his soup down on a placemat. “Shouldn’t he be the one we’re worried about feeding?”

“He’ll eat in his room. He needs to be quarantined,” Diego said, blowing on a spoonful of his own soup.

“I’ll bring him some!” Klaus rose from his seat.

“Absolutely not.” Diego shot him daggers. Klaus slumped down into his seat with a pout and scooped up a spoonful of soup. “Allison, why don’t you bring it--”

“Oh, no, let him be. He’s asleep.”

“Again?” Allison gaped. “Well I guess that’s what his body needs more right now.”

“Mmmhmm,” Vanya responded a little too quickly, putting her water glass to her lips almost immediately afterwards and taking a big, audible gulp. All these years and she was still a terrible liar. Thankfully, everyone was so preoccupied with eating -- and, in Klaus’ case, trying not to sneeze -- that they’d let it slide.

Around twenty minutes prior, Vanya had left her precious soup entrusted to Diego’s care and walked upstairs to Luther’s room to check on him and ask if he was ready for dinner. Afraid that he might actually be asleep, she opened the door slowly and carefully, not making a sound. The sight that greeted her had been pretty surprising, and even more so touching.

Luther was lying on his bed in the fetal position, barely fitting on the twin XL mattress. His blankets had been pulled back up to his chin, hopefully due to the fever breaking. He was wheezing in that careful way that meant one miscalculated breath would send him into the harsh, liquidy coughs he’d been producing for the past hour or so, thanks to the hefty dose of Mucinex.

And at his side sat Five, probably the only one of the siblings who could fit next to Luther’s massive frame on the bed. He looked down at his brother with intense concentration, brows furrowed as he traced constellations on his broad back with his index finger.

“Gemini,” he announced softly. Despite his expression, his voice carried an air of tenderness Vanya hadn’t heard from him in years. Not since they were kids, and even then it was rare. And he never used it on her. Only Luther, and only when he really needed it.

“The twins,” Luther wheezed out, a small smile playing on his lips, which quickly dissipated as his jaw went slack with a shaky breath. Five quickly retracted his hand, just as Luther buried his face in his blankets. “Heh-nGXTchiew! Hahh-nXXT!” He was stifling again, and judging by the slight curl in Five’s lip, Vanya knew the reason why. Five had never done well with germs, and she caught his slight flinch when Luther’s blanketed form contracted a third time. “S-heh!-sorryfive-

‘nGXTSCH! Hhh’nXGTschiehh. Hhh… heh!”

Luther tensed in anticipation, and so did Five; Vanya could tell he was about to bounce. So she decided to be a good sister and do something about it.

Concentrating on the sound of Luther’s breathing, she focused her energy on his nose, sending little waves of energy flowing outwards against the walls of his nostrils from within, and thus applying pressure from the inside out; something she’d been doing to herself lately, whenever she had to sneeze in a crowded place, or just didn’t want to attract any attention to herself. She released her hold when Luther’s breathing evened out.

As if on cue, Luther let out a deep, wheezy sigh. Five relaxed again, chuckling a bit as he put his finger back gently on his brother’s back.

“That was a first. Gesundheit!” His voice still held the soft tone Vanya had feared it might lose. “How about Libra next?”

With a small smile on her face, Vanya had slipped out of the room even more quietly than she’d came in.

She walked back to the kitchen, satisfied with her ability to stop Luther from sneezing, and she wondered if she could possibly do the opposite. She would get to test this theory out at dinner.

[punkscowardschampions]

Janis & Jimmy

Janis: Don't get excited or anything Janis: only talking to you to look busy Jimmy: steal my job an' all or just my lines? Jimmy: so proud me Janis: technically I got you fired from that one Janis: and not to get ahead in the java game myself so Jimmy: fucked my future as a recruiter that Jimmy: tah very much Janis: 💔 Janis: what can I say? Janis: your chat has left a lot to be desired from the start Janis: though I'd happily pick up a CG shift now, nothing to do with your skillz or lack thereof Jimmy: You could've started this one with 'oi Jim don't put persuasive on the CV' and have done, mate but here we still are pissing about Jimmy: 🎻🎻 Jimmy: use your head and pick up a shift where Pete works now not where he burned his bridges if you want the good chat, girl Janis: Yeah 'cos you want me interrupting your bromance time more than I already do Janis: reverse psychology won't work on me either, boy Jimmy: Tell it to the lad who's rewriting a birthday classic in your honor 'cause that ain't me, babe Jimmy: Still got it bad after all this time he has 💘 Jimmy: #thejulieteffect Janis: God, Gracie didn't slip him an invite as a tip, did she Janis: will have to maim my face to avoid any further association with her, like Jimmy: Might've Jimmy: Much as we throw Shona on that Gracie sized bullet she's nowt but persistent Janis: Desperate is the word Janis: invite half the town, why not Janis: no girl needs that many 'idk you really so I got you a bath set' gifts Jimmy: Alright, alright I'll take yours back to the shop Jimmy: Calm down Janis: bung it her way Janis: still might get some 'gratitude' 🤞 Jimmy: 👌 Janis: cool so it's a plan Janis: you distract, I'll make myself scarce Jimmy: challenge accepted Janis: it's not known to be challenging Janis: but we have just discussed your shortcomings too so yeah Janis: maybe baby Jimmy: having her about when I ain't being paid is proper challenging Jimmy: you wanna sweeten the deal, rich girl Janis: Hmm, what you got in mind? Jimmy: we both make ourselves scarce Jimmy: I reckon that's a better plan Janis: maybe ain't earned persuasive still but Janis: you can tick off problem solver Jimmy: 👍 Jimmy: ain't gonna be a problem if have the dickheads in town have an invite to your gaff Jimmy: slip away easy through that #opendoor Jimmy: half* Janis: you forget I'm 1 outta 2 guests of honour Janis: sadly, you are the only one on that score Jimmy: Nah Jimmy: nobody but Pete's coming for you, babe and we can slip him a note ahead of time Janis: You really know how to make a girl feel special, huh 😏 Jimmy: 💕 Janis: is it worth me coming to you Janis: how long you got left on Jimmy: both feeling special now Jimmy: how #goals Janis: well you know Janis: hit up the CG already and the replacements aren't much Jimmy: 💔 for 'em and you Janis: don't look too 😢 for me when I show Janis: not #goals Jimmy: Drying my eyes on my apron as we speak, like Janis: need your 😎 Jimmy: that's alright til the fans wanna see my 😍 Janis: who are you kidding, Doris can't see in front of her face Janis: it's the accent Jimmy: she can see my 🍆 Jimmy: keeps her coming back Janis: please don't make me laugh Jimmy: sexual harassment is no laughing matter, dickhead Jimmy: she's a menace 👵🚫 Janis: you know you're asking for it, babe Janis: made your granny love no secret Jimmy: when I'm not 😢 over you I'm 🤤 over her Jimmy: busted Janis: can't fool me Janis: know what you're like far too well tbh Jimmy: see right through me you Jimmy: only gonna get more of a bighead the older you get, aren't you? Janis: don't plan on changing Janis: not that kind of birthday girl Jimmy: 👍 Janis: dunno why she's bothering Janis: 'less she can get Pete to fake marry her she ain't even competing Jimmy: shut up, he'd get a decent amount of song writing material outta that Jimmy: enough to consider it Jimmy: don't be giving ideas like that out for nowt Janis: so you're saying recruiters out for you but pimp/band manager is my calling Janis: cheers, keep it in mind Jimmy: can't be living off mummy and daddy forever, babe Jimmy: time's running out Janis: they're running out of kids who wanna be around them, more like Janis: you know they don't wanna be left just them and Gracie Jimmy: Give 'em the heads up and they'll have time to have a load more Janis: 💀💀💀 Jimmy: 💸💸💸 Janis: if they do, not me Janis: and all the others Janis: splitting it 10 ways makes it less impressive Jimmy: actually 💔 Janis: I know Janis: babysitting is your primary gig Janis: soz, like Jimmy: 🎻🎻 Janis: Poor, poor boy Janis: have to stick with your two Jimmy: You still ain't taken the 🐶 off me yet so it's 3 Janis: if you put 'dog dad' in your bio it's over Jimmy: saved that 💎 for the dating apps Janis: fairplay Janis: go over well with that crowd Jimmy: 🐶💕 Jimmy: gotta earn her keep somehow Janis: subtle Janis: what do you want, like Jimmy: other than 🐶💀 Janis: you love her, shut up Jimmy: bollocks Jimmy: you love her Janis: I know what I've 👀 Janis: and I've got plenty of blackmail evidence for when this all goes tits Jimmy: I know how to fake it Jimmy: tah for all the practise Janis: mhmm, 'cos you did such a top job at that Jimmy: 🥇 me Janis: Sure thing babe Janis: best bae ever Janis: fake enough for you? Jimmy: might be if you didn't mean every word Janis: Idiot Jimmy: you love me Jimmy: and you're on your way here, deny it Janis: I can't deny I'm en-route Janis: but that's like 96% because I need to hide Janis: no funny business Jimmy: I get it Jimmy: only thirsty for a fruit juice Janis: I ain't a toddler Janis: and obviously, I ain't looking for you to serve me either 🤷 Jimmy: you ain't a coffee drinker and we don't serve booze, pisshead Janis: 1. I'm gonna subtly wait for Pete to be free 2. we'll think of something Jimmy: 1. enjoy helping him close 2. he won't be thinking of owt when he's this hungover so enjoy doing that yourself an' all Janis: 🙄🙄 Janis: not entirely sure you barista boys are worth the hassle Jimmy: on you go then Jimmy: find a barman and solve all your problems Janis: no tah Janis: can't be going there Jimmy: 🎻💔🎻 Janis: it'd be like you cracking on with a miner Janis: assume your granddad was a miner Jimmy: be like me having a go on a 👻 Janis: can make that happen Janis: that kinda cool girlfriend, obvs Jimmy: 😍😍😍 Janis: find out the equipment Janis: not talking 🍆🤖s Jimmy: so I'll meet you in the cemetery or what? Jimmy: #datenight Janis: Such an emo Janis: called it and you out from day one Jimmy: Piss off Jimmy: You reckoned I wanted to suck Alex Turner's ballsack Jimmy: Indie and emo are different genres, mate Janis: It's all fringes and marding really, isn't it, mate Janis: point is, ghosts are everywhere Janis: have as much if not more luck in any house in this shithole of a town Jimmy: proper poetic you Jimmy: I smell a lyrical collab with your bf Janis: nah Janis: we both know muse is about as good as I got Jimmy: but there's no need to pass that along to Pete and have him 💔 Janis: Shut up Janis: he loves me just the way I am, and YOU'RE just jealous Jimmy: #duh Janis: if I wanted that kind of guilt-trip, I'd have stayed there Jimmy: The orchestra is raring to go here Jimmy: What more do you want? Janis: you Janis: dickhead Jimmy: I'm yours, dickhead Janis: Good Janis: I need you, like Jimmy: We don't need to be here, either of us Janis: I can't Janis: I can't be anywhere near that fucking party tomorrow Janis: it's not just because it's the usual bullshit family function either, like Janis: just Janis: nah Jimmy: Alright Jimmy: good thing I have a better idea Janis: Yeah? Jimmy: Nowt for you to do but come with me Janis: Alright Janis: obviously Janis: never gonna have better plans or better company 'round here so Jimmy: 🥇 Jimmy: come here and we'll go from there Janis: I am Janis: I'd almost forgot how long this bus took Janis: been that long, like Jimmy: you should be live tweeting Jimmy: fans love a throwback Janis: well, we both know what I should really be doing Janis: but ain't really feeling it and this bus driver is new Jimmy: 🤞 our top bloke ain't 💀💀💀 Jimmy: weren't meant to be part of the pact, like Janis: if he was on the outs, I'd have 💀 him at the wheel ages ago Janis: just that good Janis: call me the eternal optimist Jimmy: 🌹 by any other name Janis: peak romance always Jimmy: 💪🏆 Jimmy: you ain't seen nowt yet birthday girl Janis: Idiot Jimmy: 💕 Janis: do I need to bring anything Janis: not fishing for clues or nowt but could be relevant Jimmy: bring whatever you would to fuck off for a day Jimmy: we ain't coming back til its over Janis: okay Janis: just us? Jimmy: you can bring the dog if you want Janis: 😏 Jimmy: I draw the line at Pete's puppy dog eyes though Janis: 💔 Jimmy: You'll live and he's half 💀 so there ain't no challenge in smacking him down Janis: Hot Jimmy: 😏 Janis: is that my surprise? Jimmy: Do you want that to be your surprise? Janis: Yeah, I'm gonna be an accessory by admission Janis: think on, babe Jimmy: 👍 Janis: Your man of mystery bit is very unhelpful sometimes Jimmy: poor baby Jimmy: soz you can't handle being kept on your toes Janis: oh please Jimmy: What? Janis: I could run circles around you in my sleep Jimmy: go on then Janis: maybe Janis: if the plans allow time Jimmy: maybe I'll make time if it's that important to you to prove yourself, Juliet Janis: I know I don't need to prove myself to you Jimmy: 👌 Janis: fuck off Janis: you love me Jimmy: You're alright, for a rich girl Janis: I'm the best Jimmy: 🥇 or nowt babe Janis: #duh Jimmy: #youknowthedrill Janis: town is finally in sight Janis: jesus Jimmy: the new driver ain't winning me over 💔 for him Jimmy: sort it out knobhead Jimmy: 🎅 will get there before his bus, like Janis: N'awh Janis: you missed me? Jimmy: for a sec or two Jimmy: not owt to get a big head over Janis: have to work on that then, won't I Jimmy: hate for you to be bored while you're waiting for Pete to make you a drink Jimmy: gotta give you something to do Jimmy: it'll take him ages longer than two secs Janis: weird brag, mate Janis: usually the other way 'round but admire the honesty 😂 Jimmy: been a bit since I've made shit weird Jimmy: nice to know you've missed it Janis: you know Janis: keeps things interesting, you do Jimmy: Yeah Jimmy: part of the deal, like Janis: I'll renew your contract Janis: 👌 job Jimmy: tah Jimmy: might take you off the trial period for a bit Jimmy: see how you go Janis: 😏 Janis: might not hand in my notice Jimmy: won't have to get a replacement in then Janis: 💔 Janis: know how you love that Jimmy: 🎻🎻 Jimmy: keep disappointing me, you Janis: psh Jimmy: It's alright, well used to it, me Jimmy: nowt I can't handle Janis: We'll put that theory to the test when I get there Janis: 5 mins Jimmy: good Janis: thanks Janis: by the way Jimmy: you ain't opened your bath shit yet Jimmy: leave it out Janis: I've got to work on my so real surprise/grattitude some time, babe Janis: want me to fake it when I'm there Janis: alright Jimmy: that top job you reckoned I did faking it goes double for you, girl Jimmy: I ain't helping Pete close so you've got more time to piss about having a go Janis: Not how I remember it, boy Jimmy: scroll back through all your feeds Jimmy: I'll hang on Janis: admitting you're more #basic Janis: cute Jimmy: surprise! 🎉 Jimmy: happy birthday Janis: 😍😋 Jimmy: 💘 Janis: love you Jimmy: I love you Janis: I really do Jimmy: Is it my turn to act surprised or what? Janis: You can Jimmy: #kinkunlocked Jimmy: ages after I thought we'd run out Janis: just that good, baby Jimmy: I'll give you a few minutes Jimmy: deffo worth that Janis: and so generous Janis: 😩 Jimmy: too northern for that shit Janis: Nah Janis: this place has changed you Janis: 🍀💀 Jimmy: If owt's changed take your share of the blame Jimmy: 💕🔪💀 Janis: alright Janis: I ruined your life Janis: do something about it

[theliterateape]

Half Pant Final

by Paul Teodo & Tom Myers

He was 7 feet tall, wearing yellow flowered shorts that stopped an inch above his deeply scarred right knee. Muscular calves supported long legs that ended in crooked toes sprouting from lime green sandals. The image of a blues man wailing on his Stratocaster was silk-screened in silver on his black tee shirt. “Buddy Guy” in script identified the artist.

“You play ball?” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Turkey,” he said, straightening his black cowboy hat, “Slim” embroidered along the left side, silver coins embedded in its red satin band. There was nothing slim about him. He wasn’t a seven-foot bean pole. He was a muscular seven-footer with a well-manicured salt-and-pepper goatee.

“Turkey?”

“Yeah, they have a league. They needed a ‘big.’ I dabbled.”

I’d heard of pro basketball in Spain, Italy, Israel, even Australia, but not Turkey. “Well, that’s not what we’re here for. Thanks for coming.”

He kept looking out the window as if someone was out to get him. “Ra said you were okay.”

“Ra?”

“Raheem.”

“Our cook?”

“Yeah, we ball together, over on Madison, 24-hour gym, just down from the stadium. He vouched for you.” He glanced out the window again.

I resisted the urge to follow his stare.

“When do you have time? You’re already at three hospitals, Lourdes, Nicoletta, Pious, and you ball?”

“Sleep’s overrated. You only die once. Like I said, that’s why I came. Ra, he said you were okay. Said you were open,” he chuckled, “to a little different, and I can be different.”

Yeah, I thought, he was different. “Glad I got a good recommendation.”

“So what do you need?”

“I’ll be straight with you. We got a problem. Our orthos think they own the place.”

He looked back at me. “I’ve heard. You got Vince who thinks he’s the Don of the hospital and should get paid juice.” I cringed at his bluntness. “Schweingart, the Nazi, is flat-out scary, and Seamus can’t stay sober, and came close to killing a guy last month in the OR.” He looked out the window again. “Yeah, you got problems.”

How’d he know about all that shit? Were we that infamous? And what the hell was out the window? “How’d you hear about all that?”

He smiled, towering over me like I was a child. My chin, maybe, came up to his waist. “C’mon.” He clapped his hands shut; the slap of his palms, like a bullet, echoed off my office walls. “People talk, and they tell others not to talk, which makes them talk even more.” He studied his hand as if he was examining a wound. Empty. He shook his head with disappointment. “I used to be better.”

He folded himself like a wounded crane into a chair, making it, and my desk look miniature next to his out-sized frame. 

I scanned his CV. It smelled like cigarettes, coffee stains obliterated most of his references. “Guadalajara Medical School?”

“I like the sun.”

“What else do you like?”

He shifted, struggling to find his “spot” in a human-sized seat. “Mexicans, they’re so laid back, and their cuisine.”

“And?”

“I quit. I don’t do that stuff anymore.” He tapped his chest. “Bad for the lungs….” He wrenched his neck with a giant hand, Big-foot came to mind, looking around the room trying to figure out a way of answering me without sounding stupid. A bone somewhere inside cracked, exploding like a firecracker, making me jump.

“Jesus,” I said, letting him off the hook for a second.

“C-4. I took a charge from a kid from Kenya. Fractured my spine.”

“You quit…you were saying.”

“Yeah. I mean I got into Michigan, Rush, Hopkins, but I wanted sun, and chill. So ‘Mexico, here I come.’”

“That’s when it started?”

“Naw, in high school, but I stopped when I got to Mexico.”

“Get busted?”

“No way.” He said like he was proud of himself. “I had a vision.”

“Totally done with it?”

“Yep, twelve years. She stays on me.”

“She?”

“My wife.”

“What she do?”

“Sex therapist.”

The conversation was making me feel like I was the only old maid in a popcorn machine.

“You have a colorful life.”

“I get interested in everything really easy, and I get bored even easier. So I bounce around.”

“You think you can handle it here?”

“I can adapt to just about anything, and because of how I am,” he smiled and waved his hand over his Goliath-sized frame, his flowered shorts, his skin-tight Buddy Guy tee, and his silver-studded, red-sash hat, “I’m used to taking a little shit.”

I imagined it wasn’t too much shit, given his imposing stature. “I can’t have you giving it back. These guys are vicious. I need to run a hospital.”

“You like Mexican?”

Back into the popcorn machine. I tried to keep the conversation going. “Good people. A big part of our patient base. A bit shy for me. But terribly discriminated against.”

“I mean food.”

“Food?”

“Yeah, tamales, tacos, empanadas, and horchata, my favorite drink. Saved my ass when I got off the stuff.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated.

“Why are you interested in my palate?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s eat. If I’m gonna get my ass grilled, it might as well be where the grilling isn’t just my ass.”

“I gotta check my schedule.” I hate Mexican food.

“Screw your schedule. I’ll drive.”

More bones cracked as he uncoiled from the chair, sending shivers up my spine, “Jesus.” He straightened his right leg, massaging it with the longest fingers I’d ever seen.

 “IT band. Tighter than a freakin’ bungee cord. It’s all connected.”

 “Kenyan kid?”

“Yep, a nice kid. Coulda played in the NBA . But he broke my freakin’ back. He got me into medicine. I owe him. Killed a lion with his bare hands. He could really play ball.  His family didn’t want him to leave. He’s in line to be a chief or something.”

“Who coulda played in the NBA?”

He paused, his eyes darting out the window again. “Both of us. Let’s go eat.”

“You’re something. What’s with the window?”

He shrugged. “We keep in touch. I told you I like different. Let’s go.”

We walked to the door. “Sasha. Dr. Vuckovich and I are going to lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Make it two,” he said, removing his hat, revealing a polished skull, wiping beads of sweat from his extremely broad forehead. 

Sasha gave me a disgruntled look, then a disapproving grunt, acting as if she was writing something distasteful on a piece of yellow paper to show to all of her friends. 

“We’re getting Mexican. Can I bring you back something?”

“You hate Mexican.”

So much for my diplomacy with Dr. V.

He smiled, grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. “Let’s go. You’ll like this, Boss. I parked in front.” I stumbled to keep up. His gait was about 142 feet longer than mine. “Hope I didn’t bend the rules too much.” He turned, giving me a shit-eating smile.

I was now his boss? Were we making progress?  Who the hell could figure? 

Just to the left of the front entrance, taking up two spots, one a handicap space, sat a vehicle that should have been repossessed by a chop-shop on 63rd Street. He waved his hand at this long black piece of metal, bowing as if he was introducing royalty. “Meet Miss Koko.”

“Koko?” I asked, trying to hide my displeasure at both his cavalier attitude toward our parking regulations and being carted off to a Mexican lunch in this ridiculous piece of shit.

“Yep, Koko Taylor,” he said proudly. “Best blues singer this city’s ever had.”

“You named your car after a blues singer?”

“Better than Impala or Bonneville, or Arthur.” His voice rose, echoing off our one-hundred year-old building. “C’mon, all bullshit names.”

I popped open the door. “It’s a fucking hearse.”

A huge grin spread across his face. “Not anymore. I had a patient trick it out for me. I did his shoulder. Put him back to work. He was broke. No insurance. He got what he wanted and so did I.” He opened the door threw his hat into the back seat. “It’s more like a cargo van.”

“You really drive this?”

“Yep, everywhere, and check this out” Despite his size he slid in effortlessly, and arched his back against the black velvet front seat.  His legs stretched under the dash deep into what would normally be the engine compartment. He wiggled his snake-like toes and smiled, and let out a satisfied groan.” Leg room. A shit-load of leg room!”

I looked into his back seat, sliding in, imagining all the dead bodies that had rested there. I noticed what appeared to be a neck of a guitar peeking out from a Navajo blanket. Across the top, embossed in gold on shiny black wood was the word Gibson. “A guitar?” I nodded to the back seat.

“For my band,” he said, popping a mint into his mouth. “Want one?”

“Band?”

“Well, not really mine, we got a gig tonight. Wanna come? I’ll comp you.”

The popcorn kept exploding all around me, and I was still the old maid.

“Gig? Where?”

“Let’s go.” He slammed Koko into gear, kicked it in the ass, and sped out of the parking lot.

“Sure.” Why the hell not?

 “Great! Rosa’s. Armitage, near Western.” He leaned over, not slowing one bit, his shoulder jammed into my chest, ripped open the glove compartment and the pulled a ticket from the box. 

He handed it to me then slammed on his brakes, and screamed. “Asshole!”

Dr. V. was able to hand me my comped ticket for his gig and avoid crushing a neon blue Prius at the same time.

“That was close,” I said looking down at the ticket.

“Naw, I’m a defensive driver.”

I wanted to tell him he was an offensive driver but I bit my tongue. I looked back at the ticket. It read: Chicago Blues Pussyhounds, Featuring Dr. Slim. Slim? from his hat.

“Provocative name.”

“Gets people’s attention. Layla thought of it.”

“Layla?”

“My wife.”

The sex therapist. Jesus.

It was like I was in a movie. And I was having a helluva time keeping up. Vuckovich’s  Most Excellent Adventure. 

“Relax,” he ordered, and flipped on the stereo, multiple pulsing speakers rattled my bones. A soulful woman’s voice rose over it all. He pointed in the air, bobbing his head to the beat of the thumping music.  “Koko! Let’s go! I got a hip at Pious at 3!”

“Any bodies back there?” I asked, looking at the cavernous area behind us.

“I keep ‘em alive,” he smiled and popped another mint. “I don’t kill ‘em like your boys.”

He’d heard that too?  Shit.

                                                                           ***

“He wears half pant.”

Dev Balakrishnan, unlike Igor Vuckovich, was nowhere near seven feet tall. In fact, he barely cleared five feet. I didn’t think he’d fall in love with Dr. V, but I thought he’d at least give him a chance.

“He’s got great experience.” I was grasping.

“And auto is for dead people.”

Shit, he’d seen Koko.

“Dr. Balakrishnan,” I butchered his name every time I tried to say it.

“B,” he said “call me B. I’d rather hear you say B than you pronounce name like a contagious disease.”

I peered into the conference room where B had been interrogating V who now sat alone upright and uncomfortable, in a wooden chair, drumming his hands on the table, head bobbing up and down, probably grooving to Koko or Buddy. I indulged myself for a moment, imagining their interview, popcorn exploding all over the room.

“Why do you wear half pant?”

“Half pant?”

“Yes. And your car is for dead people. And toes should not be seen.”

“Ever listen to Koko Taylor, Doc? I think you’d dig her.”

I would have bought a ticket to that show.

“We’re dying here,” I said to B. “With only three orthos, and they run the department like gangsters.”

“The man would not fit here.” He pointed to Dr. V, now standing, rocking out on his air guitar. “He is too much, how you say, eccentric. Plus, training is bad. Mexico.”

“And Vince and his boys do fit?  Schweingart got his training in the Caribbean at a pop-up school that closed right after he graduated.”

“They do not wear half pant or drive car for dead people.”

“I’ll bring it to the Board.” I lowered my voice trying to make him think.

Dr. B winced. “Board is for major issues.”

“This is a major issue. They’re killing us. They’re all trying to squeeze us, and we got nothing left.”

“I do not know this squeeze.”

B was dumb like a fox. He knew what those guys were. He did it once in a while too, but overall he was a good guy. He played fair and was a good surgeon. He took who came in the door and didn’t try to bullshit his way out of treating people who had no dough. Vince and his crew were different. No money or insurance? Then it was… Too big a case. We don’t have a bed. We’re short staffed. No supplies. Too much a risk. So ship ‘em out to someplace else. The County was always their fallback. If they could pay, then Vince and his boys would roll out the red carpet. What they did was plain wrong, a royal pain in the ass, and illegal. If Medicare pays your hospital and doctors, you have to care for those who can’t pay. And while docs were making lame excuses not to treat a banged up guy laid out in the mangled and broken, the entire place would back up like the traffic on the Jane Byrne or worse yet, the Hillside Fucking Strangler. Bullshit, and we were all tired of it.

“Doc, you know what I’m talking about. You accepted the position of President of the Medical Staff” and its stipend, I implied. “It’s time for you to man up.”

Pondering what he should do, he studied me with puffy eyes and labored breath, looked to Dr. V, still grooving to his tunes. He rubbed his disheveled hair. “Temporary,” he said, clearing his phlegmy throat. “We will give him temporary opportunity. Vince going to vacation home in Florida for February month. He can take his call. Ten days.”

“Temporary…” I began…but stopped. B could tell I was ready to fight, so I countered with silence.

“But,” he pointed at me, “no Board. We will work this out man to man.”

So, what direction should I go?  Eat the entire enchilada, I hate Mexican, or take it one bite at a time? “I’m not sure Dr. V would go for that. Would you?”

“He will agree.”

“How do you know?”

B looked at me.  A wry smile peeked out from under his scruff. “He already told me he would.”

                                                                               ***

“A John Doe.”

“Who’s on call?”

Shaneese, our ER traffic cop, paused. “Vince,” she said, her voice low, filled with disdain. “He won’t take it. You know that.”

We paid the asshole a grand for every call he took. But she was right. He’d hem and haw and make everybody sit on their hands, listening to his excuses.

I could see her standing in the ER, hand on hip, head tilted, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my response, judging the shit out of me.

“John Doe?” I asked, as if I hadn’t heard her, trying to buy time.

She did not respond. She let me dangle.

“What’s the damage?”

“He was thrown off a roof.” Her voice flat. “Multiple cervical fractures.”

“Jesus.”

“People are animals.”

“How many?”

“I stopped counting at C-5,” she said, growing more impatient.

“Stable?” Stupid question.

Her voice rising. “Stable? At least three of his seven vertebrae are busted. His spinal cord probably sprung a leak. He’s NOT stable. He’s going to die. He needs surgery now!”

“Call Vince. Tell him what you got and let me know what he says.”

I could feel her scorn as she hung up. And I deserved it. I’d let this shit go on too long.

Fuck. I grabbed my phone and called the front desk.

“Hello.”

“Shanda could you get me Dr. Endrizzi?”

“He don’t like me to call him. He only likes to talk to medical folks.”

“What’s his number?”

“Office or cell?”

“Cell.”

“312-665-3987. Good luck.”

                                                                              ***

“Hello.” His voice thick, filled with the hills of northern Italy.

“Vince, it’s Jim. We got a situation in the ER.”

“The John Doe with the spine?”

He’d heard already. “Yeah.”

“Too complex for us.”

“You’ve done them before.”

“Not too complex for me, but your staff isn’t qualified.” He hung up.

Sonofabitch. That arrogant prick. Isn’t qualified? Our staff was good, real good, and brave as shit. I redialed. “This is Dr. Endrizzi, I cannot take a call. I’m gone in February with important Medical Business. If you have big problem, call 911, or go to Hospital Emergency. They take care of you.”

Important Medical Business, my ass. 

I yanked open my office door and headed to the OR. 

 I swiped my card and the panels slid open. I asked the OR Receptionist Denelle, “is Dr. Balakrishnan in there?” I pointed to suite #1, where we configured the surgical table and the lighting for a man of his small stature.

“He’s got a TURP,” she said, without looking up from her desk. 

“How long before he’s done?”

“Depends on the size of the prostate.” She smiled.

I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “I’ll wait.”

“Put this on.” She handed me a package of scrubs.

In the middle of my rage I struggled to yank on the gown, booties, gloves, and mask. She pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. I sat dressed in my surgery get-up like a child waiting to be punished by Mother Superior.

Denelle picked up the phone and tapped numbers with her pencil. “This is Denelle,” she said, “Tell Dr. B the boss is here for him.”

I stared at the thin red second hand on the wall-mounted clock, swooshing around the face in slow motion, my leg jumpy, like a junkie, full of rage. Important Medical Business, my ass. Your staff aren’t qualified. Fuck him.

The surgical suite door slid open. The tiny man waddled toward me, his disheveled hair peeking out from under his blue cap. He unpeeled his bloody gloves, the rubber making a snapping sound. He sighed and shook his head. “Big case.” His voice tired, never looking this old. “What is it?”

I stood. “Vince.”

His face contorted. “What now?”

“We got a John Doe in the ER. Busted neck. Vince won’t do the case.”

“It sounds complex.”

“Doc, don’t go down that path. He can do it. We can do it. He blew me off.”

“These are difficult decisions.”

“My ass. It’s a John Doe. He wants nothing to do with them. That’s why we pay him a fucking grand a call.” I was too loud.

B took me by the arm and led me to an empty suite. “He told me he wasn’t going to take any cases today. He’s leaving tomorrow morning.”

“What the hell are we gonna do with the patient?”

“Half pant.”

“What?”

“Call half pant surgeon.”

Was he shitting me? “No way. It’s Vince’s call. He’s already got his grand.  It’s his case.” 

“Call half pant.”

John Doe needed help. I’d deal with Vince later.

                                                                            ***

No cell reception in the OR, so I rushed to the waiting area. As soon as I walked in, a flock of petrified family members approached me. For a moment, I was disoriented, like a man just entering a room with the lights out. Then it hit me. My scrubs, mask, and gloves.

“I’m not a doctor,” I said, sounding like a moron. “I’m not,” I pleaded with them to believe me.

I fumbled with the buttons on my phone. Vuckovich, nothing came up. I couldn’t have. I tried again. V-U Still nothing. Then it hit me. I looked around to see if I’d get caught.  7-footer. I punched it in. Bingo. The phone rang once. “Yo.” His voice so loud it hurt. Koko Taylor blasted in the background. I could picture him, head bobbing, fingers fretting his invisible Gibson. “Yo,” he yelled again. “What’s up?”

“We got a John Doe in the ER.”

He didn’t let me finish. “On my way.” Sirens blared over Koko. I pictured him speeding down 63rd Street in that black chop-shopped hearse. “Don’t get pulled over. I hear sirens.”

“Siren’s mine. I told you, my guy pimped this baby out. Ten minutes.” His phone went dead.

                                                                   ***

I called Shaneese in the ER. “Dr. Vuckovich is on his way.”

“Dr. Who?”

“Vuckovich,” I said. “Send the John Doe to the OR with everything you got on him.”

“One second,” She said. “Can I help you?”

“Where’s the OR?” I heard over the commotion.

“Who the hell are you?” Shaneese did not mince words.

“Igor.”

“Igor?” Her voice rose over the craziness.

“Shaneese!” I shouted.

“I can’t talk!” she said. ”I got a crazy monster in here, wearing flowery shorts,” her voice rose, “a black hat, and a pair of nasty feet, telling me he got to go to the OR.”

“That’s Dr. Vuckovich.”

“You playin’ with me.”

“Shaneese, I’m not. He’s got temporary privileges. He’s gonna do the case.” 

“A big ass man comin’ in here…”

“I’ll explain later. Just get him to the OR.”

“Who parked a hearse in the doctors’ parking lot?” Al, our ER security guard, yelled over the ruckus.

“It’s not a hearse.” I heard Dr. V retort.

“Shaneese, get him to the OR.”

Five minutes later, the elevator door opened. Removing his hat, then ducking his head to get out, Igor Vuckovich appeared, carrying a red duffle bag with a white crescent and TURKEY emblazoned on its side. He looked around the waiting room, spotted me, and smiled.

I gave him a confused look.

 “From my playing days. You doin’ surgery now?” He pointed at my scrubs.

“He’s in there.” I nodded to where they’d taken John Doe, ignoring his joke.

“You are a doctor,” a visitor said.

“He’s not,” Dr. V interrupted, “but I am.”

“I never seen no doctor who look like you.”

“Me either,” V smiled. “Let’s rock and roll.”

I swiped my card and the doors slid open. 

He entered, again bowing his head, this time not removing his hat. He dropped his bag on the floor and grabbed a package wrapped in plastic and a CD. He ripped open the plastic removing the largest pair of scrubs I’d ever seen and began dressing in the middle of the OR.  The legs traveled past my chin. The arms could have served as a strait jacket for a lineman on the Bears, and his booties looked like canoe paddles. Our staff was in awe, speechless, jaws descending to the floor.

Dr. Balakrishnan approached Dr. V, “Thank you for helping us.”

 “Dev, you assisting on this?” 

“I…” B paused.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“I…”

I’d never seen Balakrishnan so lost for words.

“Here.” V tossed the CD to one of the techs. “Koko Taylor track 2. Anesthesia?”

“In the suite already.” Danny, our tech, said, looking ready to jive to Koko. “Wait!” Danny shouted.

V swung around. “What?”

Danny jumped removing V’s cowboy hat. “Now you’re good.”

“Thanks,” V said.

Dr. V scrubbed his immense fingers, paws and forearms in the sink. He motioned for Dr. B to join.

They toweled off and donned fresh masks, eyes meeting each other’s. “Let’s go,” V said to B. 

The sight of this odd couple entering surgical suite 1, B’s suite, that he shared with absolutely no one, caused me grave consternation. What scared the shit out of me was a squatty little urologist assisting a seven foot orthopod with complex surgery. At the same time I was invigorated like a man who’d just slugged a double espresso. 

“We gotta fix this.” I heard Dr. V laugh, raising the OR lights to their highest, then sliding the tiny platform stool we had made for Dr. B, in his direction. 

The doors to the suite slid shut.

And that was that. Our new eccentric, Blues-playing, Koko Taylor-loving, orthopod worked side by side with our diminutive, Board-fearing Chief Medical Officer, saving the life of Mr. John Doe.

This is what we did. This is what we should do.

I waited in the family area, still wearing my scrubs, playing chess, losing to a man with no teeth. 

The door slid open. B standing next to V. Both tired, sweaty, and smiling. Visitors’ eyes rose to the men in the doorway. “He made it.” V announcing to the crowd. “He made it,” B softly echoing V.

“You were magnificent,” Balakrishnan placed his hand in Vuckovich’s. “Magnificent.”

“We worked well together.” V rubbed B’s shoulder.

“No, what you did was remarkable.”

“Koko.” He smiled.

The toothless man, who’d just beaten me in chess four times in a row, stood. “Thank the Lord Jesus for these two fine men.” His smile warm, his eyes bright. He then began to clap. Another visitor stood, then another. The room now full, with deafening applause bouncing off the walls.  Igor and Dev, exhausted, soaking in their well-earned recognition.

“Let’s go.” Dr. V’s voice cut through the acknowledgement.

We stripped off our scrubs and headed toward the parking lot.

“Go? Where?” Balakrishnan asked.

“Celebrate! Mexican! We’ll take Ms. Koko. My treat!”

I paused…fuck me…I hated Mexican. 

“You in?” B asked me like an excited little kid.

I’d brought this strange creature here, a mammoth guitar-playing behemoth, but without Dr. Dev Balakrishnan’s help, Mr. John Doe would be dead, and I’d be going after Vince like a hit man.

But Mexican? C’mon.

“You’re wasting time. Let’s go. I sit in front.”Balakrishnan was almost giddy.

John Doe was not dead. He was alive.

“I’m in,” I said, reaching for Koko’s back door.

“Nope,” Dr. V said.

He tossed me the keys. “You’re driving.”

[ferbiederbie]

First Encounters

(( sorry this is late! it’s been. crazy at work. BUT HERE WE GO.))

That first night on board the CV Serakos seems like it passes very quickly, to Tabris. That might be because she’s expended so much energy and eaten so much food, of course, but it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that she finds herself in Arella’s room with a cot to sleep on until they can “figure something more permanent out”, which is fine, she’d be okay with a linen closet. She remembers talking for maybe like five minutes before her head hits her pillow and she’s out.

The next morning she's sore, and groggy, but after a bit of stretching she feels better. She spends the day exploring more of the ship, but on her own, discovering the different nooks and crannies available to anyone with the flexibility to fit in to them.

That evening, she spars once more with Cassandra, and it feels amazing to do so. She hasn't realized before now how much she needs to expend her excess energy, and it's a bit like having a good, long stretch after being still for weeks. Even if, afterwards, she flops down on the ground in exhaustion.

She doesn't see Wild Bill until dinner time, and he won't even look at her while they eat. He excuses himself before the rest of them finish and leaves, like before. Canuck makes a plate for someone named Cog and leaves it for him… somewhere. Tabris never meets him.

It becomes routine, for the next few days, and Tabris falls into it, with Karma beside her. A week passes. She shares Arella’s room, and gets to know her as she does.

“You know, we go a lot of different places.” the reapafarian comments one night, as they sit up together before bed. Arella has been reading, but she puts her Comm down when she speaks.

“Yeah, I figured that.” Tabris answers. She's petting Karma and scrolling through the extranet on her Comm. She's moved a lot of her stuff from Wild Bill’s ship, her bag, her clothes… Some of it is still there. She'll get it before he leaves.

“It's nice, you know, seeing everything. I thought, for a long time, that I would be on my own planet forever. That I'd never see so much of the universe.”

“I get that. I felt like that sometimes, too, before I left.”

“Mm. Sometimes, though? I miss home. I didn't have much there, not any family, but I miss little things. How the air smelled. Or the way the moon looked when it set. We're very similar! I think, you and I. Because we both left looking for something.” she smiles a little.

“I mean, I was just looking for adventure.” Tabris shrugs. “What about you though? Like, I hear that your, uh, people have sort of a thing about death, so…”

“Mm, it's just sort of a belief, I guess? Like it sounds bad if you call it a ‘thing’. It's not like I wanna go out and start killing folks. It's just there's this whole… cycle you follow. I'm good, so I go out, and I bring death to folks who aren't good. And when they're dead they go back and try again, and maybe they'll be good next time.”

“Reincarnation. That's one reason to train as a merc, I guess.”

“Yeah! It's like a responsibility sort of. Not everyone can do it. So that's why I left, and joined Canuck. What about you, though?”

“I just told you why I left my planet.” Tabris stretches out on her cot. “Adventure. You've seen one side of Helioph, you've seen them all. It's pretty small, I mean… we only have one language and, like, a single dialect. The universe is too big and cool to spend my life there.”

“Oh…” Arella twitches her antennae and looks at her Com. “It's just, it seems like there's more to it than that. It feels like you've been looking for something.”

“Eh.” Tabris rolls onto her stomach. “I look for a lot of things. I lose shit all the time.”

“Mm…” her roommate sighs softly, and goes back to reading. Several minutes of silence pass, before Arella speaks up again. “Did you talk to Wild Bill yet?”

Ah. There it is.

Tabris groans, and rolls onto her side, clinging to Karma, who takes up most of her cot. The Sekhound whuffs in his sleep. “No, I haven't. Why should I? He's the jerk. I'm not apologizing to him.”

“Oh, haha, no, don't do that. He's definitely the one who's wrong.” Arella giggles. “It's just that I don't know if he'll say sorry if you keep ignoring him.”

“So who needs him to say sorry? I'm fine where I am. After this, I probably won't ever have to see him again.”

“Is that what you want, though?”

“Uh, yeah. He's a dick.”

“Tabris…” Arella straightens up and leans over to look at the other girl. There's something strange in her iridescent eyes, like she's worried, like she's unsure. “Is that really what you want?”

And Tabris… Doesn't answer, not right away, because she has to think about it, now. Because it would be so easy to just ignore Wild Bill until he leaves and then carry on, and she might be okay with that, but right now… right now she kind of… It's possible that she misses him, just a bit.

They weren't best friends or something like that, but there'd been some kind of… weird bond, between them. An understanding. She knew what he was and she didn't actually care, and he seemed like he got the sort of things she talked about, didn't try to make her stop picking pockets. He should have been just a ride to somewhere else, a convenience, but it's possible she had come to see him as a friend. Fuck, she definitely saw him as a friend, and now…

Goddamn him and his shitty attitude. Why did he have to ruin things?

She clings tighter to Karma and nuzzles into the short fur at his neck, eyes closing. She hears Arella sigh, softly, but it's an apologetic sound.

“It's okay, you know. To want to be friends with someone. I'm sorry he said what he did. I think he's afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Tabris scoffs, voice muffled by her hound.

“You? Himself? I don't know. I can't read minds exactly, I just sort of… sense feelings. He feels scared. And angry, but not at you, I don't think. Maybe a bit, but not bad. I don't know.”

Afraid. Of what? Of having friends? Tabris has never heard something so asinine before. But still, if that's what it is… god, he's an idiot.

She shifts, clambers over Karma, and stands. The Sekhound grumbles softly and shifts, stretching out further and taking up more of the cot. Tabris pulls on her coat and tugs her hair up into a loose bun.

“Where are you going?” Arella asks, blinking curiously.

“To kick someone in the fucking mouth.” Tabris mumbles in response, and sweeps out of the room.

==

She finds him in the cockpit, where he’s been pretty much every night this past week. She’s not sure he’s actually slept at all, although she guesses he must have, because humans don’t do well when they don’t sleep.

The door is closed, and Tabris doesn’t bother knocking before she steps inside. Wild Bill is sitting at the helm, eyes on the starmap before him as he steers. She stands in the doorway and watches him for a minute, arms crossed over her chest. She wonders if he knows she’s here, but figures he probably must have noticed by now. He doesn’t say anything. She walks forwards. Apparently she’ll have to be the one to instigate conversation; Wild Bill is still too much of a stubborn jackass.

“Hey.” she greets, quietly.

She sees his shoulders tense when she says it, and she can almost hear his jaw working together in immediate stress.

“Hey.” he says back, and even that sounds strained. “Thought y’were Cass.”

“Why her? Why not Canuck?” she asks, crossing the room and sitting down slowly in the chair beside him. He still hasn’t looked at her.

“Too light. Quiet. Canuck ain’t ever entered a room and not immediately started talkin’, ‘less he was worried ‘bout dyin’ ‘cause of it.”

“Okay, true. Why Cass, instead?” “She likes standin’ around bein’ quiet.”

“That’s true, too. Except when we’re in the gym. She’s pretty loud when she yells…” she curls her tail, crosses her legs as she sits. Sighs, softly, because it could almost be them back on his gunship, if not for the size of this place, the different decor. And the tension in the air. “So… listen. I was talking to Arella…”

“Girl’s gotta quit messin’ in other folk’s heads.” Wild Bill growls out, and it sounds much more like him than his previous words.

“I don’t think she can exactly stop it. And she just wants to help. I mean, sometimes it’s annoying when she says things I don’t want any attention brought to, but she’s been nice so far. That’s beside the point, though. I was talking to her about… you know, me staying here and stuff. After you leave.”

“Mm.”

“She said she was… that she thought things between us were… ugh, this is so dumb, okay? I’m really mad at you still. Maybe not as much before but, what you said really- fucked me up. Like, I know we weren’t the best friends ever or anything, but I did think we were, you know. At least sort of friends. It really seems like we get each other, you know?”

“...guess so.” he sounds reluctant to even admit it. Tabris presses on, regardless.

“And, like, I don’t have a whole lot of friends- or I didn’t before, whatever- but I’m pretty sure that friends aren’t supposed to say shit like ‘you’re a liability’ to one another! That’s a really shitty thing to say, especially because it isn’t true at all.”

“Kid-” “No! Uh-uh!” she’s leaning towards him, and she waves a hand at him to silence him. “It’s not your turn to talk! Because you said some really awful shit to me, and that’s not fair. And I get it. I do, I mean, I understand sort of how you must be thinking. Like, ‘if I’m mean to her she won’t get attached, and I won’t get attached, and she can leave me alone and I can be a hermit again’. Arella said you were scared of something, and I don’t… I don’t know. It’s okay to be scared of things but I don’t think you should let it make you act like an asshole. I don’t think it should make you ruin things because you’re afraid. And I know you don’t want to apologize probably but I really think you should. I’m not a liability and I feel like you know that, and I’m really tired of walking around and pretending like I’m not pissed as hell and like I don’t care at all about what you think because maybe, possibly I sort of do.”

He’s silent, staring down at the steering column and holding the controls tight.

Tabris takes in a breath, lets it out slowly, and then leans back in the chair. She lets the silence hang between them for a few moments, and then turns her head to look out the windshield. The stars look so beautiful, still, and they’re so far out she can’t see any hint of station or habitable planet. Not even a satellite.

“...I thought we were maybe becoming friends, just a little.” she continues, quieter, now. “And I figured if I just ignored that and pretended I didn’t care, I’d feel better eventually. But I don’t feel better, at all. And I get you don’t want me to come with you, and that’s… not fine, but it’s whatever. But I still… I wanna know.” she looks at him directly. “Do you really think I’m a liability?”

He’s silent, and she isn’t sure he’ll answer her. His eyes- still so damn tired, does he never rest?- are focused intently on the starmap where their course is plotted. His hat casts shadow on his face. She wants to snatch it off of his head to get a reaction, but she restrains herself. Finally, he lets out a small, quiet sigh.

“...Tabris.” not ‘kid’ again, which she does appreciate. He’s toed that line pretty well. “What I think don’t really matter in th’first place, ‘cause yer doin’ fine without my opinion’r’whatever. Ain’t a way you can go with me after all this, either way, but if… yer wantin’ t’know that badly, then I think you-”

He doesn’t get to finish this time either, but not because Tabris interrupts him; this time, it’s because there’s a sudden shrieking alarm, so loud it startles her out of her seat and onto the floor. Red lights flash all around them.

“What the fuck is that?!” Tabris is on her feet in seconds, eyes wide.

“Proximity alarm.” Wild Bill is all business as he reaches over to tap a few buttons on the console. He closes the starmap and pulls up something else, a circular panel where their ship appears as a small holo. Two smaller red images appear behind it, closing in fast. “Somethin’ got too close.”

“Quite right.” the voice is undoubtedly that of Zefforus; Tabris can even hear the tell-tale cooing of birds in the background. Moments later, an image of him pops up over the console. His birds are all settled in around him and she can see the red lights are flaring up there, too. “I’ve detected two gunships approaching from east of our heading. They have thus far refused all attempts at contact, so I’m under the assumption that they are hostile. I doubt I’m mistaken.”

Wild Bill curses loudly. “Where’re they from?” he demands. “Where’s Canuck?”

“Okay wait, I’ll go get him.” Tabris turns and lopes for the door, then jerks back as it slides open and Canuck pushes in.

“What’s ‘de trouble?” he asks, striding forward with long, heavy steps. Cassandra follows behind him, and Arella, and Karma pads into the room at a hurried pace and shoves his head into Tabris’ middle, sniffing her waist, like he’s trying to assure himself she’s alright. She runs her hand between his ears and turns around.

“Two hostile gunships approaching.” Zefforus explains to Canuck. “They’re marked for the Green Storm mercenary group; I don’t suppose we have an open contract with them, perhaps?”

“We don’t.” Canuck growls out.

“Mm, I thought so. Then my best guess would be, whoever specifically is after Her Imperial Majesty, they have hired guns to do their dirty work. I suppose we can’t say much, since she did the same with us, although for altogether more necessary reasons. Ah, they’re getting rather close. I’m drawing energy from the third engine and raising the shields entirely, I don’t much care for the look of their weaponry. The ship models are rather new and I imagine they’re prepared to fight…”

Tabris inhales sharply. “So what do we do if they start firing?” she asks. “I mean, this is a cargo ship, right? They’re not supposed to have weapons, right?”

“Oh boy, ‘dey sure aren’t.” Canuck turns to look down at her, and grins widely. “But ‘den, we aren’t ‘de normal sort of folks that’d be using one, are we? Don’t worry, dear; we’re ready.” he leans over beside Wild Bill and taps a few buttons, and a new screen appears. There’s no image, just a solid blue line.

“Cog?” Canuck speaks. “We got company. Everythin’ alright down ‘dere?”

“Mm. All of the guns are optimized for defensive fire.” comes a voice, unfamiliar to Tabris, although she’s spent almost two weeks aboard this ship. It’s masculine, and dry, and she can hear the whirr of machinery in the background. “I’ve redistributed the energy from Engine 3 into the shields; captain, please ask the Professor to kindly refrain from attempting to do so until he has my express permission.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anythin’ by it, but I’ll tell him. Thanks, Cog.”

“Cog!” Arella floats closer. “Are you doing okay? We haven’t seen you in awhile. Do you like the ship?”

“Arella, there are more pressing matters, currently.” says the voice. “...but it is a very nice ship. Nicer than the last. You have my thanks for necessitating our move. My new quarters are considerably less cramped.” the line drops, then. Arella beams.

“Wow okay, that’s weird. So… what?” Tabris furrows her brow. “Are we safe, or? What? Like, if they start shooting…”

“Then we’ll shoot back.” Cassandra places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Two gunships are not match for us.” she pauses, and then narrows her eyes. “Which seems obvious. Green Storm isn’t run by idiots. They’d have to know that.”

“They likely do not know who it is they are dealing with.” the door slides open again, and Empress Orochi glides inside, with Kanashi not far behind. They’re wearing less elegant robes than before, but they still both carry swords. Kanashi has her hands on the hilts of her, eyes narrowed, as if she might be able to fight the gunships from inside, with just her blades. Tabris appreciates her bravery.

“We were very cautious with who we told about our plan of escape.” the Empress continues. “It is very likely they have no idea who you are. This ship is not marked with your symbol, after all.”

“Well ‘den.” there’s a growl in Canuck’s voice, even while he’s grinning, and it would be really unsettling if they weren’t on the same side. “Let’s give ‘em some clue about who ‘dey’re dealin’ with. Zeff!”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that.” the Professor appears on screen again. “Although I suppose it doesn’t really matter. What can I do for you, Canuck?”

“Can ya open up communications to ‘dose ‘dere gunships? Don’t need ‘em to talk back. Just need ‘em to listen.” he glares down at the two red dots on the proximity screen, as they come up alongside the ship. Tabris hears the faint groan of the gunship hull shields brushing almost experimentally against their own.

“Perhaps. Give me a moment to- ah, child’s play. There we go. You’re online.”

“Alright. Thanks. Now… You folks are with ‘de Green Storm group, eh? I don’t know if ‘dey ever told ya both much about who ya might be goin’ up against, if you’re newbies or old blood at ‘dis, but I’m givin’ ya fair warnin’ before ya do anythin’ ya might regret.” Canuck’s voice drops lower, grows darker. “You aren’t dealin’ with ‘de normal sort of group. My name’s Canuck; maybe you’ve heard of me? And ‘dis here group is ‘de Red Leaf merc band, and I’m shootin’ sure you’ve heard ‘dat name.”

There’s silence from the other end; the two red dots have stopped along the ship. Tabris looks, and can barely make out their shapes against the dark of space. She suspects they’re using some sort of visual cloaking. Do all mercenaries just steal that shit?

“‘Dis here is your one warnin’. Get lost, go on back to your boss and let ‘em know who ‘dey’d be fightin’. Maybe ‘dat’ll cool ‘deir jets some. I dunno how much you’re gettin’ paid for ‘dis job, but I want ya to think about if it’s worth more ‘dan your lives.” he swipes his tongue over his tusks, and snarls. “‘Cause if ya go up against me, I guaran-fuckin’-tee you’ll regret it. Not for long, ‘dough.”

He waves a hand, and the communication beeps as it ends.

Canuck sighs heavily and leans back, reaching up to smooth the hair along the ridge of his neck where it’s bristled. “Well now. Here’s hopin’ ‘dey take ‘dat warnin’ serious.”

“It might not have been a good idea to tell them exactly who we are.” Cassandra comments quietly.

“Maybe. But maybe it’ll stop ‘dem from tryin’ somethin’ stupid.” he answers.

“You all but admitted to our presence.” Kanashi hisses softly, and then shakes her head. “But I suppose it’s likely they already knew. Jsska,” there’s a curse even the translator can’t make out, “who would have known? We were so cautious. I swore we killed the last of the attackers during out escape.”

“I detected no living heat signatures at the time.” Zefforus comments. “But rektilias body temperature is somewhat volatile, and if someone were only wounded, and not dead… well, I wasn’t working with the most in-depth scanning equipment. I had only just come on board and hadn’t yet had the time to modify what I needed to…”

“Nobody’s blamin’ you, Zeff.” Canuck responds, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Don’t matter.” Wild Bill growls out. “Point is, they seem like they know. Just two gunships ain’t much fire power…” his eyes are focused on the proximity map. Tabris looks at it, too, sees the red dots just hanging there, like they’re trying to decide what to do. She almost hopes they don’t run. It seems like…

“Might be better off just shootin’ ‘em down.” the pilot says. “Keep ‘em from goin’ back to their boss and sendin’ reinforcements.” his fingers twitch, and Tabris thinks maybe he’s itching to grab the gun controls himself. She doesn’t think it’s pure bloodlust, although he definitely enjoys a fight. More, she thinks he might actually be concerned. There’s a cold sort of rational behind that thinking. Tabris can understand it.

“‘Dey haven’t done anythin’ yet.” Canuck answers. “Maybe ‘de name’ll give them somethin’ to think about. ‘Deir boss, too… ah! See ‘dere?” he points to the map; the two dots dip down, and then retreat rapidly, until they disappear from the screen entirely. The alarm, which Tabris has almost grown accustomed to now, stops blaring. The silence that follows is incredibly unsettling, and she slides her arms around Karma’s neck to comfort herself some.

Wild Bill doesn’t look satisfied, but he does huff out a sigh and relax, just a bit. “I’m gettin’ us outta here.” he grunts. “Get Engine 3 back online soon as y’can.”

“Some distance would be good.” Cassandra sighs. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them. Or the worst they have to offer.” after a moment, she looks to Arella, Tabris, and Karma. “Come with me. I feel trouble coming; we’re going to the gym. I want to be sure we can handle whatever happens.” she looks at the Empress. “You and your advisor can join us, too. Refresh your skills with those swords of yours. Canuck?” “Yes, dear?” Canuck looks down at her. She puts her hands on her hips.

“Start back on your exercise plan. You’ve been slacking off.” she turns, and makes her way out of the room. Arella giggles, and floats off after her; Kanashi and Orochi have a quiet conversation between themselves, and then follow. Canuck sighs and pats his stomach. He looks smitten, and it’s kind of disgusting.

“Ah jeez, how’d I ever get so lucky?” he murmurs.

Tabris makes a face, and then looks to Wild Bill. He’s hunched over the controls, bringing up the starmap again, and pressing buttons to get them on their way. He looks very serious, focused, and there’s a crease between his brow that makes her think he’s worried. She wants to say something to him, wants to tell him to continue what he was going to say before, but Canuck is here now, and, well- it doesn’t change anything anyway, does it?

“Tabris!” Cassandra’s voice echoes down the corridor and she flinches. With one final look at Wild Bill, she turns, mutters “come on” to Karma, and hurries off down the hall after the group.

Canuck sits down in the chair beside Wild Bill and sighs softly. “Well, ‘dat was fun.” he murmurs softly. “...now I know I like bein’ an optimist, but I don’t think we’ve seen ‘de last of ‘dem, either. I’m guessin’ my name probably only bought us some time. How far out are we still?”

“Four days.” is the answer; he doesn’t sound like he’s happy about it at all.

“Mm.” he scratches his chin. “...well. ‘Dat’s fine. If ‘dey come for us, we’ll deal with it. I’m not worried.” he pats Wild Bill on the shoulder and the smaller man flinches at the strength of it. “What do ‘de Green Storm have ‘dat we haven’t seen before, eh?”

Wild Bill clenches his teeth, and does not reply.

The truth is, he’s sure they’re going to find out.

[kawaii-music-notes]

Shiwasu Kakeru : Yuki Kaji

師走 駆 : 梶 裕貴

Thank you for your cooperation~ Thank you for your cooperation~ Have you made your reservation for the Christmas cake? We have all sorts of Christmas cakes available~ How about a cake reservation?

Yes, what is it? The limited edition cake? Please wait for a while... Let me see... ［ruffling of leaflets］ Ah, it’s okay. You can still make a reservation. Right now, the real thing is being displayed at the store, if you don’t mind please go and have a look.The shop is over there, right after turning that corner. Yes, thank you very much!

Ah! Yes! The size of the cake? Which type? Ah, this one? As the smallest one is 18 cm, well... it would be around this big? (chuckles) Ah... No, no, please treat us well!

Thank you very much!

(sighs) Is it because Christmas is getting near? Today I feel like I’m going to get called out more than usual.

Ah, yes! This cake is made from chocolate base with fruits in between, on top of it is a tree... ［Fade-out.］

［TIME:1:35］ Thank you for your cooperation~ Thank you for you cooperation~ Have you made your reservation for the Christmas cake? We have all sorts of Christmas cakes available~

［TIME:1:42］ Dear Father, Mother. This is Kakeru.

Nowadays, if you walk down the street, it’s as if the “Jingle Bells” song is going to leap into your ears, how are you two doing? …as if, I tried to act like I’m affected by it but such event has nothing to do with my daily life itself, it’s just as always.

Every day I go to school and then work part-time after school and during the holidays. It’s a modest and peaceful kind of every day. If I have to complain or more like, state the inconvenience... Since I live alone, I guess somehow I tend to rely on eating out?

(chuckling) The convenience store’s oden is now my soul food. I think there’s nothing that can win against the combination of white radish and pounded fish cake.

Which reminds me, my friend Koi, Kisaragi Koi, frequently said that in the next era, guys that cook will be popular. So for a period of time, I tried my best to cook for myself but... reality is pretty harsh.

Even so, I still go and attend school without getting any serious injuries or sicknesses, and I have friends too.

As for a girlfriend... Well, let’s just say, be sure to expect for it in the future. Anyway, I’ve been able to found a profitable part-time job from this Christmas until the end of the year, and also I, in my own way am living to the fullest and doing fine.

So, please don’t worry, okay? How corny!

［TIME:3:20］ Alright, it’s the last one. Thank you very much!

［TIME:3:28］ [A train passes by.] Haa... Cold, cold. Come to think of it, didn’t this morning’s weather forecast did say that it'll snow tomorrow? It’s gotta be cold. (blows air into hands and rubs them together)

Ah... even though during the part-time job I didn’t feel the cold~ I want to go home quickly and enter the kotatsu—No, I might as well want to dive in and stay under just like that until morning co...

［Phone rings］

Hm? Uhh... a phone call from Koi? I wonder what is it?　

［Sound of a button］ Yes? Hello, Koi? Yeah, good job today~ Today, Koi is... Um... weren’t you being kept in for the committee meeting? It ended earlier than I thought, huh?

Me? Ah, I just ended my part-time job a short while ago, as well, I’m on my way home. What job this time? Didn’t I tell you before? I’m giving out cake shop’s leaflets.

Yes, yes, that one. The one that goes ‘How about a reservation for the Christmas cake?’

Ah… the rustling thing is my dinner, convenience store’s oden. Ahaha... too bad, it’s not a cake~ Haha.

(Talking to himself:) Ah, but… wouldn't it be nice to get the left-over cakes? A support on food and clothing, especially food, it will definitely help saving up. I should try asking them about it next time. I have nothing to lo--

(Returning his attention to Koi:) Ah! Sorry, sorry. I was just talking to myself.

And so... Why did you call? You did call because there’s something up, right?

......Eh? You got a phone call from someone who was claiming to be my father. When? This evening? To Koi’s cell phone?

(pause)

...Ugh! That person, really! I’m sorry, Koi! I’m really sorry! I’m pretty sure he checked up Koi’s cell phone number!

Ah, sorry, I’m sorry, okay? Aah, seriously... How should I put it, he really has no common sense, or more like he knows but just ignores them. He’s a person who has that kind of behavior. And yet, even I left the house because of that in the first place, he never learn his mistakes at all!

Eh? That’s right, I had a huge fight with my father, I left the house and am now living by myself though...

What? Koi, why are you panicking like that...

Eh? What?! ［oden sloshing around］ Ah! That was dangerous! The oden! That was close!

No, they are not dead!! They’re not dead, they’re not dead, my parents are alive! Ah... That’s right! Both of my parents are alive! They’re fine, fine, really fine! If anything, they couldn’t be killed even if you trie- Ah, that’s not it!! They just live overseas, so why are would they dead all of a sudden? ［cars drive past］

［TIME:6:46］ ［door closes］

(pause)

(heavy sigh)

(pause)

Today was really surprising... Before I knew it, I was known by the others as a child that got separated from the parents because of their death, I can’t laugh at that.

I just said it as it is, that I have no parents so I’m living by myself......

Ah... I guess it can be taken that way, huh?

Even then, everyone is observing too deeply..... they read the situation too much. They might as well ask the person himself directly...... (heavy sigh)

I see...... At times I felt that I was strangely being treated considerately, so that’s what it meant?

(sigh) It’s not like I was aiming for that but this feeling of guilt is too great......

Or rather, I feel too apologetic towards the people who are really facing hardships! Ugh...! What is this? It’s awfully hard to say things like, “I'm living alone because I left home.” To say it now, after such a long time is just so hard! Ugh...

(pause)

(sigh) Even if I worry, it can’t be helped huh?

For the time being, let’s eat dinner. ［splitting chopsticks］

(eating) (satisfied sigh) Even at times like this the white radish is delicious~

Hm. It’s father’s fault. Yes, that’s right! It’s father’s fault. The reason I’m living alone, the reason I’m having this weird feeling of guilt right now, if I trace them back to the original cause, it’s all that person’s fault!

(eating agitatedly) If he wants to know my current condition in the first place, couldn’t he just call me directly!? Ugh... Just because it’s awkward, why did he have to look up my friend’s personal information? Moreover! Even though he never met Koi, why does he giving Koi assault-calls? He’s just a suspicious old man! That’s obviously even worse! Still, his secretaries should have stop him! It’s a crime!

［opens a bottle］(drinks)

(sigh) Ah... Thank goodness that the person involved was Koi, really. While he may not look like it, Koi is really thoughtful. He’s the type that could laugh it off just like that.

Huh... I should give him a treat next time... Ah, a cake. I wonder if it’s okay if I give him the cake from my part-time workplace? If I remember correctly Koi likes sweets after all.

［leaflet ruffling］

Christmas... Huh? Even I used to love Christmas. Until Father said things like ‘Surprise!’ and completely blew up my room. (nervous laughter) Ah! no good, no good! I almost opened the door of the trauma.

Ermm... Right, that’s right. My aim is to achieve these three words! ‘Stable’, ‘Ordinary’, and ‘Peaceful’. Right now, to me Christmas is a day I work hard, properly and diligently at my part-time job. It’s fine if I’m plain, peace is the most important thing! It’s absolute!

［phone rings］

Huh? Mail? (small gasp) A message from father at this timing? I only have an endless bad feeling about this.

Hm... Well, well. Let’s see...

(reading the message:) It seems you are doing well which is all I can ask for. For Christmas, Father too will work hard to plan a... surprise, so be sure to look forward to it......

(pause)

(agitatedly:) If you’ve announced it beforehand it’s no longer a surprise, no, an advance crime notice has come! The emoticons are conversely weird! Despite this, he’d totally just committed a frightful crime before to begin with, do you think I could look forward to it, you idiot!

[iamtheunicornprincess]

Aight, folks. I think we can all agree on one thing: Audio gear is expensive. Unless you find it at a yard sale, sold by someone confusing a heavy duty multi-voiced monster for a kid’s toy (but hey, even a snot-covered Fisher Price xylophone from a Savers can be sampled into something beautiful), the chances of you finding a deal is going to be rare. If you are a sound person, then stories of such rarity buys will be over-told for decades to come; your audio friends will loudly resent you with a smile and ask you retell said legend again, and again. Usually, though, you’ll save up and look forward to the weekend you can finally spend together with your new, shiny, synth companion. 

Lately, I find myself longing so badly for my own space. I want a home. I grew up in a family of eight with five siblings, and while my childhood reeked of copious amounts of people related to me going in my room while I was out and touching my shit, and blurting pieces of my diary over the dinner table, and picking up the other end of a landline to eavesdrop, living with roommates is different. I’ve had some INCREDIBLE roommates, and would continue to live with them if I didn’t have to leave Boston/they hadn’t moved. But, I dunno. Although I foresee a future of travels and while I’m a more “go with the wind” type of person, there is something really, really calming about not having all my shit stuffed into a 10′x10′ bedroom in the most boring section of Brooklyn (though I did have a package stolen from me yesterday [and I not-so-secretly hope said salt lamp that s/he stole falls on their foot]). My dream is to someday own a house, once the terrors of student loans have surpassed, and I want a backyard. But, most of all, I want a STUDIO. And today, I am going to leave a list of my dream gear that I currently do not own that I would love to have in my said future studio (NOTE: Many of you have probably seen pictures of me using some of these items. I am lucky enough to have worked in two recording facilities that housed them and, like a good studio person should do, I utilized them to the point where parting ways from some of them still makes me sad. However, they were not mine). 

DREAM GEAR 

Arturia Minibrute

Some people might kind of wonder why the Minibrute is here: It’s not super expensive for an analog synth (you could probably find it under $300 at this point). But you know what? I don't own it right now, because I had access to it for quite a while before I moved. You’ll hear a great deal of it on my upcoming record, so over the past year or so, I’ve been nonstop mixing tracks I created with it. Even though I *could* buy it right now, I am so frugal with my finances when it comes to buying anything for myself. But, anyway - the Minibrute is great. I love the Microbrute, as well, but the Minibrute has a special place in my heart because of the dirty, gritty noise channel you can add to the mix, along with a sub and three other oscillators. Pretty sweet, especially since it has MIDI, CV, and a straight 1/4″ output. Can’t go wrong. I just love the sound... Anything gritty will have my heart.

OTO Biscuit

I kind of need to just get one of these because of how rare they are. This is the best distortion/bitcrusher I’ve ever used. I love running vocals with it, I love how easily out of control-sensitive it is, and I will love lo-fi for life. 

Roland Juno 106

Because, duh. This baybee is a classic. It has six voices. Despite it being fairly easy to track down, I’m well aware that the most common issue with this synth is voices dying (but you gotta remember that you’ll most likely purchase one that’s never had a voice replaced since, like, ever, and it’s from 1984). However, it’s EXPENSIVE to replace voices, and Roland does not create them anymore (it would be wishful thinking for them to, but as they don’t produce the 106s anymore...). BUT, there is someone who created a more functional voice IC replacement (check out Analogue Renaissance for more info on voice replacements. Just be wary that he will charge you for asking questions that have already be answered on his site, so read carefully). I’ve promised myself that I wouldn’t get a dog ‘till I have the time for one (duh?) AND money for any unexpected vet visits, so I’ll do the same for the Juno 106 (unless purchased with replacement voices).

ARP Odyssey 1978 MK III 

VINTAGE. NOT THE REMAKE. NOT THE APP. NOT THE MINI OR FULL SIZE FROM KORG. NOT THE EBAY SELLER PRETENDING IT’S A VINTAGE WHEN IT’S A KORG. I SEE YOU.  IT NEEDS TO BE THE VINTAGE MK III FROM 1978. Okay, let me explain: This synth holds a huge place in my heart. During the hardest parts of my life in late 2015 to mid 2016, I couldn’t sleep normal hours, or create. My anxiety was out of control and I had literally three full on attacks a day and I didn’t want anybody to know. So, even though I couldn’t do much to fix any of those issues at the time, I needed to do something. So,  I would force myself to pour over the manual for this synth every time I felt a panic attack creeping up, and would press random keys and hit record. The old sound of it would distract me. I don’t know. I just associate this synth with comfort. Every time I was sad, I would have this synth in front of me. I’d leave my apartment at odd hours of the night to go sit with it and hope something good would be recorded out of it. So, yeah - when I buy this synth, it needs to be vintage. It’s just sentimental and if I could buy the same synth I used, I would. And, yes, I love how it gets out of tune. A whole track on Living Proof is totally in tune with the Odyssey, but out of tune with... everything else. You’ll see. 

ARP 2600

Again - the original, not the TTSH clone. The first time I ever saw this synth, it did not fascinate me -- I was 19, and I was terrified. It was 2009, and I was enrolled in Michael Brigida’s class at Berklee College of Music (he was my modular synthesis & signal flow professor and he’s worked on every ARP machine ever and was one of the best teachers I have ever had). Back then, the synth was held in A59 in 150 Massachusetts Ave. The room had no windows and reeked of mildew, and on the first day of class, myself and my classmates trekked down the hall from our classroom and watched Michael calmly create different patches. I was the shortest in the class, and I was the only girl, and I was painfully shy.  I wore a black fitted hoodie with spikes almost every day and I was fucking weird. Everyone in the class just seemed to understand what was going on and I just stood there, hardly able to see anything (because, well, I’m just shy of 5′3′’). Listening in awe, I felt like a total idiot. I had no idea what this modularapolis kajargen was and I was too afraid to ask for help. I clearly remember Brigida telling us to ‘not fear the synth!’ and to ‘make it fear you!', but everyone in the class just seemed at ease and I was, well, not!  Fast forward four years -- I got a lot more experience in the game audio and synth hardware world, and I was hired by the department, and the more I worked there, the more I saw that, sure, some people DID just have a knack for that kind of stuff right off the bat, but a lot of times, people wore a concrete-made poker face. I had already been employed by AKAI at that point and had gotten over my insecurities a little bit. And it was ME that everyone was now asking for help, since, you know, that was my job (those days, I worked 80+ hours a week between there and AKAI). I felt a little less alienated  that I was not the only person in fear of getting my ego hurt around the 2600, and I used this time to really learn it so I could help others understand it. Anyway, I’d go into work on days the facility was closed, and own it so I was more prepared to teach students it when class started back up. This synth taught me a lot about getting past insecurities, and guess what - I’m not so afraid of that synth anymore! Ha!

Yamaha CS15

This synth is so underrated and so cool. Made in 1979 for a few years onwards, it just sounds like how you think it would. Good luck finding one online that isn’t from Japan and doesn’t require a power converter. And if you find one and are feeling generous, my birthday is June 1st. 

THE KLEE 

Okay. I used modular eurorack systems quite a bit when I still lived in Boston. I do not own a system right now. However, The Klee. Is. A. Monster. I was immediately drawn to it because 1. it’s a sequencer and, um, I love sequencers and 2. it has green LEDs and buttons. I unapologetically love the color scheme of that thing, and it sounds fucking awesome. However, it will take up almost your entire rack case. Google it (sorry not sorry). You can build it from scratch for a little over $500 or buy it complete for a little less than $1,000.

 Avalon 737sp

Coolest preamp & compressor ever. I always “got” EQs, but compressors used to confuse the crap out of me. Ratios? Math!? I wanna do MUSIC (...till you realize a music technologist is more mathematically inclined than you’d be willing to admit, ha!). However, the Avalon really helped me understand what was happening to sound while changing up parameters manually, as opposed to staring at a stock plugin in Pro Tools and visually trying to hear results, if that makes sense. I just understand tech better when hands on. Anyway, one of my favorite producers of all time, Mark Ronson, has used them in recordings and the second I learned that, bam. Look at me! I can make myself burp AND I can use compressors with my eyes closed! 

Empirical Labs Distressor

Mostly because every studio I’ve worked in has them next to each other and I like the comparison. And it sounds good. I still prefer the 737 but I love this thang, too. 

Moog Sub 37

SOUNDS GOOD. MY MAIN HOBBY INCLUDES GOING INTO SAM ASH AND WAITING FOR GOSPEL GROUPS TO FINISH THEIR SYNTH JAM SESH SO I CAN GO INTO THE ISOLATION ROOM AND ROCK OUT ON THIS MOOG. 

Electro-Voice RE20

Just like the ‘wand chooses the wizard’ (and yes, I heard Ollivander’s voice when I wrote that), everyone will usually resonate to at least one mic that makes their non-traditional voice sound... okay. Heck, maybe it’ll even sound good! I really adore this microphone. I haven’t bought it because I have spent time in facilities over the past 4 years that have owned it everywhere I’ve went, but someday, it shall be mine. It’s mainly used in broadcasting, but, I dunno. I use it when recording my own voice singing because I just like how it makes it sound. I also like that Thom Yorke used it in a show once. Very coolio. Google ‘Radiohead RE20′ and I’m sure that basement show will pop up.

DSI Tempest

Um, coolest drum machine I’ve ever used. That thing is a beast. I love the weird sounds you can make, the sequences you can create, and I’m happy that DSI finally created a couple updates for it. Hell yizzzzzeah.

Crumar Bit-01

This synth came to my attention the other day and ohhhhhh my god, it sounds good. It’s so awesome. I played three seconds of a demo video and I said ‘gimme’. 

Otari MTR12

Very cool tape machine I started to mess with at one of the studios I support. It looks like an oven. Everything just sounds better with tape. 

-

And that is all I can think of, for now. May you all have a synth filled week.

Cheers!

x The Unicorn Princess

[punkscowardschampions]

Ali & Carly

Ali: this is why i don't wear shoes Ali: i have lost one??? Ali: rescue it if you see it Carly: what do they look like Ali: just a kinda tan sandal thing Ali: just a penneys special so not the end of the world, should chuck the other one so someone can have the pair Carly: come & bring me food & then youll be here to reunite them Carly: but yea k will lean out my door & see if its there Ali: love the enthusiasm, babe 😜 Ali: can feel your come down from here Carly: dont barely remember the come up Carly: wtf happened last night Ali: not in a much better position myself but uhm Ali: mayhem, that's for sure Ali: i think you might've gone home with the wrong cousin Carly: shit Carly: my bad Carly: better read my txts Carly: who did you go w ? Ali: didn't go that far with anyone Ali: 💍 remember and such a 😇 Ali: ronan was in a mard though and i weren't up for listening to that so 🤷 Carly: aw Carly: sorry baby i'll calm him down Ali: it's chill 😂 bless him Ali: no need on my account tho i'm sure he'd be down, despite protests otherwise Carly: my inbox is Carly: cba w this rn Ali: oh baby, want a bacon sarnie and a secretary? Carly: yea Carly: gonna throw my phone w your shoe Ali: i woke up to a mystery dickpic on my phone Ali: is it rude to ask which one it belongs to because lads, sorry, not that memorable that i'm picking it out of a line-up Ali: you'll know, been more recent, i'll come over with food and lucozade for real and ruin your day with that lovely image and the actually rather creative sexts that went with it Ali: 10/10 for effort, sir Carly: cant put it on the cv or school report but my memory for 'em is good Carly: if ive seen it i'll id it Carly: ill laff if its the large ginge cousin whose name i never got Carly: sounded like a cough Ali: that's a talent and if the man can't see that, fuck him Ali: and his job in tescos, like Ali: i mean, shouldn't have a preference but i hope not 😂 Ali: soz honey but Carly: thanks baby Carly: I hope its that token english Carly: he was fit Ali: can reply if you like Ali: worse ways to waste a sunday morning than messing with boys Ali: sounding like a priest Ali: oops Carly: ha Carly: i found some fucking funny vids of us so maybe the phone shouldnt go out window before youve had a look Ali: yes, i need to see that Carly: [sends her fave of the vids] Ali: aww Ali: we're fun drunks Ali: love that for us Carly: yea Carly: im a messy bitch tho Carly: no wonder i went w the hero cousin Ali: meh, things happen at parties, everyone knows that Ali: not like you're proper attached is it Ali: though he's gonna be annoying now probs but day in the life when you're irresistible, yeah? Carly: youd know babe Carly: he wont be on site long never is Carly: so idc Carly: saved me for a nite boy youre welcome Ali: duh Ali: hottest couple in town Ali: one for the wank bank anyway Carly: yea & he is fit Carly: give him that Carly: esp when i dont understand what hes saying Ali: the best kind Ali: a boy you don't have to speak to 😜 Ali: if that's all it takes like, whip out the Gaeilge Carly: youve got the giggles but yea Carly: true Carly: but on site id just have all the oldies chatting at me if i could Carly: not trying to make them go weak Ali: they ain't daddies? boo 😥 Carly: some got many kids but thats it Carly: say something to me then Ali: [sends voice memo, probably has dirty words she'd recognise from site life and lots of loling] Carly: k Carly: so hot Carly: if your gf is mad at me for stealing you last nite you can smooth things over w her like that Ali: might have to Ali: though it ain't you she's 😤 with Ali: poor ronan, shoulda done more than snog him if she comes for him, not even worth it for that Carly: ill protect him when he lets me back near Carly: cant stay mad at this Carly: sure your girls the same Ali: She's mad 24/7 babe, just gotta hold on, like 😂 Ali: we want different things now but that's not a convo for this morning like jesus Carly: whos got the energy Carly: cba w angry Carly: yea you want a sarnie Ali: exactly, and i wanted to have fun last night but may as well have said i want his dick in or around my mouth k bye babe Carly: ha Carly: that would be fun tho Ali: tell that to past you, dashing his threesome dreams like 🤷💔 Carly: still time Ali: not me you need to promise baby Carly: yea but id rather talk to you Ali: 💚 Ali: you cute Carly: all you Carly: how you look so good coming from band? wtf Ali: psh please Ali: it was all about you 🙇 Carly: if that was true why is every memory i got from last nite just you Carly: facts Ali: had to get you away from that mirror somehow, like 😉 Ali: it was fun Carly: ha Carly: cuz your talents got me like Carly: yea it was Ali: helps when the canvas already beautiful babe Carly: aw Carly: youre sweet Ali: 🍓 Carly: gonna make me cry Ali: don't cry lil one Ali: the bacon is coming Ali: got roped into doing a shady kid swap, where is my ma, take this demon child Carly: you can bring him if you want Carly: ill put clothes on before Ali: cockblocked again 😉 Ali: nah, he needs to go get shoes Ali: ironically and unlucky, twat Carly: what size is he Carly: i can ask around when i look for yours Carly: lads flog everything and anything here on sundays Ali: his feet are big man Ali: he's only little but he's lanky af, unlike me Ali: that's fun tho Ali: imma go shopping Carly: aw Carly: yea wish i was taller Carly: ffs ma and da Ali: literally Ali: least neither of my sisters are model tall or i'd be more raging Ali: we make it work, babe Carly: & i dont have any sisters Carly: well done on that one tho ma & da Ali: speak for yourself Ali: i'm gutted Carly: oww Carly: trying to replace me like the vows were no thing Ali: you know you're my one and only Ali: but a woman got needs Carly: thats what your gf is for Carly: no Ali: yeah but i'm allowed wishful thinking too Ali: damn Carly: ive given you the mental image of me naked Carly: what more you need Ali: are you jealous of your hypothetical sister? Carly: yea if you like her more Ali: aw baby, 'course not Ali: she's a ride, yeah, but bit of a bitch too, like Carly: ha Carly: takes after our ma like Ali: sadly, straighter than you Ali: 👎 Carly: like theres a ranking Carly: just straight or not yea Ali: I mean, it is a scale but I'm not gonna try and bond with your Ma giving her the test for it, like Ali: could we tie her down for a sec, obvs Carly: hit her when shes washing up Carly: takes long Ali: okay, i'll dry 😉 Ali: what an offer Carly: trying to make me vom now Carly: take crying or blushing over Ali: soz babe Carly: her & my da dont fuck but still dont reckon youre her type Ali: don't know what's worse, that, or knowing they do Carly: im good w them not Carly: sound carries Carly: no secrets in the caravan Ali: sure there's a toilet block they could go to Ali: keeping it sexy Carly: sure my da's there doing his cry wank Carly: while my ma checks the talent Carly: we got that to look forward to in our marriage in a few years Ali: who's scouting who's cranking Ali: because frankly, i refuse either Carly: im the biggest slag so probs me Carly: sorry Ali: and I'm not Ali: igloo sisters how many times now?! 😂 Carly: ha Carly: but youre loyal Carly: me and my ma dont kno the meaning like Ali: am i Ali: you miss the part when i got on ronan Carly: o yea Carly: i forgot Ali: idk what i'm gonna do about that Ali: instant gameover but its literally so irrelevant Carly: hes a ride Carly: you should be excused for it Ali: she's a 6 on that scale, yeah, massive gay Ali: so she ain't seeing that, never mind the other shit Carly: shit yea Carly: dont tell her Ali: does that make me the worst? Ali: i should hm Carly: hes not gonna speak to her Carly: and if he brags you can call it that Ali: Yeah Ali: I don't know Carly: its that or tell her Carly: & say youre sorry Carly: we were all wasted Carly: not like you have feelings for him Ali: You're right, obviously Ali: like that's the truth but yeah Ali: might leave it unless I need to go there Ali: soz God, swing by confession later Carly: tell her youre a bi cliche Carly: she'd love it Carly: use the scale Ali: she would tho Ali: validate everything she's ever sneaky or not so thought about me Ali: soz, i need a constant stream of p n v or i die Carly: a girl has needs Carly: what am i a 1? Ali: its like dis Ali: 1- all straight 2- mostly straight but lil gay 3- equal/bi 4- mostly gay but still lil into opposite 5- total gay Ali: but not gonna resist the urge to tell you you a 10 Carly: 🥇 Carly: i like that you're 3 tho. 3's a lucky number Ali: and a magic one 🔮 Carly: yea cuz youre magical Ali: believe it baby Carly: i do Ali: right, finally leaving, be like 10 Ali: doing the opposite to a walk of shame rn, strutting back in like what's good Carly: you gotta Carly: own it baby Carly: havent found your shoe tho sorry Carly: maybe ronan took it cuz he loves you so bad Ali: 😂 oh my god Ali: like a horny puppy Carly: yea Carly: building a shrine to you rn probs Ali: or he wanna play cinderella Ali: such a ridiculous fairytale, as far as they go Carly: how wasted was the prince that he cant remember what she looks like Carly: k been there but not trying to wife anyone Ali: right?! also, sure plenty of bitches a size 5, like??? Ali: was it a magic shoe Ali: no explanation, frankly Carly: yea like me and you have the same size Carly: ill take your prince for a ride bitch Ali: 😂 Ali: he cool with that Ali: that's the tea Ali: boy gives no fucks, long as it ain't a man in drag Carly: he hasnt met your brother tho Carly: boy looks good Ali: eww Ali: stop that thought right there Carly: dont get jealous Carly: not gonna go there Ali: not jealous, but repulsed 😷 Carly: k babe Carly: if you say so Ali: trust, you wanna see jealous you'll see it soon enough if you go there Ali: 😂 bea don't fuck about Carly: have to go for one of your other hot brothers Ali: trying be my sister in law and wife Ali: kickin it country Carly: you kno Carly: been on site too long Ali: forreal, not gotta hang with the traveller lads that hard baby Carly: after last nite not gonna be hanging w them for a while Ali: let 'em fight it out amongst themselves Ali: defs for the best Carly: yea Carly: hide w me babe Carly: gonna be so bored Ali: gonna Ali: i'll peep their wares another day Ali: not a euphemism Carly: sounds dirty tho Ali: yeah, regretted it as i said it but hey Ali: love me a sale and a gypsy boy Carly: no regrets boo Carly: they love you too Carly: esp whoever send the dick pic Ali: the real mystery Ali: soz everyone else with your drama but we gotta know Carly: i do need to be knowing Carly: thats my wife lads Ali: awh you gonna defend my honour n delicate sensibilities Carly: yea Carly: youre an angel Ali: you're so cute Carly: its you Carly: my parents came back Carly: gonna have to run Ali: oh no i am en route Ali: where you going boo Carly: i'll catch you and we can find somewhere theyre not Carly: ha church Carly: can you eat there cuz im not looking to die for jesus Ali: yeah for sure, not in the pews like its the cinema, like Ali: can go park if you wanna Ali: or up the mountain if you can hack it, like Carly: youre so smart Carly: like your mouth Carly: but yea Carly: date time Ali: awh yeah Ali: this picnic ain't goals i'm so sorry babe Ali: least the weather's looking up Carly: idc Carly: get to be w my boo Ali: 😍 Carly: i look crazy Carly: havent got dressed faster w out getting fucked before since idc Carly: idk Ali: i like crazy Ali: and beside me you'll probs look totally normal 😉 Carly: you look hot every day baby Carly: facts Ali: all these compliments got me feeling 🔥 obvs Carly: thats how i want it Ali: gonna have you flying high too Ali: top of the world, baby Carly: aw Carly: whats in the food like Ali: 😂 Ali: just faith n trust n pixiedust, of course Carly: you can snort pixiedust yea? Carly: k Ali: you gon' be mad when i've got nothing but sandwiches and half a donut Carly: nah Carly: cant be mad at you Carly: too cute Ali: and donuts are life Carly: true