#However when it comes to howdy he would still use him as a punching bag

[songmingisthighs]

Hooked

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

ch. lxii - curiosity killed the cat

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??? × reader, ateez × reader

A freshman hookup rekindled into something new. With an incentive, of course. But what would happen if your 'relationship' led you somewhere you never thought would happen to you ?

The three remaining boys, Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho rushed downstairs to see what the commotion was all about. Though they were nervous, they were also curious and they were not going to be the only ones left behind with the information.

But when they stepped onto the living area, they were confused at the sight upon them.

San and Wooyoung were nowhere to be found, Yeosang had a look of utter surprise which was a rare sight, a teary Jongho was standing next to Mingi who was fully crying, and in front of them was a person clad in a black hoodie and a pair of black sweats. The person's back was to the three so they didn't know who it was.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Hongjoong asked with all the strength he could muster. The others who stood in front of the person clad in black could only look at the leader but weren't able to utter a single word.

Slowly, the unknown person turned their body towards the three. All eyes widened and their breaths hitched, the sight before them was just too confusing to comprehend.

"What are you doing here?" Hongjoong asked.

"And who are you?" Yunho added.

The person took his hood off to reveal a man around their age, charming with a glint of playfulness as he smirked at them.

But before he could introduce himself, Mingi had beaten him to the punch, "this is (Y/N)'s cousin who also studied here," he said. The man nodded and grin widely, "Howdy, I'm Haknyeon," he then stuck his hand out for any of the three to shake, "Joo Haknyeon, pleased to meet your acquaintance,"

Before either one of the three could shake his hand, however, Mingi lunged forward to try and grab at Haknyeon's sweater. Luckily, Yeosang and Jongho managed to hold the larger guy back.

"Skip the pleasantries, Haknyeon, and tell them what you told us" he growled. Haknyeon only raised an eyebrow and smirked in amusement, "wow, (Y/N) was right when she said you're a ticking time bomb. No one is ever THAT happy, ever tried counselling, big guy?" he poked.

Then he turned around to the three still confused boys with a distraught expression, "It's about (Y/N)," he started.

"Oh God," Yunho yelped out, his hand immediately gripped onto the arm of the closest person which was Seonghwa.

"What about (Y/N)?" Seonghwa asked, voice cracking from nerves. Haknyeon looked like he didn't wanna talk, but the hopeful eyes in front of him struck something deep in him, "she... left," he said.

"Yeah, she left us, we know that," Yunho clarified, "no, she... LEFT left," Haknyeon stressed.

The boys behind Haknyeon let out choked out tears once again as the Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yunho felt like their world just shattered.

San and Wooyoung came back from the kitchen, San looking dishevelled and distraught as Wooyoung tailed after him, looking more or less the same but not worse.

"Tell me where she went," San demanded once he fully stood in front of Haknyeon. He was about to grab the stranger's hoodie in his hands but Wooyoung luckily prevented him.

Haknyeon took a step back from San to evade being grabbed, "can't do that, sorry, I promised her," he shrugged simply.

By this point, you could feel the tension in the room. The once sorrowful boys now had veins popping on their foreheads and they seemingly had their brains connected as they took a step towards Haknyeon together. The intruder was cornered in the middle of eight menacing men.

"See, Haknyeon, I told you sticking to the script would've been better,"

All nine heads snapped towards the direction of the kitchen where you stood, hands on your waist and your luggage and bag by your side.

Haknyeon grinned innocently and shrugged, "And where would the fun be there?" he joked, slipping himself from between the boys towards you. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and grinned widely at the eight now-dumbstruck men, "If you guys haven't figured it out, I was kidding, (Y/N)'s perfectly fine and she's back, she just needs my help to slip in here as a distraction while she slipped from the back," he said proudly.

But the silence in the room was deafening. Neither one of the boys reacted whatsoever. If you look closely, you're sure that neither of them was even blinking.

Seeing and feeling the tension, Haknyeon cringed and pat your head softly, "yeesh, tough crowd. I'll let you handle them on your own," he said simply before leaving from the back door where you came.

When the door closed behind Haknyeon, you finally realized that you now have to face the consequence of your action.

Luckily, you didn't have to break the silence.

"(Y/N)? Is that really you?" Jongho choked out, surprisingly. Out of everyone there, you thought the first ones to welcome you would've been Mingi, San, or Wooyoung, or even Seonghwa.

A smile broke on your face and your shoulders slumped in relief, "Yeah, it's really me, Ho,"

You were about to take walk towards them all when Yeosang stepped forward with a hand outstretched, motioning you to stop.

"You think you can just easily walk in here and we would just so easily accept you back?" he spat out.

Your feet stopped in its track and your heart dropped to your stomach.

"Accept me back? What do you mean accept me back, was I ever rejected by you all?" you couldn't help but ask, feeling like Yeosang didn't mean what he said.

But you were dead wrong.

"You left out of the blue, without any explanation, leaving us scrambling around like headless chicken looking for you. YOU rejected us first," he said.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, "I didn't reject you guys- oh my God, I had to get away from here for a while and I couldn't tell any of you! I didn't have time because I was pressed, FORCED to leave and having to keep my mouth shut about everything, I was miserable when I left," your voice cracked on its own mid-sentence without you realizing.

A scoff left Yeosang's mouth, "No one forced you to do anything, (Y/N), you LEFT, you CHOSE to do that all on your own," he turned a bit to point at Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho, "You left those three crying their eyes out for you, there wasn't a day when Mingi wouldn't actively go out to look for you with one of the others, do you know that your former RA almost got his ass tied to a restriction order?" he then moved again to point at the three oldest, "Hwa hyung and Yunho barely ate, too stressed to even keep food down, Hwa hyung had to take medicine for the toll of stress on his body and Joong hyung barely went out of his room, he tried to distract himself from the fact that you left without saying anything, some of us had to force him to eat and sleep,"

Then suddenly he gripped onto San's hand and brought him forward. Your heart broke at how sunken San looked, bags under his eyes and he seemed visibly smaller and weaker, "and San here got so depressed that he wasn't able to function whatsoever. I had to make sure he got out of his bed and move around every day or else I'm sure that he would've died," Yeosang's voice cracked as tears began streaming down his eyes.

Yunho took a step forward and look around at everyone, "G-guys, let's calm down a bit-"

But he was cut off by Yeosang who had let his emotion took over him completely.

"You left us! You left us broken-hearted and confused and lonely and ruined! So no, you don't get to waltz here so easily, thinking that we'd just accept you with open arms after the crap you pulled. If you wanted to be a wandering tramp, then why even bother coming back? Did you get bored out there? Or were your conquest turned out to be a failure? We were genuine about you, yet you simply shrugged us off like dust," he screamed at you.

You didn't even realize that your own tears had run down your own face. You looked around for the other boys for help, but neither one were looking at you. They were actively avoiding your stare.

Seeing Yeosang's chest heaving heavily with lips trembling, Seonghwa took a step closer to him and pulled him back slowly.

"Yeosang, come on, man, not like this. Not now. Let's take a deep breath first, okay?" he said softly despite his own obvious bubbling emotion.

Maybe it was the raw emotion and the vulnerable state Yeosang was in, but he simply let Seonghwa drag him back slowly until they both retreated to the stairs.

One by one, starting from Jongho then Hongjoong and Wooyoung, then San slowly followed whilst keeping his eyes glued to the floor, they all left you. Your heartbeat quickened when you watched their retrieving figure, backs towards you so coldly.

Not that you could blame them, Yeosang made a point about you leaving just like that without any notice.

All that left were Yunho and Mingi.

As they looked at each other, you could see that they were debating whether to welcome you or not.

Your hope was immediately crushed as they simply gave you a broken-hearted stare and followed the other six, disappearing to their own rooms.

So all that's left was you, out in the open.

All alone.

Vulnerable.

How you wish you could turn back time and changed your decision.

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[rodeoxqueen]

Hi hi!! I was wondering if you could do hcs of DMC boys spending times with their kids at the amusement park and at the end they take pictures with each other thank you so muc ^^

Howdy Howdy,

Of course I can, gorgeous. 

Enjoy,

Rodeo. 

Dante 

“Kids! Wake up, wake up, we’re going to the amusement park!” He screams as he kicks the door down. The kids aren’t expecting it but they were overjoyed regardless. 

Just as excited as his kids to go to amusement parks. He drives them the whole way over talking about which rides they should go on. They miss their turns several times. 

Daddy Dante got the full dad in amusement park attire. Hawaiian shirt, board shorts, and flamingo socks with sandals. 

It helps to be super strong, he holds all their stuff. 

He races the kids to the lines. He basically lets them do what they want but he wants to go on the scary rides. Good thing it’s not their turn with the Sparda brain cell, they fear nothing. 

“Wow, they say this ride is not suitable for sick people, pregnant women, old people, and people with common sense and self-respect. Well kids, it’s good that’s not any of us.” 

“Dad, you’re pretty old.” 

“Do you want to ride this death trap or not?” 

“Nevermind, you don’t look a day over twenty, dad.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

He wins them all the prizes. One of his kids runs around with the largest unicorn known to man while the vendor tells Dante that no, he cannot use Ebony and Ivory to win anymore stuffed animals. 

“It’s so fluffy I’m gonna die!!” 

“Kiddo, can that wait? We still have several rides to go on.” 

Dante even has the dinky cameras with the photos you get developed at the print store. All of them are blurred or one of the kids makes a weird face in it. He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

You know those punching bags they have that measure your strength? Well, Dante is super cocky stepping up to punch the daylights out of it. 

The goofy dad misses, his fist going straight through the machine and lifting it out of the cement. His kids cheer as he realizes what he’s done. 

“Did I win?” 

“Sir, you need to pay for that.” 

“Kids, book it and scatter! They can’t catch all of us.” 

They are banned from that park. No regrets. 

They go home, sunburnt, faces sticky with candy and all sorts of fried foods, and arms fulls of prizes. They don’t even make it to their rooms before they all pass out in the living room. 

Dante buys so many pictures they took from the rides. They join the rest of his wallet photos. 

Lady and Trish are mad he spent so much on one excursion, but seeing how happy he was with his kids, they don’t say anything. 

Vergil 

It isn’t until his kids plead and whine to him for weeks that he will open a portal to this “amusement park.” 

“But Father, all the other kids get to go!” 

“It is a frivolous waste of time.” 

“Uncle Dante is so cool, our cousins got to go-” 

“Where is it.” 

He’ll be damned before his brother is considered “cooler” to his own children.

He’s the dad that doesn’t want to be there but relented for his kids. Another unamused dad stands next to him as they watch their kids go feral. 

“You too, huh?” 

“Don’t talk to me.” 

He stands next to them in the long lines to ensure their safety. He glares at anyone who tries to cut in line. 

“Cut in line in front of my children again. Try it. I will cut you.” 

His kids get first in line since no one wants to stand behind Vergil. When the ride takes their photos, employees are shocked to see he is stone-faced the whole ride. 

“Hell had better drops than this.” 

His kids win prizes by themselves, Vergil once again relenting and handing them bills. 

They run over to him with their own prizes and he pats them on the head. 

“I expected nothing less.” 

Vergil does not want his kids to get sick from all the sweets they wish to consume. He lets them choose a few things and then he cuts them off. 

He sits down in the shade as his kids continue to play and run around. 

It isn’t until they point to the strength tester that Vergil gets up again. He knows it’s rigged. He initially refuses, but when someone calls him a wuss he removes his jacket and snatches the hammer from the vendor. 

Vergil hits the scale so hard that the puck flies straight off the scale and enters the stratosphere. 

“Are we done now?” 

He is handed an armful of tickets. His kids praise their father while he smugly smirks at the people who taunted him. 

“Foolish.” 

The pictures booth is thoroughly stuffed with all of his kids and their toys and stuffed animals. He is literally shoved into the background, all the weight on his lap as he tries not to asphyxiate. When the photos come out, you can only see the top part of his face. 

They all go home, thoroughly entertained. Vergil acts like he doesn’t care and that the trip was mundane. But only he knows, he was smiling in all of the booth photos. Good thing he’ll take that to the grave. 

V

His children see the posters around town for the amusement parks when he takes them out on afternoon strolls to the park. He’s an observant father, who notices how his kin gathers around the idea of this “amusement park.” 

“Dad, can we please go?” They shyly ask. 

“But of course.” He says. 

He is not prepared for the chaotic nature of these crowded social events. It’s hot, he’s sweating, everything is so expensive, it’s loud……

Since he is unnaturally pale, he always applies sunscreen. His kids are also slathered in it before they go running about. 

Bless him. He tries so hard to keep up in the sweltering heat. His kids notice he’s lagging behind so they decide to stay in one place so he can sit and observe. 

At least the burgers and fries are good here. His kids run about, asking him to try what deep-fried and sugary creations they have found. He’s very fond of cotton candy and how it disappears on his tongue. 

Shadow tries to eat garbage and Griffon is heckling the street performers. 

V’s children beg him to come with them and practically drag him to the rides. He pales at the screams of other people. 

He relents and he goes on the rides. His kids feel awful after he throws up after the third repeat of the most infamous attraction. 

They leave him alone after that, letting him recover at a table. His familiars follow his children around to make sure nothing bad happens.

It’s not his scene, however….

He’s the new champ of guessing how many things are in a jar. He rests his head on his cane as he observes each marble, each little figurine before he guesses an incredibly close number. 

His children are shocked to come back to him and find the piles of tickets he’s won. 

His kids get themselves giant chicken and cat plushies. 

“Hey, V! Not funny!” Griffon declares in indignance at the chicken plushies his master’s children run about with. Shadow is quite a fan, keeping one in her mouth. 

Finally, it has gotten late and they all decide to take pictures. You know damn well that Griffon and Shadow wish to partake in this. 

V keeps the photos tucked in his book. 

Despite the literal spiraling rollercoaster that is amusement parks, he would do it all over again to see his children so overjoyed. 

#dante headcanons #dante sparda #v headcanons #dmc5 v #vergil headcanons #vergil sparda #dmc headcanons #devil may cry headcanons

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 55

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Neo had confirmed the presence of an elderly woman that only Winter Schnee was allowed to see. She took her tea green so I did in fact get all the information I wanted. Fria was her name. And she was the winter maiden, at least if Tyrian could be taken at his word, which in this case, why not? Did it really matter if she was winter or summer? Not for my purposes.

Aside from Tyrian's location, Aurum had informed me of another of Merlot's laboratories in a place called Mt. Nibel. It was above a small dust mining town that Neo and I reached on a combination of train and foot.

He also promised to put me in contact with a group of ex-workers who could tell me about the General's secret project. A group called Avalanche. They had some little favors they needed from me first but they'd talk. At least according to Aurum. They just needed a little help with something first. No biggie for someone like me. I was a favor guy. I was a problem solver.

Nibelhiem had all the usual dust amenities and I took the time to resupply my dust where it was cheap. Cheapest in all the world. Especially with the embargo driving up supply and decreasing demand.

They were practically giving the stuff away and I had my pick of crystals from a vendor near the mountain.

"Burn and shock crystals. Uncut is fine." He nodded. The uncut ones were a little cheaper. Not that it mattered much to me. I still was swimming in cash even after the train rides and the private airship.

"You headed up the mountain?" He asked as he set crystals on his counter.

I nodded. "And a bit of weight, please." He nodded and he pulled out a purple crystal and set it next to the array of yellow and red crystals.

"Well you might need a guide if you're goin' up the mountain. You got a place in mind or are you just out hunting?"

I took them and put them in my crystal pouch. They clanked together in the pocket and I'd need to consider a new way of carrying them to make sure they didn't blow up on me and destroy my face in the process.

Nothing bad had happened yet but that was no reason to tempt fate where I was concerned. I had the worst luck. Like the absolute worst.

"What do you think Neo? Do we need a guide to take us up the mountain?"

She pursed her lips in thought at me. She raised a finger. I took that however I wanted.

"We're headed to an old laboratory up there. You ever hear of it?" I asked. "Run by this guy named Merlot at some point in the past?"

"I haven't but I'm willing to bet you could find a guide who has in a young girl. She's been training to be a huntress up here. Her name's Peach Locheart."

"And do you know where I might find this young girl?"

"She's usually in her teacher's dojo. Zangan's his name."

I nodded my head. It was entirely possible a guide would be necessary up in those mountains. The wind seemed to course over them fast enough to whip up a blizzard and even trained huntsmen like yours truly could get lost in that kind of weather.

It was unlike the last laboratory which we sort of knew the location of based on our conversation with Godo. I was coming in here a little blind.

"She's not like a kid, is she?" I asked. "My friend here isn't fond of kids." I gestured to Neo with both hands.

"She's a bit on the younger side. Mature for her age, though, if that helps." He pointed the way to Zangan's dojo down the street.

I thanked him for the advice and the dust and made my way there.

There was a young girl in a pink combat skirt firing off kicks against a dummy punching bag. She was maybe fifteen, old enough to kind of understand the world. Old enough to start to be a huntress. An older gentleman turned to look at me as I walked in.

"Howdy," he greeted unironically. He actually said howdy this far north. "What brings you in here?"

"I'm headed up the mountains, into Merlot's old laboratory. I need a guide to take me there. A dust vendor outside recommended someone named Peach."

"That's me," the young girl delivered a punch and a kick to the bag for emphasis.

"She can take you up the mountains. I've never heard of a laboratory being up there, though."

"He must mean that old white and grey bunker up there." Peach cut in. "I've seen it. Never been inside though."

"What do you say kid, want to take me up there?"

"What's in it for me?" She asked. I liked her style. She was more worldly than Yuma had been. Less of that naivety. It would make her harder to trick but that was at once a good and a bad thing.

"I have Lien. Set your price," I told her.

"I don't need Lien." She punched the bag in time with her words.

"Everybody needs something, kid. Everybody has a price."

"I'm not a kid either. You said you were buying dust?"

"That's right." I palmed a crystal from my pocket and showed it to her.

"You know magic, then? You're a hunter." She took in the massive weapon at my back. Her eyes flicked over my shoulder.

"Only a little. I'm better at using it to set explosives," I informed her.

"Teach me."

"Hmm." I hummed at that.

"I don't need your money but I'm going to be a huntress. I need to know about dust if I'm going to be any good. You teach me how to use it to make explosives and you've got a deal."

She held out a wrapped hand.

I reached out and shook it.

"You've got yourself a deal, little miss."

She flushed a little red. Maybe she was nervous.

"Peach…" Zangan warned. "Be careful. And you better go ask your father."

"Not to worry sir, I'll keep her safe," I told him. "She seems like quite the student."

She rushed off out the door behind me to do as her teacher bade.

"She is. She's very dedicated. You know how it is with the young'uns. They want to be hunters so bad they'll miss the forest for the trees. They don't know what it'll cost."

That most hunters died young. I understood.

"We don't all get to live to be as old as you are." He was only forty or so. Middle aged.

He grunted at that. "How old are you kid?"

"Twenty."

"And the Miss with you?"

Neo held up a warning hand.

"Neo? I'm not sure. She doesn't talk. Plus it's rude to ask a lady her age. We've been traveling together for a while now, though."

"Well don't be shocked if her father wants to meet with you before he sends you off with his daughter. He's not a huntsman himself but he understands a little."

"But not the whole picture."

"They rarely do. Rarely can." He leaned against the counter in front of the dojo. "He's paying me a pretty penny to teach his daughter. She's hungry for it. You met the type?"

I thought of Yuma Kisaragi and I thought of little Ruby Rose. Plus there was me, myself, before I knew my memories were fake and my dreams were dead.

"Once or twice."

"You ever seen it work out well?" He seemed to be genuinely asking me. Like he wasn't sure himself.

"They're alive." I managed. "So it's sort of too early to tell."

"They your age?"

"Yes sir, one. And another is your Peach's age. A little huntress to be out of a place called Wutai. You heard of it?"

He shook his head.

"It's a small town. Down near Mistral," I went on.

"That where you're from?" He asked.

"Near Mistral? I suppose. But I was trained and raised in Vale, though." And that was the truth, near as I could tell.

"Been all over, have you?"

"A bit."

"The traveling mysterious huntsman type. I ought to hate your guts."

"Sir?"

"You ought t' know. Be careful with my apprentice. You should know how young hearts are. You were one more recently than me, as you pointed out."

I ran a hand through my spiky hair and sighed. That seemed to be good enough for him because he nodded.

"I'll look after her. Nobody will get hurt on my watch," I swore.

"And if someone is?" He leaned over at me.

"I'll bring her right back here."

"There ain't a hospital in town."

"She's a huntress. She has aura."

"Huntress in training. You know they're not the same thing."

"I'll be as safe as I can be. I'm promising to train her in explosives for gods' sake. There's only so safe you can be. Besides, if you think she'll be good enough by being trained in a dojo, you've got another thing coming. Does she want to make it into one of the Academies?"

Zangan nodded.

"Then she needs to fight Grimm. A lot of them. The sooner the better. I trained at Beacon. Initiation started with launching us into a Grimm infested forest."

"Lords above. So young..."

"Seventeen isn't that young. There was even this prodigy that was her age there and she was better than me. Still is. Well maybe." I wasn't sure how I still might stand up against Ruby. I was fucking dangerous. If she plateaued, then I might have the edge on her.

Peach came back with an older man in tow.

"Father this is...um…" Her pink eyes flickered to mine. Oh to be young. Ever.

"Cloud Strife, sir." I shook his hand firmly and saved her. He was a touch shorter than me with brown hair unlike his daughter's blonde. And his eyes were a dark red. But eye colors could be weird in Remnant. Ask Yang.

"I hear that my daughter wants to take you up the mountain in exchange for some training."

"That's right. I was going to show her some of what I know about dust."

"You mean… like magic?"

"Maybe a little. I know some but my real experience is in using it to make explosives."

"Peach…" he trailed off looking down at her.

"Dad I need to learn this kind of thing. He can show me. Sifu-Zangan doesn't use dust."

"Never needed it," Zangan grunted.

"You’ve never killed any big fish, then," I said. “Big. Game. Goliaths and the like.”

“Tha’s a dangerous sport.”

“Hunting can be. There are sharks in these rivers.”

He looked away and I thought of Tyrian and Raven. There were also big Grimm which would be difficult to kill without dust. The Nuckelavee was like that, too.

"Well what do you think, Zangan?"

"The kid seems trustworthy." He shrugged. "He can teach her things I don't know. It might save her life one day. He also attended Beacon. He can let her know the sort of life she'll be in for at the Academies."

"Beacon… were you there when it went down?" Peach's father asked.

"I was," I answered easily.

Peach looked up at me with her bright pink eyes. "You were at Beacon? What was it like?"

I laughed at her curiosity.

"Peach." Her father warned. I waved him off.

"It's alright. My time at Beacon was the best. It was a lot of hard work though."

"Did you fight big Grimm?" She asked.

"I did."

"I knew it." She pumped a fist. "He fought real Grimm."

"I can show her some of what I know. I can teach her how to fight them."

"You had to fight Grimm while you attended?" Her father asked. "Or just when the academy went down?"

"Both," I waved a hand and answered. "Initiation was us fighting Grimm."

"I see…" He looked deep in thought. "I don't want you fighting a lot of Grimm. The idea makes me uncomfortable."

"I'm going to be a huntress. That's the whole point."

"You're right. Of course you're right."

"And I've been that high up in the mountains before. I've fought Grimm like that. It's just Beowulfs and Creepers. I'll be safe. It's all a learning opportunity."

"Very well. Mr. Huntsman, Strife, was it? You'll look after my daughter?"

"No harm will come to her. You have my word."

She pumped a wrapped fist in the air. "Dust explosions here I come."

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We made our way into the mountains, out of Nibelhiem, and needed to set up our tent for the night. It was not as long into the journey as I would have liked. In typical Neo fashion she sat and watched me set up everything and cook dinner.

"So how do you set up explosions?" Peach was shaking with excitement. "And will you show me some of your magic, too?"

"It's not real magic," I explained. "You'll occasionally run into a real dust sorcerer. Someone who can do all kinds of things with dust. I just know how to use it in its raw form. Primal. I don't even know how to eat it"

"Eating it?" She laughed.

"It's not actually eating it. It's putting it in your body so that you can use the power. You can actually eat it I suppose or you can just stick it in your flesh and it sort of slides into you. Into your aura."

"But it's still magic, right?"

"A little. But it's like comparing a first aid kit to a hospital staffed with doctors. I'm a bit of a neanderthal."

"Oh I don't believe that. You seem smart."

"You've only just met me. Give it a minute."

She laughed again, her eyes were bright. "Show me how to use dust to make explosives."

It was easy enough. I showed her how to set it up with a circuit, a battery, and a switch.

"The switch is the complicated part. You might want to learn about how radio signals work if you want to be able to blow them up remotely."

"But that's it. Just a circuit and a crystal and that's it."

"It's not rocket science. It's really simple. You can pretty easily make a landmine like this. Just bury it with a trigger on a plate underground and bing-bang-boom. You've got yourself a trap. I cornered a pretty big Grimm like that once."

"What else can you do?"

"You can throw it really hard."

She gave me a questioning look.

"Look you just throw a dust crystal hard enough and fast enough and it works. It explodes and unleashes the effects."

"That sounds too easy. It's supposed to be all hard and complicated."

"Well it shouldn't surprise you. They have to move it around all safe in containers for control. Too much disturbance and the stuff just goes off. Even in powder form."

"But you don't use it in powder. Because you can use it raw."

"That's right. Let me show you."

I handled a yellow crystal and crushed it. Lightning ran up my arm and I cast an arm forward. Lightning struck the tree from my open palm and burnt a hole in it and part of the tree to ash.

"Wow…" she breathed. "That's what you meant."

"Yeah. It's not quite what a real dust sorcerer can do but it's closer. I just unleash the power a little more controlled."

"And that's not the same as eating it."

"No. And I can't show you because I'm not a dust eater, either. But as I understand it you can just shove the crystal through your skin or into your mouth and the crystal becomes a part of you. It changes your aura."

"I see. Can I try?"

"Which one?"

"That blast that you just did, not eating it."

"Sure. Why don't you try fire? It's very dangerous so after you crush the crystal you'll be able to feel the power. Then you've got to let it go or it'll explode in your face. It's still risky."

I handed her a red uncut crystal and she held it up to the light. She was looking at how it shone unlike any other substance in the world. The light always came through it red. It always seemed to bounce around impossibly inside the meta-material.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"I just crush it then I let it go?" She asked.

"Pretty much. You'll be able to feel the power. It'll feel hot, like your arm is on fire."

She nodded.

She crushed it and murmured, "I can feel it. I feel the power."

"You need to let it go!" I told her urgently. She was just standing there with the power coursing through her.

She tried but the flames blew up in her face and knocked her on her ass. Her jacket was singed slightly, revealing her tank-top underneath.

"I told you to let go."

She wiped her ash cover hands off on her pants. "Thanks. I wasn't sure how though. Can I try it again?"

"I messed up my first few times too." I handed her another red uncut crystal.

She inhaled deeply. Then she crushed the crystal and I watched the flames run up her arm. Then she cast her arm forward and a fireball shot free. It struck the same tree I did and the pine roasted for a pleasant smell.

The snow was coming down hard enough that the fire wouldn't spread. It was too damp and too cold.

I pumped a fist. I wasn't an incompetent teacher. And she hooted.

"That's how it's done," she called out into the night.

"Well done."

"Can I try it again? With the lightning ones maybe?"

"Not tonight, no. You might like to change now. I hope you brought a spare coat."

She looked down at her arm. "Oh shit, I didn't even notice. The heat of it all. Yeah I have a spare one."

She walked over to her bag and changed her coat.

"Thanks Cloud, you really helped me."

"It was no problem." I smiled. This felt like real good. It had been a long time since I felt that. What with all the murder and chaos and all. It made me feel like I was a good person again. Even if it was just for a moment.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

#jaune arc #cloud strife #rwby #ff7 #ffvii #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!Jaune arc #tifa lockhart #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #war of the roses #white rose #whiterose #whiteknight #white knight #lancaster #neo #neapolitan #motion sickness

[undertalethingems]

Bark at the Moon, Chapter 7: Predatory Instinct

<Previous / Next>

Or read on my Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None?

Chapter Summary: Sans is not a pet. All he has to do is wait for the right moment.

Sans waited.

It was his best quality.

It had let him survive before.

He waited. Watched.

The yellow flower was annoying. It wanted to control him. He didn't want to play its game though, so he just ignored it, and it was fun to make the flower mad. He couldn't do anything to hurt him, not really, so watching him seethe and throw little tantrums anytime things didn't go his way had become his main source of amusement. When the flower wasn't there, he slept. If he stayed awake, it hurt. He missed his brother a lot, and if he slept, he didn't have to think about that, or how long it'd been since he'd last seen him.

There was no point in trying to leave. He'd tried a few times, a few different ways, testing. Learning. If he tried to cut or bite the vines holding him, they'd just grow back. The flower came with if he cut across space, so that was no good, and he was too strong and sneaky to just kill. He had a special not-dying power anyway. Sans remembered that much.

So he'd wait until the flower got bored.

Got too comfortable.

He knew to look for weak points. Opportunities. To strike when the time was right.

The flower tried to get him to do what he wanted. He'd taunted him, tried to trick him into attacking, tried to provoke him. But he wouldn't even dignify him with a warning hiss most days. It wasn't the right time. There was no point in getting upset.

"Ugh, maybe I should just drop you in the middle of New Home and see what happens," the flower was saying. "But that's no fun if you won't attack. You really are useless, huh?"

Sans eyed the flower disdainfully, dull memories surfacing. The man had called them useless at the end. A waste of effort. Had said he should have destroyed them the moment he'd seen their souls. Sans had bit him then. He'd wanted to destroy the man's soul for saying something like that. The man was long gone now, but it was still a bad memory.

"Hey, no growling! Bad!" the flower scolded, slapping his snout with a vine. "Though, it's an improvement over what you used to say. I'm doing this world a favor by sparing everyone from your awful jokes."

Sans snorted, and shifted to lean more on one side. These vines were pretty uncomfortable, but he'd slept on worse. He was getting tired.

"You know though," the flower continued to muse, "it's been a really long time since I've seen your brother. I thought sure you going missing would get to him, but it's like he's missing too."

Something else stirred in Sans' memories. His brother... missing? Hadn't that happened before?

"You know what, I'm gonna check it out. You, stay."

Sans squinted at him as he disappeared into the earth. Not like he could go anywhere. He waited for a little while, then drifted off to sleep.

The flower came back a long time later. "Yep, he's gone! Everyone thinks he went on vacation, but I know for a fact he never takes vacations for any reason. What do you think of that, trashbag? Oh right, I don't think you can answer anymore! Hee hee!"

Sans amused himself by sending up a pair of bones right beside Flowey and making him jump.

"Hey! No! Bad! Bad dog... dragon... thing!" Flowey scolded, tightening the vines that restrained him until he couldn't breathe. Then, he let them loosen again. "You attack when I tell you to, or you're not getting burgers anymore!"

Oh, he did like those... but it was worth the risk. It was fun playing with his prey.

The flower scowled at him, and left. Sans settled in to nap some more. It really was a good way to pass the time while he waited--for a chance to strike, or the next meal. As long as the flower brought him food, he wasn't in too much of a hurry. After all, waiting was his best quality.

He didn't know how long it'd had been, but at some point the flower dragged in a big bag of--something. It smelled like food, but not as good as the burgers. Sans eyed it warily. After a lot of struggle and muffled swearing, the flower gave up and used his attacks to punch a hole in the bag before dumping a portion of its contents into a bowl. The meaty smell was stronger now--and burger or not, he was hungry. The flower noticed him eyeing it and grinned.

"Oh good, I was worried you'd turn your nose up at this, but you never were a picky eater. This stuff's way cheaper, and I can't stand farming Tem Village for gold anymore and it's not like you listened to me anyway. If it's good enough for the dogs, it's good enough for you. Maybe you'll get treats if you're good."

Ah, the flower was just trying to control him again. Well, food was food, and he'd keep biding his time. The flower didn't own all the burgers, he knew that much, and once he escaped he'd have those whenever he wanted. This stuff... he sniffed at it, then tried a bit. Really, it wasn't much different from the dry pelleted food he'd gotten from the man so long ago. It tasted better, if nothing else, so he shrugged to himself and dug in.

"Aaaanyway," the flower continued, "I still haven't figured out what happened to your brother. I know he can be sneaky, but this is getting ridiculous. If he IS on vacation, where did he even go!?"

Sans continued eating. The flower liked to talk, and it never took him long to keep doing so.

"No one seems to think he's dead, so at least there's that... But Snowdin's definitely on edge without you guys being the local fools, so I guess that's interesting. Maybe I'll arrange a brotherly reunion when I figure out where he is, so he can see what you've become," the flower goaded.

Sans snorted again. His brother was like him. The flower was dumb.

"Oh, I know you don't care, but I bet he would! Especially if I can figure out how to make you go into some berserk rage, like those human werewolf stories. THAT would be really fun. Hmm... now... how do I go about finding him?"

Sans finished his lunch and settled into the vines, getting as cozy as he could. Now that he'd eaten and the flower wasn't doing anything amusing, he was ready for a nap. The flower left him to it, more concerned with whatever silly plan he was trying to cook up.

A few days passed where the flower didn't do much but come by to feed him--though he quickly learned not to leave the bag of food in Sans' line of sight. Even if Sans wasn't able to move, that didn't mean things couldn't move to him. He rasped a laugh to himself--remembering the flower's outraged expression was still funny, and not getting the next few days' meals because he'd eaten them already was worth it. Anything that inconvenienced this jerk was well-deserved.

... Though... he was starting to forget exactly why. It was complicated, and he was tired of thinking about complicated things. It was enough to know he was bad, and needed to be defeated, but couldn't be defeated by attacking him. He just needed to wait for the right moment... however long that took. It had been a long time already. But he could wait.

He startled awake to the flower's shouting.

"Howdy trashbag!"

He hissed at him.

"Hey now, don't be like that! I've had my fun--I'm gonna let you go. Isn't that nice of me?”

He snorted. All this effort to keep him trapped, and he was just being let go? It was almost insulting.

"C'mon, it wasn't so bad here! You got to sleep all the time, eat a bunch, not work--pretty much everything you care about! But, you're pretty boring for a pet. So I'm gonna let you go home."

If this was really happening, his patience had paid off, even if he hadn't figured out how to make the flower pay. He pushed against the vines still holding him, and the flower tutted.

"Not so fast--you've gotta be careful! Everyone's gonna be scared of you, and they'll attack! And sure, you might be able to dodge one person... but a whole town... Well, let's just say your odds aren't good. So you have to stay hidden, okay? I know I was kinda mean to you sometimes, but I don't want you to get hurt."

He mulled over his words.

"So don't let yourself be seen or they'll hunt you down, okay? Alright, I'm letting you go..."

The vines loosened. He kept his eyes on the flower--was this a trick? What game was he playing? But the vines shrank away, and he felt like he was floating after being pressed to the ground for so long--and stiff. Very very stiff. Before he could even think about walking, he had to stretch and work the magic back into his extremities. Getting to his feet at last, he shook himself out and stared the flower down. A dozen bones burst from the ground and caged him in--

And then they--and he--were gone.

He stood in his living room again for the first time in--he didn't know. A long time. He called out, a friendly hoot to let his brother know he was back...

But nobody came.

He blinked, and called again before shuffling around and sniffing at the floor. Familiarity--home--family--filled his mind, and he breathed it in to flood himself with it. He'd forgotten how much he missed it, his brother most of all, and flopped down to roll and rub his bones against the carpet so he didn't smell like wet mud and vines anymore. But as he rolled, something else caught his eye. It was weirdly messy--there was a torn pillow, and a strip of carpet was missing. That wasn't right. Had... had his brother done that? Where was he?

He got up and continued to sniff around--oh, the fridge smelled good, he'd come back to that later--but none of the scents he found were fresh. Except for... a dog? Maybe? He couldn't tell. He huffed in frustration, waving his tail slowly before cutting up to his brother's room. Even here, the scent trail was old, and the floor was scattered with papers and books. His brother wouldn't leave things messy like this... He whined as a familiar ache entered his soul.

He'd done something like this before, right? His brother had gone...

He turned to walk through the door, and stepped out into the forest. His brother liked to be out here, maybe he could find a new trail to follow like last time. Last time...? Right, he had done this before. He'd gotten really lazy about remembering... He set off, plowing through the snow until he reached the main path. Nose to the ground, and--

A shriek rang through his skull, and a hefty ice attack thumped into the ground where he'd stood only moments ago. He fled the room and was back in his house before he'd even seen his attacker, and sat on the carpet panting. That flower had been right. People were afraid of him.

And now he was afraid of them too.

His brother was like him. Had he been attacked? Was that why he was missing? He got up to pace restlessly. No, his brother had to be okay--he was smart, he was strong. But what if he'd gone out and been caught? And if that had happened--oh, even if he'd gotten away, his spirit would be crushed.

This was bad, but he didn't know what to do. The flower might have set him free, but he was back in a world with problems and complications he didn't know how to fix. Uttering another low whine, he cut back to his brother's room and clambered onto his bed. It was as close to him as he could be--and still smelled of clean bones and linen. Maybe he'd go out looking for his brother later, but he didn't feel like it now, not so soon after he'd been attacked. He'd stay here, scavenge whatever was left in the fridge, and wait to see if his brother might come back.

After all, waiting was his best quality.

#undertalethingem writes #gaster blaster au #sans (undertale) #flowey (undertale) #i swear the next header pic won't be one of the bros in waterfall with flowey XD #bark at the moon fic

[darkblueboxs]

howdy i love your aftg writing!! here’s a concept: i feel like once neil’s past is out, he has no reason to hesitate absolutely sucker punching someone. like we know he made neil a pushover because it raises less questions, but now that everyone knows who he is im SURE he’s just bitch slapped someone mid-game. no holding back, like if u say something fucked up he’s just gonna try to kill you!! do you know who this man is?? there’s no doubt in my mind that he knows some quick and lethal punches!

Oh yes, anon. Bruiser!Neil I can DEFO get behind. 

Here’s 3k of Neil punching stuff, and Andrew being wildly turned on by it. Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 notes for content warnings, etc.)

*Edit* : In the original version of this fic, Nicky faces racist abuse in addition to homophobic abuse, and quotes the offensive language and slurs used against him. After concerns were raised regarding how I handled this abuse (specifically, the language used, the context in which the abuse takes place, and my position as a non-latine) I censored and subsequently removed the relevant dialogue. I sincerely apologise and promise to do better in the future. Please don't hesitate to contact me with any questions and concerns regarding this subject.

[01/06/2020]

All the Guys Love a Bruiser

Neil’s mother taught him how to throw a punch, of course she did. Their lessons took place anywhere spacious enough to swing a fist, in empty parking lots behind greasy gas stations or in dingy motel rooms if she thought the walls were thick enough to cover up the noises they made.

Mary had always been more flight than fight, an instinct she had forced into Neil over years of running. Even she had to admit, however, that sooner or later they would hit a dead end, and while that would spell certain death for both of them, it would be better to go down fighting than it would on their knees.

If their lessons ended with Neil aching black and blue, it was his own fault. He needed to be quicker, smarter, crueller. More like his mother.

Matt’s teaching style is different from Mary’s, as is his fighting style. It bears the hallmarks of professional athleticism, all stances and positioning and strategy. While his mother’s idea of a lesson in self-defence was to hit Neil until he figured out how to dodge her blows or hit back, Matt talks him through how to angle his body, how to make a fist in a way that won’t break his fingers. At the end of their first boxing lesson, the only bruises on Neil’s body are the light purple spreading across his knuckles.

That evening, he and Andrew take over the beanbags, TV muted in the background while they dig into ice-cream. The tub is pleasantly cool in Neil’s hands, and he rubs his knuckles against the sides like an improvised icepack. When the residual cold has melted away, Neil flexes his fingers, enjoying the faint tingle dancing across them. These marks are different from those his mother gave him; they weren’t inflicted on him unwillingly but earned with sweat and exertion. When Matt had let go of the punching bag and told him they were done for the day, Neil had been surprised by his own disappointment. He had never been sorry see the end of his mother’s lessons.

Andrew takes his hand suddenly, startling Neil from his thoughts. It’s a purely analytical touch; he turns Neil’s hand over and runs a finger across the blossoming bruises of his knuckles.

Neil bites back the I’m fine, knowing the look it would earn him. Instead he says, “I had fun. We’re meeting again next week.”

Andrew nods. It’s a few moments more before he relinquishes Neil’s hand, however. The heat of Andrew’s skin mingles with the singing twinge of Neil’s bruises like an after-print.

Next week, Andrew slouches into the gym after Neil. He ignores Matt’s invitation to join them, flopping onto a rowing machine and leaning back against the machinery so he can kick his feet up on the seat rail. They’re lucky that they chose unsociable hours for their workout, or a line of athletes would be forming to glare at him.

Andrew watches them train from across the room with apparent disinterest. He can feign boredom all he likes; Neil knows he wouldn’t have bothered following him to the gym without reason.

Matt, if anything, seems amused by Andrew’s presence. “Dan comes to watch me practice sometimes, too.” He pauses to correct the angles of Neil’s feet before nudging his arms into blocking positions. “She did it even before we started dating. She used to sit on an exercise bike and pretend she was cycling so I wouldn’t know she was there to watch me. It was never very convincing.”

“Why did she want to watch you?” Neil shifts his weight, trying to copy Matt’s position.

Matt’s face crinkles up with laughter. “That’s the most Neil thing you’ve ever said.”

“Everything I say is a Neil thing.”

“She liked it when I took my shirt off. C’mon, man, join the dots.”

“You don’t take your shirt off to box.”

“Yeah,” says Matt. “Don’t tell her that.”

Neil rolls his eyes. “Can I hit you now?”

Matt barks out a laugh, and training resumes.

“Enjoying the show?” Neil asks Andrew an hour later, dropping down on the gym mat next to him. Andrew hands Neil his water bottle with an unimpressed look.

“You’re awful.” Andrew flicks a look over to Matt, who is using their break to chat with the only other gym regular insane enough to be working out at the crack of dawn on a Sunday. “He could knock you on your ass with one right hook.”

“I know I’m awful. That’s what training is for.” Neil pauses to gulp down most of the bottle. A droplet escapes his lips and tracks down his jugular before falling into the dip of his clavicle. Andrew’s eyes track its path. “Matt isn’t going to hurt me. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“I’m not here to babysit you.”

“Huh.” Neil drains the last of the water before shaking the residual droplets over his head. The beads glint in the corners of his vision as they catch in his bangs and fleck his cheeks, mercifully cooling against his skin. Andrew is still watching him intently. His eyes flick to Matt once more, checking that he is still absorbed in his conversation.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Neil replies, and he watches as Andrew takes Neil’s hand in his. The skin is flushed from strike after strike, not yet coloured in bruising patches but soon to be. Neil’s hands feel softer for it, sensitive to Andrew’s touch.

“I know my limits.” Neil isn’t sure why the gym suddenly feels three degrees warmer. “Really, it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know. I trust you.” Andrew sends one more look over Neil’s shoulder like he’s checking the coast is clear before pressing Neil’s knuckles to his lips.

The breath Neil was in the process of catching slips from his grasp entirely. “Oh.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“You like watching me fight.”

“It’s more interesting than watching you run.”

Neil leans in until he can see each individual freckle on Andrew’s cheeks. “Interesting?”

Andrew’s cool look is betrayed by the twitch of his jaw. “Something like that.”

If Matt notices Neil’s new vigour when they return to practice, he doesn’t comment on it. When he catches Neil’s eye, however, he grins knowingly. Perhaps Matt’s conversation had not been as absorbing as he made it out to be. Soon, however, the rhythm of the exercise draws Neil’s attention back to the task at hand.

Neil first learned to throw a punch because his mother believed that one day his life could depend on it. That isn’t the reason that he has resumed his training with Matt; it turns out that a good instructor and fewer death threats make the activity far more pleasant than Neil remembers. It may be a useful skill, but he values the challenge more than he does the practicality. The physicality, too – in fact, he likes boxing for the same reasons that he loves Exy. Quick, brutal, thrilling. He finally understands, too, why Andrew likes to spar with Renee whenever his emotions get on top of him. There’s a certain a sense of control that comes from putting his fist through a break-board. Not that he needs the empowerment as much as he once might have – most of Neil’s tormentors were killed long ago, his fears with them. Given his new life of safety and security, it’s likely that he’ll never really need to know how to throw a good punch.

It takes all of one week for Neil to be proven wildly, wildly wrong.

Opposition strikers – with one glaring, now very dead exception – are not typically Neil’s problem. Generally, if they end up playing on the same side of the court as him, something has gone wrong in the team’s strategies.

He can tell even from a distance, however, that one of the Terrapin strikers is causing difficulties. Not in terms of ability – of which Terrapin’s #13 has little – but in attitude. Thirteen is a vocal player, and Neil can hear snatches of his voice echoing across the court. No fists have been swung, which is an impressive feat for the Fox defenders, but perhaps only because the luck of substitutions has put Thirteen against Nicky more than anyone else, and Nicky is more likely to react to insults with mirth than anger.

Shortly before the end of the first half, Nicky is subbed off at the same time as Thirteen. Nicky passes Neil on the way to the court doors, clacking their racquets together with half a smile. “Give them hell, Neil.”

Thirteen passes them at the same moment, slamming Nicky’s shoulder as he passes. Nicky mutters a word under his breath that would have earned him a month of washing-up duty at Abby’s house before heading for the Foxes’ bench. Neil watches him go, eyebrows creasing together. Nicky isn’t easily upset by the cruelty of strangers; it’s the cruelty that comes from within his own family that is most likely to shake him from his good humour. The barbed insults of nameless players on the court, on the other hand, are usually brushed off with a rude gesture and no more.

Swept up in the rush of the match, Neil forgets about Nicky’s discomfort until half-time. The team pours from the court in high spirits; they have a decent lead over the Terrapins which should carry them through the second half when exhaustion starts to kick in. Nicky, despite having blocked more shots on goal than anyone, reacts to the arrival of the rest of the team with only a pallid grin. His grip on his water bottle is tight, and the cheap plastic crackles and caves in his hands.

Nicky is an easy read, and it doesn’t take long for the other Foxes to notice. After he brushes Renee’s concerned enquiry off, however, the team leaves him be.

When Neil returns to the court for the start of the third quarter, he breathes a sigh of relief to see that Thirteen is nowhere near Nicky. He’s standing closer to goal than Neil is happy with, but Andrew is more or less impervious to verbal abuse and Thirteen has yet to show signs of physical violence. As much as he wants to keep a closer eye on the situation, Kevin’s barked commands draw his attention to the match at hand. The best thing Neil can do for the Foxes’ defence is to spend as much time lobbing the ball at the Terrapin’s goal as possible.

Neil and Nicky are substituted at the same time; they collapse onto the bench and drown their exhaustion in Gatorade. Thirteen crushed Nicky against the wall moments before the substitution, and Nicky is uncharacteristically quiet as Abby examines the cut over his eye.

“You’re not whining about cramping your style,” she says as she presses a plaster in place. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah, this is great for my style. All the guys love a bruiser.” Nicky winks despite the blood crusting in his eyelashes. “Neil knows what I’m talking about, don’tcha, Neil?”

Abby makes a noise that isn’t convinced, but doesn’t press the issue. Neil waits until she’s out of earshot before saying casually, “I still have a few contacts in the mafia.”

“Your sense of humour is dire,” says Nicky, but he’s grinning, so Neil counts it as a win. “Don’t worry about it. I think Andrew’s drawing his fire now. Andrew handles that kind of thing a lot better than me.”

“What kind of thing?”

Nicky winced. “Don’t ask.”

“Tell me.”

“Let's just say he isn't exactly lining up to lead a Pride march.” Nicky snorts humorlessly.

The joke doesn’t land, and not because of Neil’s non-existent sense of humour. He may not be as obvious as Nicky in his preferences nor as dark-skinned, but he has still been on the receiving end of enough of that brand of bullshit to know how it scratches at one’s insides.

“I wasn’t joking about those contacts.”

Nicky sighs. “I was worried you would say that.”

Neil’s attention keeps slipping from the game and over to Andrew, who is standing in goal and ignoring the tirade of insults being thrown his way like a statue facing down a breeze. His non-reaction only seems to stoke Thirteen’s fury, spittle catching in the mesh of his helmet as he watches Andrew knock yet another attempt away from the Foxes’ end.

Andrew spares Thirteen no more than a second of blank indifference in the face of his tirade. Then he drops his stance, shoulders setting into a silent challenge that sends a hot bolt of excitement straight Neil’s to gut. Andrew is locking down the goal.

The Terrapins don’t score again for the rest of the match.

Neil is through the doors before the final buzzer has died, charging into the crush of Foxes at centre-court to join in their celebrations. Andrew, as usual, hovers at the edge of the throng, but he accepts the clack of Neil’s racquet against his. A light sheen of sweat dances across Andrew’s forehead and his lips are parted as he regains his breath after the exertion of locking the Terrapins out.

“Did Thirteen give you trouble?”

Andrew snorts derisively despite his breathlessness. “He tried.”

Neil gets to see Thirteen up close during the handshakes. He barely grazes the tips of each Foxes’ fingers as he passes one by one, but he stops when he gets to Neil. “I remember you. You were all over the news, weren’t you? The runaway Wesninski.” His expression speaks to his delight at the revelation. To no-one’s surprise, Thirteen is a sore loser.

Andrew barely moves, just a slight adjustment to his footing so that he presses a little closer into Neil’s shoulder.

Neil smiles. It is the kind of smile he has not had use for in some time. “Looking for an autograph?”

Thirteen snorts. “Bet you think you’re real bad. Bet you think those scars make you look tough. Too bad you’re still a puny little bitch.”

Neil flexes his hand before clenching it into a fist. “I do think I’m real bad, actually. Want to find out why?”

The striker waits for the hit to come. Neil doesn’t give him the satisfaction; the guy is a piece of shit, but he isn’t worth the trouble he’s clearly looking for. Neil drops his hands, meets his gaze, and waits for him to give up on getting his reaction and leave.

Most of the other players are moving off to their own respective sides, and their stand-off is beginning to attract attention. Kevin squints over at them, and at his side, Aaron pulls off his helmet.

“Oh shit. Twins.” Thirteen’s gaze swings from Aaron to Andrew, flashing with sudden recognition. “I remember you too.” His expression turns sharkish. “Now that was a story. So, which one is the murderer, and which is the brother-fucker?”

Andrew barely twitches. Neil’s reaction is less restrained.

It’s almost a play-by-play of decking Riko at the Winter Banquet.  The key difference between that punch and this one is hours of training with a borderline-professional boxer.

Neil squares his stance, draws back his fist, and puts his whole body behind the punch. He’s rewarded with the sickening crack of a nose breaking and a hot spurt of blood splattering his knuckles.

Thirteen staggers back, shock registering for a second before he spits blood at the floor. He’s swaying on his feet, but there’s still fight in his eyes.

Andrew’s hands go to his sheaths, but Neil waves him back. He wipes the hand bloodied by Thirteen’s face across his jaw unthinkingly, feels the wet, red heat clinging to his skin. “Hey. This one’s mine.” The smile he tacks onto the words is toothier than he means it to be. With blood still smeared across his chin, he can only imagine how he looks.

Andrew’s hand judders to a halt at the hems of his armbands. His jaw is clenched tight but roaring over the current of concern is something far darker. It creeps into his eyes, a weight to his gaze normally only visible in the privacy of their bedroom. Andrew’s gaze runs the length of Neil’s body before coming to rest on Neil’s mouth. His bottom lip catches momentarily in his teeth as he nods.

Thirteen’s first swing hits, and a burst of blood dances across Neil’s tongue as his lip is split open. Thirteen’s luck ends there; Neil blocks his second punch with a move Matt taught him the day before. He drives his free hand into Thirteen’s solar plexus, knocking the air from him.

Neil doesn’t get much time to appreciate how the striker falls on his ass as they’re rushed by teammates and officials who break them apart.

Neil stands placidly before Wymack and bears his row with the bare minimum of decorum. The lecture is undercut by Nicky, who’s expression alternates between elation, amusement and mock disapproval from moment to moment. Matt, at least, waits until Wymack is finished before applauding.

“I’ll give you some notes later, but all things considered it was a solid right hook.”

Neil brushes the team’s reactions off as best he can; he certainly didn’t do it for their recognition.

He takes his time showering, watching with a strange, sick pleasure as he rinses the striker’s blood away. It turns pink in the shower basin before swirling at last down the drain. Beneath the blood, Neil’s knuckles have begun to bruise, satisfaction burning them blue.

It’s at these times that Neil worries that he may have inherited too much from his father; the temper, the violence, the bloodlust. Then again, they all served as tools to his survival at one point or another. The key difference between Neil and his father is who they choose to turn their anger on. Neil’s father always set his sights on the underdog. Neil prefers to punch up.

No; if there’s one thing Nathan gave him, it was a distaste for bullies.

There’s a familiar tap at the door to Neil’s stall. The rest of the Foxes cleared out some time ago, still rowdy from the post-match high. Tonight was a home game; most of the team will be halfway back to Fox tower already, thinking only of booze and the weekend stretching ahead of them. There’s only one player who would have any reason to linger.

Andrew steps under the spray, his hair is plastered to his head by the steamy drizzle. He holds his hand out, and Neil offers his without question for Andrew’s inspection.

Andrew’s voice is dispassionate as he inspects the damage. “I don’t need a knight in shining armour. Nor for you to fight my battles for me.”

“The fight was for my own satisfaction. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

Once again, Andrew presses his lips to Neil’s raw knuckles. The contact stings, sweet and savoury, pleasure and pain. “Would it kill you to make life easy for once?” The words tingle against the tender skin.

“I thought you liked to watch me fight.”

“Just because I find your stupidity entertaining doesn’t mean I encourage it.”

“It’s my stupidity you like, is it?”

“What else do you have?” Andrew’s eyes track the rivulets of water snaking down Neil’s neck.

“I’m sure I can think of a few things.” Neil says. Then, for clarity, “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Andrew doesn’t let go of Neil’s hand, thumb running across the reddening knuckles once more before leading it to his chest. Neil leaves it resting there, marvelling at the colours bleeding between them under the shower’s onslaught, pink and brown and red and blue. Andrew soon tires of Neil’s staring, and is the first to bridge the gap between them.

Neil once compared Andrew’s kisses to a fight with their lives on the line. Countless kisses later, this fact has not changed in the slightest. Andrew leaves a bruising trail of kisses across Neil’s neck until he can’t remember which marks are from Exy and which are from Andrew. They all sting the same, sweet way.

Each kiss pressed to his mouth carries a metallic tang from Neil’s burst lip. He can tell from the fierce pressure of Andrew’s mouth against his that Andrew can taste it too, is feeding off the adrenaline rush just as Neil is. He catches Neil’s bottom lip between his teeth and with it sucks a groan from deep in Neil’s chest.

Andrew draws back to level him with an unimpressed look. “You’re far too into this.”

“You’re one to talk.” Neil raises his hand to Andrew’s eyeline, wiggling his fingers. Andrew’s eyes catch on the blooming violet patches. “You like this. Admit it.”

Andrew steps forward until his cheek brushes Neil’s fingers. Neil turns his hand automatically, cupping Andrew’s face.

“Yes,” says Andrew. His eyes stay on Neil’s, even as Neil’s hand drops lower.

It’s a small miracle, Neil thinks, that Andrew can trust Neil’s hands on him, after all he knows they are capable of. Maybe that’s part of the appeal, the evidence painted into Neil’s knuckles that Neil’s gentler touches are reserved for Andrew and Andrew alone. It’s strange that Andrew should love Neil’s fighting spirit as much as he does. After all, it was Andrew who taught Neil how to stand and fight in the first place.

It’s a fact that neither will ever let the other forget.

Neil leaves the shower sporting several more bruises than he entered with. Some are from Exy, some are from fighting, and some are from Andrew’s mouth.

He loves them all just the same.

 * Thanks for reading, let me know what you think! Still open to prompts etc.

#tfc #aftg #andreil #the foxhole court #all for the game #my fic #asks #anon #WHY IS TUMBLR FUCKING WITH THE POST FORMAT ASKDHSKDFGGGG

[nievia-writes]

Lube (Reaper76 Grease AU)

Title: Lube is the Word Chapter: 1/9 Description: Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison spent the summer together and fall in love. But the season passes quickly, and both men find themselves longing for each other when summer ends and they both have to go back to high school. But when Jack turns up at Gibraltar County High School, Gabriel finds himself torn between looking good in front of his friends and showing his true feelings for his summer lover. A Grease AU for Overwatch! Pairing: Gabriel Reyes/Jack Morrison. Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada. Ana Amari/Reinhardt Wilhelm. Word Count: 2,496 Rating: Mature

Among students and teachers, the Pink Ladies and T-Birds were arguably the most well-known groups in Gibraltar County High School, and neither were particularly fond of outsiders. It was no surprise that Jack Morrison’s arrival caused quite the stir. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed and innocent to the ways of the high school world, he lost himself among the typical rabble of Gibraltar County.

Sombra, Hanzo, and Jamie were up to their usual bullshit -- teasing each other, sharing music Sombra downloaded illegally online, and getting into general trouble -- when Jack passed them, arm-in-arm with Ana, who sported her Pink Ladies jacket with pride. Jamie wolf-whistled, only to be given a scathing look from the young Egyptian.

“What’s up her skirt?” Jamie grumbled.

Sombra snickered, “Not you, apparently,”

Jamie shoved her against the locker playfully, causing her to ram into Hanzo’s shoulder. The Japanese man only grunted and pushed the purple-haired T-Bird off of him. Sombra winked at him suggestively but received only an eyeroll in return.

“Oi, Hanzy, what’d you do this summer?”

He shrugged, “Worked, mostly.”

Sombra grinned, “Work? I didn’t think you knew the meaning of the word,”

“I am saving up for a car, actually.”

Jamie grinned, “You even know how to drive, mate?”

“What kind of car?” Sombra asked, ignoring the lanky Australian.

“Don’t know yet.” He paused, a smile rising on his face, “But I picked a name.” He pushed his hair from his face and scratched the fuzzy hair on the sides of his head, rolling his shoulders in the leather T-Birds jacket. He looked awfully pleased with himself.

“Well, that the fuck’re you namin’ it, then?” Jamie asked.

Grinning, Hanzo leaned in like speaking the name would cause conspiracy, “Lubed Dragon,”

Sombra and Jamie blanked, a beat of silence reigning over the group before the Aussie’s manic laughter rang loud and proud down the hallway, mixing with Sombra’s raspy giggles. Heads turned. A few freshman scrambled past fearfully.

Hanzo’s face turned red and he crossed his arms over his chest, “I’m sure you won’t be laughing when you see me in a brand new convertible. Or when I make sure you have to walk all the way to school while I enjoy a nice, smooth ride.”

“On McCree’s dick, maybe,” Sombra muttered as she elbowed Jamie in the side, who roared with a new wave of laughter next to her.

“He wishes!”

Hanzo frowned, face flushed. “Whatever…” he said. “What are your classes like this year?” He asked, changing the subject.

That seemed to sober Sombra up as she pulled her schedule from her bag, “I have Dr. Winston again this year.”

The bell rang and students began filtering into their classes. Jamie grinned, “He’s gonna fail ya, sheila,” he said over the din of footsteps and conversations.

“No shit! The fucking man-ape hates my guts.” she cursed.

Behind the disgruntled T-Bird, Dr. Winston himself approached.

“He’s such a prick. Who needs to know chemistry in the real world?”

Interest piqued, Dr. Winston altered his course to the teacher workroom to head towards the group instead. Noticing this, Hanzo’s eyes widened and he waved his hands in an attempt to stop his friend from continuing on her rant about the man with a gesture.

Jamie, however, egged her on. “Yeah? Thought he had the hots for ya, the way he calls ya out in class,”

Sombra snorted, rolling her eyes, “Psh, as if. At least then I would get a good grade. But this year is gonna be different. I’m not taking the doctor’s bull this time around,”

Dr. Winston’s mouth pulled into a frown. Hanzo tried to shush the other two T-Birds to no avail.

“What’cha gonna do about it, sheila?” Jamie grinned, “Take something else from him?” He waggled his eyebrows at the suggestion.

Behind Sombra, Winston’s dark skin flushed, his frown turning into an embarrassed purse of his lips. “And what, might I ask, is going on here?” The man asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sombra’s back went rigid; Jamie stifled a laugh as she turned to face their science teacher. “Oh, Dr. Winston. ¿Qué onda?” She laughed, pulling her leather jacket further around her.

Dr. Winston eyed them one by one, before he let out a sigh. “Shouldn’t you three be in class?”

Shuffling her feet, Sombra averted her eyes, “We were…” she glanced to Hanzo, who raised his eyebrows, unhelpful. “Um…” she gave Jamie a pleading look and received a wink in return.

“Starting the year off tardy… great idea, you three,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. Silence. The T-Birds squirmed under their teacher’s intense gaze. “Well? Are you going to stand there until the final bell rings?”

“No, sir,” they chimed.

“Then get to class!”

“Yes, sir!”

Scowling, Dr. Winston left them, striding into his classroom and out of earshot.

Hanzo whistled, “You sure showed him, Sombra. He was absolutely trembling he was so intimidated,” Hanzo said.

Sombra punched him, “¡Calláte, estúpido dragón!”

Hanzo smirked and ruffled her hair, further agitating the smaller woman and amusing Jamie. “It does not matter.” He straightened his jacket, a confident smile on his face. “After school, I am picking out my car.”

In the school courtyard, settled at one of the lunch tables under the sun, two of the Pink Ladies sat together. Their blush-colored satin jackets shimmered in the sunlight white cursive letters on the back telling the rest of the high school exactly who they were and what they stood for.

Jesse sat on the tabletop, legs crossed, leaning back to catch the rays of sun. Lena sat on the bench of the picnic table, picking at her food and looking sour as the substance on her plate jiggled with a poke of her fork.

Sighing, Jesse stretched his legs out and tugged his white shorts down so they wouldn’t ride up his thighs any further. “God, do I wish it was still summer,” he said, Southern accent thick on his tongue. “Feels like I’ve been here decades already and we ain’t even done with the day yet,”

Lena looked up from the goop on her lunch tray, wild brown hair sticking up every which way. “Pretty boring, yeah?”

The man hummed in agreement and scratched at the scruff of his beard. He let the companionable silence drag for a moment before breaking it. “Say, who you got for econ this year? That dwarf lookin’ guy?”

Lena groaned, “Mr. Lindholm. Runs the workshop class, keeps tryin’ to get students to go in the maintenance closet with him.” She rolled her eyes, “Dirty ol’ wanker, that one. Think he’s a bit of a pervert,”

Jesse turned, eyebrows raised, “Oh yeah? He ain’t never tried nothin’ with me,”

“Well, consider yourself lucky, cowboy.” Lena replied. “Besides, I’m sure he knows you could punch ‘im to Texas if you wanted.”

Grinning, Jesse flexed his arms, “Darlin’, with these guns, I doubt anyone’d stand a chance against me,”

The Brit rolled her eyes, “Whatever you say, love,”

Jesse nudged her shoulder playfully, laughing. Neither noticed Ana approach with the new kid at her side, both holding lunch trays and talking quietly to each other. Jack hesitated at the edge of the yard, however, as Ana reached her friends who welcomed her with open arms.

“Howdy, Ana! Haven’t seen ya all day,” Jesse said, “Been with Rein all mornin’?”

“Yeah! Where ya been?” Lena chirped.

Ana waved them off, but Jack couldn’t help but notice the light blush on her pretty, dark skin.

“Actually,” she said, almost sounding like she was scolding them, “I was showing Jack around.”

“The hell is Jack?” Jesse asked.

Ana glanced back at the blonde, who still stood a distance away from the group, and gestured for him to come over. The other two Ladies eyes him, zixing up his ruffled hair, clear skin, and -- admittedly amazing -- fashion sense. Jesse quirked an eyebrow at the little red scarf around the man’s neck and the cropped shirt that showed off the edge of his stomach, strong shoulders, and surprisingly delicate collarbones.

Jack smiled, coming to stand next to the Egyptian woman, and gave a light wave, “That’d be me,” he said. “Hello!” His voice was low, his eyes flicking between Jesse and Lena like they were wolves and he a lowly rabbitt. Ana placed a firm hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“This is Jack Morrison. Jack, these are some of the other Pink Ladies. That’s Jesse McCree.” Jesse nodded in Jack’s direction, staring down his nose at the other man, “And that’s Lena Oxton.” Lena gave a polite smile and a short wave.

“It’s so good to meet you! Ana’s said so much about you.” He extended a hand. No one took it.

Ana cleared her throat and sat down, motioning for Jack to do the same. She winked at Jack when they were settled, if only to comfort him, and then turned her attention to Lena. The Brit had balanced a pair of glasses on her nose and cracked open a book while they got comfortable, her legs crossed under the table.

“New glasses?” Ana asked, taking a bite of the food on her plate and wincing.

Lena smiled and adjusted the specs, “You know it! Use ‘em for school. Make me look real smart, yeah?”

“Nah.” Jesse snickered, “I can still see your face,”

Pouting, Lena picked up her tray, “Well, I see where I’m not wanted. See you later, loves!” She blew kisses to everyone but Jesse, who she flipped off. He winked in return.  Jack stared at his food, biting his bottom lip. He felt out of place here, as if intruding on something outsiders shouldn’t witness. And I am an outsider, aren’t I?

Jesse’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “So… Jack. How ya likin’ Gibraltar High?” The Pink Lady asked, one eyebrow cocked and his mouth slightly pursed.

Jack straightened his posture and smiled, like he hadn’t just been having a pity party in his head not five seconds ago. “Oh, yeah! It’s great here so far. I was supposed to go to that Swiss school, but ah… they thought my clothes were indecent.”

Ana blinked and then took time to appraise the man’s clothing. “And why would they say that?” She asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Jack blushed, “A boy nearly hit another student with his car because he was staring at me while he was driving,” he explained.

Laughter met the warm air, summer still clinging to the atmosphere. The sun felt warmer, somehow, on Jack’s freckled face, the air clearer. Maybe it won’t be so bad here.

“Mind if ya tell me where you got those clothes?” Jesse winked.

Jack was about to reply, to offer store names and online shops that he frequented when a young Chinese woman skipped in and promptly seated herself at their table. Jack noticed her lack of a Pink Ladies jacket as soon as she arrived. Not one of them. Kind of like me? The woman sighed, wistful, and leaned her elbows on the table, head in her hands.

“Hello, girls!” She cooed.

Jesse elbowed Ana, smirking, “Look what the cat dragged in,” he mumbled, just enough for Jack to hear, “Mei-Ling Zhou. Little miss know-it-all of GCHS.”

Mei smiled, unaware of Jesse’s pettiness, and pushed up her glasses, “Isn’t the first day of school just so… exciting?”

“Oh yeah, I’m havin’ the time of my life over here,” Jesse scoffed, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Mei ignored him, instead tapping her hands on the tabletop with enthusiasm. “Do you guys know what happened this morning? Oh, you’ll never guess!”

“Uh-huh, I’m sure we won’t,” Jesse said, examining his painted fingernails and frowning when he found a chip in the nail polish.

The small woman grinned, unaffected by Jesse’s sour attitude. “The school told me I was nominated for vice president! Me! Oh, isn’t it just so wonderful?” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. Jack held back a smile at her eagerness.

Jesse placed the hand he had just examined over his heart, nail polish forgotten as he feigned amazement. “Well, ain’t that just a kick in the head!”

Mei shot him a haughty glare, “Well, I’m excited,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. She saw the glimmer of blonde hair in her periphery which distracted her from the Pink Lady, and turned to Jack as if seeing him for the first time. She adjusted the thick-framed glasses on her nose, “Oh, hello. Are you a new Pink Lady? I’ve been trying to get in forever!”

“Psh, yeah right.” Jesse butted in.

Jack scratched the back of his neck, face flushed at Jesse’s comment. “Oh, ah. No. I’m new here.” He held out his hand for her to shake, “I’m Jack, it’s good to meet you.”

“Great to meet you too, Jack! And welcome to Gibraltar County High School!”

Meanwhile, across from the Ladies at a different picnic table, the T-Birds flocked together. Hanzo winked at Jesse, who -- aside from blushing -- ignored him. With a roll of his eyes and a less than innocent smirk, Hanzo sat on the tabletop next to Jamie and Sombra. Sombra rolled her eyes at Hanzo’s flirting, texting furiously and ignoring Jamie -- who was throwing tiny balls of paper at her phone to see how long it would take for her to finally snap.

And then Gabriel sauntered towards their table, a lazy smile on his face. He wore the typical leather T-Bird jacket and had an undercut similar to Hanzo’s, but with more curls and less hair-gel. “Well hello there, boys and girls,” he greeted.

Sombra perked up, shoving her phone in her pocket and flinching when one of Jamie’s paper balls hit her cheekbone. She flung it back at him with a harsh glare before smiling at Gabriel in greeting.

Hanzo waved at him, a teasing smile on his face. “Look who finally decided to show up,” he said, “We have not seen you all day,”

“Yeah, mate! What’s the hold up?” Jamie chimed in.

Gabriel sat down, unhurried, and dropped his lunch tray on the table with all the careless ease of someone who was much too confident in themselves. “What can I say?” He shrugged, the corners of his mouth curving up in a smirk, “Got a lot on my plate,”

Eyes glinting wickedly, Sombra leaned close to Gabriel, “Yeah? Finally find yourself a woman, Reyes?”

“Maybe,” he replied. “I did have a wild summer.”

At the other table, the Pink Ladies gave their attention to Jack. Ana ignored her lunch in favor of listening, intent on the young blonde’s blushing face.

“So?” Jesse prompted, “What did you do this summer, golden boy?”

Jack’s face reddened further, freckles more apparent with the soft red coloring of his cheeks. “Well I… I met a boy.”

Gabriel crossed his arms over his broad chest at the T-Birds’ table, “Met a guy, actually,”

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Chapter:  Current  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9

#reaper/soldier: 76 #gabriel reyes/jack morrison #jesse mccree/hanzo shimada #ana amari/reinhardt wilhelm #reaper #soldier: 76 #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #jesse mccree #hanzo shimada #ana amari #ana #reinhardt wilhelm #romance #grease #grease au #alternate universe #sombra #junkrat #jamison fawkes #tracer #lena oxton #mei #mei-ling zhou #winston #human!winston #suggestive themes #t-birds #pink ladies #musicals

[short-stories-by-alli]

Enemies to Enemies

This is an original story by me. Please do not reblog without giving credit. If you have questions or suggestions, let me know!

Warnings: Murder, violence, suggestiveness, cursing

The crowd in the abandoned warehouse roared as the massive man stepped into the makeshift ring. He towered above everyone, built entirely from muscle  and strength. He had small tusks that protruded from behind his lower lips, and his long, dark hair was braided with bones. His dark skin seemed to have a greenish tint to it, but that could’ve been a trick of the light. He only wore jeans, leaving his feet and chest bare, but strapped across his back was an ax that glinted dangerously.

As he walked to the center of the ring, the crowd only cheered more. He roared with the audience and threw up his hands when the announcer called from a box near the top, “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the Western Faction’s undefeated champion, Cintran the half-orc! With an astounding two-hundred and thirteen wins, Cintran is a fearsome beast indeed!”

Cintran grinned and gave an impromptu bow to the audience.

From the other end of the ring, the doors opened. The announcer once again picked up the megaphone. “And here is our very own champion from the Eastern Faction, Dante the half-fae! Dante has been fighting for over a decade now. Though he may look small compared to Cintran, I would be careful how you place your bets! Dante has won four-hundred and seventy-two fights, and I can tell that tonight’s match will be an interesting one!”

Cintran whipped around to snarl at the announcer, but his attention was quickly captured by the man that strode through the doors opposite him.

The first thing Cintran noticed about Dante was his fluffy white hair that sat perfectly atop his head. Even his eyebrows and eyelashes were white. His eyes were a stunning gold, and his skin was a light, golden brown. Dante was tall, by human standards, perhaps six-foot-two or six-foot-three, though he still stood a head shorter than Cintran. He was lean and muscular, with broader shoulders and long, thin hands. His chest and arms held many tattoos of symbols and sigils, with even more tattoos centered around death and the devil. Like Cintran, Dante was shirtless and shoeless, only wearing a pair of jeans. Unlike Cintran, Dante carried no weapon. His eyes were narrowed, as was his smile, and the only thing Cintran could think was snake.

Nonetheless, Cintran straightened his shoulders and grinned wider. The man in front of him was miniscule and half-fae. Cintran would make quick work of him.

The announcer continued to ramble on as the two opponents began to circle one another. Cintran smiled sweetly. “So, faerie boy. You gonna grow me flowers to death? Sing me a lullaby?”

Dante didn’t respond immediately, sizing Cintran up. His brow was furrowed, but his muscles were loose and relaxed. “Perhaps. It could make you smell better.”

Cintran grit his teeth as he drew the ax from his back. “Stand still and this will all be over soon.”

Before Dante could even think about replying, the half-orc charged and swung the ax at him. Cintran was sure that the ax had landed a blow, but he heard no scream and smelled no blood. Where Dante had been half a second before stood a tall tree stump that held the ax. Cintran tugged on the handle, but the tree stump started to grow and consume the weapon, forcing it firmly in place. There was a sharp whistle from behind him, and there stood Dante. The smaller man smiled slyly as Cintran roared and charged. As soon as he was in range, the half-orc threw a skull shattering punch directed to Dante’s head, but the half-fae grabbed Cintran’s arm and used the momentum to flip him onto his back.

The roar of the crowd grew so loud that it was deafening as Dante kneeled, driving his knee just below Cintran’s ribcage. The man tried to get up, but Dante had knocked the air from his lungs, and thick, thorny vines began to grow around his wrists, ankles and throat. The thorns pricked Cintran’s tough skin, drawing hundreds of dots of blood. He grunted as the half-fae’s knee dug deeper into his abdomen. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. This loss was too quick, too weak, and too humiliating.

Above him, Dante looked almost sad. There was a feigned coldness to his expression, but in his eyes laid a deep sorrow that he just couldn’t cover. In the claustrophobic, ear-splitting arena, the thorns tightened around Cintran’s neck and his vision grew dark and fuzzy. Dante might’ve whispered an apology, but Cintran couldn’t quite make out the words.

Fast as lightning, Dante’s hand plunged into Cintran’s chest. The world went black before Cintran could even register the pain. The half-fae stood, holding Cintran’s heart high above his head, the red blood falling onto his face and hair as the crowd roared and cheered.

Dante was wiping the blood from his face and chest when Lady Aura walked into the small room where he stayed. Her coat was made of a manticore pelt and her boots were made from the skin of an orc. She wore a silvery scarf about her pale neck. Some said she dyed her hair red with the blood of the Eastern Faction’s victims. She laid a thin hand on his shoulder, her smile sickly sweet.

“My, Dante. What a fight that was today…” Her fingers trailed down his spine.

Dante stood rigid, only his arms moving to rinse off the towel. “Mm. My last, too.”

Lady Aura’s fingers stopped their scuttling just at the small of his back. “Your last? Dante, however did you get that idea? After all, you belong to me.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“No. I owed you eleven years of service. Today marks the eleventh year.” Dante cast a sideways smile to the woman next to him. He knew how to play her game. Straightening up, he was at least half a foot taller than her. “Now that my time is up, you owe me all you know about Henri Townsend.”

“I don’t recall such a deal, Dante.”

“The spell I cast upon you does.” Grabbing the woman’s arm, he pressed his fingers to her wrist. A black, inky mark appeared on her palm as an identical symbol appeared on Dante’s neck. “Lie to me or refuse your end and you’ll receive a slow, agonizing death.”

Lady Aura snatched her arm away from Dante’s grasp. “I know more about magic than you ever could, boy. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, my lady. My freedom and information on the witch is all I ask.”

“I know nothing of this Henri Townsend.”

Dante sighed, pulling a shirt over his torso. He turned away from Lady Aura to pack his things into his bag when the woman’s breath became labored. He turned around and watched with a cold expression as Lady Aura choked upon her own blood, the mark on her arm expanding and charring her skin. She sank to her knees, her eyes becoming red and bloodshot, remaining trained on Dante’s face. There was a hatred there that Dante had never seen. The mark on Dante’s neck burned, but he refused to break eye contact with the woman.

As Lady Aura took her final breath, Dante knelt and removed anything valuable from her body. He took the scarf she always wore, draping it across his shoulder as he stepped out of the room. He murmured a spell, locking the door tightly. No one would find her body for a few hours.

The guards took one glance at Lady Aura’s scarf and let Dante leave without question. Once he was a good distance away in a town he didn’t recognize, he stopped to take in the world around him. The pavement on the streets was faded cracked, and some of the buildings were small and in disrepair. He was used to the world changing; after all, he had been alive for over two hundred years. But eleven years in captivity had seemed to be a lifetime. Sinking against a brick wall in a small alleyway, Dante began to flip through a tattered notebook. Every being he had murdered, he had murdered for nothing. He should’ve known that Lady Aura would never have kept her word. After eleven years, he was no closer to finding the witch.

A huge man entered the alleyway, blocking out the weak sunlight. The man was handsome; he had long, black hair that was braided with small bones, pointed ears, dark skin with a greenish tint, and brown eyes alight with mischief. A short beard outlined his jaw and small tusks protruded from behind his lower lip.

“Howdy, Dante.” Cintran took a step forward.

Dante scrambled to his feet, backpedaling quickly. Cintran had died only hours before, yet here he was, as if nothing had happened. He wore nicer jeans now, a clean white shirt, and a leather jacket.

“Cat got your tongue, Dante? I expected a better welcome! I’ve spent hours trying to catch up with you, y’know.” Cintran grinned, but Dante couldn’t tell if there was malice behind it.

Finally, Dante found his ability to speak. “What the fuck… I killed you. I ripped out your heart.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. Kinda stung, and now I’ve got this weird scar.” Cintran pulled his shirt down to show a circular scar on his chest. The scar was completely healed.

“How the fuck are you alive?!” Dante’s hand crept for the silver knife in his pocket.

“Oh, you know. The perks of sleeping with the necromancer on staff. I have to admit, dying was weird. But I’m better now! And, since I died, the Western Faction thinks my body was burned, so I’m home free.”

“What the fuck.” Dante wasn’t sure what was going on. He straightened himself, preparing for a fight. “So what? You back to try and win? There’s no necromancer around this time, Cintran.”

“Nah. We’re cool.”

“Wait, what? Then why the hell did you follow me?!”

Cintran grinned, his teeth and tusks pearly white. “I heard you’re looking for Henri Townsend. I know how to get to the bastard.”

Dante blinked. “How…”

“Ah-ah,” Cintran stopped him, “I’m getting something out of this too. I don’t know why you want to get to him, but he has something I want. If I tell you how to get to him, I’m coming along with you.”

“And who’s to say you won’t just kill me? What if this is some big ruse?”

“Because I need your abilities, my friend. I’m a chill dude. I don’t get rustled over much. A little death never killed anyone.”

Dante didn’t respond, wondering if Cintran was in his right mind.

“Anyway,” Cintran continued, “Us prisoner gladiators gotta stick together, when we aren’t killing one another.”

“So…” Dante paused, gathering his bearings, “What do you want from Townsend?”

“That’s for me to know.”

Dante rolled his eyes, allowing himself to relax a bit. “I will kill you if you try anything. And next time, I’ll make sure you stay dead.”

“Sure thing, kid. I’m not lying. Do some of your voodoo or whatever to see if I am.” Cintran grinned, cocking an eyebrow.

Dante pinched his temple. “First, I’m not a kid. I’m two-hundred and thirteen years old. Second, it’s not voodoo. Voodoo is a different form of magic that I’m not quite acquainted with.”

“Damn! You look good for such an old geezer!”

“Shut it.”

Cintran chuckled, leaning against the alley wall, inspecting his black nails. From this angle, Dante could see the silver earrings that adorned the other man’s ears. Cintran’s eyes were shadowed, and he gave Dante a crooked smile. “We both want something from this witch, Dante. I can either help you, or you and I can both lose. We fought because we had to. Hell, you killed me because you had to. So, make it up to me. Help me get to this witch.”

Studying the man in front of him, Dante tightened his book bag around his shoulders. Cintran was right; he wasn’t lying. And after a hundred years of searching… Dante was desperate.

“Fine.” Dante held out a slender hand.

Cintran grinned, grasping Dante’s hand in his calloused one. “Perfect.”

Dante turned, settling back on his place against the wall. Leaning his head back against the bricks, he studied Cintran’s face. “We’re going to have to do something about the bone braids and tusks though.”

“What?!” Cintran touched a finger to one of his tusks, clearly offended.

“Come on, man. People will freak out if they see those things.” Dante felt a headache coming on. So far, dealing with Cintran was about the same as dealing with a prepubescent child.

Cintran began to pace, muttering angrily as he took the bones from his hair, tossing them aside. “Fine, I’ll get rid of these. They weren’t really my choice anyway. Had to look the part of a killer, y’know? But my tusks… I’ll be a laughingstock without them.”

Dante muttered, “A lack of tusks isn’t the reason you’re a laughing stock.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Cintran shrugged. “Anyway, I can’t get rid of these.”

“I’m not pulling your tusks out, man. I’m just shrinking them so they hide behind your lip. Like just really large lower canines. I mean, your upper tusks just look like large canines.”

“God, you’re the worst. Alright, fine. But don’t you dare get rid of them. Only shrink them.”

“Alright, sit still.”

Dante focused on Cintran from across the alleyway, using his magic until the tusks shrank from view. When he was finished, Cintran touched the tusks, which now resembled extremely large teeth. “This sucks.”

“You can close your mouth all the way now.”

“I could do that before.”

“You really couldn’t. Have you listened to how much you talk?”

“Fuck you.”

Dante rolled his eyes, yawning and curling around his book bag. “Whatever. Go find somewhere else to sleep. This alleyway was mine first.”

Dante heard no reply, but when he glanced to where Cintran had been, there was only empty space. He didn’t like how quickly and quietly the half-orc could move.

#Cintran #DanteShallow #ocs #orignal #short story #HenriTownsend

[scrumptiouswombatpeach]

MSC Episode 3

Scene 1: The Highly Trained and Efficient Testicle Kicker

           Maybell was a highly trained and efficient testicle kicker. She ran in the woods nearly every day of the summer. All sixty pounds of her was lean and heavy muscle. She could slip her fingers between the wobbly planks on the front side of the big red barn and putting pressure on the wall with the grip on her shoes, she could shimmy up the loose beam, reach over, grab the ledge of the loft, swing over, and pull herself onto the dusty floor of the barn’s second story. She could swim across the fish pond and back. She could dig post holes, carry 50-pound seed bags, and drive nails.

Her daddy had taught her how to fight too. They had spent a lot of time leaning to kick. She knew the aim of any strike was to put all her focus and all her power into one full-body motion. She knew how to point her knee just beyond what she wanted to kick, that the real damage came from putting an extra snap of force and hip power into the kick by sitting down into the motion just as the extended foot reached the point of impact. She knew that she needed to snap her foot back as soon as it connected to block her inner thigh and return to a stance that is not so vulnerable. She had practiced kicking a feed set up between two posts until the sack ripped open.

           So, when Maybell kicked Cliff in the nuts on the bus in front of the bus kids, Mrs. McClellan, Sylvia, and all the light and darkness residing in the fog and mist of Hickory Hollow that morning, her foot hit Cliff’s soft bits like a god-hammer wrapped in canvas shoes. It went into him until it was stopped by something hard as stone that might have been his pelvis and might have been his hip bone. She felt as the thing that might have been his pelvis and might have been his hip bone was raised up in the air a full two inches. Whatever it was, it would have bent her foot back a touch too far, far enough to pain her, but true to her training (and like I mentioned she knew to do once already), she snapped her foot back and set it on the bus floor. Then she lowered her weight, got centered and balanced and ready for more.

           Cliff made a squawkish horrible noise when she kicked him. It was half-grunt and half-scream, one of those inhuman animal noises people make when their reaction is all involuntary. Everyone who heard it recoil. His heels left the bus floor by a full two inches. His heels touched the bus floor again. He crumpled to the bus floor in a fetal position and stifled a cry.

The bus kids turned their heads and covered their faces with their hands when they heard Cliff cry out like that. It was not the kind of sound that made anyone want to giggle and laugh. It was a serious pain noise. Most of these bus kids were also farm kids. They knew enough about pain and life and death to feel a sort of horror-struck empathy for Cliff

Besides, Cliff was liked by almost everyone who met him. He was not a good kid. People liked that. He was also not a rude, arrogant, or unduly abrasive kid. People liked that more. He had helped or been kind to everyone on that bus at some point. No one was in a rush to laugh at him.

           Mrs. McClellan was the only person on the bus who managed to retain a smile. Her smile was perfect. It was placid. It was angry and full of glee and somehow not the least bit vindictive.

Looking at that smile, it occurred to Maybell that fireworks, ball-kickings, and gut-wrenching screams were not such a big deal to a woman who lost a pinky and ring finger in an accident involving a hatchet and a drunk older brother. Mrs. McClellan had a different way of assessing the normalcy of a situation other people. Maybell began to respect for Mrs. McClellan in a new way. She saw a whole lot of strength in Mrs. McClellan. Her new found respect did not, however, make Maybell think fondly of the woman.

           Mrs. McClellan’s head rocked back. Her poufy mullet bounced. She cackled, leaned over Cliff, and said,

           “Boy howdy! Didn’t count on that, eh?” Cliff ignored Mrs. McClellan. He looked at Maybell astounded. He said,

           “What was that for Maybell? I mean, really? What was that?” Mrs. McClellan pulled Cliff up to his feet by his thick camouflage jacket. He bristled and threw up his fists like he was ready to fight. She shrugged and said,

           “Chill out, kid. You are in enough trouble already.” She set him on his feet. She leaned in close. She said,

           “Learn this little lesson while your guts are squashed, and your groin is exploding all full of hurt. The pretty one’s aren’t all nice. They are some nice, but not nice through and through. Learn that little lesson right now. Learn it for good.”

           “I was just…” said Cliff, but he never finished the sentence. Maybell tackled him back down with a fit of fists and enthusiasm. She punched him twice in the face with her left hand. She gut-punched him with her right hand. He took a few swings at Maybell, and each one missed as she rolled clear of him. Then she put a foot against the wall of the bus and used that as a base-point. She pushed off that wall with her foot and flew from one side of the bus and across the middle isle in the bus to land on him again. She hit him with her shoulder in the solar plexus so hard that she knocked the air out of Cliff’s lungs. He coughed and she started slapping at him all over.

           Mrs. McClellan laughed and loaded Maybell on her shoulder like a kicking slapping sack of horse feed. All the kicking and slapping Maybell could manage did not phase the woman. Mrs. McClellan grinned down to Cliff, Maybell still kicking and slapping on her shoulder,

           “Nope. The pretty ones aren’t all nice. They sure are precious, just not all nice, not the way the rest of us have to be nice.” With that, she raised her voice and spoke loud enough for all the bus kids to hear,

           “What I’m about to say isn’t fair. I don’t give a roadkill opossums last thought that it isn’t fair. All I care about is that you hear the truth of it in my voice and act right. I don’t want to hear one peep out of any single one of you for the rest of our ride together to the school.” She walked slowly with Maybell on her shoulder until she reached the front of the bus. She turned and said, “Not one peep. Don’t breathe too hard. Don’t think too loudly if you can help it. If I hear one sound that is not this loud bus engine or that squeaky bus door,” she gestured toward engine rumbling under the yellow bus’s front hood. She motioned toward the bus door. “If I hear a squeak out of any one of you before we arrive at Hickory Hollow Elementary, the squeaker I catch will be in just as much trouble as this one here. I will find you. You will go to the office. Your folks will receive a phone call. I will ruin your whole life. Try me.” She punctuated the last statement of ‘try me’ by plopping Maybell down in the right-side front seat of the bus. Luckily, that seat was empty. Mrs. McClellan knelt in front of Maybell, looked her in the eye and said,

           “Don’t move. Don’t talk. You will get through this. Try me and you won’t.” She patted Maybell on the head twice, got into the driver’s seat, and pulled the big bus back onto the highway.

.     .     .     .     .

           It might be a testament to the power Mrs. McClellan had to terrify young children that, where a speech like this would normally backfire or fall flat, this one worked. Where most bus children around the world would scoff at a speech like that and start making loud fart noises just to be heinous, these bus kids were quiet for the rest of the ride to school. They did not cough. They did not whisper. They did not even snigger and chuckle as quietly as they could. They were quiet, completely quiet, silent.

           And that should have warned everyone that strange things were going on in Hickory Hollow. No one is so terrifying that they can make a bus full of children quiet like that. Someone should have remembered the two reasons silence occurs in the woods. The first is that everything that lives and makes noise has already gone. The scorched earth left by a forest fire is quiet. The second reason silence occurs in the woods is that something horrifying and powerful is present. Nothing wants to draw its notice. Someone should have remembered that, looked at Mrs. McClellan, discounted her as nothing more than another hardline authoritarian bus driver trying to keep her rout on schedule, and they should have looked around for the truly frightening thing that could make a bus load of children fear to speak. It was there.

Scene 2: Arrival at Hickory Hollow Elementary

           Mrs. McClellan pulled her bus into the big half circle loading and unloading zone at Hickory Hollow Elementary a bit late. All the other busses were already in place. Each of the other busses had a roaring engine and hydraulics that made a steady chugging racket punctuated by whooshing and wheezing noises at odd intervals. Each of the other busses was filled with screaming, shouting, window pounding, smiling, and laughing children. Filled with these youngsters, the buses were these fantastic big yellow joyous organic things of roaring machinery radiating naivete and unabashed silliness.

Mrs. McClellan’s bus did not radiate anything. It was a dead-zone, an unnerving static point causing dissonance in that cacophony of enthusiasm, movement, and sound. Mrs. McClellan left the engine running like all the other busses, but the children on Mrs. McClellan’s bus did not scream. They did not shout. They did not pound the windows, smile, or laugh. They sat still looking terrified or bored or worried. Their silence had its effect on the silly happy children on the other busses. The other children turned to look. They began to point toward Mrs. McClellan’s bus. A hush fell on the bus loading zone.

Mrs. McClellan sighed. She opened the bus door. She motioned for a teacher to come help her. A youngish lady with long brown hair and a plain face left the bunch of teachers she had been talking to and walked to the bus. Her name was Mrs. Ivey. She taught one of the second-grade classes. Her face was stern when she said,

“Hey, what’s up?”  Mrs. McClellan did not respond to Mrs. Ivey right away. She shook out her poufy mullet, stood, and called to the back of the bus,

“Cliff and Sylvia. Up here please. The rest of y’all were lovely. Stay lovely for a little longer, hear?” Then she turned to Mrs. Ivey,

“Hey, would you be a doll and watch this bunch until the bell rings. Just keep them quiet and get them to their classes for me if you would. I got a situation to deal with.” Mrs. Ivey nodded and stepped onto the bus.

“All right you three, let’s walk,” said Mrs. McClellan. She marched them off the bus and onto the semi-circle sidewalk of the bus loading and unloading zone.

           All the children on all the buses got to their feet to see why a teacher had been called over. The young one’s stood in their seats. They put their faces to the bus windows and peered out through the hazy windows to see what had happened to make a bus come in late and so quiet on the first day of school. There was something primal and other-than going on at Hickory Hollow that morning, and if the children had been aware enough to notice, they would have noticed that they felt the oddness before they noticed that the bus was quiet. The oddness was there before Mrs. Ivey had been called over. It was an oddness like the one felt at the bottom step of the stairs in a dark basement, the final step before reaching the floor that is longer than the others. It was a sudden weak feeling in the stomach and a need to find the ground.

The bus kids watched Maybell step off the bus trailed by Cliff and Sylvia with Mrs. McClellan hunched over them. Grayson McCann, a ruddy freckled cheeked boy who had been in Maybell’s class the year before called out his open bus window,

           “Aye! Look who’s in trouble already!”

           All the bus kids started to hoot and holler. The hollering began as an “oooh” that started low and the pitch went up until it became uncomfortable for them. Then the hooting started. It was a steady, “Woo! Woo! Woo!” The children quickly bored of “Woo! Woo! Woo!” and started chanting in a sing-song way, “Maybell’s in trouble! Maybell’s in trouble!”

           Maybell got so angry at the bus kids for hooting at her she felt she could burst. She felt like she could come apart into a million pieces, die, come back to life, and throttle every single hooting one of them. She could cry and scream as she scratched at all their faces. She could punch them all in their stomachs and kick them all down to the ground. She could stomp on the as tear poured out her eyes and blurred her vision.

           But she could not do any of those things, not really. She could only be an embarrassed little girl with no recourse at all to the taunting of the bus kids. She could keep breathing. She could keep walking. She could refuse to cry. She could forbid the tears to come, stuff the sobs back into her belly, and just not cry. That is all she could do.

It’s what she did. She kept her eyes focused on Mrs. McClellan’s poufy mullet. She put one foot in front of another. She breathed deeply. She held her head high, and when she had composed herself, she turned and waved to them all the way she thought Jaquelin Kennedy might wave at a line of reporters. She flashed a brilliant smile. She took a long slow and deep bow. Some of the hooting turned into cheering. Small victories.  

Maybell felt a small clammy hand take her own hand. It was Sylvia. Sylvia was grinning a frightened grin and sobbing openly. She was looking at the school busses horror struck. Maybell gave Sylvia’s hand a reassuring squeeze. They were in this together.

Maybell tried to catch Cliff’s eye as they marched away from the busses, He would not look at her. He kept his focus straight ahead with the hard gaze Maybell had seen on photos of Greek statues. The ancient generals and of the great thinking men from way back always had a proud look to them. Her father wore that look sometimes. She poked Cliff with her finger, and he still would not look at her. She said, “Psst,” to get his attention. Cliff nodded his head “no” without looking at her and suddenly tripped over his own feet. He fell on the sidewalk hard and grunted. He grabbed his knee and winced shutting his eyes against the pain. He grunted again and rolled to his back.

“No, you don’t,” said Mrs. McClellan. She pulled him up by his jacket for the second time that day, set him on his feet, and kept walking, but he fell again. This time he fell into Mrs. McClellan. She grabbed him by the shoulders and said,

“Hey there, buddy. You get your feet under you.”

“Yes ma’am, sorry. I’m just still feel’n it you know?” said Cliff. Mrs. McClellan nodded and kept marching. The three of them marched behind her in a line along the sidewalk in front of the red brick buildings and halls of Hickory Hallow Elementary. The hooting of the bus kids fell behind them so much that they could hardly be heard, and soon enough, they came to a pair of doors with a little overhang over them. Mrs. McClellan held one of the big doors open and urged the sisters and Cliff inside.

They walked into a room Maybell instantly recognized. She had never entered it from the outside, but she knew it. The teachers usually gave her a wooden hall pass and made her walk to the school office herself to Principal Harrison why she was in trouble. The receptionist’s desk was covered in a tidy mess of papers and folders. There black push-button phone with dingy manila buttons the size of hard candy sat on one side of the tidy mess on the desk. A clunky, dirty grey personal computer that had not been turned on sat on the other side of the tidy mess.

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Bee, sat at the desk. She looked to Maybell like a potato might look if the hair from a Chatty Kathy doll had been placed on top of it, and whoever had done the hair placing had been too rushed to do a good job. Mrs. Bee had better skin than a potato, but not by much. There was a hallway leading beyond Mrs. Bee’s desk to a place only teachers could go. A door beside Mrs. Bee’s office bore a name plate that read Principal Albert Harrison. The walls of the area in front of Mrs. Bee’s desk were lined with folding chairs. The sort of green leafy plants that look fake but aren’t fake had been placed in the corners. The floor was covered in dingy white tile. It all formed a chintzy waiting room. Mrs. McClellan cleared her throat. She said,

“Mrs. Bee, we had some excitement this morning. I need to see Albert.” Mrs. Bee raised her eyebrows and gave Mrs. McClellan a hard look. She picked up the phone headset with so much force it made a chingging sound. She dialed an extension without saying a word, which was odd to Maybell. Mrs. Bee normally chatted with Maybell until Maybell grew visibly exasperated. Mrs. Bee spoke into the headset.

“Principal Harrison?” Mrs. Bee gave Mrs. McClellan that same reproving raised eyebrow look again and went on, “we had an incident in transportation that requires your attention.” There was silence as Mrs. Bee listened to what Principal Harrison had to say. “No one is hurt, I don’t think. I believe this is a disciplinary matter, sir,” said Mrs. Bee into the phone. Another silence. “Uh huh. Uh huh. Okay. I’ll tell’m.” She hung up the phone with another chingging clang. She said, “Mrs. McClellan, if you will have a seat, Principal Harrison will be with you shortly, and…” and she stopped. Her large potato face broke into a very large broad toothed smile, “Maybell? Is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Maybell.

“What did you get into this time, hun?” Maybell shrugged. “Well, you and your friends best have a seat and wait on Principal Harrison too.” Mrs. Bee returned to her work typing, filling out forms, and sorting stacks of paper.”

The wait for Principal Harrison was short and miserable. Cliff slouched in his chair. He stared at the ground. Maybell sat beside him. She nudged his knee with her knee. She said,

“I’m sorry, okay?” but Cliff only shook his head again and turned away from her. Mrs. McClellan sat on Cliff’s other side. She hushed Maybell and said,

“No talking, sweetie,” and she smiled so sincerely that Maybell felt perplexed by it. Mrs. McClellan sat back in her seat. She pulled a pack of Marlboro Red’s out of her jacket pocket, looked it over fondly, smiled, put it back in her pocket. She bounced one knee and checked her wrist watch.

Sylvia still held Maybell’s hand. The place where their hands met was sweaty. It was gross to Maybell, but she could tell that holding her hand mattered to Sylvia. She put it out of her mind.

What Maybell cared about was how she could get Cliff to look at her again. She knew that if he would just look at her, he would think it through. He would understand. He would keep what he saw of the little blue orb of light Sylvia had produced to light the bottle rocket on the bus to himself.

The minutes crawled by. Maybell felt a big throw-up inducing doom in her belly as she looked at the principal’s door. The doom sank down to her feet. It made her legs feel weak. It rose back up through her. Her heart started to beat too fast. Her head began to spin. She saw visions of military men bursting through the big double doors of the school office to take her sister away. Maybell was deep into a reverie about armed men in black suits with high powered riffles and walkie-talkies when the phone on Mrs. Bee’s desk rang. Mrs. Bee answered it before the first ring ended. She listened to it for a moment. She said,

“Alright. I’ll tell’r.” She placed the phone back on its base with a clattering chunk, and she addressed Mrs. McClellan,

“You go on in and catch Principal Harrison up on this business. He’ll take it from there.” Mrs. McClellan scratched her poufy mullet with the two good fingers on her right hand and went in to Principal Albert Harrison’s office.

“Psst,” said Maybell again. She shook Cliff’s knee with her hand and said, “Now, what woulda happened to Sylvia if you got it out and told Mrs. McClellan and the whole bus what Sylvia can do?” Cliff shrugged. He looked at the ceiling.

“Ya’ll be quiet over there,” said Mrs. Bee without looking up from her work.

Maybell heard Mrs. McClellan’s muffled talking through the door. Then a deep voice spoke. The deep voice broke out in laughter, but it wasn’t the sort of laughter that made Maybell feel good. It was the other kind of laughter. Mrs. McClellan laughed and cackled too. The door to principal Harrison’s office opened. Maybell could hear Principal Harrison clearly through the open door. He said,

“Well you know, these things happen. The first day is always a gut buster. We’ll get it sorted,” Principal Harrison and Mrs. McClellan stepped into the hall. They shook hands just outside Principal Harrison’s door. Their eyes creased when they smiled at one another. Mrs. McClellan popped a cigarette into her mouth and let it hang from her lips. She said,

“See you around,” then she burst out in a big grin, crossed the room, and stepped outside through the big office double doors.

Maybell nudged Cliff in the ribs with her elbow.

“You’re not going to tell the principal about what Sylvia can do are you? He’ll call the police. They will take her away. Scientists will put her through tests. They will stick her with tubes and cut her open. You can’t tell. You can’t.” But Cliff just kept looking at the ceiling. “Will you at least look at me?” said Maybell. He never changed his gaze at all. His face gave away nothing at all. Principal Harrison started walking toward them.

“Please,” said Maybell one last time as the principal approached. The principal wore a bushy mustache, had thick round eye glasses, and wore a green cardigan with a thick yellow border along the collar that continued down on each side to form a thick yellow line along the middle of his chest where the garment was buttoned in the middle. His belly was big and paunchy enough to round out the bottom of his shirt in a way that made Maybell think of water balloons. He passed his hand through his shaggy curly grey-white hair and looked the sisters and Cliff over with intelligent analytical eyes. His eyes paused on Sylvia, and for a split instant his gaze changed. His eyes looked much like the big brown eyes of a dog that has been confused. He shook his head and walked to where the children were sitting. His voice boomed again,

           “Maybell! Lovely to see you again. You had a terrific summer holiday, I hope. And this must be Sylvia.”

 Scene 3: Principal Harrison’s Office

Principal Harrison’s eyes took on that same curious dog look again. Maybell got the feeling that Principal Harrison wanted to sniff and howl. He did none of that, of course. He said,

           “It is so nice to finally meet you. Jim has told me so much about you. All good things, I promise. And Cliff! I’ll be honest. I expected to see Maybell today, though, not this early.” He gave Maybell a reproving look. “I’m surprised to see you here at all. Please, don’t misunderstand me… but the circumstances of our meeting could be more pleasant for all of us if… Well, it will be better if we all talk this over in my office.” He held a hand out toward his open office door.

           Principal Harrison’s office was small. It looked cramped and uncomfortable from the outside. Maybell did not want to go in, but Principal Harrison raised a bushy eyebrow and motioned with his arm for the three children to enter the room before him. The first thing Maybell saw when she walked inside was a large painted portrait of Principal Harrison holding a grey-white Tibetan Tarrier in his lap. If you do not know what a Tibetan Tarrier looks like, it is a mid-sized dog with a grey, white, and black shaggy coat, kind of like a small sheep dog with extralong mustaches. The dog and his owner looked the same, same bushy shaggy appearance, same stately bearing, same mildly aggressive and perplexed look on their faces.

The next thing Maybell saw was an uncomfortable looking couch. It was the sort of antique couch people keep in a room with glass cases containing the dishes and tea china they only use on Easter and Christmas and an out-of-tune piano that no one ever plays. Only, this couch was upholstered with an odd ugly yellow and green paisley pattern. It had dingy yellow tassels hanging from a bottom fringe. It was so ugly that even the sort of people who like to keep an uncomfortable couch in an uncomfortable room for uncomfortable events and uncomfortable company would have been uncomfortable looking at it.

Maybell saw a big desk beyond the ugly couch. The desk was of dark stained wood, and it was so big that it made the already cramped office feel much smaller and much more cramped. The legs of the desk were round and thick with scrollwork done into them. The wood on the front of the desk had been carved to depict three women, presumably witches, stirring a caldron in the middle of the woods and hidden in the woods surrounding the women and the cauldron on the fire were hundreds of dogs, dogs of every shape, breed, and size. It was impossible to tell if the dogs were protecting or attacking the women. The leaves of the trees in the carving were all plated with silver.

Photos of Principal Harrison’s family were placed in thick and overly large silver leaf frames that covered most of the useable space on the desk. The photos featured a wife and two boys who had something of the Tibetan Tarrier to their appearance, which did not mean that they were ugly people. They were mildly attractive doggish people with bushy bangs and eyebrows and haircuts that parted down the middle.

Two book cases loomed over the desk just beyond a large leather rolling swivel chair that was for sitting at the desk. The shelves of the book cases contained thick new books with glossy covers. Several diplomas were mounted to the wall between the two book cases in overly large silver-leaf frames that matched the ones on Principal Harrison’s desk. Principal Harrison walked around he desk, sat down in his chair, leaned back, put his hands behind his head and said,

           “No one is in trouble yet,” said Principal Harrison, “Then again, I’d be lying if I said I expect that to remain the state of things once our conversation has concluded, and it is so important to be honest, don’t you think?” He motioned toward the couch and said, “Please sit.” The sisters and Cliff sat. “Good,” said Principal Harrison. He placed his hands on the desk before him. “I’m leaving the door open. Mrs. Bee will be able to hear what you say.” He scrunched his face. His bristly mustaches flared out like spider legs. “But… she isn’t exactly paying attention and she promises to keep what she hears to herself.” Principal Harrison’s voice boomed, “Isn’t that right Mrs. Bee?” Mrs. Bee leaned back in her desk chair to see into the office. She said,

           “What was that Principal Harrison?”

           “Don’t worry about it,” said Principal Harrison with a conspiratorial grin he expected Maybell, Sylvia, and Cliff to share with him. Sylvia tugged on Maybell’s arm. She looked horrible. Her eyes darted around the room one moment and lulled back in her head the next. Her face was pale, extra pale, pale even for her; ghost-like. She was breathing in long deep breaths like a sleeping person. A sheen of cold sweat had appeared on her forehead.

           “Your best bet is to be honest with me and trust that I have your best interest in mind,” said Principal Harrison.

           “Nothing happened. Can we go?,” said Maybell in a rush.

           “Nothing?” said Principal Harrison. “What about you, Cliff? Did nothing happen? Just a pleasant ride to school?”  Cliff looked up from the ground. He shook his head.

           “Cliff says no, Maybell. How about that? Alright Cliff, what happened?” said Principal Harrison. Cliff pointed at Maybell,

           “She kicked me in the nuts for one thing.” Principal Harrison’s bushy eyebrows went up. He said,

           “Maybell did you kick Cliff?”

           “Yeah, but I had to,” said Maybell. She felt like she might cry again. She was so tired of feeling like she might cry. She had been so busy feeling like she might cry that she had not yet had time to feel bad about kicking Cliff. Suddenly, she did feel bad about it, and that almost undid her. Principal Harrison said,

           “Why did you have to? I thought the two of you were friends.” The rolling leather swivel chair squeaked as He leaned forward over his desk.

           “We were,” said Cliff, and he glared at Maybell.

           “That was a vicious use of the past tense, Cliff. You’ll want to reconsider that. You don’t want to add to the list of apologies you’ll need to make later. If she thinks she needed to kick you, you can bet she thinks you did something that warrants an apology. Don’t make life harder than it has to be.” Cliff’s face softened. It hardened again.

“I’m not going to apologize to her ever,” said Cliff.

“I thought you were smart, Cliff. Of course, you will apologize, and now you will have to apologize for saying you wouldn’t apologize. Come on boy, get with it.” Principal Harrison addressed Maybell again,

           “I believe we have established this much at least, that you struck a student while on school grounds. You will serve a detention for that. Let’s keep talking.” He beamed an overly warm smile at the three children. It was the smile that did it, not that he smiled; that he smiled the way he smiled, like a bully or like a bad guy in a film. Maybell did not know how, but she would fix him for that smile and for what he was doing here with his questions. She would ruin him and his whole Tibetan Tarrier-looking family. She would put him in a chair in front of her someday. She would ask him questions while she sat in a desk. She would be the one making judgements and proclamations.

           But right now, she just needed to get out of this room without letting this dog-looking friendly faced not-friend know anything about anything. He looked so pleased with himself at his desk with his mustache and his little twinkle eyes.

           “Don’t all speak at once,” said Principal Harrison. No one said anything. Principal Harrison waited a few moments. Those moments drifted on by, and no one said anything. They all listened to Mrs. Bee clicking the large buttons on a calculator the size of a shoe box. She must have pulled out of a drawer somewhere. But she could click away at the buttons and every now and then a ticker tap printer would print the sums that had been calculated with a little buzz and whir. They listened to that for a few moments. Principal Harrison squinted his eyes at Cliff. He squinted his eyes at Maybell. He squinted his eyes at Sylvia. He had a thought. His eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. He looked around the room, and he almost seemed to be sniffing the air when he stood up, leaned forward over his desk, pointed at Sylvia and said,

           “This is all about you somehow. I know why Maybell is here. She kicked someone. I know why Cliff is here. He got kicked, but there’s more. There’s something more that matters. No one will talk. And here you are. But, why? I could think they sent you along with your sister as a matter of keeping the two of you together, but that doesn’t really make sense.” He sniffed the air. “No, this is somehow all about you. So, tell me, Sylvia. Why are you in my office?” Sylvia started to cry. She put her face in her hands and sobbed. Her shoulders shook, and her chest heaved. She turned and buried her face in Cliff’s shoulder. Principal Harrison rolled his eyes,

           “What about you, Cliff? Why did you get kicked in the nuts by your friend here?”

           “Couple reasons,” said Cliff. He put a hand on Sylvia’s shoulder. His eyes flashed with anger for an instant. He said, “but they all boil down to Maybell be’n so even tempered and nice to everyone all the time. You get me Mr. Principal Harrison Albert?”

           “Albert Harrison,” corrected Principal Harrison. Principal Harrison thought a moment and corrected Cliff again, “and that would be Principal Harrison to you, Cliff.”

           “Whatever,” said Cliff. Principal Harrison smiled his least pleasant smile yet. He checked his watch and said,

           “Tell me about the bottle rocket.”

           “What bottle rocket? All I saw was this one,” He gestured toward Sylvia, “do’n magic tricks in the back seat. First, she started farting out live pigeons. They flew right out the window of course, but not before they each laid a few golden eggs a piece. We were all fight’n over the golden eggs when the eggs turned into little golden monkeys and jumped around the back of the bus caus’n trouble. I don’t know where they got off to neither, because Silvia here started the fireworks show then. Shot’m right out her eyes. One of’m got out of control and hit the front of the bus. Plumb wore her out. She don’t look good. I don’t feel so good either after have’n my nuts pushed into my liver either, not that you and the T-Rex lady care much. My daddy’s on the school board. I recon I’ll be explain’n all this to him in a few minutes when he comes to pick me up. I want to go home.”

           “That will be a detention for your lip, young man,” said Principal Harrison.

           “Sorry Principal Mr. Albert Terror-son,” said Cliff.

           “Harrison. Principal Harrison,” corrected Principal Harrison.

           “Principal Terror-son, again. I’m sorry. I just can’t get it right.” His eyes had that look like the Greek and Roman statues again and Maybell fell in love with him a little bit for that just for a moment, maybe for a little longer than a moment.

           “You will serve two detentions for that. What about the lighter?” said Principal Harrison.”

           “What this?” asked Cliff. He produced the lighter from his back pocket again. “Oh, I sneaked it back from Mrs. McClellan while the bus kids were yelling after us. Faked a fall. She fell for it. Helped me up. Standard stuff if you have four older brothers. I was going to barter a cigarette or two from a 6th grader. It’s a lot easier to do if you bring your own lighter. They snatch a few cigs from their parents, but lighters and matches are harder to come by. Snatch your parent’s lighter and they’ll be looking for it fifteen minutes later when they go for their next smoke. If I light the cigarettes, I can get one for free usually, and since my daddy don’t smoke, he won’t miss the lighter till we light candles on the next birthday cake. It’s a good trade.”

           “Oh really? Which 6th graders have the cigarettes?” said Principal Harrison.

           “Officially? No one yet. This is the first day remember. But you aren’t so good at this if you don’t know who comes back from recess smelling like an ash tray.” Mr. Harrison was ruffled. He ran his hands through his hair again and sighed.

           “Look,” said Cliff, “You wanna make me sit still for an hour after school and get me in trouble with my parents because I had the bad luck of sitting next to this one,” he pointed at Maybell, “and got kicked in the gonads so hard my spirit drifted through the furthest realms of outer space before I came back to my senses and felt like I’d been drawn and quartered, you do it. I have done harder things than sit still in a chair. I’m not scared of your detentions. Just right now though, I don’t feel good. Will you please call my father to come pick me up. I’ve got not much more to say.” Principal Harrison, who was still standing leaned way over his desk. He put a finger in Cliff’s face. He barked, “Look kid…” Then he stopped. He sat back down in his big comfy leather swivel chair. He leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands across his belly and said,

           “We will arrange the details of your three detentions and Maybell’s one detention when everyone has had some time at home to refresh themselves, sure. Principal Harrison picked up the phone on his desk. He dialed an extension. The phone at Mrs. Bee’s desk rang. She picked it up before the first ring had finished.

           “Yeah huh?” said Mrs. Bee from her desk.

           “Call their parents and send them home.”

           “Mmmhmmm, will do,” said Mrs. Bee.

           The sisters and Cliff were brought to the waiting room again. Maybell grabbed Cliff’s hand, and he looked at her. Just that was enough to make Maybell’s shoulders relax.

           “Thanks,” she said. Cliff rolled his eyes.

           “You are going to tell me everything you know about that blue light business.”

           “No, I won’t,” said Maybell.

           “You should tell someone,” said Cliff.

           Silvia’s daddy arrived at the school twenty minutes after Mrs. Bee placed the phone call. He pulled up in the old pick up truck that smelled like gasoline, walked through the big double doors and into the school’s front office where Maybell and Sylvia were waiting for him. He stood there, chest heaving and back bowed for a moment. He was 100% red-faced wide-eyed and effervescently angry. He looked at Maybell. He looked at Sylvia. He said,

           “Come on.”

Scene 4: The Pickup Truck

Sylvia’s daddy walked back out the big double doors to his big orange pickup truck. The two sisters followed him out. Sylvia got into the pick-up truck first. Maybell hopped in after her. Her father stood with the door open for a moment seething with anger. He looked at Maybell and said,

           “What were you thinking?” and he slammed the door before she could answer. Her father walked around to his side, got in, slammed his door, started the truck, and drove the pickup out of the school parking lot and onto the highway in brooding silence. Maybell said,

“I’m sorry okay?” but her father never answered her. The rest of the ride home was the most horrible kind of quiet, and the quiet was not the most horrible part. The pickup smelled like gasoline for one thing. Sylvia already felt nauseous for some reason. The gasoline smell was not helping. For another thing, it was cold and damp. The vinyl bench seat was cold to the touch. Everything felt so cold. Then she would touch her forehead and it would feel extra warm. So, it was cold and stank and she felt like she had a cold and no one was happy.

Sylvia liked the middle seat most days. Her chances of a good cuddle in the middle seat of the pickup were twice as good as they were at home. She could cuddle up to her daddy while he drove. That was almost always a sure thing. If her daddy got too caught up in driving to pay her any attention, Maybell was on the other side of her. Maybell would be willing to cuddle her in the truck even if she was in a bad mood. It was nice, and there was nothing else to do in the truck anyway.

Sylvia wanted so much for someone to put a comforting hand on her back and help her get warm. It seemed irrational and insane how much she wanted someone to put their arm around her. She specifically wanted her father to be the one who comforted her. She wanted him to make jokes, to speak with his big deep warm voice, and to make everything okay, but he middle seat of the big orange pickup was devoid of affection and warmth that day. Maybell had pulled herself as close to the door as she could go and had put her forehead on the glass of the window. The glass in front of Maybell’s face was fogging up and unfogging as she breathed. She had fixed her eyes outside the truck at the morning light flickering between the trees as the big orange pickup drove by them, and Silvia’s daddy was so angry he was breathing hard.

Sylvia had seen a television show once. It was educational, and the people on the show had dipped a banana in liquid nitrogen before shattering it with a hammer. Something like fog had come billowing off the banana once they pulled it out of the canister with the liquid nitrogen, and that is how Sylvia felt her father’s anger as she rode on the bench seat beside him, like the anger was flowing from him the way the fog billowed off that banana. His jaw was clenched tight. His knuckles were white on the steering. Sylvia figured that if the steering wheel had been a living thing, it would be dead by now.

All cuddling was right out. It was almost too much to bear. She decided that she was too tired to deal with anything anymore. She had encountered entirely too many things today. The things she had encountered in the last hour had all been so awful. She decided that there should be no more things to encounter, no more things to seem nice and turn out awful, so she pulled her knees up to her chest and went to sleep until the ride was over.

.     .      .     .     .

She woke when blast of cold mist blew over her face. The truck had stopped. Her daddy was gone from sight. The driver’s side door slammed shut with a metallic clatter.

“Get up,” said Maybell’s voice. Maybell sounded scared, which was odd. Maybell never sounded scared. Sylvia felt a hand on her knee. The hand gave her a gentle shake. Sylvia opened her eyes. She saw Maybell’s face. Maybell looked sad, and Maybell never looked sad. She was usually too proud to look sad. Maybell took Sylvia’s hand and started to gently and forcefully pull Sylvia out of the truck. Sylvia let herself be nudged and tugged out of the truck.

Sylvia could feel the sadness in Maybell every time Maybell touched her though. It was an astounding sadness. It made Sylvia want to cry. It seemed silly to Sylvia that she should want to cry just because the person who touched her felt sad. That was silly, but it happened like that all the time. They had gone to a funeral when Maybell’s uncle Joe had died of lung cancer. She had only been two years old at the time, but she still remembered all the sadness all the other people had brought with them into the room with the flowers and the casket.

Sylvia followed her sister across the yard and up the stairs to the porch. Her father opened the door to the house with a key and said,

“Sylvia, sit here on the porch swing while I talk to your sister. I’ll come back to get you in a bit.” He picked her up and put her on the swing, got down on one knee, looked her in the eye and said,

“Sit still now. Don’t you come inside till I come get you.”

Sylvia’s daddy probably thought he was talking the way he always talked. It sounded a lot like the way he always talked, but it was not the way he always talked. It was a little louder than he always talked. She could not typically hear what he said inside from the porch swing, but now his words were percussive enough, the consonants all had enough click to them, that she thought she might be able to understand what he was saying if she really listened. Sylvia could not identify exactly what else was different about her father’s voice as she sat outside on the porch swing. She only knew that it made her feel afraid.

His voice grew a little louder. She heard the word ‘delinquent’ through the walls. She did not know what delinquent meant, but there was so much anger in that word. She could feel it like a physical blow, like someone had punched her in the stomach and given her a fever at the same time. She wiped her forehead. She had started to sweat. The cold outside air was making her head feel funny.

She tried to distract herself by swinging in the swing she was sitting in, but she was awful at swinging. She had short legs. She was a bit clumsy. She could never do the thing she saw Maybell do where she sunk her body weight down as her legs went out and brought her body up as her legs came back, doing all of this in tune and in timing with the swing as its pendulum arch grew wider and wider. She had not managed that yet, so even the diversion with the swing made her feel upset.

And that is when the bright thing said, “Hello.” It was not a literal greeting, like a person on the street or even an old friend saying hello. It was a flicker and a flash in her mind. She had discounted that flicker and flash as odd and wrong. Lighting the bottle rocket on the bus had caused so much trouble, but the flicker and flash was reasserting itself in her mind. It flickered. It flickered again. It flashed. It flashed again. Then, in a way that felt disconnected from Sylvia’s own wants, in different frequency and tone than the thoughts and desires that belonged to her and composed her inner dialogue, the bright thing began to shine in her mind.

Have you ever gone walking in the woods with a friend? If you go walking in the woods with a good responsible friend, this will never happen to you, but since going into the woods is risk intensive, you will probably go walking in the woods with an idiot at some point. This idiot will rush off on their own and leave you alone in the woods. They will run off and leave you alone listening for their steps in the woods. It is amazing how quick an idiot can vanish from the senses in the woods despite the ruckus that same idiot will make when they are walking beside you. And if you have been alone in the woods like that, you might know how Sylvia felt, because the moment before the ruckus making idiot that ran off and vanished int the woods comes back into view, the moment before his or her vanished footfalls become audible again, there is a feeling. It is the feeling of no longer being alone. It can be terrifying feeling to suddenly feel the presence of another after an extended period of loneliness. It can also feel wonderful.

Sylvia thought the feeling was delicious. She said “hello” to the thing that had appeared in her mind. It was not a literal hello. It was more of a friendly recognition of the presence that had appeared. The bright thing in her mind acknowledged her presence as well. It asked her what was wrong. It was not a literal question. It was something she felt. The tiny bright thing in her mind was curious about her. She could feel the curiosity.

Just then her daddy’s voice came roaring out. It said,

“What am I going to do with you, Maybell? What am I going to do?” She heard Maybell’s voice answer. It said,

“Daddy, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, daddy!” Sylvia felt the tiny bright thing in her mind offer to help. She ignored it. She heard her father’s voice say,

“Sweety baby, I love you, but I can’t just let you hurt people. That wouldn’t be right. Come here.” Maybell was going to get the paddle. The tiny bright thing in her mind have her a feeling that if it had been translated into words would have sounded like,

“I can help.” Sylvia didn’t want Maybell to get paddled. She moved her lips and said,

“Okay.” The words came out of her mouth out loud.

“Okay, sweet one,” said the bright thing in her mind, and now it most certainly did have a voice. If a spider web wet with morning dew and yet still bathed in moonlight had a voice, the bright thing in Sylvia’s mind would have a voice like that. It was light and airy and almost like nothing at all, “You can help,” said the bright thing. Sylvia said,

“I can help.” And she scooted herself off her seat on the swing. She balled up her fists and placed them at her sides. She walked to the big white-washed oak door to her house. The bright thing said,

“How should we help first?”

“We should open the door,” said Sylvia.

The door shuddered in front of her. The door shook in front of her. The door flew forward in front of her and crossed the living room between the television and the couch. The bottom half of the door struck the island in the kitchen. It flipped forward and shattered to pieces on the refrigerator. Sylvia’s daddy had been talking to Maybell on the couch. He stood up and said,

“What?” He came rushing toward Sylvia. The bright thing in her mind said,

“How should we help now?”

“We should hold Daddy still,” said Sylvia.

Sylvia’s daddy stopped moving that instant. He came to a full and rigid stop. A moment later he started floating backward and up toward the ceiling. The bright thing said,

“What about his bones?”

“What about his bones?” repeated Sylvia.

“Good,” said the bright thing, and Sylvia’s daddy’s body was thrown against the wall above the couch. He hit it with a series of wet smacking sounds as different parts of his body all hit at different times. Sylvia’s daddy floated slowly back toward the center of the living room. He said,

“Sylvia! Baby!” but the bright thing asked Sylvia again,

“What about his bones?”

“What about’m?” said Sylvia out loud. The bright thing smiled in her mind. It was a nasty greasy smile that she could not see. She felt it in her heart. It felt like pure joy and eons of starvation.

Maybell’s daddy flew into the wall above the living room couch, crashed through it, and vanished from sight.

But now all she could see was Maybell’s face. Maybell was crying. Maybell took Sylvia’s face in her hands. She said,

“Stop! Stop! Please, stop! You’ll kill him! Stop!”

The bright thing said,

“What about her bones?                        

Sylvia thought about it. She said,

“No.” She said the words out loud. Maybell gave her a funny look, but the bright thing was gone, just like that. And just like that, she felt cold inside and out. She said,

“Maybell, I’m so cold.” She saw darkness creeping into the edges of her vision. The darkness swept over her. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, she was warm in her bed. She out her bedroom window. The sun was rising pink and yellow through the trees.

[editingthethemeyo]

Riverdale’s Harvest Festival is a time honored tradition in the town, celebrating the upcoming blessings that the crops would bring the residents. This year, however, family drama and surprise appearances made things tense until a gunshot climaxed the evening. Now Malcom Meeks, a high school teacher, is dead and everyone is pointing fingers.

THIS IS THE OFFICIAL COMPLETE CHAT LOG COVERAGE OF THE IC

ALICE: Everything was, of course, perfect. The Harvest Festival had been a part of Riverdale for almost as long as the Register, and there was no way that Alice Cooper would let anything be even slightly out of order on her watch. The building was the same one they had used for the Jubilee with the only exception being that all the chairs had been pushed to the side. At approximately 8:30 pm Alice opened the doors, checking once more that everything was in place as people began to filter in.

BETTY: Betty entered the doors alone, having arranged to meet Archie and Veronica here & with the weird air between her & Jughead, she was left with only one person: herself. Still, she’d come separate from her mom; she loved her but they needed some space, too. Arriving just a little past 8:30, she saw that there were only a few people mingling about and she waited patiently for Veronica. Not that she particularly needed someone else to keep her company, but being by herself felt a little lonelier than usual.

VERONICA: How did one dress for a Harvest Festival? Veronica hadn’t even been aware that they were a real thing, but in a town like Riverdale it wasn’t all that surprising. Deciding on something that was safely in her wheelhouse, aka too fancy for Riverdale but pleasing to her, she checked her phone as she entered and scoped out the place. Noticing Betty standing alone, it was in one sharp motion that the device was dropped into her bag before Veronica clicked her way over to her friend. “So this is a Harvest Festival. There’s hay. Like, real hay on the ground. That’s something."

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean entered the event hall, looked around, and immediately stood off to the side behind a few tables. The Harvest Festival looked just like she remembered. At first she’d wanted to go because she thought it’d be a good place to see some old friends, like Archie if he made it to the event. But now that she was there by herself, she only felt underdressed and nervous. The only familiar person she’d seen so far was Betty’s mom, but after their run-in downtown, Jellybean planned on avoiding her for as long as possible - hopefully all night. And if anyone else felt as strongly about the Jones family as Alice Cooper did, Jellybean knew her only saving grace was that people might not recognize her now.

BETTY: "Welcome to Riverdale,” & at one point, there may have been an ease to the words, but now, it felt emptier. With a strained smile, Betty took a look around. “Glad the town is pretending like things are normal. Is Archie coming?"

JOSIE: Josie walked into the Harvest Festival wearing her favorite pair of cat ears with her acoustic strapped over her shoulder. Events like this were where Josie felt most at home. Not many people had arrived yet. She went and put down her guitar and wandered over by Betty and Veronica.

VERONICA: "The word on everyone’s lips is denial.” Veronica hummed. She couldn’t help but spare a cursory side look towards Betty though. There was something off about her friend and it had been gnawing at Veronica. A Harvest Festival, while odd, was not the place to bring up affairs of the heart however. “Josie.” A smile crossed her face. “I take it the Pussycat’s are playing tonight? Tell me, does anything happen in this town without the band making an appearance?"

BETTY: Betty offered a more genuine smile towards Josie, both in consideration of new company and also because she didn’t want anyone to ask any questions. "Thank you. Sometimes its nice to get out of that ponytail.” She smoothed her hands over her dress, something they’d had on hand that was more casual than the last dress she wore. “The least we can do is have a little fun tonight, I suppose."

KEVIN: Kevin and his father arrived at the festival, Kevin already managed to get away while his father was busy gathering up his gear. For some reason there was a worry of something going down at this event but Kevin wasn’t worried. The first person he spotted were Betty and Josie, and he decided to walk right behind Betty. "Howdy, beautiful and Beyonce!"

VERONICA: One hand on her chest in mock hurt, Veronica’s eyes were wide as she looked to Kevin. "I wasn’t aware that I had my invisibility cloak on. Nice to see you too, Kevin."

KEVIN: Kevin immediately felt bad because he didn’t spot Veronica for those few seconds. "S-sorry, Veronica! I honestly didn’t see you."

JELLYBEAN: Standing up against the wall and picking at her nails, Jellybean finally looked up and noticed Veronica and Betty talking in the corner with a few girls. She took a deep breath and made her way over - even if she didn’t quite know how to talk to Betty now that she’d dated Jughead, and broken up, before Jellybean had even known about them. "Uh, hey Betty. Veronica.” She nodded. Jellybean looked to the third girl and realized she didn’t know her, though she looked oddly familiar. “Uh, hey. I’m Jellybean. Nice to meet you?” She smiled and sighed, before looking back to Betty and Veronica. “God, I don’t even know why I came to this. I feel really awkward, honestly. It’s nice to see you guys, though."

VERONICA: "All is forgiven, Kevin. I’m feeling magnanimous today. Besides, this is supposed to be a celebration.” Despite the fact that she had nothing against Jellybean Jones and had thought she was pretty okay the one time they had talked, Veronica couldn’t stop herself from checking Betty before tossing a smile Jellybean’s way. “You came because you clearly wanted to stand here in a circle with us as well. All you’ve missed is Kevin forgetting my existence. I’m still reeling from that."

JOSIE: "Amen girl.” Josie nodded to Betty. Josie laughed at Kevin’s entrance. “Kevin, you need to give Mantle some nickname advice. Beyonce is a nickname I actually like. He keeps calling me Baby girl. Hi Jellybean! I’m Josie. Nice to meet you too.” She said with an easy going smile

JUGHEAD: “Josie as in The Pussycats? I heard Riverdale had an amazing girl band now.” She smiled up at the older girl.

GINGER: It was unfamiliar to Ginger to enter a party alone. She was so used to Cheryl and Tina to one side of her. But, hey, she had people waiting for her and that was enough. She tugged at her sleeves, worried about what others were thinking of her. Maybe the best thing would be to fake it until she felt she’d made it. She spotted a group of familiar-ish girls and headed towards them.

KEVIN: "Trust me when I say that you are hard to forget, Ronnie.“ He joked, sliding his hands into his pocket while he looked at the group of people around him. "Seriously, I’m going to need something interesting to happen because every year this festival is the same. Not..bad interesting but you all know what I mean.”

JOSIE: “That’s us.” Josie smiled. “You’re Jughead’s sister, right?"

MOOSE: Moose stood by the punch bowl and filled his cup before taking a quick sip. He reached into his letterman and pulled out a flask, splashing a little bit of vodka he’d managed to sneak in into his cup. He hid the flask once again before anyone took notice. He wasn’t sure if coming to the Harvest festival alone was the best idea, but it was better than staying home and doing nothing.

JELLYBEAN: "Yes Veronica, that’s exactly why I came. Because this feels a little like a middle school dance, and obviously I missed those. There’s just more adults here.” Jellybean rolled her eyes. “You’re Kevin? Jellybean Jones. Nice to meet you.” She stuck out her hand to the boy like a dweeb. Normally she’d actually mention her brother when meeting Riverdale kids she didn’t know, but considering she was standing beside Betty she thought it was probably better not to.

KEVIN: Kevin forgot that Jughead had a sister, and it wasn’t in a mean way but he honestly never heard Jughead talk much about his family. “I am Kevin. Riverdale’s proud gay.” shook her hand “It’s nice to meet you. I hope that things you’ve heard about me aren’t bad."  

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean smiled at Josie and sighed, glancing over at Betty when she thought she wasn’t looking. "Yeah, Jughead’s my brother. Were the names a dead giveaway or did you just know?"

JUGHEAD: Jughead hadn’t even been sure he wanted to come to the Harvest Festival. It seemed forced to have a gathering of everyone in town when everyone was so distrustful of each other already. But, he’d caved. Jellybean had told him she was going and he hadn’t wanted to leave her high and dry so he’d thrown on a clean shirt and agreed to go too. So he was late. That couldn’t have been the end of the world. He scoped out the room. He couldn’t see Archie which was a bummer, but he did spot his sister in a corner with the girls and Kevin. He wondered if it would be awkward to approach them but Jughead had never been really one to care about impressions anyways so he started to weave his way through the crowd towards them.

JOSIE: "The name, plus he mentioned you were back in town the other day.” Josie shrugged.

BETTY: Betty caught Jughead’s movements from the corner of her eye and she quickly reached for Veronica’s hand. “We should dance,"

JELLYBEAN: "Well it’s nice to meet you, Kevin. I haven’t heard anything bad, so I’m deducing that you must be a great friend.” She wouldn’t break it to Kevin that Jughead hadn’t exactly mentioned him to her, but Jellybean knew Jughead wasn’t super social anyway so she wasn’t surprised. With all the drama going on, he’d had enough stories to tell her when she came back to town.

VERONICA: As much as Veronica had come to adore Jughead Jones, her thoughts were only on the blonde next to her when she spotted him threading his way through the crow. “Faux lesbian kissing, dancing to whatever this accordion music is, you name it and I’m in.” Threading her fingers through Betty’s, Veronica took the lead and tugged her out away from the group a little and closer to the center of the room. Her body swayed back and forth, hands gripping Betty’s shoulders so that they had to face one another. “You okay? Blink twice for no and once for yes. We can blow this party if you want."

JELLYBEAN:  Jellybean smiled at Josie. "Yeah, me and our mom. It’s been a… super great family reunion.” She sighed sarcastically. “No, but really it has been. I missed Jug a lot. And Riverdale."

KEVIN:  Kevin spotted Moose by the punch bowl, wondering exactly what he was doing. He decided to investigate but also get a bit away from the crowd. For some reason Kevin had this habit of walking behind people who couldn’t see him. "What are you doing, Moose?”

FRED:  Fred continued to watch all the kids hang out. He was tempted to say hello to Jughead, but he was sure talking with your best friend’s dad was considered very uncool. He noticed something in the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see one of the kids tampering with the punch. Rather than feed him to Alice he walked up to the kid. “What’s in the flask?”

GINGER: "Hey, Josie?“ Maybe starting one by one would be best. "Uh, have you seen Melody around? She said she’s meet me here but now she’s not answering my texts."

JELLYBEAN: Jughead wasn’t surprised when he saw Betty and Veronica flit through the crowd together. It hurt a bit but he understood it and didn’t make a move to follow them. "Hey Jelly, everyone. Did I miss anything?"

JOSIE: "Hey Ginger!” Josie smiled, but shook her head. “Haven’t seen her yet. I’ll shoot her a text, maybe she’s running late."

ALICE: Alice’s gaze was that of a hawks. She had noticed that Fred was the only other adult of any relevance to her there, and when she saw him with Moose Mason and something that looked like a flask, her walk was more akin to a warpath as she made her way over. "Keller. Mason. Andrews. This is a lovely evening, isn’t it? I’m glad to see everyone’s so well behaved."

BETTY: "We’re here to have fun, so we’re having fun. I’m just not sure I’m ready to face my demons just yet. I want to enjoy this stupid festival” Betty said, trying to smile but the emotion fell flat. “For the first time in awhile, Riverdale feels normal. Like we can forget.” It felt good to talk like this, without walls or guards; though she had Archie, she still felt like Veronica was the only person she could really open up to about stuff like this. “So I say we pretend for one night like things aren’t seriously messed up in this town"

GINGER: "Right.” She tried not to sound too let down. Times like this only reminded Ginger how unestablished she was as an individual without Cheryl. She barely knew how to talk to anyone anymore. “Okay. Thanks. Um, what time do you guys go on stage? You’re performing, yeah?"

JELLYBEAN: "Uh, hey. No you didn’t miss much. Just me meeting Riverdale kids and trying to act normal, like that’s possible.” She leaned back against the wall. Jellybean had spotted Jughead walking in out of the corner of her eye, but when she had automatically looked to Betty, her and Veronica were already running to the middle of the dance floor. Jellybean was almost relieved about avoiding whatever situation would have come next. “Um, Jug, just out of curiosity - where are you and Betty at?"

JOSIE: "Soon. Supposedly. If those two ever show up. It’s not like them to just flake.” She crossed her arms, sounding vaguely annoyed at her bandmates. She could tell Ginger seemed kind of uncomfortable. “You can hand with me until she shows up, if you want."

MOOSE: Moose thought he’d done a better job at being stealthy but apparently that was impossible to do around Betty and Archie’s parents who both approached. "Be cool.” Moose mentioned to Kevin who’d only arrived seconds before and quickly tried to hand off the flask into Kevin’s hand. “What flask?” Moose questioned, a dumb smile on his face when Alice arrived. “Yes ma'am. This is a great event you’ve got here."

GINGER: "Yeah? That’d be cool, thanks.” Ginger offered Josie a smile. She could feel it was a bit of a pity company but it was better than nothing. Josie was pretty cool, being seen with her was nothing to be taken for granted.

JUGHEAD: Jughead grimaced. “We don’t hate each other,” he tried. “I don’t know, honestly. It’s all so messy. I wish things could just go back to how they were before we even started dating and everything got so twisted up,” he said, shrugging. He normally would’ve been less honest in public but Josie and Ginger seemed involved in their own conversation. “I sure didn’t expect her to run away from me, but I’m not gonna chase after her either. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

VERONICA: There it was again. Denial. Because Betty was the one asking for it, Veronica decided to permit it. "As of tonight, Betty Cooper,” she pulled away to twirl the taller girl. “Riverdale is not on fire and we’re going to dance and pretend like this isn’t some weirdly cultish celebration. Should we take bets on if Moose spiked the punch yet?"

JOSIE: "No problem, girl! Besides, I’m happy for the company. I don’t exactly have an entourage of friends hanging around right now.” Josie said with a crooked smile.

KEVIN: Once Kevin had the flask in his hand, he shoved it quickly into the back of his pocket. There was no need to stall with conversation for too long but Kevin was trying to quickly think of a plan. “Hello Mr. Andrews and Mrs. Cooper.” Kevin knew the two needed to get away and he blurted out what he thought would help them. “I didn’t see a flask, and sadly we can’t be here for too long because I…really need someone to…buddy system with me to the restroom because of everything that’s going on.” Without giving the two time to react Kevin was already pulling Moose far enough away from the two. Once they were out of believed sight, Kevin was already opening the flask and taking a drink of whatever the contents of the flask held. “I..really need this right now.” He commented as the alcohol went down his throat.

GINGER: Ginger looked around at the festival. It seemed that every group that came together was parting pretty fast. Looks like she’d just be clinging to Josie for a while. She wasn’t complaining though. “Is there anything you want to do around here? We could get a snack or something? There’s plenty of vendors.”

JELLYBEAN: “Yikes. Sorry about… that whole situation. I’m just trying to avoid Mrs. Cooper over there.” Jellybean had already told Jughead about their run-in. She motioned to where Alice stood, over near the punch with… “Christ, is that a flask? I actually met that kid the other day. Isn’t his name Moose?” Jellybean squinted over where a crowd was gathering. “Wait, Juggie - that’s Archie’s dad. Archie’s dad is here. He’s okay???"

FRED: "Hello Kevin,” said Fred without turning away from Moose. Their excuse to run away was disturbingly false, but Fred only shook his head and sighed as they made their escape. He walked up to the punch and poured out two glasses, holding one out for Alice. “Care for some punch? I can’t say if the random alcohol he threw clashes, but I’m sure it’s potent.”

ALICE: After a brief pause, Alice accepted the glass from Fred even though she made no motion to take a drink. “I see you’re back on your feet and ready to engage in some extramarital affair. Is Mary in town still?"

BETTY: "We’re so used to drama in our lives by now–” Betty said as she twirled awkwardly away and then came back in, “–it’s a nice idea.” she laughed, thinking if she did it enough, it would come naturally again. It was a healing process, Betty understood that. Besides, they all had much larger problems to worry about. “Does that mean it’s always spiked?"

VERONICA: "I’m going to take you out on a bender and teach you how to dance.” Veronica absently commented, ruing the fact that it was probably considered unacceptable to dance like you were in a club at some family gathering. “If everything is normal, the punch has to be spiked. That’s, like, high school dance 101. This may not be a school dance but it’s close enough."

MOOSE: "You guys have fun.” Moose called out as Kevin started to pull him away from the punch table. “We’re not actually going to the restroom are we?” Moose wondered as he watched Kevin taking a good sip from his flask. “Slow your roll, Keller. I don’t want to have to carry you out of here tonight."

JUGHEAD: Jughead laughed a little. "Yeah, I’m with you on that. I’m surprised she hasn’t run me over with an SUV or something yet,” Jughead muttered. “It’s the kind of crazy shit I can see her pulling. Did you know she threw a brick through the register’s door?” He glanced over to where Jellybean was pointing. “Yeah. Moose Mason. Almost punched me the other day and then decided to take the moral high ground,” he added. “Mr. Andrews woke up, yeah, but I didn’t think he was out of the hospital yet.”

FRED: Like always, Alice had the best timing. He nearly choked on his drink at her comment. “No, you know what they say. Been there, almost lost my company over it. But yes, she’s working on a court document and will be showing up later. I haven’t seen Hal, is he going to stop by or are you two also done?"

KEVIN: Kevin hadn’t eaten today, which meant that whatever Moose had in that flask would come down on him pretty hard. "Are you asking as if you want to?” Kevin chuckled, half-joking just so see how the other male would react. “I’m..kidding, Moose.” He chuckled, nudging the other male before taking another quick sip and passing the flask back to Moose.

FP: FP couldn’t give a good reason to why he showed up at the Harvest Festival. Hadn’t gone before, but he guessed it had something to do with how serious he was about getting his shit together. Guess that meant he needed to show he was trying to fit in with the community. He doubted it would last, but it got him to this dance — that, and he wanted to see a particular blonde that got under his skin more often than not. Entering through the doors, he noticed Alice near Fred, which he had to admit was a good sight: Fred, up and walking, joining the fray. He strolled over, not yet noticing anyone else he knew. But then again, he wasn’t concerned with scanning the crowd like he usually did. This place was full of northside kids; aside from him, there weren’t many more bad tracks running around in here. “you look good, Fred.” FP said after making his presence known, giving Alice a look before directing his attention at Fred.

ALICE: Any warmth in Alice’s gaze vanished at the sight of Forysthe Jones. He had nerve showing up to a major event after the kind of trouble he had gotten into, but she could play cordial. “Forsythe.” Her voice was composed of steel and wariness. “Come with your gang of bikers to rile up the crowd? Or do we really just have the pleasure of having a convict with an alcohol problem here?"

GINGER: She did what she always did, she observed. Kevin and Moose were running off somewhere, no surprise considering they were talking to Mrs. Cooper and Mr. Andrews, that was drama central. Ginger would run too. Still, there was something suspicious about the two of them, everyone thought so since they’d been the ones to find Jason. Betty and Veronica were off with each other, that wasn’t unusual either but they seemed to be avoiding something. Finally Jughead was talking to some younger girl Ginger had never seen before. Both groups an interesting pair. There was a lot of those hanging around here.

FRED: Fred couldn’t help but smile at seeing FP free and walking around. He reached out and clasped the man’s shoulder in a greeting. "It’s good to see you.” He spared a moment to glance at Alice and say, “Really?” In his most exasperated tone before turning back to FP. “Heads up, the football kids already got the tequila into the punch."

FP: "Warm welcome as usual, Alice. Can’t say I missed it.” A part of him was tired of her constant bullshit, but another just kept putting up with it for the fire. Giving Fred a halfhearted smile, he shrugged. “Wouldn’t go near the punch anyway, but thanks. Glad to see you on your feet, they ever, uh, catch the guy who did it?” Because since FP had been out, he’d had feelers out, but his ties to the Serpents had to be kept under wraps more now than ever before.

MOOSE: Moose felt himself go a little red at Kevin’s comment but knew that he was only kidding. Especially since half of the town was showing up to the Harvest Festival. “So what’s got you on edge, tonight?” Moose looked around once more before taking another sip from the flask.

ALICE: “Yes, well, some things in this town has to stay the same.” Alice managed a slight smile. “If someone pulled Hermione from her den of inequities and Mary was here I’d say it was just like old times."

JELLYBEAN: “If I had my license, I’d run her over.” Jellybean muttered to Jughead. “No, when the hell did she do that? And why? Isn’t the register her baby?” She looked back to the punch table. “He almost punched you?! Damn, why does he hate you? I won’t be nice to him anymore if I see him around. You should have warned me. Just give me a list of everyone who hates you, it’ll be the official hit list.” Jelly smirked. “I’m… so glad Fred is okay, but I definitely did not expect to see him here. Wow. We should go talk to him, Jug. I can’t believe it."

FRED: It really was a matter of time before they came around to this subject. Fred played with the glass a bit before putting it down still full. "No, It’s looking like a random shooting. Pops doesn’t have security cameras and they guy had a mask. Sheriff didn’t seem too hopeful.” Quickly, he made himself smile and shifted the topic. “It’s a nice festival."

JUGHEAD: Jughead laughed a little louder this time. "I think her husband did something. I don’t really know,” he said, honestly. “Yeah, Moose and Reggie are part of the same jock-crowd, they all like picking fights. To be fair, I think this time I did a lot more of the digging. But I’ll give you a list. Fair warning, a lot of people hate me. It’ll be really long.” He grabbed Jellybean’s arm and started to walk closer to Fred and Alice, nodding. “Yeah, he’d like to see you."

KEVIN: Kevin shook his head. "My father has been watching me like a hawk lately with everything that’s been going on and I just need to get away.” He rolled his eyes, leaning against whatever was behind him. The alcohol was definitely starting to kick in, and that wasn’t good for Kevin because often times thinking went out the door. He smiled wide at Moose, giving him a soft nudge. “I also hate these things because for teenagers it turns into a snog fest and I’m often left on the side watching."

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean chuckled. "Wow, Alice Cooper’s marriage falling apart? Shocker. I already know she’ll be on the hit list with Moose.” She walked with Jughead halfway across the room, but stopped short and tightened her grip on her brother’s arm as the man standing beside Archie’s dad turned his head. “Jug.” She uttered, holding his arm even tighter, not letting him move forward at all. Jellybean felt like she was going to fall. She felt like she couldn’t move. Her heart started to race.

MOOSE: Moose nodded silently. “I don’t blame him. With all this stuff going on in Riverdale, I’d be worried about you too. No offense, just.. I don’t think you’d do too well against a gunman.” He passed the flask back to Kevin who probably needed it more than he did that night. “I get it. Midge had a headache so I’m right here on the side with you.”

JUGHEAD: Jughead smirked. “Please don’t go on a homicidal spree. Too many people in this family have been in jail already,” he muttered, but he stopped when he felt Jellybean’s insistent pulling on his arm. He stopped walking and stiffened a little when he caught sight of their dad standing between Alice and Fred like he was perfectly at home. But Jellybean was his priority, not his own feelings about the matter so he stowed them away for now. “Jelly? Hey, breathe. Listen to my voice,” he said, leaning in to her so he could make sure she could hear him.

FP: "Didn’t think you’d be one for nostalgia, Alice.“ he reached out and squeezed Fred’s shoulder. They’d always be brothers, even if life kept getting in the way. "Been meaning to see you, but I just got sprung, too. Someone’s gotta do something about that shooter, though-” FP cut himself short as he noticed Jughead and Jellybean approach them. “Hey Jughead,” it was an awkward greeting, but FP couldn’t just pretend like things were normal – they never had been. “Jellybean,” he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t have the words for it.

KEVIN: He nodded his head, slightly not sure if he agreed. The boy pulled out his right arm, flexing it slightly. “You kidding me, I could handle a gunman.” After flexing he was handed the flask and once again took another sip. “Thank you for bringing this, can’t tell you how much I needed it.” He gave it right back to Moose, knowing that he reached his limit whenever his body started to feel nearly numb. “Sucks about Midge. How are you doing, Moose?”

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean’s feet were planted firmly in place as her brother very nearly held the rest of her weight. “How…” She murmured. Jelly couldn’t even begin to fathom how FP could be at the festival of all places, let alone the fact that he was supposed to be in prison. Actually, Veronica had told her he’d been bailed out, but that made so little sense that in a way, she’d just chosen not to believe it. Jellybean realized she’d been staring blankly in FP’s direction. When he turned and walked towards them, she froze completely. He addressed her, she didn’t move - just stared at his face staring back at her. Her heartbeat was hammering in her chest and she had a feeling Jughead knew now that she could barely breathe at all. And then she choked. “Sorry,” Her voice broke as she let go of Jughead’s arm, turned, and ran across the event room, down to the hallway where the bathrooms were. She sat on the floor and cried.

MOOSE: Moose chuckled at Kevin flexing for him. “Maybe if he was holding a nerf gun.” He put the flask away and watched the crowd for a moment. “No problem. I’m glad it’s helping. I’m doing alright. Just wish Reggie were here. I haven’t hung out with him in a while. Not that I don’t like hanging out with you, Keller. He’s just my best friend.” He quickly explained hoping not to offend Kevin too much.

ALICE: “Isn’t this a happy reunion.” Alice muttered under her breath. She had never been good staying away from situations that didn’t concern her though, and she followed behind F.P. with hands on her hips. “I always wondered what kind of father you’d be. I suppose that answers it.”

FP: FP shot Alice a look, “And I always wondered what happened to make you so miserable.” he said as he turned, patting Jughead on the shoulder before following the path Jelly had cut on her way out. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he needed to get away from Alice just as badly as he needed to remedy the situation with Jellybean. But when he reached the hallway, he stalled, whatever fire set under his ass quickly dissipating. Running a hand through his hair, he paced a bit, muttering a curse under his breath.  

FRED: Alice maybe we should…“ She walked after FP before he could stop her and all he could do was watch them walk off. It was easy to say bygones were bygones after being shot, but FP needed to spend time with his kids. A pain hit his stomach and Fred waved goodbye before ducking out of the festival.

JUGHEAD: Jughead shrugged off FP’s arm, still pissed that he hadn’t bothered to tell them he was out of jail. "You’re an insufferable woman who needs to find a better hobby than getting off to the misfortune of others,” he snapped at Alice before following his dad out of the room. He stepped around his dad when he paused, not even caring why he’d stopped, and walked down the hall until he found Jellybean. He slid down next to her on the floor and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Hey."

KEVIN: "No need to explain yourself, Reggie is your friend and you wanted him here.” Kevin laughed, wondering where Reggie was as these kinds of events seemed like his fortee. “Also, I could totes get rid of the gunman. My dad trained me in self-defense..which mostly involved a lot of kicking and yelling.” He shrugged, knowing he wasn’t that great enough to fight off someone who was probably bigger than him. “But yeah Moose you totally offended me and now you owe me.” Kevin teased, acting as if he was angry about it.

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean collapsed fully and pushed her face into Jughead’s chest, trying desperately to muffle her cries, out of fear that FP was going to appear behind the two of them any second. “He d-didn’t… even fucking m-miss me.” She murmured, barely coherent. “He didn’t.” Her sobs were loud but she pushed her face into Jughead’s chest and armpit even more, like a child who was trying to hide. She knew how many people in the event room had probably seen her run, and could now probably hear her crying, but that was only her second biggest problem. Jellybean was nearly hyperventilating now. “I don’t… know… what to d-do."

MOOSE: Moose watched as Jellybean, Jughead and FP all left the room in some type of commotion. "Wonder what that’s about.” He didn’t think too much of it but he guessed FP was at the root of it all. “Maybe you could show me a couple moves so I know what to do if I’m ever in that kind of situation.” Moose knew the chances of there being another shooting weren’t high, at least he hoped they weren’t, but wanted to be prepared if it did happen. There was only so much his brawn could do when faced with a weapon that could take him out in a second. “My bad. How can I make it up to you?” Moose joked, the alcohol beginning to hit him as well.

ALICE: "I had your baby.“ The words left Alice’s mouth, almost under her breath. Then he was gone and Alice was walking briskly to where Betty was grinding hips or whatever dance she was doing with Veronica Lodge. Gripping her arm tightly, Alice tugged her away. "We’re going home, Elizabeth. Now."

JUGHEAD: Jughead ran a hand over her head, gently stroking her hair, and hugged her tighter. He didn’t really have any sort of words to comfort her. She was right. This whole situation sucked and he couldn’t understand why their dad had decided to go mess with his old high school crew instead of coming to see his kids, so he just continued to rock her gently as she let it all out.

BETTY: "What- mom, no” Betty turned, pulling her arm best she could from her mother’s grasp. “Is something wrong?"

FP: The empty hallway caught the echo of FP’s boot as it collided with a trash can, sending it and its contents scattering across the floor. Had he heard Alice right? Couldn’t have been, they’d only had that one night together —- his train of thought suddenly crashed to a halt as the popping sound of a gunshot resonated through the building. It came from behind the doors, from back in the crowd of bodies enjoying this fuck show of a night. Without thinking about it, FP shoved his way back in, eyes searching a crowd for those he knew, those he cared about.

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean forced herself to breathe and tried to hold some of the sobs in. She and Jughead had escaped to the hallway, but it was still an event, and Jellybean had to get her shit together if their dad was gonna come find them soon - if he actually had it in him to. "Veronica told me he got bailed out of jail but I w-was so confused, I didn’t know -” She talked quickly with each breath she could catch before shuddering out another sob. “Cause that meant he was out b-but he didn’t come home to us and I didn’t want it to be true but-” She started to sob harder. “He didn’t…"

JUGHEAD: Jughead shushed her again and opened his mouth to say something in reply, but froze when he heard a series of loud bangs. "Fuck – Jelly, Jelly get up come on,” he said, when he remembered how to breathe again. His heart thudding in his throat he stumbled to his feet, pulling Jellybean up with him. He had to get her outside. Once he knew she was safe he’d think about everyone else again, but first he had to get his little sister out of the horror show that was rapidly intensifying around them.

ALICE: The ringing of the gunshot caused Alice to jump more than she was comfortable with. Grip tightening on her daughters arm, her eyes were scanning the crowd as she yanked her towards the exit. “That’s why, Elizabeth.” And that’s when she saw it. A flash of a Serpent jacket, here one second and gone the next. If anyone would have fired off a round in a pleasant Riverdale event, it would have been a Serpent. FP had been there, and his Southside children as well. It all made sense, and Alice would be writing one hell of an article about it once she got home and collected her thoughts.

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean’s head snapped up at the loud bang, and before she knew it Jughead was pulling her to stand. “Oh my god,” she sobbed, looking around the hallway frantically. Her body shook, heart hammering. The gunshot had been in the main room. “Where’s dad?!” She cried. “Was he still in there?!”

JUGHEAD: Jughead was dragging Jellybean toward the nearest exit, which he knew was also taking them away from the gym. “He came out of the gym I think, but he didn’t go far. I’ll go look for him once you’re outside, I promise,” he snapped, body, mouth, and mind all operating on autopilot, his instincts doing all the work.

VERONICA: After Alice Cooper had ripped Betty away like a madwoman, Veronica was still collecting herself when the gunfire went off. Her first instinct was to let a tiny shriek out, the second to cover her mouth and start moving. She started pushing along with the crowd, able to move considerably well in her heels before she spotted a dark gray cap and leather jacket. “Jughead,” she panted. “Are you okay? Is your sister?"

KEVIN: Kevin heard everything Moose was saying but only understood a bit of it as everything was starting to flow together. The alcohol hit him, and Kevin wanted to do a variety of things he shouldn’t have. His father was only feet away from the two so he shouldn’t have been doing much. "I’ll be able to show you one day, but I promise you won’t get anything out of it.” KEvin folded his arms, his face an entire shade of red which showed just how drunk he was beginning to be. “you know what, I can’t mention what I want you to do to make it up to me. Totally not okay…Sorry..” Kevin put his hand on Moose’s shoulder which is something he seemed to have a habit of doing. “I can’t..alright?"

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean’s body had absolutely no control of its own. It was just Jughead pulling her that was causing her feet to walk forward towards the exit door. Her crying had stopped, but the aftershocks of sobs still racked her body. Tears stayed wet on her face, but no more fell. She thought it was what going into shock felt like, with her heart racing and her mind on some kind of autopilot. "No, don’t leave me.” She said loudly to Jughead, gripping him tighter.

JUGHEAD: "I’m sorry, ‘bean,“ he said, pushing the door open and tugging them both outside, the wind hitting them. "I’ll be back, I promise,” he said, leaning down a bit and hugging her tightly before looking her in the eyes as he pulled back. “ I promise. Neither of us is dying today, but I need you to stay outside and out of sight and keep your phone on you. I’m going back in to look for dad and I’ll call you when I’m back out, okay?” He said, already walking back towards the building and turning to jog back inside, grimacing at the sound of shrieks and general panic. “Veronica!” He said, relieved to find a familiar face as soon as he got back inside. “She’s fine, she’s outside. You should get out there too. Are you okay? Betty? What the hell is going on?”

MOOSE: Moose shook his head as he heard Kevin’s words start to blur together. “Alright, we should probably get you out of here to sober up.” As soon as he finished speaking, a gunshot rang out making Moose feel like an idiot for thinking that the town could go longer than a few weeks without someone getting shot. He ducked and threw his arm around Kevin to make sure the other male did the same. “We’ve got to get out of here.” He said once more, this time wanting to get out to be safe from the gunfire.

VERONICA: A sigh of relief came automatically when Jughead noticed her and Veronica briefly gripped his arm. She really wished Archie was there, or that he’d show up in all of his ginger glory. “Okay, okay, good. I’m fine. Mrs. Cooper had just dragged Betty away when everything happened. Did you see them leave? They’re okay, right?” Veronica stopped, forcing herself to catch her breath. “I’m going to assume you’re fine even though you didn’t answer. I have no idea. Is this how all Harvest Festivals end around here?"

JUGHEAD: "I didn’t. I was in the hallway with Jellybean. My instinct was to take her outside and I only just got back in, but knowing Mrs. C, she got them out. Have you see my dad at all?” He asked, sucking in a deep breath after all the running he’d done. “Yeah, I’m just chronically out of shape. But no, even for us, this is not how most Harvest Festivals end. Usually we get a boring speech.” He craned his head, looking around for his dad. “We normally just have a boring speech."

JELLYBEAN: Jellybean hugged her brother tightly, looking into his eyes as he pulled away from her. The air outside was freezing but Jelly barely felt it. "Okay, I love you.” She said, still gripping his arms. Jellybean knew there was no arguing with him right now, no matter how afraid she was. He pulled away quickly and she watched him run back into the building. She moved to the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, then pulled her phone out of her pocket. A few new tears streamed down her cheeks, but mainly Jellybean felt numb.

KEVIN: Kevin was so out of it that he wasn’t paying attention to the gun shot that rang out. His father was already with several other officers and was caught in the commotion from what Kevin could see. Thankfully Moose caught it because Kevin would have not been able to really move much for himself. Kevin threw his arm around the other, nodding along through his drunken state. “Holy hell.” He said, his forehead starting to numb as the alcohol lingered in his body. The nearest exit was being filled with people and Kevin thankfully knew of another exit near the stairwell. “Moose..this way we will be able to get out..faster.” His mind was kicked into somewhat sober gear as he pulled through to the nearest exit where no one else seemed to follow. Once they were outside Kevin leaned against the nearest wall of the school. “Wow..I really should have watched what I said earlier.” Kevin looked at Moose, wanting to make sure he was alright. “You okay, Moose?"

VERONICA: "Wait, your dad was here?” Veronica asked, nearly doing a double take. She knew that Hiram had bought his freedom, but she hadn’t expected him to show up at the Festival. Then again, she knew little about FP Jones. “He’s an adult and he’s dealt with things like this. I’m sure he’s fine, Jug. If you’re chronically out of shape and someone decides to shoot again though, you won’t be."

MOOSE: Moose followed Kevin to the exit, his eyes darting around the room trying to make sense of what was happening and making sure that the two were safe as well as everyone else at the festival. He was glad that neither Midge or Reggie ended up coming. The two were safe from whatever it was that was happening here. "I’m fine. Just shook.” Moose managed to say as the two waited by the side of the building to wait for the panic to die down.

KEVIN: Kevin realized he should probably checked on his dad pretty soon. Thank god they found this exit because Kevin didn’t feel like having to push through a crowd in order to get out. “Moose..can I be honest with you? Really quick..this isn’t the right time but…” Kevin was drunk, and it was the best and worst time for him to admit something. “I was going to tell you to kiss me to make it up to me..I know you’re dating Midge and I just wanted to be honest..with you..right now.."

MOOSE: Moose caught his breath while Kevin confessed his feelings for him. He patted Kevin on the back as he looked around. "Maybe some other time, Keller, but right now we should probably find your dad and figure out what happened."