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codythecheshirecat · 3 years

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Binary Sunset Ch 2: Seemed Far Away

Story Summary: Obi-Wan finds himself decades in the future on the ship of a Mandalorian that seems like the last thing he wants is to be sidled with another lifeform. Or two, because suddenly they have a little...tiny... Yoda to deal with. Not actually Yoda, Obi-Wan knows, but still. It's weird, and stressful, and there's an entire Empire that's come and gone (going?). He just wants to rest. Figure out what exactly has happened and maybe, maybe find a way to stop it, if he ever gets back to his own time. Better that than wallow in misery and pain of a past he got plucked from, yet still feels the pain of.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30771671/chapters/76338152#workskin

Saleucami is a fairly nice planet, Obi-Wan decides as he steps from the ship. Warm, for sure, but not overbearingly so. They’ve touched down in one of the more swampy areas. Obi-Wan cranes his neck to get a good look at the area. A bird flies overhead. Mando puts his arm out, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yes?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

Mando turns his head to look at him. “You’re staying here.”

“Excuse you?”

“You’ll only get in the way. I’m used to working alone. I don’t need your help.”

Obi-Wan crosses his arms. “What, exactly, do you expect me to do while I’m waiting for you to track down your bounty, then?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, as long as you don’t get into what isn’t yours.”

Obi-Wan tosses his head. “Ah, so I’m to sit quietly in the dark of your ship.”

Mando shrugs. “Maybe there’s something in the area that’s edible. You could resupply the food stores so we don’t have to purchase anything.”

Obi-Wan just sighs, turning back to the ship. “Do I at least have permission to get into the weapons if danger occurs?”

“Sure.”

Obi-Wan looks over his shoulder, watching somewhat petulantly as Mando walks away, following his tracking fob. He sighs again. He’d have liked to have something to do to keep his mind off things. Clearly that won’t be happening. So he walks back into the ship, closes the door, and sits on the floor next to his still-discarded robes. He runs his hands through the fabric.

“The Galactic Empire destroys the Jedi Order.” He says softly, the same words he’s been thinking since he talked to the Mandalorian Armorer. “Wish I knew more about that.”

He’d been a little overwhelmed during his talk with the Armorer. After leaving he’d thought of a thousand questions, ones she may or may not have had answers to. Asking Mando had been… unsuccessful. He should have realized that Mando had limited knowledge, after all, he had said he’d never heard of the Jedi Order. Further questioning had brought forth similar answers.

Obi-Wan is disappointed, but not surprised. Surely the Empire had done as much as it could to control information as much as people and planets. And Mando, living among the Outer Rim, wouldn’t have had much reason to bother with the Empire. Obi-Wan’s fairly certain that the Empire’s control over the outer rim had been as thin and fleeting as the Republic’s. The Outer Rim is often simply uncontrollable from those in power at the Core Worlds. So it would have been advantageous for Mando to know what he had to know to survive, and little else. And he wouldn’t have gained anything from knowledge about the Jedi. At least, that’s what Obi-Wan rationalizes to himself. What other answers are there, after all?

He must stay there for hours, thinking about everything and nothing, and absolutely, completely, one-hundred percent meaning to get up and have a look around the area. Maybe find some food like Mando suggested. And yet, he’s barely moved a muscle when the door opens again and Mando strides in, dragging a shaking human man behind him. He locks eyes with the man, and then decides that he’d rather not have any reason to feel for him; he’s going to have to get used to the bounty hunting life, and the good and bad people that get caught up in it. The man yells as Mando shoves him into a carbon freezing unit.

Mando turns to him. “You haven’t moved at all, have you?”

“Not a bit.” He admits. “Where to next? Nevarro again?”

Mando walks to the ladder heading to the cockpit. “Crait.”

Obi-Wan follows him up. “How many bounties do you have?”

“Several.”

***

Crait is as boring as Saleucami, as are Galidraan and Gamorr. Mostly because Mando refuses to let Obi-Wan help, and so he sits, bored, on the floor of the Razor Crest. Alone with his thoughts. Alone with his fears. Mando isn’t even particularly talkative, so even when they’re in the cockpit traveling together through space it’s boring.

After a day of traveling, Obi-Wan finds a pen. He promptly spends two hours drawing all over himself for lack of anything else to do. It’s something he’d ordinarily scold Anakin for doing. Had, in fact, several times over Anakin’s padawan years. There’s something freeing in it, though, knowing that the only person that will know is Mando and Mando clearly doesn’t give a kriff. There’s no rhyme or reason to what he draws-- the symbol of the Jedi Order, a five pointed star, the Basic Alphabet. Birds and loth-cats and a badly-drawn wampa. Random lines and squiggles, until his arms and legs are covered and he’s made a fair dent everywhere else, too, using the mirror Mando has in his refresher. They almost look like tattoos.

Other than drawing, he spends his time meditating, and when that only manages to make him more anxious, he sleeps. And dreams-- nothing that seems to be prophetic, just dreams of his past, dreams of nonsense, nightmares of his anxieties come to life. A particularly rattling one has him waking, gasping for breath, with screams of the dying thundering in his ears.

When he can’t sleep any more, he stalks around the ship, committing as much of it to memory as he can without prying. How many steps can he take, going from one side to the next? Where are the control panels? How many people, frozen in carbonite, can fit in the ship? There isn’t much of a kitchenette-- actually, there’s little more than 2 cupboards, a small box for cold foods, and a small oven that really serves for reheating more than actual cooking. Obi-Wan counts the ration bars, the cans of soup, the few bits of frozen meat. The rations will last them for quite a while, despite the small space.

And just like that, three standard weeks pass.

***

Maldo Kreis is as boring as everything else, at least until Mando shows up with his bounty with a hungry ravinak following. His bounty-- a blue Mythrol-- screams bloody murder. Obi-Wan lifts his head from where he lays on the floor and watches the two move past him, heading for the cockpit. He looks out the door-- the ravinak’s bitten down on the landing gear.

There’s no way they’ll be able to lift off with that hanging on the way it is. In fact, it’s more likely that the ravinak will drag them under. He springs to his feet. Mando’s Amban Rifle is around here somewhere, where had he last seen it..? Oh, right, by the door to the cockpit. He follows them up the ladder, grabs the rifle, and jumps back down. The ship shudders. He grimaces, charges the rifle, and braces himself at the door.

Here goes nothing. He lunges forward, shoving the prongs of the rifle into the ravinak’s face. Electricity dances across and under its skin. It lets go of the ship with a roar, sinking back into the icy water. Unfortunately, without the ravinak holding it down, the Razor Crest lurches into the air with enough force that almost sends Obi-Wan tumbling into the water with it. He climbs into the ship and closes the door. He lets out a breath. I’m out of practice.

He joins them in the cockpit. The Mythrol chatters away about nothing in his best attempt at persuading them into letting him go. After getting nothing from Mando, the Mythrol turns to him. Obi-Wan gives him his best unimpressed look and turns back to looking at hyperspace. Is this how I sound to Mando? He wonders. It’s exhausting. He’s honestly thankful when Mando gets the chance to put him in carbonite. When he returns to the cockpit, Obi-Wan offers him a smile.

“You probably wish you could do that to me, hm?”

“Maybe a little.” Mando admits. “And before you ask, now we’re heading to Nevarro.”

“Ah, wonderful. I could stretch my legs.” I’ve already been out of the ship there, you have no way of arguing me into staying hidden.

“We’re only stopping to turn in the bounties and get new ones. It’ll be quick.”

Obi-Wan hums. “If you say so. I could buy new supplies, then, while you deal with Guild business?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Obi-Wan glances at him. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

“And?”

“I think it’d be helpful to know it.”

“No.”

Alright. “Were you born a Mandalorian?”

“Why do you care?” Mando asks slowly.

Obi-Wan shrugs. “We’re going to be traveling together for an undetermined amount of time, I’d like to know at least a bit about you. All I know about you is that you’re a Mandalorian bounty hunter, you don’t know anything about Jedi, and you’re much better suited to long space travels than I am. Well, I also have nothing to do, but I haven’t exactly seen you do anything more than eat, sleep, clean your weapons, and fly this ship, none of which actually take that long. Also, I spent a year on Mandalore when I was younger, during the civil war.”

Mando fully turns to look at him. Obi-Wan offers another smile. Focus on the future right now, not the past. Nothing can be done about the past, so make sure the future isn’t going to be a mess.

Mando sighs. “I was a foundling, taken in when I was a child. I was raised in the Fighting Corps. I work as a bounty hunter to support the Tribe. Is that enough?”

“If that’s all you’ll give me.” Obi-Wan acquiesces. “Would you like to know more about me?”

“Which side were you on?” The question is immediate.

“Er-what?”

“During the Clone Wars.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan pauses. Not a question he expected to hear. “I was fighting on the side of the Republic. So, the clone army, not the droid army.”

“Good.” Mando says darkly. “You said you’re from the beginning of the war?”

“Well, I assume so, unless the War was done and over in a matter of a few months.” Obi-Wan says, falling into the sort of sarcastic indignance he often does with Anakin. “I’d just fought at Christophsis.”

Mando hums. “Alright.”

And that’s that.

***

Obi-Wan stares at his reflection in the mirror of the Razor Crest’s refresher. He’s let his hair grow too much for his tastes over the past few weeks. He hasn’t trimmed it at all, and now he hardly looks the part of Jedi Master. Well, he does want to blend in, but… it’s really a matter of self-care, in the end. He runs his fingers through his beard.

It’s doubtful there are many people in the galaxy now that would recognise him. He imagines they’re dead, old, or simply wouldn’t expect him to look so young. So really, he could probably get away with keeping the beard. But it would be his luck, to manage to run into someone that would recognise him, his look. And it would be his luck that said someone would be an enemy, too. It can’t hurt to be cautious.

He glances at Mando, standing at his weapons cache. He’s not sure what species he is, still, seeing as he never takes his helmet off. Nor does he particularly care what species he is. But if he’s a species without hair, it’ll be rather hard to cut his own. “Do you have something I could cut my hair with? And shave my beard?”

Mando turns to look at him. “There’s a razor and a pair of scissors behind the mirror.”

“Ah, thank you.”

He finds them where Mando says they are, strapped in so they don’t fall out and make a mess during rough travels. That sort of thing isn’t typically a worry on larger ships, but one as small as the Razor Crest, it’s practically a necessity. He pauses. He’s well versed in taking care of his beard-- that’s not exactly hard, and not something one would want to go to a barber for. His hair, though… well, he’ll just have to give it a go, won’t he?

So he shaves his beard, leaves only stubble. He’d been completely clean shaven as a padawan for several reasons and only some having to do with his age, but the moment he’d no longer been a padawan he’d happily grown a beard. Partially just to prove to Quinlan he could. Obi-Wan frowns at his reflection. It’s… strange, having hair as long as he does without the beard to match. Luckily I’ll be dealing with that shortly enough.

Cutting his hair goes about half as well. He leaves it just barely longer than he’d had it as a padawan, minus the ponytail. And a lot more messy, actually. As it turns out, he’s very bad at cutting hair. It doesn’t look terrible. It just doesn’t look very good, either. And it certainly doesn’t look like it was on purpose.

“Oh well.” He mutters, and starts cleaning up. It’ll just have to do.

Mando chuckles. “Having trouble?”

Obi-Wan eyes him. “Not everyone is as used to cutting their own hair as you are.”

“Maybe you should shave it. Go bald.”

Obi-Wan thinks about that. “That is a cursed image and I hate that you’ve made me think of it, Mando.”

Mando’s laughter gets louder, and he counts it as a win.

#Star Wars #Clone Wars #The Mandalorian #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Din Djarin #Binary Sunset #Chapter 2 #Time Travel

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: Terms of Engagement ch.8

Summary: Rus is still a kid himself and with his life turned upside-down, he has no idea how he’s going to take care of his baby brother. Having other kid skeletons appear in his world wasn’t exactly the help he was looking for.

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, Underswap Papyrus, Underswap Sans, Undertale Sans, Undertale Papyrus, Babybones, Scientist W. D. Gaster, Possible Past Child Abuse, Skellie Daycare, Growing Up Together, Big Brothers Caring For Their Little Bros, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Violence

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

~~*~~

Read Chapter Eight on AO3

Read It Here!

~~*~~

~~ Sixteen Years Ago ~~

The lab didn’t have what could be called a kitchen, exactly. The only thing that could be considered close was the old vending machine and Rus cleared that out years ago, back when the scientist went…well…wherever he went. That along with a broken coffee machine was about the only gear they’d been left with at the beginning.

Over the years, Rus jerry-rigged a sort of cooking nook in one of the lab rooms. He hated in there, the almost-memories that lurked in the corners, the large glass tubes that he still sometimes dreamed about, of looking out through the blur of liquid at a distorted face that looked back.

The tubes were empty now, one of them broken and the glass carefully cleaned away so curious little baby bones couldn’t hurt themselves, but they were still there, skulking like unwanted sentries.

These days Rus could mostly ignore them, and it wasn’t as if he had a lot of choice over where to set up. His little kitchen area had to be in this room because it was the only one with a gas hookup for the Bunsen burners. Two of which were on, the flames carefully lowered to a steady medium height.

Over one was a battered old pot with canned tomato soup simmering away. On another was a genuine cast iron pan that Rus found in the dump, rusty and discarded. Took him a long time to scrape in clean and season it, but it was worth the effort. The surface was smooth as glass, glossy black and Rus might be a shit cook but one thing he knew was the value of good equipment.

He was slicing the bread when he heard it. Close to the doorway there was a scuffling sound, one he knew pretty well by now. That was the sound of a little skeleton trying, and failing, to be quiet and he didn’t have to look to guess at who was trying to play ninja warrior behind his back.

“you were supposed to stay with the others,” Rus said without turning around. All the better to cement the idea that big bros had eyes on the backs of their skulls.

A small, stifled gasp, yep, someone knew the jig was up and from the corner of his socket, Rus could see Edge shuffling miserably inside, ready to be sent back to the playroom where Blue and Papyrus were probably still making use of the box of crayons Rus spoiled them with a few weeks ago. If nothing else, the lab had plenty of paper lying around, most of it covered with weird symbols, formulas that the kids all gleefully scribbled over.

Edge had been less enthused than the others when Rus plunked him down with his own papers and that was tough titty, kitty. Trial and error was a good teacher and Rus learned one lesson pretty damn quick; corral the kids before trying to cook anything. Without the trouble trio, he at least had a chance of making something reasonably edible.

That left him with a solo act and Edge came over to stand beside him, his little skull still a good few inches too short to let him look over the countertop.

“I wanted to be with you, Russy,” Edge said mournfully. From the depths of sorrow in the kid’s voice, you’d think Rus stepped away for a decade or two instead of fifteen minutes.

“yeah? that so?” Rus said, still not looking down. Letting that sweet, sweet guilt keep piling on. “what’s the rule?”

He could hear Edge squirming, as if he were weighing the odds of waiting to see if Rus somehow forgot the question. When the hoped-for reprieve didn’t come, a meek, almost inaudible whisper floated up, “To stay in the playroom.”

“uh huh. and where are you?”

Another long moment of painful hoping, then, even softer, “Not in the playroom.”

“yep,” Rus agreed, “that’s what it looks like to me, too. what do you think we should do about that, kid?”

No answer, only a miserable, hitched breath trying to add that guilt trip back onto Rus’s itinerary, only it wasn’t gonna work this time.

What he needed to do was frogmarch his little escape artist right back to the playroom, for reasons of: A. before the other two came looking for him and B. to show him he couldn’t just disobey the rules whenever he wanted.

Rus glanced down at Edge sternly, all ready to order him right back where he came from…and ended up looking right into his huge, pleading sockets, tears already standing out and ready to brim over to trail down his pudgy little cheek bones to his quivering little chin.

Rus sighed. Really, how was he supposed to say no to that?

“c’mere, kiddo.” He reached down to pick Edge up and the way his expression brightened with delight was enough to make it worth the pile of trouble this was probably gonna cause.

He hoped.

He set Edge down on the counter-top a safe distance away from the burners. The kid looked at the setup with interest, his wide eye lights drinking it all in eagerly.

“wanna help me make grilled cheese?” Rus offered, resigned to his fate.

“Yes!” Edge shouted in a fair attempt at deafening them both. Rus twisted a knuckle against his audial canal and shook his head, reaching for the butter.

“okay, first, we have to put butter on the bread.”

“Why?” Edge asked promptly, ‘cause Angel knew that Edge always had two questions for every statement.

“toasts better, taste better, take your pick. see?” Rus scraped the butter knife over the bread and left a mostly even smear behind. Then he held out the knife, handle first, “okay, kiddo, your turn.”

From the reverent way Edge took the knife, you would’ve thought Rus handed over Excalibur. He carefully mimicked what Rus showed him, his little red tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he slowly spread the butter. He held it up proudly when he was finished, nicely coated and ready for toasting. “There!”

“good job!” Rus said and he really hoped his disgruntlement that the little brat was a hell of a lot better at that than he was didn’t show in his voice. He set Edge’s in the pan to toast, handing over his slightly mangled piece. “see if you can fix that one while i prep the cheese.”

‘Cheese’ was probably a pretty loose term for it. Yeah, it was orange, and yeah, it was in slices, but that was about as close as it got. Gerson didn’t even keep it refrigerated and there was always plenty on her dusty shelves when Rus made the trip to Waterfall for supplies on days someone else had the kids, because he could hit up the dump on the way and make it a twofer, especially if he could find something to sell. The DVD of ‘Jerry Maguire’ he dug out that paid for the crayons was a good case in point.

Rus unwrapped a slice of the pseudo-cheese and plopped it on the bread. Even the noise it made was undairy-like and it was a good thing that shit tasted so good or Rus wouldn’t scrape up the G for it it all the time. By then, Edge had smoothed over the buttery lumps on the other slice of bread and Rus added it to the pile, sealing its cheesy fate. The rich, toasty smell that rose up as it sizzled away was enough to make Rus’s mouth water. He hadn’t eaten yet today, supplies were a little low and his soul was crying out for food. Rus ignored it. The kids came first, once they were full, he’d make his own.

“You should flip it,” Edge said suddenly.

“huh?” Rus frowned at him, “no, it’s not cooked yet.”

“Yes, it is,” Edge said, insistently. He picked up the spatula from the counter and held it out as he added ominously, “it’ll burn.”

“it will no—fine,” Rus sighed. Worst that could happen was an ‘I told you’ so and another flip. He carefully slid the spatula beneath the sandwich and managed to turn it over without accidentally hurling it across the room and if anyone asked, that stain on the wall had always been there. Rus stared down in disbelief. The bread was a perfect golden-brown, cheese slowly starting to glisten and ooze at the edges. He turned to Edge and demanded, “how did you know that, squirt?”

Edge only looked at him and said matter-of-factly. “’cause when you leave it on as long as you think it needs, it burns.”

Ouch. Called out by a kid half his height, yeesh, that was gonna leave a mark.

It stung unexpectedly, making Rus blink hard against the sudden prickle of tears. He was trying, okay, it wasn’t his fault he was shitty at cooking and even shittier at budgeting enough for food, it wasn’t his fault that he’d already left off wearing stripes to keep anyone seeing him from asking too many question even if he and Red and Sans went through the calculations once out of a spiteful sort of curiosity and figured they were all maybe, maybe, fifteen, if you counted leap years, it wasn’t his fucking fault and—

“Russy? Are you okay?”

Rus startled and nearly dropped the sandwich. Hastily, he slid it onto a plate, slapping the spatula down to scrub at his sockets with his sleeve. Edge was looking at him, all wide-socketed worry and Rus managed to scrape up a wobbly smile.

“yep, just fine,” Rus said, a little roughly, and when Edge only looked at him doubtfully Rus scooped him up and tickled him until the kid was squealing laughter, “yeah, that’s right, you so smart, but i’m still bigger!”

“Stop, stop,” Edge begged, giggling frantically. Rus tickled him a fraction of a minute longer, then made to set him down on the countertop. Only for Edge to cling to him, hugging him hard. “I love you, Russy.”

Yeah, keep this up and he was gonna have to mop in here ‘cause his soul was gonna be a puddle on the floor. “love you, too, brat.” He set Edge back down and tapped the little nodule of his nasal cavity with a fingertip, “now let’s get cooking before papyrus try to eat the crayons again.” Edge gave him a guilty look and Rus groaned, “he didn’t.”

“I told him the purple one wasn’t grape!”

Welp, so much for the crayons. Rus only shook his head and handed Edge more bread to butter. They had sandwiches to make and if Papyrus’s teeth were more rainbow than not when they got there, at least he left room for lunch.

~~*~~

~~ Now ~~

Despite this place leaving Rus feeling off-kilter, there was at least one thing both their universes had in common; Snowdin was fucking cold. Rus watched Edge head on after the kids until he disappeared around a corner and then took his own shivering butt back inside. Should’ve grabbed his hoodie too instead of just his smokes, too rattled by losing his shortcuts to even consider he was inviting a little bonus frostbite.

Red was sprawled on the sofa, picking idly at his teeth for any breakfast leftovers with a toothpick. He flicked it idly in the direction of the trash while Rus closed the door and missed, left it dangling precariously on the lip of the can.

“not sure if that should be worth anything but negative points.” Rus kicked off his shoes and tried not to notice that the snow helped wash away some of the marrow spattering his shoes, leaving behind dingy rust-colored streaks.

“nah, worth at least two points for pissing off my bro,” Red said. He sat up, one foot on the sofa cushion and the other dangling as he asked bluntly, “got your head on straight?”

No. “yeah, i think so.” Rus sank down on the other side of the sofa, propping his stocking feet on the coffee table. “so, now what?”

“welp, now that we’ve got our stories straight, let’s talk about the problem.”

Rus tipped his head back to look up at the ceiling, studying it. There was a discoloration in one corner, maybe from an old leak. “problem being how to get me back home.”

“yeah, that’s the one and it might be a little harder than ya think.” Red exhaled long and slow. “the machine ain’t here.”

Of all things, that was the last Rus expected. For a long minute, Rus kept looking at the ceiling, idly wondering if the stain on it looked more like a cat in a tuxedo or a bird sitting in a teacup, it didn’t quite register, because that? That made no sense, not at all, not when laid next to Red’s reasons for not coming to live Underswap all those years ago. Rus sat up straight and turned to look at Red. Who was doing his own ceiling survey, maybe trying to decide himself on that stain, could even be a dinosaur learning how to tap dance if you looked at it right and none of that fucking matter because what Red was saying couldn’t be right, it was unthinkable, inconceivable.

“but—” The word stuck in his throat and Rus swallowed hard, trying to unstick it, managed to stumble out, “but…you said…you stayed so no one could use it!”

“did,” Red agreed, grimly. His eye lights flicked from the cat/bird/dinosaur to Rus, meeting his horrified gaze. “only, i didn’t have your little travel pass to move it and we didn’t have time to figure anything else out, so had to go with the next best thing.”

That tone was not at all what Rus wanted to hear, far too grim and there was only one reason he could even conceive of for it, the one thing he hadn’t even wanted to consider, not even once while he was sitting here in a house that was not, quite, a mirror image of his own and his brother was a universe away, all alone with no idea what happened to him.

“you destroyed it?” Rus whispered. His voice broke, cracked right in the middle like a plate dropped on a hard floor.

“almost did,” Red said bluntly. Rus pulled in a long, slow breath. “prolly should’ve, but edge didn’t want me to. cause’a you, you know.”

“me?” Rus said, surprised.

“you,” Red repeated, a touch mockingly, “always shoving all that hope shit in their heads, helpin’ others to help themselves, all that piss and hokum. if things got better here, he was figurin’ we could go back someday. he’s been workin’ on that ‘better’ part ever since we walked out of the lab.”

Better, a better world. Rus thought about the wall around this Snowdin, the protective spells woven into it. About XP hunters lurking in the woods and the difference between Monsters and monsters. “how’s that going?”

Red shrugged, “can’t save the world, but he’s not doing too shabby in his corner of it.” The words were flippant, but his eye lights were fond. Then Red gave himself a little shake and pointed at the coffee table. By Rus’s propped-up feet was a plain cardboard box and he leaned forward, cautiously lifting the lid as Red said, “didn’t wreck it but i did take all these.”

Inside the box was a pile of little bundles wrapped in what looked like scraps of an old t-shirt. Cautiously, Rus opened one, holding up the contents to get a better look. A component, a card of green fiberglass with winding lanes of copper and bristling with transistors. He wrapped it back up hastily and put it back in the box with the other parts. Tucked into the side was a folded piece of paper and Rus plucked it out and opened it, studying what looked like a rough schematic.

“you numbered all the parts,” Rus murmured, studying it.

“yeah, well, didn’t want to try guessin’ which tab a fit into what slot b when the time came,” Red snorted. “rus, i ain’t gonna butter your bread ‘bout this. the machine’s still at the lab, the new royal scientist’s been there for years now, and she ain’t one to mess with. we pulled a drop cloth over it ‘fore we took off, but for all i know, she’s gutted it for parts. it’s a long shot for sure, but that’s our best bet so that’s what we’re goin’ with.”

Rus nodded slowly. “so we go to the lab.”

“fuck, no!” Red sputtered, sitting up stock-straight as he glared at Rus, “didn’t ya hear me? alphys is nuts and even if she wasn’t, she ain’t about to let us prance in and start tinkering.”

That was certainly news, especially with the name tucked in there.

“alphys?” Rus blurted out, astonished, “seriously? the head of the royal guard?” Alphys was a tough ol’ bird but Rus was pretty sure any experiments she did involved punching out the results.

“heh, really?” Red shook his head, “we need to sit down sometime and compare notes, see if we can figure out the difference ‘tween our worlds.” Red shifted, all amusement fading, “here she’s the royal scientist and fucking around with her is a good way to spend the rest of your time taking in dinner through a straw, and that’s only if you don’t end up on a metal table.” A barely perceptible shiver when through Red, “think we’ve all had enough of that.”

Understatement. “so how are we going to get to the machine?” Rus asked.

“simple,” Red leaned forward, his eye lights determined. “you can’t do your shortcuts, but maybe i can. so you’re gonna teach me your little parlor trick and i’m gonna teleport in.”

Before Rus could ‘what the fuck’ that little plan, Edge came back in. A sharp look from Red warned him to keep his trap shut and Rus obeyed it, for now, trying to look completely innocent and not as if he and Red were busily making what was probably an upgraded version of a suicide pact.

“did you catch up to the kids?” Rus asked.

Edge smiled. It lifted the corners of his sockets, and again Rus was struck at the sight, the sweet kid he knew so long ago peeking out from beneath that scarred exterior. “I did. I hope you weren’t expecting your G back, I let them keep it as a souvenir.”

“do i wanna ask?” Red sighed out.

“Probably not. I’m going on patrol,” Edge announced and started to suit up, “I’ll come back for lunch, was there anything specific you’d like?”

“nah, i’m easy,” Rus said. He ignored Red’s sudden snort, “i’ll eat anything, even take a grilled cheese, if you’ve got it.”

“I can manage that,” Edge paused with his chest plate above his head, sending Rus a sharp smile and Rus wondered abruptly if he was remembering the same thing, that long ago day in the kitchen nook together, confirmed it with a sly, “I promise not to burn it.”

“hey!” Rus sputtered. Not much defense against the truth, so instead he sulked and watched Edge finish suiting up. The armor made him look so much more imposing, more than any scar possibly could and yet, when he headed for the door, Rus couldn’t help blurting out, “be careful out there.”

Edge paused. He walked over to the sofa on strangely silent feet and reached over. Rus sat frozen as he lightly touched Rus’s cheekbone, his gloved fingertips rough, the stiff material unforgiving and yet, the touch itself was soft, as gentle as his words, “I will, Russy.”

The nickname snapped Rus out of his little trance. “seriously, you can just call me rus,” he grumbled.

“I really couldn’t,” Edge said. He turned away and strode off in a clank of armor. The door closed behind him with a decisive click and Rus huffed out an aggravated sigh.

“your brother is a pain in the ass.” The expected agreement didn’t come, and Rus turned to see Red looking at him strangely, “what?”

A long moment of silence. “nothin’, bean pole,” Red said, finally, “he’s somethin’, all right. how about you go take a nap, get off that leg for a little bit and we’ll head out later and start workin’ on upgrading my stats.”

Rus opened his mouth, ready to protest that they needed to get the hell started if this was the plan, he needed to get home. Only to close it again, words unspoken, because he wasn’t gonna teach Red to shortcut in a day or a week or whatever, it took him ages to be able to shortcut reliably without it snapping back like an invisible rubber band, knocking him ass over teakettle while Sans laughed his ass off.

This wasn’t gonna be a fast fix and there wasn’t thing one he could do about it. Rus nodded and headed upstairs, let himself into Edge’s room to curl up on the bed that wasn’t his while he tried to stifle tears into the blankets

Eventually, he gave up and just cried, let it all come out of him in one long, miserable burst, until he was a snotty mess. When it was done, he felt mostly better, a little worse, and he settled down to sleep. The blankets smelled kinda like cookies, Rus decided sleepily, cookies when they were still spicy warm, and it was his last thought before he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #baby bones #terms of engagement

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winterknight1087 · 4 years

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Flower from the Fae (ch 1)

Chapter Title: Mushrooms Were Not the Plant I Was Looking For

Summary: Virgil likes plants, but when he goes to investigate a plant his friend Remy tells him about, he doesn’t exactly check out the plant. Little does he know that the handsome man he meets there is a fairy who is about to challenge the world Virgil knows.

Word Count: 1647

Chapter Warnings: cursing, poisonous mushrooms (no harm from though), death mention, anxiety attack, sympathetic deceit

Pairings: Eventual Romantic LAMP; Analogical

AO3 Link My Writing

A/N: Yeah, I’m not sure how this one happened, but writing this story has been fun. I have a couple other chapters in need of editing, so if you like this bit, be prepared for Virgil and Pat’s interaction.

Bzzt.

[Trenta4Sandman]: So? New trend or stale coffee? [sent at 1642]

Virgil rolled his eyes at the message before responding.

[Anx’sWitch]: you literally told me less than five min ago. I can’t just Apparate like you when you run out of coffee. [sent at 1643]

[Trenta4Sandman]: bitch u aint tryin hard enough then [sent at 1643]

[Anx’sWitch]: y don’t u go flirt w/ ur SO? [sent at 1644]

[HissHissMFs]: plz. I can’t concentrate on my work with u blowing my phone up. [sent at 1645]

The purple-haired man sighed as he pocketed his phone. There were more vibrations, telling him that the conversation was far from over, but he knew it wasn’t anything important. Remy and Dee could go back and forth for hours about nothing. Virgil could always check his phone later and see which he needed to visit later. Right now, he really only cared about finding the plant Remy told him about and seeing if it were something worth his time.

Of course, the hill Remy told him the plant was located on was almost three miles from the center of town. How he even stumbled upon it was beyond Virgil, not that he would bother questioning it either. What Virgil did know was that of his friend group, Remy had the best eye for finding him new and often times endangered plants. So, he struggled out of his house and on this disgusting walk to see whatever plant it was that Remy had seen.

The top of the hill had a giant sequoia tree, tall grass, and mushrooms. Virgil set his bag down under the tree before beginning to look over the plants, reveling in the silence. First, he looked at the mushrooms, duly noting that they appeared to be a poisonous species. Next, he started looking intently at the grass.

“How peculiar. Rare to find someone so intent on staring at grass.” A voice commented.

Terror ran through Virgil, but he pushed it deep down as he turned to look. Oh, great. There goes his poor little gay heart, he supposed. The voice belonged to some other-worldly man. He had well-kept black hair so dark it almost shone a dark blue. The eyes behind rectangular glasses were a brilliant blue that put even Virgil’s prized Black and Blue Sage plants to shame.

Remy is going to lose his shit when he finds out I died because I was too gay. Virgil thought dully.

“I apologize. I appear to have startled you.” The man commented.

“I…uhh…it’s… umm… well…”

The man raised an eyebrow to the gay mess. “Very eloquently put.”

“I… uhh… sorry… anxiety…” and you are too hot to be talking to me.

The man simply nodded. “I apologize again then. Do you require any assistance in lowering your adrenaline levels?”

What. “Ah, no, it’s alright… I’ll get over it.”

The man tilted his head looking over the scene of the poor man’s to-be death scene. “You appear to be searching for something. Might I inquire what you are searching for? I may be of some help in locating it.”

He really is trying to kill me; hot and nice? “Well… uh… a friend told me he… well, you’ll think it’s weird. I mean most people think I’m weird in general so that isn’t saying anything. It’s just not what most people would expect someone like me to be doing with their life, you know? Most people just don’t understand that it works and I enjoy it you know? But I can’t really blame them for thinking it’s weird.”

The man watched as Virgil began to spiral before kneeling and telling him to follow his breathing. He had never had to deal with what the other was undergoing, but he did enjoy research and anxiety was such a common thing among the human population that it was just a useful thing to understand. For that, he was glad as he helped the man control his breathing.

“Now, let’s try this again, without the down-spiral.” He commented to the purple-haired man. “Would you like me to help you find whatever it is you are looking for? If so, what would it be?”

“Well, my friend told me that there was a rare plant up here. Something with purple flowers.” Virgil answered awkwardly. “I’m a botanist who studies plants and from his description of it, it sounds to be an endangered plant.”

The man pursed his lips, thinking. Of course, he knew exactly which plant the human was speaking about, it was only a few feet from his hand. Yet, did he trust this random human not to harm one of the few of its species? Humans usually aren’t interested in plants just for the plants. Yet, this one did not appear to be lying to him. He’d heard of these botanists before, but this was his first meeting with one.

“Pardon this question, as I am not fully aware of what botanists do. What do you plan to do with it, if it is what you think it to be?”

“Oh… umm… well, first I tend to study new plants in their native environment. If it is the one I believe it to be, I would begin a process with the government to bring the specimen back to my greenhouse for conservation efforts where I can control threats, maintain a healthy environment, and breed it with other specimens. Botanists study plants and most attempt to promote their health.”

“So if you find this plant, it’ll be safe?”

“Great, you’re hot, kind, and care for plants,” Virgil muttered, to which the other man decided to pretend he did not hear, though he couldn’t stop the tint to his cheeks. “Yes, I do my best to ensure the safety and survival.”

The man still looked uncertain, and Virgil realized just how much this man seemed to care about the plant they were discussing. He thought before moving over to his bag to pull out his gloves. The man watched, now curious as to what the human was doing as Virgil moved towards a small bunch of mushrooms.

“Here, I can show you what it is I do,” Virgil said, with a fake confidence that he only had in his knowledge.

The other considered this before moving over. He glanced at the mushrooms, knowing exactly what type they were before looking at the human. Virgil nodded as he carefully maneuvered the fungi, double-checking what he had observed earlier.

“There are roughly four kinds of fungi here. These two are an invasive species that appear to be losing the battle for water, so they are less interesting for this partial study. My assumption is that a bird or another animal accidentally transported these here from their normal habitats. They are not remotely endangered, so I am content to let nature do what it will with them. These salmon pink ones are called marasius oreades or the Scotch bonnet. They are relatively safe and edible. These are traditionally arranged in a large circle and are the most commonly associated mushroom with the fairy circle folklore. On the other hand, these ones here are clitocybe rivulosa, or fool’s funnel, which are poisonous due to having deadly levels of muscarine.”

The other man sat there listening as Virgil went on one of his normal plant tangents, finding it easy to do so with the curious but intent look in the other’s eyes. Oh yes, Remy is going to lose it when he finds out later. Virgil found himself talking about the various mushrooms, one plant he really hasn’t been interested in before, while the man beside him began to ask different questions.

Neither was aware of the sun slowly setting until it became a bit too dark. If there’d been more light, the other would have noticed the blush on each cheek, but they pretended not to feel the flames on their faces.

“I apologize for taking so much of your time. I had intended to show you the plant I believe you to be looking for, but I became enthralled in your knowledge.” The man commented.

Stop being a useless gay mess, Virgil! “No, no. I should be the one apologizing. You probably weren’t looking for a long lecture on plants, much less on mushrooms of all things.”

“While I admit that it was not what I had intended on doing today, it was pleasurable listening to your knowledge.” The man paused before deciding on something. “I can tell you that if you come back before sunrise, you will be able to find the plant easily. One of my partners will probably be here as well if you would like to meet him. I am sure he will be thrilled to meet you… uh?”

“Oh… sorry. You can just call me Anx, he/him pronouns. Everyone does.” Virgil answered.

There is no way this human already knows who he was dealing with… was there? “Well, people refer to me as Logic, though my partners call me Lo.”

“Do you have a preference?”

The man looked over the purple-haired man. “You can call me Lo if you wish.”

“And do you have pronoun preferences? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“I am not particular. He/him work well enough.”

“Well, Lo. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Virgil said, with a small smile.

“Pleasure to meet your acquaintance as well, Anx.”

Virgil went to pick up his bag and turned back to ask if Lo wanted to walk back to town with him. Yet, the man was gone, without a sound to announce his departure. That took Virgil aback, but he did basically say goodbye, so maybe the other took it as his queue to leave. Oh well. Virgil pulled out his phone and saw that he had over two hundred messages, meaning Remy and Dee had really gotten into their fight.

Next Chapter

#Flower from the Fae #romantic lamp #tw deceit #sympathetic deceit #tw death mention #Virgil is too gay for life #mushrooms #tw anxiety attack #tw cursing #Sage writes

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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Completely Harmless Ch. 45

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Forty-Five She sells sea shells by the ... river shore?

Lily tried to regain control of the meeting. “Pauline, where do we stand on the decorations?”

“Okay, here is the ideas I’ve had with everyone talking. Okay, we take flower wreathes and put them on the lamps and then wrap them with more flowers like the ones in the wreathes and our artificial palm leaves, and the sea shell garlands and sea shell lights. Then, if you have an arm to hang things off of, put a paper lantern with more flowers if you want. Um, don’t choose any flowers that are protected ladies. Then we can use the bubble garlands and the jelly fish lights like we did with the clouds and rainbow hearts from the trees. You can mix them up with the regular paper lanterns too if you want. Put the flower lights, sea shell garlands, and paper lanterns in all the stables. You can make the paper lanterns look like bubbles if you do it right.”

“Like with the clouds.”

“Exactly!”

“Then we can use the beach scene lanterns the exact same way we used the heart lanterns. But you can add the decorated anchors or ship wheels in with them. Or use the shell buckets instead. We put up the boats with the selfie walls, boats have nets decorated with shells, the round white circles have flowers and greenery like they’re a big wreathe. Put up some of the round lanterns, throw in an anchor and a wheel for props if they want. Um,” Pauline scrolled through the pictures. “We can create cabanas for the bar and the dance floor using frames, sheets, the flower lights, the artificial palm leaves, and inside have the jelly fish lanterns and more bubble garlands. The bar can have a net on it and be strewn with the decorated shea shells and the shea shell lights.” Pauline stopped at the giggles.

“Sea shells,” Lily said dryly.

“Sea shells,” Pauline repeated. “We can have more bucket, anchor, wheel decorations on that. And the pineapples, because Lily wants the pineapples. We can put more of the artificial palm leaves there too. Above the bar can go the jelly fish lights and the bubble garlands.” She paused. “And these lace sailboats are cute. We can have them as a prop too at the selfie wall. I mean, I think we’re actually set for decorations. I mean, I know it sounds more than what we had for Rainbow Week, but we’re mixing them in more interesting ways?”

“There are more bigger pieces.”

“And no balloons.”

“Right, I mean, we could use the lantern lights instead of balloons to fill up space or use the jelly fish lights and white lanterns to make little scenes.” Pauline shrugged. “We’ll have to experiment.”

“Food,” Lily moved on.

“Jorvik Crawfish Boil,” Pauline checked her notes. “Crabwiches, fruit salad in a carved watermelon bucket, Vegetable and mushroom skewers, popsicles, watermelon on a stick?”

“One sounds too many.”

Pauline crossed out the watermelons on a stick. It seemed redundant.

“I saw mermaid tail favors. We could put candy in them?”

“We should have cookies, like citrus ones.”

“That means they’d be orange.”

“Orange cookies.”

“I also saw plastic seashell favors, we could put something in those too.”

“I think we better put out some things like pretzels and Cheetos for people like Alex,” Lily said.

“Okay, now we need some drinks because I think we’ve covered food pretty well. And I mean, we can all buy snacks to put in the buckets. That’s not difficult.”

“Pretzels, popcorn, Cheetos, and crisps.”

“Wait, can we really have a bonfire without s’mores, sausages, and potatoes?”

“Yeah, and bread for the sausages or to eat with the crawfish.”

“Cheese, we might need cheese.”

Lily rubbed her forehead. “Fine. But we’ll have to figure out how to split it out. Drinks.”

“I make some really chillax awesome drinks.” Tim spoke up. The first time he’d spoken up in a while. Maybe he was overwhelmed with the eager teenage girls. Or maybe he didn’t care that much about the food or the decorations.

Lily turned her head. “Yeah, I think we might want to test your drinks first.”

“Shibby!”

“Why don’t you tell us the ingredients?” One of the girls asked sweetly.

Tim rattled off his ingredients. They included kidney beans. Kelp. Corn water. Fermented potato juice.

Lily held up a hand. “Fermented potato juice is vodka and corn water is basically moonshine. Are you trying kill us and get us drunk?”

“You don’t think people will like them.”

“I think maybe we should stick to things like banana and strawberry smoothies. Orange juice. And grape and seltzer punch.”

“Apple juice. Watermelon and blueberry spritzers.”

Tim slumped in his seat.

“Those will bring the tourists back for more.” Lily patted his arm.

He sighed. “They sound boring to me.”

“We can try to make them exciting. Package them in fun ways! Mermaid, err, okay without lemons this is not as easy as you’d think.”

“Grape comes in clear.”

“Ohhh, that works. Look we did this at home, just color up some different ice cubes, put edible rainbow glitter around the edge of the glass. Put it in some grape juice with soda if you want, and let the ice cubes melt. Mermaid Cocktail. Or as it was described early grape and seltzer punch.”

“Mock up a white grape sangria too, strawberries, blueberries, apple or orange slices in white grape juice, apple juice, and soda.”

“They can be fun, we promise,” Lily patted his arm again.

Tim sighed. “All right, I’ll have to trust you.”

“Put the orange and soda in hurricane glasses, drizzle strawberry juice into it, garnish in a fun way, sunset hurricane drink.”

“See,” Lily smiled at him.

Tim didn’t look convinced.

“Watermelon and grape go with a lot of things. And we can get you the cucumbers too.”

“Okay, I think we’re good to go.”

“We’ll come up with a recipe list.”

“All right, then we’re doing the different wreathes at the different parties,” Lily said. “Let them have the sand souvenirs. We can do necklace garlands and bracelets to I guess for the luau theme.”

“And hide decorated Conch Shells, because they’re big, and colorful,” Pauline said. “Like, I think these are plastic or vinyl. I hope they are. Real conch shells might be too expensive.”

“Okay,” Lily nodded. “Hedgehogs, you’re the source of the crawfish for the crawfish boil. I’m leaving that to you.”

Riley groaned.

“I know you’d rather have the mermaid favors. Kelsey that sounds like something Madison would enjoy doing.”

“She would. So, we’ll take it.”

“You’re going to have to make a lot of them so, yeah.” Lily wrinkled her nose. She didn’t feel bad about giving that to them and only that. “Bulldogz, I know how you feel about Jamie cooking.”

“Someone is trying to hire her for the Midsummer Feast and thank goodness she’s easily distracted.”

“So, you can have the shell party favors.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Josefina spoke up. “We’re the source of the strawberries and the blueberries. Do you want us on drinks or on the fruit salad?”

“We’re going to have to buy watermelons in bulk from the food stalls.”

“Okay, question,” Lily put her chin on her hand. “Who among is a competent melon or pumpkin carver? Because they should be the ones doing the fruit salad. I mean, I don’t think the carved bucket idea was a plain bucket?”

The girls got on their phones and started texting people in their clubs.

Loretta shook her head. “None of mine.”

“Loretta, since you have the Midsummer Festival grounds in your area, are you going to do a beach party too?” Lily asked, genuinely curious.

Tan leapt in. “Of course we are, and we’ll decorate those Dark Core containers and chase off the goons if we have to.”

Loretta made a face. “They’ve been stealing. Can you believe it?”

“You don’t say.” Lily’s voice was bland. “Do you have any records of it?” Lily asked. She wasn’t at all surprised that a company with a name like Dark Core hired a thief.

Tan tossed her head. “I recorded everything.”

“Could you send it to Linda?” Lily asked slowly and raised her brow.

“Linda? Why would she want to know? I mean, she’s one of those weird druid riders,” Tan flicked her wrist.

“Because the Baroness will want to know,” Lily said. Frustrated she had to spell it out. “And Linda is her personal assistant and monitors her emails.”

“Oh, in that case, sure,” Tan said and dug out her phone. “As long as the Bobcats get the credit for catching them.”

“I’m sure Linda will tell her.”

Loretta sniffed. “I had them all file reports with Thomas.”

Lily nodded and texted that information to Linda as well.

Linda texted back she was going to ride over to Moorland to get it. She needed to see Alex anyways and she was probably at Maya’s.

“Or with Justin,” Lily murmured. Had Justin gotten up the nerve to say anything to Alex yet? Lily shook her head.

“I’ve got a carver,” Amelia said. “She sent pictures of her work. She can carve buckets and flowers.”

“Then you’re on for the fruit salad,” Lily said. “Do you mind another club coming and picking fruit for the cocktails and the popsicles?”

“Not at all.”

“Chipmunks,” Lily turned to them. “I know you’ve got the farmers, but you also have Harold.”

“Orange slice cookies. On it, Lady Captain Lily.” Kate saluted and then fluttered her hand and bowed.

Lily restrained a sigh. Of course Kate would choose both.

Pauline spoke up. “I think we should take the popsicles, Lady Captain President, we’ve got the big freezers in the Wine Cellar to keep them in.”

“Right, good plan.”

Pia spoke up. “I’ll take one of cocktail slots. That way I can work closely with Tim to make sure they’re fun and fizzy.”

Sonja spoke up. “We also have the other fruits in our forest. So, we’ll take a cocktail slot too. And help everyone harvest fruit.”

Ingrid was next to volunteer. “Ma Anna knows pastry, and croissants like those crabwiches are pastry. We’ll take the crabwiches and make different meat salads for them.”

“Fish salad, chicken salad, egg salad, ham salad,” Violet muttered.

Pauline checked her list, “That leaves the Pandas, the Bulls, and the Cats.”

“What do we have left?”

“Veggie skewers.” Pauline checked. “Snacks, bread and cheese, etc., and more cocktails.”

Loretta spoke quickly. “We can do the Snacks, bread, and cheese and so on. That’s all shopping. We are power shoppers. And none of the stinky stuff from Will’s Mill either.”

Ami wrinkled her nose. “We have a spa. We know cocktails. We’ll help out there and see what we can do with our grapes.”

“That leaves us the Veggie Skewers, and we can get most the produce from the Farmer’s Market and do assembly in Valedale.” Melissa nodded.

Lily spoke up. “This is going to sound crazy, but maybe we should have Courtney Summers do the Midsummer Feast. She’s a local and maybe she knows the local dishes.”

“Barney, Marley, and Carney can cook too,” Kate said. “Or, so says Barney. They have all the traditional recipes.”

“Kate, can you do the invitation thing? I’m sure the Baroness will refuse to invite her personally. But notice, she showed up last time.”

“I’ll invite all of them to do it. Make it a family affair. It’s a week and if we have too much food, well better than none at all.” Kate nodded.

“All right, well, here is hoping that the budget can take this,” Lily said.

“I bet we can get the farmers to donate lots of the supplies,” Kate waved her hands. “It’s for the Midsummer Festival after all.”

“That would be good.”

“We can approach them individually and get back to the group,” Amelie said with a nod.

Luciana spoke up. “I’d like to put a cabana up on the beach near the Dews Farm to be the gathering spot for everyone finishing up their charity events.”

“Splendid plan, Luciana,” Lily nodded. “We can set up one there, and a dance floor and it can be a celebration. At the end of the week, we’ll have all the money. Where are we keeping the money?”

“Silverglade Manor’s safe.”

“Right, we’ll have all the money and can present Maya with a big fake check. And I hope that will be enough to get them out of their debts and back on their farm.”

“They’re in foreclosure,” Loretta sighed. “Not bankruptcy. I had to go over it with her three times.”

“If they’re in foreclosure, that’s easier than bankruptcy to an extent. Though what did they do? Take a loan out on their farm?”

“From G.E.D. instead of a bank.” Loretta pushed her hair back behind her neck.

“Well, Ms. Drake is going to take the cash or else I’ll shove it where the sun don’t shine,” Lily muttered.

“Make it super public,” one of the girls said. “She can’t be a monster in front of a lot of people.”

“Ms. Drake?” Amelia asked.

Josefina snorted.

“It’s worth a try.”

“We’re going to have to do the same thing for the stables once it happens.” Ginny said.

“Have they tried anything but threats?”

“No. But the stable is in debt. To the bank, not to them, praise Aideen. But if the bank forecloses on the property, we’ll all be kicked out. Though your plans with the Friesians have been working. And Mr. Kemball has started on the Riding Arena. We’ve been having to keep him honest.”

“That must be a job and a half.”

“Like keeping James honest,” Pia said.

There was some nervous laughter.

“All right, Mares, Frogs, Squirrels, Terriers, and Kittens,” Lily said. “Get your areas in order. Your job is to focus on your section of South New Jorvik County and come enjoy the Midsummer Beach Party when it’s on. If you have problems with G.E.D. or Dark Core, report to me or to Linda.”

Pauline interrupted. “Music, Lily. Music!”

“Well, Fort Pinta will have DJ Kai. And I know New Hillcrest will have Syntax.”

“We’ve got a pretty big beach with a lot of islands all picked out.”

“I think asking Mr. Wetton for thirteen acts again is a bit too soon. Plus, it would make Rainbow Week less special.”

“Radio the different music the DJs are doing.” One of the girls suggested. “Set up a transmitter. Jack it through that tower in the Grey Mountains that G.E.D. has set up and it should get the entire county. Or stream it online.”

“That’s devious, and I like it.” Lily grinned.

“They shouldn’t have an obnoxious radio tower that big up there anyways. Radio towers can be much more discreet. I mean, put one on the observatory and it won’t be a blight to the landscape.” There was a sniff.

Lily turned to Pauline. “Happy?”

“Syntax can hack the tower,” Ginny said.

“Yes, keep them hacking for the greater good.” Lily smirked.

Kate shouted. “Okay, pizza time!”

They were all hungry. And there were new people to meet. So, they had pizza and wings and loaded potatoes and talked to each other and Tim. Though they all agreed Tim was quite strange and was it college or something else?

They split up.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #fan fic #jorvik reimagined #star stable salt #silverglade reimagined #completely harmless #beach is tough not to be tacky #many nods to ruth westside

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