#so yeah bad past friendships and terrible social skills have left me to just go lol cant get hurt if i dont have friends! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya · 3 years

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Midnight struggles - Vitaliy Yuryevich Kravtsov

Look at that Russian babe. Total sweetheart.

A/N: I haven’t forgotten I just didn’t have it in me to finish this, but here I am again. @nhlandotherimagines

“Listen... we have very thin walls and I heard you crying in the shower everyday this week; are you okay?” - from this list

Word count: 2850

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You would think that after dealing with insomnia for a couple of years, you would get used to it or at least find a way to make it better, but some nights there is nothing you can really do. You just have to try and tire the body even more and hope that the stars have aligned in the meantime and it will help you sleep.

Tonight was precisely one of those nights. I felt it was not going to be fun when I was getting ready for bed, not feeling tired and all. So here I am lying in my bed rethinking all of my life decisions and wondering how hard would I have to hit my head on the wall if I wanted to knock myself out the good old way.

I throw the covers off of me and sit up. The rather chilly air wraps its arms around my figure and I shiver. I reach for my robe and slip it on. I grab a pair of fuzzy socks from a drawer and put them on as well.

I make my way to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. Sipping on my drink I walk over to the windows in the living room of my apartment. The view never ceases to amaze me. It surprises me every single time I take a look. The entirety of New York drowning in the darkness, but lights in the windows and the lamp posts serving as emergency boats. If I can’t look at the stars at least I can look at a different kind of lights.

I keep staring out of the window until a sound from the next apartment reaches my ears. It’s running water, my neighbor’s bathroom is behind the wall of my living room for some reason and lately he has been taking rather late showers. Not that I have been spying on him or anything, but as I said, sometimes I just can’t sleep and when I can’t sleep I look around and listen. However, the water droplets falling is not the only sound I can hear.

Soft sobs accompany it and it makes me sad. What a terrible thing has to happen to someone to make them cry in the middle of the night in their shower? I would prefer some kind of singing much more even if it was worse than mine, which let’s face it, is not really that hard to beat.

I sit in the loveseat and stare at the wall facing me. The wall, which fails to muffle the sobs of the boy next-door. My neighbor, a hot-shot the Ranges drafted two years ago, is sort of a friend of mine. Well, more like an acquaintance.

Well, I know that he is Russian and I know for a fact that my Russian sucks and so do my social skills. Hence why we haven’t spoken much. I mean, we have made some small talk here and there, but I wouldn’t call us the best friends. However, Vitaliy has been crying for the past week or so and I am starting to get worried, but then again I have no clue how I could help him with his struggles.

I keep thinking and coming up with various plans on what I could do to make his day a little better. Maybe it is time to finally turn this relationship into a friendship of some sort. I should at least give it a shot and see how it goes, right?

I don’t remember how, but I fall asleep in the loveseat in a rather awkward position.

***

My neck hurts like hell, the bags under my eyes are bigger than a goaltender’s gear bag and I could count on one hand how many hours I have slept this time. A heavy sigh escapes my lips. I throw some clothes on, brush my hair and cover up the disaster another sleepless night has left on my face. I almost lose an eye applying the mascara, but I make it without becoming a pirate.

I throw my backpack over my shoulder and grab a sandwich while trying to put on some shoes. I lock the door and walk over to the elevator and so does my hot neighbor. Have I mentioned how attractive he is? I haven’t. Well, I am telling you now. He is smoking and extremely cute.

We get in with an exchange of a “good morning”. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He doesn’t look like has some heavy stuff going on at all. If anything out of the two of us I look like the one, who has cried in the shower. Had I not heard him, I would have never guessed it. I couldn’t be imagining it, because it has happened more than once already.

“How’s it going? “ I go for a small talk once again adding a polite, but nevertheless genuine smile.

“I had better days, what about you? “ If it wasn’t for the weight behind his words I would have smiled at the way his accent colored them.

“Yeah, couldn’t be truer.” I smile sadly.

“Is everything alright? “ He asks with curiosity written all over his cute face, tilting his head to side. Shouldn’t I be the one asking that question?

“Yeah, I just- I have had trouble sleeping again. “ I shrug and his face falls.

“Sorry about that. “

“Is alright. I am used to it already. “I don’t like the turn this conversation has taken. Luckily the elevator finally hits the lobby and spares me from continuing. He looks like he wants to add something, but I flee the second the door opens.

“Hope your day gets better, whatever it is that is troubling you. “ I say over my shoulder and disappear in the busy streets.

“You too. “ I barely catch it, but I am glad that I do.

***

During work I made my mind. I need to pay him a visit. I mean, I can’t possibly let him go on like this, I have to at least try. Before I head home I make a quick stop at the groceries and get a bar of dark chocolate.

At home I take a shower and put on some comfy, but also somehow decent clothes. I would make a cake or something, but I can’t bake to save my life and I sure as hell am not going to try and poison my neighbor I am actually trying to help. The chocolate serves as a replacement of some sort so I don’t show up completely empty-handed.

I walk over to the door and with a shaking hand I knock. Well, here goes nothing. Except there comes no response. I frown a little and try to calm my racing heart. I knock again, but nothing happens. I sigh and turn to leave.

“Looking for me? “Behind me stands the man in question.

“Yes, actually. Yeah. “I manage to get out. Wow. Great. Amazing. Put it together girl.

“How can I help you? “ He asks as he steps around me to unlock the door.

“I-“I have actually not thought over what exactly I am going to say so this is a little awkward. Instead of an answer I stare at him. He opens the door and walks inside. Looking at me expectantly he motions with his hand for me to come in and I do.

“Listen...” I start as the door closes behind me. “We have very thin walls and I heard you crying in the shower every day this week.” I fidget with the chocolate in my hands focusing on the chaotic movement of my fingers instead of his face. “Are you okay?” I look up at him and search his eyes for I don’t even know what.

He studies me for a moment, not saying anything. Clearly, he is caught off guard and I get him.

“Actually I brought you this. “ I hand him the chocolate awkwardly. “I- I know we don’t know each other so well, but I thought it might make you feel better. “ I said. “It is dark chocolate so it shouldn’t be that bad for your diet. “ I try to lessen the tension in the air.

He takes the chocolate hesitantly with a smile tugging at the corner of his pretty lips. “Do you want coffee?” he asks and I nod happily.

***

Sitting on his couch a couple of tens of minutes later with a steaming coffee in hands we talk about anything, but the elephant in the room. However, he is the one to bring it up.

“You know, since you heard me, you obviously weren’t sleeping. Is your trouble sleeping really that bad? “He looks at me, curiosity written all over the pretty face of his.

I rub my sweaty palms over my sweats covered thighs. “Well, it has been bad the past week.” I give him a polite smile, that doesn’t reach my eyes.

“The last week sucks for both of us then. “ He says with a little chuckle.

“Yeah, it has been tough. “ Silence settles between us after my words.

“Things have been really, ugh...“ He trails off, struggling to find the right words. I just listen, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence and get if off of his chest. “Hard. Lot of stuff goes on now. “He explains and I nod. “I just- There is a lot of ugh- Lot of pressure from everyone.“

Hesitantly I reach out and grab his forearm gently. “That is okay. We all have a lot on our plates sometimes.” I smile and he sighs looking at my hand. “And it is okay to let it out.” I squeeze his hand. “Sometimes guys need to cry.”

“I guess. “

“Listen, next time you feel like that you can come over and we can talk if you want to. I mean, I probably won’t be sleeping anyway. “I laugh and he chuckles. “We don’t have to talk about it, just if you need some company I am right here. Like, literally, I live next door. “Now he is full on laughing and shaking his head. I let go of his hand as my heart hammers in my chest at the sound.

“Thank you. “ He gives me a soft smile, which makes me weak.

***

Lying on my bed with my head hanging off of the edge I stare at the dark wall once again. I am very close to hitting my head on some hard surface if the sleep doesn’t consume me very soon. I sight dramatically and flip over settling on my stomach. Folding my palms under my chin I start counting sheep. Again.

When I get to fifty a knock on the door makes me stop my ridiculous antics. Normally I wouldn’t even hear it but it is so quiet here. The almost deafening silence is nothing I am not used to, though. Furrowing my brows I prop myself on my elbows. I grab my phone in case it is not Vitaliy standing behind the door and without rush move towards the hall. I check the peephole, relief washing over me at the sight of his messy hair. He came.

“Hi. “ I almost whisper moving behind the door so he can come in.

“Hi, you said I could-“He starts, but I interrupt him.

“Yeah, and I meant it. I wasn’t sleeping, don’t worry. “I assure him walking further into the barely lit apartment after locking the door. I turn on the lights in the kitchen and set my phone on the counter. He follows me quietly, his feet padding softly on the wooden floor.

“You want some water or something else to drink? “ I question him, reaching for a glass already.

“Water is fine, thanks. “ He says quietly. His voice is near the breaking point and I don’t like that. He stands on the other side of the counter as his hands find purchase on the marble surface.

“Do you want to talk about it? “ Placing the glass in front of him I try to catch his gaze. I fail and frown.

“Not really. “ He shakes his head. Looking at the liquid he toys with the glass. “How was your day? “ He looks up and takes a sip.

I chuckle. “Well, it was stressful.” I say leaning on my elbows. “A colleague is going through a break up and it seems like he has forgotten that he in fact is at work and he keeps ranting about how he misses her and how she was perfect and if he really deserves it all.” I explain waving my hands around. “But today I really got fed up with his antics and asked if I really deserve listening to his shit.” That sentence earns me a chuckle slipping past his pink lips.

“No, I was like. Seriously man? Do you know how many hours did I sleep last night? And he goes no.” I do my best to imitate my colleague’s mumbling and get yet another laugh in return. “So I told him. I slept 4 hours Johnny. Four. Did you know that four hours is way too little to sleep and way too much to talk about your ex?” I can’t help, but laugh at it again.

Vitaliy bursts into a heartfelt laugh throwing his head back in the process. I smile in victory, a happy gleam appearing in my tired eyes.

“I get that he is heartbroken and all that, but man it really wasn’t the day to let him cry over her again.” I shake my head chuckling slightly. As our laughter slowly dies so does his smile and a frown appears on his features.

I walk around the counter and take his hand. “Come.” I tug him towards the floor to ceiling windows. “Look.” I say and push him in front of me. The view of midnight New York unravels right in front of his very blue eyes. As he takes it in his lips part slightly and breath gets caught in his lungs. I watch him with a smile. He looks so astonished, like he hasn’t ever seen it before. “For someone who lives in New York you seem kinda surprised.” I joke, my eyes never leaving him.

“I don’t stare the window usually.” He says barely breathing. He is so cute. Like a child seeing the world for the first time. I keep getting lost in the way he looks and in my thoughts until he speaks again. “I am not child.” He is looking at me directly now and my brain short-circuits.

“What?” I ask genuinely confused.

“You said I was like child.” The lights flash in his irises as he takes a step forward.

“Did I?” My heartrate picks up and I find it harder to breath with every second passing.

“Yes.” After a short while he says. “You said I was cute so it okay.” He chuckles. “You are cuter, though.” He flashes me one of those toothy grins of his.

The way his lips curl up in a smile, the way his laugh makes my head spin, the way he is looking at me. The way his accent makes his words sound somehow more poetic or more sincere. How can I like so much someone I don’t really know? It is all too much. He is too much. Too perfect.

“I like you.” I blurt out before I can really think about it. My eyes go wide and I think I have just lost my pulse. He merely grins and comes even closer. His hands reach for mine, the touch electrifying. His thumbs rub gentle circles on the back of my hands.

“I like you too.” He says quietly looking in my very eyes. “For some time actually.” He chuckles.

“Re-really?” Is all I can come up with and manage to say. I am actually pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t complete gibberish, considering the state of my mind right now. I am so out of it I am not even embarrassed for my awkwardness.

He nods smiling. One of his hands rests on my cheek, the fingers of the other one intertwining with mine. He leans in, his thumb brushing my cheek softly. The hot air he exhales gently strokes my reddening cheeks and his messy curls tickle the skin of my forehead. At the mere thought of a kiss my eyes flutter shut.

Just a few seconds later I get to feel the soft touch of his lips on mine. With my free hand I reach for his forearm and my small fingers wrap around his wrist delicately. He takes it as a good sign stepping even closer as our chests collide. His hand squeezes mine as he pulls away slowly. Savouring the moment as long as he can he pulls my bottom lip in the process.

“Good thing I couldn’t sleep.” I whisper with a smile.

“Good thing I cried.”

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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An In-Spectre Calls || Cassie and Morgan

Set before the potw. Morgan meets Cassie for the first time and asks for some slightly spooky help.

There was something pathetic about drifting through Eye of Newt alone. Around Morgan teenage witches squealed over crystal balls and bundles of sage, handmade fliers for a Tarot Tuesday covered the table, taper candles of every color stared down their wicks at all the fuss, and so many purple spined books gleamed out from the shelves. It was all so curated, so proud, so...much nicer than the mess of wax and leaves around Morgan’s kitchen table where she made her own wares. Even Vera, Vera, could afford gilt labels for her smudge sticks. Bitch. Worst of all was knowing that few self respecting witches dared to roll the dice here. They had other, better outlets to send for. But Morgan had left a chunk of her self respect somewhere around trying to connect with her ancestors through a three dollar slice of birthday cake. And the shame of all this, re-stocking from her own competition, watching teenagers exercise more freedom and skill with their gel pens than she had bothered to muster lately--settled around her like the heaviest of blankets. At least if she was miserable, she was safe. Probably.

And so Morgan lingered, bitterly taking mental notes on packaging and pining over books she would not be able to afford for another month or more (Vera saw right through any cash she tried to conjure, every time). She had almost tortured herself to the point of boredom when she spotted a familiar face.

Oh. Oh no. Was this some kind of cosmic trick? Was that--the pro bono exorcist girl? The moon was still in Capricorn, so that was in her favor, and Friday was her lucky day, but having an expert fall into her lap, or at least someone else’s storefront, was not the kind of gift that generally came her way. Morgan stopped and stared at the girl more than was socially appropriate.

Fuck it.

Morgan marched up to her, wares still in hand, and leaned over as unobtrusively as she could into her line of sight. She smiled brightly, too mystified at the possibility before her to contain herself. “Hi! This might be a really strange thing to say, but you’re--Cassie, right?” She lowered her voice. “Exorcist Cassie? I hear things around town. And the targeted ads in my mailbox are just--well, anyway, I could really use an expert’s help with summoning something. Someone.”

If you couldn’t make your own grave dust store-bought was probably fine. Wincing at the price tag mark-up compared with the last place Cassie stopped at to stock up she scanned the rows of jars and tinctures for the last couple of ingredients that had been trashed in transit. Fresh out of ash and with no way to make the stuff without either looking like a serial killer or setting the smoke alarm off. Although, on second thought considering the place she was staying, whatever weirdness she brought with her was likely only the sixth strangest thing in that hotel. Speaking of, the four-dollar hole in her pocket was still stinging from shelling out for those Cheerios late last night. Next stop had to be for something that had actually seen the inside of an oven. With that thought in mind she guessed her next stop would be finding someplace to eat some point. The Thai place she passed last night seemed like a good bet.

Like most of its sister stores around the country this place might have been full of wishful thinkers, but maybe there were a couple things that could do in a pinch. Either way she was limited on options and she doubted there’d be anywhere else offering anything any different. Stooping down to read the price tag of a jar of black salt that caught her attention she registered another person in the vicinity. Assuming it was the owner stopping by she straightened up from her crouch by the jars to stand at full height and grabbed up a jar, about to ask if she had anything a little more specific when she registered her name being mentioned followed by the familiar hushed tones, exorcist. That caught her attention as she seemed to peer over at her interestedly. She seemed earnest enough. It was the eagerness that surprised her. Word got around fast, real fast. Anywhere else the whole thing, the whole business really, was a clandestine operation. The routine, ‘Hey thanks for your services, but get out and let’s never speak of this again’ followed by a swift exit was the norm. Not here though. Here it was practically encouraged almost.

“Uh, yeah. That would be me,” she nodded uncertainty, eyeing the store inventory she was holding. “A summoning? You mean to, you know, deal with something?” It was easy to get lost in translation so she tried to follow it with a gesture that she hoped implied giving the boot, “then I can check into it, sure.”

Morgan couldn’t believe her luck. A real exorcist. A real, helpful, exorcist. She bounced on her feet, resisting the urge to clap her hands with excitement. “I thought I recognized your face! And, whew, that would have been really embarrassing otherwise, accosting some poor random person with words like ‘exorcist’ and ‘summoning.’” Was she being funny? The image played hilariously in her mind in a terrible sort of way: the total lack of understanding on the stranger’s face, the painfully awkward attempts at saving face. After so many big setbacks, the reach of this stupid, strupid curse, Morgan found herself hard pressed to believe in lucky breaks or happy cooincidences.

(Did that mean her plan was doomed? Oh god, it might be doomed)

“Oh, but, not like--” she mimicked Cassie’s gesture, growing red and speckled with anxiety. Maybe she should have stayed home and brooded over her hot glue gun situation in quiet isolation instead. Sure, her cat would have still given her judgement eyes from her nest in the bookshelf, but that wouldn’t be half so bad as having this blow up in her face. But like a bad piece of gum on your shoe, Morgan stuck and kept talking.

“I mean, I’ll want them, you know,” She gestured again, “Eventually. But first I want to bring something here. After I’ve gotten the information I need, it should probably go back to wherever, I guess, but I need to get someone first.”

If Morgan had only sensed the ghost judging her from behind, she might have appreciated how funny her request already was, Cassie’s help or not.

Cassie tilted her head a little, “right,” she nodded with a small laugh. “Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

She watched as Morgan repeated the gesture, still trying to wrap her head around the request. Okay, so she did mean summoning something, inviting it. It wasn’t totally unheard of, trying to make contact. Mostly for any lingerers that were already there, but actually folding out the welcome mat? That was still a new one, but she still felt that pang of curiosity that something like that would even work, or why anybody would even want it to.

I need to get someone first.

Looks like you already got them, she mused not unkindly, finally acknowledging the second shadow nearby. Cassie hadn’t made eye contact with the figure lurking in the background until then, but when she did it made her stop in her tracks for a second. They were there alright, but weak. Whoever they were, she couldn’t make anything out past the general humanoid shape and occasional incline of their head as they listened in. Like they were stuck in some halfway point. Weird.

They were here, but they weren’t thrilled about it, but what else was new? Cassie gave them a look that she hoped implied later and turned her attention back to Morgan as she weighed up the options. What were the chances here that whatever she said she was going to do it anyway? Pretty high she was willing to bet. Putting the jar back on the shelf decidedly, “you know what...sure,” she agreed. “I mean mostly I’m there pointing out the exit sign, “she admitted, “but can’t hurt to be around. Let you know if you’re getting warmer”, and to step in in the off chance the invisible man back there had any ideas she added after a second glance.

“Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

“Just ‘little white crest things,’ huh?” Morgan replied with a laugh. “I do promise I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes I say things like how are you, and, I don’t know--what nice, normal weather we’re having!”

This was...nice. Almost fun. Morgan began to sweat behind her ears at the thought Fun was the sort of thing she felt she had to trick her way into. Fun was the kind of feeling that hatched big, wild bursts of ‘come and get me while my back is turned you lousy curse’ energy. And, Christ on a cracker, wasn’t she getting ahead of herself? She was talking with Cassie about what amounted to a work thing, not about making friendship bracelets, or going to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Not exactly the stuff of tragedies, even in her own family tree. Could be safe. And if she had managed to shake certain doom for awhile, and since it was doomed to catch up, maybe she should hold it together and enjoy the reprieve. Pretend to be a less disastrous version of herself until later. Hopefully much later. After they found Agnes.

When Cassie agreed to help, Morgan reigned in the impulse to tackle her with relief. “Thank you, so much! You are amazing, and I will compensate you...somehow. I know conjuring money is pretty high on the questionable morality spectrum, but I can also fix things! If it’s in the broken vase category and not the complicated mechanical one, I can definitely fix it. Or with the right material I can make you something really nice. But, again, not too complicated. I’ve spent more time at the archive than my old alchemy books lately, so. And, drinks, or several, burgers even.” Morgan could feel herself running too fast away from her personal disasters. So fast she almost missed what Cassie added, quietly, as not to set any alarms. Invisible man? What?

It shattered Morgan’s loop of thought and made her go rigid. She cast her gaze back, head-turning slowly. What did Cassie mean? Invisible? Was she being followed? Maybe she had triggered something in the universe and now she was going to watch this blow up in her face before she’d even started. This might be how she died--

Morgan looked. Nothing. Not even a shadow. Then again, that might be the whole point of ‘invisible.’ She turned back to Cassie, suddenly feeling like they needed to get somewhere not in the shop. “Um...what do you mean invisible man?” She whispered. “Like...with some kind of glamour? Or--” It came on her so slowly because until now it had seemed laughably impossible. “Do you mean a GHOST?” She squeaked.

“No kidding,” she laughed, “been here a couple days but this place…it’s something else,” she had to admit. Understatement of the new decade, twenty-four hours in and she felt like she had enough for most of her co-workers to have a field day out here. Difference was, for the most part, she had ethics. “Oh hey, no need. I have a day job,” she waved the offers of compensation off, “you’re good.” The day she accepted cash or handouts for this kind of thing would be the day—wait conjuring cash? At some point, she’d have to ask about that-about all of that, but one thing at a time.

Cassie saw the look that crossed Morgan’s expression and frowned for a second in confusion. It was only after the words were out of her mouth that she realized she’d said that last part out loud and immediately felt like backtracking. Shit, way to scare the crap out of them. She could practically see the alarm bells going off in Morgan’s head. Part of her wanted to bluff, tell her she meant as in the general sense but thought better of it. Better not to start off on a lie. It never ended well.

“Okay so, you’ve got one visitor,” she admitted tentatively, “but you’ve got nothing to worry about, they don’t look like much of a threat.” Cassie cast another glance at them as they continued to hover around nearby like a bad smell. Was that an incline of their head at that last comment? “This’d be a very different conversation if there was, trust me.” She hoped that might take a little of the edge off of it. “I’m free today, least I’ve got nothing much planned. I can stop by, deal with the mystery guest over there, try and get contact properly,” figure out if they’re who you’re looking for,” figure out what they wanted and how they even got there like that she added to herself. The longer she looked at the figure the weirder it got. For a second she thought she saw a pair of eyes take shape before they flickered out again. Interesting. “Or if you wanted to wait,” she blinked and brought her attention back to Morgan, “I can hand over some things to keep them out of your hair for a while give you my cell number and you can text me an address or something. Whichever works.” Cassie pulled her cell out from her pocket and opened her bag out to look for what was left her the black salt but came up empty-handed, “crap, the last of it’s in the car,” she murmured and picked the jar of the stuff she was about to buy again and raised her eyebrows at the price tag. Wow, not for forty dollars I’m not. “This stuff keeps them away,” she lifted the jar back up before putting it back down again. “I have some in the car, but regular salt works, just doesn’t last as long.”

“Are you sure?” Morgan pressed. “You’re kind of doing me a big favor…” But Cassie seemed pretty sure of her stance. Morgan couldn’t figure out why. There had to be loads of people who would pay a lot for help like this. Now that the weight of making up for her services was off Morgan’s chest, she could admit she would have pushed her powers to limit to make this happen. Why wouldn’t you try and get something out of the deal?

But Morgan didn’t have time to think about this because of what Cassie said next. You’ve got one visitor. She had really done it. Maybe? Hopefully. “A visitor,” she repeated, dumbfounded. “A ghost kind of visitor, following me around.” What if it was Agnes? Or one of Agnes’ children? Morgan looked back over her shoulder again, just in case willpower alone could bring it into her sight and understanding. When looked back at Cassie, her face was glowing with held back excitement.

“I need to find out who it is,” she said quietly. “In case it’s who I’m looking for. But the other stuff would be good too. This maybe-kind-of isn’t my first time trying this, just the first time that it’s worked.” She looked at the salt jar Cassie Hefted and made a mental note to up her game in that area. Forty dollars for a little jar. Maybe she should start charging more for her candles; this family quest was getting expensive. “I’d like to see the kind of salt you roll with,” she added lightly. “I’ve been using mom’s old kosher salt, but that was before I knew I should be upgrading. What’s in your mix that makes it different? And, would it be unprofessional if I hugged you right now?”

“Just the one,” Cassie repeated as if that would somehow make it any better. “They’re hard to make out though, which means either they’re weaker, like they’re new or they’re on the out.” Another glance towards the mystery figure and she was sure she picked up the indignation coming off from their stance alone. “Okay. If I can get some stuff from the car, find somewhere quiet I can try and get a read on them. Figure out if this is your guy.” Cassie’s eyes followed Morgan’s gaze back to the discarded jar, “it’s different for everybody, but I like a mix. A little rock salt-any salt really-” she added quickly on review, “some chalk and some Obit ashes mixed in there. Helps with the ‘ashes to ashes part’ it’s not the main focus though. The main part is the words and the intent that’s there." Morgan seemed so enthusiastic and hopeful, she hoped she wasn’t setting her up for a loss. She could do it, hazy figure aside, but actually summoning something was still out of her wheelhouse. She just hoped she wasn’t about to be a let down. Cassie thought for a moment before answering, “maybe save it for when we actually ID your friend, or at least get some contact on line one.”

Morgan took out her phone and made notes as Cassie explained her salt recipe. There was a cemetery near the Traveler’s Rest, should be easy to come by the ashes. She didn’t trust her alchemy-brewed stuff to do the trick, not when it came to warding off whatever had come out of that cake. Morgan didn’t know much about what she was getting into, but she was aware she had passed the ‘in over your head’ signpost few miles behind packing up her life and moving to White Crest.

She settled for a thumbs up at Cassie instead of the hug. “Too soon, got it,” she said, laughing it off. “But it’s not about the success. I mean, success would be great, obviously, but I’ve been at this--for good reason!--for three years now, and this is the first time I’ve gotten, like, help from anyone. Even if you have to go back to your very expert drawing board, I’m still appreciative. Really.” Something in her sombered at the truth in those words, three years banging her head against her laptop, three years trying to get out of bed, trying not to derail her life anymore than this stupid curse already had. Three years and now she was at the zero hour. Of course she was grateful for even the illusion of progress. What did she have left to lose this year except her life anyway? Her shitty jobs? But that wasn’t the right mindset. Think positive. Move forward. She pepped herself up and headed for the door. “So! Let’s go figure this out!”

Mulling over what Morgan had said. About this being the first time anybody had offered some actual help rankled a little. If you could kick them out it stood to reason there was a way to call them up. It might actually be useful for a few things. Maybe if they were lucky whoever she was trying to get hold of was actually still around, strange as that was to say considering, they could actually make contact. “Three years?” Cassie felt her eyebrows raise involuntarily at that information. “Well, least you’ve got it now, the help I mean. If at first you don’t succeed get mad and try again,” she joked. Even if this didn’t go down well first time around, she had a more than a little healthy curiosity at the idea of something like that actually working. “You must really need this guy for something.” Not about to pry, but you didn’t spend that time trying over something trivial. Following Morgan’s lead and heading outside and back out towards where her car was parked Cassie took out her keys and grabbed the duffle bag out from the trunk and draped it over one shoulder. She shifted the weight a little and used her free hand and lifted up a piece of the padding covering the spare tyre space. “One second. I just need a couple things.” Cassie grabbed up a few loose items and stuffed them inside the bag, “this might help identify Mr Mysterio. Get a better signal and figure out if this is your guy.” Closing the trunk over again she turning back to Morgan with a smile. “Okay, and we’re all set. Lead the way.”

“L-lead the way,” Morgan repeated, hoping that repetition would rattle something into place. “To the ghost place, that--would make sense.” She began to walk in the general direction of the traveler’s rest. “But, it’s really interesting you should say that. Because, there’s my room at the Traveler’s Rest where I do most things right now, and there’s Al’s where I did the spell. Or I think I did.” Her cheeks were growing hot again. This had all seemed reasonable, even expected in the moment, but preparing to say it out loud, she suddenly felt like an idiot. “I’m working from scratch with this, but there was a spell on google that seemed to have a familiar structure to it, and I picked the right day, I checked the moon, and all that for maximum potency. But, there might have been...cake involved. And admittedly, that seemed like an interesting ask for a request from the beyond. I don’t know if I should take you to the spot where it happened, or if we just need to duck into my room so the muggles won’t stare at us since they’re supposed to be drawn to me and not the place?” Her voice rose higher as she spoke, struggling to maintain the very logical order of planning she had taken the trouble of going to. “Anyways, it’s...all the same direction. Just a little more--this way. And I can pull up the spell, if that helps.”

“That’s where I live-well, I don’t live there. I’m staying there, or I have a room there anyway.” Cassie wasn’t staying here she reminded herself. It was temporary like everywhere else. “That works,” she looked back over at Morgan with a nod, “or if you wanted somewhere more out in the open, there’s Al’s.” That one was the least favourite option. She hated an audience to this stuff. Growing up it was something to be buried away, not broadcast in public. It was hard to get out of that way of thinking. Old habits died hard that way. “Not sure what the rules are for summoning ghosts in the diner though. Might be a no shirt, no shoes, ghosts, no service,” she joked. Cake? Wait, how did cake figure into it? Okay, that was a question for a little later. Not the time. There was her least favourite word in this kind of context; Google. Hypocritical as that was, she’d done the same thing back before she put her foot down with her parents and got someone that actually knew what they were doing to step in. Ray was a cantankerous jerk that first day, but he knew his stuff. Saved her getting fried anyway. “Google kind of sucks for anything with ghosts. First removal invocation I looked up there had a chunk of it missing,” she admitted. “I was twenty-two and stupid,” she made a brief grimace, “good thing I asked somebody else or I wouldn’t be talking to you. Looks like something might’ve worked, don’t think your friend has been hanging around here all that long. What did this spell on google look like?” Cassie asked, curious now. Maybe it was some sort of banishment circle gone wrong, like they’d copied it wrong, got the opposite effect. Who knew at this point.

“Yeah, I guess it’s hard to call that living, huh?” Morgan said. “Home-sweet-not-home it is.” They continued the journey together, and Morgan told her everything she could about the spell. She had recognized one of the sigls as something she’d seen in an invocation book. She couldn’t remember what the book had said it was for exactly, but the sighting had given her hope. The plan had been to harness the energy of familiarity to reach out to other spirits who had that energy in common. So, her birthday, the land where the people she was looking for had lived, and a birthday cake, which commemorated the continuation of her family. A little fire, a few words, a little saliva to create a taste of life and boom, call made, familial tether climbed, ancestors summoned. She hadn’t noticed or felt anything different at the time. She had assumed she had done something wrong, or supernatural google wasn’t quite on par with her needs as she’d hoped. She showed Cassie a screenshot and went on. She was trying to get in touch with some ancestors. She had some unfinished business with them, funny, right? Only her magical department wasn’t so much in parting the veils or whatever as it was turning stuff into different stuff. As they neared the Traveler’s Rest, she fished around in her pocket for her old set of keys. She plopped them onto her pop socket and gestured. The keys shaped themselves into a metal cuff, a robot figurine. She made it float before coaxing the metal back into keys again. “Neat, right?”

Morgan’s things were splayed all over her room, two large suitcases worth, seemingly made larger by the cramped space. Morgan cleared a spot in the middle of the floor. “I have some Arizona Tea in the mini fridge if you want any. But why not first things first? How do we talk to my visitor friend?”

They were keys. They were keys and then they weren’t and then they were in the air. Then they were keys again and that’s the moment life stopped making sense for a second.

Neat, right?

That was one word for it. Cassie couldn’t even nod, just stood there in stunned silence and stared at the keys in Morgan’s hand as she opened the door out and stepped inside. Talking about that kind of thing was once thing, but seeing it in front of her? Whole different ball game. “…Sounds-sounds, yeah,” she found herself saying, her voice sounding a little far away. Reality snapped back again with a bang and she remembered what she was even there for. Right, focus. The way Morgan had been talking and judging from the picture she saw it sounded more and more like a variation of a banishment circle. An inverted one maybe. First thing was first, making contact.

“Oh, that part’s easy,” right, get it together. The solution to that particular snag was simple. “One second,” Cassie dug out a pen and a scrap of paper and scrawled down the alphabet and placed it on the nearest flat surface she could find. “Just needed some quiet first.”

Thank you Stranger Things, Cassie stepped back and addressed the mystery guest, “if you want to just point to tell me what your-” she didn’t get to finish that sentence before the figure darted to the paper and the pen laying beside it. They jabbed their hand in an attempt to move the Biro and watched as they seemed to grow frustrated in their attempts. Wow, they really were weak. Usually most ghosts could conjure up just enough energy to move a biro a couple centimetre across a page for all of ten seconds. “Or, if you want, you can just point. If it’s easier,” seemed they took that as a challenge and the pen started to shift, “…Okay,” she gestured, giving the go-ahead and waited as they pointed over to each letter.

W.A.N.T….F.R...

Cassie turned back to Morgan once she figured out the gist of it. “They want to know what you want,” when they started up again.

L.E.T.G.O

Oh. Fuck. Morgan took all of her attempts to get in touch with the dead very seriously, it was kind of a matter of life and death at this point, but whatever she had hoped for at the end of each attempt, it didn’t look anything like this. Cassie was sitting with a freaking piece of paper from a notebook and a ballpoint pen, nothing special or consecrated, just practical. And it was moving. Moving all by itself. It was shaking, like the hand holding it was too upset or too weak to hold it together properly. Morgan shifted away from it on the floor. Seeing this invisible force want things, demand things, show--feeling made her uncomfortable in a way she didn’t want to unpack. Wasn’t that what they had always been? And what did it really change about what she needed anyway?

“Um, okay,” she breathed, keeping her voice steady with effort. “That’s nice. Good to know. Sorry you’ve been...here, for so long. But I am going to need some information from you first before we can do that. Okay?” She squared her shoulders back and tried to adopt the kind of voice she used on her freshmen college students. “Now, who are you? What’s your name?”

Watching Morgan move away from the sheet of paper as though it was contagious Cassie realised, she had forgotten how this kind of thing might look to an outsider. What was grade school stuff to her was the stuff of nightmares to somebody else. She recognised that weird waxy looking shade Morgan had paled to and Should’ve just asked them to point. Tell, don’t show this time.

Cassie offered Morgan a look of encouragement as the mystery guest responded, Floor’s all your,s and looked over to their guest who listened and inclined their head as if they were studying her. They folded their arms over for a few moments before answering as thought they were a few moments away from doing the opposite and b an ass. Cassie shot them a look and looked at Morgan again then as the pen began to move again. A lot less stable than before as they slowly spelled the words out.

S.E.A.N…B.A.C.H.M.A.N

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. They had a name. “This your guy?” Cassie asked. She still didn’t understand what she did, but recognising that whatever it was it had worked somehow.

...E.T....G.O…C.A.L.L.E.D…H.E.R.E…..A.P.O.L.O.G.I.Z

Cassie frowned at that last message and now it was her turn to look at the figure, Sean, she corrected herself, her head inclining.

“Ooh! Sean! You’re Agnes’ nephew, right? Your dad was named Abel?” Not who Morgan was looking for, not even close, and she shook her head at Cassie in a sheepish universal signal of ‘close but no cigar.’ Still, she felt an electric rush of excitement. This was more direct contact than she’d gotten...ever. Ever-ever. The rest of his message was a lot more puzzling. Who was apologizing? Sean hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not that she’d dug up yet. “We’ll get to that Sean, but I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt? If she...kept a secret book of magic maybe? Or if you saw her, or heard maybe…” Fuck it. “If you heard of her doing something bad enough that might make someone curse our whole family?” She felt cold all over and out of breath just from asking. She’d been nosing around ancestry sites and state records for so long, she had picked up her whole life, she had pestered Cassie in the middle of a shop, all for this, all without putting her finger on the big, awful magic button of a reason. And having to ask it out loud now, even in the most common sense of ways frustrated Morgan. It was a reminder that there was a chance the answer might be no. Maybe the afterlife had turned Sean’s memory to custard, or he just hadn’t been the kind of kid to overhear rumor. “Anything, Sean?” She pressed. “Be honest.”

Success? Cassie looked over expectantly and clocked the expression on Morgan’s face and felt her shoulders slump slightly. No, crap. That had to sting. So close, she actually had somebody here and judging by the look that passed her features they’d missed the mark by a few miles.

I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt?

Y.E.S

The pen continued to move and while Cassie had next to zero to compare this it seemed like who Morgan had got hold sounded like they were a family member. Close, right? Cassie sat back and kept watch and listened as Morgan reached out to Sean. Her eyes darted up again at Morgan’s words at the end there. Eyebrows raised in concern. Cursed?

…O.W…D.A.R.E...

“Just answer the question and you can be on your way. Come on, man.” It was round about then that Sean decided to have a temper tantrum and managed to tear the paper a few centimetres in his answer. It seemed to take it out of him. She saw him fade further and stop .“I think he wore himself out with that one.” It was a while before he summoned up the energy to fade back to view again.

…T.E.L.L….Y.O.U….N.O.T.H.I

The light on one of the bedside tables clinked and the TV switched on and off for a second at that outburst.

….R.E.L.E.A.S.E….ME…

What a baby. “Spooky. Very good,” Cassie shook her head and spoke in a deadpan tone. “I know you’re pissed but don’t be an ass, Sean, or we’re going to have a problem.”

Morgan clenched her fists in her lap to keep from shaking. This was getting very real, very quickly, and somehow not at all fulfilling in the way she’d hoped. The paper was making noises all by itself, and it was one thing to look away from the screen when things started getting weird in The Conjuring, but something else entirely when the jump scare was right in front of your face. There was nowhere to go from this. Morgan looked behind her and saw the TV flickering, like some five year old on a sugar high was going crazy with the switch, and the tables were rattling louder without anyone being there. Morgan’s eyes had been stretched open long enough to tear up. She was sure if she closed them she’d make up some excuse for what she was seeing, she’d try to tell herself that this was wrong and definitely impossible. But the only thing scarier than seeing this happen, was to never see it happen. Fuck.

“Sean, you asshole! Cut it out!” She screamed over the noise. “You tell me what you know!”

But Sean was not remotely interested. Morgan felt down in her pocket to the salt stash she had and threw it near the paper.

“You wanna stay here forever, Sean?” She asked. “Because I don’t give a shit if you’re stuck with me forever, okay! You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already!”

Cassie shot Sean’s general figure an exasperated look and turned to Morgan and frowned in confusion. Where was he getting this idea he wasn’t free to go here? She really wasn’t about to enlighten them any time soon. Looking at Morgan just as the ‘I want to speak to the manager theatrics’ flared up again she saw Morgan glance around looking rattled. Crap. She knew that look. Cassie saw the clenched fists and shot her a worried look.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cassie reached over but paused when she realised then that it wasn’t all fear there. There was some anger bubbling under the surface and stopped, sitting back down beside the paper. “Just some grade school level theatrics. He couldn’t blow the fuse on a lightbulb,” Cassie shot Sean a glare. Was it really so hard for the douche to just give Morgan what she wanted so they could just drop kick him back to the beyond like he wanted here? “And if you do, I’m going to have some words you’re not going to like.” Turned out the reassurance really wasn’t needed here. Morgan was holding her own. More than; she was outright making demands, tossing salt she didn’t even remember she had on her at the paper. Fast learner.

You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already

“What she said,” Cassie shrugged and looked for a second at the salt Morgan had just tossed in Sean’s general direction, “and if she thinks about throwing any more of that there’s not a damn thing I’m doing to do to stop her. I’ll tell her where to aim. Your call.”

S.K….C.O.N.S.T.A.N.C.E…L.E.A.V.E….M.E

The pen moved, with urgency then, spelling out a name. Now, that wasn’t to hard, was it?

Morgan came back to herself with Cassie’s agreement, what she said. Oh. Shit. She’d really let loose there. Threatened her ancestor, even if he was kind of a dick, wasted some salt aiming at whichever part of the air had looked most threatening. Cassie, for her part, didn’t seem too upset about her seasoning the ghost, and Morgan didn’t know what to make of that, except that she would have to explain a lot more about her situation than she’d had to in a long time. But that could wait. Hopefully. Sean was telling them about...someone named Constance. Morgan couldn’t remember how she fit into her family story off the top of her head. Was she Constance’s mother? Her daughter? It was right on the edge of her recall, but she couldn’t reach it. But it was better than nothing.

“Fine,” she said flatly. “Fine, go.” She still had some salt in her hand and threw it again. “Fuck you anyway, though. And tell Constance I’m coming for her.” She turned to Cassie for help, holding her sweater close around her chest, flushed with embarrassment.

Cassie watched as Morgan threw the remainder of salt in her hand towards the paper again, but something strange happened in the seconds before the salt even went airborne. Cassie didn’t get the chance to even start to send him away. There second Morgan uttered the word go the ghost that was formerly known as Sean zapped out like an old television. Blipped back to the void as if being pulled back somewhere. “That was new,” was all she could manage then with raised eyebrows. “He’s already gone,” she clarified, shaking herself out of it. What the hell was that?

“Okay,” she spoke again eventually as the quiet descended. “I have no idea what you did,” she admitted, still processing, “but that’s uh, that’s different.” Understatement, the air shifted, she felt that much. Swore she heard a faint popping sound as they went. “Did you get what you wanted? Sort of anyway? A name is a start, right?” Cassie shifted back and let out a breath. “So, um, walk me through what you did here, with the circle. Maybe we can get somebody else.”

Morgan flopped back on the floor when Cassie said he was gone. She didn’t know how she could tell, and without anything to tell by she almost didn’t believe it. This...this was good, right? This was progress...in that it was more ghost she’d spoken to in her whole life, certainly more than she had gotten out of any of her magic experiments. She would have to find out who Constance was, what she had to with all this. Agnes had been the one everyone talked about, but maybe she was just the baby monster. Oh god, if this was going to turn into a Grendel’s Mother situation-- Morgan put her head in her hands and breathed out long and hard. One thing at a time. “I um...I can send you the stuff. I have the webpage saved, but I don’t know if I can do it again, without some meaningful date and a new moon, or maybe not, maybe that was bullshit…” she was mumbling, half in a daze, as she pawed around the messy floor for her computer. She pulled it up and sent it to Cassie’s account on the town social media network. Handy, that. She stood up and dusted off a whole lot of nothing off her jeans. “I got something alright!” She said, scrambling to put her smile back on. “Thank you for helping on short notice. You’re really nice, and I’ll find a way to make it up somehow. Maybe when, um, the adrenaline is a little, uh, less, we can figure something out.” Or not. Cassie seemed like she might make a good shortcut through the mess, but she might also be fast-tracking herself into the danger zone. But if it meant not running from herself anymore, maybe it would be worth it anyway.

#an in spectre calls #wr cassie #wr chatzy #wr cassie chatzy #//ghost stufff!!!!

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obsessively-obsessed-fangirl · 6 years

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Even though it has been days since I have finished the beauty that is Veronica Mars, I’m still left with this need to talk about the show on a semi-critical level. So, I’m sorry that this has to happen, but just bare with me as I delve into a tangent about Veronica Mars. (spoilers DUH)

First, lets start with the premise of the show. Veronica is a 15-16 year old girl who becomes a social pariah after her best friend, Lilly Kane, is found dead. Veronica’s father, Keith Mars (the town sheriff) accuses her best friend’s father of being involved in her death, as there are a lot of facts that don’t seem to add up. Keth is removed from office and establishes his own P.I. business, with Veronica helping out part time. Veronica is not satisfied with how Lilly’s case was handled and vows to find out the truth.

Now that we know what the show is about, lets get into who the primary characters are.

First, we have this lovely lady, known as Veronica Mars. She used to be a popular, pink princess who ran Neptune high with her best friend Lilly. She seemed to have everything a popular girl could want...until her boyfriend Duncan Kane (the brother of Lilly) dumped her, thus spiraling her life out of control. Once her friend dies, she has to make a choice....her popularity or her father. She chooses her father and the school shuns her. She attends a party during this time, where she is drugged and raped. Once she wakes up, she has no recollection of who raped her, but she uses this as motivation to close herself off. She is no longer a pretty princess. Instead, she’s a powerful warrior, taking names and kicking ass. She continues to practice her newfound philosophy for the next year, until a new kid in her class is taped to a flag pole and she helps him. Thus, a beautiful new friendship seeps through her cold heart.

Next on our important characters is Wallace Fennel. This is the boy who was duck taped to the flag pole. After Veronica helps him, she begrudgingly accepts him as her new sidekick. He sees the marshmellow she truly is on the inside and their friendship blossoms into one of best friendship, which lasts throughout the series and movie. (sorry there really isn’t a whole lot to him)

Next, let’s talk about good ol’ Duncan Kane. I hate him. He is Lilly’s brother and the one who found her dead. After he finds her, he blacks out and his parents think that he is the one who murdered Lilly. He has a mental thing about him, where he goes into a rage and blacks out...so yeah. He breaks up with Veronica before the series because he found out that his dad had an affair with Veronica’s mom...and they could be possibly related...gross. So he ends things, but is still super into her, and eventually has sex with her (while still thinking they are related) and then when he does find out they aren’t, he kinda stalks her and they date again. Alas, their love will never succeed because HE GOT A GIRL PREGNANT IN SEASON 2, and she gets into a bus crash and EVENTUALLY DIES (convenient). He runs away to Australia with their baby after finding out that her parents are super terrible and abusive. Thus ends his and V’s relationship. (awwww yisssss)

Notice, how for this next person I actually included a picture...(because he is oh so pretty). This glorious bastard is Logan Echolls. He starts off in the series as a douche canoe. He was Lilly’s boyfriend and blames Veronica for her murder because V told Lilly that he caught Logan kissing a girl at a party (and they break up). He spends the year before the show and the first few episodes torturing Veronica and being a damn ass. This all changes when we find out the truth about Logan. His movie star father physically abuses him, his mother ignores the it, and his sister doesn’t believe him. After the world finds out that his father is also a serial cheater, his mother jumps off a bridge. Not believing his mom to have done this, Logan enlists Veronica to help him find her. They unfortunately don’t find her and Logan, now realizing the truth, breaks down in V’s arms. This is a turning point for him, because he stops being awful and actually begins to make things right with V. He comes to her rescue when she needs him from this point forward, and they eventually begin an epic love story, spanning years and continents.

There are many, many more characters I could talk about including Keith Mars, Mac, Weevil, and dumbass Piz, but for sake of the post, I’ll continue on to the good stuff. THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN VERONICA AND LOGAN + Co.

Like I said earlier, the show begins with Veronica being in love with Duncan. This is just plain gross because Duncan doesn’t allow V to grow as a person. He’s so happy with the idea of the pretty, normal girl that he doesn’t see her potential. This leads her to almost always hide her badass skills, snark, and overall self. When they are together, you can almost see her fall back into who she was before Lilly died. (THANK GOD HE LEFT)

Next, let’s talk about her other serious (ish) relationship with Piz. As you have probably noticed, I didn’t go into his backstory too much, because he literally has none. He joined the show during their final season, and all we know about him is that he likes music, Veronica, and is a discount Zac Effron. He is a “nice” that pretty much holds Veronica on a pedestol. He gets upset with her when she decided to do an internship away from Neptune, and when they eventually date again (in the 2014 movie) he pretty much wants her to be a normal girl. Like he doesn’t really want to see her for who she is. He pretty much likes the idea of V, but not the real V.

Finally, we get to her relationship with Logan. I don’t condone much of his bad actions during the early seasons, but with the help and support from Veronica, he changes a lot. He stands by her no matter what the cost is, and is so emotionally honest with her during every little thing, that we never have to question how he feels about her. It’s honestly amazing to see the psychotic jackass turn into such a supportive and good hearted person by the end of the series. Unfortunatly, their relationship is almost always in some form of turmoil. Since their beginning, the obvious love they have for each other is apparent, but is also leads them to act with passion, and not always with their heads. Veronica begins to descend into much of who she was in the beginning. She can’t let herself be happy with him, and begins to close herself up once again. They end the show with them apart, but with a single glance that leads one to hope of their reconciliation.

Luckily enough, when the 2014 movie came out, fans rejoiced because Veronica and Logan seemed to finally get some variation of happiness. She ran away from Neptune because of her reckless behavior, but one call from Logan brings her back. The second she saw him again, it was like she finally truly came home. He turned into the good man she always believed he was, and in turn, she finally grows away from her self destructive past self and trusts herself to love him.

I don’t know, this post really didn’t have a point other than to talk about the random thought going through my head, as I try to convince myself everything will be okay when the show (EVENTUALLY/HOPEFULLY returns on Hulu). Like, Logan and Veronica bonded early though their shared pain, humor, and passion, so it would be a complete shame if they weren’t allowed the happy ending they so rightfully deserve.

#veronica mars #logan echolls #hulu #veronica mars movie #wallace fennel #mac #piz #lilly kane #fandoms #duncan kane #keith mars #mars investigations #logan x veronica #shipping #kristen bell #jason dohring

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lisatelramor · 6 years

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Not Left To Stand Alone Ch8

“Aaah!” Takata Kate stretched at her desk near Saguru’s, tilting back her chair to maximize her stretch. “Breaks are wonderful, but Golden Week is always so busy!” she said settling back into her chair. She swiveled to smile at Saguru. “So, how was your Golden Week?”

Of all his coworkers, Takata had been more persistent in her attempts at friendship. It was appreciated even if Saguru hadn’t shown the same interest in friendship in return. “It was pleasant,” Saguru said, straightening folders and notes. Completed reports from his home visits were to one side and graded papers were neatly stacked next to them, far more orderly than most of the desks in the room. “I visited my parents for part of it, and caught up on sleep for the rest.”

Takata laughed. “I feel that. Your parents live close?”

“Not far,” Saguru agreed. “Although it is simpler to take a car than to attempt to walk these days.”

He could see Takata’s eyes flick to his cane, but she was too polite to comment on it. Instead she draped an arm over the back of her chair and leaned comfortably against it. “I wish it was easier to visit my parents,” she said. “It’s a lot harder to go halfway around the world though.”

Saguru nodded, knowing that feeling well. “And jet lag is terrible. You visit them often?”

“I try to visit them once a year,” she said, “but that’s not always possible, and they can’t always visit me.”

“Thank goodness for technology to keep in touch.”

She laughed agreeably and glanced over her shoulder to where her husband was talking to a few other teachers. “That definitely helps. Thankfully Katsuya’s family is nearby. They’ve been wonderful in-laws.”

“That’s fortunate,” Saguru said, thinking of the challenges his parents had faced initially with their families, though both sets of grandparents had mellowed by the time Saguru was born. His own experience with in-laws had not been favorable either, he supposed.

“It is.” She smiled. “Well, back to work. Congratulations on living through your first year of home visits. You should come out sometime for drinks after midterms.”

“I don’t drink,” Saguru said, but he smiled all the same. “But perhaps I will join you after midterms all the same.”

Takata didn’t say anything about him not drinking, which considering how alcohol was used as a social bonding tool in Japan even more than it was in England, was a relief. Instead she grinned at the first concession Saguru had given to her friendly overtures. “Great! It’ll be good to have you along.”

Privately, Saguru thought that the experience would only reveal how his coworkers acted while drunk—and potentially give him far more intimate knowledge and hypothetical blackmail material than most of his coworkers would be comfortable with someone having, but he supposed there was nothing wrong with making efforts to become closer to them. He might not have decided if he would keep this job beyond the year, but there was nothing wrong with making connections while he was here.

Takata glanced over his shoulder out the window. “And there come the students,” she said. She swiveled back to her desk to grab one of her haphazard piles. “Back to work.” She paused as she started to stand up. “Are things going better with your students?”

Saguru reflected on how the three strike system had in fact reduced some of the issues he had been dealing with and how Takumi hadn’t pulled anything big or even mildly disruptive since home visits had started. “I suppose they have been,” he said. “Hopefully it continues.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “Glad to hear it.” She stood up, walking to join her husband for a few minutes before they had to be at their assigned classrooms.

Saguru looked after her before turning back to his notes. He also hoped things with Takumi would go more smoothly. He wouldn’t bet on it of course—the practice Takumi had gotten over Golden Week and his interest in Saguru’s life certainly didn’t indicate that a lack of pranks in his future. Still, Saguru would be prepared either way. His briefcase held a change of clothing, wipes, and a few other small things in case he was targeted specifically. If not, he could always have Takumi clean any mess he made. It was forever a relief that Takumi didn’t share Kuroba’s grand scale of dramatics.

***

As Saguru took role call at the start of the day, he felt Takumi’s eyes on him. Something had changed over Golden Week. Saguru wasn’t sure what, but there was something considering in Takumi’s eyes rather than challenging. He braced for a prank regardless as homeroom slid seamlessly into his first English class of the day.

None came, not when he returned tests, nor when he moved into his review lesson with sentence diagrams to cement the concepts that had proven to be poorly retained. It didn’t come when Saguru had various class members—Takumi included—come up with sentences using the proper subject and object placement. It didn’t come when he assigned that day’s homework, and Saguru wondered if he had guessed wrong, that Takumi hadn’t practiced over the break with the intention of using those skills in Saguru’s class at all.

Throughout the class, Takumi had never stopped watching Saguru, though, and as Saguru walked to his next class, he had to wonder what sort of change this meant, for better or worse. It didn’t seem to be hostile, though.

Saguru would have to hope it would work out.

***

Saguru was packing away his bentou, idly planning out his weekend, when he felt eyes on him. He looked up to find Takumi at the edge of his desk, frown cemented on his face. Saguru wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there.

Takumi hadn’t said anything in class that morning, or during the morning homeroom. In fact, it was the first day since Golden Week that Takumi hadn’t stared Saguru down, instead spending the time before homeroom talking to friends and surreptitiously passing a few notes once the school day had started. A glance showed the other teachers in the room either engaged in their own work, conversing, or talking to students who had sought them out. Saguru set aside his lunch and the half-graded pile of papers to give him his full attention.

“Kuroba-kun. How can I help you?”

Takumi’s frown smoothed into a blank mask that Saguru associated with Kuroba and avoidance. “You knew my parents,” Takumi said. It wasn’t a question. It was a blunt statement of fact that had some underlying tension Saguru was missing. Takumi’s body language gave nothing away. He’d learned an impressive poker face from Kuroba, but he hadn’t mastered the relaxed confidence Kuroba had had yet. He had mastered blank, but he hadn’t mastered nonchalant.

Saguru shifted into a better position for his bad leg, leaning forward. Takumi’s eyes flicked to it then back to Saguru’s face. Saguru met his eyes. In the West it would have been respectful. In Japan it was more of a challenge. Takumi didn’t look away, rudely staring right back. “We went to high school together for a few years,” Saguru said. “I would not have called us friends exactly, but we were close acquaintances, or perhaps rivals of a sort in your father’s case.” It hadn’t been a proper rivalry even.

“You hit on my mom.”

Saguru raised an eyebrow. Had Aoko told him about that or Kuroba? That was an accusatory tone slipping past the impassive mask. “To be fair, I was much younger and attempting to get a rise out of your father.”

Takumi’s face twitched. He opened his mouth and seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say, glancing around and taking note of the other teachers in the room. He squared his shoulders. “What were they like? In high school?”

Ah. The pieces clicked together. He probably only had memories of his parents fighting. He probably grew up wondering if his parents ever got along, a bit like how as a child Saguru wondered what his parents would have been like if they lived on the same side of the globe. How much would Kuroba or Aoko ever talk about their shared past if they were always avoiding or arguing with each other? “Lively,” Saguru said, his first impressions of the Ekoda High class coming to mind. “Loud. They were always bickering and chasing each other around like mop fighting and skirt flipping was a bizarre courtship ritual.”

Takumi’s eyebrows scrunched together. He looked more like Aoko than Kuroba then. It was an Aoko-expression on his face, the one she had had when she was confused about Kuroba’s actions or a particularly hard homework problem.

“If you would like to talk in the future about your parents, I am willing to share my memories,” Saguru said, holding out the promise as a peace offering. They had gotten off to a bad start. He had no desire to continue any tension between them. “However, now would not be the best time. The lunch period is almost over.” He could see on Takumi’s face the thought that he knew where Saguru lived. No, it wouldn’t be hard to track Saguru down.

“My mom said you were a world famous detective once,” Takumi said looking pensive, the same faraway, inward focused expression as earlier in the week. “That you challenged Kaitou Kid.”

“I was,” Saguru said, “but that isn’t really important anymore.” He didn’t want to go into it, especially not if it led to personal questions about why he wasn’t one now. If Takumi wanted to know about his life as a high school detective and how it fit in with his parents, Saguru could talk about it some other time. “Now,” he said changing the topic, “is this what all the pranking has been about?”

Takumi went pink with embarrassment. His fingers picked at the cuffs on his uniform as he suddenly was looking anywhere but at Saguru. “I... It’s not fair. That... They never talk about it. Before.” Saguru raised an eyebrow as Takumi stutteringly pieced words together. “Kaa-san and Tou-san.” He met Saguru’s eyes briefly. “They don’t talk about the past or what they were like or how they fell in love, none of that. They just argue and pretend they don’t care on the good days and fight on the bad ones, and I don’t even know what they ever saw in each other! You knew them though. You know what they were like and it’s...it’s not fair.”

Saguru was sympathetic, but that didn’t make Takumi’s lashing out at him any less a problem. He sighed. “You realize that it’s not my fault your parents don’t talk about it.” Takumi’s shoulders twitched up, chastised. Saguru took pity. “Look, I’m willing to share what I know about them if that helps. But in exchange I would appreciate keeping pranks to a minimum, and not having them targeting me.”

“I...can do that,” Takumi mumbled. “Um. You’re not asking me to stop completely?”

Saguru shrugged. “I can overlook some antics provided it doesn’t disrupt class or harm anything. Don’t make it a habit though.”

“Oh.” Takumi smiled, a little surprised like he couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting yelled at about it. “It’s actually been kind of...fun? Uh, don’t tell my parents that though.”

“Because your mother would be angry.”

“Er...”

“And Kuroba would encourage you.” Saguru shook his head. “If you disrupt anything, you’ll have a mark in the book.”

“Right, of course.” Takumi straightened up.

Saguru offered him a smile. “You know, you’re quite skilled at sleight of hand.”

“I’m not...I’m not that good. Compared to Tou-san...”

“Is on a different level than most people,” Saguru agreed.

“You’re not angry about the pranks?”

Saguru snorted. “Honestly, when I found out I had a Kuroba in my class, I was expecting a good deal worse than some glue, confetti, and removing a bit of makeup.”

“But...” He fidgeted as the first bell rang in the hall. “I humiliated you.”

Saguru snorted again. “If you think that is humiliating, you should try attending your average Kid heist. In the ones I attended, I ended up unconscious and stripped multiple times, tied up in compromising positions, and once, memorably, forced into a rather skimpy dress.” It was a hard task to keep a straight face with how Takumi’s eyes got larger and larger. “I imagine you’re sick of hearing about Kid from your mother though.” Saguru levered himself to his feet, snagging his cane from beside his desk. Saguru nodded toward the hall where teachers and students alike were hurrying back to their rooms for class. “Let’s not be late, yes?”

There was still a bit of wariness in Takumi, but Saguru thought they might have a chance of getting along now. And if his instincts were right... Saguru bumped Takumi as they turned to go separate ways, the perfect opportunity to slip a trick pen into Takumi’s pocket. (Let it be known that Saguru had learned some tricks over the years). He watched from the corner of his eye as Takumi found the pen a few steps later, pulling it free with a puzzled expression. He went to click it and jumped, the light shock no doubt surprising him.

“Sensei...?” he called after Saguru. Saguru glanced back and gave Takumi a smile and a slow, conspiratorial wink. Before continuing on. Behind him, he heard Takumi burst into surprised laughter.

Yes, they were probably going to get along fine.

He walked to his next class with a lighter step and the thought that Mel would have approved.

***

That weekend, a few dozen photos from the shoebox were placed in a cheap album. Not quite the album Mel and Saguru always planned to put together, but as a remembrance... It was a year since Mel died and it still hurt. But the photos Saguru chose were all ones with his happiest memories caught in them. They were what they’d had, and losing Mel didn’t mean those things hadn’t happened. There was a peace in accepting that. At the end of the album, Saguru wrote a letter of what he’d say if he had the chance to say all the things he’d felt in the last year. By the end of it, he thought he might just be okay.

Omake

In the two months that Saguru had been teaching, he still wasn’t sure what to make of the literature club. They met weekly, and as the club advisor, he found himself meeting with them although he had been told by Momoi that he needn’t bother to meet unless they were discussing an English novel that week. Call it curiosity or lingering remnants of his detective’s desire to understand what confused him, but whatever the cause, Saguru continued to attend the meetings after the first one, if in part only to see Momoi and Takumi interact. Whether or not he read all the books was a different matter, in part due to how much free time he had (which truly could only have been an excuse during the home visits) and his interest in whatever was being read (a much more accurate measure for why he did or did not read one of the chosen novels in its entirety).

Saguru tapped the spine of the Mishima Yukio novel that one of the members had insisted on at the last meeting. Confessions of a Mask was one that he had not finished due to the themes leaving him unsettled. While Saguru had read some of Mishima’s short stories in high school, he hadn’t quite been prepared for the intermingling themes of double-lives, death, violence, and homosexuality.

The club members each had their own copy of the novel, though only Honda Jirou, who had requested the book, and one other member looked particularly enthusiastic to be discussing it. There was a conspicuous absence among the members as well.

“Takumi’s late,” Momoi grumbled. She glanced at Saguru as if he might know the reason, or perhaps wondering if he was the cause of it. Saguru kept his expression politely neutral.

“He had to talk to the lacrosse coach,” another member offered.

Momoi rolled her eyes. “The whole point of moving these meeting to Thursdays was so he could attend them,” she said. With another sigh, she waved her hand, calling the meeting to order more effectively than some police officers Saguru knew could do without a single word. “So. This week we have Confessions of a Mask by Mishima Yukio. Opinions?”

“I thought that the conflict of internal desires in contrast to the outward actions in the book—”

“Anyone besides Jirou?” Momoi cut in, leaving Honda with his mouth open and a disgruntled expression. “Relax, Jirou, you can talk all you want about it in a minute.” She glanced around and no one seemed to want to go first. “Okay, so how many of you opened the book?” All but one hand went up, Saguru’s included. “And how many of you finished it?” Only four hands remained. Across the table, Jirou looked disappointed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. No offense Jirou, but I don’t think most of the club shares your enthusiasm for Mishima’s works.”

Jirou sighed. “I’ll convert one of you eventually.”

“Mm hmm.” Momoi rounded on Saguru. “Have to say I’m surprised you didn’t finish it. I half expected you to come in with an in depth analysis like you did with The Picture of Dorian Gray.” She said it like a challenge and Saguru was still trying to figure out if she genuinely disliked him or if it was some sort of test of boundaries. Granted it could just be her personality to meet everyone and anyone head on directly regardless of their position of authority. Dorian Gray had been her idea for the last English novel, not Saguru’s regardless. “There’s some thematic overlaps.”

Beyond the shared theme of duplicity and the homosexual undertones in Dorian Gray set alongside the much more overt themes in Confessions, Saguru didn’t really see it. Unless she was trying to imply something by specifically connecting him to both books. He narrowed his eyes, but Momoi didn’t look like she was going for an accusation. “I suppose there are some similarities,” Saguru allowed, “but there is a very big gap between Dorian’s embracing hedonism and Kochan’s continual self-deception and rejection of his preferences. To be honest, I preferred the tone of Dorian Gray despite his unapologetic darkness.”

“Hmm,” Momoi hummed. “Well, your pick is next, and we all know you’re going with Hound of the Baskervilles.”

The game of poker the first club meeting had been to decide who got to choose what first based around winning hands. Every losing hand had required one of the books on their list crossed off. It had taken quite a few turns for Saguru to win a hand. Momoi had won the majority of them, though eventually every member had one at least one hand. It had worked out a bit too well and the only conclusion Saguru could draw was that Momoi was one hell of a card sharp.

“Oh, right, Sensei is a Holmes fan,” Watanabe Emi chirped. “Ne, Sensei, what’s your opinion on the recent films and TV programs?”

“A lot of them fail to capture Holmes’ character, and do even worse for Watson,” Saguru said drily. “Although I believe Irene Adler has gotten the brunt of misinterpretations, chiefly in how she interacts with Holmes.”

“So you’re not for a dominatrix Irene Adler?” Momoi asked, derailed from the meeting’s point with curiosity.

“That isn’t my direct issue with her character interpretation. The issue is that Irene is not and never was interested in Holmes, nor he interested in her. Adler’s actions were motivated by a desire to be with her fiancé and to keep her past lover from ruining her life.”

“We’re not here to talk about whether Irene Adler should be a dominatrix,” Honda cut in, “we’re here to talk about how Kochan’s repressed homosexual desire drives the conflict in Confessions!”

The door to the classroom they used for club meetings slid open. Takumi observed them with a pinched expression. “Do I want to know?” he asked, glancing at Momoi.

Momoi grinned. “Just in time to listen to Jirou deconstruct Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask. Take a seat.”

Takumi glanced at the rest of the club members, some of whom were laughing quietly, Honda Jirou, who looked irritated, and lastly at Saguru. Saguru lifted an eyebrow. Takumi raised one back. “Okay. Sorry for being late. Book on double lives and a guy trying to feel something he can’t?”

“Thank you,” Honda muttered. “As I was saying…”

Saguru found himself tuning out Honda’s impassioned analysis of his favorite author’s debut novel. It wasn’t that he was uninterested in what Honda had drawn from it, or what logic he’d used in making his connections; Saguru would have liked to have seen the essay Honda could no doubt write on the subject. The issue was, at one point he had been someone who felt out of place and had tried to be someone he wasn’t to fit in, and while that had been a very brief period of his life and nothing like the main character’s emotional reactions to these problems, the topic still struck a bit too closely for Saguru’s comfort.

The literature club was an interesting mix of people though, Saguru thought as bit by bit, other members started to add opinions and thoughts to build off Honda’s words. They had a range of interests and motivations for joining the club. Takumi was the only one in another after school activity as well, though he seemed to have joined the literature club for Momoi than anything else.

And Momoi… She kept glancing at Saguru and he wasn’t sure what was on her mind. She was in the club because she truly enjoyed a range of literature from what he could tell. Perhaps also because it gave her a space she could control as its de facto leader.

They were an interesting bunch and it was a way to pass one afternoon a week in some sort of human interaction, so Saguru couldn’t complain.

And next week he could discuss his favorite novel after introducing it to another generation of readers. What was there to dislike about that?

#magic kaito #fanfiction #not left to stand alone #my writing #nltsa

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