#the eyeballs hate John even more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

late-to-the-magnus-archives · 9 months

Text

Corrupted, Chapter Five: Found - a Malevolent x TMA Fic

Tim is depressed.

John is up to something.

Gertrude is here to make it worse

AO3

———-

A few kabobs later, Tim feels a little better. Stable blood sugar is a hell of a thing.

He still hates not being able to see. It’s awful. It’s terrifying. John is doing a really good job of keeping him safe, Tim tells himself this will be over soon because he has to—no matter how hard that is to believe.

Tim also tells himself not to think too much about Bouchard’s description of John.

That was… not a safe -sounding creature. And maybe Tim is just being some sort of speciesist, but he finds himself wondering yet again why John had been bound in a book. Job is inhuman. John is also manipulative and controlling, and Tim is more than fine with both of those things in certain circumstances, but depending on the guy to stay alive is definitely not one of them.

What did he do that got him put in there?

It also brings to mind the question of what else is in there. Tim believes Bouchard. Something else is. He wonders if it’s safe in the backpack. “Hey, John?”

The shop we need is about twenty steps ahead and to your right. Yes?

“Is the book safe? Should I, like, wrap it in a belt, or something, so it doesn’t open in the bag?”

It won’t matter if it opens in the bag. It could fall down a cliff and flutter completely agape, revealing its inscriptions to the seagulls, and nothing would happen. It must be opened by a living, fully sapient being.

“Wow. If they could go that far to protect whatever’s in there, you’d think they’d put some kind of lock on it, yeah? A safeword, or something.”

John sounds amused. You mean a fail-safe? Or a password, perhaps?

“Sure, whatever. Still, that’s good to know. Wouldn’t want to release Cthulhu in the middle of London.”

No, we wouldn’t want to do that, says John with absolutely no inflection at all. Store to your right, now.

That wasn’t a spooky response at all. “What do you think he saw in the book?”

Nothing. There is nothing else bound here. He was fucking with us.

Sure.

Tim sighs and tries to get a hold of himself. John’s not Cthulhu, and whatever remains in the book isn’t, either, since Cthulhu was an old-timey story told by a crazy dead racist. (Speciesist, Tim’s brain adds.) He’s safe, he tells himself. It’s still early morning, even if he can’t see the daylight. It’s not like weird gray-skinned monsters are going to come at him on a busy London street.

The store turns out to be a health-food, raw sugar, vitamins-the-size-of-thumbs kind of place. There, John directs him to buy just… stuff. A block of salt. Six small candles, unscented. Various herbs. A hand-built clay bowl. Matches. Distilled water. Rubbing alcohol.

Then they leave. A Siri-search brings them to a hardware store, and John directs him to buy a length of rope, a hammer, six cleat hooks, and two copper pipes.

Tim has played games and read books and seen movies, and cannot for the life of him figure out what all of this is supposed to do.

Very good, Tim, says John, who has obviously figured out Tim likes to be praised. Now we need a place to cast. I do not suggest your apartment, as we need to keep that location completely uncompromised.

“Cast?”

Yes.

“I’m going to cast a spell?”

We are.

Tim gawks. “How?”

My power can just barely be lent to you—not much, or it would hurt you, or break your mind, and I have no desire to do either—but enough to cast a minor spell.

“Did you just say you can break my mind?”

Of course.

Since last night, Tim’s been running from cultists, gray-skinned claw-monsters, an eyeball god and its creepy priest. He finally realizes he could be in serious danger from John. “Fucking spooky antler-genie,” he mutters as if it’s a joke, as if the threat hadn’t landed.

It landed.

Now, Tim, soothed John. If I were going to simply break you, I’d have done it already.

“Oh. Good,” said Tim. “Absolutely reassuring. Don’t take a job in any kind of therapy, yeah?”

I’ll keep it in mind. Angle right—you’re going to walk into a mailbox.

Tim sighed and adjusted. “So you’re going to cast magic through me. I’ll be actually magical for five minutes, or something.”

Less time than that. As I said, I don’t want to hurt you, and unless you have an affinity for magic, it would harm you with longer exposure.

“Yeah, I doubt I have an affinity for it.”

Well, we don’t know yet, do we? Have you ever tried to cast before?

Tim snorts. “Have I ever tried to cast the thing I didn’t believe in twelve hours ago? Yeah, no.”

Then we’re going to find out, and I’d rather that not result in your harm. Now, as I said: we need a place where we won’t be disturbed.

Tim thinks for a moment. His heart pings painfully, and he has to wipe his eyes again.

Tim?

“Sorry, just… Danny. Exploring derelict buildings was his last dumb hobby before whatever this one was. Urban exploration. He called it Urbex , and I made fun of him because that sounds like a drain cleaner, or something.” He laughs weakly. “I was merciless. Brothers. You know.”

I do know.

John has family. Wild.

Tim keeps talking, and isn’t even sure why. “It’s what I thought he was still doing when he showed up ranting about cultists, but… anyway, he knew some places. We need to go back to my flat and get his laptop. For his pictures, and all of that.” His voice cracks.

Mister Smooth is back in the building. Of course, Tim. Whatever we need to do.

“Look, don’t… don’t do that.”

Do what? Even smoother.

“You’ve got one hell of a set of pipes, and we both know it, but you whip out that voice every time I get upset. And I don’t think you’re doing it to comfort me.”

Why else would I be doing that, Tim?

It’s not a flat tone. John’s not angry. Which is good, because Tim doesn’t want him angry. He needs John to fucking navigate. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to be manipulated. I know I’m all kinds of fucked right now, okay? Fragile. So maybe I’m being prickly, but…”

I have no reason to wish you any suffering, Tim. If I have chosen to speak to you in a soothing manner, perhaps you should ask yourself what it is I’m trying to achieve.

“To control me?” Tim says dryly.

Perhaps I merely wish to see you soothed, says John like oil on skin.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Right. The D.B. Cooper of the demon world wants me soothed. ”

Is it so hard to imagine I might prefer you happy?

What a fucking thing to say. “Maybe.” Like a thread in a sweater, pulling that sentence has begun to unravel a lot of things.

When was Tim last happy?

Well. I do. Shall we go back to your apartment?

It’s been a long time. At least since mum died. And after Danny…

All of this should be more frightening than it is. It really should. Tim does not feel great; the numbness is worrying, or it should be. It isn’t, though. It isn’t.

He isn’t even feeling the kind of thrill he should that he might be able to do magic. That should be huge! Momentous! Incredible! Exciting!

He doesn’t feel anything. “How depressed am I?” he murmurs.

What was that?

And Tim flips the humor switch, because he can deflect even better than the antlered monster in his head. “Are you telling me I could actually be a wizard some call Tim?”

John laughs. It’s a real laugh, not a chuckle—a deep and genuine guffaw. It’s also possibly the wickedest sound Tim has ever heard. There’s something terrible in it, cruel, a sound so bottomless he could fall into it forever.

“Shut up, you are not familiar with Monty Python, too,” says Tim, still deflecting.

Oh, Tim… the things I could tell you.

Was there a hint of regret in that tone again? “Okay,” says Tim, slowly. “So tell me.”

In time.

Sure. John was never going to tell him. “Let’s go the hell home. Need the map?”

No. Turn around. The closest stop that will take us back to Woking is four blocks behind us.

John remembered that?

Had he already been looking for a bus stop? Tim knows that if he’d been in the position of having to navigate through someone else’s eyes, he wouldn’t have been planning far enough ahead to catch that.

John is… scary smart, actually. Combining that with the manipulative tendencies, the bossiness, the obviously good memory…

Tim?

Tim knows he’s in danger. “Sorry. Right.” It should matter. It doesn’t.

A few more steps. Stop. It looks to me like a bus in our direction will be along in a few minutes. You’re going to be all right, Tim.

“You don’t know that.”

How about this, then: you’ve shown yourself worthy of reward, in my eyes. I will see that you get it.

Right. After all the casual humor and the relatability of shared media, John has casually dropped another abjectly terrifying sentence. “Glad to know I’ve fit your standards?” Tim says after a moment. “Though there’s not a lot you can do to make that happen.”

Not yet. But the time is coming soon.

Oh, fuck me, Tim thinks. “Um… how?”

Would you like to know why I was in that book?

“You did promise you’d tell me that.”

Then let’s go back to your apartment and choose a location. We do this conjuring. If you handle the magic well, Tim, I’ll show you why.

Was it his imagination, or was something… bad about the way he said that? “And if I don’t handle it well?”

Then I will just tell you.

And John sounds like that would be disappointing.

Tim exhales slowly. He can’t ignore his instincts any longer. He is in trouble. ”So will this conjuring find some other power to help us? Something that’s not an eyeball.”

Something like that.

It’s logical, isn’t it? It was this or go back to Bouchard, and Tim would rather lick the sidewalk. “All right.”

Bus.

They’re both quiet on the way home. Without meaning to, Tim dozes until they’re about twenty minutes from his stop.

John lets him rest.

Danny’s laptop has what they need. John describes a farm not far from Woking that’s been abandoned for a while, judging by Danny’s photos.

Oddly appropriate, John says as Tim eats the last of the peanut butter and drinks some water. Why, it’s even been a spot for some zombie movies.

“Rusty farm equipment? An abandoned hangar? Perfect place to do some magic.” And Tim says what he knows he’s supposed to say: “I hope I have an affinity. I mean. That would just be neat, you know?”

Oh, so do I, says John, and there is something hungry about it.

Tim can’t bring himself to care.

It really feels, he thinks as he trespasses in broad daylight, like he is soil that’s been tilled. He’s still and quiet and ready for planting—but on his own, he’s functionally dead.

Depressed, he thinks, which is true. He’s slipping back into the bad place he’s been in since Danny’s death—the place he was only briefly pulled from by fear and adrenaline.

He feels neither now.

There seems to be no security on this run-down, abandoned farm. John spots the hangar—a traditional arch-style steel building. Keep going. We’re heading right for it.

It is, Tim thinks, the perfect place for a murder, and he wonders why he’s still going along with this.

Yes, he might do magic. That’s a great lure, isn’t it? Who wouldn’t want that, especially after the events of the last day?

But something doesn’t add up. Tim’s gut says this is a trap, and he’s walking right into it.

It’s not like he’s stuck. He could turn around. Leave. If John refuses to help him anymore, he could just call the fucking police, a medic, something.

Hell, he could even call Bouchard.

He has options, even if they’re not great. Why is he still going along with this?

“I really am depressed,” he verbalizes after a moment.

Oh?

John sounds chipper.

I am definitely walking to my death, Tim thinks, and still isn’t sure why. Then he decides, fuck it , and shoots his shot. “I’m about to die, aren’t I?”

John is silent for one, long beat. What makes you say that?

Ah-ha. Flat tone.

Score one for intuition, Tim thinks. “Don’t know that I care as much as I should, is all. Hence the ‘depressed’ comment.”

Tim. I’m not going go to hurt you. What makes you say that? Two steps left; there’s some piece of rusted metal sticking out of the ground.

John didn’t deny this would kill him, either.

He navigates, and figures out what's wrong as the question leaves his mouth. “This conjuring is supposed to help, right? So why didn’t we do this first?”

The pause is so slight that if Tim hadn’t been listening for it, he wouldn’t have caught it. We probably should have. I’d hoped you already had a resource we could use without risking you.

“No. You’re too smart for that. Wanna know what I think? I think the second those eye-worshiping freaks saw you, you panicked, and the gloves came off. Whatever this is, it’s a last resort,” says Tim.

Such a smart young man.Regretful again. Just the type of acolyte I prefer.

“Deflecting. Also, not an acolyte.”

Not yet.

“Not ever. I’m not the priest type, accidental or otherwise.”

Yet you’re doing something at my request when you say you think it will kill you, says John casually.

Tim doesn’t know how to explain.

For some reason, the image of a life stretching before him—empty, no Danny—working some stupid job, going home to an empty apartment, rinse and repeat for the next sixty years, seems untenable. Absolutely distasteful, obscene.

Tim keeps walking, crunching through winter grass, hands in his pockets, backpack heavy. He sighs. “Are we there yet?”

Almost. So: you think you’ll die, and you’re still going through with it?

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t care.” That’s the truth, too.

I’m not going to hurt you, Tim.

So whatever this is will be painless. Tim believes him. I got Cthulhu’s favor, lucky me, he thinks, and almost laughs. There were worse ways to go. Being beaten to death in an alley by cultists, for example.

And hey, John also hasn’t actually said it would kill him, either. Maybe it won’t, and all this drama is for nothing.

Maybe John’s not sure what it will do. That’s an odd thought to have.

We’re inside.

“Do I even get to know what spell this does?”

Possibly nothing. As I said—if you have no magical affinity, it’s a nonstarter.

“What happens if I am magical?”

It’s dark. Give me a moment to see… ah. Perfect. Ahead of you, Tim, is a space that probably held farm equipment once, but now, it’s only got junk around the perimeter—a hand truck, a suspiciously stained armchair, an unsafe ladder. Move straight ahead, slowly.

So John wasn’t going to tell him what it did. If Tim were playing this in a game, he’d have some guesses about his body and John’s place in it. Though maybe not; it’s a good human body, but a far cry from what Bouchard described John once having.

If Tim was right, though, would he still be inside it when all was said and done? He suspects he’ll just be gone. Maybe he’d go to wherever Danny is. That doesn’t seem so bad. “Where do we go when we die?” he says.

We go to the Dark World.

“What’s that? All of us?”

All.

“Good, bad, ugly?”

There is one world that accepts all after death, and that is its name.

Sounds a lot simpler than he’d feared. “It’s a whole world? Can you travel there? Leave?”

Some can. Flat. Why?

“Have you been there?” Tim says.

No, and I don’t ever intend to go. Tim, this is the spot.

And this is the moment of decision. “What’s this going to do, John? Really.”

I told you. Help. Take the rope out first.

Tim decides to do it.

Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe it won’t kill him. Or maybe he’s leaping off a cliff, chasing Danny, chasing anything to feel something other than numb inside. Either way… yeah. He’s depressed, and going along with it because it’s the direction he was already moving. “Sure.”

Good. As best you can, lay it out in a circle. I know that will be a challenge since you can’t see, but together, we’ll figure it out.

“Sure.”

The bowl goes in the exact center; inside that is distilled water, and then the block of salt.

The six candles are placed equidistant inside the rope. The hooks, equidistant outside it.

The herbs are scattered over the whole thing, rubbed to small, irregular pieces between his fingers, and—he thinks—staining his hands.

The hammer is left beside the bowl—apparently, it doesn’t matter exactly where, though Tim gets the weird feeling it is within reach .

The pipes are placed by the bowl, pointing north to south above, and east to west alongside. Then Tim opens the rubbing alcohol, and, per instructions, leaves it open just outside the nearest hook.

“Well, it sounds cool,” he says, trying to picture it all in his mind.

Are you ready, Tim?

John is eager.

“Hold on. I can’t see, and I don’t want to fucking trip.” Tim carries his backpack a little distance away, leaving it by the manky old armchair. Then he returns to the circle.

He sighs. Maybe for the last time. Maybe it’ll all be over. He'd like to rest, if he's honest. Maybe Danny's got a new hobby in the Dark World. Tim wipes his eyes. “I'm ready,” he says, and he means it.

I won’t hurt you. Step inside the rope.

Tim wonders if there’s anyone he should say goodbye to.

No one comes to mind. That’s not great, but it fits this moment. Tim takes a breath and steps.

The gunshot is so sudden, so startling, that he jerks back and falls over sideways, knocking over the bottle of rubbing alcohol, startled into pounding heart and gasps.

What the fuck? Tim, it’s that woman!

“What woman?” he says, scrambling backwards.

“Sorry for interrupting,” says a voice he heard earlier today.

It’s that old lady. The one from the Institute who’d been about to do something before Bouchard intervened.

“What the fuck, she followed us? ” Tim blurts.

“I did indeed,” says the woman. “Calm down, now. This is happening no matter what, I think you know, but it doesn’t have to be painful.”

Tim feels like he’s been hit by a baseball bat, right in the head. “What? What’s happening? What are you talking about?”

Fuck. She’s got a gun trained on us, and her hand is steady. Fuck. We’re too far away to get to her.

“I haven’t seen a ritual quite like this before,” says the woman. “I’m surprised you’re trying it all on your own. They usually need more people.”

“What?” says Tim, who no longer feels like he was hit by a bat, but rather by a different genre of literature entirely. “What the hell are you talking about? What do you want?”

“What do you serve?” she says.

A beat.

“Huh ?” says Tim.

“I can see that thing in your head. I simply don’t recognize it. Let’s have no nonsense, now. What do you serve?”

She… she’s fully armed. The gun’s not all she has. I can see two knives, another gun, and the pockets of her jacket carry slim books that… oh. Power is wafting off them. Tim, be careful.

“Okay,” says Tim, still on the ground, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding, here. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

She sighs.

She’s raising the gun!

“Wait, look, I’m not serving anything!” Tim shouts.

“What. Is in. Your head.”

“I don’t know!”

She almost sounds pitying. Almost. “You probably know my reputation. One way we do this will be painless and quick. The other will not. I do hate that second way, but if you force my hand, that's on you. So, one last time: what is in your head?”

She sounds like a grandmother.

She sounds like a schoolteacher.

And suddenly—

Without warning—

Out of nowhere—

Tim is furious.

Enraged.

Frothing.

So many things have tried to kill or eat him in the last day that it’s abruptly become absurd. The fact that the Cthulhu in his head is offering the merciful option compared to this random woman is enough to make him feel insane.

“You can go fuck yourself!” he says.

Tim!

“Your reputation?” Tim continues. “What the hell? I don’t know your reputation! I don’t have a clue who you are! What, does Bouchard have a pet serial killer, for some reason? Go to hell!”

Tim, I doing know what’s gotten into you, but calm down . We can’t do anything if you—

She is completely unmoved. “Tell me, when I kill you, will it die?” she says.

“How the fuck should I know? He’s been there for, like, twelve hours!”

“You poor thing.” And now, she almost sounds compassionate. Almost. “It’s taken your reason, not only your sight. I wonder if there’s any of you left in there at all? Well, no matter. Move away from the circle, please.”

Still down, Tim scrambles backwards through scraggly grass and litter, puffing angrily, helpless and enraged.

If he had a bomb right now, he’d blow it.

If he had an axe, he’d throw it.

It’s the most he’s felt anything since Danny died, and he’s drowning.

He can hear her inspecting the items he put down. “What was this going to do, exactly?” says the woman. “Not that it matters, but all knowledge is good knowledge, as it were.”

“Fuck you, I don’t the hell know,” he snarls.

What is the matter with you? You’re smarter than this! Stop antagonizing her!

“And you were doing it anyway?” she says, and there is such contempt in her voice, such utter, disrespectful dismissal, like he’s a child, like he has no reason to feel the way he does or be depressed or want the hurt to end.

How dare she judge him?

How dare anyone?

She doesn’t know what he’s been through.

She doesn't know what he’s lost.

She’s writing her own narrative all over his life like some kind of terrible graffiti artist.

“Fuck you!” he says again.

Tim…

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” she says, clearly amused with herself.

Tim’s hand touches the armchair, and he stills. He’d accidentally scuttled right up against it. That means his backpack is in reach.

He can hear her messing with the salt, the water, and the bowl, the very center of the setup. That means she’s not looking his way.

As quietly as he can, Tim reaches around and takes out the book.

Tim! Don’t!

John wouldn’t tell him what the spell was for. Tim is mad about that, too.

(This is a bad idea. This won’t make it better.)

He knows that. He can’t care.

His world fell apart, he discovered magic, he lost his sight, he’s possessed, and elderly Lara Croft has decided to stop him from making the one choice he actually wanted to make?

Rage. This is rage. And it is divine.

Tim!

She must have looked up. “Drop it!” she snaps, as if he’s a brat with a slingshot.

That, in the moment, is why he opens the book.

It’s the third time he’s opened it.

The first gave him John. The second called gray-skinned monsters to his parents’ house. The third seems to summon a storm.

Unable to see, he cannot grasp what is happening. Something immediately buffets him—something like wind but not, something like heat but not—expanding so fast that its bulk shoves him across the weed-strewn ground until he slams against the corrugated wall.

She tries to shoot it, whatever it is.

Fuck! John is shouting. Fuck! Go right! There’s a table! Tip it over and we’ll have some shelter, you fucking idiot! What’s wrong with you? Are you out of your fucking mind?

Tim scrambles where told, pushing against what feels like excess gravity, and finds the table—just one of those cheap folding deals, probably nothing that will protect him from anything, but what does he have to lose? He tips it over and throws himself behind.

I thought you were smart , John is snarling. Thought you might be worth a little kindness, though it would cost me , but no! Whatever mercy you earned has dried up!

(That hurts, it does, but only for a moment as that tiny grief is burned up in his rage.)

As if anything John says could upset Tim now. He laughs, cackling like a fire, and stays behind his table on purpose so John can’t see what’s happening.

The woman is shouting—not spells, nothing like that, but certainly not in pain, either. In fact, it sounds like she’s reading poetry? And shooting. And moving. And doing… something that sounds a lot like a flame thrower, at least if the movies are correct.

Elderly Lara Croft, he thinks again.

The whatever-it-is he released from the book is making horrible noises, painful bass sounds that carry no words but so much meaning his head hurts trying to understand. Tim covers his ears, and discovers they are bleeding.

The woman is still alive, and somehow, still shooting. How many bullets does she have? It can’t be legal, to have bullets like that, and the fact that legal amounts of bullets even enters his head in a moment like this makes him laugh like a loon.

Damn it , Tim! he’s able to hear, and all sound suddenly stops.

In the abrupt and terrible silence comes a new voice, disturbingly energetic, unnervingly delighted.

“Oh, oh, oh, there you are, Dagster! Dag-Man! Dag-o-Rama!” The voice drops an octave. “It’s been so very long.”

And whoever said that—whatever chipper, knife-bright being said that—must be a monster, because John’s fear rises like a flood, like an absolute tsunami, and briefly, Tim can feel nothing else.

#Tma #malevolent #tma fic #malevolent fic #tma crossover #malevolent crossover #tim atoker #kiy malevolent #gertrud robinson #kayne malevolent #tma spoilers #corrupted fic

3 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 1 year

Note

I genuinely like this fancast, Rhys is perfect, amarantha too, and nyx or bone carver is amazing

(I've never linked a link in a word before on Tumblr so I hope it works lol)

OH MY GOD I am so sorry, I put this in my drafts and never actually posted it.

lets break it done below the cut a little bit.

I am totally on board with this rhysand fancast, him or richard deiss, I would be happy with either. as for feyre, personally I do not like josephine langford for this role, I don't think she could convincingly play someone I would believe almost starved to death and could hunt, and do all the trails, I just don't see it. I love her, but I just don't like her for this role. mor, okay, so, margot robbie would smash the role, we know she has the acting capability, and she's gorgeous, but I just want someone else. I want someone new, margot is always the hot blonde, like, I want a fresh face. but, I wouldn't be mad if it was her, I just think there's a geat opportunity to be had.

cassian and azriel, we know I love, since they're also my fancast options. I like the fancast for tamlin, a lot, actually. like, I'm really on board with this one. elain and nesta, I'm cool with those, nothing particularly to say, I like them. lucien, yes, amarantha, sort of yes. I love jessica chastain for this role, but again, I want someone more evil-ish. I like bryce dallas-howard. the big curly hair and the snarl when she was victoria from twilight? now imagine that with red nails and an eyeball ring. just saying.

ianthe and tarquin? love. jurian is a no because joseph morgan is my eris. if you've met klaus mikaelson, you know joseph would make a perfect eris. king of hybern is a big ol' no because that man is not evil enough looking, he looks like he'd give me his biscuit if mine broke. archeron father? too evil looking. the man is supposed to be pathetic for the majority and weak, that is a man with fire in his eyes. no. I love him, but he's too strong-looking.

cressieda, yes. vivianne, no. we can't just fancast blonde dove cameron for everything, she is not our vivianne and she has no place in acotar. I love her, but no. gwyn I can vibe with. it doesn't make me ecstatic, but I can work with it.

and the bone carver/nyx? undecided, aiden gallagher just looks so god damn serious, I feel like nyx wouldn't be that serious, feyre and rhys would work hard to make his childhood happy, nothing like the childhood those two had, they wouldn't want that stress on him. I don't hate it, though.

kallias, no. helion, no. suriel, I fuck with it, that would be hilarious. eris, no, but I would love to see sam claflin in it somewhere, even just a tiny role. emerie, yes, weaver, big big yes, beron, I can work with that, I think he'd do a good job. thesan, sure, varian, personally not at all how I pictured him, john boyega just doesn't give off the right energy for me. vassa, yes, alis, no, bryaxis, big no don't just cast smaug because he'd done a voice over for something threatening before absolutely not. the rest, eh.

14 notes · View notes

mordysworld · 1 year

Text

Perfectly Perfect

The following is a short story I wrote with the intent of making a film adaptation of it; in my next post I will be showing my progress on the script thus far. This post contains themes of suicidal ideation and intrusive thoughts.

~~~

Viridian peas lay still on the cold ceramic plate, unmoving, unwanted.

“How was work dear?”

They looked disgusting. So did the dehydrated chicken that sat depressingly next to it; he could practically hear the morsels of dead flesh, begging for moisture, begging to once again be put out of their misery, to finally be extinguished from existence.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Was that clock always so loud?

“Honey?” Oh right. She was speaking to him.

“It was fine dear..same as always. John got permission to go forward with his pitch in a meeting today” It was his idea. He got no credit. It was fine

“Oh that's good” The quiet stretched on between them, like a giant chasm forcing them to keep their distance for if one leant too close they’d plummet to their death. If the fall did not kill them, they'd surely drown in the awkward and oppressive atmosphere consuming them. Like a vacuum in space it twists and sucks warping the very fabric of ones being suffocating any will to engage in meaningless vapid tongue flapping.

The bland, boiled carrots stared at him, mocking him. Stabbing them through their tiny vegetable hearts, he picked them up, consuming them. He hated being mocked, and wanted to vomit. If he focused hard enough he could taste blood, that thought made them a little easier to swallow.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He could feel every vibration of movement at the table in his very being. The slight ripples in the glass of water waved in greeting as he scowled down at his plate. He wonders briefly if water enjoyed being drunk. Whether it found a spark of joy in travelling down the gullet of those fortunate enough to come by it.

He shook his head slightly.

Impossible.

How could you be happy in this world? A world where intrusive thoughts are a regular occurrence, where even if you wanted to you couldn't feel anything, a world in which everyday was a struggle where waking up feels like a burden where a coherent thought is hard to come by WHERE THAT DAMN CLOCK WON’T STOP TICKING.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He looked back to his plate to see several small eyeballs, sitting uneaten. He picked up the fork, scooping up the small things before shoving them down his throat.

He just wanted to leave.

Plate empty, he stood from the table leaving his wife who sat happily chatting away with the kids…the kids.

He looked at the pair again. Like fish out of water, they sat opening and closing their mouths but not a sound could be heard, just the dull clattering of teeth and the soft rattling of ribs as lungs inhaled- In, out, in, out, in, out, in- hearts beating and beating and beating away. He continued on his way to his room ignoring it, it happened more often than not anyways. He didn’t need help, he was fine, perfectly perfect.

Sluggish movements, that's how he moved. A bone deep ache sent jolts of pain through his throbbing muscles as he climbed the stairs to his uncomfortable mattress and scratchy bedroom. Why did it hurt to live? He wondered, and not for the first time today.

He painstakingly relieved himself of the clothing that caged him, strangled him. Discarding them into the dirty clothes basket, he heard them scream and beg to be not tossed aside, imploring him to care again, to be helped, for the pain to stop. He closed the lid, muffling their howls of agony, he didn't know how to help them (help himself).

Now naked, he walked into the adjacent bathroom; showering was a chore. Some, like his wife, found the task relaxing, enjoyable even. Not him. He thought of it as just that, a chore. One that was short, a nuisance and above all else frustrating. It was so bland and it never washed away the thoughts.

You’ve let yourself go.. You've been eating too much again haven’t you?

The voices only amplified in the barren echoey shower room. He didn't respond.

Pity. You looked so handsome when you were younger…Why does everything only get worse as time goes on? The poor little one.. what's her name? It doesn’t matter- she will grow up just like you, I'm sure of it. She’s just as broken, I can see it in her eyes. What sort of man are you that you can’t even spare your child from this suffering?

Pathetic.

He stepped under the cold water, he didn’t deserve to feel warmth.

Crystalline droplets of cold water graced his dry skin. A grimace painted his features as he continued to be pelted by the offending molecules. His knees finally gave out. A thud could be heard as he hit the ground, his knees would surely be bruised now, wouldn’t be the first time he supposed.

Showers were a chore, did he mention that?

Breathing was also a chore these days. It got harder and harder to do as days went by.

He despised his wife. As much as he loved her deep down, he hated her. Not for her God awful cooking, not for the looks of pity, not for her boring tirades about other mothers on their street who were rude to her, no none of that. He hated her for the ease of which she breathed. He knew deep in her soul was a turmoil, unseen by the naked eye. But when around others she breathed so easily as if it wasn't a conscious decision like it was easy as anything, it was that which he detested her for.

He looked down at the cold tile sitting below him, the water ran red. He’d been scratching again.

It’s fine. Blood was fine. He liked blood, it comforted him in a way.

You should kill yourself

“I know”

Then do it, coward.

“Not now”

You're a miserable excuse for a human being you know?

“I think I want meatballs for dinner tomorrow. I’ll have to ask so she can pick up the ingredients” he spoke to himself.

I hope you choke and die on your food, you pig.

The ‘so do I’ went unsaid but still hung in the air like a hellish weighted blanket, preventing him from moving. He cried silently, his tear ducts disobeying his commands, he was losing control of his body. He was fine.

He curled in on himself, crying silently really hurt your throat apparently. He laid in the foetal position for God knows how long, salty tears swirled with crimson blood, swiftly escaping the man who attempted to keep the two captive, escaping to freedom down the drain. When was his turn to escape he wondered. The water was still ice cold but it didn’t matter, he was numb to it by this point. Numb to the pain. If he got a cold after this, well, serves him right for laying down in such cold water for so long, too long. How long had he been here?

When he finally found the strength to get up it was late, he just knew it. His time blindness was ever present, only even seeming to leave when he would contemplate just how much of his miserable life he had wasted, down to the seconds. He always wasted time in the shower.

Showers were a chore, did he mention that?

Begrudgingly he crawled over to the bathroom counter to heave himself up, it was an exhausting task. His bones creaked at the movement, whining in protest. They’d just have to suck it up, he has to. Every goddamn day he had to suck it up, so they could take moving his useless head room to room.

Each step towards his unbearable bed felt like lead, his feet getting harder and harder to lift a pathetic few centimetres off the ground. Eventually his tired body melted into the concrete where he lay, too tired to move a muscle. For once he just wished to have control of a single aspect of his life. Just once. One. Single. Time.

He would eventually, but for now he just needs some sleep.

#original works #short story #fiction

0 notes

the-firebird69 · 2 years

Text

It seems our sun has a grudge match with the idiot next door as his clan was killed off and the people protecting the tombs were hit now the people protecting his cloning were hit and it's part of it but most of it is Stalin AKA Tommy F and saying it's our son and we hate you and it is a grudge match with us cuz you keep saying that stupid s*** as you did it to his clan so we have to make sure that your s*** won't work and would not work in the future and now the future is here and it's not working. Hasn't been working for several months you've been calling for them to come out every so often a huge bunker over here and there would empty and that was it but they're just sitting there cuz they know about the lasers do you know about the Tommy F and his plan and tell me if it was about them she can't put two and two together ever so I guess Mac Tommy f and us we're going to help you with the math you try and get us to into his apartment one more time I'm going to take all your s*** and drive away with it that's in the apartment there I'm going to post it on the door from the local government because we can do that and we just keep arresting you when you come here and they'll be forced to do it I'm tired of seeing you here I guess we'll have to get rid of more of you to do it and that day is coming you're lost and you're an idiot and you're screaming crying little child demented little child and that's all you are it's going to be proven shortly. His massive armies invading your areas massive how about a comparison and the numbers are way up there that's too many people for any society. So I use the numbers of clones as the trick no as a method of recruiting and it works. Right now we're gearing up not down to build cars trucks motorcycles all sorts of stuff I'm taking over Tesla tonight it's another place to get rid of you idiots Trump. And the massacres have started not included in the numbers where massacres of your race and BjA and they weren't really intended, I mean what a proud people you are you smell yourself while you're walking anywhere and stick your hand in your pants to check yourself and play with your junk in front of people all the time please your pigs your eyeball people for what seems like ours you stare at people and not even for information or threatened analysis it's because you're idiots you say things that are very rude all the time you don't obey the rules or the laws you're constantly coming up to works you're constantly making things more work than it has to be it constantly making people do things two or three times including your own you're just really really lousy people good riddance is what we're saying and you're very mean and nasty in your cannibals and you're gross and you got to go so we plugged your markers and people decided to eat their way out and some of them were eating 10 20 people a day no like an hour and then a minute they were huge and then they got too big for the bunker tried to kick out the side of it or the top some got to the top somehow I can hear them crying a little with devices like sobbing and crying and they died so many people knew about it no you people are idiots I didn't move the Earth at all it's like 3 miles thick your pride and joy I went on for a month took away all your stuff cuz you're stupid attitude here you shouldn't be back that's what forced it now you're all dead cuz this one jackass John remillardand his henchman

We're commencing the attacks now the wide scale and a global and clearing you out all of you stupid losers

Thor Freya

We did the same thing to other cloning and we blamed you Trump and they killed tons of you and we blamed Tommy F mostly and we took down his cloning

Olympus Doris had all of the above but it's our sentiment exactly

Zues Hera

0 notes

junekramin · 2 years

Text

Their, there, they’re…it’ll be okay.

I started a new book the other day. (No shocker it was a John Sandford.) I loved his prologue – it inspired this post. Among other things, he mentioned how he has been using guns since he was 14 and knows his stuff. Yet in one novel, since during the course of the novel one police department went from a certain gun to another and he wanted to CORRECT facts, he made a change and got called out at mention of a safety on a Glock. He KNOWS his guns, it was a detail of a “find and replace” mishap. He mentioned one other such error and the onslaught of e-mails that ensued. I’m just getting into this novel, but there’s going to be ocean diving involved. “Lots and lots of numbers.” Depths to prevents the bends, proper resurfacing speeds, etc. He’s done the research, spent a lot of time with the professionals, done a lot of diving himself and so on, but an error could sneak in. His response on a reader potentially correcting him: “Write it down, and chew it up well before you swallow. I don’t want to see it.” LOL

As an author, I both love AND hate this. We’re held to some standard – mostly by ourselves – to get ALL THE THINGS right. Unfortunately, we are human and NOT infallible. Our fingers miss things as we rush words to the page, our brains miss what we know is coming as we reread it 50 times, our betas are so engrossed they miss it, our editors, our typo killers…yet readers can catch it. Some forgiving, some not. This is mostly for typos, but the average editor reading a detailed scene in swordplay isn’t going to know the correct positions and terms. (I’m mentioning this because of a book I read once. It was obvious she competed in the sport and knew her stuff and it was impressive, but the droning on was boring to me and didn’t help the story any IMHO. )

I sat through a wonderful Brian Freeman event once, where he talked about e-mails readers sent to him. The mere mention of a bird in Superior in the 80s in one novel led to a lengthy e-mail from a fan about how he was wrong, how they didn’t migrate until XX year, ten other facts, and how he must have been thinking of a different bird. *sigh*

I’m sure if I check, I hold some kind of record for the most updates for books at my online libraries. I’m always mortified to find typos that were missed after a minimum of 8 sets of eyeballs before any book was published, even after all this time and re-releases. *sigh* There is a dear woman sending me corrections as you read this. (Thanks, Cindy!) Simple things…”than” not “that” and such, but a mistake still the same. I want them and will fix ALL THE COPIES immediately. I have burned more books than you know.

This happens to everyone. EVERY NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR and in their BIG 5 PUBLISHING HOUSE $29 NOVELS, but it kills me a little every time to find one. “How was this missed? Gah!”

One I will talk about every time is when I found “role of duct tape” in a NYT Bestseller. “How did that get missed by a Putnam editor?” Does it make me feel better? No.

I had ARC copies out and a reviewer left a comment once it was live: “someone should tell the author the difference between reign and rein when it comes to horses.” I HAD horses. My editor HAD horses. We KNOW the difference. It was CORRECT twice and WRONG twice. $#it happens. I was grateful it was pointed out and fixed them, but would have loved it if she wrote me, not left it in the review once it was published, but fair is fair, I suppose. It was there in the novel, FOR A DAY, but the review is there is all its gloriousness for all eternity – “The author is an idiot.” *sigh*

With all my re-covering and re-editing, I caught something in one before the darn thing even started! Epilog. “Um…where is the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is the u and e?” I know how to spell it, yet missed it. My editors and betas missed it. While I cried a little inside, I went to do shot glasses for a signing event. I’m not attending this year, but I still do them for the organizer. (Wild Deadwood Reads. Great event!) Here’s my machine:

His name is Carver (because I have to name everything) but do you see the brand? EPILOG!!! Not that it may or may not have anything to do with it…but it wasn’t a misspelling. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

So…maybe I rant about typos too much. But do know, if you are a perfectionist and find one, I’m happy to hear about it. I’m not one to carry on and think you need to prove you are smarter. You have excellent eyeballs or had the appropriate amount of coffee that day and I appreciate you!

No freebie posts today, although Dustin Time, I Got Your Back, Hailey, and the 1st in my middle grade series (Through the Mirror and Into Snow) are still free if you haven’t dug in yet.

I’m also seeking a new author. If you have a favorite whose books you may think are “in my wheelhouse” (not category romance and not erotica) feel free to drop me a line. I like the unknowns. (I’ve never read the “BIG” names everyone can rattle off. I like the little guy/girl.)

Thanks in advance!

Happy Reading!

~Bug

Oh! And my “hooker” moment for this post: An Elsa dress lap blanket.

We drove to PA for my aunt’s 90th birthday party and I needed something to do. Once again my PA’s granddaughter scored. LOL It worked up way too fast! It was done by the time we got there. I’ll need to bring more things next time!

1 note · View note

gumnut-logic · 3 years

Text

Callisto (Arrival - Bit 2)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Well, these posts seem to be getting longer. I’m pondering if I should make them shorter and more often.

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and @onereyofstarlight for their amazing support and who without putting up with my crazy this fic would likely not exist.

We are finally there and things can start happening. Wow, planning makes for longer fics apparently.

I hope you enjoy it ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

As the rest of the family exited the cockpit, Michael watched John deploy the last of the long chain of communication buoys into orbit around Callisto and held his breath.

The space monitor was frowning at his console as they both waited for that final connection to click into place.

A moment and John’s face relaxed.

And Michael with it.

His own board flashed up with a connection confirmed through the chained micro-tunnel drives.

John hit his comms. “Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Excel. Do you copy?”

They waited.

A heartbeat.

“Thunderbird Excel this is Tracy Island. Great to hear your voice, John.” Even Michael could hear the smile in Kayo’s voice. “I have a lot of green and pretty lights here. Send me the tests and I will bounce them back.”

“Sending now.” John’s fingers darted across his board and Michael watched the system take on the workload and churn data all the way back to Earth. “And I must say, Kayo, it is lovely to hear your voice, too.”

“Looking forward to hearing yours often. Data incoming. Will apprise results.”

“Looking forward to it, Thunderbird Excel out.” John’s fingers flicked again and the comms signal closed.

“Thunderbird Excel?” Michael arched an eyebrow at the astronaut.

John shrugged. “Well, I think she’s earned it now, don’t you?”

“Mmmm.” He looked back down at his board. The thought of having contributed to creating an actual Thunderbird...

He was startled when a shadow passed over his hands. “You’ve done well, Michael. Thank you.”

He looked up at the red-headed Tracy floating beside him. John was an enigma. He was a brother like any Tracy, but unlike the eldest who hated him with a passion that saw no border, John was quiet, even kind. Michael had been working alongside Brains and John and occasionally the youngest, for over a year now, and while he doubted he and John would ever be close friends, there was a mutual respect.

Plus, the distinct feeling that if Michael ever laid a finger on any of John’s brothers ever again, he would not survive the attempt.

It was definitely the quiet ones who should be worried about.

Not to mention Eos.

Michael really wished he could get his hands on that piece of code.

But again, he felt that it would be his last action in this universe.

Not that John had ever threatened him.

He didn’t need to.

“Are you feeling okay?” Turquoise eyes were peering down at him.

“I am well. No need to worry.”

The astronaut smiled. “Good. Monitor the comm network and liaise with Brains regarding the T-Drive’s performance. Let’s see if we can cut down on the jumps on the way back. I’d prefer to go through as little of the nausea as possible.”

“Agreed.”

John arched an eyebrow and his lips curled up. “I’ll be in Thunderbird Five assessing the danger zone and coordinating with Thunderbird Three.”

“FAB.”

The astronaut stared at him for just an extra moment longer before pushing off Michael’s console and throwing himself towards the cockpit exit.

“Thank you, John.”

A flicker of a smile and the last Tracy disappeared through the door, leaving Michael alone.

-o-o-o-

Virgil hated the IR spacesuits. They were far too tight and left nothing to the imagination.

Also, the red baldrics clashed horribly with his green stripe enough to rip his eyeballs out.

But although his standard uniform was satisfactory for short forays into space, it was not enough for a space mission of this magnitude as it did not have the survival and safety mechanisms needed in an emergency. So, here he was dressed like some kind of spandex wearing superhero, his heavy lifting muscles providing a great anatomy lesson to any within eyesight.

“Looking good, Virg.” Gordon’s eyes were laughing.

“Shut up, Fish.” The aquanaut was used appearing all but naked in front of thousands. Hell, Virgil had nothing to be ashamed of, it was just difficult to keep a straight face in a professional capacity.

How the hell John lived in one of these things was a mystery Virgil had no interest in exploring.

The alternative was wearing something like Alan’s spacesuit, but that had its own issues regarding his exosuit and despite the...exposure, this was the best option.

At least he had a little security with the addition of his exosuit support padding and his harness – never leave home without it. That and his baldric covered a little of his modesty.

Didn’t stop his brothers’ comments though.

Alan actually snorted in laughter.

Scott raised an eyebrow, but then their commander was dressed the same and, much like John, was giving the Greek gods a run for their money in the process.

Virgil felt like a dwarf from The Lord of the Rings. What was his name? Gam? Gim? Gimli? Standing next to that bleached elf.

Virgil grunted. “Let’s do this, already.”

Okay, the grin on Scott’s face was both worth it and damned annoying.

Dad had chosen a version similar to Alan’s suit. Due to his health concerns, Virgil had recommended extra support with arm guards and greaves built into his boots. He had glared at Virgil, but Virgil was a Tracy and just as stubborn as his father and if he wanted to go on this mission he could damn well meet him halfway.

Dad wore the protection.

They had Uncle Lee’s ‘space skivvies’ measurements on file and the IR fabricators had churned out an IR uniform echoing their father’s. Considering the astronaut’s skillset, Virgil had coloured his baldric stripe as green as his own and thrown in some of his own kit.

The colour combination still ripped out eyeballs.

Thunderbird Three was nestled into the Excel much like she had been into the XL, but higher up, leaving the massive thrusters behind her and nestling instead of providing the main superstructure of the craft.

To compensate for the loss of One and Two, the Excel now had a third engine on her dorsal plane to offset the two massive pectoral lightspeed engines. Together the three engines provided the huge ion thrust needed to propel them vast distances. And when the T-Drive was required, the third would go dark, the original two engines would flare up and give him his next case of nausea.

Three still connected with Five for extra stability, but she was no longer mandatory for the Excel. Where the XL had basically been an exosuit for Three to break the lightspeed barrier, the Excel was now more Five’s exosuit as she was the one Thunderbird the Excel needed to operate at her best.

Johnny’s ‘bird now had wings.

Very, very big ones.

The cockpit was crowded but quiet as Alan smoothly disengaged Three from the bigger craft, spinning her in space and pointing her towards the moon.

Virgil shifted in his suit, uncomfortable as hell. Not enough to be world ending, but annoying. Beside him, his father glanced in his direction with a concerned frown.

“Are you okay, son?”

That, of course, prompted an equally concerned frown from Scott in front of him.

“I’m fine.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he could live with the suit. His arm was still aching and his stomach had yet to forgive him despite the food he had shoved into it, but he could probably get away with that.

The worst of it was the lack of sleep.

Scott’s eyes were far too knowing.

The medic in him knew that they were going into a potentially dangerous situation. Hell, they were in space right now, not exactly Tracy Island’s pool patio for relaxation. They needed to be alert and ready.

He had tried to sleep. He had sent all of his brothers to nap during the voyage out here. But he doubted any of them managed much.

He certainly hadn’t.

Scott knew because Virgil could see it reflected in those blue eyes of his. He still looked worn, though he tried to hide it, ever the professional.

Dad.

Dad was still looking at him with questioning eyes.

Virgil sighed. “I’m just tired. I can manage.”

Those lips pressed together, obviously displeased.

Typical.

His father was so like Scott in so many ways that having both of them to contend with on this mission was going to send Virgil grey.

It was okay for them to go out on a limb, risk their lives for the greater good, but if someone they cared about did the same, they were all worry and you can’t do that.

As if to emphasize that thought, his father’s frown fixated on Scott. Virgil followed his gaze, but from his angle could only see the back of his brother’s head.

Another glance at his father and the concern was clearly there.

Perhaps something was starting to sink into Dad’s head. Maybe he was realising what he was risking.

Who he was risking.

Three shook a little as she breached the minimal atmosphere of the moon. Alan was muttering orbital calculations. Each large planetary body was different and required a catered approach.

The Base had sent vectors and the conditions that constituted ‘weather’ on the barren moon, but there were many firsts in this mission and this was one of them.

For the benefit of the rest of them, Alan threw up a hologram of their approach.

The massive crater known as Asgard swelled on the screen. It was very bright, even in the weak sunlight. Probably ice. To the north of it lay an even brighter splash of white, rays extending out across the heavily cratered surface for miles.

As they sank, the horizon formed in a sharper curve than Virgil was used to. Sharper than Mars which was the only other planetary body beyond Earth’s Moon Virgil had ever set foot on.

“There it is.” Alan, ever enthusiastic in his element, pointed out a spot quickly growing on the display. “Callisto Base.”

It was a white cross with a massive airlock at its centre. Surrounding the arms of the cross was machinery, storage tanks and energy production facilities. It shone ever so bright, like a blunted star plastered on the side of the moon.

As they drew closer, the Tracy Industries logo could be seen branded across the airlock doors.

The base was a massive endeavour. Almost entirely underground taking advantage of a small crater in the Doh crater wall, it had capped the landform and sealed off the space creating a series of caverns to house the transport ships moving between the Base and the Jefferson or any other destination they chose.

Entirely self-sufficient, TI’s hydrogen technology gave it power, TI’s heavy duty excavation equipment gave them the power to dig the base out of the rock and ice. It had helped to find unexpected caves under the surface. All and all the Base was a robust structure, protecting its fifty-odd inhabitants from the hazards of living on an exposed and radiated moon.

“Callisto Base, Thunderbird Three requesting permission to dock.” Virgil was suddenly irrationally proud of his little brother.

Commander Walters answered immediately. “Permission granted Thunderbird Three. Hold in the airlock for repressurisation and permission to proceed.”

“FAB, Callisto Base.”

“One of these days, Jeff, you are going to tell me what that means.”

Both Alan and their father snorted.

As they approached, the big airlock doors slowly began to open, splitting the TI logo in half. The hologram stayed fixed on their destination, but Three pivoted her nose to the darkness of the sky bringing the ever-hovering presence of Jupiter back into view through Three’s windows. Alan flicked a wrist and the Thunderbird started lowering into what was now a gaping maw below.

Three slipped into the airlock and the doors closed behind them.

-o-o-o-

Alan was a professional, but he had to admit that he was internally bouncing around in joy. The air was still thick with tension, his family caught up in this thing with Dad, but Alan was doing his best to ignore it and focus on his job.

And oh my god, he was landing on his second moon of Jupiter! This had to be a first. He could go down in history as the first person to land on several moons, another planet and multiple random comets and asteroids.

Okay, so Virg and Scott had been with him, even Gordon on Europa – that had been one hell of a mission that still gave him both dreams and nightmares – but he had been the only one to land on all of them.

Alan Tracy, astronaut extraordinaire. He couldn’t help but grin as the airlock repressurised and the Callisto Commander finally gave him permission to land.

He slowed his ‘bird to a perfect touchdown as the secondary airlock doors closed above him.

He killed her engines and let her begin her cool down sequence.

The whole cockpit sighed a little in relief. A pause as if to reset and then everyone was moving.

-o-o-o-

Gray Walters rubbed the back of his neck as Thunderbird Three coasted smoothly from the decontaminating airlock into the main hangar. The pilot of that ‘bird had to be a Tracy. The huge red rocket barely fit nose to tail with only inches to spare between the two massive sets of doors. After all, they had never expected such a large craft needing to dock.

He had Kate to thank for arguing the hangar’s size...with Ju backing her up as usual.

The thought of his wife froze him for a split second. Ju was going to be okay. Jeff was here now. He had always been their good luck charm. Hell, the guy had survived eight years in space alone. Ju could manage a few days.

Couldn’t she?

“She’s docked.” Mary, his second, looked up from her station. “Shall I shunt her into a bay?”

“Leave her in central for now. We’re not going anywhere and they may need to leave in a hurry.”

“That will piss Benji off.”

“Benji can stew. His team still has a week left of their Jefferson rotation.”

“He will cite regs.”

Gray turned away. Let him cite regs. “This is an emergency and takes priority.” He sighed. “Run decon in the central core. Anyone not crucial to this operation is to steer clear of International Rescue. Lock off environmental systems. Keep the two crews contained to keep the risk of contamination as low as possible. We can’t afford an accidental bug in the system.”

“Will do.” She paused before bringing up the topic he knew she would. “What about Jeremiah?”

“What about him?”

“You need to tell them.”

“One thing at a time, Mary.”

“But-“

“First we find Kate and Ju.” He swallowed. They had to find Ju.

They had to.

-o-o-o-

Stepping onto a new world was never as grand as it appeared. Hell, landing on Mars for the first time had been a trip over his own toes’ moment.

Stepping onto Callisto was no different.

It was Scott who grabbed him before he could flip head over heels across the gantry. Changes in gravity always took time to get used to and less than twenty-four hours ago, it had been Earth oppressive.

Callisto gravity was a relief…if a little disorientating.

His eldest’s strong grip wrapped around his arm and held tight. Jeff looked over at Scott and was pinned with such worried bright blue eyes that his heart clenched.

All the tension, the argument, the resistance to his presence on this mission boiled down to the emotion in those eyes.

Love.

And fear.

Scott was terrified.

Jeff did it without thought or care for what anyone would think. He grabbed his son and yanked him into a hug, holding him close. The squawk across comms and the scrape of their helmets against each other did nothing to stop him.

“I’m sorry, son.”

“Uh...”

Scott’s arms wrapped around him, ever so hesitantly.

That hesitation hurt almost as much.

He clung that much tighter.

“Dad?” It was breathless.

He clung a second longer, but… Yes...right.

It was a moment stolen.

Because they were on a mission.

Jeff let Scott go.

His son pulled away slowly, not quite fully releasing him, and again those blue eyes were fixated on him in worry.

So much worry.

“You okay, Dad?”

Jeff straightened with more ease than he had managed in a long time and became aware of all the other eyes on him.

The ever-present echoes of Lucille’s beautiful brown eyes were assessing him. That was a given. But another two pairs of blue and a frowning fishy amber had him targeted as well.

He looked at each of them before turning back to the massive cavern around them. A mix of rock wall, structural support and storage, the docking cavern was lit with strong lighting, the red of Three reflecting on patches of frozen water embedded in the walls.

They were standing on a walkway that had been extended out to Three’s hatch. It was obviously of variable height and length and Jeff couldn’t help but admire the design.

He wondered who was responsible.

He wondered if it was Kate.

Her green eyes smiled at him at the back of his mind.

His lips pressed together as his sons and brother-in-law continued to shoot concerned expressions in his direction.

A breath.

“Let’s do this.” And he led them out and into Callisto Base.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #John Tracy #the mechanic #callisto #Gordon Tracy

33 notes · View notes

hebblog · 2 years

Photo

Halo | Episode 3

At this point, I think I’m going to PLAY Halo while watching new episodes.

P+ has got to have the worst UI for playing episodes. Why do I have to physically drag the timer to watch from the beginning (if someone has already watched) gimme the option to start from spot or beginning!

So Chief’s the bad guy still right? I guess that’s a cool twist IF this wasn’t like, the beginning of his story? Kinda? In the games when he was revealed as a god, and went off path, it was devastating. This is just a soldier acting weird.

This garbage kids remind of the one’s from the H3 commercial.

Oooooh that’s how they acquired the girl that lives with the Covies. I mean….sure…still doesn’t explain the timeline of how humans found out about them in this storyline.

Also why do they call Chief “Demon” already???He Didn’t they only start calling him that after the first game?? Like, he had to become a menace to their people for them to fear him. Right now in the show he’s had some situations with them…but the war hasn’t even started???

God I hate that intro…

NOPE - NO. NUH UH. I FUCKING HATE WHATEVER THE HELL THIS WEIRD CLONE ROBOT THING IS.

Waaaaaiiiiit…..what the fuck. Did that thing just say Miranda Keyes is the daughter of Halsey??? What the flying squirrel fuck.

I get Battlestar Galactica vibes from this show, sometimes. Which is a shame, because that would make it so damn rad. I really feel like they had a script for a different show, and since they couldn’t get Halo off the ground as a series, they just adapted that existing show for this one.

So…in this story….Halsey cloned herself, and then will murder the clone to harvest the brain….to turn it into….an AI that will run the Cortana system?? Am I following this correctly??? Did this happen in game and I just missed it??? I feel like I’ve followed a lot of the lore pretty closely, I would’ve noticed this!

Obviously they have to put an eyeball surgery scene in to make me hate this even more. Gross.

Wait (again), so the brain of Halsey’s clone goes into John’s brain, the body is destroyed, aaaand that creates an AI system out of thin air?? I DON’T UNDERSTAND (I do love the old armour sets in the background though).

I do not care about this civl war refugee character. I know this girl is supposed to act as “us” in the show, but it doesn’t feel that way. WE are supposed to be the Chief in the Halo storyline. You can’t give us two characters that we’re supposed to see through the eyes of.

Put him back in the suit. Put him back in the suit. Put him back in the suit.

Dammit I jinxed it, now he’s just in a flipping t-shirt.

Kay the Lekgolo attacking everyone on this ship is rad as hell! This series’ “hallway scene”.

………………and then they ruined it by giving her….*sigh*….energy sword NAILS. What the fuck. That means human-female nail aesthetics is a thing within the Covenant. Or else they researched it specifically for HER? WHY??

What the fuck is this dialogue?? “Go, disappear” Why in the HELL would he…this isn’t how Chief acts. Sure he jumps into stuff without planning, but he doesn’t snap and lose his cool like this. He really is just some regular ass soldier in this show.

They injected her into is actual brain. Geezus christ. Also this hormonal pellet…I hate that to. Just SOUNDS stupid. Nothing in Halo ever sounded stupid.

Now it’s naked Master Chief. Oh wait, civi clothes Chief. So over this.

I would understand all of this IF this was meant to be a story about Chief BEFORE the Covenant war. This side-timeline stuff is nonsense.

WAAAAAAIT baby John new about Forerunner artifacts??? WHAAAAT

Ugh...I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m watching a generic sci-fi show, when I should be watching an amazing series about my most beloved character :(

#blog #halo #halo series #halo show

3 notes · View notes

jenniferstolzer · 3 years

Photo

Babylon 5 rewatch Episode 2.22: The Fall of Night

Babylon 5 is at the center of not one but three conflicts as John Sheridan agrees to shelter a wounded Narn cruiser. The Centauri don’t like this. Earth doesn’t like this. The Shadows don’t like this. But Sheridan has a strong moral compass and what he doesn’t like is how much the institutions around him are willing to sacrifice in the name of forging some kind of cursory peace.

Things I liked about The Fall of Nighit

1, Lennier and Vir’s friendship. If you ask me Vir, could be friends with literally anyone. He’s such an understanding soul. Lennier is by nature a little judgey. More closed off. So when they sit down next to each other and discover how much they have in common both of them look at each other like “hello what” and automatically agree to meet again. But even this exchange is done almost like spies meeting and I don’t think we stop to think about that very often. These are the attaches of two ambassadors for two of the most powerful races in the galaxy… they could very well be exchanging state secrets instead of expressing solidarity for their equally frustrating jobs.

2, The Centauri are apparently willing to put their ships on autopilot and black out from g forces if it means when they come to they’ll be in a better firing position. This seems extremely reckless and VERY Centauri. It is the spacebattle equivalent of the hair. Big. Flashy. Not well thought through.

3, In the wake of the mass driver bombing, Sheridan gives Londo an opportunity to speak and Londo is like “NOPE” and jets before he says something that’s going to get him and his whole race in more trouble than they already are. Garibaldi then reads Londo like a literal book, delivering one of my favorite analyses of the character. Everyone thought Londo was a clown, indulging in opulence, going into debt at the casino, drinking himself to a stupor in public, but Garibaldi was his friend and knows that Londo’s not dumb, he’s actually very smart and his mind moves really fast. His error is in his judgment and priorities and he’s currently in waters he did not expect to tread. He’s scared, and he’s going to keep darting in and out of cover until he feels like he has a handle on things or he gets picked off by a hunter, whichever comes first. Also a very classic JMS line “He’s a pain in the butt, but he’s our pain in the butt.” Hunt for that or similar lines in other JMS stuff, he loves that line.

4, The ache of watching McCarthysim at work is very effective. Zach knows the guys he’s ratting on don’t deserve to be ratted on and even says so. “They’re just fooling around” but we can tell by the level of interest and tone of the Nightwatch captian’s voice that they’re gonna get blackballed. Zach can’t deny that they said what they said, but can tell that ratting them out is the wrong thing to do. In the end he relents with a bunch of qualifications but the Nightwatch doesn’t want qualifications. They want names. Thank you for your service.

5, I love that the guy there to ally with the Centauri is from the Ministry of Peace. So poignant. They’ll get peace all right, by paying off the aggressors.

6, When the Narn ship was coming under threat by the Centauri warship, Sheridan opened a line to Londo just to spit in his face and hang up. It was amazing. Also during this crisis, Sheridan whips out a law book to smack the Nightwatch guy back in his hole. Sinclair would be proud.

7, Watching B5 come under attack is so emotionally stirring. Even on a rewatch, I don’t want to see it hurt.

8, We have arrived! The scene where Kosh reveals himself. I love that G’Kar is hiding in the plants – like he’s not a huge gecko man who people are going to notice. I also love how plaintiff his voice is, thinking if he speaks on Sheridan’s behalf it’ll help him in the political shitshow he’s currently in. I mean he’s issuing this apology for helping a Narn ship and G’Kar is very very very grateful for that. Also B5 blew up a Centauri warship so he’s pretty grateful for that too, I mean come on… I like that B5 has like a standard subway system in the middle of it and that they let the Puppet Friends ride. I miss the puppet friends. I love that the rotational gravity system means there’s a weightless portion in the center of hydroponics and that we used that to our advantage in this story. Also the vorlons in their native form play on the perception of the lesser races. They are light beings, and humans see them as angels. The rest of the races see them as prophets or gods, but none of these perceptions are perfect. We see wings and white robes and think Angel, but Kosh didn’t appear like a rennaissance painting. He’s got a butterfly look to him, too. The face he wears is a facsimile of a human not an exact human. He’s not perfect, we’re just in awe. Love that.

9 And finally a lot has been said about why Londo doesn’t see anything when Kosh appears. He’s been touched by the Shadows, so he can’t be converted by the Vorlons b/c we’re playing a game of Othello today I guess. Maybe because he doesn’t actually believe in his pantheon of gods so he doesn’t have any deities to witness. Maybe he’s lying because what he saw was his own greed and vanity. The general consensus is the first – that he’s incapable of seeing the light because he’s in the dark. For a fresh take on it, let’s look at the Vorlons through this lens. Kosh said before that if he revealed himself everyone would know him… I take this as being a side effect of being Vorlon. Vorlons are a feeling not an image. Like Magenta. Magenta’s not a real color, it exists on the color wheel because something has to connect red and purple on the color spectrum… but the spectrum of visible light is actually a straight line. The wavelengths for red and purple are far from touching, but our brains can perceive when they’re both present, so Magenta occurs. It’s imaginary, but we see it for real with our eyes. That’s Vorlons. Perhaps Londo saw a shapeless light thing in the sky, perhaps that’s what Vorlons really are… or perhaps they have no visible representation at all until they hit our brains. Our eyeballs behold something, but our brains have to construct it out of pieces. When the rest of the galaxy looked at Kosh they used the color wheel to construct him, but Londo was only given the wavelengths. He saw nothing, because nothing was there to see. I really wish there was another Centauri there to be like “I saw the goddess Li welcoming me to her arms!” and Londo’s over there like “I’m the problem” instead of not really answering that question. Maybe it’s answered in season 3, I don’t know. Did Vir see anyone up there? He must have been on break.

What I like Less about 22

1, So here’s where I’m going to talk about Keffer. I know the origin story…. that he was an unwelcome addition to the cast added per network request, but who the hell is he other than that? I think its remarkable how he slips right out of my head the minute he is off camera. We know he’s a pilot, that he was close to Carlos (whose story/death you may recall I was laughing at in a previous episode because its significance ALSO came out of nowhere), and that he made friends with the GROPOS grunts (who we incidentally learned to care about enough in that one episode that we were sad when they died…. Awkward considering Keffer’s contribution to this episode…) Honestly the most interesting thing about him is that he’s got an old-timey fighter pilot scarf he wears and he believes in ghosts and I bet you all forgot about the ghosts. Honestly, the most interesting thing about Keffer is how he’s a lesson in how not to write an interesting character – and no shade on JMS for that, I know he did it on purpose. Significant things happening to a character does not automatically make them a strong character. Keffer experienced loss, came face to face with the shadows, got in fights… a lot of stuff happened to him, but he was almost always the only named character in those scenes. We cared about the GROPOS because they cared about each other and we responded to that. Keffer was there to play cabbage head and ask questions. He’s not tight with any of our main cast who we’ve had tons more time to grow attached to, and dies for plot reasons without leaving an impact with his loss. Heck, you can see the value of interpersonal relationships on character development in action when the show used a shoehorn to try and force some in in context to Carlos a second and a half before he died. We had him drinking at the bar with command staff suddenly, we had him die as a result of a flight mission Sheridan was part of to make Sheridan feel guilty about it. Everyone was standing around going like “No, Not Ramirez” and if you recall on my previous episode writeup I was LAUGHING at how tortured this sudden human connection was. Keffer could have been made interesting. Follow me on this.

My treatment on how to make Keffer interesting:

Let’s say Keffer was introduced as an old friend of one of our characters – Fraknlin let’s say. He was a friend from the Minbari War days that helped him sneak behind enemy lines. Perhaps he was complicit in the covering up and destruction of Franklin’s notes on Minbari anatomy. As a result, the two hang out in medbay sometimes, talking about old times and comparing the current war to the one they fought together. We learn that Keffer has a fire for justice. Hates bullies. Sees the strong as absolute defenders of the weak and that any stronger race picking on a weaker one is a bigger coward than the unvierse can hold. Then when Carlos gets killed by the ghost he starts researching what it could be. Kosh and Delenn tell him to stay out of it. The audience assumes he’s going to uncover something and bring Franklin and other characters into Delenn and Sheridan’s confidence about the shadows through curiosity and honor, but we’re learning through the episodes that the Shadows are IMMENSELY powerful and have no patience for flies. When he breaks off from his squad to go have a looksee at what he suspects led to his personal friend Carlos’s death, we know this is going to kill him. He ignores the warnings of those who have more awareness and dies to bring back evidence of the Shadows to the station. Sheridan recognizes how Keffer’s curiosity and sense of judgment led to recklessness, something Sheridan himself is prone to. He vows not to let Keffer die in vain, but also states that the proof he got has changed everything… and that Sheridan would have done the same. Killing your men in the name of a mission is never the goal but there’s a line everyone crosses when the safety of the universe is at stake and sometimes things are worth dying for. Franklin walks into medbay, casts a look to the counter where Keffer used to sit all those nights, and turns away.

But that’s not what happen. Keffer’s dead now and I don’t miss him. Glad he emailed the Shadows to ISN five nanoseconds before he died.

Babylon 5 is now the last best hope for victory because sometimes peace is another word for surrender and because secrets have a way of getting out. On to season 3!

#Babylon 5 #babylon 5 rewatch #season 2 #episode 22 #babylon 5 spoilers #art #jenstoart #kosh #john sheridan

31 notes · View notes

i-am-trying-my-best-okay · 3 years

Text

I know I’m the only person that wants this but I want that movie Stand By Me, the adaption from the book The Body, to be made into a tv show. Like, the first season would be before the events of trying to find the dead body, where Denny Lachance is still alive and the characters are just living their lives and Ray Brower could be there and then the season ends with Dennis dying and Ray going missing. Then the second season would be about the dead body of Ray and going to go find it. And then the third season would be when they are still kids, and they all deal with the aftermath of all that’s happened in the first two seasons. Do I want this just because the lives of these characters and their relationships intrigue me a strange amount and I want to see flashbacks of how these two different friend groups met and I imagined entire personalities in Ace’s gang for those who didn’t have one? Yes, thanks for asking. Speaking of flashbacks on how they met:

The older boys:

I have this feeling that Charlie Hogan and Billy Tessio probably knew each other since preschool. They probably both wanted to slide down the slide first and ended up getting into an actual fist fight that the teacher didn’t care enough to break up. Afterwards Billy was probably like, “Okay, we fought so we’re friends now.” “Huh?” “Yeah, I heard that if you fight with someone, then you become friends.” “Nuh uh!” “Yeah huh! I heard it on TV.” “Oh, okay.” Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to share this mindset as they started beating up people they wanted to be friends with, and nobody wanting to return that offer of friendship for some reason. They were the epitome of single brain cell shared between them even back then. And nobody gave a damn about either of them enough to explain why their friend making strategy was a bit flawed.

Then there was Ace Merrill, or John Merrill, who Charlie and Billy didn’t really pay attention to until in the third grade when he demanded everyone started calling him Ace. Everyone immediately complied, since Ace was absolutely terrifying, known for going batshit insane at the hint of disrespect. Once a kid didn’t let him borrow a pencil, so when Ace did get his hands on a pencil, he stabbed the kids eye with it. But Charlie and Billy kept forgetting to call him Ace, which Ace took as a slight, and beat them both up. Ace expected that to be the end of it, only to be completely baffled at how now Charlie and Billy wanted to be his friends. As they tried to explain their ideology, Ace thought it was stupid but the two of them were persistent, and that’s how Ace begrudgingly allowed them to hang around him, but had to explain to them that not every person they would beat up would become their friends, which they had to come to terms with much to their dismay. They did start remembering to call him Ace, although it took months.

In the sixth grade is where Eyeball Chambers comes in, or Richard Chambers. Upon entering middle school Ace and his ‘lackeys’ Charlie and Billy had gotten quite the reputation. Ace has evolved his batshitness into something a bit more terrifying; he’d talk gently to you while making threats, smile at you, right before breaking every bone in your body while yelling angrily at you. Now, Richard was a pretty quiet kid, always covered in bruises from his old man, not wanting any attention. But one day he gained Ace’s attention; walking home from school he accidentally tripped over Ace’s bike, breaking it. Ace was unhappy about this, so he gave his usual gentle talking before he pinned Richard to the ground and put out his cigarette just under his eye, accidentally missing his eye, while Charlie and Billy shouted insults and threats. He was going to do more but than Richard was so nonchalant about this injury, not even making any sound of pain. Richard calmly said that he would fix Ace’s bike, to which the three other boys called bullshit, saying that Richard wasn’t smart enough. The three boys followed Richard to his work shed, surprised to find all sorts of little built machines. As it turns out, Richard was good at making things. He fixed Ace’s bike easy, but at that moment Richard’s dad came in drunk and started attacking Richard, breaking Ace’s bike once again. The three boys fought off Richard’s dad and took the bike and Richard and ran. Richard apologized for the bike and Ace just shrugged, saying he could just fix it again. After that, the three boys, especially Ace, would start hanging out with Richard, asking him to fix random stuff, him gaining the nickname Eyeball. Ace actually gave him that name as a strange way of apologizing for the scar. The more Eyeball and Ace hung out, it became clear that Eyeball was somehow special to Ace, and Ace’s favoritism of him was so blatantly obvious it wasn’t even funny. While Billy and Charlie would occasionally suffer the wrath of Ace, as well as the later members of the gang would, never Eyeball.

A year later in 7th grade is where both Vince Desjardins and Fuzzy Bracowicz, or Norman Bracowicz, would join this dangerous group of messed up kids. Vince was easily scared, and when someone or something scared him he would just throw one of the rocks he always kept on his pockets at them and run away, and he was a damn fast runner. So people kept their distance from Vince, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his rock. Now with Ace’s gang, they were an even more dangerous threat with Eyeball. He was still a quiet kid, but if people messed with his friends he would beat them up, although he didn’t care if people messed with just him, having gotten used to it from his dad. His friends however, especially Ace, would care a great deal, so nobody messed with him either. But then Eyeball accidentally spooked Vince which resulted in a rock to the face. Eyeball really didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but his friends thought otherwise. He tried to argue that he’s had worse injuries, AKA his dad, but that was evidently an ineffective argument as they would spend the next week trying to beat up Vince, only for him to out run them each time. They were then approached by Fuzzy, having gotten that nickname in the 5th grade when he threw a possum at his teacher and laughed, and he offered a plan to offer a truce to Vince to hang out and drink, and then jump him once Vince was drunk. They asked why he was helping them, and Fuzzy apparently just thought this entire situation was hilarious, and he wanted to witness the whole thing. So Fuzzy goes and convinces Vince, the most jumpy kid they knew, to come hang out with the most dangerous group in town who have spent the entire week trying to beat him up, a feat that truly impressed the gang. The rest of the gang tried not to get drunk along with Vince but as it turned out Vince was actually a fun person to hang out with and they ended up getting just as plastered. And sure enough, both Fuzzy and Vince began hanging out with the group. They told Vince later what their original plan was, to which he responded that he hated every single one of them, while leaning against Fuzzy and his legs on Charlie’s lap. (I like to think that this group of friends are very physically intimate with each other)

And finally, in the 9th grade is when the final addition to the group was made; Jack Mudgett. Jack had just moved to town, and had made an impression when he was asked to introduce himself to the class, to which he looked straight at the teacher and said, “If you make me do that I will shit all over your desk. Seriously. I’ll take the shit and rub it all over.” Evidently, he wanted to be left alone. And naturally, Fuzzy thought messing him was the peak of amusement, and he recruited Charlie and Billy into his cause, with Eyeball, Vince, and Ace only joining in occasionally. At this point, even upon entering high school were the older high schoolers thought they could knock Ace’s gang down a peg, they found themselves sorely mistaken, and at this point even the police didn’t want to handle them. Vince, while still jumpy, can now hold his own in a fight, although if something spooks him he will throw the rock first, only running if he’s alone. Jack, in response to this bullying from the most feared group in the town, was to be perfectly blunt and tell them they disgust him. Ace, naturally, beat him up so badly that he had to go to the hospital for a few days. But when he came back to school, he continued acting blunt towards them like they didn’t just send him to the hospital. This happened again and again, with Jack never learning his lesson, and at this point Ace is ready to cut off a limb or kill him or something, but Fuzzy thinks this is fantastic and practically begged Ace to let him join the gang. Ace said no, of course, even when Fuzzy got the other friends to ask too. But one day in the cafeteria, while Fuzzy and the rest of the gang were loudly making their case to Ace with Ace threatening to stab all of them, Eyeball spoke up and said that having Jack in the gang could be fun, to which Ace immediately complied and walked over the Jack immediately and practically dragged him to the table; again, blatant favoritism. Jack of course is unhappy with this arrangement, not wanting to be friends with them, but after some time actually fit into the group very well, and he joined the close knit nature of the group.

They probably all bullied Denny to be honest. Jack was the one that came up with the idea to carve a word into their arms, although he was being sarcastic, but Charlie and Billy hatched onto the idea and persisted until it was decided to actually go through with it.

The younger boys:

Gordie Lachance and Chris Chambers probably met in kindergarten. Gordie was always by himself, having trouble connecting with other kids, and Chirs was by himself too, since the other kids parents had warned them all to stay away from that Chambers kid. However, one day Gordie was by himself in the sand, talking to himself. Chris saw this and approached him, asking what he was doing. Chris didn’t really expect a response since most kids ignored him, but Gordie was thrilled at the possibility of a friend, and told him all about this story he was making up. Gordie didn’t really expect Chris to care, since nobody cared except Denny, but Chris was enraptured by his story. And so they became each other’s friends, since nobody else would bother with them.

It was just the two of them until 2nd grade, when both Vern Tessio and Teddy Duchamp joined in, although the came into the group separately. Vern was first, probably struggling hard with some assignment, and all the other kids would always make fun of him for being stupid, except for Gordie and Chris; they only make fun of their friends, which at this point in time was just the two of them. Gordie felt bad and let Vern copy off of him, although they were caught by the teacher and both got in trouble. Chris told them both off and said that Gordie should have just taught Vern how to do it rather than let him copy off him, the mom of the group even back then. And so both Chis and Gordie would help Vern study with varying success, but those study sessions quickly formed into hang out sessions.

It was later into the year when Teddy would join them. The trio were hanging out, and they saw Teddy actually trying to steal a car, although having no idea how to go about it given that he was in the 2nd grade. They went over, Chris saying that if he didn’t know how to steal a car then he probably shouldn’t go ahead and do it, since he’d probably just get caught. Vern said that this reminded him of something and then rambled on about, while Gordie actually managed to get the car door open and start the car. They all turned to Gordie, to which he shrugged and said he read about how to do it, since he was thinking of a story that had someone stealing a car. And Teddy the whole time was just standing their thinking who the hell were these weirdos? But with the now properly stolen car, Teddy wanted to take it for a spin and got Gordie to scoot over. Not wanting to leave Gordie alone in the car with the class maniac, Chris got in to, and Vern got in as well, not wanting to be left behind. Teddy immediately crashed it and they all had to run away from the scene. After that, Teddy just started hanging around them, and before they knew it they were the infamous gang of misfits; the bad news Chambers kid, the Lachance’s failed son, that Duchamp loon’s even loonier kid, and the second idiot the Tessio family produced.

#stand by me #the body #stephen king #gordie lachance #denny lachance #chris chambers #eyeball chambers #ace merrill #teddy duchamp #vern tessio #billy tessio #charlie hogan #jack mudgett #fuzzy bracowicz #vince desjardins #i know nobody cares about this but me i just had to put it out there #stand by me turned into a tv show

53 notes · View notes

olliepig · 3 years

Text

Scott-land Yard

So, as everyone knows, it was our wonderful Scott’s birthday yesterday. In honour of that fact, the amazing @willow-salix and I got together and this was the outcome.

It’s also available on AO3 here.

******

“Smile!” Gordon chirped as he and Scott posed for the camera that had been thrust in their faces. John managed something that looked more like a trapped wind grimace and resisted the urge to hide behind Scott.

“I hate this,” John whined. He'd deny it, but it was definitely a whine.

“You hate everything,” Gordon shot back, pausing and shifting to a new pose after only three steps when another passer-by spotted them and requested a picture.

“I do not, I just hate going anywhere public because it’s always like this,” he lifted a hand to shield his eyes as another flash almost blinded him.

“We’re International Rescue,” Scott reminded him. “It’s part of the territory.”

“Yes, because that’s the only reason they’re popping up like meerkats to invade my personal bubble.”

“What else could it be?” Gordon asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” John replied, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “It’s definitely not got anything to do with the fact that we’re dressed like we just fell out of a Jane Austin novel.”

“I think we look good,” Gordon argued, tugging his jacket back into place and smoothing it down.

“We do, quite dashing,” Scott grinned, preening for another picture.

“I think we look like idiots.”

“This is going to be a fun night,” Gordon sighed as they reached the door of the pub appropriately named ‘The Moody Cow’.

“Happy birthday to me,” Scott rolled his eyes, shoving his protesting brother inside.

Looking around the inside did not instil John with more confidence.

“This has to be at least six health code violations.”

“Just six?” Scott quipped.

“I was talking about the front door.”

“Oh stop complaining so much,” Gordon chided him, taking in the sawdust floor and wobbly looking tables. “I think it’s charming.”

“Exactly,” Scott agreed, making a beeline for the bar and ordering three beers. “If this is what the girls have planned, then who are we to argue?”

“I don’t know what their plans are,” grumbled John, reluctantly following his brothers into the bar, “but based on this, I do know I don’t trust either of them.”

“You might have a point there,” Scott conceded, as he waited for their drinks. “We’ve all seen what happens when we leave those two unsupervised, and according to Cat they’ve been planning this for months.”

“We’re doomed,” John groaned, taking an experimental sip of the beer he’d just been passed. “There’s no hope for us.”

“What even is this?” Gordon asked, making a face as he sipped whatever pigs swill had been glassed up and handed over to them. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s traditional, I believe,” John said, taking another cautious swig of his own, unable to decide if he liked it or not.

“Well I like it,” Scott declared, taking a big gulp of his own drink and looking around for a table.

“What is this?” John asked the barman, who fished a bottle out from under the bar, showing him the label. It turned out to be from an historical brewery that specialised in archeological brewing, with recipes taken from old texts and replicated. John raised an eyebrow briefly in what might possibly, somewhere in the outer reaches of space, be considered as appreciation, not that he’d ever admit that, before handing back the bottle and taking his seat with his brothers.

“What time did the girls say they’d get here?” Gordon asked.

“About now I think,” Scott replied, looking at his watch before fixing his eyes on the door in the hope of seeing someone who wasn’t one of his brothers. It wasn’t that he didn’t like spending time with them, but he had been promised a fun night out with some kind of activity that involved great secrecy and costumes, and he was very keen to find out what it was.

“They’re late,” John sniffed. “I’m not in the least surprised.”

“Since when has Selene been on time for anything?” Gordon laughed. “I’d have thought you’d have stopped complaining about it by now.”

“John? Not taking the opportunity to complain? Never!” Scott jested, giving John a friendly nudge.

John scowled in response. “I am perfectly aware of her way of doing things. I’ve learnt to accept it, but that does not mean I agree with it. Also, I do not complain, I state facts.”

“Can we leave him at home next time?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, please do,” John agreed, sounding far too eager.

“No, it’s my birthday and I want you here,” Scott declared. “Plus I’m not dealing with the girls on my own, this is supposed to be a celebration not torture.”

Before John could open his mouth to reply, their attention was grabbed by a door at the back of the room swinging open, revealing both Selene and Cat dressed as what could only be described as Victorian hookers.

“Oh god,” Scott choked as Cat sashayed towards him, swinging her hips as she went.

“I dread to think what this is about,” John sighed when his own woman reached his side, trying very hard not to lose an eyeball in her cleavage.

“Well hello there, birthday boy,” Cat breathed, sliding herself onto Scott’s lap with a wiggle that made him groan quietly as she slung an arm around his shoulder and placed a small kiss of his cheek.

“This is new,” John observed, skimming a fingertip down the laces of the corset he’d definitely not seen before. “I’d ask what the occasion was but you never need an excuse to go shopping.”

“I feel very left out,” Gordon bitched, his eyes still fixed on the door as if staring at it would reveal his date for the night.

“Is Penny not here yet?” Cat asked, looking up in shock as she finally tore her eyes away from Scott and realised that one member of their party was indeed missing. “I thought she’d have got here ages ago.”

Selene, who had been surprisingly quiet the whole time, now perched herself on John’s lap and lifted an arm to get the attention of the barman.

“You,” she called loudly in a demanding tone. “Da, you, you bring me vodka, big glass.”

“That’s new too,” Gordon laughed, hearing a very strange accent coming out of her previously quite common London mouth.

Selene took the glass with a nod of thanks and downed half its contents in one, slamming it down on the table, before spearing Cat with a warning look. “Nyet, remember what grandmudder say, they pay for grind or get nothing at all.”

“Da, but she also say need to show something to bring them in,” Cat retorted, her face reddening slightly as her awful attempt at a Russian accent grated in her ears.

“Minushka, she say, you show one apple, not whole basket of fruit,” Selene gave a little hip swivel that made John choke on his fancy beer in demonstration then got to her feet, avoiding his attempt to keep her on his lap and his dignity intact. “Like so.”

“And I’ve shown apple,” Cat replied, sliding herself up Scott as she stood, feeling his eyes tracking her every move. “Now he want whole basket.”

“Whole basket is extra,” Selene nodded. “We take to rooms now, da?”

“I can’t even pretend to know what’s going on here,” Scott cut in, clearing his throat and grabbing Cat by the waist, enjoying her shriek as he pulled her back down onto his lap. “But it’s my birthday and I’m very happy with having this ‘basket’ right here, thank you very much.”

He fixed Selene with a stare, daring her to deny him on his special night. Smiling in triumph as she huffed dramatically and looked away, allowing it for now, it was his birthday after all. Risking her wrath further, he placed a quick kiss on Cat's neck before continuing. “Anyway, shouldn’t we wait for Penny before we go anywhere?”

Selene rolled her eyes in Cat’s direction, clearly throwing her under the bus for her best friend being late. “Staff, you cannot get them.”

John’s hand took it upon itself to reach out and tweak the edge of the bustle pad type thing that was giving his woman a backside you could balance a tea tray on, unable to ignore it.

Just as Selene turned to admonish him for touching something he might not be able to afford, the main door to the bar opened and Penny swept in, looking every inch the Lady that she was. Dressed impeccably in what looked to be an original evening gown from the period, her eyes registered her shock at the low cut chemises, corsets and shortened ruffled bustle style skirts that adorned the other two women present.

“Did you not send her the brief?” Selene whispered to Cat, dropping the fake Russian accent she had adopted for a moment.

“Of course I did,” Cat hissed back. “But you know she likes to do things her way. I guess she just decided she knew better.”

“Then I guess that means we have a classy prostitute that’s just joined the ranks, best we got,” Selene whispered back.

“It sure does,” Cat shrugged. “We can make it work.”

“Not like we’ve got a choice,” Selene gripped her corset and hoiked it up, wiggling her boobs back into place then turned back to the boys. “Gentlemen, it is time, we have you now.”

“Is that supposed to be a romantic offer?” John asked, although he didn’t hesitate to offer his hand so she could drag him to his feet.

“In Russia we do not do the romance, we just do the bonk,” she told him, making Scott splutter with laughter. “We have not time for making nice. Time is money, friend.”

Penelope shot her fellow females a look of utter bewilderment with a dash of disdain but gamely moved to join them, running a judgemental eye around the bar and its less than pristine flooring. “I should not have worn great great great great Aunt Mildred’s debutant gown.”

“Yeah, probably not your greatest idea,” Cat laughed, giving her a quick hug in greeting before slipping her hand into Scott’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze as she led the way towards the door at the back of the room.

“What kept you?” Gordon asked, sidling up to Penelope in the hopes of stealing a quick kiss. Much as he loved his brothers partners it sucked to be playing the part of the third wheel. Penelope offered him her cheek, conscious of her perfectly applied lipstick, she might be completely over dressed and apparently out of character and her depth, but she was not about to let that stop her.

“I got held up at the Bureau, they’ve decided that everyone, regardless of experience or seniority, must now have a partner,” she snorted in disgust at the very thought that she might be counted among that number. My new recruit leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Sounds like a bad day,” Gordon winced sympathetically. “But you’re here now, so at least you can kick back, relax and have fun with us.”

Selene threw open the door and started climbing the stairs, stopping them all in a dark, dingy hallway which led off to more doors.

“I guess we’ll see about that,” Penelope huffed, catching the lacy edge of her skirt on a nail that stuck out from a door frame.

“Money first, no kiss, no taking home to mudder,” Selene called out, laying down the rules. “Catya! Penya! Ladies to your jobs.”

Cat grabbed Penny by the hand and towed her forwards to the front of their little huddle.

Selene shoved a door open and walked in two steps before stopping and letting out the longest, loudest and most dramatic scream she possessed, the one reserved purely for kilt shots of sexy heroes or cute animals.

“Holy hell!” Scott yelped, having been directly behind her and therefore deafened the most.

“No,” Cat shrieked, throwing herself over the mannequin splayed out on the floor, using all the acting skills she possessed as Selene and Penelope tried to pull her back up again. “Anna!”

“What on earth is going on here?” Gordon asked, completely lost at the turn of events that the evening had taken.

“You not know?” Selene sobbed dramatically, burying her face in John’s neck to hide the fact that she was still dry eyed as she huddled against his side. “You are in Whitechapel and you know not of the murders? Are you not detectives sent to save us?”

“Ah, I see,” Scott declared triumphantly, feeling rather smug that he’d worked it out before anyone else. “It’s some kind of murder mystery thing.”

“I see nothing!” Gordon whined. “Someone explain, please?”

“What you mean ‘murder mystery’?” Cat sniffed as she looked pleadingly up at Scott, finding it very hard to keep a straight face. “This our friend. You help us please? We not want to be next victim.”

“You help, we pay with kind, da?” Selene did some weird kind of boob shimmy that almost popped the twins right out of the corset that was barely holding them in as it was. John resisted the urge to throw his jacket over her head and drag her away right there and then before she lost every last ounce of dignity she possessed. He was right, they could not be trusted to be left alone to plan anything.

“Well, if that’s what’s at stake, then I think we’d better help the ladies, hadn’t we?” Scott asked, trying very hard to tear his eyes away from Cat’s behind as she crouched back down over the body on the floor.

“Let me make sure I understand this,” Penelope started. “You told me that we would be playing some kind of escape room scenarios and that we had to dress the part, at no point did you tell me that I was supposed to act as a braindead lady of ill repute.”

“Women no work for police,” Selene told her. “Women have but one job, to please man.”

“Women cannot work for the police? There to please men? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!” Penelope gasped, utterly horrified at the way her friends were apparently happy to set women's liberation back a few centuries. “Now let me tell you somethin-”

“C’mon Penny,” Gordon bravely interrupted her, gently taking her hand and pulling her away from the main group slightly as the others all exchanged worried glances, wondering how this would play out. “It’s just a bit of fun for Scott’s birthday. Nobody means any harm by it.”

“That may be so,” Penelope sniffed, “but I still wish someone had told me in advance.”

“We did,” Selene reminded her, dropping her fake accent for a moment. “We sent you the package with the historical notes and details, it’s not our fault you didn’t read them.”

“And it’s not my fault I didn’t have time!” Penny shot back, her eyes meeting Selene’s in a challenge that nobody wanted to see the outcome of.

Selene’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Gordon took a step closer in case he needed to dive in between them to act as a human shield, but she seemed to think better of it, obviously caring more about the reason they were there, that being her best friend's birthday.

“Well if you’re really not comfortable then nobody is going to force you to do it, Penny,” Gordon continued, trying desperately to keep the peace and allow the night to go ahead more or less as planned. “Tell you what, if we need to keep the numbers equal, why don’t I take your role and you can do mine?”

“Yes, that would do very nicely, thank you,” Penelope replied, brightening instantly and placing a small kiss of thanks on Gordon’s cheek before moving to stand with Scott and John.

John had been wandering the room, taking in everything there was to see, but now his eyes strayed from the crime scene to catch Selene’s, one eyebrow lifting in question. She shrugged in return, she had no clue what was going on either.

“So how does this work then?” Scott asked, trying to move away from the slight awkwardness that seemed to have sprung up in the room.

“How this work?” Cat repeated, trying to hide the smirk of amusement that Scott was finally bamboozled by something from showing. “You police. You investigate scene, go back to police station. Find who did it.”

“Examining body is usually good place to start,” Selene nodded, slipping back into character. “It has been so long since last victim, we thought him gone.”

“We try to help,” Cat added, gesturing to Selene and Gordon. “Can ask us questions. We might know answers, might not. But you not know if not ask us.”

“Anna, rest her soul,” Selene did a wonky cross over her chest and closed her eyes, bowing her head respectfully. “She was good to her mudder, she had three children. They were life. Now she will not have beets to feed her family, for she has been so slain.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” John whispered to her, unable to help the small smile that formed.

“Oh, you know you want me to bring this accent home tonight,” she whispered back, trying not to lose character too much. “You are clever detective, with big,” she looked him up and down seductively, eyes lingering just a second too long below his belt, “brain. You help and I reward, da?”

“John,” Scott called, managing to gain John's attention before his brother's brain short circuited. “We need a game plan here.”

“I’d try reading that note first,” John suggested lightly, pointing at the slip of paper that was half hidden under the victim’s bloody torso.

“Well, sure, if you want to go for the obvious option,” Scott shrugged as if he’d known the note was there the whole time. John and Gordon were not fooled.

Scott bent down to retrieve the blood splattered letter, noting there were fingerprints on it.

“Did you really think I was gone?” he read aloud. “My victims are many in number and miles apart, but now I am back in my original hunting ground and embarking on a series of murders worse than the last. And this time I’m upping the stakes. You almost caught me the first time but you did not succeed. Now you have no choice, find me or I will come for you next. Signed, Jack.”

“Well, that is rather distressing,” Penelope commented. “Based on that note, along with the location and time period, it sounds like Jack the Ripper has made another appearance.”

“Da,” Selene nodded, sidling closer to John to hang off his arm in what she hoped looked to be a suitably terrified way while still rubbing herself against him like an over friendly cat. “It is not safe for us to be on streets. We are honest working girls-”

“Ahem,” Gordon interrupted, clearing his throat and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I swapped with Penny, remember?”

“Honest working people,” Selene corrected herself. “All we do is the sex.”

“You needn't sound so proud of it,” Penelope sniffed, leaning over the body to examine it. “There appears to be a number of wounds to her body, all of which look to be consistent with a stabbing and slashing motion made with a knife, if my memory serves that is correct for the setting.”

“This is not game,” Selene snapped, her temper flaring just a little. They all had their roles to play and Penelope was not taking it seriously enough. The escape room usually had actors that fulfilled the roles that she, Cat and apparently now, Gordon, were playing, but she and Cat had decided that that would likely mean they had too many detectives and would reduce both the fun and the time they would be in the rooms. They had paid extra to hire the whole of the establishment for two hours and to take on the roles themselves to increase the fun. They had spent days researching, learning their lines and brushing up on the details of the case, now it seemed that, not only had Penny neglected to do her homework, she was reluctant to play along.

“A lady detective, I think that’s a bit of alright, I do,” Gordon leered in an attempt to defuse the situation, sounding like a mix of Parker and a bad Dick Van Dyke, Mary Poppins accent.

Cat sniggered to herself, clearing her throat and assuming her character once again when Scott glanced at her.

“Find anything interesting, detective,” she drawled, swanning over to Scott in an attempt to distract him from his mission.

John rolled his eyes, moving to join Penelope at the scene of the crime, although he had to drag Selene with him as she still clung to his arm. “Pass me that camera, will you?”

Selene handed him an old fashioned camera that looked exactly like a victorian era piece but it had been updated with some kind of polaroid technology so that a picture was printed out of it almost instantly in period accurate sepia.

“Huh, that’s actually quite clever,” John reluctantly admitted as he snapped a few shots and collected the photos that came out, handing them to Scott for him to examine. “Penelope, can you bag up anything that you think could be evidence?”

“I’m a little busy here, John,” Penelope answered, already rummaging in the murdered dummy’s clothes.

Scott picked up the slack and took the leather bag that Cat handed him, taking a bag out of it to pick up anything that John might consider evidence. He picked up a key from the ground beside the victim, while John took a photo of a bloody boot print and then laid a piece of paper from the detectives bag over it to make a copy of it.

Selene took it upon herself to delve into the bag too and emerged triumphant, an old fashioned pair of handcuffs dangling from her fingers. She twirled them for a moment, whistling to get John’s attention, then attached them to her belt.

“For later, you will pay extra,” she informed him, blowing him a kiss.

“Do I get toys like that?” Scott asked Cat. “It is my birthday, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware of that,” Cat answered with a wink. “You heard the lady, toys are extra, so you better have brought your big wallet with you.”

“Want to come find out?”

Cat looked him up and down appreciatively. “Is that a grapple gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Locked and loaded.”

“Can you smell something?” Gordon asked Selene, adopting a conversational tone.

“Da," she nodded." Uglichsky.”

“Huh?”

“The english, they call it cheese.”

“Yes, exactly right, something is definitely cheesy around here and I think it’s coming from the birthday boy.”

“Hey!” Scott protested. “Be nice to me, it’s my birthday!”

“And people think he’s the smooth one,” John sighed, shaking his head. “Can we get back to work now?”

Cat, Gordon and Selene shrugged their agreement.

“OK, you can start helping by telling us a bit more about the woman that was murdered and where you were in the hour leading up to the discovery of her body,” Scott suggested, although he soon wished he hadn’t.

What came next was a jumble of gossip of life on the streets, sordid tales of the woman’s past, each more outlandish than the last, a few too many details of her not so private life, some tips on love making in Russia that John was very sure Selene had made up on the spot and enough random information that all three detectives were more confused after than when they had started. Penelope had declared that they had all the information they needed and that they could relax until they were called for.

“Our work here is done,” Cat said, smiling proudly.

“Yeah, but look at them now, being all serious and shit,” Selene replied as she moved to join them, leaving the detectives to do their work.

“I wonder how long it’ll last,” Gordon grinned, lounging against a nearby wall.

“Longer than if you were with them,” Selene sniggered, nudging him gently when he feigned outrage.

Once Scott, John and Penelope had agreed that they had gathered as much evidence as they could from the crime scene, the girls, with Gordon trailing along between them, led the way to the room that housed the police station.

In the room there was a desk, a few chairs and some evidence boxes, along with piles of paperwork and notes. The walls were covered in photographs of the original Jack the Ripper crime scenes, case notes, maps and newspaper articles. There were also autopsy reports, witness statements and artistic renderings of potential suspects.

“Woah, this is actually pretty cool,” Gordon whistled, looking around the room.

“It does seem quite thorough,” John admitted, his eyes taking everything the room had to offer.

“I say we start with the first victim, work our way across the wall and then tackle the desk,” Scott decided, “that way if there is any hidden evidence on the desk we’re more likely to notice it.”

“Agreed,” John said, already calculating ways to catalogue the information they would discover.

“I’d rather start at the desk,” Penny cut in. “One often finds that the first place to look would be the last place someone sat, and they always leave things on desks.”

“Then, by all means,” Scott gave in graciously. “You know best, investigating is your job after all.”

“Scott and I can do the walls while you check the desk and then we can swap if that works for you?” John suggested. “That way we won’t be getting in each other's way.”

“That will do quite nicely,” Penelope smiled, moving to start rummaging through the desk.

“Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence,” Gordon called cheekily to her, “you’re all supposed to be working together to solve this, not going for solo glory.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you, Gordon,” Penelope huffed, firmly tucking an errant hair behind her ear that had dared escape the meticulously crafted hairstyle that was a perfect replica of a late 18th century style.

“I was just kidding,” Gordon assured her, earning a little smile in return.

Huddled together in a corner with Gordon, Selene and Cat watched as the detectives got to work and congratulated themselves on picking such a unique and fun activity. It was always a bit of a mission to find something to do on any of the boys birthdays. The kind of things that were considered to be once in a lifetime dream opportunities for everyday folk were just a standard Wednesday to their Tracys, so they often had to think outside of the box. Virgil was the next in line and they were already brainstorming, if they left it to any of the brothers they would never leave the island. No, it took their input to get anything done.

“I think we did good,” Cat whispered to Selene as they waited to be called upon as witnesses.

“We did,” Selene agreed. She glanced at Gordon as he bounced about between Scott and John, getting in the way. She couldn't help but smile at his antics, obviously they had expected the boys to be doing the actual detective work and for Penelope to be with them, but they could adapt.

“Has Penny said anything to you?” Selene had to ask, watching the serious way that Penelope was studying a letter she had found in a desk drawer. Their purpose was to both help by answering questions but also to hinder the detectives if they were motoring through the rooms too quickly. The whole experience was supposed to last for at least two hours, giving them time to work up an appetite before they ‘escaped’ and made their way down to the restaurant at the back of the building where they would have a slightly more upmarket atmosphere to eat and drink in.

“Not a thing,” Cat shrugged. “But knowing her as I do, I’m going to assume she had a bad few days at work and is a bit ratty because of it.”

“I guess so,” Selene sighed. “Bit of a shame though, this is Scott’s night and I’ll be pretty pissed off if it ends up being soured because someone is in a foul mood.”

“As would I,” Cat agreed, watching her man as he chatted quietly with John, discussing something they had found.

“They look like they are doing far too well at this,” Selene murmured, nodding at their boys. “I think we need to intervene.”

“You read my mind,” Cat grinned, rearranging her top to show maximum boobs.

“The things we do so they have a good time,” Selene sighed dramatically as she patted her bustled behind. “You know, this thing is kinda growing on me.”

Cat sniggered as they slunk their way over to start annoying to detectives. “Come on, Gordon, do your job.”

“On it,” he saluted, grinning wide.

For the next ten minutes they worked their hardest to distract the detectives with rude tavern songs, a slightly uncoordinated version of the can-can, seductive whispering in their ears and promises of demonstrating the tricks they had learnt on the streets of London.

Hands had to be stopped from sneakily wandering, pieces of evidence had mysteriously vanished only to be found hidden in slightly suggestive places upon their bodies and John had forgotten what he’d been thinking entirely when he’d found himself the recipient of a spontaneous motorboating as he got up close and personal with his girl's chest. Even Penelope had given up on her grumpy mood enough to be jollied into giggling along a few times, that was until the moment that Gordon’s hand came into contact with her behind in a gentle smack.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

"Enticing you into a dalliance, my lady," he grinned, sweeping his barrow boy hat off his head in a mock bow.

"Yes," she hissed, clearly fed up to the back teeth of the antics going in around her. "A lady. Your lady, and one does not smack a lady's bottom in a public place. And you," she pointed a finger of doom at Cat and Selene, "look at you both, look at how you're dressed and acting. It's all well and good playing a role but you're taking it too far, don't you think?"

"How we're dressed?" Selene glanced down at her outfit which, by her standards, was actually pretty normal, although it was in blue and white rather than her usual gothic black. "Should I be insulted?"

Cat just looked shocked, she hadn't thought that their behaviour had been that bad, they had simply been having fun, playing the part. Scott, John and Gordon seemed to be enjoying themselves too. Had she somehow messed up? It was true that she didn't know the family as well as Selene did, since she didn't live with them and was still a relatively part time member, but she had planned this with Selene and was taking her cues from her.

"Oh, come on, Penny, relax a bit, will ya?" Gordon groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I am relaxed," Penelope said, turning back to the wall she was studying.

Scott, who was at the desk studying some papers, caught Gordon's eye, nodding towards Penelope. It was his birthday celebration and he wasn't impressed. Cat and Selene had put a lot of effort into organising it for him and he didn't want their time to be wasted. Cat looked like she was about to cry and Selene looked like she was about to curse something or someone. Much as Scott knew that Gordon hadn't meant anything by his actions or comments, he had simply been joining in after all, it was obvious that something was bothering Penelope and it needed fixing.

Gordon nodded his understanding and moved towards his girl. His arm slipped around her waist and, while she stiffened at first, after a few whispered words she relaxed, allowing herself to lean closer to him for a moment before she shook him off.

"Stop trying to distract me, I'm trying to concentrate."

"It's my job to distract you," Gordon teased gently but it did little good.

"And I'm trying to do my job, so kindly let me do it."

"Dang, and I thought Tracys were competitive," Selene whistled, trying to defuse the tension. "OK, let's do this, boys against girls, screw the rules, you in?"

"I'm so in," Cat agreed, "who says prostitutes can't work with the law?"

The object of the escape room was to find enough evidence to point to a particular suspect that had been chosen by the escape room organisers. Almost like a game of Cluedo where there was a different murderer, room and weapon every time, the escape room team cycled through five of the most well known suspects of the original case. There was no telling which they had picked this time so the girls did their best to help Penelope as she worked to put together all the clues she had found.

Selene had spent a fair amount of time with Penelope, enough to feel like she knew the other woman quite well, but she realised now that she only knew one facet of her personality. Their interactions had mostly been on a casual, socialising level because, although Selene did work with the GDF on a freelance basis now and then working anywhere she was needed, she mostly found herself teamed with Kayo or Rigby. She told herself that this was because she was just that damned handy that they only put her with the best, she refused to acknowledge the fact that they were likely the only ones no longer scared of her. That wasn't it at all.

So, somehow she had managed to spend more than three years in the family and never had the opportunity to watch the Lady at work, now she was kinda glad that she hadn't.

Penelope was very much like John in the fact that when she had a goal in sight she was very bloody minded. She knew what she needed to do and she refused to let anything stop her. Selene tried three times to offer suggestions or to point out what looked like it might be an interesting piece of evidence only to be told, politely but firmly, that she was very wrong. Never one to waste her time flogging a dead horse she passed the baton over to Cat, tapped out with a fist bump and switched allegiance without a shred or remorse or a backwards glance.

"I'm out! You're on your own," she declared, defecting to the enemy camp, announcing her presence with a sneaky grope of John's behind where he was bent over the desk, Scott still in possession of the only chair.

Cat watched her friend go, unable to blame her. She had had the dubious honour of calling Penelope her best friend for more than half her life but that didn't make her any easier to deal with when she was in one of her moods.

A focused Penny was often a snappy Penny, the severity of which Cat had forgotten after years of not working with her on anything like a professional basis. Penelope, much like anyone that came from a privileged background, was used to getting her own way and having things done to their exact specifications. When you worked alone as much as she did, you often forgot that there were other ways of doing things other than your own.

Cat was well aware that just having Parker for back up had done very little to soften Penelope's edges, in fact it seemed to have sharpened them. Oh, she couldn't deny that her friend was excellent at her job, top of her field and still climbing, but that left her little time to waste on those that would potentially hold her back. She was of the mind that if there was someone considered better than you, that simply meant you had more to prove and harder work to do. You didn't stop until you had no one to surpass.

“What’ve we still got to do then?” Cat asked, knowing better than to just dive in and inadvertently mess with whatever strategy Penny was using to solve the mystery.

“You can look at those if you want,” Penny replied curtly, nodding towards a series of pictures beside her, her focus still on the paper in her hand.

Cat sighed as she picked up the pictures, managing not to recoil at the murder scenes depicted on them, as she desperately tried to work out the best way to talk to her friend. It wasn’t unknown for Penny to be prickly and difficult when things didn’t go her way, and it was something that they had fallen out about in the past, but she hadn’t expected her to behave like this at a birthday event for her boyfriend's brother.

“Penny, what's going on with you tonight?” Cat asked, deciding that the direct approach was likeliest to be successful. If experience had taught her anything, it was that Penny was far too good at evading questions and hints if they didn’t suit her.

“Nothing,” Penny dismissed, her eyes still firmly on the job at hand.

“Don’t start that bullshit with me,” Cat replied quietly but firmly, enjoying the look of shock in Penny’s eyes as they flew up to meet hers, clearly not expecting to be challenged. “I know you far too well for your own good and this isn’t like you.”

“What do you mean?” Penny deflected, trying to buy herself time, not liking the anger in Cat’s eyes but doubling down anyway. “I’m here aren’t I? I dressed up just like you asked and I’m even doing your little puzzles.”

“That’s not what I mean and well you know it,” Cat pressed, unimpressed but not surprised by the attempted diversion. “Yeah, you’re here, but you’re acting like you’d rather be literally anywhere else and I’m gonna need you to stop it before it ruins the night for Scott.”

Penny paused for a second, casting a glance around the room to ensure that nobody was in earshot before leaning in to Cat.

“If you must know, I’ve been feeling sick on and off for the last few days, so yes, I probably would rather be anywhere but here if I’m being honest,” she confided, feeling strangely glad to have unburdened herself on her friend.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry to hear that,” Cat sympathised, concern for her friend’s health diluting her anger somewhat. “Do you think you’ve caught something?”

“Perhaps,” Penny replied stiffly, sitting herself back upright again, clearly not wanting to discuss it further.

“You look after yourself tonight, OK?” Cat pressed, not wanting to let the opportunity go. “But can you tone down the grumpiness a little? It’s Scott’s birthday night and we’ve put a lot of work into organising this.”

Taking Penny’s curt nod as an acknowledgement of what she had asked, Cat decided that she had done what she could for the time being. Looking around the room before getting back to her assigned task, she was glad to see that Scott at least seemed to be enjoying himself, absorbed in conversation with his brothers as Selene hovered nearby in case she was needed. Throwing a quick nod to her partner in crime in confirmation that she had tried her best, she reluctantly picked up the pictures again and began scanning them for clues.

Selene had little to do but watch the two teams, content to stay out of the way for the most part. Gordon had slotted back in with his brothers as he always did, the boys working together seamlessly to get the job done, focused now on their end goal.

John had all the relevant information correlated and they had moved onto the floor to spread out their findings. Talking together in hushed voices they were soon busily discussing their theories, expanding on or rejecting as needed until they had narrowed down their suspects to just two.

They held one last, whispered conversation, huddling together even closer when Cat wandered a little too close to their workspace and made their decision.

"So, we're in agreement?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Gordon clarified, John nodding with him.

"Even though I'm the IT guy, I'll allow you to input it, since it's your birthday," John grinned, carefully folding the piece of paper in which they had scribbled their conclusion and passing it to Scott.

"How generous of you," Scott quipped. Taking the paper he crossed over to the old fashioned typewriter that had been set up on the desk.

"What are you doing?" Cat asked suspiciously, "you can't be done already."

"Oh, I think you'll find that I am," Scott replied with a cheeky grin as he started typing out their answer. The typewriter had been modernised so that anything typed on it would be automatically transmitted to the central computer that controlled the escape room, the one that would either release them, or condemn them to try again.

"You don't normally say that so proudly," Cat shot back, making Gordon howl with laughter.

Scott ignored her to continue typing. He finished the last word, hit return and waited.

Somewhere in the hall a buzzer sounded, along with the unmistakable sound of a door unlocking.

“Is that it? Did we do it?” Gordon asked, almost bouncing with excitement.

John stuck his head out into the hallway, ducking back in a second later.

“Gentlemen, we are victorious,” he announced in as serious a tone as he could muster.

“They won?” Penelope glanced at Cat, a look of utter disbelief on her face. Cat shrugged in return. She didn’t really care who won as long as Scott had a good time. "They beat us?"

“Yes!” Scott cheered, high fiving Gordon. “Team Tracy for the win! What’s our prize?”

“I don’t know about you, but I quite like the look of our helpers,” John grinned, sliding an arm around Selene’s waist to pull her in against his side. “Doesn’t the hero always get the girl?”

“Only if he have coin,” Selene shot back, yelping when his hand bounced off her padded backside. “But in this case, I shall make exception. We call it taste test, da?”

“Now I know how Julia Roberts felt in Pretty Woman,” Gordon grinned cheekily. “Here I am, turning cheap tricks on the street and I’ve nabbed myself a real Lady. Personally, I think we all lucked out.”

“Is that so?” Penelope drawled, but she allowed a small smile to flirt with her lips, one that got larger when Gordon followed his announcement up with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. “You are impossible.”

“So they all say,” Gordon agreed, offering her his arm. “My lady?”

“Good, sir,” she acknowledged, slipping her arm through his with an accepting nod of her head.

“I’d certainly be very happy to accept our helpers as a prize,” Scott laughed, pulling Cat towards him and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “Now, anyone got any idea of what happens next?”

Just as he spoke, a member of the escape room staff poked their head into the room. “Congratulations. You have found the killer. Thanks to you, London is safe again. Now, to whom should I give the hat of master detective?”

“Me,” Scott announced without hesitation, accepting the deerstalker hat and placing it proudly on his head before anyone could argue.

“If you’d like to follow me, dinner will be served downstairs in the restaurant. You must all be very hungry after all your hard work.”

“Oh thank God,” Scott declared, doing his best to ignore the stifled giggles aimed at his headwear coming from the rest of his family. “I’m starving.”

“Is there ever a point at which you’re not hungry?” asked Cat, genuinely interested to know the answer.

“Nope,” Scott answered proudly, yelping as Gordon swiped the hat off his head from behind as they walked.

“Gordon, you look ridiculous,” Penny giggled as he tried to put it on over the hat he’d forgotten he was already wearing. “Give it back to Scott. It’s his birthday after all,” she added, catching Cat’s eyes with a quick smile of acknowledgment as she tried to atone for her earlier outbursts.

“Seems unfair but OK,” Gordon grumbled good naturedly, handing the hat back as they entered the restaurant.

“Finally, somewhere that's not a total health hazard,” John muttered to Selene as they took their seats.

Totally ignoring him, not that he cared, Selene fussed around Scott, making sure that the birthday boy was comfortably seated at the top of the table with everything he could possibly need on hand if he wanted it. The start of the evening hadn’t exactly gone as they’d planned but she’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy what was left of the night.

There was something so rewarding about your first decent drink of the night after you’d suffered the stress of event planning and Selene was more than grateful to be able to slip into her chair between Gordon and John and pick up the vodka apple cocktail that had been delivered to her.

“A toast,” Scott started, holding up his beer.

“Isn’t one of us supposed to do that?” John asked as he grabbed his own beer bottle.

“Birthday rights,” Scott told him smugly. “I just wanted to thank you all for being here tonight, thank the girls for planning such a great activity with such pleasant eye candy and for joining in to make it fun.”

“Sure, why not,” Selene agreed, saluting with her glass. “To birthday rights and milking them.”

“Damn straight,” Scott grinned.

“To annoying older brothers on their birthday,” Gordon added.

“To brothers who aren’t safe to be left alone with your witch,” John grumbled goodnaturedly.

“Many happy returns to good friends,” Penelope continued.

Scott looked at Cat, one eyebrow raised in anticipation. “What have you got for me? Anything you wish to bestow upon me for the next year? Any praise that should be coming my way?”

“To my favourite dumbass in the whole world,” Cat grinned, raising her glass to join the rest. “May this year bring you health, happiness and as many enormous steaks as you can eat. Happy birthday, Scott.”

“Now that’s something I can definitely get on board with,” Scott laughed, raising his glass to his lips.

“Are you ready to order?” a waiter asked, appearing out of nowhere. He was dressed in period clothing, as were all the other staff members and a few patrons.

“What do you have here?” Gordon asked. He, like all of the Tracy family, enjoyed nothing more than a good meal and since there had been many years where such a thing was not always readily available, they had learnt to make the most of any time they were somewhere where food was cooked for them by someone who wouldn’t destroy it.

“Your meal tonight will consist of six courses,” the waiter started.

“Six!” Gordon yelped.

“There goes my waistline again, I’d only just found it again after Christmas,” Selene groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I know this is supposed to be a traditional Victorian meal, but who thought this was a good idea?”

“You,” Cat reminded her.

“Shh, woman,” Selene growled but Cat just smirked, unbothered by the threat. She knew her far too well to take her seriously now.

“I think it’s the best idea you’ve had,” Scott grinned. “I’m so hungry I could eat my hat.”

“Even the ear flaps?” Gordon asked. Scott nodded seriously.

The waiter coughed politely.

“So sorry,” Penelope apologised, “do continue.”

“Your first course is a choice of pheasant or cream of asparagus soup, served with fresh bread. This will be followed with a lettuce salad with accompanying cheese fingers.”

A few eyebrows rose at this.

“Next you have your choice of fish course, consisting of either baked salmon with sauce hollandaise, oysters rockefeller or stewed eels.”

“Eels?” Selene made a face of pure disgust which was echoed by Cat and John.

“For your entree meats you have a choice of hunters style stuffed venison, roasted chicken, pan fried duck, lamb medallions or a sirloin of beef. You can pick any combination.”

“Any combination?” Scott was practically drooling.

The waiter nodded, clearly having seen the disbelieving faces many times before.

“All are accompanied by a choice of wild mushroom risotto, boiled new potatoes, potato croquettes or boiled rice, along with green peas and seasonal vegetables.”

“I’m in heaven,” Gordon groaned.

“For your dessert course we have a choice of a delicious lemon sorbet, chocolate mousse, sugar biscuits or a selection of petits fours. This will be followed by a cheese course and finally coffees,” the waiter finished with a flourish, clearly enjoying playing the part. He stood with his order pad, awaiting their decision.

Blank faces stared back.

“Clearly this is new to you all,” Penelope sighed. “You must excuse them. I’d like the asparagus soup and then the baked salmon, followed by the venison with boiled potatoes and the sorbet to finish. Thank you.”

“How the heck did you do that?” Gordon goggled. “I’m pretty sure even John didn't catch all that.” He looked at his brother for confirmation.

“I made it up to the meat selection,” John confirmed.

“I’ve forgotten everything before chocolate mousse,” Selene admitted.

“I got stuck on the eels,” Cat joined in.

“I’m still trying to decide which meats to pick,” Scott finished.

“It’s quite alright, sirs, madames,” the waiter assured them, producing a number of printed menu cards from somewhere about his person. “I shall give you a moment to decide while I fetch tonight's choice of wines and refresh your waters.”

“Thank you,” Cat called after him, already scanning the menu.

A lively debate broke out as everyone discussed the options, deciding what they would like and struck up bargains amongst themselves of who would get to try a sample of the others meal. Scott, of course, had pulled out his birthday card again to secure himself a taste of everyone's food.

Decisions finally made it was a better informed group that reeled off their choice of food to the waiter, who’s name they found out was Carl. He left them with four bottles of wine and didn’t even baulk at Scott ordering the sirloin, lamb medallions and the roast chicken. He was getting the biggest tip of the year that night.

-x-

“I can’t walk, I’m too fat, carry me.”

“My love, I adore you, but if you are indeed as fat as you claim I doubt carrying you would be good for my health.”

Selene paused to think about this, wondering just how her man seemed to be able to drink the amount of beer and wine he had and still form a coherent and slightly sarcastic response. It was one of the many things she found quite sexy about him. Hmm, sexy...

“I do like your body to be in peak health,” she mused, letting her eyes wander up and down his body, taking in the tailored coat, waistcoat, neckerchief and shirt combo that was sitting so well on him. His hair had been brushed back and styled in a close approximation of the era's popular side parted look and it suited him to perfection, though she missed that familiar curl she liked to run her fingers through. “I’ve heard that regular exercise is key, for which I’m always willing to lend a hand.”

One eyebrow rose at her assessing stare and blatant ogling of his person. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he assured her, trying to keep his serious tone but only just managing it.

“Good, you do that,” she insisted, wobbling slightly on her heels as she tried to keep to a straight line. She sighed happily when his arm draped around her shoulders, helping to keep her upright. She slipped her arm around his waist, leaning closer. This was good. This was nice.

“Do you think Scott had a good time?” she asked quietly, watching Scott and Cat as they walked a little way ahead of them.

John rolled his eyes, having known this was coming. She always got like this when she had a few drinks in her. She would either be so over confident she thought she was a queen or she started doubting her very existence.

“You know he did,” John assured her. “You always manage to somehow dream up the best ideas for us, something we very much appreciate, and joining forces with Cat made it all the better.”

“Cat’s great,” Selene said, smiling dopily. “I love her, she’s the best.”

“You love everyone when you’re tipsy, I should be grateful that I’m getting any attention at all.”

“Oh hush, you’ll get more attention than you can handle when we get home.”

“I must admit, a night of peace and quiet alone in our little apartment, before we return to the madness of the island tomorrow, is sounding like heaven.”

“Just the peace and quiet?” Selene’s hand slid its way neatly from the small of his back to his right buttcheek.

“Not just that,” he admitted. He glanced at his brothers and their respective partners. “Can we say goodnight now?”

Selene followed his gaze, still feeling the need to check the situation one last time before she abandoned her duty of best friend for the night and concentrated on her man.

Scott and Cat were giggling so loudly she could hear it echoing around the quiet streets, that and the clack, clack, clack, skkerch noise of Cat’s heels as she stumbled now and then. Scott was trying admirably to keep her upright, just as John was with her, but it seemed that all of the ballerina’s balance and poise had abandoned her.

“They seem happy enough,” she murmured, her eyes searching out the other two. Gordon and Penelope were walking close together, though there was a lot less holding up than the other two. Gordon was a little winding in his walking but was holding his own, chatting amicably, clearly on his best and most charming behaviour. Penelope was the vision of a perfectly put together lady, she always was no matter how much she drank. Not that she seemed to have indulged much from what Selene could tell.

“Did you see Penny drinking much tonight?”

John paused, frowning lightly as he thought about it. “No, I don’t believe I did. We went straight up to the rooms when she arrived so she missed out on the first drinks and she said she wasn’t in the mood for those wines and, since she doesn't touch hard liquor and can’t stand the taste of beer, she’d stick to fruit juice.”

“Makes sense,” Selene shrugged, not bothering to think too much about it. “Gordon seems to be back in her good books now so I guess it’s safe to leave them all to their own devices.”

“Good enough for me,” he grinned, stealing a quick kiss before raising his voice to be heard. “Scott, Gordon! We’re heading home, don’t forget to be ready to go at one, any later and we’ll leave without you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gordon called back. “And if I ask if we’re nearly there yet one more time you’ll dump me out at 5,000 feet.”

“Too right I will,” John answered, not even trying to deny the threat as being a possibility. “Scott?”

“One, got it,” his brother responded after a well placed elbow to the ribs from Cat. “Although you know you’ll have to wait for me, it is my birthday.”

“One more day, that’s all you have left to use that excuse,” Selene reminded him.

“And I’m gonna milk it for all it’s worth,” he assured her, opening his arms for a hug.

Selene pulled him into her arms, yelping when he grabbed her a little too tightly and tried to lift her into the air, holding her against his chest as he rocked her back and forth.

“John! A little help!” she patted Scott’s back ineffectively, dropping her bag which hit the ground with a suspiciously metal sounding rattling clunk.

“Alright, bro, that’s enough, give her back and go home,” John ordered, rescuing his girl from his brother’s limpet like grasp. “Go fling your own around until she throws up.”

“Good plan!” Scott, who had been on the verge of pouting when his cuddle buddy had been stolen, now grinned.

It was Cat’s turn to shriek as she was unceremoniously grabbed around the waist and hoisted up to drape over his shoulder as he took off running.

“Don’t drop her!” Selene called but they were gone.

“And people think I’m the one to watch out for,” Gordon mock sighed, shaking his head.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” John laughed.

“Night, Pen,” Selene said, giving the other woman a hug goodbye and then Gordon.

They waited until the pair had wandered off in the direction of their hotel, Penelope having given Parker his freedom for the night, before Selene allowed John to drag her to the tube station. Everyone was taken care of, the night had come to an end and now she could finally relax.

-x-

“Are you OK there?” Cat giggled as she threw her keys on the table, the amount of wine she had drunk with the meal making the sight of Scott sprawled on her sofa, looking very much like he might pass out any second much more amusing to her than it usually would.

“I’m absolutely fine,” he smiled up at her, grabbing her hand and pulling her down beside him. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” she laughed as she teetered dangerously on the edge of the sofa before losing her fight with gravity and slipping onto the floor with a bump. “Just that I’ve never seen anyone eat that amount of meat and remain conscious before.”

“Clearly, you’ve never been out for a meal with Virgil then,” Scott chuckled, undoing his belt and top button to give himself more room. Now that she’d mentioned it, he did feel rather full, not that he’d ever let her know that.

Cat spun herself around where she sat, threading an arm around Scott’s waist and resting her head on his chest, enjoying the peace and quiet her flat afforded them as he absent-mindedly stroked her hair.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight then?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably as the bones of her corset started to dig in. How Selene managed to wear stuff like this on a regular basis was beyond her, although she did have to admit that it gave her a good figure which she had caught Scott admiring on more than one occasion over the course of the night, so perhaps she was onto something.

“It was awesome,” Scott declared, sensing Cat’s discomfort and making room on the sofa for her. “You did a great job.”

Cat let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding as she hauled herself up beside him. “I’m so glad. It’s a bloody nightmare trying to think of anything for you lot.”

“Well, I really appreciate the thought that went into it,” he continued, flashing her a dazzling smile. “It was a great night and I think everyone had fun. Even Penny seemed to get into it by the end.”

“Yeah, she got there eventually,” Cat agreed, relieved that her friend’s behaviour hadn’t soured his enjoyment of the night. “Anyway, now we’re home, there’s something I want to give you.”

“It’s the handcuffs from earlier isn’t it?” he guessed, genuinely unsure as to whether that would be a good thing or not.

“No, I think Selene took them,” she giggled, enjoying the look of horror that passed over Scott’s face before he shook his head to clear unwanted thoughts of what his little brother and best friend may or may not be up to at that moment.

Jumping up from the sofa, Cat grabbed a small box that she’d carefully stowed on the mantelpiece earlier, handing it to him carefully. “Happy Birthday Scott,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly before retaking her place on the sofa beside him.

“Thank you,” Scott beamed as he started to peel off the wrapping paper, taken by surprise by the gift. They had talked about it beforehand and he had assured her that spending the evening together would be more than enough for him to be happy, so this was completely unexpected.

Cat just smiled in reply, taking a sip of her drink as she anxiously waited for him to open it. Buying the man who had literally everything he could ever dream of something for his birthday was a task that she had hated every minute of and a tight knot formed in her stomach in case she had somehow got it wrong.

“It’s amazing,” Scott gushed, finally opening the lid of the box and pulling an antique pocket watch out of its satin bed to examine it better, running an appreciative finger over the ornate filigree on the back. “I absolutely love it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Cat smiled, relief rushing through her as he went straight back to scrutinising his new toy. “But your present isn’t just the watch though, it’s really what the watch represents.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me there,” Scott admitted, a small frown appearing on his face as he looked up in surprise.

“Time,” Cat explained, her grin becoming wider as she became more confident in her choice. “From today, I’ve arranged for us to both have seven whole days off from our jobs. We’re going back to the island tomorrow but then what we do is absolutely up to you. We can stay there, come back here or do anything else that you might like.”

For once in his life, Scott was speechless, unable to think of any response other than to grab Cat and pull her into a tight hug. “How?” was all he could manage when he finally let her go. “How on earth did you manage that?”

“John and Selene helped me sort it out,” Cat explained. “He’s going to stay down and let EOS run Five while you’re away so there’s backup if needed.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “I don’t remember when I last had that amount of time off in one go.”

“That’s exactly what Selene said when I mentioned the idea to her,” Cat smiled, relaxing back against the cushions now that she knew her idea was a success.

“Do you think we really have to go back tomorrow though?” Scott wheedled, nuzzling into Cat’s neck, trying to hit all the spots that he knew usually made her putty in his hands. “Can we not just stay here for the whole week, order lots of pizza and be really antisocial?”

“Nice try,” she laughed, using all her strength to shove him off. “Selene and I are cooking you a birthday meal for all the family so yeah, you do kinda need to be there for that. But after that we can absolutely just chill out here if that’s what you'd like.”

“Spoilsport,” Scott grumbled goodnaturedly, his smile giving away his true feelings about the prospect of having all of his family around him for a meal not cooked by his grandma.

“Yep,” Cat agreed cheerfully. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Nothing probably,” he shrugged. “Too tired and full at the moment.”

“Thought as much,” she concurred, nestling in and resting her head on his chest.

Silence descended over them as they lay, lost in their own thoughts. Turning his watch over in his free hand, Scott was unable to stop himself from fiddling with the clasp, repeatedly opening and closing the case as a smile crept onto his lips, the evening replaying in his mind.

“Is it time for bed yet?” Cat yawned eventually, the adrenaline from making sure the night ran smoothly finally beginning to wear off.

“Let me check,” Scott grinned, opening the watch case once more and squinting at it. “Yes. Yes, I think it is.”

“C’mon then,” she decided as she pushed herself off the sofa, somehow finding the energy to help haul Scott upright from where he was almost horizontal on the cushions.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sleepily, draping an arm around her shoulder as they made their way towards the bedroom and some well-earned rest. “This has been the best birthday ever.”

#Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Penelope Creighton Ward #selene tempest #Catriona George #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

imaginetonyandbucky · 4 years

Text

The Buy In

Chapter 2: Taking Out the Trash

by @dracusfyre

“So who exactly are these cops hassling?” Bucky asked the next day as he met up with a man called Kenton at a bodega on 6th. “The shops? Dealers?”

“The ladies,” Kenton 'call me KT' said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. KT was stocky and short, with an aggressive undercut and stud in his lip, looking more like an emo kid than a mob enforcer. “We don’t have dealers here.”

“Really? None?" When KT nodded, Bucky asked, "How come?”

When KT eyeballed him skeptically, Bucky said, “Look, it’s my first day, alright? I’m not from around here.”

“Everyone knows the boss hates drugs,” KT said, hitting the button for the crosswalk. “Like, hates. A few years ago he tried to run all the dealers out, but they kept coming back like weeds. Too much demand to keep them out for long, you know? So the boss figures, you don’t kill weeds by cutting them down, you kill them at the roots. So he started targeting the users, not the dealers. First, he bought up the local methadone clinic, set up a rehab house nearby, brought in a bunch of fancy docs. Puts the word out that anyone who wants to dry out can stay for free and gets a sweet deal when you get your ninety-day chip.”

Bucky frowned. “I remember that. The mayor cut the ribbon on the facility, right? I thought the city set up that clinic.”

“Ha!” KT said it like that, an actual ha. “The boss let them take credit for it, sure. But it was his idea and his money. Once he got the clinic up and running, he put the word out to all the dealers, making them an offer: sell him all your goods, give him your client list, and you get a new job that pays twice what dealing does.”

“What happens if the dealer doesn’t take the offer?”

“One day they find themselves on a cargo ship to Madagascar,” KT said, matter of fact. “Or Indonesia, or Kamchatka.” Bucky doubted that but kept it to himself; it was way more likely that the dealers got dumped in the river while Stark’s organization sold the drugs at a markup. But it was a good story. “Stoners can stay if they grow their shit locally,” KT continued, “but the party bros looking for bumps gotta get it somewhere else. But God help them if they make trouble, because the boss sure won’t.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, noncommittal. “So what are we doing today? Waiting for the cops to show their faces again?”

“Pretty much. Gonna talk to the ladies, then we’ll hang around and see if the pigs come back and let them know that their behavior is not appreciated.” A few more blocks down, KT knocked on an unassuming red door and led Bucky into a whole new world. He’d known when KT said ladies that he’d meant prostitutes and had braced himself for the worst: bare mattresses on the ground, barred windows, dull eyes and needle tracks. But what Bucky walked into looked more like the Waldorf than any brothel Bucky’d ever seen during his brief tour on Vice. Bucky tried not to stare as he took in the thick carpet and tasteful furnishings around the room, with women scattered around in groups chatting. Along one side of the room was a classy bar with mahogany wood and brass furnishings that had a few customers already despite the fact it was barely 5:30. KT approached the bartender, a petite but statuesque redhead with pinup curls wearing a corset that had, if Bucky’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, knives where the boning would be.

“Evening, Widow,” KT said, and the bartender gave him a grin as she slid a beer to the man across from her.

“Evening, gents,” she said, voice pure Georgia drawl. “So did the Iron Man himself send someone down to check on his chickadees?”

“Iron Man?” Bucky echoed in confusion. “You mean the Mechanic?”

“You must be new,” she said with amusement, and KT nodded. “He’s got lots of names, honey. He likes getting them and giving them. Bet he gave you a name, didn’t he?” she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the bar to give him an appreciative once-over. The pose made her look like she was going to spill out of her corset; didn’t do a thing for Bucky, but behind them the man with the beer walked into the back of a couch. “What does he call you?”

Ridiculously, Bucky felt his ears get hot. “Blue Eyes,” he said. “Probably like Jimmy Blue Eyes, I guess, but I don't know why. My name's not James.”

“It’s cuz of them pretty blue eyes of yours,” Widow said, and she laughed as Bucky felt the flush spread to his neck. “He must have taken a shine to you.”

“We're here about those cops you mentioned,” KT cut in, giving her cleavage a glance of appreciation but staying all business. “Stop teasing the help and give us the rundown.”

Widow gave Bucky another sultry smile and stood up straight. As she picked up a glass and rag and started polishing, the Georgia peach act fell away; her movements going from languorous to brisk. “Like I said to the boss, it was Rumlow and Rollins again,” she said, and Bucky’s eyebrows went up as even the accent disappeared. “They must think they got a pretty strong krishna to keep coming around here. They’ve got some of the new girls rattled. Came in just the other night trying to get a 'law enforcement discount,'" she said with a sneer, "and the only way we got them out of here without violence is Hawkeye got them too drunk to know if they were coming or going.” Widow tilted her head towards a man at the far end of the bar who looked like he was passed out, hat drawn down low over his eyes. “I wouldn’t have asked for backup if they weren’t cops, but.” She shrugged, and Bucky understood. Low level patsani, or even higher level enforcers, could disappear, but not a cop. “They also wanted a cut of what we pay to the Boss and wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell them it didn’t work like that.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked. "Doesn't work like what?"

Widow and KT shared a look. “He’s new,” he reminded her, and Widow smiled.

“Around here you don’t pay up, you buy in,” she said. “You’ll see.” She stepped away to take an order before Bucky could ask another question, so he turned back to KT.

“What are we going to do about the cops when they show up?” Bucky asked. Most times dirty cops got away with shaking down illegal businesses for money because it’s not like a bunch of criminals were going to rat them out to Internal Affairs. “Ask politely?”

“I have a few ideas,” KT said, sounding unconcerned. Bucky waited for him to say something else, but he apparently didn’t seem like sharing, so Bucky grunted and turned to scan the lounge.

While they’d been talking, a few more men, johns, Bucky assumed, had trickled in and were in conversation with the women, each of which were giving every indication that the man they were sitting next to was the funniest and most interesting man in the world. Guess that was one appeal of this place, Bucky thought; a man would never strike out here, and they probably spent good money to maintain the illusion that they were getting laid on their own merits. “Are all of the Boss's brothels like this?”

KT looked around like he was seeing the place for the first time. “Yeah,” he said, lifting one shoulder carelessly. “Boss invests in his people.”

Bucky supposed that made sense. Better margins in higher end prostitution. Still, it was strange to feel like he was hanging out in a hotel bar, complete with tipsy-looking couples disappearing into elevators to hook up. It was after 9 when the cops showed, still, stupidly enough, in uniform. Bucky suppressed the urge to curl his lip in disgust; these guys represented everything Bucky hated about his job, full of arrogance and spite and a thinly veiled hunger for violence. They were bullies, pure and simple, and Bucky hoped he would have a chance to punch one in the face. He could get away with it, too, if he told his superiors it was necessary to maintain his cover.

KT saw them the same time Bucky did; as they came closer to the bar, he slid off his barstool and put himself in their path.

“Who are you supposed to be?” The lead one sneered, looking down at KT, who was a good six inches shorter than the officer. “Are you supposed to be protecting these whores? You?” Bucky came up behind him to back him up and read the officer’s badge. Rumlow. He memorized his badge number and that of the second officer, Rollins.

“Welcome back, officers,” KT said with a faint smile. “How can we help you?”

“Last time we asked nicely for our money, and we didn’t get it,” Rumlow said, coming closer so he was looming over KT. “We also asked for some trade, and didn’t get that either. We’re not going to ask nicely again.”

“Let me buy you a drink,” KT said, taking a step backward and gesturing towards the bar. “And let’s have a conversation, yeah?”

“We’re not here for no fucking conversation,” Rumlow spat. “We’re here for our money and a good lay, not necessarily in that order.”

“Fine.” KT’s friendly tone disappeared and his posture changed, going from relaxed and open to a coiled, snakelike tension, ready for violence. Bucky had seen that stance before, in his hand to hand combat training class at the academy. “We’ll cut to the chase.” Widow was watching them intently, a throwing knife already in her hand. Movement out of the corner of his eye proved that the man, Hawkeye, wasn’t as passed out as he appeared to be; Bucky could see light reflecting off the barrel of something, aimed at Rumlow. “For you to be coming in here like this, swinging your dick around, two things gotta be true: you must have protection, some fish big enough that you aren’t afraid of the Mechanic, and that big fish knows you’re here and doesn’t care. If that’s the case, then your boss and my boss are going to have problems. But if either of those things is not true, you are in a world of shit.”

At that, Rollins stole an uneasy glance at Rumlow, who was still trying to stare down KT. It was quick, but it gave the game away – and KT knew it, because suddenly he smiled and relaxed, which made Rumlow scowl harder. “Busted,” he said. “It’s not going to be hard to find out who your protection is, officers. And I don’t think they are going to be happy that you are picking fights with the Mechanic. Am I right?”

“Fuck you,” Rumlow snarled, and swung at KT. But the smaller man was ready, and KT stepped to one side of the swing, then grabbed Rumlow’s wrist and pulled at the same time that he put a hand on the back of his head and shoved, sending the man stumbling. Textbook judo move, to Bucky's eyes. As his partner got his feet under him again, Rollins went for his gun but Bucky already had his hand on it, shoving back down into its holster.

“Let’s keep it a fair fight,” Bucky said in a low voice, and Rollins listened because Bucky’s other hand had a knife slid up under the bottom edge of his bullet proof vest.

“Don’t make this any worse than it already is,” KT was saying, Rumlow’s face bright red with fury. “The Boss will let bygones be bygones if you leave now and don’t come back, but if blood gets shed...” He shook his head.

Rumlow’s face was red and Bucky could tell that he was furious at having been humiliated by someone smaller and lighter than him. Bucky was afraid that he would go for his pistol, but instead he put his hands up like he was in a boxing ring. KT smiled faintly and just made a “come here,” gesture, and that’s when Bucky knew he was trying to piss him off. And it worked; Rumlow lunged, swinging with a tight haymaker that would easily have broken KT’s jaw.

If it had connected, that is. But instead of trying to block, KT dropped to one knee, ducking under the swing, and hit Rumlow in the dick with an elbow as he scooped his leg and stood, throwing Rumlow to the ground where he curled around himself, cursing incoherently with pain.

Bucky whistled long and low, smothering a laugh. KT laid that asshole out in seconds. He released Rollins and said, “You can have your turn now, if you want.”

“That’s assault on an officer,” Rollins snarled, trying to help Rumlow to his feet. “I should haul you down to the station for that.”

“Your buddy clearly started it,” Bucky said. “It’s not like you don’t have witnesses. I’d get out of here before he does anything worse.” Bucky didn’t know if it was the fact that Rumlow still couldn’t stand up straight or the way that everyone was staring at them, but Rollins seemed to know good advice when he heard it, because they did leave, shouting threats the entire way.

“Did you get all that?” KT called out after the door slammed shut behind them, heading back to the bar where the Widow’s knife had disappeared like she’d never drawn it in the first place.

“Every second,” Hawkeye rumbled, sitting up. The barrel that Bucky had seen was a high-end camera lens, not a gun; he’d been videotaping the whole encounter. “Uploading it to YouTube now. That should get them off the streets for a while.”

“That’s how the Boss likes to settle things,” KT said with satisfaction. When he noticed Bucky looking at him with confusion, he said, “Listen here, because this is important: the Boss doesn’t like us to kill people. We don’t do this whole ‘send our guy to the hospital, we send your guy to the morgue’ thing, got it? We send them to the poorhouse. The poor bastard gets so tied up in lawsuits, repossessions, revoked passports, suspended licenses, and investigations that he wishes he were dead. Then the Boss goes after the poor bastard’s boss, and that boss’s boss…mobsters, dons, whatever you want to call them, they don’t mind dying, but they never, ever want to be broke. You start threating their bottom line and they pay attention.”

“Seriously?” Bucky said skeptically. Stark’s file said that he had plenty of blood on his hands.

“Seriously. You might get a pass if you don’t start it, but if it happens again, he cuts you loose, and believe me, it doesn’t take the cops long to track you down. They are hungry for anything they can get on the Boss.”

“You don't say,” Bucky said blandly. "So now what do we do?"

"We're going to stick around until the ladies close up shop, make sure those two don't get any bright ideas to circle back." KT pulled out his phone and started typing in it as he got back on his barstool where the ice in his drink had barely had time to melt. "Hawkeye usually makes sure the clientele behave themselves, so you can have a drink, but don't proposition any of the ladies while you're working."

"Right." What a strange goddamn way to run a criminal enterprise. After a moment, Bucky took a seat beside him and accepted a drink menu from the Widow, whose mouth was curling like she could read Bucky's thoughts.

"You'll get used to it, Blue Eyes," she said. "I got a good feeling about you."

#tony stark #bucky barnes #tony x bucky #winteriron #no powers au #dracusfyre

65 notes · View notes