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pinkvhs · 4 years

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this has been a long time coming

ive detached from jack / dont watch jack anymore. i’ve poured so much into this story that involved the egos that i just....can’t let it go. so, im making ocs for the story instead.

inspired by @lilakennedy . . . here is some info about my boys

Marvin the Magnificent➜ Marvin Lir MacKenna

age: 27- from the 1920s

Brown wavy hair that goes to past his ears a bit

Blue eyes

Height: 5′7″

irish & welsh ( mother from wales father from ireland )

an illusionist / performer

Stage performance & regular attitude are a complete 180. Very bold on stage and confident but once he is off he is more reserved and calm

Best friends with Daniel

Knew Daniel for years, since they were around 10 years old. Extremely close bond.

Doesn’t believe in spirits but is very cautious / superstitious

Gets powers whenever he and Daniel accidentally summon Phonus at Daniel’s Birthday/Halloween party. When it was just the two of them alone.

He tries to attack Phonus since the monster killed Daniel

but once he made contact with the demon, he was immediately teleported into our timeline. He took some of Phonus’s powers as a result

He ends up getting burn marks on his arms/hands and face due to trying to physically fight Phonus when he was furious

He has powers now, some he doesn’t know he can do yet. But his powers are: ✪= Not used often. ✦= strongest. ✧=weakest

✦ Empathic Element Manipulation ✦✪Fire Manipulation, ✦✪Necromancy, ✦Telekinesis,✦Kinetic Charging

✧✪Electricity Manipulation, ✦Magical Wall Generation, ✦Teleportation, ✧Intangibility, ✧Healing Hands, ✦✪Naturakinetic Combat

Riley finds him and helps him on his feet to find a place to stay

The two of them become close friends eventually, it takes a long time for Marv to warm up to people in this strange new environment- still tortured by that night.

He blames himself for Daniels death every day.

With his new unknown powers, he tries to go back in time to stop all this from happening.

He opens up about his powers to Riley and the truth.

Riley is beyond amazed that powers and magic exist, he tries to help Marv with his powers.

He ends up needing to find a sort of job to stay at his home, so he tries the one thing he loved- entertaining people. With his magic, he dumbfounds audiences.

However, once things were just looking up, his fire magic (the strongest) goes wrong.

He ends up catching a stage set on fire, causing injuries to hundreds.

He panics. Riley tries to calm him down. But he can’t take it, he is convinced that he is destined to cause harm with these powers.

He vanishes to a place by the sea and isolates himself, causing people to believe he died in the fire accident.

He spends his time trying to prefect time travel and is consumed by isolation. though, he does attract wild life to him. they are very at ease with him

Refuses to use his fire magic

One day, he comes across Viktor’s body on the shore. He takes him in quickly to his small home that he protected in case Phonus ever finds him.

He revives Viktor to come to. The stranger is a total mess and he tries to heal the man, but Viktor grabs him on reflex. So the man patches himself up

The two live together for a few months as the injuries heal up

Viktor convinces him to visit Riley again, so he does.

He teleports there and leaves a note stating that he is alive. He can’t bring himself to see Riley face to face

In the end, he tries to fight off Phonus. He fails miserably

He returns to his home, having Riley there with him. He gives Riley his powers because he doesn’t want to die and these powers go back to Phonus.

He trusts Riley with his life

Once Riley is given the powers, he passes away.

When his body is all alone peacefully at rest in the home, without any magic to protect it, Phonus finds the body

But no magic

The demon still takes the body. Using it to wake him up again and look into his mind to find out where the powers have gone

He remains a soul bounded victim to Phonus and reunites with Daniel

Both under Phonus’s control

Chase Brody➜ Noah Oliver Dodge

age: 29 - from our timeline

messy brown hair thats dyed blonde at the tips of it

brown eyes

Height: 5′9″

American

Dropped out of university and works part time at a local electronics store

loves to break things and try to fix them up again and make it totally new!

has a passion for computers and likes to make his own computer

he also loves film and had dreams of making a film

a disaster cook but god help him he tries

Father of 2 girls

childish and fun loving

reckless at times

loves nature and going on walks / hikes

met his wife in high school (been together since they were 16)

they go to the same university, his wife studying to be a nurse

at 18 he accidentally gets her pregnant and her parents arent the happiest about it

they get married at 19

he becomes a stay at home dad and drops out to take care of their baby till she finishes nursing

they end up having another child once they get a small apartment together

his daughter is friends with Viktors daughter and thats how the two families meet

His wife actually works with Viktor and didn’t know at the time

his wife divorces him because, even though she does love him, she can’t keep working like this just to get by. she needs security and they dont have it.

he is allowed to see his kids still but at the time it was very painful for him

he lives alone in that apartment, often calling Viktor to talk and invite him over so he doesn’t do shit he regrets

he talks about how Viktor is so lucky to have such a wonderful life and wishes he could have that (since he doesn’t know the truth)

Viktor and Noah become very close and often have their kids over at each others houses

he hears news that Viktor is missing and becomes a mess. he is alone and doesnt know what to do.

he tries to make it known that he is missing online, making posts and videos as much as he can to get peoples attention

he visits the Valentin house hold and offers his wife any help thats needed, despite knowing all the turmoil they went though. he cares about the kids and doesn’t want them to worry.

Henrik Von Schneeplestein➜ Viktor Alexis Valentin

age: 32 -from our timeline

short grey hair

extremely pale blue eyes

pale, almost sickly skin

Height: 6′2″

German

Doctor that specializes in internal medicine (meaning he focuses on helping adults) but also is a surgeon

Father of 3 girls

loves to bake!

a hopeless romantic actually

he is very cold and standoff ish but once he loves you, he LOVES you

blunt to a fault still though

cares about people. more so than his own well being

extremely loyal

met his wife in university. he took an anatomy art class

his wife helped him improve his drawing skills and the two became close

he fell for her very hard

they get married and live in a house that they saved up for (with extra help from both of their parents)

once settled, they have their children

his wife is a biology teacher with a minor in art teaching!

he takes family trips whenever he can to the beach! his kids love the ocean!

he comes home one day to find his wife cheated on him- he suspected this for a while now. he found a shirt underneath the bed, thinking it was just a gift for later down the road for christmas or something. he went to fix it when a piece of paper fell out of the pocket. her phone number

he never gets mad at her. he blames himself

he thinks he isnt perfect enough

he becomes extremely distant and cold, more than before. never knowing when to bring it up

the two of them grow apart but still live together

they make sure not to worry their children though, they dont want them to think its their fault.

he never brings up this information to Noah because he doesn’t want him to worry.

very envious of Noah though and wish he would smack him. Noah has a wife that loves him and he wishes that Noah could wake up and see that and fix his actions.

he does break down one night and tell Noah everything that happened

one day at the office, a man came in with a horrible neck injury.

he typically sees people who just need some medication or the worst injury being a bite from a dog, but even that wasn’t bad.

he rushes to take care of the stranger. once they were alone for a brief second, he gets trapped inside.

Phonus used Daniels body in order to get to the Doctor. He attacks and possesses Viktor.

Once Phonus is done using Viktor, he takes him to a cliff near the sea

He is snaps his neck and lets the body fall into the ocean.

Eventually, he washes up to shore where Marvin is

he stays with marvin for months while he heals up himself, he refuses to get any magic help

once he decides to leave marvin has a hard time letting go, he is worried viktor will fall victim to phonus again

he leaves to go home but once he reaches the steps, phonus finds him again.

Jackieboy Man➜ Riley Lee Young

age: 23 - from our timeline

very curly blonde hair

green eyes

skin that tans pretty easily

the most muscular out of the lads but isnt extremely buff

Height: 5′6″

American

Lives alone in a small apartment

a college student, unsure what to major in but possibly wants to be a vet

LOVES animals!

a vegetarian !

a pretty good cook actually!

has a heart of gold and sees the best in most people, though he isn’t stupid. he knows there are terrible people in the world that can’t change and deserve punches to the face

he watches pets and volunteers at animal shelters!

he also babysits Viktors kids to get some money

was kicked out of his home. Viktor found out about it and bought him a small apartment to live in. (he would of offered Riley to stay but he has issues at home that he doesn’t want to subject Riley to on the daily)

he is the girls big brother figure and he loves to pay pretend with them !

He meets Marvin and they eventually become friends

he helps Marvin gain back confidence, giving him a place to stay, and helps him actually feel . . at home in this timeline

when he finds out the truth that marvin is from the 1920s and has powers he cannot get over how cool it is! calling him a super hero and showing him comics that he has. he helps marvin try to get a better hold on the powers

he was around whenever the fire accident with marvins powers happen, he tries to calm marvin down but ends up alone. left to wonder what happened to his friend.

When he has to start university up again he has to let the Valentin family know that he can’t be around as much as before but will try to help out if needed

Viktor’s wife ends up calling Riley one day and begs him to come to the house as soon as he can for Viktor has been missing for days now

Riley puts up posters and gets the news out that Viktor is missing as much as he can around the city.

He still goes to university but spends a lot of time in the Valentin household. Visiting on holidays and the girls birthdays. Having no news of Viktor.

he later on gains marvins powers, his mainly being electricity and strength.

he is set on finding phonus and fixing things for marvins sake

Jameson Jackson➜ Daniel Edmund Thomas

age: 27 - from the 1920s

slicked short black hair

brown eyes

Height: 5′7″

British

a charming, bold, charismatic man

an actor and musician, exceptionally good on piano

very witty and clever

lives a rather extravagant life

very close friends with Marvin, trusts him with his life

on his 27th birthday on Halloween, he throws a party

he loves to mess around with guests and asks Marvin if they can have a a seance

they try it to entertain the guests, but nothing happens (to marvins relief)

the party continues on till its just marvin and him by the end of the night

they try again to contact from the beyond

they succeed

he comes face to face with the demon. an invisible hand causing him to kill himself. making Marvin watch

he becomes Antiphonus’s personal toy

his mind becomes warped and he loses all sense of who he used to be

he tries to fight back, but once he does, his tongue is cut out of his mouth. never to be able to voice for help again

his body now bound to Phonus becomes a personal pin cushion. being cut open and inspected to see how far humans have come with healing themselves. to see how far a human body can handle things

being trapped with phonus he starts to believe that Marvin caused his death. he believes everything phonus tells him and is set on killing marvin

he becomes very aware of realities all thanks to Phonus.

Antisepticeye➜ Antiphonus

age: unknown.

an immortal being / demon

seems to have been around for centuries

first appears invisible, then a shadow figure, to a pitch black faceless figure that takes on more of a human shape - till finally, he appears to look like Daniel

he is fascinated with humans, very curious and destructive

he takes Daniel in as a host. he rests inside of Daniel’s body till he is strong enough to mimic the physical outer appearance of him

when he possesses people becomes stronger. he doesnt have full control right away, it takes him a bit of time to warm up once again to how powerful he used to be.

he can see into his victims mind when possessing them, he knows all what Daniel knows / remembers. Daniels fame, fears, friendship. family, love- he knows it all.

He uses this to his advantage to keep Daniel around without fighting him back- using Marvin against him

he is after the powers that he accidentally gave to Marvin on impact

he travels to the dimensions he has access to and time lines in hopes to find Marvin, taking Daniel along with no choice

he lands in our dimension and timeline to sense that his powers are close by

He ends up sabotaging Marvin’s performance with fire magic in order to kill him or capture him but it fails- he looses sight of him

While he is searching through the streets, he over hears talk about the human body. He comes across Viktors practice building and opens the door a crack. He can sense so many souls and blood in that building and gets vastly curious. He notices people injured and ill, waiting for care. He hatches an idea.

He returns to Daniel and possesses his body. He takes Daniel to an alley way close to the building, away from the eyes of others. He grabs the sharpest thing he can find and plunges it deep into the side of his neck and carves it out slowly and rips it out.

He quickly makes Daniel reach the building and barges in, causing everyone to look on in horror. The nurses there rush to his aid as Phonus makes Daniel gasp and hold his neck to try to stop the bleeding. Nurses page for Viktor asap as they get Daniel to a stretcher and room fast. Viktor arrives shortly after and is fast to help Daniel. Daniel just looks at Viktor and tries to nod.

Once the nurses leave for a brief moment and its just him and Viktor, Phonus makes the door lock them inside.

Viktor goes to inject him with medication but Daniel reaches out and grabs Viktors arm. He say to Daniel that he knows needles are scary but you need this now, let go please. Daniel sits up and twists Viktors arm, causing Viktor to wince in pain while looking shocked.

He grabs Daniels hand with his free one and tries to pry it away, but can't. Daniel kicks him away, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. He gets up from the bed. The lights inside the room begin to flicker faster and faster. Electronics in the room flickering on and off, radios and tv consumed with fast stations, fluctuating volumes, and static. Viktor gets to his feet and hears all this noise and sees this horror in front of him.

Phonus leaves Daniels body, causing Daniel's wound to disappear. Phonus stands in front of him.

He gets inside of Viktors mind to find all that he can about the human body and the amount of pain that it can handle.

He sees in Viktors mind a young man with curly blonde hair. And for a brief moment inside of Viktors mind, he sees Marvin

in the end he ends up taking Marvin captive but finds that the powers are gone.

he keeps marvin around because he sees too, that he gave that blonde boy his powers

so he is on the hunt for Riley

#.txt #smoke & mirrors #not yt related #long post #my ocs #THIS ISNT EVERY SINGLE DETAIL BUT GOD HELP ME THIS WAS HARD #I HAD TO HOLD BACK A L O T #BUT I NEEDED.....SOME OF THE IDEAS IN THERE LSDJFDAS

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josiegellersbff · 7 years

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its not okay

so.. very few times in my life have i wished i had never met a certain person, but i guess i need to make the list a little longer. I'm sure my friends are tired of hearing about how hurt i am. i've been awkward and fat most of my life but it's never really felt like that was all that i am, until i met you. Months went by where we talked as if we were already dating, you called me beautiful, gorgeous, adorable, and so many other sweet things and told me meeting me would be the best birthday present in the world. i had hope in my heart that everything was going to work out. i was anxious as fuck but i put the final touches on your present, and headed off to see you.. three hours away. i had the whole drive to think about best and worst case scenario, little did i know itd be worst case pretty much from the start. i got to your apartment and gave you your present (which i didnt even see you look at twice) then i played with your dogs (who liked me more than you did, apparently) while you cleaned out your car so we could go. We get in the car for the 20-25 minute drive, during which i try to make conversation and you're just not having it. We get to the aquarium and you fucking speed walk through the while thing only occasionally looking back to see if i was still there (EVEN THO IM PRETTY FUCKING POSITIVE YOU HAD WISHED I WASNT). Afterwards, we're walking back to your car and you get a phone call. the call lasts about 5 seconds, and you casually (while not being able to look me in the fucking eye) tell me that you need to go pick up your friend so youre gunna drop me off and go get her. i could feel in my gut that you were lying to me and there was no emergency. We get back into your car at the aquarium and yet again for the whole ride, not a word is said. i started sniffling just because of allergies and you look over at me, i looked the other way because even tho i wasnt crying i kind of wanted you to think i was. then you started sniffling, part of me hopes you have allergies but the other part hopes you were crying because you realized how fucking shitty the situation was. we get back to your apartment parking lot, you park, and then cant even look at me. you lean into your steering wheel, say "sorry again", and that was that. i tried to say thats okay but it wasnt so it came out a little delayed and weird but that was the least of my worries. You sped off before i was even inside of my car, where i sat for probably 5 minutes just crying because of everything that just happened. i compose myself enough to drive and head to my sisters because LUCKILY i had somewhere to go, not that you cared. In an unfortunate coincidence i had to drive by your work to get to my sisters and GUESS WHOSE CAR WAS IN THE PARKING LOT?? The same exact car I just had one if the worst experiences of my life in. The same car that is supposed to be off rescuing a friend in need from her home. The same car i used to imagine we'd go on road trips together in. All this does is confirm all of my worst fears. i get to my sisters and wait a little while and then message you saying i hope your friend is okay. you tell me "thanks, she's really shaken up" STILL LYING TO ME. i ask if youre gunna want to try again tomorrow and you say you have to work. after telling me the very day before that you couldnt wait to spend the two days, that you had taken off of work for your birthday, with me. So at this point its nothing but blatant that you're not going to tell me the truth. I should've given up right there but i go on to ask if i did something wrong, you say "no? i just forgot i have to work" to which i said "i just thought maybe it was me because you said you were off for your birthday" and you tell me somebody got fired so youre covering. this is a totally reasonable answer but after everything that has happened, i dont fucking believe you. I was already so defeated and embarrassed so i didnt want to push. i tell you you can just message me later because you're supposedly consoling a hurt friend. i sent you a video of my nephew because he's the cutest but thats it.. i didnt push, i didnt bombard, i didnt do anything. then its midnight and i go to snapchat a friend about everything and i immediately realize your name, along with our snapstreak, is fucking gone. My heart sinks even further and i go check facebook to see if you deleted me there too and sure enough i see that dreaded lil "add friend" button. Without a goodbye or a single word, you deleted me from your life. I cant recall ever being so embarrassed or defeated. All that was left of us was your picture on my snap story where the night before i had told you happy birthday and that i couldnt wait to see you, along with all the screenshots we took of each others cutesy snaps. Actually thats not true, my phone is chockfull of songs that i only listened to because they made me think of you and everything we were going to be. Ive already deleted some music and pictures but after this post i plan on purging you from my life. I cant express how stupid and naive i feel because i believed everything you told me, i actually thought this was going to work out. Maybe its my own fault, maybe i jinxed everything by telling people and posting about you. No matter what, im sorry. Whether i did something wrong or you just didnt like the way i looked, im sorry. I'm sorry because, not to sound arrogant, i saw the difference in you when i was in your life. You were happier in general with the idea of me in your life. Im sorry that i either did something wrong or you are so fucking shallow and that this didn't work out. i know you wanted it to, so yeah im fucking sorry and i cant even tell you because you had to go and do the bitchiest thing possible and delete me from your life. A big part of me still wants you to be happy but the rest of me wants you to use that owl mug i gave you (because you love owls) often af and i want you think of that girl you fucked over that one time. I want to be stuck in your head. I dont want you to suffer but i do want to cross your mind sometimes. I dont want to be forgotten because this wasnt okay. I told you it was, it was the last thing you heard me say, but its not. In no way, shape, or form is this okay. I'm not okay. I was falling for you and now i feel like I cant trust my instincts because you got in under my soggy asshat radar and that pisses me off. I'm already dreading the day i run into you somewhere random after you move here next month. my family says theyre proud of me for even going to see you but im so full of regret it makes my heart hurt. I feel like i've lost a girlfriend and a good friend, even tho im supposed to just hate you now. I miss you so much and i feel like an idiot for it because it was so easy for you to just leave. At least it's over now, I guess. I don't have to wonder what will happen anymore. Bye, E.

#personal #so fucked #e

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nate-the-ok · 5 years

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Sugar Napkins Glass

One of my larger projects, written in a particular mood, then I got out of the mood. Lost interest. Its a time investment, fair warning

Sugar, Napkins, Glass: Chapter 1

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. The things sea air does to cream cheese.

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. (Three more furious scraping sessions)

It was late evening on the isles of Costa Marco, and Greg Sattle was deeply contemplating how drowning actually felt as he psychologically held his nose and cleaned the day`s cream cheese stains from the floors of his seaside café, The Port Side. He certaintly never imagined himself as the owner of some cream-colored scene out of a Martha Stewart Magazine, but crazier things have been done for love. Well perhaps not, Greg thought to himself. Ships were launched. Hundreds, perhaps thousands have died. But no one surely would subject themselves to ten years of imprisonment in a coffee shop. Her name, as apt as names go, has changed over the years. First, it was Elizabeth. Then, it was Liz. Then it was Ellie. After that it was Mom. Now its…well there are a plethora of profanities on Costa Marco relating to nagging old sea hags.

As the sun set over the ocean waves, bubbling and rippling the light from a distance, inducing a trance-like state for all of the barely clothed onlookers, Greg scanned the beaches, reigning down his mighty judgement upon all of god`s creation.

“Perverts. Sicophants. Mankind is a disgusting thing. All of these people, living artificial lives in artificial clothes, with artificial personalities, having sex with each other and drinking and lazing about. The fat jiggling bipeds live meaningless lives, consuming and consuming and consuming. A colony of walruses lives with more honor”

While deep in his sociopathic rants, Greg`s only son and heir to his legacy, Samuel, sauntered over to his father.

“Hey uhh, dad”

Greg hated his son. He was positive that he was the dumbest person on the entire island. No, the entire planet. It wasn`t even that that bothered him. It was his stupid, rage inducing manner of speech. It was a cross between the calm, swaying way of the islanders, and a lifetime of listening to the worst music god ever created. It was like listening to a four year old whine about having wet himself for 23 years. There were many occasions where Greg would chuckle to himself as Sam stubbed his toe on a door, or got beat up by a gang of street thugs. Ah the glories of cosmic justice he thought to himself. Now he approaches, likely to ask for something, as all weak willed individuals do on a regular basis.

“Yes Sam?” Greg said with obvious disdain, mocking Sam`s imperceptiveness, and crying on the inside that his son would always be, that stupid.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to loan me like uh…fifty bucks?”

Another thing that bothered Greg about Sam. He had zero charisma. He came off as needy and useless as he actually was. The only job he could ever get, was washing dishes at the cafe, which somehow, he still showed up late for. You couldn`t send him to military school to straighten him out, because they`d probably kill him for being such an annoying little shit, and say it was an accident. It was that part, that he regretted that his son would die, that really bothered Greg. Why god? Why other than by blood relations should I care about this…

“What exactly for?” Greg retorted

“Um…Im taking a girl on a date and I uh…need some spending money”

It was here that Greg paused. Surely, with this small investment of mere material gains, perhaps this will finally change sam`s silly ways. Hopefully he falls in love with this girl, and eventually she breaks his heart, that always toughens up a man in the end. Good god was sam a virgin? It`s a distinct possibility, but how could he know? Sam never confided in Greg. Ever. What the hell. Maybe it`s worth a shot.

“Sure, here…consider it a bonus…actually it`s not a bonus you`re a terrible worker and if you weren`t my son i`d fire you”

“Thanks dad!” Sam replied with renewed elation, as he scurried out the door, hopping into the old convertible Greg had gave him for his nineteenth birthday. Another failed attempt at manning him up.

“Maybe im just a shitty parent” Greg said out loud to himself.

Maybe he`s a lot of shitty things. However, that`s not nearly the most important part of this story.

“Oh a whisky oh a danny, when will the whisky run dry?” Bellowed each member of the small crew. Caribbean lobsters were rare, but in recent years, their populations blossomed, for almost unfathomable reasons. Regardless, dozens of fishing companies cropped up around Costa Marco, looking to cash in on a commoditiy, which pound for pound, was more valuable than gold. Of this small crew of the “Sandy Boot”, there was Rook, the boats` captain. He was a truck driver, for more years than he cared to remember, or forget for that matter. When the sea called to him, he remembered childhood stories his grandmother told him, of sailors and pirates, of heroes, and most importantly, drunks. Those decades of sitting in the cab of a truck, passing by non-descript highway rest stops and meaningless landmarks gave him a hunger for a real culture, and companionship. Sure there was the occasional bar-room hookup, as many as a guy as old and as fat as him could get but…he wanted a friend. More than anything.

Rook did the song justice, and drained the last swig of whisky from the clear glass bottle. Happily giggling as he spun the thin aluminum wheel around in the cabin making a course for home, while the other members of the crew scoffed in sarcastic disappointment. The small lobster boat only cost the crew a collective fifteen grand to purchase and insure, but had already made them incredible returns. None felt the weight of that more than Trip, the crew`s most experienced fisherman, but also the poorest. You see, Trip was a local to Costa Marco. His ancestors were slaves, and each preceding generation were slaves. First to white men, then to oppressive governments, then to drugs, and finally, to the sea. Many of the ethnic locals to Costa Marco are fishermen. But not all of them were ever good fishermen. All of them, save for Trip. To anybody else, he was just another kid who knocked some poor girl up, and ruined the rest of his life, trying to take care of a kid. To Trip and Louisa, they were in paradise. Sure they lived in a small apartment by the docks. Sure they didn`t own a car, or even have a checking account. What they did have however, was the kind of love that we all refuse to believe is real, and a beautiful baby boy to match. Their life went as followed. Trip would get up early in the morning, and join the rest of the crew on the boat to fish. Louise would wake with the sunrise and feed their child, sipping tea and reading books, gossiping with her neighbors on the beach behind their home. As the sun went down, she would build a fire, and cook a meal of chopped fish and island fruits. When Trip returned, he would walk onto the beach, lay on the sand next to his wife, take his son in his arms, and they would laugh until the fire left their minds, and fell to embers. When the clock struck ten, the three of them would settle down to bed, and the process would begin again. I`d wager that at the time, since Trip had finally been able to bring in good money, they were the happiest people alive.

As that rusty old boat pulled into the docks, and Trip called to Louise, Margo was tying off ropes, and looking over cages that had been damaged, eager to repair them. She was a kind of inquisitive, thoughtful human being that had been completely ensnared by the mere concept of rope in general. She could not explain just how-hold on a second, a woman? On a boat? Believe it or not, yes. A woman on a boat. Perhaps it was because Rook`s guilty pleasure was staring at her ass when she pulled a cage up from the sea. Perhaps it was the fact that on Costa Marco, everyone was too laid back to care at all. In reality, it was the mutual understanding between workers, that if you wanted the money, you worked hard for it, and you weren`t a total bitch, then you could fish like anyone else. It was that kind of atmosphere that Margo really craved. The kind of togetherness and happiness that was alive in the isles of Costa Marco. She could walk the streets on a Friday night, and join any party she wanted. Smile with whoever she wanted, laugh with whoever she wanted, and drink with whoever she wanted. It was her other craving though, that drove her to the fishing industry, and to the seclusion of the house she was able to purchase, just outside of town.

Cinnitar. A strange name for an incredibly popular opioid. It`s popularity wasn`t in it`s nature or it`s flawless marketing. It`s popularity was based on it`s safety. Margo would walk home from the boat after Rook distributed the previous day`s pay, spend a third of it on Cinnitar, and crash at her place, unwinding slowly into a peaceful, yet dreamless sleep. The gimmick associated to Cinnitar was that no matter how much of it you took, you couldn`t die, and there were virtually no side effects. While initially created to humanely kill family pets, when the formula was released to the general public, crafty chemists soon realized the drug`s massive potential. Margo had a massive amount of reasons to take the drug, but only one that she really couldn`t get out of her head. Her Abortion. Breaking up with Grant. She wasn`t supposed to feel guilty. It was the right thing to do. She was taking control of her body, and her life. Where did that ever get her? Where could it have gone? These kinds of questions only frightened her more when she knew Trip`s story, and watched his family eat dinner on the beach a hundred times. She wanted that, more than anything she wanted that, but she made that choice a thousand years and a thousand miles ago, and there was no way to go back. So it was here, that she would lay back on the hammock, ladle some Cinnitar into her arm, and imagine she made the choice she wanted, maybe even the right choice.

Suddenly, the newest member of the crew, Spencer, was knocking at her door. Margo couldn`t even stand to respond, and hoped he would just go away. She only ever invited him over along with the whole crew one time, as a housewarming party, but besides that, she had been a hermit. Spencer though, was persistent, knocking away like an idiot, because he saw her going in there…which yes, means that he followed her.

“Oh well, I guess she was just tired from fishing today. It was pretty hot out” he sighed to himself.

Margo relaxed back into her hammock. She liked Spencer. As far as guys went on all the islands, he was pretty cute. But it had only been…two years? Since she up and left her home in Georgia to find her way in the carribean, just to throw herself at the map and see where she could stick. It had been a long time, she thought. Maybe too long. Maybe she should give Spencer a shot, she thought, but before she could explore that line of reasoning, another wave came over her, and she was further back in that hammock than ever before, further back in her past and her guilt.

Walking home at night on Costa Marco is a very surreal experience. There are Boas hanging in the trees, pigs and dogs scurrying about, and when you hit the city, it`s a complete paradigm shift. There are vibrantly dressed locals and self-proclaimed locals dancing and drinking and laughing, jabbering and swooning to the hastily strummed guitars and battered drums. When Spencer left that small but happy place in the world, he turned down the many streets until he reached his own little cobblestone corner. Really a treasure of an abode, an old colonial townhouse, shoulder to shoulder with the infinite, but not quite well laid out rows of the other townhouses. He turned the old iron key, creaking open the heavy wooden door, into his own little grain scented shelter. Throwing wood into the fireplace, and firing up his laptop, he began to peruse his greatest passion… bread. Artisan, hand crafted, wood baked, the boy was obsessed. You see, Costa Marco was surprisingly devoid of this kind of bread industry. No dish, local or otherwise served or prepared on the islands required it, in fact, one would be looked upon with a small amount of disdain if seen eating a sandwich. This kind of atmosphere suffocated Spencer. He wanted to share his passion for bread with everyone he knew, by opening his own bakery. You could imagine by this description, that Spencer was a simple kind of guy, but in a magnificently pleasant kind of way. Spencer had spent most of his life travelling, as his father and mother were both in the navy, which meant that for the most part, spencer grew up on naval bases and with other navy kids. They all wanted to follow right in line with their parents, as disciplined and honorable scholars, pilots, or sailors. Spencer wanted none of that. All he wanted, was his bakery. It is hard to determine when, where or how he became obsessed with bread, or why frankly anyone cares, but all this interest is a testament to, is the kind of purity of heart Spencer possessed.

“Just a few more weeks” Spencer muttered to himself with a smile,

“And they`ll all see”…He trailed off, sensing he was tired, and rising to his bedroom. With each thunk of the heavy wooden steps he thought of Margo. How pretty she was. How her hair glistened in the midday sun. How the waters rolled off her skin. Yes, this is love, he thought.

The crew of the sandy boot were a lively bunch. The money was good, but what would it mean if they couldn`t buy paradise in…paradise. Poor old Greg was no exception. As he forked the thin steel key out of the decrepid lock of the café, and wandered over to his old Toyota truck, he began for the first time in his life, to seriously examine the choices he had made. For an inimaginable amount of time, Greg was locked in his relationship with Liz. Funny. He hadn`t even called her that in his thoughts in years. He could sense it. Just like how he sensed some asshole slowly crawling up his tail light on the old highway.

“Why I oughta” Greg snarled to himself, well aware that he only said that due to the fact thousands of other faces on the televisions did before him,

What he “oughta” do became less and less clear. His stream of consciousness was inundated with images of graphic, brutal violences he would inflict on the morally devoid creature that parasitically perched itself on his mechanical posterior. While making a curve on the old road, he caught a good glimpse of the driver in his rear-view mirror. It was just some...average young woman. Really nothing of great stereotypical or demonstrative worth. Suddenly, a wave of sympathy overcame Greg. Maybe she was just having a bad day. Maybe she was just angry about something. Maybe he had tailgaited her some time ago, and this was her form of revenge. Maybe, and entirely possibly, she was thinking the very same thoughts he was in his car, driving home late at night. Wondering about all the things he had done, the bills he had to pay, or the big decisions he would have to make. And a big decision, he certaintly did have to make. And it would pertain to whether or not he would stay with Liz.

It wasn`t like it was rocket science. Greg wasn`t always this spiteful, this mean, or even this domecticated. Liz hated camping. Before he met her, he could barely stay out of the woods.

“Yeah, Camping. Another thing to look foreward to when she`s out of the picture” Greg said aloud to himself, in rhythm with the soft country music on the radio.

“And that stupid kid of ours. He can be HER problem”. His voice began to rise with elation, as if the lightball was slowly coming on in his head.

“And I can finally smoke a cigar, inside or out…Hell ill be sure to ash`em right in the carpets”. The rhythm was infecting his reasoning, a little song being invented as he talked more and more.

“Oh yeah you bet it baaabay, that I`ll be smokin` up the town…do do do, pah do do pah pah… Oh yeah won`t be a clean carpet arooooooouuund” He laughed and tapped on his wheel as he sang his little song, all the way up his driveway.

Greg didn`t even bother to go in the house anymore. The ol` salty sea skank (his favourite colloquialism), would always be there to ask him how much money he made at the café that day.

“It was your idea bitch, and you`d know how much we were making if you ever left the house”

Greg pondered that hypothetical strategy in an argument as he walked into the shed, and flicked then lights on. Upon the table, lay his only true love. His beautiful bearded lizard, which he named Tequila. Greg…Greg was the kind of guy who loved to watch things. To be in control. There was nothing Greg loved more than to feed Tequila, in the morning before he went to work, and at night when he came home. Despite the fact that all the simple lizard ever gave him was the occaisional eyeball lick, or even a rare nibble on his fingers, Greg interpreted that as true affection.

“Oh little Tequila, you look so hungry!” Greg said, opening the cabinet above the lizard`s massive tank, and pulling out a small colony of grasshoppers.

Greg thought for a moment as he fauned over his pet, and smirked when he said, “So hungry that these little sons of bitches…might not be enough”

Greg put the grasshoppers back in the cabinet, and pulled another tank up from the ground across the floor. Within, rested half a dozen garter snakes, just now becoming startled at being lifted on the table.

Then, with the methodical preparation of a serial killer, Greg donned a leather apron and a pair of leather gloves, grabbing the fattest snake from the tank, and sealing the rest away. Greg took time to examine the creature, ensuring that it wouldn`t be strong enough to possibly hurt cute little Tequila. Of course none of those snakes stood a chance, but even a scratch on one of his stubby little legs would deeply disturb Greg. He gingerly placed the snake in the opposite end of Tequila`s tank, pulled up a chair, cracked a beer, and just watched.

Tequila was quick to take notice. It wasn`t very often that he had roomates. The new company was very exciting, but quite strange. Like an innocent, scaley puppy, tequila plodded off of his log, and towards this new arrival.

“Hold on a moment” Tequila thought to himself, slowing his pace as he analyzed the scent of the creature. He approached with caution…and a feeling…came over him…

Within a flash, bits and pieces of his new friend were strewn throughout the sand, a chunk of it`s torso sliding down his gullet.

“No…Not Again!”

Greg was sufficiently appeased by this display, and took the time to clean the cage while Tequila was occupied with his food, and changed his water.

“Isn`t it maaaaagic” Greg sang to himself, as he closed down the shed, and turned off all the lights, only dimming Tequila`s light in his tank.

“He gets scared of the dark…musn`t do that to him” He muttered, having thought about it and said that phrase a thousand times by now, it had become more of a routinely incensed nervous tick, for now Greg would have to actually go inside his house, and face his wife, which especially as of late, had become thornier than Tequila. Yes, thornier. Nothing else… weirdo.

Greg walked up to the bug screened back door, and as he climbed the second of the three steps, the light above the door came on, which meant that Liz was fast approaching, likely having seen Greg leave the shed. He opened the door, with her standing in front of him, crossing her arms and staring at him with pursed lips. She always had a flair for the dramatic. Never seemed to like existing in a state of calm or contentment. As far as Greg knew, she loved to be miserable and combative.

Greg wasn`t really in the mood for one of her fits. He knew how the argument would go. He knew exactly what she would nag him about. The Café isn`t making enough money, the house needs renovating, you need to spend more time with sam, you need to work out. It was the last part that bothered Greg the most. His physique had never been exemplary, he knew this, and he thought she knew this. Where did this desire for a six pack and biceps appear? When she started to have to shimmy through the closet door sideways?

After a single, tense moment, Greg simply put his keys on the hook beside the door, and walked on by. Sure it required one awkward shove, and really did nothing to appease Liz, but what was the point? All she wanted to do was argue till the sun came up.

He casually walked over to the kitchen and pulled some raw fish he had bought from the market two days earlier, prepared a skillet, and began to sear it on the electric oven, not expressing a single emotion aside from blank disdain as she walked in, still pouting about…well he didn`t even bother to find out.

He kept standing over that fish, casually turning from side to side as he grabbed various spices off the racks beside the stove. Ultimately, he found her performance entertaining and predictable. She had done this a thousand times. She would continue to do this a thousand times. It had been years since he stopped wondering what he could do, what he could say so she would finally hug him after a long day of work…again Greg felt regret.

“How terribly attached to a terrible woman have I become? I would be so much happier if I just…left. But I can`t…How fickle the heart is”

He remembered when they first moved into the house. They had arguments yes, but they were small, never lasted long, and were always resolved. He thought that was the sign of how resilient they were as a couple. Over time though, with the innumerable failures of Sam, the highs and lows of the café, the hurricane…Their arguments grew more fierce. They could argue for hours. First it was a low rumble. Then it was a scream. At least he`d get the occasional “I love you” from her. Nowadays, he couldn`t even remember the last time he, or even she said it.

He could remember the last time they cooked together. It was beef stew. He remembered the sound of her laughter as they casually splashed the red wine into the broth and their glasses. He remembered how warm she felt in his arms as they fell asleep on the porch, stinking of wine and spilled stew.

“Yes…that was the last time we were happy together” he thought to himself.

He slid the fish off the skillet and onto a pan, turning around and placing it on the table, unsuprised to see he wife still standing there in the doorway, maintining that blank, judgemental expression. He sat down, pushed the plate to the side slowly, and motioned for her to sit down. Slowly, she rose from her stance, and took the chair across from him. After a long moment of silence, and losing the staring contest with the tribal figurine in the middle of the table, Greg spoke.

“Aren`t you tired?” He asked, deliberately, implying so much with so little.

In complete understanding of the implications, she replied

“I…Yes… I am”

“How long has it been…since you were actually happy to see me?” He asked, having completely forgotten about the fish growing cold beside him.

“Too long” She curtly replied.

There was another long pause as Greg began to feel a wash of emotions come over him. He really loved her. There was no denying that. He began to process the thought of her not loving him, images of her leaving, of her looking away when he passed her on the street. It began to destroy him in ways he couldn`t imagine. He couldn`t stop it, he had already set in motion.

“ Do you still love me?” He asked, having asked a thousand times before in the past as a rhetorical question, always replied with “of course idiot”, or “you know I do”. This was the first time he really meant it, and really wondered. And it really hurt.

There was another long silence. Everything felt colder, and darker to Greg. His life, and his worldview were hanging in the balance. The fact that she even took a second to consider sent him spinning. It felt like a knife was being pulled out of his chest, the sheer anticipation of what he knew would come next.

Liz rose from her chair, and took a picture off the wall. It was from years ago, when the whole family had taken their first vacation together. Greg was standing over Liz, his hands on her shoulders, as She was sitting on a canoe, sam in her arms, still a baby. She came back to her chair, and put the picture on the table, staring at it for yet another agonizing eternity.

“I loved you for who you were…but not for who you are”

He could not think. He could not speak. He responded as blankly and as simply as he could muster.

“In that case…I want you out of the house by next week”

“What? Greg that`s completely unreasonable” she said, which to Greg indicated that she wanted to go, and she wanted to for a long time. It also enraged him for some reason, that she would have the gall to break his heart, and still ask for reparations.

“I don`t particularly care. Actually, here`s the deal. I`ll give you that goddamned café, and ill keep the house, which I paid for by actually working at MY café. I swear to god if you say it`s somehow yours to give, the only claim you have was that it was your goddamned idea. It`s in my legal name, I did all the work to get the land, to build the damn thing, and still ran it for ten years. Take whatever damn money you`ve got saved and get an apartment in town. Maybe you`ll find a skinny Cuban guy to sleep with while you`re there!” Greg yelled.

“Just…fuck you Greg. Fuck you.” Liz replied, tears streaming down her face as she ran upstairs, the clunk of her suitcase slamming to the floor. Greg didn`t care. This was the hundredth argument they had gotten in, and he was making sure this was the last. He was angry, but only as a way to drown out just how upset he really was.

The sound of the suitcase hitting the floor, of dressers flying open, was the melody to which Greg went on his laptop in the living room, and electronically transferred ownership of the café over to Liz. He promptly went into their bank account, destroyed the split account, taking what was his, and establishing his own account. “Hmm…She only has $38,000 left…How did she even earn that much?”. He didn`t bother to find out. He had now financially cut her out of his life. The wonders of the internet.

There was a pang of regret in Greg. Perhaps this was too extreme. Maybe it was, but there was no coming back from what he just did. Those two minutes of conversation could have gone a thousand different ways. It began to feel like he chose the worst way possible. All he wanted was for Liz to love him again, but instead, he pushed her away. Was it justified? After years and years of these arguments maybe it was. He just felt like he needed to…pull the plug, so to speak. Just to cut it off and end it. So, he reasoned, like any other case of amputation, it would hurt, but in the end, he would be better off. Still, he wouldn`t have an arm. That was ultimately the question. Would Greg rather have a cancerous, venomous part of his life that made him miserable, or not have that at all? What was worse? What Greg did know is that it was too late to wonder. He had tried medicating for decades, with know sign of remission. Now, Liz was coming down the stairs, and Greg began to be so upset that he couldn`t think of any more medical juxtapositions.

What was worse was that she didn`t even look at him when she went out the door. All he could yell at her was that the Café was her responsibility now, and she`d have to find a way run it in the morning. He remembered the keys in his pocket, and threw the café key in her car as she opened the passenger door to throw her suitcase in. She still did not look at him. She refused to look at him. Even when she was pulling out of the driveway, She didn`t even look towards the house, and sped off to town. So Greg stood there, on the porch, and for the first time in fifteen years, he cried.

It wasn`t like how he imagined. The house didn`t feel free. A weight wasn`t lifted off his shoulders. It felt empty. Like there were still parts of it that were actually hers. He wanted to call her. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, that she should come back and they could talk things over. It was too late though. He knew her. She would take this whole incident to heart. She would go through with it, regardless of how she still felt about him. The ultimate issue was that they both loved each other, but they couldn`t stand each other. It was a sick, unhealthy way of existing, and Greg sought to excise those feelings as he cleaned up the bedroom and the bathroom, putting whatever she left behind in a box, which he was debating either burning, burying, or throwing at her whenever she found out where she lived. Fortunately she was pretty good about it… in fact it was too good. Maybe she had rehersed this. Maybe she was just waiting for this argument, the go ahead, the justification to finally leave. She had to have been thinking about it. Way more than he actually was.

The reality was that when you`re married to a woman for thirty years, she accumulates more crap than she could possibly fit in one exceptionally large suitcase. She took the essentials, her clothes, her jewelry, so on and so forth. What did she leave behind? The kind of things that hurt to still see. Photos. Letters. Little arts and crafts, any kind of sentimental object.

“Regardless” Greg said to himself.

“This was going to happen one day or another…just when and how were the only questions…doesn`t change the fact that I still feel like shit about it.”

There really isn`t anything he could do except just sit on the bed, and imagine what life would now be like. Where his fit of rage and honesty really put him. He didn`t have a job anymore. That was something to consider. What could he even go for? He had a degree in business management, and sociology. He had years of experience running small restaurants. Those kind of credentials don`t get you far in this kind of a place. What really mattered was that he was old, fat, and…didn`t have Liz. He felt guilty about not being more sympathetic. About not feeling at all bad for essentially kicking her out in the middle of the night. It was just…her words. I loved you for who you were…not for who you are”. She had, without any kind of anger or impotice, said the most hurtful thing Greg ever heard in his life. He regretted ever complaining about her, even though that complaining was mostly to himself. He was angry, shocked, and plunged into this deep pit of depression all in an instant. The fact that he suddenly lost control of his emotions wasn`t forgivable but to Greg…it was understandable.

-----------

Greg awoke the next morning, with a pain in his chest. The knife wound from earlier had moved to the center of his chest, slowly ripping and tearing. It no longer felt metaphorical. It was a literal, real pain, and as he saw it… it was all his fault.

“What am I thinking?” he said to himself, squinting his eyes as he sat up in the morning sunlight.

It was eight o`clock in the morning. He normally got up at six to get to the shop and open by seven, but what the hell. It`s not his problem anymore.

“I am a grown ass man and I`m pining after that hag?”

Oh god of course. The only reason he was sad was because he only chose to remember the good parts of their marriage which to be honest, were just as she described. They started good, and tapered off around… jesus a quarter of the way through? Did he not remember the endless, pointless, and frustrating fights they would get in? How she would blame him for how Sam turned out? No. He shouldn`t feel sad. The only reason he does was…human nature.

“Yeah… that`s gotta be it.” Greg thought.

He got up, and went through his typical morning routine, plus a mug of rum and fatefully, a cigar on the porch. As he took deep, long tokes on the sweet treasure he had denied himself for years, he began to remember what kind of a man he really was.

“Just getting in touch with my ego. It`s what Freud would want”

Suddenly, he remembered his only friend, and ran to the shed. He scooped up little Tequila from his tank, and placed him in a basket (formerly used for bath towels…why would you want a smaller towel? Why not just the one size towel? Another annoying mystery of Liz) beside him, pouring him a little dish of rum.

“This is the life eh Tequila? A bit of rum, the lazy island breeze, and the cool morning sun…I just feel like staying right here. Doing absolutely nothing. In that way I guess we aren’t that different eh little man?”

Tequila had already taken a few sips of the rum, and began to feel groggy, making a movement with his head that appeared to Greg as a nod.

“The food god has poisoned me…the sweet smelling liquid was a deception…”

The spiny lizard felt the warmth of the sun on his scales, and reminisced on the few times he ever saw the great ball of orange light.

“Perhaps I am dying…why else would the food god bring me here?”

Hours indeed did pass. The sun rose, and all the island birds were chirping and cawing. Greg used to think it was an annoying racket, but now, a little buzzed on the rum and having meditiated in this state for some time, it was a chorus, more beautiful and sanctified than any church choir he ever listened to as a kid.

Greg felt sore, and decided to rise from his seat, and noticed that Tequila had finished his bowl of rum, and now was listing around his basket, attempting to escape.

“I think it`s high time I did something…that I expanded your perspective”

He picked up Tequila, and brought him in the house. He had never left the confindes of his tank, save for the one time Greg brought him out in the yard to run around a little bit. He gently laid him on the couch, set out a plate of pre-killed grasshoppers and a dish of water, and closed the door behind him.

“I`m just curious as to what the hell happens” he giggled to himself.

“Also as to what…has happened”

He grew morose, and finally decided to assess the damage on what happened the night before. As he was pulling out of the driveway, he questioned for but a moment, the soundness of the decision to let Tequila have his way with the house. Before he could consider that for any longer, he saw Sam pull into the driveway, or attempt to. For the first time in his life, Sam looked truly angry with his father. Greg sighed, and pulled back in the driveway, getting out and leaning against the bed of the truck as Sam pulled in himself.

“Hey Dad can you tell ME what uh, happened last night?” Sam said, with a kind of difficulty that made it very apparent he was inexperienced with this emotion.

“When did you find out?” Greg said, with the kind of calm respect he never gave to Sam. He was innocent here. He deserved to be treated with respect when it came to this, of all things.

“Last night Dad. Mom`s staying at my place right now” Sam answered, still pseudo angry with Greg

You mean the apartment I pay for? Greg thought. No. This wasn`t the time for bitterness or sarcasm about anything. Not with Sam.

“Sam, I know you`re a man and you have a lot of things of your own to worry about and pay attention to but…you must have known this was coming”

“OF COURSE I did dad! I just never thought you would be the one to…do it. And that way? Do you know how mom feels right now?”

Greg sighed heavily, and moved to the porch. Sam followed, eagerly awaiting his father`s answer. Greg sat back down in his chair, and sparked up the short cigar he had been working on since the morning.

“Come on Sam…Sit down” Greg motioned to the other seat, formerly Liz`s seat, back when he and Liz used to do things like that together. Sam complied, and pulled the chair over to sit beside his father. Greg looked out at the island and the jungle, the ocean and the birds flying over the canopy. Sam sat staring at his father, incredibly nervous as to what he would say next. Greg looked over, and began.

“As you know very well, your mother and I loved each other very much, and that`s how and why you came about…but that was a very long time ago. Now we just make each other miserable, and we just need to go our own directions”

“That still doesn`t explain why you were so fucking rude about it” Sam said, calmly responding. It was the first time he had ever cursed in his father`s prescence, and frankly, it impressed him.

Greg took another cigar from the wooden box, and waved it as an offering to Sam. Sam nodded, and awkwardly fumbled the lighter as he lit it up. He coughed, and took the cigar between his thumb and index finger, resting his arm on the arm of the chair, the way all the mob bosses did in the movies.

“You know what kid…you`re right. Maybe it was a bit much for me to have done what I did and said what I said the way I said it last night. I can`t take that back…but you know what? If I did it any other way, your mom and I would have second guessed it, gotten back together, and six months later I`d be thinking about doing the exact same thing again. I know it was a shitty thing to do but…that`s how your mom and I are. That`s how it would have worked out either way”

Sam didn`t seem satisfied with the explanation, and kept looking off in the distance, waiting for a further explanation.

“Listen, just help your mom out for a few weeks so she can find a place and get back on her own two feet. I assure you, after all of this is over, her and I are going to be far better off, and you`ll start to see that in both of us”

Sam continued to stare foreward, but then began to speak.

“I just can`t understand it. How two people can be together so long and now…it just happened so fast”.

“Yeah kid… it still kinda feels like just a…nightmare right now. Like it hasn`t really happened”

“Do you still care about her?”

“I`m…I`m not sure”

They now both stared foreward. For the next moment, Sam put the cigar in his mouth, stood up, and went to his car without saying goodbye. Greg couldn`t imagine it. He had lost Liz, and now he wasn`t sure if he had lost his son. It felt wrong, but he indulged his desire to ash his cigar, which had gone out in the long pauses of his conversation. He leaned over the chair to the rug, made two little eyes, and pondered what kind of face he should make. Had everything happened the way he thought, maybe it would have been happy. Had he really and truly regretted his decision, it would have been sad. All he could accomplish was a long, straight, simple stroke along the pattern.

There is a kind of surreal nature to the inside of Spencer’s bedroom. The junglewood timbers and the two hundred year old stonework of the roof are the first things he lays eyes on in the morning. When he gets up and looks around, there is a computer, and a primitive modern plumbing system jammed into the old washroom. The space felt hijacked by modern amenities and the ever demanding creature comforts of a technological generation. As Spencer rises, he is careful to have a steady hand as he shaves with the straight razor he bought at the old market when he got off the boat, appalled by the apparent lack of multiple blade technology. While it had been six months since then, and his aim had improved, not a week would go by before he would give himself a solid nick on the jaw, and he would be reminded of this embaressment when the salt of the sea was splashed in his barely visible wound.

He was always a hard working kid, who quickly got over the whole “up ‘for dawn” moans and groans that were associated with being a professional fisherman. It took a particular kind of talent to get in his fishing overalls and his graphite grey hoodie, make a decent pot of coffee in the five dollar French press he had to work with, and head down to the docks in time, all with only three lights in the house.

While it was dark in his house, when Spencer began to walk the streets is when his childhood fears really began to resurface. At least at night the darkness was always dulled by the sound of music and the songs of drunken tourists. This early in the morning, most everyone who was out the night before was holed up somewhere, or was enigmatically dumped in a gutter, resulting in more than one occasion when he would accidentally kick one. The resulting groan would scare the hell out of Spencer, sending him nervously jogging down the street for a moment, before he looked back and saw a tattered figure slowly shift on the ground. The sight gave him no relief, but he endured.

The morning air in the town of Tileo had a bitter, metallic tang to it, which began to mix with the smell of dead or dying fish and sea air as he approached the docks.

“soon… it’ll be cinnamon… flour… rye” Spencer said to himself, panting as he shuffled towards the docks.

Rook was always the first to greet the crew as they arrived. He didn’t wake up any earlier than the rest of them, he just slept in a little house by the dock where they docked the boat, always fiddling with a lobster trap or studying the weather reports when Spencer walked down the dock and jumped on the boat.

“early as always” Rook slurred, not taking his eyes off the monitor.

“I thought we established that you liked that kind of thing” Spencer slurred back, stacking the fixed traps on the back of the boat.

“I do, but one day that enthusiasm will kill you”

“trust me man, if the money weren’t good, I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic” Spencer replied, standing up to put his gloves on and give a cordial wave to Trip as he jumped on the boat, only a few minutes later than Spencer.

“Hey Trip how`s it going?” Spencer asked, in the way he had been for the past four months. It seemed too sarcastic, too obnoxious to say “good morning”. There was an unspoken pact agreed upon by all the crew members to avoid the phrase in general.

Trip gave Spencer a hearty pat on the back, and leaned over to help him drag in rope.

“Feel good enough to make some money…shit it`s colder than a witchs’ teat today”

Spencer was proud that he taught Trip that phrase.

About fifteen minutes later, Margo appeared, quickly plodding towards the boat, hood up, her hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie.

Ironically, she was the sunniest of the crew, typically buying something for the whole gang so they wouldn`t have to fish on empty stomachs. Today, it was a plastic netted bag of oranges.

“Thanks darlin’” Rook muttered, catching the orange as she tossed one to each of the crew.

A few more moments were spent organizing the tackle and throwing overall straps over shoulders, and then Rook gave the word to cast off.

The rhythm of work had become as automatic and unconscious as breathing to even Spencer. It went as followed. See bouy. Throw hook. Drag up trap. Empty trap into tank. Either stack the trap, or throw it back. Really the only person who had to actually think about their job was Rook, scanning the computer screen, and his paper maps, trying to find his traps and direct the crew which traps could wait, and which traps to pull in.

Due to the constant, straining mononteny, conversations between the crew would be running, and incoherent as they haul in their catch. Despite how this description sounds, they did not suffer at all under this strenuous labor. When each lobster dumped in the tank essentialy was another five bucks in each of the crew`s pockets, they had very little reason to complain. This kind of money, fishing easy waters, attracted drifters and shills, old hands and young hopefuls alike. The beauty of most of these fishing boats based off Costa Marco was that hiring and firing, well that was all at the captain`s discretion, weeding out all the lowlifes who didn`t meet the island`s “exacting” standards. The territorial government of the islands was almost non-existent, which led to virtually no enforcement of labor laws. Rightly so, because the fishermen of Costa Marco lived under a non-verbal, contractual agreement. To work hard, not to piss anyone off, and to enjoy life once in a while. If you were the wrong kind of personality, the wrong kind of person, hell even if the captain thought your fashion sense was abhorrent, all of these things were grounds for firing. The result? A tightly knit community of hand-picked fishing boats and their captains. Now it would be obvious to discover that most boats had some unfair preferences for their crews, locals picking locals, Hispanics picking Hispanics, black captains picking black crews, all of this was rampant and obvious, but nobody complained. It was more like a friendly competition, to see who, or what kind of person could really bring in the most cash. Which really befuddled Spencer, who finally decided Trip might not be offended if he asked Rook why he brought on Trip.

“Hey…Hey Rook?” Spencer asked, panting as he bent over to throw a trap in the water.

Rook looked up from his monitors quickly, obviously bored with his task as the weather seemed to be pretty much dead for the day

“What`s up Spence?”

“I`ve been working on this boat for a while now and…”

“Yeah?”

“I know how things are around here…Ah let me cut to the chase”

“Spit it out man” Rook asked, laughing a little at Spencer`s awkwardness.

“I`m just wondering why you brought on Trip…I mean, I know he`s a good fisherman and all, and a really nice guy, but…From what I see that isn`t what most people do around here”

Trip looked up from the back of the boat while spencer was asking his question, shrugging his shoulders and smiling, as if he couldn`t help just being an awesome guy, but his mood became serious when Spencer finished, his gaze turning to Rook.

Rook paused and stroked his salt and pepper beard, taking a quick glance at Margo, and then returning to his thoughts

“You said it yourself. Great fisherman, great guy. What else could I ask for?”

“Yeah Good point good point…” Spencer became nervous, as he now looked like a flaming racist.

“Oh don`t go shaking in your boots now Spence. I know you meant well” Trip piped up, grinning at Spencer, empathetic to his existential plight.

Spencer smiled nervously and shook his head, sighing as he bent back down to throw another trap.

Margo, largely oblivious to this whole exchange, staring off into the ocean, readied the last hook for the morning. Throwing it with impressive accuracy, a skill that was acquired over years of experience, and thankfully carried over to horseshoes. The effects of her habit were unpredictable at best. Sometimes she would be warm and sunny, optimistic and happy with the disposition of freshly poured chamomile tea. Other times, it was exactly as a hangover should be, a writhing, seething pain in her gut and a pounding in her head that always drove her to the point of swearing off the stuff for good, and made her despise every ray of sunlight or moment of attention thrown her way. Today however, was a great day. She had long figured out the exact formula for warding off these hangovers, that being exactly seven and a half hours of sleep, with two cups of coffee and half a lemon before leaving for work. That recipe always perked her right up as she made her own stroll down to the docks. It was that state of contentment, a lack of bereavement, that was almost better than getting high itself. In this kind of condition, she was really and truly just a fisherman on an exotic island.

As the crew halted work for the lunch break, huddling over the canvas covered interior of the boat as the midday sun bore down on them, Margo decided to make a tactical move. For almost a year and a half, she would always turn over a plastic bucket and sit between the two fiberglass benches that ran the length of the covered section of the boat. Rook would wheel around his chair in the cabin, opening the door to talk to the rest of the crew, Trip would sprawl himself out along the right bench, and Spencer would sit, with a hunched posture, nervously leaning against one of the polls holding up the canvas on the end of the left bench toward`s the captain`s cabin. In this fantastic mood she was in, she decided to sit directly next to Spencer. Within a far closer proximity than could be deemed permissible between coworkers or aquaintences. A single hand length, to be exact.

Spencer, munching away at a chicken wrap he had constructed himself, tried to play off the gravity of such a maneuver. Surely her bucket was no longer suitable for sitting, after all a rather rotten lobster did explode near the bottom. No amount of bleach could…

Never mind that tragedy! This wasn’t some kind of middle school panic attack he should be thrown into. Enough fanticising. Just…talk.

Thankfully, Rook broke the slow silent munching between the four of them.

“You know Spence, you were a little right about earlier”

“About what” He calmly,, yet nervously responded.

“About how it was unusual I took on Trip”

“Oh yeah?” Spencer calmly replied.

“You see… there is a story attached to his being here”

Trip rolled his eyes and scoffed, laying back on the bench in amusement.

“About oh I`d say coming on six years ago, I was just a lowlife truck driver, travelling the mainland for no other reason than sheer boredom.”

Spencer was relieved this appeared to be a happy story, as was indicated by Trip`s relaxed posture, and apparent annoyance for hearing this story-

“Close to a dozen times you`ve told this story old man” Trip piped up packing away his belongings, quickly trying to get back to work

“Oh ho ho not so fast there man, and that`s an order…I`m telling the story and you`re going to like it” Rook commanded, pointing one of his thick, calloused fingers at Trip.

Trip dramatically slumped his shoulders, and plopped back on the bench with a grin on his face, and his hands covering his cheeks.

“You see, one day down by Orlando, after hauling a whole bed full of toilet paper, I decided that I had had enough of that shit…”

There was a long pause, when nobody would appreciate his-

“Woooooooow” Margo said

“I know right?” Rook grinned, chuckled to himself a bit, and moved on.

“I just parked the truck by the beach, and took some time to weigh my options. After a long while of just watching the um…sunset…yeah the sunset”

“Huh” Margo sarcastically snorted, fully aware of his “admirations”

“As I was saying” Rook continued,

“All of the sudden, this crazy sonofabitch just runs a ground, right on the beach, out of nowhere, clinging to the steering wheel like Ahab”

Trip now began to nervously recoil, smiling and giving one or two laughs as the story continued

“Me being the only one there who wasn`t passed out, who actually knew what was going on there, I ran over to check out what was going on”

“Ran?” Trip asked with the foxy smile that dressed his sarcasm.

“Shut up asshole I`m telling the story. How about when you tell it you can say I flopped like a seal and dragged myself across the beach ok? Christ”

The crew now laughed in unison at Rook`s flustered anger, so much so that even he couldn`t keep a straight face.

Stopping himself to guffaw every now and then, he proceeded,

“So…heh, this guy is just like…completely out of it, absolutely dead tired, and I ask him, “Hey man are you okay?”, and heh heh, this guy just said, “I`m going to be a…Father!””

Spencer laughed the loudest, Margo only laughing because his was so infectious. She had heard this story a couple times before, but she didn`t want to seem too distant.

“I know! With the dramatic pause and everything!... Jesus Christ that was so damn funny, but let me tell you, I didn’t let him know that!”

Rook settled himself, and resumed in more technical terms, talking with his hands as he described the next part of the story.

“So Trip here was hungover something fierce, and judging by the bottle in his hand, he was trying to drink his way out of it. That didn`t really help his situation, because he was almost three feet on shore at that point, and nobody else seemed to give enough of a damn to help. At that point, only a few people had whipped out their phones to take pictures of it”

“You know I`m really disappointed that I don`t get to tell this story, because I`m sure someone must`ve called the cops” Trip added, partly shameful that he was drunk, alone, at sea, which is something every fisherman knows is incredibly dangerous.

“Well they only called the cops after I pulled the next stunt…so I got the idea to just unhitch my truck, and just… push him out to sea”

“No way!” spencer interjected, amazed that such a thing could even be accomplished. He remembered a time when the whole family was on leave, and the car his parents rented to go to the beach almost got stuck in the sand. Should`ve known better.

“Yes way, so I deflated my tires a bit, and after twenty minutes of that, I just drove out and over, and ever so slowly, pushed him out to sea. Now I had either neglected to tell him, or maybe he just forgot that I was going to do this, so he was just freaking out this whole time just screaming, “what are you doing you crazy white man!”

Rook had attempted to impersonate Trip`s accent in that last part, which got a good laugh out of the whole crew.

“So once I had got him free, I got a little thought in my head, and I just said “Hey, fuck it” and I jumped on the boat with him”

“That`s fuckin insane man” Spencer replied, noticing Margo almost hanging on his shoulder, the heat of her overworked body warming his right arm, just barely out of reach.

“Two days later, a few angry calls with the truck company and the bank, and here I am…you see that house on the end of the dock used to be Trip`s old dive, but I bought it for a pretty sum from him, and paid for most of the boat. And that my scrawny friend, is how a low down truck driver became the captain of a lobster boat. Fun story eh?”

Work continued as normally as it does on a Saturday in the sea. The only thing that changed really about the routine is that on this particular Saturday, Rook demanded that they all go bowling at the only lanes in town, which for reasons…disappointingly within comprehension, was called, “The Long Dock”.

Nobody in the crew actually had a car, because really, there wasn`t a need. Besides, the only thing you could buy on the island were old steel shipping containers with wheels, or whatever passed for drivable in the pool of old Chevrolets or Cadillac’s imported back in the 80s. Only a small, select few of wealthy CEO`s camped out on the far side of the island actually had new, even nice cars, but they rarely mixed with the gentiles of Tileo. Why would they? The cobblestone streets were so awfully maintained that you could lose a toddler in the gaps. For the Crew though, they wouldn`t have it any other way. People like Rook and Margo grew up hating rich guys and their million dollar carbon-coated palaces. The real fun of Tileo was just walking the streets, brushing up against the occasional sweaty islander, weaving and winding through the historical pathways and not so new infrastructure. It was an organic experience, which began to clash at the bowling alley.

You see, the only really well developed, actually paved road that ran through the outskirts of town, went by the alley. All of that roadwork and development had happened during the nickel mining boom back in the 80s, which “The Long Dock” truly reflected. Gaudy neon lighting, stale, pale concrete walls, and brushed steel and glass doors that looked like the rust was finally getting to them. In the parking lot, the dichotomy was clearly noticeable. On the right side of the doors, there were Maseratis, Porches, Mclarens, so on and so forth. On the left, were the old Ford trucks, the beamers, and even the occasional indian motorcycle.

The inside of the alley was equally divided, hell there were even separate counters on each side. Over the last five years or so, the rich guys and their heirs began to notice something about their collective of mansions and resorts they called Keith`s Bay. What a god awful name it had, and how tasteless all their neighbors were. Each one would try to one up the other, adding an infinity pool or a twelve story New England lighthouse. Between the upper-middle class tourists and sheltered trust fund kids, a few of the residents formed a small clique, the only clique that ever ducked out of town for more than twenty minutes to go into the jungle and “focus their chi” with the maid. These ten or twelve guys were a bunch of savvy internet millionaires, old coal mine owners, and fast food moguls that felt that because they went to the bowling alley twice a week, they were the “real islanders”, and the rest of the whiney losers that just hung out in town were inferior to them.

Of course the locals and others like the crew had some disdain for these guys. Not that they were rich, but that:

“They really just fuck with the way everyone is around here. I`ve been to that stupid fucking “Douche Bay” man. All it is, is a bunch of huge, white buildings…and I`m not a racist or anything Spence, but the whole place is just filled with Asians who don`t speak a lick of English”

“I think they`re Koreans man” Spence added, trying to break up Trip`s angry monologue with some analysis as they picked out their balls.

Spence always chose a purple ball. He didn`t know why. He didn’t care. It`s just a habit like any other. But for some reason, he felt pissed that the guys from Douche Bay had monopolized the rack that the balls were on. No matter. He`d just use an orange ball. Fuckers.

“What difference does it make? Asians are Asians man” Trip continued, waiting for his turn, as Rook, as a rule, always went first.

“Hey man, you`re telling me you`re not racist, but that`s kinda racist to say. What would you think if I said hey, “Blacks are Blacks”. It just completely disregards the individual differences between the different groups, and believe me, they make the distinction” Spencer argued.

“Well at least I look different than a guy from the Bronx or a guy straight out of Darfur. They all look like they`re all coming out of the same iphone factory” Trip grunted, tossing his first ball.

“Shit…a seven ten split” he muttered

Rook and Margo laughed a little, and Spencer lightened up.

“I don`t think the bowling gods appreciated that comment” Spencer said, waiting for Trip to attempt a spare.

“Well whatever the fuck I think about Asians, the fact of the matter is that they`re being treated like slaves. They all live in these shitty condos and its like, fuck, why don`t they just build a bunkhouse and chain`em to the floor at night. They can`t leave, they all eat at the one Chinese-“

“Korean” Margo jokingly interrupted

“Fuck you Mo” Trip scoffed in an embaressed, high pitched laugh

Rook chimed in, grabbing the sides of his eyes to squint them, “Don`t you mean Fook yuu?”

Margo and Spencer mimmiked the captain, prancing around Trip, squinting their eyes and professing their love for ramen noodles. Trip`s unwarranted distrust of Asians was often the subject of teasing.

After three games of heated competition between the four, Rook emerged as the winner, by only three points over Trip.

“A truly worthy opponent...well now my wrist`s sore. Who wants a drink?” Rook bellowed.

“Not me man, it`s already midnight, I`ve gotta get home” Trip trailed off, laying his ball back on the rack

Chapter Two: Sour Shots

The greatest part about the jungles of Costa Marco was that nobody seemed to be there. At least, that was the best part to Greg. Propped up against a tree stump, balancing a tin of coffee on a rock next to the humble cooking fire, he took stock of his provisions, seeing just how long he could stay in the mountains.

“Another week maybe. So long as I don`t mind eating rice and tuna for the last few days” he muttered to himself, hoisting himself up and sliding on his poncho

It had been several months since he kicked Liz out. Or at least, that`s how everyone seemed to take stock of it. What Sam or the coven of witches Liz called friends thought about him didn’t matter He cared more about how many pairs of dry socks he had in his bag.

“It`s a midlife crisis” they`d say.

“He was always kind of an asshole”

“You deserved better anyway”

After it all went down, he was barraged with calls from her friends, who either berated him, or acted as mediators for negotiations. That was how he got the money to take some time off. Climbing around the tight path of a mountain trail, he began to rant, as he always would when he was positive he was alone. The trees and the snakes were the only ones who seemed to listen anyway.

“She sold the fucking café…bet it was for a vacation with a little peurto rican guy” he grunted, hoping over a log

“At least she gave me half. Fucking half…goddamn I hate her. Every opportunity she got to tell me to fuck myself, she took it. Then she pisses and moans about being lonely…ha…never was a problem before I met you…”

This kind of therapy could go either way for Greg at this point. He would either put a machete through a tree, or he`d end up laying on a rock, calmly listening to the rustling of wild boars in the bushes.

He had the money to do these kind of things now. Early retirement was treating him well. But overall, he wasn`t satisfied.

At least, not until he put together the perfect storm of simplistic material satisfaction.

“Ok Greg…just like the little seniorita in Kipp`s Cove taught you”

He had stopped at the peak of the lush mountain cliff, sluffing off his pack and setting Tequila`s little wooden cage to the side, under the shade of a leafy bush. Pulling a couple of limes and a tin cup out of his pockets, he began to ruminate on his recent bar-hopping adventures. Greg was a real people person, a man of culture. It was also his personal belief, that the best way to understand a people and their ways was to drink what they drank, the way they drank it.

“And the Venezuelans are bitter socialists” he said, as he spat out the strange concoction he conducted from memory

Watching the acrid liquid drip down the rock as the afternoon sun braized his skin suddenly gave him a bout of existential dread. This wasn’t the life he wanted to live. This wasn`t anywhere near where he wanted to be at his age. Farting around on a tropical island with a lizard, divorced, unemployed, pickling himself with every latin beverage under the sun.

“Christ…Pete`s a goddamned English professor. Josh has what- seven kids?” he muttered to himself, taking stock of the accomplisments of his old college friends.

“And I mean, Fred smoked so much weed we thought he`d lose a chromosome. Now he`s making six figures with a tire company”.

Greg`s morose self pity turned to anger, and then to a calm, quite acceptance. There was a reason he went on these hikes. To disconnect himself from that kind of anxiety and appreciate his surroundings, slowly mellowing his mood with a neat burbon and Cuban cigar, allowing the breeze to massage his lurid eyes.

“Regardless…there needs to be a change” he said, swaying the bottle over to Tequila`s bowl, giving him a few more drops.

“Nothing major. The last thing I need is to go back to the states. They`d probably institutionalize me the second I got off the plane”

Greg chuckled to himself, feeling the handle of his machete gouging into his side as he took another swig.

“I need a simple job. A simple job, that makes me feel fulfilled *swig* as a man”

By this time, the horizon was dark with storm clouds and an evening sunset coming on, creating a molasses enamel on all the rocks on the shore. In the distance, Greg could see the ships coming in, bobbing gently on the calm ocean glass. Soon, fantasies of being out on the open ocean fishing the ocean`s bounty danced across his addled brain.

“what a wonderful profession. Where being a drunk shrew is actually a virtue”

Or so he thought

That night, a storm did indeed roll over the island. It was fierce, for sure, but not fierce enough to stop the festivities from continuing inside one of the many lively dive bars. There were even a few fishermen playing a rather extreme drinking game. If you flinched at a lightening strike, you drank. As you could probably guess, Spencer wasn`t doing too well.

“Look at him, still shaking like a leaf even three shots in!” Trip scolded

It was true. Spencer was in fact, visibly nervous. Not neccesarily because the thunder and lightening were beginning to sear the masts of every boat in the harbor, but because the alcohol was beginning to convince him that now was the time confront Margo about his feelings. Rook, sporting an even longer salt and pepper beard, could see from the head of the table at the back of the sour smelling shack that the kid was going to make a big mistake. And, maybe, a small part of him was feeling territorial.

Placing his big paw of a left hand on spencer`s chest, he saved him

“ Boy, stay down. Look at these hands” he gargled, slamming a beer down in his right hand

At that moment, a flash and rumble, but not a single quiver from those beastly mitts.

Spencer was forced to try and get ahold of the reigns of his depth perception. Standing felt like something he was disinterested, the sullen and aged booth he sat at becoming fuzzy to the touch. Suddenly the seven or maybe only five shots he had downed had caught up to him all at once, and he wasn`t going to have any more, or else risk an incident like last month where Trip had ruined strawberries for him forever.

Margo was far more sober, but certaintly not by choice. Nobody else had noticed but she had only finished half of her glass of light beer from the tap that may as well have been creek water given its quality and the horrifically poorly washed glass it came in. Her interests were growing more and more desperate with every joke or story she had to smirk and gesticulate her way through. The only thing keeping her from picking up her chair and using it to fight her way through the packed cigar box of a dive bar she was crammed in to get home and get her shit was the face that the storm outside could put a two by four through her chest at any minute. Death might be preferable to having to pan across the bar one more time to see the well exposed crack of Captain Stug`s ass trying to escape his cargo shorts at the bar. Stug was too old of a salt for anyone that wasn`t the bartender to tell him what to do, so on his ass marched outward as stug got more and more drunk. Christ. It was like watching a seal clubbing on national geographic. Could’ve been hilarious if it wasn’t so hard to watch.

“10 bucks I get this quarter in there” Rook said, holding the silver coin between his calloused index finger and thumb. Margo noticed that the whole table had been staring like she did. Spencer saw that others in the room were either giving Stug a wide berth, or sizing up their own marksmanship competitions.

Looking to find some immature joy, Margo joined in.

“I`ll fucking take that. You haven`t thrown a hook since I came on, doubt you could hit an ass crack at twenty paces” Margo joked. The others would have laughed if they weren`t all pushed to their respective limits. Margo and Rook slammed down what their bleary eyes perceived to be ten dollars a piece on the stained wood table, then Rook sized up his target. In one majestic, fluid motion the quarter left his hand, flying straight and true over the bar counter, tapping between bottles of whatever the hell Cesar could stack behind him.

“gat..damnint” Rook grumbled, shuffling back into his seat as Margo swabbed her hand across the table, scooping up the crumpled dollars. She didn`t care. She needed to go home.

The taste in her mouth was like she`d threw up a flower shop. She hated it she hated it she hated it. The heat and the sweat and the air and the smell the smell the smell. Too many people too many things, eyes, sandels, fucking stray cats every fucking five fucking feet in this tiny fucking block on this tiny fucking island. Home. She needed to get home.

Margo suddenly, abandoning any kind of formal convention, stood up and walked out of the bar, the wind and rain whipping momentarily like a jack in the box as she opened and closed the door behind her. Spencer was too out of it to do anything, but others were slightly alarmed. A few, tired of waiting, tried to follow her out but were blown back by healthy gusts of wind. Spencer was worried. And he wondered why she would leave like that.

“Should we call the cops? No way she makes it out there!” he yelled to Trip and Rook

“Cops are busy enough, wouldn`t risk it. Woman`s always been skittish. Her house ain`t far so I wouldn`t worry too much. Either of you wanna hear about the time I got held up by a biker gang?” Rook largely brushed off Spencer`s distress, motioning to a waitress for more whatever would occupy his time. This grew into what could only be a fruitless and flirtatious conversation.

Spencer turned to Trip for some sympathy.

“ Are you just going to sit back and let this happen?”

“ If anything man she`s got the right idea. I`ve gotta go check on my family at some point tonight. The whipping I`ll get if I`m not back by midnight oof” Trip joked.

No one was taking him seriously, which would have made Spencer feel uneasy if he were more sober, but like any young guy with a background like his, he was curious.

“well I`m going” Spencer said, gathering his wallet and finishing his drink. He put up his hood on his rubber coat, bracing himself for his excursion. Before he left, Trip followed behind him with his own boat issued rubber coat, and the two of them turned to give a gruff but well understood farewell to Rook, who was far more comfortable wading out the whole storm and then some in the back of that bar.

“I think you`re crazy boy” Trip said to Spencer.

“But good luck anyway. I`ll see you whenever Rook says its safe to work again” Trip said, putting his hand on Spencer`s shoulder, then opening the door, fighting the wind walking towards his home on the shore.

Spencer couldn`t believe it, but the wind felt rather calm as he walked towards margo`s home. It was almost as if all the old geezers and shop owners were just trying to find an excuse to drink, or at least jumped on a better excuse than most. As he crossed the street past the more tourist focused bar with its stained colonial white walls, a gust of wind picked him up off his feet and tossed him on the cobblestone street, with every attempt to fight the gust and stand up just resulting in him being rolled another five feet down the street. This dance lasted for what felt like an eternity, until he crawled behind an old chocolate shop to get out of the wind.

“Sweet jesus…how the hell did Margo do in this?”

Clinging hand over hand to the railings on the storefronts, Margo finally reached the trail that led to her home. All that it took was a run over a fairly wide patch of open ground to the start of the trail. Her mind wandered to the swaying of the trees in the violent wind, how small she felt as she watched a hundred trees move like dogs on a beach playing with a ball. Digging in her heels and thinking only of the sweet relief behind a mere hundred or so yards of woods. Thinking only of relief, of calm, of the comfort that awaited her so close in the present, her body moved like she was all tendon. Her desperation drove her arms and legs to precisely and intensely grip the trees and earth, when she stumbled, to nearly fling herself towards her front door. Her body slammed against the wood door like it was a queen sized bed with silk sheets. Before she could process anything else she was inside, and feet guiding her unconsciously to the drawer she kept her stash. Clean clean finally clean. Cold and clear and free free from fat hairy yellow toothed bastards.

Sweet Christ. How did she ever go any longer than a day without this?

Spencer wasn`t sure if she had made it home. The wind was getting worse and worse and there was no way

#my writing

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magicalgirlartist · 7 years

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West City Public Library, Part 28: Totally Rad

Sorry Raditz

Summary: Raditz has a long and complicated family history, and he has come to terms with exactly none of it. Word Count: 4737

"By the way, when was the last time you called home?" Kakarott asked, leaning over the back of the couch. He looked expectantly at his brother. "It's your mom's birthday soon, right?"

Raditz shifted where he sat on the end of the couch and folded his arms. "You know that woman isn't my mother."

"Ugh. Raditz, we've been over this." Kakarott vaulted over the back of the couch and plopped down next to Raditz. "Em and Garnet are your parents. They're not your blood parents, but they're still your parents. Grandpa wasn't my blood grandpa, either, but he was still Grandpa. So it's the same for you!"

Raditz glared at him. "You don't get it. You might not remember Mom and Dad, but I do. Garnet isn't my dad, and Emerald isn't my mom. My real parents were Bardock and Gine Konsai, and they were yours, too."

Kakarott threw up his hands. "Fine. I already believe you; you don't have to try and convince me we're brothers anymore. Chi-Chi got the blood work to prove it, anyway. But I mean...whether they're your "real" parents or not, shouldn't you call them sometimes anyway? I know if Grandpa was still around I'd be calling him all the time!"

"Don't you dare play that card with me," Raditz snapped. "Besides, if he was still around you really think you wouldn't have him at your house every day anyway? With how much time Gyumao spends over there I seriously doubt that."

"You're deflecting," Kakarott said. He crossed his legs under him and propped his chin on his hand, looking sideways at Raditz. "Why don't you want to call them? I mean, even if they're not really your parents, they still raised you and stuff. Don't you care about them at all?"

Raditz didn't answer. True, Garnet and Emerald (and later their second child, Alex) had always been good to him, even when he was...less good to them. But even so...

"Well, I guess it's up to you." Kakarott clapped a hand on Raditz's shoulder and hauled himself to his feet. "Are you still coming to babysit Gohan on Thursday night?"

Raditz waved him off. "Of course. See you then, Kakarott."

He waved over his shoulder and disappeared out the door, leaving Raditz alone in his rundown apartment again. Raditz flopped over on his side and stretched across the entire couch. Having his brother over was always good--it meant their relationship was on the mend, after all. Hell, just the fact that Kakarott let Raditz call him by his real name instead of Goku was a sign they were finally getting somewhere. But it was a little depressing that the only people who ever actually wanted to spend time with him were Kakarott and his kid. Even Kakarott's wife didn't like him much, and she made that clear whenever they saw each other. (That was fine. He wasn't exactly her biggest fan, either.) Nappa tried to include him in conversations and the like at work, which was nice, but Vegeta--well, he was Vegeta. Sometimes Raditz talked to Yamcha, but they didn't really see each other outside of work. (He had been thinking about asking Yamcha out at one point, but Tien from Circulation beat him to the punch.)

Maybe he should talk to Emerald. Or at least Alex. He'd always gotten along with Alex fairly well, even if he hadn't communicated with them beyond liking their Facebook posts for a few months and replying "Not Sure" to her invite to Emerald's birthday party. He wasn't sure he could handle Garnet right now--his arguments with his adoptive father had always been the worst.

Raditz stared at his phone where it sat on the coffee table. It would be really easy to just pick it up and shoot Em a text. Ask her out for coffee, say something about her new grandkid, ask how work was going.

But it was easier to just roll over and take a nap. So that's what he did instead.

thx bro im rly sry

Raditz sighed and shoved his phone in his pocket. Kakarott was lucky his shift was almost over. If he'd texted Raditz even ten minutes later, he would've already been on the bus home. He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. Well, he'd be trying to catch the bus, anyway. His shift finished at five, and the bus stopped outside the library at five after. It was hardly enough time to grab his stuff and run, especially if he was in the middle of something.

But it looked like he wouldn't be catching the 5:05 today anyway, regardless of how quickly he got going. Because somebody (he wasn't naming any names, but it was Kakarott) had forgotten that he was supposed to teach a later class than usual and wouldn't be able to pick Gohan up from the Summer Readers Program at the library. Usually, Chi-Chi would just leave the cafe in Maza's hands for a few minutes and get him, but apparently she was in the middle of training a new employee today and couldn't leave. So because Raditz was right there, Kakarott had texted him to get him to help out. Not that Raditz minded, honestly. Now that Gohan wasn't terrified of him like he had been when he was really little, it was a lot easier to spend time with his nephew. And maybe if he was lucky, he'd get one of Chi-Chi's home cooked meals out of it.

He quickly recounted the books and DVDs he'd processed and wrote the number down, then did the same with the books he'd repaired that day. "Done," he declared, setting aside his clipboard. (Other departments got tablets to do their statistics on, but no, Technical Services got stuck with a stupid clipboard.) "I'm taking off."

"Whatever." Vegeta's computer was already shut down and he was stretching out his back. His desk was a mess, littered with half-processed books he hadn't given Raditz to finish yet, protein bar wrappers, and a parenting magazine that he thought no one knew about shoved hastily under a pile of trash. He stared dully up at Raditz. "You're here tomorrow, right?"

"Every day, Vegeta." Raditz changed out of his work shoes into his ratty, beat-up sneakers and headed for the door. "G'night, everyone."

Nappa waved without looking up from where he was still cataloguing. "See you tomorrow, Raditz."

Raditz waved lazily over his shoulder and headed for the stairs out of the basement. The library's basement had a weird layout--originally there was just a tiny office for the maintenance staff, but then the IT department was built, and then when Tech Serv was moved downstairs a few years ago they'd made another room for it. So now the basement was a huge half-empty warehouse with various storage closets, a furnace, and three rooms randomly scattered around. Tech Serv was on the other side of the basement from the stairs, which was a pain in the ass, but the elevator was broken again so Raditz didn't have much of a choice.

"Hey."

Raditz glanced over his shoulder. Lapis was following him to the stairs. "You got the early shift today?" Raditz asked.

Lapis grinned. "Damn right. Lazuli's pissed about it, too; apparently she had a date tonight or something."

"Ha." Raditz turned away again as they reached the stairs. Lapis was alright, as far as he was concerned. Laid-back and a huge prankster, as long as he wasn't causing trouble for Tech Serv he was alright as far as Raditz was concerned. His sister, on the other hand, was always angry. Fortunately, that usually that anger was directed at Vegeta, which Raditz could sympathize with. Unfortunately, she also tended to direct a lot of it at Vegeta's coworkers, which meant Raditz was on the receiving end of a lot of dirty looks when she was around. He gave as good as he got, of course, but it was annoying as shit. "Well, bye, I guess."

"Later, Rad-man." And Lapis headed off again as soon as they were at the top of the stairs. Raditz sighed. He was not good at holding conversations. No wonder he didn't have any friends.

He sauntered over to the children's program room, hands in his pockets. Piccolo was standing in the middle of the carpet, surrounded by kids and frantically trying to coax them into being quiet while they waited for their parents. Raditz stood to the side and watched for a moment in a sort of sick satisfaction. He had never gotten along with Piccolo--better than he got along with Vegeta, for sure, but still pretty badly--and it was always gratifying watching him fail miserably at his job. Piccolo caught his eye and glared at him. "Can I help you?" he asked with forced politeness.

"Don't you give me your customer service voice." Raditz leaned against one of the supply cupboards. "You know, you'd probably have an easier time with this stuff if you made parents stay with their kids."

"We try." Piccolo shook his head. "Parents don't have to stay if there's an older sibling to help or in the case of special exceptions, but most of the time the siblings aren't much help." He looked over at Gohan, sitting in a beanbag chair and reading a book about slugs. "You're here for him, then."

"Kakarott asked me to pick him up." Raditz fumbled for his phone to show Piccolo the texts, but Piccolo waved him off.

"Whatever, I believe you. Gohan, time to go."

Gohan looked up and noticed Raditz for the first time. "Uncle Raditz!" He beamed at him and struggled out of his chair before running across the room to latch onto Raditz's legs. "Hi!"

"Don't run," Piccolo reminded him, walking away. "See you tomorrow, kid."

Raditz grabbed Gohan under the arms and hefted him into the air. "God, you're getting heavy. You eating too much of Mom's lasagne or what?"

Gohan giggled. "I'm just a big kid now!"

"I should say." Raditz looked at the book still clutched in Gohan's hands. "You need to check that out or what?"

"No." Gohan dropped it on the floor. "I'm done with it."

"Hey." Raditz set Gohan down. "Pick that up; you know better."

Gohan pouted, but picked the book up and put it on a nearby table where it was almost immediately grabbed by another kid, who ran off with it even as Piccolo yelled not to run.

"That's better." Raditz scooped Gohan up again. "Alright, your dad asked me to get you today, so we're going home now."

"Okay." Gohan squirmed around in Raditz's grip so he could wrap his arms around his neck and still see where they were going. "Mommy said she had a new guy starting at the cafe today!"

"Yeah, that's what your dad told me." Raditz headed outside, squinting and blinking in the summer sunshine. Damn, he might just walk home tonight if it stayed this nice. Although he was wearing too-hot work slacks. Maybe Kakarott would loan him a pair of shorts. "How was your day, kiddo?"

"Awesome!" Gohan's hands tangled in Raditz's hair. "Mr. Piccolo read us stuff about plants, and then we talked about how they grow, and we planted beans in waterbottles. And we're gonna leave them in the window all summer and see how they grow!"

"Huh. Neat." Raditz adjusted his grip and kept going. He knew he didn't have to carry Gohan all the time--in fact Chi-Chi preferred it if he didn't, she called it "babying him." But sometimes he just craved some kind of contact, and holding the kid's hand while they walked wouldn't have been enough. Besides, it was good exercise. "Dende and Videl not there today?"

"No." Gohan sounded sad. "Videl's gotta go to the dentist, and Dende's mostly at day care in the summer. I miss him."

"I'm sure he misses you too."

They walked in silence for a minute. Then Gohan tilted his head and looked at Raditz again. "Uncle Raditz, Mommy said you and Daddy are brothers."

"That's right."

"But then she said you and Daddy didn't know you were brothers until you were grownups."

Raditz's heart stuttered in his chest. "Oh."

"How come?"

"Well." Raditz took a breath. Chi-Chi had a big mouth, dammit. "We got separated when we were really little. He was raised by one guy--he named you after him, actually." Gohan's head tilted as he thought about it, then he nodded. "And I was raised by someone else."

"How come you weren't together?"

Raditz shifted his grip again. Could he really have this conversation with Gohan? Wasn't it a little too grown-up for him? Although, he thought, it wasn't anything the kid couldn't see in any given Disney movie. "Well, our parents died." He paused, trying to figure out how much he should actually say. Maybe he'd skip over the part where they were in a gang and their boss killed them to keep them quiet. "So after that, we had to find somewhere else to live. Your dad went with one family and I went with another, because nobody could take two kids." There. That should do it.

"Oh." Gohan looked at the ground. "So how'd you and Daddy find each other again?"

"Mostly by accident." Raditz shrugged as best he could with an armful of kindergartner. "Your parents were getting married and I was friends with someone in the wedding party--your aunt Bulma, actually." Friends was too strong a word, but he wasn't about to start explaining his complicated relationship with his coworkers to a six year old. "I saw that crazy hair of his and knew it had to be your dad."

Gohan giggled. "I like Daddy's hair! It's funny and he lets me mess it up sometimes."

Raditz laughed. "I'd pay money to see that, kid."

"So who're your parents?"

Raditz stopped laughing. That was a much more loaded question than Gohan thought it was. "I'm--they're--" He faltered, stopped talking. Kakarott's words from the day before rattled through his mind: "I mean, even if they're not really your parents, they still raised you and stuff."

God, he didn't remember his birth parents. He only remembered what Dad looked like because Kakarott looked so much like him; he remembered what Mom looked like because he saw her when he looked in the mirror. There were vague memories of Mom holding his hand as the crossed the street to get to school, of Dad laughing when Raditz's teacher told him what kind of trouble he'd gotten into that day. He remembered Dad paying more attention to baby Kakarott to him, and if he focused as hard as he could he could hear Mom comforting him about it. But other than that, all his memories were of...

"My parents are Garnet and Em," he finally mumbled.

Gohan's eyes practically sparkled. "I wanna meet them."

"Maybe someday." Thankfully, they'd reached the Ox Cafe by then, and Raditz shifted Gohan's weight so he could open the door. "Chi-Chi, I brought your kid," he yelled, striding in. It wouldn't do to let anyone know how awkward he was feeling right now. And the best way to cover that up was by being as loud and obnoxious as possible.

"Heya, Rad!" Maza, Chi-Chi's assistant, beamed at him from across the counter. Her bubblegum pink hair was in a messy bun on her head, which looked really silly when it was squished underneath a hair net. "Cheech's in the back. Checking in on the new baker guy." She waved at Gohan. "Hi, Gohan!"

Gohan squirmed and Raditz set him down so he could run off to the apartment upstairs. He flopped into one of the armchairs in the corner and looked around at the empty cafe. "Quiet day today?"

"You just missed the rush." Maza hoisted a tub of dishes and turned to go. "I'll be right back, and Chi-Chi'll be out soon. Make yourself comfortable!"

"Already did," Raditz muttered as Maza disappeared into the back kitchen. He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. He was tired. Talking about his family issues always exhausted him. But Gohan didn't know that, he couldn't have known that, and if he had he wouldn't have brought it up.

Still, like father, like son. Both Kakarott and Gohan seemed to like bringing up Raditz's family. And, as Kakarott had so helpfully pointed out the day before, Emerald's birthday was coming up. Tomorrow, in fact. He dug his phone out of his pocket and stared at it. Maybe he should call her. After the last fight he'd had with Garnet, though, Raditz wasn't too eager to talk to either of them.

"Hi, Raditz."

Raditz looked up at Chi-Chi as she came out from the kitchen with an armload of aprons. "You look busy," he commented.

She shrugged and set them down. "Nothin' I can't handle, especially with my new boy in the back. Thanks for bringin' Gohan home."

"No problem." Raditz stretched and hauled himself out of his chair. "If you're looking for him, he went upstairs already. Well, it's been fun, but I'm heading out."

"You won't stay for dinner?" Chi-Chi propped her hands on her hips. "I'm closing up shop when Goku gets home 'round six, and it's burger night."

Raditz hesitated. Chi-Chi's homemade hamburgers were the best. And Chi-Chi didn't offer many olive branches.

He scratched his ear and shrugged. "Sure, if you're offering. Thanks."

"No problem." She turned away again and busied herself with folding the freshly-washed aprons. "I'll even introduce you to the new guy, once he comes out. He's great with pastries, but not with people, so he'll stay in the back most of the time. But if he's going to work here, he'd better get used to you." Chi-Chi smiled over her shoulder at him and Raditz blinked in surprise. Was she saying what he thought she was?

"Th-thanks," he stammered.

"Miss Chi-Chi?"

A head stuck out from the back room, thin and almost gaunt, with sad eyes too small for his face. Chi-Chi shook her head at him. "Broly, I've told you, it's just Chi-Chi. What's the matter?"

"Th-the oven's making a weird noise." Broly seemed to notice Raditz for the first time. "Oh. Hello."

Raditz waved. Chi-Chi ushered Broly back into the kitchen. "Introductions later, weird oven noises now. Raditz, watch the shop. I'll be right back."

Bewildered, Raditz froze for a moment. Chi-Chi had never let him watch the shop before. She was just full of surprises today. He looked around at the empty cafe. Not that there was much to watch. He wandered over to the laundry and absently started folding it. He might as well make himself useful, anyway.

"Hello."

Raditz jumped at the voice behind him. Broly was back, hands twisting in his apron and looking Raditz steadily in the eyes. Something about the prolonged eye contact unnerved him, and he looked away, back to the aprons. "I thought you were needed in the back."

"Miss Chi-Chi sent me off because I don't know how to fix ovens." Broly moved around to the edge of Raditz's sight. "She said Maza would fix it and told me to come introduce myself to you."

"Real nice of her," Raditz mumbled. His hands moved on autopilot and he looked up at Broly again. On a second glance, he was quite tall and thin, his clothes hanging off him. Some of his black hair was falling out of his messy ponytail, and he kept tucking it out of his face. "I'm Chi-Chi's brother in law. Name's Raditz."

"Hi," Broly said. He tilted his head. "You're Goku's brother?"

"That's me." Raditz stacked the last apron on top of the pile and turned his full attention to Broly. "You know Kaka--Goku?" He caught himself just in time. Kakarott allowed Raditz to call him by his real name when it was just them or among family, but to strangers he was always supposed to be Goku. The name felt wrong in his mouth.

"Not really." Broly looked away. "My father does, sort of."

"Oh." Raditz rubbed his nose. Broly wasn't much of a conversationalist, and Raditz really wasn't much better when it came right down to it. He decided to change the subject. "So today's your first day?"

"Yeah." Broly brightened a little. "Father wasn't happy when I told him I'd gotten a job at a cafe, but I told him who owned it and he relaxed because he knew Goku." He fidgeted. "I think he's still mad I didn't get in at the library, though."

Something clicked in Raditz's brain and his eyes widened. He'd thought the name Broly was familiar. Nappa had mentioned it after the security guard interviews. "Y-you--you're not the guy who started flipping out when Kak--Goku walked in, are you?"

Broly looked down and blushed. "He looks like someone I used to know. I got confused and freaked out. Father was so mad after that..."

"Dude, you know he lives here, right?" Raditz propped his hands on his hips and glared at Broly. "You'd better get over that fast or you're going to be fired. Why the hell would your dad be okay with you being around someone he knows freaks you out?"

"He said it'd be good for me," Broly mumbled. "Besides, I was able to talk to him and apologise after."

"No offense, but your dad sounds like a jerk." Raditz folded his arms. "Does Chi-Chi know?"

Broly's eyes widened. "Please don't tell her."

Raditz jabbed a finger into Broly's chest. "Don't make it an issue and I won't have to. Got it?"

He nodded. "I can do that. Thank you, Raditz."

Raditz scoffed. "Whatever. Shouldn't you be getting back to work?"

The bell over the door tinkled and Kakarott came rushing through. "Chi-Chi, I'm home!" He skidded to a halt in the middle of the room, eyes falling on Raditz and Broly. "Hi, Raditz! Hi, Broly!"

Raditz kept an eye on Broly, but aside from a sudden tenseness to his shoulders and jaw, nothing happened. "Hi, Goku."

Kakarott slung an arm over Raditz's shoulders. "Are you staying for dinner? It's hamburger night!"

"I've heard." There was a noise, and he looked up to see Broly walking quickly but stiffly back into the kitchen. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed once Broly was out of earshot. "How could you let Chi-Chi hire him?"

"It's her cafe." Kakarott shrugged. "Besides, he said he was sorry before."

"Sorry doesn't cut it! He nearly broke Nappa's hand! He should be locked up, not decorating cupcakes or whatever the fuck!"

"Give him a chance. Get to know him!" Kakarott clapped him on the shoulder. "He's really nice! Maybe you two could--"

"If you're about to suggest I ask him out I'll destroy you," Raditz growled.

Kakarott shrugged. "Just a suggestion. He's cute."

Well, he was, but that wasn't the point. "Whatever. But if this blows up in your faces, don't come crying to me."

"It'll be fine," Kakarott said confidently. "Hey, have you called your mom?"

Raditz bit back his automatic response of "she's not my mom" and stuck his hands in his pockets. "No."

"Her birthday's soon. You should call her."

"Sure, Dad." Raditz shrugged Kakarott off and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to hang out with Gohan," he called over his shoulder. "At least he doesn't try to set me up with weirdos or pester me about my family!"

"Hey, you called them your family!" Goku replied brightly before Raditz slammed the apartment door behind him.

Raditz turned his phone over in his hands and stared at the fingerprint-smudged black screen. It was his morning off, and it was Em's birthday. He really should call her. He'd seen Alex's Facebook pictures of the cake they'd made her, and he'd liked them, but that was all he'd done so far. He hadn't even gotten her a card or anything.

He flopped onto his side and stared at the wall across from the couch. Things weren't supposed to be this complicated. Raditz had always hated when things were all mixed up and messed up and not plain and straightforward. "My parents are Garnet and Em," he'd said to Gohan yesterday. "Don't you care about them at all?" Kakarott had asked him.

But it was more complicated than that, wasn't it? He'd spent so many years trying to find his place in the world by himself, pushing away the people who wanted to help him in the vain hope of reconnecting with the only "real" family he had left. Of course he cared about Garnet and Em and Alex and even Alex's kids, the same way he cared about Kakarott and Gohan and, yes, even Chi-Chi. He just couldn't face them after so long trying to make them leave him alone. How could he go crawling back to them now, nearly ten years later, and ask if he could be part of the family again? That wasn't fair.

Well, he figured, he didn't have to start with asking to be part of the family again. All he was doing was wishing an acquaintance--a friend--a happy birthday. That was all.

Taking a breath, Raditz sat up and pulled up Em's phone number, his thumb hovering over the Call button for a few seconds longer than necessary before pressing it. It rang for what felt like forever before Em's voice came crackling over the line. "Hello!"

"Hi--" Raditz started, but Emerald cut him off. "I'm unable to take your call right now, leave me a message and I'll get back to you!" There was a long beep and Raditz hung up.

Of course. Raditz's breath shook and he buried his face in one of the couch cushions. He wanted to cry. The one time he tried to do something nice, something good, and of course he fucked it up by picking a time she couldn't talk. He was an idiot and he'd never fix his relationship with his parents.

The thought startled him. Somewhere, over the last couple days of talking about it, he'd finally come to really see Garnet and Emerald as his real parents. And now he was screwed. His throat closed up and he tried to choke back a sob. What the hell was wrong with him? Vegeta was right; he was a total screw-up, never did anything right. God, he should just--

His phone buzzed and he shot upright, staring at it.

Em was calling him back.

She was calling him back.

He fumbled to jab the Accept Call button and held the phone to his ear with shaking hands. "H-hello?" he stammered.

"Raditz?" Yes, that was Emerald's voice alright. He took a shaky breath of relief. "Did you just try to call me? It said I had a missed call from you; I was driving so I didn't get it. Is everything alright?"

"I--yeah," Raditz choked out, "everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" Em sounded concerned. That was ridiculous, why should she be concerned about Raditz? "You haven't called home in years."

And Raditz was gone, tears spilling down his face as his shoulders shook. She'd said "home." Raditz hadn't thought of their house as home, not really, for a long time, and here Emerald was just--he tried to wipe his face and his voice cracked when he spoke again. "I-I just--happy birthday, Mom."

There was silence on the other end, but when Emerald spoke again her voice was just as wobbly as his. "Thank you, dear," she whispered. "Do you--we're having a little get-together this evening, would you come?"

Raditz gulped. He'd already been invited by Alex on Facebook, but he'd thought it was just out of obligation. He wasn't really wanted. "I don't--I don't even have a card. And I work until seven."

"That's okay." Em's smile was obvious in her voice, breaking through her tears. "Just come."

He nodded. "Yeah. Okay. I will. I'll--I'll see you tonight, M-Mom."

"See you tonight, Raditz. Have a good day at work."

"Happy birthday."

Raditz hung up before he said anything else stupid. But this time when he flopped onto his side, he had a grin splitting his face from ear to ear.

#dbz #dragon ball z #raditz #writing #fanfiction #library!au #west city pl

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