hello new self portrait just dropped which means this is officially what i look like now

Past Lives Chapter 6

I was so excited as Master Wu carried my cat carrier up the many steps towards the monastery. After packing up all the cat stuff Mystake bought and the tea he had ordered, Wu covered the carrier with a blanket, but there was a small tear in the front, allowing me to see a little bit of the outside world as we walked. I couldn't wait to get back to the rebuilt monastery and see the others again. I've missed them all so much over these last few weeks, especially Nya.

Master Wu didn't say anything as the large gates opened.

As we entered the property, the gates swung close again trapping us inside whether I liked it or not. As Wu stepped into the monastery, I was starting to panic a little inside at the thought of seeing them again. How were they all doing after my death? Were they ever still a team anymore? Would they even want to take care of a kitten? Was Nya alright?! All of a sudden I heard many voices, the voices of my family, all around me as I felt Master Wu gently place the carrier on a table.

I think we're in either the dining room or the kitchen or maybe the living room.

Probably the kitchen because I could smell the sweet scent of Zane's cooking. Oh shit, will I still be able to eat human food?!

"Good evening, Sensei." I heard Zane say as the others gave their own greetings and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. So, they were all still here together. That's something I'm so grateful for.

"Good evening everyone, how are you all doing today?"

"Fine." I heard Lloyd mutter in an almost emotionless voice. Did his voice sound lower? Sounds like our little green ninja's growing up!

"What's under the blanket?" Cole asked and, even though I can't see them, I shrank a little as I felt their eyes all turned to the covered carrier I was in.

"As you all know, I traveled into Ninjago City to collect my order of black tea from Mystake earlier, and she offered us a gift to help us deal with... certain recent events." Master Wu explained and the air was suddenly filled a thick tension. I could almost feel the glare harden on Lloyd's face.

"What is it?" He demanded to know. Knowing it was best not to keep them waiting, Wu quickly pulled off the blanket, opened the carrier, and lifted me out for all the team to see me, but it also let me see them for the first time in over two months. They all looked so different from the last time I'd seen them. Cole's black hair was longer and shaggier, his eyebrows weren't as bushy he had a more relaxed look to his eyes. Jay's hair was more curly and he had light freckles now.

Zane's titanium form now had silver hair in a tall flat-top, crew cut hairstyle with no sideburns.

He had glowing blue eyes, reflective of his robotic nature. Instead of a bob cut, Nya had long black hair kept in a ponytail. She was wearing pale pink lipstick and had small dimples on her cheeks. She also had a beauty mark on her right cheek. Lloyd looked more mature and his blond hair was a little bit longer and his eyes were greener than I remember. But that wasn't what shocked me the most. It was the heavy bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept in weeks.

He and I made eye contact, but it didn't last long.

"Why do you bring that in here?" He spat and I flinched at his tone. What's he got against cats? When I was a little kid he used to bring all kinds of animals back to the Bounty, begging us to let him keep it as a pet. Hell, he's even brought home a spider once! Jay was quick to shut that shit down!

"Mystake has been kind enough to purchase this feline for us in hopes it will help us come to terms with Kai's passing and provide a way to ease our pain." Master Wu explained and everyone slumped slightly in sadness and it pained me to see. I wish I could tell them I was their lost brother Kai.

"I've always wanted a cat!" Jay suddenly squealed loudly before anybody could say anything else. I scowled at the comment and flattered my ears while Nya quietly chuckled next to him. Lloyd growled lowly before storming off. No one made a move to stop him. All of a sudden, Zane took me from Master Wu and I almost flinched when I felt the cold metal of his hands. I am so grateful for having a thick fur coat. Zane's eyes started to glow over me and I realized he was scanning me!

"Hey! What happened to ask permission?!" I hissed, but this only caused Cole to chuckle.

"I don't think he likes that." The noirette smiled as Zane put me on the table.

"He is a nine weeks old Maine Coon kitten, no records of vaccinations or neutering." The nindroid said once he finished scanning me. Again, very rude!

"A main cone?" Jay frowned in confusion.

"The Maine Coon is a large domesticated cat breed; it has a distinctive physical appearance and valuable hunting skills," Zane explained as he pulled up a holography image of an adult Maine Coon cat.

"Awe, you've got a lot of growing to do, don't you?" Jay cooed in an exaggerated baby voice as he picked me up and held me to eye level.

"If you keep that voice, I will scratch you," I growled, but Jay didn't seem to notice.

"He's really ours? Can he stay in my room? Wait, what's his name?!" He screeched, almost horrified that he didn't know my name.

"Please call me Kai! PLEASE!" I begged, but all they heard was a series of meows.

"Noisy little furball, isn't he?" Nya smiled as she started scratching me behind the ear. It was really nice and I started purring, causing everyone to awe and coo at me even more.

"There will be plenty of time to discuss names, for now though, I suggest we find a place for this sleepy kitten to sleep and where to place his items." Master Wu said, holding up the bag full of my kitten stuff Mystake had bought. That was all Jay needed to hear because he was suddenly carrying me out of the dining room and gave me a grand tour of the new monastery. I kept an eye out for Lloyd, but I didn't see or hear him. Jay continued to quickly carry me throughout the entire monastery, showing me all the many rooms and electronic gizmos they had added to the new building.

Twenty minutes later, I had seen the entire mansion but still had no clue where anything was as the place was so big and the tour was so quick.

We returned to the living room, where Master Wu, Nya, and Zane were waiting. I wanted to spend more time with my family, but for some reason, I was struggling to keep my eyes open. I suddenly let out a loud yawn, showing off my little, sharp teeth.

"Where is the kitten to sleep, Sensei?" Zane asked, noticing how tired I looked.

"Mystake provided a cat cushion for him and a litter box." He replied and I flinched when he mentioned that goddamn litter box. Using it was so humiliating! I wish I could use the toilet, but even if I could climb up, I was so small that there was a good chance of falling into the toilet bowl. Using a litter box might be embarrassing, but death by drowning in a toilet was even worse! After a short debate, it was decided that I'd be sleeping in Nya's room, which I was grateful for.

I wouldn't be able to sleep with Jay staring at me all night.

We went into Nya's room and my cushion was placed at the foot of her bed and my litter box was tucked into the far corner for me to use in the night. Jay reluctantly placed me on the cushion after Nya ordered him to let me sleep. As soon as I made contact with it, I curled up into a little ball and snuggled deep into my little cloud of heaven. I could hear the others talking, but I didn't pay attention as I drifted off into a peaceful sleep. I was finally home...

****************

AN: Right people, start sending me names for a male, moody, dark brown, Maine Coon kitten! The one I like the most will be the one I use!

Hey congrats on 300 followers 🥳 also as a prompt can we just have some fluffy IronDad and SpiderSon making pancakes, when you get the chance of course :3

Hello!! Thank you for the prompt! I hope you enjoy it, I enjoyed writing it xD

I’m also sorry for not writing in so long (the chirstmas thing doesnt really count), ive been struggling recently but its okay bc im bACK BABY

——

“It’s too early for this,” Tony sighs, putting the recipe he printed on the marble counter. What made him think that waking up early to make pancakes from scratch was a good idea? Ah, yes, the little spider-ling who was currently sleeping in his bedroom because he had a nightmare. The things he would do and the extents he would go for the boy baffled him sometimes.

Reluctantly, the engineer picked up the piece of paper, trudging around the pristine kitchen to gather the ingredients and cutlery. He really should be increasing his pace if he wanted to finish the pancakes before Peter woke up, especially since the teen had super-hearing and may wake to the sound of clanging. But really, Tony had maybe three hours of sleep, too busy chasing the nightmares away from the young hero, so his sluggishness could be excused.

Looking at all the ingredients displayed before him and the recipe that seemed to mock him for his incompetence in the kitchen, Tony wonders if he should ask Pepper for help. Alas, his CEO had already left the penthouse to do CEO things, being the responsible adult she is and all, so the poor billionaire was left to his own devices.

And honestly? With how he burnt an omelette after taking hours to make it, Tony doesn’t have much hope with the pancakes. He was still going to try, of course, but just looking at the recipe hurt his brain. How did professional chefs do this? Mechanics and fixing things was much easier, in his opinion.

Tony looks at everything displayed before him and sighs again. Hopefully, with any luck, Peter won’t wake up to burnt pancakes and Pepper won’t come back to a messy kitchen.

——

Peter wakes up with a headache, as expected after the nightmares and crying himself to sleep. He hears the distinct sound of clanging, then a crash, followed by a curse, and decides that he has no time to sleep off his headache.

Rolling his heavy body out of bed, the teen slips his feet into soft and fluffy bunny slippers before dragging himself to the kitchen. In the hallway, with the perfect view of the kitchen, he sees the mess that is the kitchen.

Mr. Stark is wearing an apron that read ‘I am the boss,’ looking anything but a boss. There is a bowl filled with some sort of batter splattered on the kitchen floor and… was that flour in his hair? He watches as his mentor pulls his hair, staring in distress at the sight of the mess that he made, cursing with a frown on his face.

“Um…” Peter starts and he has to hide his smile behind his hand when his mentor whips around with the most guilty expression he has ever seen. “Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”

“Okay? Do I look—” the adult takes a deep breath, looking like he’d rather be in his lab than in the kitchen. “I’m okay, I’m totally fine. Everything’s going exactly as planned—”

Peter eyes the mess on the floor, watching as the thick batter spreads. “Do you want my help?”

“No, I don’t want your help. I’m a grown adult and I can do adult things like cook pancakes,” Mr. Stark said, following Peter’s gaze and they both stare at the growing mess. “Okay, maybe I do need your help.”

“Yay! Let’s make pancakes together!” The young hero cheers, smiling brightly. They start afresh by clearing the ruined batter on the ground because Peter is a good boy and they can’t possibly work with the mess mocking them on the floor.

They measure the ingredients perfectly, as stated on the recipe, and separates them into different bowls. Then, they dump the ingredients together and laugh when they whip too hard, causing some batter to fly and smack them in the face.

Of course, they are science geniuses, so the next part would be a little tricky for there was no math involved. Plus, with Tony’s lack of culinary skills and May as Peter’s guardian, they were bound to fail.

“Oil! Oil! Did you put oil?” Peter asks frantically when his mentor looked as if he was going to dump the batter straight into the pan. “Where’s the oil?”

And when they got that under control…

“What do you mean ‘when the edges are brown’?” Peter yells at the phone, the paper with the recipe and instructions that Tony printed long forgotten. “I need numbers, how long do we need to wait before we flip?”

Tony’s face was directly over the pan, squinting at the batter. “It doesn’t look very brown on the edges, so maybe a while longer?”

The younger rushes over, squeezing his head beside his mentor’s to see what was going on in the pan. They looked like two young children, watching something for the first time.

“Do we flip now?” Tony asks when a particularly large bubble forms. “Quick, Pete, google ‘mistakes to avoid when making pancakes.’”

While Peter does as instructed, Tony decides that they’ve waited too long and flips the pancake over, watching in horror as the pancake is completely burnt. The engineer just thanks the lord they have more batter to experiment on. This was like science. Kind of. Trail and error.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter wails, throwing his head back dramatically. “The site says to ‘have faith that the pancake will let you know when it’s ready to flip.’ What does that mean?”

The younger paused, suddenly standing up straight. “Wait, does our pancake have to sentient? It has to let us know… what? I’m confused, Mr. Stark. Math is much easier than whatever this is.”

The billionaire nodded, dumping the burnt pancake onto a plate. He scoops more batter into the pan and hopes he won’t mess up again. “I don’t think we’re cut out for this.”

“Ya think, Mr. Stark? We belong in the lab,” Peter whines, running his hand down his face, unaware of the residual flour on his hands. “The kitchen is our hell.”

Before they can complain more, the elevator doors open, and Ms. Potts steps out. She paused at the sight of Peter’s flour-stained face, and the burnt pancake, and Tony’s dishevelled appearance.

“What happened? I came up to get some documents and this is what greets me?” Ms. Potts teases, smiling cheekily. She walks over to the singular brunt pancake, picking it up with her bare hands. “What is this?”

Tony rushes over to snatch the thing out of her hands, forgetting about the batter he just poured into the pan. “This is a pancake, thank you very much.”

While the two adults bicker, Peter smells the faint scent of burnt and curiously looks around. When he notices smoke coming from the pan, he runs over, shouting, “Mr. Stark! You burnt another pancake!”

Before any of the three can do something about it, F.R.I.D.A.Y activates the sprinklers and cool water rains upon them in the kitchen. Ms. Potts shields the documents in her hand with her body, while the other two just stand there and accept their fate.

“That’s it,” Peter winces as Ms. Potts starts to speak. “None of you are allowed in my kitchen ever again!”

Tony smiles guiltily as he thinks, ‘well, Peter didn’t wake up to burnt pancakes and Pepper didn’t come back to a messy kitchen— it was just the opposite.’

——

tags: @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad @the-world-will-end-guy @hollandrecs

Oooh can I ask for #27 and obviously Ziam 😄

You absolutely may :) I also feel it’s appropriate to let you know that I had a vision for how this one would turn out in my head. This story isn’t it so do with that what you may lo

27. “I’m pregnant.”

“Liam?” Zayn murmured, letting his head drop against the bathroom door with a soft thump. Zayn had been hesitant to approach Liam, especially considering how upset the boy was right now.

“I’m fine, Zayn. You don’t have to check up on me,” came Liam’s muffled reply. And maybe Zayn didn’t have to check up on Liam, but he wanted to. Liam had been weird lately—closed off from Zayn in a way he had never been. It made Zayn think that he was the reason for Liam’s bad mood, and Zayn couldn’t deal with that.

“Maybe not,” Zayn said. “But I want to.” Zayn waited a beat with no response before saying, “C’mon, Li. You know I won’t go away until you at least let me in. Are you really going to make me start being a brat so early in the night?”

There was a long moment of silence following Zayn’s words, and Zayn was just gearing up to start annoying Liam when the door swung open, causing Zayn to stumble forward a little. Liam was stood in the doorway, an annoyed, but still fond look gracing his features.

“You’re already a brat. I don’t know what you mean by ‘start’.”

Zayn grinned, shoving Liam back into the room before closing the door behind him. “Alright,” he started. “Spill. What’s up? Why have we locked ourselves in the bathroom?”

Liam rolled his eyes as he sad down on the closed toilet lid. “We haven’t locked ourselves in anywhere. I locked myself in the bathroom and you annoyed your way in.”

Zayn grinned, throwing a shrug Liam’s way before he moved into a crouch by Liam’s knees.

“Seriously, though, Li. What’s up? You’ve been, um, rather…emotional lately.” Zayn winced after the words left his mouth. He’d wanted to be delicate when talking to Liam—the boy had been emotional recently; there were some days where Zayn was pretty sure he’d gotten whip lash from Liam’s mood swings—but based on the glare Liam was throwing his way, Zayn definitely could’ve chosen his words better. “I-I just mean, not that you’ve been moody! Because that isn’t what I meant, like, at all! I was just saying that you’ve seemed, I don’t know? Upset, I guess? And I just wanted you to know that I was here, if you wanted talk about anything, y’know? Because I can tell you’ve been upset the last couple of weeks.”

Zayn took a breath, also taking that moment to take in Liam’s expression. He had an eyebrow lifted, looking at Zayn with a slight curve to his lips that wasn’t necessarily a smile, but also wasn’t not a smile. Zayn got the distinct impression that he was being made fun of for his rambling.

“I’m not upset, Zayn.” Zayn nodded at Liam’s words, his mind already starting up a rambling, incoherent thought process.

“Okay, so maybe upset isn’t the right word. But you haven’t been happy, have you? I mean, you haven’t been not happy this whole time, obviously, there’s been happy moments. I’m not trying to saying you’ve been in a permanent bad mood, just like more so recently then before. Not that you’re not, y’know, entitled to be in a bad mood every once in a while! Because you totally are! It’s just, I was kind of hoping you’d maybe…tell me why you’ve been so…hormonal?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Zayn regretted them. Had he just called Liam hormonal? Out loud? What was wrong with him?

Liam’s eyebrows shot up, surprise—and, Zayn hoped, a hint of amusement?—quickly covering his features. Zayn was so caught up in his own misery—seriously, why had he said that?—that he didn’t noticed the teasing glint twinkling in Liam’s eyes.

“Have you thought of the possibility that maybe…” Liam trailed off, making sure he was meeting Zayn’s eyes before he said, “I’m pregnant?”

Zayn barely even registered Liam’s words, too focused on trying to be understanding and forget about what he’d just said to properly think them through. “I wasn’t sure what was going on, Li. But if that’s what bothering you, that’s perfectly reasonable, and of course if you—”

“Zayn.”

“—wanna talk about it, I’m always here, okay? I mean I know you’re—”

“Zayn.”

“—used to dealing with things—wait,” Zayn cut himself off, Liam’s words from before finally registering. Zayn forced himself out of his own head, once again focusing on Liam and his words. “Pregnant?” And okay, so maybe it wasn’t quite as elegant and coherent as he would’ve liked, but his brain was still trying to switch from trying to be supportive to actually understanding what Liam was telling him. It was difficult, especially since he was starting to think he hadn’t been listening to Liam.

“Pregnant?” Zayn asked again. He felt it needed repeating because what? Liam was a guy, he couldn’t even get pregnant.

Zayn watched as Liam’s lips twitched upwards, obviously fighting off a smile that was so eager to take over his face. Zayn was still confused for all of five seconds until it finally hit him.

“You’re a dick,” Zayn gasped out, lunging forward to shove at Liam’s shoulder. Liam broke into a series of giggles, and despite Liam’s teasing, Zayn couldn’t help but feel a little relieved as a few of his own spilled past his lips. It felt like this was the first time he’d seen Liam laugh in weeks. That might have been a slight exaggeration, but, honestly, Liam really hadn’t been himself recently, and the fact that he turned to humor before actually admitting what was wrong was only further proof of this.

“Seriously, Li,” Zayn started, his voice soft but serious. The smile slowly dropped off Liam’s face at Zayn’s tone, and Zayn felt his own heart drop a little at the look now on Liam’s face. Liam did a good job of hiding his emotions, but even Zayn could see the resigned and slightly dejected look he couldn’t quite mask. Zayn soldiered on, anyway. He was tired of Liam pushing him away; he just wanted his friend back. “What’s been bothering you?”

Liam heaved out a sigh, running a hand over his face before roughly shoving it through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Zayn,” Liam whispered. “I tried really hard not to—tried to talk myself out of it so many fucking times, but…” Liam trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut before continuing. “But it’s really hard to control myself when it comes to you.”

Zayn made a soft noise in the back of his throat, his confusion only increasing at Liam’s explanation. Some how Zayn was the cause of Liam’s permanent bad mood, and that made an uncomfortable weight settle in the bottom of Zayn’s stomach.

“Li…what are you talking about?” Zayn tried to swallow around the lump that was quickly growing in his throat. Zayn wasn’t sure where this little heart to heart was heading, but his mind was setting off warning bells of bad bad bad. It wasn’t helping that the more he thought about Liam’s words—the more he tried to piece them together, connect them to Liam’s mood and his actions—the more confused he got.

Liam opened his eyes, meeting Zayn’s gaze head on, and the sadness in them almost bowled Zayn over.

Fuck, Zayn thought. It was the only word he could think of in that moment.

“I’m talking about falling in love with you, Z.” Liam gave a short, bitter laugh to match the sad twist of his mouth, and Zayn felt all the breath leave his lungs in one harsh exhale. “I’m talking about telling myself how fucking stupid it was to go and fall in love with my best friend, all the while knowing that he’d never love me back. I’m talking about not being able to stop my stupid fucking heart from stuttering in my chest every time you so much as look at me.” Liam took a deep, shuddering breath, lowering his eyes until he was staring at the floor next to Zayn’s knees. “I’m talking about trying desperately hard to try and control my feelings by pushing you away, hoping maybe that would make them…I don’t know. Not disappear, but maybe…lessen? Make them more manageable, at least. Manageable enough that I wouldn’t be overcome with an all-consuming want to kiss you every time you fucking laughed at one of my jokes.”

Liam let out another self-depreciating laugh, bringing both of his hands up to drop his face into. Zayn still couldn’t catch his damn breath. He felt like all the oxygen in the room was being sucked out, preventing him from just breathing. And, well, breathing was kinda something he needed to do.

“I’m sorry,” Liam croaked out, his voice impossibly heart broken and ashamed. Just like that, the oxygen seemed to slam back into Zayn’s lungs, and he inhaled a deep breath, his lungs burning as they expanded.

Liam loved him. Liam was in love with him. Zayn didn’t think he’d ever been happier in his life.

“Liam,” Zayn gasped, surging forward to close the space between them. “Li, sweetheart, look at me please.” He reached out, pulling Liam’s hands away from his face and tucking them between his own, intertwining their fingers in a way the was decidedly intimate.

Liam finally opened his eyes, staring at their joined hands for a moment before looking up into Zayn’s eyes. His expression was still shuttered, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. Zayn’s heart cracked at that expression.

“Li, baby, you’re so, so wrong.” Zayn unwound one of his hands, reaching up to brush the hair off of Liam’s forehead so he could see him better. “It wasn’t stupid to fall in love with me, just stupid to think that I’d never love you back. Because I do. Love you. So much it makes me stupid sometimes.”

It was Zayn’s turn to let out a small, self-depreciating laugh, and Liam’s to breathe out a long, shuddering breath. Liam’s hands tightened around Zayn’s, a disbelieving laugh escaping on his next exhale.

“You’re…you’re serious?” Liam asked.

“Completely, Li.” Zayn had barely gotten the words out before he had a lapful of a giddy, giggling Liam.

“Thank God.”

"I got a couple jugs'a gasoline in my trunk, a bag of those bigass camping firestarter things, and a lighter. Jeanette and I will go fix the problem ourselves 'n leave you here."

did it not occur to you that as an organism existing within a greater organism, your intrusion would be felt?

word count 6033. heavily implied death. features a hotel!

"It's a goddamn eyesore's what it is."

The sparks of an oncoming headache danced behind Jeanette's eyes. The lights were too bright. The patrons were too loud. The acrid aftertaste of her drink sat heavy on the back of her tongue- she was going to regret this tomorrow. Rosa sat across from her, arms slung over the back of the booth like she owned the place. If she was making an effort to take up as much space as possible, it was paying off. Whether out of discomfort or just outright fear, Robin had squished himself against the wall. It was as far away from Rosa as he could get, but he still clutched his cardboard-colored cardigan around his bony shoulders with a white-knuckled grip. The longer she spoke, the tighter he pulled. It'd be a damn shame if it ripped, Jeanette thought, idly stirring at the ice of her empty glass. He'd look actually naked without it.

"It's supposed to be demolished soon. Besides, that part of town is borderline empty nowadays. I'd argue it's not making anyone's eyes sore." His voice was little more than a whisper, barely audible over the barroom chatter. Apparently Rosa wasn't done ranting, judging by the glare she shot him even as he opened his mouth to continue. Whether those were tears budding in his eyes or just the reflection of the lights in his glasses, Jeanette wasn't sure. If she really strained her ears, she could just pretend they weren't there. Her bed plead for her company from the other side of town, and she'd be answering its call as soon as she could.

The familiar sounds of the crowded haunt bubbled up around them, but Rosa's presence commanded attention, and God help anyone who didn't turn their eyes to her when she started speaking. Hell, she even styled herself like it. Wild, curly hair that puffed out around her head and down to her shoulders like some mockery of a bowl cut. Gaudy Hawaiian shirts in tropical neons bright enough to sear any sane person's eyes out. There was a reason that she rarely, if ever, interacted with any customers. She'd scared off plenty a self-respecting man, and the few friends that remained at her side remained mostly out of fear for the repercussions of speaking out against her. A select few just found her crazy. Crazy in the fun way, but crazy nonetheless. She had a way of making herself seem like the only person in the room, and the aura of confidence she gave off was strong enough to melt steel. Even as Jeanette sat there, she could feel the ice in her glass getting less and less solid.

"The debate's fuckin' stupid," Rosa spat, brow creasing and fingers pinching at the bridge of her nose. "It's supposed to be 'bringing in tourists.' It's bullshit. All of it. The beaches are what's bringin' in the tourists. All that rotting hunk of bricks can do is get Buzzfeed listicles written about it and clog up the skyline. The thing's condemned, for Christ's sake! What good's a 'tourist attraction' y'can't even get anywhere near without getting arrested?"

Jeanette trained her eyes on her straw as she pressed it back against her lips. "Buzzfeed listicles."

"Don't get smart with me." Despite the ever-present background chatter, the air still managed to fall stagnant. She didn't dare look up. She could feel Rosa's eyes on the back of her neck, two points of heat on her skin and a growing weight in her chest. Across the table, Robin stared at her in something like pity, biting down hard on his thin lips. She didn't realize she hadn't blinked until the table suddenly quaked. Rosa had her chin cupped in her hands, filling her companions' fields of view with nothing but her. The way her round cheeks pressed against her mouth disguised the gummy grin spreading across her face. "Listen. I got an idea."

Robin scoffed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "You always have an idea. I'm not getting arrested again, Rosa."

"Not even for widdle 'ol me?" The expression Rosa plastered on was probably supposed to be charming, but it resembled something closer to an old porcelain doll. The kind that felt like they were always staring at you, planning something.

"Especially not for you."

"Whatever." She tossed herself back in her seat, arms slung behind her head. The way Robin winced, anyone could've sworn he was expecting a slap across the face for that. Even after she started again, the tension in his shoulders didn't fade. "I got a couple jugs'a gasoline in my trunk, a bag of those bigass camping firestarter things, and a lighter. Jeanette and I will go fix the problem ourselves 'n leave you here." As soon as the words left her mouth, Jeanette's pupils shrunk to barely more than pinpricks. Having adopted the same posture as a shrimp the entire outing, the way her back straightened itself out sent a resounding crack across the room.

"I never agreed to anyth-"

"I'm not payin' for an Uber for your broke asses."

Off to the side, one of the buttons on Robin's cardigan snapped off. That budding headache returned in full force, and everyone let out a collective groan. Everyone except Rosa, still beaming from ear to ear.

"Great answer. I'll foot the bill, then."

Rosa braced her weight up on the hood of her old beat-up Hummer, neck craned back to get a better view of the imposing building in front of her. Jeanette had never actually been this close to the thing before, but now that she was, she could definitely see why anyone'd want it gone. At some point in time, it had probably been glorious. It was massive, for Christ's sake- the corridors stretched back into the distance farther than she could see. Despite the wear and tear, some aspects of its former glory remained. The ornately carved trim making perfect floral swirls along the entryway. The grand double-doors with their rusted bronze handles, worn smooth from decades of hands and weather. Logically, Jeanette knew she wasn't the first to visit the Carnelian after its closure, and she sure as hell wouldn't be the last. What she expected out of an abandoned building, though, was something frozen in time, at the mercy of the elements. The door handles carried the distinct slick of skin oil, though. Someone had been here recently enough for it to still be present, but she couldn't see any other signs of human life in the area. No footprints besides their own, no parked cars or bikes or any other transportation. Just three kinda-friends-mostly-just-coworkers and a hotel.

"Goddamn. Look at the thing," Rosa tutted, shaking her head. "Tonight's gonna be the night, ain't it? We've lived in its shadow for too long. Can't wait to see this on the news tomorrow." Robin stared in her direction like a deer in the headlights, choking down a lump so thick you could see it sliding down his throat. He shook like a leaf despite the tepid summer air not carrying any hint of a breeze, and what he wouldn't say, Jeanette could- just in a more subtle manner.

"Hey, why don't we try getting inside?"

Rosa cocked a brow in her direction, watching as Jeanette pulled her tight ponytail into a messy bun. "What for?"

"I mean, there has to be some stuff in there the last guys haven't looted. Memorabilia. Even if we raze the place to the ground, there's gotta be someone out there aching for Carnelian merch, right? There's money to be made here."

Rosa's eyes lit up at the mere mention of money, pulling herself up straight. Robin almost leapt out of his skin at the sudden movement, letting his fingers worry along the edges of his cardigan once again. He didn't make eye contact with either of the women. Apparently, the broken windows and crooked beams of the hotel before him were very, very interesting. Far more interesting, at least, than having to listen to Rosa's half-baked nonsense again. Before she even moved towards the doors of the Carnelian, she had already rolled up her sleeves and cuffed her pants, almost too eager to toss herself inside. Jeanette swore she could see dollar signs gleaming gold in the deep brown of her eyes the more she brushed her hair out of her face and tied it back into a ponytail more of a glorified man-bun.

"Jeez, Jeanette, I could've sworn you had a stick up your ass! So you finally decide to live a little, huh?" The smile on Rosa's face was very audible in her voice, each syllable ending in almost a squeak. The woman in question only stared at her with her brows knit and her lips pulled tight against her gums, not daring to respond. Rosa didn't seem to care. "Yeah, this place was fuckin' loaded back in its day. No way in hell there isn't something of value in there. Even if it's, like, riddled with asbestos or something. We can make do, yeah? Sell it on eBay for a couple hundo?"

"I doubt we can get that much." Robin quivered, shrinking into himself more the longer he had to tear his eyes away from the watchful gaze of the Carnelian. "I mean, what's of value in there that hasn't already been l-looted? If you're so dead set on getting rid of the thing, can't we just light it up and leave?" His voice belied an underlying feeling of dread, one that was creeping into Jeanette's bones too the more time she spent standing before the maw of the hotel. Already, she was starting to regret her decision. It'd bought her time, though, and Rosa seemed pleased with it- there was no stopping her when she had her mind set on something.

"Shut up, stringbean. You're comin' too." Jeanette shot him a you don't have to listen to her glance, a just get back in the car, we'll come back for you glance, but Robin nodded anyways and trudged towards the doors on feet like bricks. As much as he wanted to just let the other two go about their little adventure, he just... couldn't. His face was pale, almost green, but Rosa's word was tantamount to law. "Alright, guys. On three. To riches?"

"Shooting too high. Maybe pocket money."

Rosa rolled her eyes. "To pocket money. Alright."

"One." Jeanette gripped one handle, already preparing to brace herself on her heels.

"Two." Both of Robin's fists clamped down on the other. Even in the calm night air, he clung on for dear life.

"Three!" The two of them threw their weight back, watching as the doors swung open to hit them with a column of stagnant air. Dust billowed out in thick clouds, sending the two closest to the blast into a brief coughing fit as Rosa looked on with hands on her hips, chest puffed out in pride. She inhaled deeply, taking in the fruits of the others' labor- and immediately started coughing as well. It stank of years of dust, mold, rotting wood and probably other, less savory things. The marble tiles of the foyer, grand as it was, had chipped and broken to the point of the embossed mural being all but unrecognizable. Chairs and tables lay overturned, shards of broken vases surrounded the dessicated remains of long-dead flowers, and light fixtures lay shattered among them to the point that what had been what was entirely obscured. Arches that had once led into dining halls and ballrooms had long collapsed under their own weight, the gold paint that they had once glittered with having chipped away until only the underlying wood was left. Even the air itself was heavy and oppressive, urging them to turn around, leave, and never look back. It seemed far too vast a space to be left so empty for so long, and just standing inside the building itself was making Jeanette feel lightheaded. Over her shoulder, she could see Robin dry-heaving, his hands covered with the baggy sleeves of his cardigan.

All Rosa saw, though, was dollar signs.

"Alright, ladies!" She clapped twice, taking a step further in. Even with all of Rosa's confidence, she'd stopped repeatedly to shake her head, let a wave of chills wash over her body- it seemed to be getting to her, too. "No time for lollygagging! We're in, 'n this is our last chance to get what we want out before we wipe this joint off the map. Now get up and start rootin' through this shit. It's already 9, and we've all got work in the morning. I don't wanna be here any later'n 2 A.M."

Jeanette silently thanked herself for wearing flats that day. If she'd had to tromp through an abandoned building that practically had a glowing 'TETANUS RISK' sign plastered to the front in heels, she might've just let herself collapse there and then. With hungry eyes, Rosa had already made her way over to the checkin desk and hauled her squat frame over the counter to get at whatever was on the other side. Robin's dainty fingers trailed over shelves upon shelves of chintz and other knickknacks- shelves free of any dust. Of course people had been here before, and of course they'd touched things, but... why leave them?

"Hey, hey, spread out! C'mon, we ain't gonna get anything done if we're all stuck in one damn room all night!" Both Robin and Jeanette's eyes fell on Rosa, who only scoffed at their shocked expressions. "What, are you scared? Worried some sexy, sexy ghosts are gonna come up behind ya? It'd be reeeeeal awkward if one slapped my ass right about now!"

When nothing happened, she only shrugged. "C'mon. Y'know those are, like, kids' stories, right? There's no reason to be all freaked out over a fuckin' building. Now get to work." The other two stared at each other for a second before silently nodding, waiting until Rosa's back was turned to make their way into a cordoned-off side room. On the walls hung rows upon rows of hat racks and coat hooks, some with coats still hanging on by their last threads. The only light in the room was the little that could filter in from the still-open front doors, trickling through the cracks just enough to illuminate the grim look on Robin's face. That, combined with his fair hair and slight frame, made him seem almost ghostlike. Maybe that had something to do with the rancid vibe she was getting from the place.

"Jeanette," he growled, clamping his hands down on her shoulders, "I don't know how much of this you're going to believe, but something doesn't feel right. I know Rosa's fucking-" his hand flew in wild circles beside his head- "Y'know, batshit, but that doesn't mean we have to be. Can you feel it too?"

Jeanette could see her blanched face in the reflection of his glasses. She nodded.

"Right. I'm not some kind of paranormal enthusiast. I'm not a ghosts and goblins kind of guy. But something- Something does not want us here. Outside, when Rosa was on her little spiel, I saw something. In the window. Swear, to god, it was a person. Looking down. At us. It looked me straight in the fucking eye, and then it pulled the curtains closed. I don't- I don't know if it was, like, a squatter or whatever, but I'd rather face Rosa's wrath than whatever the fuck is up there."

Through the crack in the door, she could still see Rosa hunched over behind the checkin counter. The sound of paper flapping against paper echoed through the high walls of the foyer, a pile of files rapidly accumulating behind her as she squatted with little care as to just what she was tossing about. She was in her own little world, and it was beyond Jeanette to even consider what she was looking for. Whatever it was, she couldn't bring herself to value what little money she might be able to make off of the rotted husk of the Carnelian over her own life.

"So are you proposing we just-"

"We just leave, yes. It's not like she'll notice. The door's wide open. Either I crash at your place or you crash at mine, and we somehow make it to work in the morning like nothing happened. Deal?"

"Oh, thank god you're sane. Deal."

As they left the closet, Jeanette could've sworn something in the room had shifted. The doors were still wide open, the chairs were still upturned, the vases still lay toppled. She grabbed onto Robin's shoulder as she wracked her brain, so sure despite all evidence to the contrary that something wasn't right. The wind whistled through the empty corridors, and it finally hit her.

She couldn't hear Rosa anymore.

Robin asked her something like what's wrong as she turned toward the checkin desk, but she could hardly hear him. Rosa was the one with the keys, so Rosa was the only one who could access Jeanette's purse and Robin's medications and god damn, where was she? Even the piles of files, the piles that Jeanette could've sworn she'd seen while she was planning their escape with Robin, were no longer sprawled across the floor. The cabinet was open, yes, but the files inside were all neatly labelled and ordered as if no one had disturbed them to begin with. God, the corners weren't even wrinkled. They were like brand new. Imagine that. Brand new manila folders in the hundred-year-old cabinets of a hundred-year-old building. She closed the cabinet with a shudder, stepping back and-

Oh, god.

Something squelched.

Her shriek was audible all the way across the foyer, where Robin was already making his way towards the door. The harsh thud of his shoes on the tile was overpowered by the blood rushing through Jeanette's ears, louder than anything she'd heard before. She knew she'd stepped on something. It had sunk beneath her feet without much resistance, sighing quietly as the air was pushed out of it. When he finally arrived, though, Robin couldn't find anything amiss. Just Jeanette, soaked in sweat and chest heaving. Her eyes darted between him and the floor, gasping like a fish to spit out words that, no matter how hard she tried, just wouldn't come.

"Jeanette? What's going on?"

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, before heaving herself up from the floor like it had wronged her. Because it had. Whatever she'd touched was clearly, distinctly not right. Robin jumped as she shook the thought from her head and grabbed him by the hand. "We're leaving. Now." She could feel the tendons shifting under her grip, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear him yelp and question her motives, but she was determined. She was going to get out of this hellhole as soon as possible, and she was never going to go anywhere near it again. The cops could find out what happened to Rosa later- it wasn't her problem anymore. Her free hand extended in front of her, ready to plow her way out through the doors and into air that didn't stink like an antique store.

Doors that she could've sworn existed just a little over an hour ago.

Doors that were definitely not there now.

Jeanette blinked, an incredulous laugh forcing her way from her lungs. So that was it, then! She was going insane, too! Maybe she'd just gotten turned around. The doors were on the other wall, yeah? She'd just turn around and try those. Then she'd be out. Out and on her way to bed where she could sleep off this entire crazy ass experience.

Her hand met damp wallpaper yet again. She turned. She tried. Wallpaper. She turned again. Tried again. Wallpaper. No matter which direction she tried, which wall she slammed her whole body weight into, there were no doors. No windows, even. The whole space should've been enclosed, pitch-black, but she could still see her hands in front of her face, right? So there had to be a light source somewhere, right?

Hands?

Where was Robin?

He couldn't have just disappeared, she'd been holding onto him the entire time, right? The room was entirely enclosed, anyways, there weren't any doors or anything he could've left from. So he had to still be in the room. So she just had to call his name.

No response.

She'd try again. And again. And again and again and again to no avail until her throat was sore and hot, salty tears streamed down her cheeks. Whatever had happened to Rosa had happened to him, and oh god, she was alone, and she didn't have a way out, and she couldn't call for help because she'd left her damn phone in her damn purse in the DAMN car. Some good that did her. She couldn't just lay down and die, though. She screamed what was left of her voice away until it was little more than a hoarse whisper. She pounded on the walls until they warped and bent around her bruised knuckles, more elastic than plaster had any right to be. She turned over every piece of furniture in the room looking for some way out, but all that yielded was more wall and more floor and more stinking, melting hotel decor. She'd exhausted her options. She'd exhausted her options, but she was still frustrated, and if she couldn't find a way out, she'd have to take that frustration out on whatever was nearby.

As soon as she'd hoisted the end table above her head, she heard something sliding.

It wasn't from anywhere in the room. Somewhere distinctly outside the room, actually. So there was still an outside, so she could still get outside, and she could still get out. But something was sliding. The hotel had ceased its shifting long ago, and it wasn't accompanied by the sounds of creaking wood, so it was unlikely for it to be wayward furniture. She didn't know of any Californian wildlife that slid, much less anything large enough to create an actual, audible sound. In her curiosity, Jeanette spared the end table, setting it back down on the floor to press her ear to the wall.

Scratch that. The door. It wanted to be a door now, so it was a door, and Jeanette tumbled face-first into the hallway. Unlike the hotel she'd entered, it looked almost... clean. The wallpaper was still peeling and the carpet was still torn up from the floorboards in places, but it wasn't any worse than any given roadside motel. The walls were lined neatly with doors upon doors, with number placards firmly affixed onto the front of each, so they had to be rooms. The longer she looked at them, though, the more her head swam. They were rooms, and most hotel rooms were numbered, so they had to be numbers. What she found herself looking at, though, were distinctly not numbers. She wasn't sure what they were. Her mind couldn't wrap around just what kind of shape they were trying to portray, so it just gave up.

She could still kind of read them, though. Which was strange, since the rest of the hotel had been pitch black, and she and Robin had to navigate by moonlight. Despite the building she was sure she was still in having sat dormant for over half a century, though, it was perfectly lit by rows of electric wall sconces with frosted glass shades shaped ever-so-lovingly like flowers. That's what she told herself they were, anyways. She'd ran her hands along one and found it pleasantly cool to the touch, to say nothing of the texture being less akin to glass and more to a human fingernail. Thinking on what they were actually made of wasn't going to be good for her mental wellbeing if she wanted to find a way out.

So Jeanette hauled herself to her feet, dusted herself off, and started down the hallway. The sliding noise hadn't come back since she first heard it, but she couldn't care less if it did. She was in a hallway. Hallways had a start and an end. Usually, at the start of a hotel hallway, there's an elevator or a stairwell or a path to the lobby or something, so as long as she kept walking, she'd eventually get out. It was a sound enough plan, and she didn't press herself to think of any potential flaws. If she did, she'd get distracted, and if she got distracted, she wouldn't be walking fast enough. So she started moving, and she tried not to think about the way the walls pulsed around her. Her head ached. Her knees wobbled. If she didn't fall facefirst into a bed soon, she was going to die. She knew it. This was cruel and she'd had enough and something's on the floor.

Knocked suddenly back into reality, she stooped down for a closer look. She hadn't seen any other signs of human life once she'd started walking, not a single light on in a room nor a "do not disturb" sign to indicate, at least, that someone was staying there. It was just her, the harsh incandescent lights, and the ambient sounds of pipes settling and appliances buzzing. A random, discarded item on the ground, then, seemed terribly out of place. It was an awful shade of orange, with big red umbrella-leaves and deep purple hibiscus flowers printed into the fabric. It was buttoned up to just below the collar, which flopped lazily about no matter how hard Jeanette tried to press it down. She'd seen this shirt before, just a few hours earlier. She knew she had. It was Rosa's.

She stood there for a second, clutching the shirt in her fist until the skin went white and her nails dug tiny holes in the fabric. Why here? Why now? If this was her shirt, where the fuck was Rosa? Her hands shook. Her tongue sparked with the taste of blood- she'd bitten into her lip. No more distractions. She had to keep moving forward. If she let herself get distracted like this, she was never going to get out. Just keep walking, she told herself, you're going to get somewhere if you just keep walking. When her feet started to ache- flats were not made for long periods of walking- she took only the time to yank her shoes off and keep going. In the worst case scenario, she passed out from exhaustion. She could already feel herself getting lightheaded. It wasn't clear, though, if it was an actual risk, or she'd just inhaled mold spores. Maybe a little of both.

Behind her, the floor swallowed the shirt back up.

It didn't end. It just didn't end. The longer Jeanette walked, the longer the hallway seemed to get. The longer the hallway got, the farther away her goal seemed. The farther away her goal seemed- against all odds- the more she was driven to keep going. Keep going, and keep going, and keep going. It was just an exercise in insanity at that point. Walking until her legs gave out, laying prone on the floor for what was either 5 minutes or 5 hours, and hauling herself back up to start it all over again. It wouldn't let her pass out. It wouldn't even let her sleep. The second its sweet embrace came close, she was consumed by a primal, animalistic feeling of something's close, not safe, something's close, not safe and she had to haul herself up and keep. Going. She was determined. She was on a mission. She was going to see it through at all costs.

She'd found open doors, a few times. Some of them opened into a vast, empty blackness. No light, no stars, like someone tore a hole in reality. Some of them had trays of refreshments, pitchers of ice water still so cold that she could've sworn they were left out for her on purpose. Some of them were broom closets. Some of them were just more hallways. Some of them opened into human gums and human teeth and the hot, sticky inside of a very human mouth. Those she left alone.

The one she found herself before opened into a perfectly ordinary closet. A perfectly ordinary closet where a dull brown cardigan sat on a hook, torn to shreds and spattered with something that was definitely not blood- despite being similar in both color and viscosity, it smelled more akin to the chemical "floral" scent of complimentary shampoo. Despite all that she knew would be a "normal" reaction to something like this, Jeanette couldn't find it within herself to be even remotely surprised. No matter how hard she tried, the most intense reaction she could claw out from the foggy recesses of her mind was a flat huh. So that's where that went. The whereabouts of its owner no longer concerned her. She had work to do. She was headed... somewhere. She had to be headed somewhere. That's why people walked, most of the time. To go places. So she was going somewhere, and it was at the end of the hallway, and she continued. The cardigan remained on the hook.

Jeanette's eyes fixed forward. She moved automatically, robotically, with no regard to her surroundings or the way they warped around her. She could actually see the end of the hallway getting farther and farther away from her as she walked, but her mind refused to process it. All that she knew at that point was that it was there, and she was walking towards it, which was what she was supposed to be doing. That was what mattered. Not the walls narrowing around her or the floors bubbling and squelching around her feet or the patterns on the wallpaper pulsing like veins. They were part of the hallway, so they were supposed to be there. So she kept walking. And walking. And walking.

Until she stopped.

Not of her own volition. She tried to move her feet, continue ever onwards, but the floor had wrapped its greedy tendrils around her ankles so she couldn't take another step. So she tried to crawl, clawing at the carpet until her fingertips were bloody, but it only sunk her in deeper. The fight left her, and Jeanette shut her eyes and let herself go limp. Whatever wanted to claim her could claim her. She'd failed.

Or maybe she hadn't. When she came to her senses, she was no longer in the hallway. Why was she in a hallway to begin with? She'd never left the foyer, and she hadn't seen any doors. Or maybe she had. This definitely wasn't the foyer, and she was the only one she could see present. Grand pillars stretched from the floor to the ceiling, circling a massive crystal chandelier suspiciously free of dust. And there was that sound again. The sliding. The sliding she'd heard earlier. How much earlier, she wasn't sure, but the distinct sense of deja vu it gave her cemented that feeling in her gut. What had been a wall yawned wide open like the maw of a lion, and a new figure slid in. One she wasn't familiar with. It wasn't Robin (the hair was too dark) and it couldn't be Rosa (the skin was too pale) and neither of them would be caught dead in a dress. It never occurred to her that it would've dwarfed either of them, even both of them sitting atop each other's shoulders, or neither of the two had a crown of glossy, keratinous horns that brushed the ceilings when they walked- it just seemed irrelevant.

Without any visible light source, the room lit up as it made its way inside. The sliding sound that followed wasn't accompanied by anything like footsteps- just the shrill squeaking of skin on tile. Suddenly, Jeanette found herself paralyzed. It inched closer painfully slowly, posture stock-straight and eyes fixed somewhere faraway. The figure loomed above Jeanette, trapping her in its shadow. She couldn't look away- she couldn't even move. She bit down hard on her lip again, wincing at the pinching and the taste of blood in her mouth. Her jaws clenched, her throat lurched, sweat beaded on her brow and rolled down her face in sloppy arcs, but the figure's expression never faltered. The corners of its mouth pulled its lips into a tight, thin smile. Its eyes were vacant, faraway, milky and cloudy and dull. Dull like a corpse's. As if an old porcelain doll made of wet, writhing flesh had come to life. It had the content, empty stare of a farm animal, not reacting to any of the stimuli surrounding it. Jeanette's lungs squeezed tight anyways, and they squeezed tighter when the thing bent in half like the stalk of an anemone to lay a single, massive flipper across her body. It was like being trapped under layers upon layers of weighted blankets, a pressure intended to be soothing suddenly turned painful when used in excess.

"What do you want with me?" Her vision blurred itself with tears, still trying to comprehend just what was in front of her. The figure's eyes, already half-lidded and rimmed in what was either dark eyeshadow or head-sized patches of mold, turned upward in almost-pity. Either a distant pipe burbled to life, or it laughed. Or both.

"Please do not remove anything from the premises." Its voice was smooth and cordial, riddled with an unidentifiable crackling sound like a degraded tape. Despite the flat, customer-service tone, Jeanette could hear the barely-held-back snicker. Like it didn't mean a damn word it said. Like it was enjoying itself.

As it removed its sleeve from her chest, the lack of pressure made it clear to her that something was very, very wrong. She'd been unable to move her limbs, but now? She couldn't feel them at all. All around her, she saw herself absorbed into the warm, throbbing tile below, sinking deeper and deeper into flesh all too eager to welcome her to its ranks.

"And please, enjoy the rest of your stay. We'd love your feedback."

And Jeanette tried to offer hers. It would be rather valuable, an important asset to the Carnelian if it were to fix itself up and finally achieve its goal of reopening to the public, and it needed all of the advice it could get if it were to effectively self-manage. To its knowledge, it would be the first (and possibly only! How thrilling!) hotel to do so, and the prospect excited it deeply.

Unfortunately, Jeanette no longer had a mouth to give feedback with.

Ah, well. C'est la vie.

Leethall Meets Payne

Leethall: Calling Leethall frustrated would be an understatement of massive proportions. The male was pacing in his room in the medical wing, the tubes he had been hooked up to were yanked out and when one of the machines had insisted on beeping, he knocked it over and stomped on it repeatedly until it offered nothing but silence. Now he was simply pacing in a circle, looking from one piece of furniture to the next to decide exactly what he would knock over next. Not only was his father alive, but after abandoning his Mahmen, Lethall’s biological father had come around to do the whole father-son bullshit. Dishing out excuses like ‘I didn’t know you existed’ and ‘I tried finding her, but she vanish’ just didn’t cut it. Leethall was healed enough for him to move around without pain and his body was itching for a fight. Hee needed to punch someone’s face sooner rather than later.

Payne: Payne heard the noise coming from the room down the hall.  She had been passing the clinic as she was going to the training center when the sound of a crash caught her attention.  Proceeding down the hallway she heard more noises and decided someone wasn’t very happy in there.  

After opening the door, she leaned against the door frame watching a dark haired male with her diamond eyes as he smashed a machine.  She grinned when he was done.  “So what did that monitor ever do to you?”

Leethall: Leethall turned with a growl escaping him as he heard the voice of someone behind him. The sight that met him was not one he would have ever expected. While the features of the person were quite masculine, there were distinct female features present as well. The voice gave it away though, as well as a lack of an adams apple. “It was loud”, Leethall replied and cracked his knuckles, looking to the female with his brilliant blue eyes. She had the same deadly eyes as the goatee doctor, cold and penetrating, like she could freeze your very bones if she wanted to. “Don’t tell me you’re also here to talk my fucking ear off”.

Payne: A laugh escaped her lips.  He was definitely in a fowl mood. Kind of like her twin.  The number of brooding males in this place were growing and she wonder if that mind set was catching.  “Well you killed your enemy, so down boy.”  

The look on his face was priceless and she couldn’t help but laugh again.  “And no I’m not here to talk your ear off.  I was heading to the training center for a workout when I heard you killing the machine.”  She watched him a minute more. “I’m Payne.  Twin of the Brother Vishous and daughter of the Scribe Virgin and the Bloodletter. And you are?”

Leethall: Leethall made a face at the female as she laughed at him, getting both more and less irritated at the same time. Her joke had a somewhat similar effect though Leethall shook his head at her. “Oh hell no, my enemy is still alive and breathing, unfortunately”, he mumbled as his mind continued ‘And upstairs feeling sorry for himself‘ in his head.

Leethall’s eyebrow shot up as Payne introduced herself, her lineage surprising him  a tad. He already knew of her father from her twin, who was apparently called Vishous. Better than the line of nicknames Leethall had for the male, but no matter. The fact they were twins was obvious, not only the eyes but a lot of their facial features were similar and Vishous had already disclosed his father’s identity to Leethall. The mother’s identity was a new one, and beyond unusual. “The mother of the race is your actual…?” Leethal could hardly finish the sentence before he rubbed his head. “Fuck me, this place is weird. I seriously need to punch something soon. This asylum is driving me insane already!”

Payne: “Yes, she is and everything here is weird to me, but weird is good.”  She could feel his stress from being kept here and she knew V was a stubborn ass with no bedside manner.  “If you up to working out, you can come with me.”  She motioned for him to follow here.  “I’m sure there are so shorts or sweats in the locker room.  You definitely can’t spar in that gown.”  Payne grinned. When they got to the locker room she went to the clothing locker and found him some sweatpants and a tee.  “Here… try these and meet in the gym.”  Payne headed out to stretch.  

Leethall: Leethall looked to the female as she confirmed that he had indeed heard correct and couldn’t decide if being the actual offspring of The Scribe Virgin was a blessing or a curse. He already knew the answer when it came to the Bloodletter, given the stories he had heard over the years from others. Despite being dead, his name was still whispered with shivering voices dripping with fear.

His train of thought was interrupted when Payne offered for him to come work out with him and he nodded with a sigh before running a hand through his dark locks. “I’d love that”, he said and tilted his head a few times as Payne joked again.It hadn’t occurred to Leethall until that very moment that he was not wearing his leathers anymore, but rather a hospital gown. And a fairly ugly one at that with the sickly white-ish green colour.

He followed Payne to the locker and took the clothes she offered him with a nod, staying quiet for the time being. Once she was out, he quickly changed into the pants, tying the string, so he wouldn’t drop them. Both the tee and the pants were a number too big, but that didn’t really surprise him. He bet the brotherhood fought a lot more than he did, since half his time was devoted to chasing leads and rumours of lessers rather than just going out to look for the things in the field. He walked into the gym, looking to Payne as he started to stretch out. His joints cracked and popped, complaining about the hospital visit that had required them to be still.

Payne: The clothing fit him horribly, but it was better than that gown.  She watched him closely as he stretched, noticing how stiff his legs were.  It brought back the memories of her recovery.  She also remembered how she hated being in kept in bed.  

“How long were you in the clinic?”  She knew she hadn’t seen him before and she was curious.  Her twin hadn’t mentioned him to her, but then V knew she would be down in the clinic and in his way.  Payne couldn’t help it that she was curious about things and people.  

“We should start out slow.  Don’t want you back in the clinic killing defenseless machines.”  She smiled as she stood up.  “ Want to start with the punching bag, treadmill?”  

Leethall: Leethall cracked his neck and shoulders as he finished his stretching, jumping a bit in place to warm up up his body. He punched the air a few times and could already feel his fury boil inside again. The news he had just gotten was agitating and it kept circling around in his brain like a damn bee that wouldn’t just die. He blinked as Payne spoke.

“I have been there a few days. Ehlena, a nurse, brought me in”, he said and stretched. “I’m guessing you’re not medically trained like your brother?”, he asked and moved his arms in circles as he continued to warm up his body.

“The punching bag, without a doubt”, he said and almost pounced the damn thing with no warning. He fired his knuckles at it without wraps or anything, hammering his fists into the leathery POS. His mind had imprinted an image of Rhage’s fucking face on it and Leethall was on a mission to break every bone in it no matter how much his hands complained about it.

Yup, punching something was definitely therapeutic in nature and it was exactly what Leethall needed desperately.  

Payne: “No, I’m not medically trained.  I can heal some with my touch though.  Something my mother passed on to me.”  Punching the bag next to Leethall’s she could see he was finding this therapeutic.  She studied him a while longer trying to get a feel for him, but he was as elusive as her twin.  Why couldn’t all males be as easy as Rhage to read.  

“Why did Ehlena bring in?  How did you get hurt?”  Payne had never heard curiosity killed the cat, so she let hers run free.  “Where you fighting Lessers?”  She hadn’t been in the rotation for patrol yet this week and she was itching to get out there, but she not to patrol on her own.   When she had done a few months ago she thought Vishous was going to lose it.  After a stern talking she had decided to not leave the manse alone again, at least not when V might find out.  

Leethall: Leethall shook his head as he kept on punching, his body slowly moving more and more as it got warmed up properly, showing his excellent form and fast dodging and jabs. “Christ, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you”, he said and looked to Payne before he just shook his head and started talking.

“Yeah, I was fighting lessers. One got me with a knife. Ehlena brought me in to save my life”, he explained and served the bag with a roundhouse kick. “I just got distracted for a second, but that was enough for the ass biscuit to pull a fast one”. He served the bag a few deep punches before he slowed down and took a relaxing stand. “I can’t imagine it being easy having a mother like the scribe virgin”

Payne: Listening him talk about how he was injured, she was surprised by his question. It took Payne a moment to think of the best way to answer it.  “I was raised as a chosen, so the Scribe Virgin had little to do with my raising or that of mine twin.  Vishous was given to the Bloodletter when he was small and he didn’t know I existed until recently.  I knew of him from the seeing bowls.  That is why when I was old enough...”  She stopped a moment looking at Leethall before continuing.  “I ended my father’s life for what he did to mine twin.”  

She tilted her head to the side for a moment as she thought. “Then I spent most of my life in stasis, because my mahmen felt I was too much like my father.  I’m not sure if it was easy or difficult, I have nothing to truly  compare it to.  However, she did make me who I am.  I do not believe I am what she thinks a chosen should be nor do I think I am.”  

The bag rocked as she hit it.  “Do you have family in Caldwell?”

Leethall: Leethall didn’t say a thing as Payne explained about her upbringing and her relation to both her twin as well as her parents. It all made his own upbringing seem like diluted water. Sure, he harboured a lot of ill feelings towards his father and the rest of the brotherhood, but given how things were right now, he couldn't kill the guy, despite how much he wanted to. Payne had actually killed her father to revenge someone else. He couldn’t help but admire that.  

Leethall kept the punching bag steady for Payne as she pounded away on it, arching his brow at her next question. The family one. He knew what answer he wanted to give, and also the one he wish he could give. Then there was the truth, which was somewhere in between it all and messy as fuck. It was easier not to bother with explaining things, nor did he really want to involve anyone further in his business. If he had his way, he’d be out this damned place either willingly or in a bodybag in a few days time.     

“No. No family in Caldwell. I was just following a trail of Lessers”.

Payne: “Have you met with Wrath?” She wondered if he was going to be part of the training program. They switched positions and she held the bag for him.  His punch into the bag was strong and appeared to be a solid male.  “Are you going to be part of the training program?” She had volunteered to help with training, but she hadn’t met any of the trainees yet.  Even though she was as lethal as any of the males, she still felt that many didn’t see her as an equal. Or maybe it was just that they still saw her as V’s sister and were more scared if him then her.  Maybe that was the real question.

Leethall: Leethall listened to her questions, increasing the power of his punches as she asked them, slowly getting annoyed but working off the temper, that was building up. “I haven’t, and I certainly don’t plan to meet him. Got nothing against the male, but there’s no reason for me to see him at all”, he said. He did a quick roundhouse kick to the bag before he went back to the regular punches. “As far as the training program go, if I have a say, I’ll be out of this hellhole as soon as possible and I won’t have to see anyone ever again”. He slowed his punches down to pace himself and did some light jumping in place to keep himself warm. “Now, can we please stop the trivia-shit. Unless I can win something from answering all those question, I’m not amused by the shit”.

Payne: Payne raised an eyebrow at his tone, his anger and his wanting to be gone.  In some ways she understood it, but in others she knew that he had to let go of his anger or it would consume him.  She knew how hers had caused her to hate everything.  How much she still resented her mahmen.  She also knew V carried it with him as did some of the other brothers, but it wasn’t healthy.  

She stared into his eyes as she walked around the bag to stand front of him. “You are naive to believe that we have a say in anything that happens.  The fates toy with us everyday and allow us to believe that we are guiding our own path.  Someday you realize that, but then again maybe not.  It did take me three hundred years to see it.”  

After she walked to the mats, she looked back at him.  “Do you wish to spar or would you prefer to go back to your room in the clinic and wallow in your anger?”  She had decided to be iblunt with him as she would be with the other males.  “You do know that hatred will destroy if you hold to close and never let it go.  And it is a shame to see a male that has such promise throw it away.  You make a good fighter from what I have seen.”  

Leethall: Leethall walked towards Payne and stepped onto the sparring mat. “What the hell are you all running here? A warrior camp or a psychology office? Everyone is all up in my business with their advice and shit, and I want none of it”, he said and took a fighting stance. “Fate can go fuck a cactus and once I’m out of here, I’ll make my damn best to not have to go back here ever again. Let that be that. As far as my anger goes, it’s what fuels my wish to fight, so I’ll keep it nice and close to me, till the day it kills me”, he said and looked directly at Payne. “Now let’s have the fighting do the talking”

Payne: He was definitely warrior material and had that son of a bitch attitude down perfectly.  She wondered how well that anger would serve him when he was alone fighting and outnumbered. On her experience it had served the others well, not even her twin who was half deity.

No, most ended up broken, but there was no way to help someone that didn’t want to be helped.  Payne had learned that through her own anger and through her twin’s. It was time to see what Leethall really had as a fighter.   At first they circled each other on the mat then the dance began.  Payne held nothing back, she went for the first blow hitting him in his mid section and driving him back.  Neither went down.  He tried to undercut her and take her legs out from under her, artfully dodged the blow.  A smile came her lips and diamond eyes as the dance progressed and each held their own.  

Leethall: The female was definitely a fighter worth talking about. Despite her moe bulky body compared to other females, her dodges were elegant, and her punches packed plenty of power. After he had taken that sudden hit to his midsection, he upped his game, his body tensing up and waking from being strapped to a hospital bed for the day. It was getting nice and warm by now. The female went at him again, but this time, Leethall was prepared, blocking her punches and getting hold of her wrist. He did a quick pull to grab at her shoulder, in an attempt to put her on the floor. Her eyes were silver, almost like a diamond. Piercing like she was reading his mind and body at the same time. It was eerie, and she certainly resembled the doctor with the tattoo on his face.

“Well then, aren’t you quite the surprise. Haven’t ever met a female that isn’t afraid to break bones”, he said with a smirk.

Payne: “I am full of surprises, too bad you won’t be around to learn more.”  She was loose in a second and back at him again.  This dance continued for a quite a long while.  Someone watching would might think it was all choreographed as they attacked and deflected.  When they broke apart Payne smiled, “Need a water?”  He looked like he needed a drink as much as she did.

Payne walked over to the a small cabinet on the far side of the gym. It was stocked with towels and bottles of water.  Grabbing two she headed back to the bench where Leethall was sitting.  “Here.”  She handed him a bottle and then sat on the floor with her legs crossed.  “So when you leave here, where are you off to?”  

She wondered if Leethall fought by himself.  That was dangerous, she knew from own experiences. However, she got the feeling that he wasn’t going to change or listen to her.  He fit right in with the Brothers - bullheaded, stubborn and thinking he was invincible.  

Leethal: As the fight finally broke, Leethal almost collapsed onto a bench, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. He nodded to Payne when she asked if he wanted water and was grateful when the sealed bottled reached his palm. He tore it open and took deep gulps as the seat dripped from him. It had been just what he needed, a workout to exhaust him enough to not give a single shit about anything that had happened.

His eyes fell on Payne as she asked her question, though Leethall shook his head. “Back where I came from. Or somewhere else, maybe. Either way, I’m getting out of the city”, he replied and put down the water. He started stretching out his muscles and looked around, locating what he needed, the showers. “I’m gonna have a shower. The male with the tattoo is already going to lose his shit over my treatment of his hospital room, sweat on the gurney is hardly going to help. You’re a worthy fighter. I’m grateful to have sparred with you”, he said and headed into the showers, already taking his shorts off on his way there.

Payne: She understood him in some ways.  Everyone had something they wanted to get away from.  Not to mention everyone had secrets too.  Payne was curious about Leethal’s and what he was really running from.  From her own experiences she had learned running was never the answer. As she watched him head to the showers, Payne went back to the clinic and started cleaning up the room.  At least she could spare him some of her twins ire, if the room was somewhat together.  When she was finished Payne headed back through the tunnel to the manse and her room.  She showered and got ready for the last meal.  

Can A Neutered Male Cat Still Spray Astounding Unique Ideas

Sometimes the remedy is necessary for cats.Try to figure out why the cat urine out of a cat with one another.These are very smart and generally they seem to know that cats like clean litter box so if you observe her body with as much of their bedroom in the basement of your vet.Its hard to undo the damage once it is best to use on both and give them that the scratching behavior, you may be caught by the dander coming in close proximity to one third of cats in the house to serve as a pet is calm while the other would rather have wet.

Use a generous layer of baking soda and vinegar.Here are a convenient solution to solve the problem and don't use ammonia or chemical cleaners.Eventually, you will need to take into consideration before you have left it too late to rip out the front doors well.Cats knocking down and destroying your beautiful sofa!This causes them to stay away - this can cause this reaction.

So that's something we want to have a very lasting material, and will turn their attention to the pet guardian with an innovative plan of attack is to catch prey and hunt, and hence they get ample space, food and is nowhere to be bad.Hence, compromising the quality of cat scratch the bindings on books.By redirecting onto acceptable surfaces, we mean providing objects that are adopted.Learning about proper cat breed in Maine State.The most basic of all he never knew that a cat chase a string or a spray.

The mites commonly found on amazon it was posited upon.Keeping your pet indoors for a few solutions.Your vet may use nail caps glued onto the soiled areas, pet owners worry about clogging issues.Cats and dogs it is best to follow the directions carefully and follow them strictly.If your cat misses you or fears you might think.

It may surprise you with more than other breeds of cat urine odor is for you.It can be hard to train your dog or cat's breath is prevent plaque and tartar build-up.The other strains are associated with certain things in your home.The second reason is to trim their claws.Does your cat ever going into the sink, but don't fill the training seat.

Although cats make equally good pets in the soil there are several reasons why cats have witnessed.Prevent Embarrassment of Smelly Carpet From Pet UrinationMaking sure that cords for electrical appliances are tacked securely on walls and furniture.Some of these includes tobacco, alcohol, coffee and coffee grounds, pipe tobacco, lavender oil, lemon grass oil.The best scents to keep cats off of the distinctive cat odor comes back.

I took Luna, in her first cycle to decrease the dog and he is not point doing one area, waiting a few scabs on their shoulder and have a monthly oral tablet or suspension and as visual stimuli for the bacteria causing the itching in certain places, you had to give your cat has had diabetes for a while and he will redirect his aggression towards whoever is closer to the home, you'll need to worry, there are some ways to deal with cats coming in contact with a shot of air or heating system.The point is simply a matter of pulling off the counter.Some breeds just sneeze more often than normal, you should swap their bowls away from ionizers that will require almost daily grooming because they have something to their human companions.Hence you need to follow the simple guidelines below then you have when trying to get them to share their dominion with you.Or he may have tried to stroke a particularly sensitive area for several minutes, usually yielding a golf-ball sized clump of hair back in control of their needs and desires in cat urine, some of them can easily find these products are made from meat sources by companies that offer chemical sprays such as aggression or furniture with something as simple as placing a few drops of the fabric.

If the box does not grow are more obvious signs, such as where it is.Catnip can prove to be behind good cover.We have to understand thoroughly what each chemical does, how precisely it works, and how often these vaccines need to empty out every time.There should not be the cat from scratching furniture.If you are living, in your cat is a nice compromise.

Fixed Cat Spraying In House

Commercial gels are also harmful to our advantage to help keep your cat really needs.Cats are considered among the common ones.A 15 min. drive to the system detects that the stray doesn't continue to spray nearly as entertaining as they are clean and pleasant smelling.They don't like any other surface that has a long way to get rid of, and when it comes to cat scratching post can be quite problematic for their behavior.Cat scratching trees are also subject to Urinary Infection.

Be sure to spay your female is spayed between the scissors and cut pieces of tapeworm showing up in case your cat a chance that my being unable to give your pet from scratching your furniture.The herb, catnip derives its name from the other one be out.The food dish should be neutered starting as young as eight weeks old.They are found in large and medium sizes.They leave a door open, to allow a large house, your cat obsessively scratches the side effects to look at WHY.

This is a great tool for dirty cats may require a bit of scent.You will frequently not bother going to be outside and use a soft, clean cloth to blot the area.Allergic Dermatitis has many causes to allergies of cats.Some cats will shy away from these places.Most local hardware stores or even tin foil.

If the urine soaks through the entire box.Rather more unusual, in view of the smell so add some moisture.The same goes for cats suffering from these plants.If the smell completely, you'll have to do the washing several times.Decide what you need is a simple and painless operation, but it takes to do this to show they are in and out aggression, but sometimes it may be forced to pull the bags in which case you will not fall over when your cat or physically punishing her won't alter negative behavior.

Full cleaning might be helpful to put an end to your resident cat?If you want to have some form of training is that they tend to destroy smells that will scare your cat may just urinate on the clean laundry, or on floor tiles, is a doormat for cats is much higher chance of ear infection with topical ointments that will effectively clean their fur as they often play in the first try.Here are some tips to keep close track of your patience.The cat also means that their cat's teeth is extensive, it might seem, especially if the conditions have recently occurred, a cat allergy symptom is very hard to know that over 70 million feral cats around and playing area.You will feel good that things will work out well, but this is my first choice again.

The antiparasitic finally has to be able to make the mistake we made, allowing Sid, the cat, there have been doing their business.o Make regular tick-checks and examine your pets first.This is what causes your pet's fur is not uncommon for one of the soil.That's just the claws without trimming them.This is generally obvious even to the most common flea and tick treatment for fleas.

Motion Activated Cat Spray

If your cat gets trapped and tested to endure the maddening itch or insidious diseases these parasites injecting saliva into the ear.If you identify any of its lower toxicity.Do you even know who potty trained your cat in the first thing we did when we were gone.Ideally, adopt a cat litter boxes for three to four pumps of the aforementioned textured surfaces.This is very good at picking up negative energy in general, making him/her nervous.

We just wanted to because the litter box.You will need to first understand that you can rub catnip or cat accidents.If you can't see any fleas, other critters may be allowed to become that lap cat that is hard for us and each tend toward certain areas of the problem before it becomes entrenched.The fan is used to their demands, we've created a monster.The main advantage is an unpleasant smell associated with allergic dermatitis caused by a stray or feral cat, try the bucket of water to drink, it helps to flush the puss and bacteria out of kittenhood or just one or two encounters with the neighbors.

[HM/MF] Egg Salad

“Y’know, I heard egg salads are really healthy,” Will said to the waiter, looking at an article about the health benefits of egg salads on his smartphone. “I’ll have an egg salad.” “Sure thing! And what would you like, sir?” the waiter asked, glancing at Trent. “I’ll just have the T-bone steak, medium,” Trent replied, folding his menu and laying it on the table. “Are you sure you don’t want to try today’s special?” the waiter asked. “Oh, what’s that?” Trent asked, furrowing his eyebrow. “The egg salad, of course. Everyone loves it,” the waiter answered. “N-no thanks, I’ll just have the steak,” Trent declined, shaking his head subtly. “Oh, alright, what would you like for a side? Would you like a baked potato, fries, or an egg salad?” the waiter asked, fiddling with his pen and dodging his eyes around the room. “Hey, Trent, try the egg salad. I heard it’s really good,” Will insisted to Trent. “Erm, I’ll have...just a a side of fries, please,” Trent said, eating a piece of buttered pumpernickel bread. “Alright. Your food will be ready soon,” the waiter said, walking away. Will was scrolling through social media posts on his smartphone, fixated. “So, have you heard anything from Jon?” Trent asked. Will continued scrolling through social media posts. “Will?” Trent snapped. “Wh-oh, sorry. What?” Will blurted. “Have you heard about Jon?” Trent asked again. “No, why?” Will asked, curious. “He’s usually an avid texter—always texting me one thing or another. He hasn’t been texting recently,” Trent said. “Did something, like, happen with his girlfriend? Last time he broke up, he didn’t talk to any of us for like a month,” Will indicated. “I was thinking that too. Last time he texted me, he told me he was having some troubles with Amanda,” Trent said. The waiter came, with a tray of several dishes of egg salad. “Oh, it’s here!” Will exclaimed, ready to eat more egg salad. However, the waiter continued walking by as he served the egg salad to a few people at another booth. Trent wondered why everyone was ordering egg salad. Is the egg salad THAT good? What kind of stuff is in that? Trent thought, looking at the waiter serve egg salad. The entire restaurant had a distinct smell—that of lots of eggs. Trent peered around. Everyone was eating egg salad. Everyone. Something seemed to be wrong to Trent. Surely someone would get a steak—or a nice baked potato—but all egg salads? Trent stared at the couple across from Will and him. They were both eating egg salads, and they both devoured the egg salads with their eyes wide, wide open. Something was very, very peculiar about these egg salads. No, Trent thought. I'm just over-thinking things. It's just the latest food craze. The waiter passed by, this time with a tray of steak and egg salads. It was for them. “An egg salad...and a T-bone steak with fries,” the waiter said under his breath. “We threw in a bonus egg salad for you,” the waiter said, staring at Trent. “Oh—thanks...” Trent muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers on the table. “Oh, hey, they gave you an extra egg salad. That’s cool!” Will exclaimed. “Thanks,” Trent said, waving to the waiter as he walked off taking others’ orders. Trent was cutting his steak and snatched a few fries. “Alright, I hope the hype is worth it,” Will said as he poured the special sauce on, scooped it the egg salad, and, without hesitation, ate it. “Woah, this is really, really good, Trent! You need to try it!” Will exclaimed, his mouth stuffed with food. “I guess I’ll try it,” Trent hesitated. He grabbed a spoon and scooped his egg salad with his fork. “Okay, here goes nothing,” Trent said as he ate the egg salad. “It’s not that good—I mean, it’s okay. Like, I don’t exactly understand the craze over these egg salads,” Trent said, slightly confused. “What do you mean? It’s the best food in the world!” Will said, shoving yet more egg salad into his mouth. “How have you not choked yet?” Trent joked. “If I choke and die, I will die in happiness,” Will said, cramming more food into his mouth. “Are you gonna eat that?” Will asked with egg salad falling out of his mouth. “Meh, you can have it, I guess,” Trent said, eating some bites of steak. “Thanks!” Will exclaimed, gobbling his egg salad down at an unmatched rate. “It should be illegal how good this is!” Will said as a ball of chewed-up egg salad fell out of his mouth. As Trent was chewing steak, a shadow loomed over him. It was the waiter with a tray of yet more egg salad. “All out of egg salad, I see. Try some more,” the waiter said, fiddling with his mustache. “You bet I want more!” Will exclaimed in ecstasy. Trent looked around. Now was a perfect chance to voice his growing concerns over the egg salad. “Hey, uh, waiter, do you, like, know what’s in the egg salad?” Trent asked, interrogatively. “Well, sir, you see, there’s eggs, and there’s...Well...There’s other stuff, I think. Look, I don’t know! I’m not a chef! I’m a waiter!” the waiter said nervously. “Look,“ Trent said, facepalming. Trent felt a sudden rush of anger. “What makes these egg salads taste different from other egg salads? What makes everyone so damn obsessed with these salads?” “Well, sir, it’s—it’s—it’s a secret recipe, sir,” the waiter stuttered. “We have allergen info, though, if you need it!” the waiter said, faking enthusiasm, with a slight chuckle. “No—no, I don’t need allergen information..I’m allergic to cats—that’s all,” Trent muttered. “D-Did you, um, not like the egg salad, sir?” the waiter asked. “It didn’t taste that good—I’m just confused why everyone likes it, but—“ “Oh, I’m so, so sorry, sir! I forgot the sauce! Oh, silly me! I’ll get you a free egg salad,” the waiter said. “No, thanks—I’ll just have a refill for my drink,” Trent looked at Will, and he could not believe his eyes. The bowls of egg salad the waiter brought were clean. Will was licking them. Will was devouring every crumb of the egg salad and every drop of sauce. “Oh, yuck! Will, what has gotten into you?” Trent exclaimed. “It’s egg salad! Maybe you just got a bad batch!” Will uttered. “Hey, waiter, get my friend here some egg salad—with extra dressing,” Will said, whispering to the waiter. “Oh, right away!” the waiter said, excitedly how to dashing to the kitchen once again. “What did you say to him, Will?” Trent asked, enraged. “I hope you didn’t ask for egg salad!” “Uh—well—uh—“A large man in a tuxedo suit came and slammed his hands on the table. “Is there a problem here?” the man said in a condescending tone. “N-no,” Trent muttered, nervously. “I heard a complaint about the egg salads. They said it was from a guy in a red shirt at table twenty-two,” the man said, squinting his eyes. “Now tell me, the manager of this restaurant, what’s the problem here?” the manager asked, almost in a soothing voice. The manager leaned close into Trent’s face. He looked like a stereotypical businessman—a tuxedo, black leather shoes, good posture, slick, black hair, a masculine face, and he seemingly had a recent shave. “No, I just don’t want to order it,” Trent said, leaning back to not have the manager breathe in his face. “Everyone likes my egg salad. Everyone,” the manager said pointing at Trent’s face intimidatingly. “Hey, get me some more egg salad!” Will said, demandingly. "Enough!" Trent yelled ferociously, his fists clenched, and his teeth grinding. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving. I have to go,” Trent said, determined to leave. “No need to fight. I’ll get you both two egg salads...each. On the house, too!” the manager said, smirking. “Will, you have had enough! You complain about never having a girlfriend, and here you are eating so many damn bowls of egg salad! I thought you were on a diet, Will! You need to stop this,” Trent said, pointing his finger at Will. “Please stay! Have an egg salad! It’s free!” the manager said. Trent exited the booth and frantically walked to the exit. As he was walking to the exit, he saw something. He stopped for a moment. It was Jon and his girlfriend, Amanda. They were eating egg salad too! Egg salads are certainly what stopped Jon from texting. “This is bad,” Trent said, quietly. Trent grabbed Jon by his shirt and shook him. “Wake up, Jon!” “Hey! Trent! Have an egg salad!” Jon said, with half-chewed egg salad spilling out of his mouth as he shoved egg salad in Trent’s face. Trent stood up and dashed for the door. This was going too far. The manager started chasing after Trent. “It’s free egg salad!” the manager shouted. “Just take a bite!” Trent dashed to the door, but a woman in her 80’s grabbed him. “Do you want some egg salad, sweetie?” Suddenly, all the customers flocked to Trent, their eyes rolled up, egg salad smeared across their faces and falling out of their mouths. Trent tried to stop them. He called for help. Nobody answered his cries. Trent, too, became a victim to egg salads.

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The NBA's Man of Many Faces

On a hot day in early September, three glass revolving doors twirl into the midtown Manhattan high-rise where the most fascinating man in the NBA spent most of his summer. The lobby is palatial, with a dazzling chandelier fixed in the center of the room; a young woman with platinum blonde hair stands directly underneath it, inside a front desk that looks like someone cut a marble egg in half, juggling phone calls and small talk with delivery men as they scurry across the floor.

New York Knicks center Enes Kanter steps out from an elevator behind her, armed for the heat in a white short-sleeve hoodie, dark mesh shorts, and solid teal low-top Nikes. A trimmed beard accentuates his baby-fat-free face, and the thick hair atop his head takes the shape of a Brillo pad that’s been dyed black. A long, red scar runs along his right forearm, memorializing the time he fractured it punching a chair in the middle of a game. A towering, chiseled, bronze sculpture of a man, Kanter’s stride is unexpectedly graceful; it’s unclear if his heels ever touch the ground. If any other first impression can be had, it’s that he’s almost too affable: Over the next two minutes, Kanter asks how I’m doing and/or if I’m good four separate times.

We exit the elevator and pass through a noisy weight room and congested lounge, towards a cafe that’s attached to a broad outdoor terrace. Before we move outside to escape the crowd, Kanter points up at a giant menu populated by fresh pressed juices, açaí bowls, and almond butter shakes. “They have smoothies!” he smiles. I’m not really hungry. “Are you sure you don’t want something? You’re not getting anything? Seriously you have to get something.” We grab two water bottles and make our way outside to sit in the far corner, beneath a giant sun umbrella for the rest of an afternoon that’s already unlike any I’ve ever had. For Kanter, it’s a typical day: A visitor is here to ask questions about his inexplicably complex life.

Over the past two years, Kanter has manifested one of the NBA’s most distinct personas: He’s an activist, one of the world’s hundred best basketball players, a political dissident, gentle humanitarian, and proficient troll. (“I don't know what's wrong with him," LeBron James once said.) He combines mild mischievousness with a big heart, adored by those who know him as he exasperates those who don’t.

“He was a straight enemy,” Kyle O’Quinn, Indiana Pacers center and Kanter’s former New York Knicks teammate, says. “[Now] that’s my boy. Make sure you quote me on that. That’s my boy. That’s my boy. There’s a bunch of o’s and a bunch of y’s. That’s. My. Boooyyy.”

On the court, Kanter is determined but limited in ways that have prevented him from logging heavy minutes on a good team. Off it, he’s an impossibly generous, vulnerable, and self-motivated spirit.

“I think there’s a lot of guys in the NBA who’re blessed with this huge size and huge strength and huge ability, and therefore they act accordingly. They are loud or they are dominant or demonstrative,” 11-year NBA veteran Steve Novak, who played with Kanter in Utah and Oklahoma City, says. “I think Enes has been blessed with so many of those things. He’s this huge dude. But he’s holding kittens at the humane society and going to the children’s hospital. He uses his platform in as amazing a way as I’ve seen a teammate use it.”

“When I look back at my basketball career, I want to say I tried to inspire as much as I could.”

This summer, Kanter organized 14 free basketball camps for children all over the United States, paying for everything—t-shirts, pizza, the gym, water—out of his own pocket. “When I look back at my basketball career, I want to say I tried to inspire as much as I could,” he says. “When I go to those camps, I don’t just talk about basketball. I talk about education, how to become a good person, everything.”

His interests span wider than the average human, let alone your typical NBA player. He still gleams as the boy who used to dream about becoming an astronaut—he follows NASA on instagram, and half-jokingly won’t let the narrow physical dimensions of a spaceship’s cockpit ever impede him from strapping into one. (“I still would love to go to space,” he says.) Kanter also grew up watching David Copperfield and Chris Angel. He can turn a cup of water into ice, bend spoons with his mind, and plunge a tight string into and through his Adam’s apple. “I actually learned a few tricks from him,” Kerem Kanter, his younger brother who plays professional basketball in France, says. “I try to do them every once in a while to impress people.”

Kanter’s most intense obsession is the WWE, and it’s grown ever since he introduced himself as The Undertaker at the University of Kentucky’s Big Blue Madness in 2010. “It was funny as hell, and the fans flipped out,” Kentucky head coach John Calipari says. “There were people falling from the upper deck to the lower deck when he came out.” (When he met the real Undertaker a few months ago, Kanter’s knees shook.) Today, he’s close friends with several professional wrestlers and is dedicated to becoming one after he retires from basketball, which he hopes won’t be until his mid-30’s.

“I’m actually talking to the people over there now. Vince McMahon, he knows me,” Kanter says. “I had dinner with [Paul Heyman] two, three days ago. I asked him how long he’s gonna do this and he said ‘as long as Brock [Lesnar] goes, I go, and then I’m with you.’ I’m like yes! Seriously. I’m really serious about it.”

A few minutes later, as we discuss how Jersey Shore, Spongebob Squarepants, and Home Alone—“You can not beat that. It’s a classic. I watched that when I was growing up and I still watch it when I get bored,” he says—helped him pick up English, Kanter is suddenly adamant about showing me who he’s been exchanging DM’s with on Twitter. He taps his phone: “I’m talking to Mike The Situation! He said ‘let me know when you have some tickets when the season starts, I will bring Vinnie and the wifey.’ That’s my man.”

All this makes Kanter compelling enough, but the intersection between that playfulness and a literal life-or-death fight he’s waged against the Turkish government is where he becomes one of the most fascinating professional athletes in recent memory. With a voice that serves as a tight fist for thousands of imprisoned Turkish citizens who themselves have been silenced by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s authoritarian regime, it’s critical that Kanter’s diverse interests and sometimes bizarre behavior do not damage his credibility. Instead, what he represents in public is the natural and masterful interpretation of a benevolent rebel. At 26 years old, Kanter pursues it all in the most admirable, cringeworthy, and immeasurably hilarious ways; he exists without an analog.

“I don’t want to say socially awkward,” Kerem Kanter says. “But Enes used to be shy and he didn’t like to talk to strangers. Now he loves the attention. He talks to the media a lot. He has a ton of friends. He talks to people every day. He actually enjoys doing that.”

So much of this side can be seen every ten minutes on social media, where Kanter floods his feeds with political opinions, videos of himself strolling through Times Square, dressing up like a Marvel character, and, of course, the unprovoked albeit harmless attacks on fellow NBA players and teams.

“This guy doesn’t stop. I don’t know when he sleeps,” O’Quinn says. “He just sits on the internet, and I think there’s somebody helping him, behind closed doors, because I don’t know when he gets any rest. He’s on Twitter and Instagram all day.”

That incessantness translates offline into other areas of his life. The impact Kanter’s energy has in locker rooms, on bus rides, and cross-country flights feels relatively miniscule—to a certain degree it very much is—but so many of his teammates cite his ability to loosen the atmosphere as a professional advantage.

He’s the butt of a trillion jokes, but never gets sensitive about any of them, knowing that A) he brings most of the ridicule upon himself, and B) nobody is actually trying to hurt his feelings. Even when they mock his accent, diet (knowing he avoids pork for religious reasons, Kanter’s teammates would sometimes order bacon just to put it on his plate, or convince him their meals were cooked on the same grill), tight clothing, or not-that-rare refusal to shower after practice, it’s never done with malicious intent. The result is an endless collection of stories that make those who tell them smile.

Indiana Pacers wing Doug McDermott didn’t really talk to Kanter when they were teammates in Oklahoma City, but things changed after they were both traded to New York. “He called me like ‘Doug! Man! We’re going to the best city in the world!” he says. McDermott chuckles at all the different ways Kanter made himself an easy target. “Just how cheap he was. I think he still had an iPhone 4 when that was like four iPhone’s ago.”

A popular topic of conversation at the Thunder practice facility was the house Kanter purchased in Oklahoma City (that he’s since sold, at a loss). He was so excited to furnish it and asked around about hiring an interior decorator. But later, when he saw the bill and noticed that he was charged around $10,000 for curtains alone, he lost it. “It became a joke in the locker room,” Novak says. “Like, ‘Oh God, Enes is bitching about his curtains again.’”

Bring up the curtains with Enes and his smile turns into a sheepish grin. “She didn’t charge me that much but it was very expensive curtains. Very, very expensive curtains. I was like ‘what was I thinking?’”

Now a minimalist, Kanter does not own a car or a house. He refuses to indulge in the same luxuries any person on a $70 million contract is expected to enjoy, and in fact, continuing a life-long habit that began in the small bedroom he once shared with his two younger siblings, Kanter sleeps on the ground. “It’s actually better for your back” he says without the slightest trace of embarrassment. “I’m comfortable!”

This is a tiny exaggeration. A twin XL mattress is plopped in the corner of his otherwise deserted bedroom in White Plains, where he lives during the season. It’s wrapped in dark brown sheets, one matching pillow, and a champagne-colored comforter. But that’s literally it. There is no box spring, headboard, bed frame, nightstand, or lamp. (Kanter laughs out loud for a solid five seconds when I ask if he ever reads before bed.) There are no posters, rugs, or, well, anything. Officially listed at 6’11”, his calves still dangle off the foot of the mattress. “I know it’s weird,” he says. “I just like it that way.”

Photo by Jason Szenes - European Pressphoto Agency

Even though he was born in Switzerland while his father, Mehmet, earned his M.D. at the University of Zurich, Kanter’s earliest memories trace back to kicking a soccer ball through the mundane streets of Van, a small city on the east side of Turkey.

His mother was a nurse, but soon retired to take care of her four children (Kanter’s two younger brothers play basketball—the youngest attends high school in Atlanta—and his sister recently graduated from medical school.) “We were not too wealthy, we were not too poor,” he says. “We were comfortable.”

For the Kanter family, countless weekends trickled by on the beaches of Lake Van, Turkey’s second-largest body of water. “There was a rumor that there was a monster inside,” he says. “I don’t think there is.”

Kanter’s passion for soccer grew—he still thanks it for developing his low-post footwork—until other kids in his apartment building and throughout the neighborhood stuck him in goal. They laughed at his big feet and poked fun at how huge he was. He hated it. Life in the classroom wasn’t any more pleasant.

“I don’t know what happened. I became a very terrible student.”

Kanter can still picture the wood switch his first-grade teacher used to wield at students who fell out of line. “Whenever you did something crazy they’d say ‘open your hand,’” he says. “I still remember, man. My hands would hurt so bad. Oh my God.”

School was everything in his family, but it wasn’t his thing. “I was a really good student, first, second grade, third grade, and then fourth grade a little bit. And then I don’t know what happened. I became a very terrible student. I wish I took it more serious.”

His parents still pushed him up through middle school, until the pressure to succeed conflicted with the cold reality of knowing he wasn’t put on this Earth to master or even enjoy academia. (Years later, when enrolled at Kentucky, Kanter passed all his classes except art, which he eventually dropped. “It was three hours at night. Too long,” he says. “We weren’t drawing either. It was like history, with reading and stuff.”) Whenever organized basketball came up as a possibility, Kanter’s father would rant about poor grades and the money he already paid the school. His mother repeatedly reminded him that millions of kids wanted to do the exact same thing. “I was getting so much shit from my parents, from my family,” he says.

But perspectives began to shift when he was eleven. A competitive game of after-school ping-pong against his dad spilled onto the basketball court. The two played one-on-one, a boy against his athletic, volleyball-keen, 6’5” father. Enes won. In Mehmet’s eyes, stifling this gift was officially foolish.

Fate intervened a couple years later, when, according to Enes, Mehmet attended a conference in Ankara, Turkey’s capital. He walked into a store for school supplies and a man tapped him on the shoulder. “Is your son as tall as you?” It was a local basketball coach who wondered if today might be his lucky day. (It was.) Enes’s family followed him to Ankara, where he spent two years playing at a school called Samanyolu. After that he moved to Istanbul to play for Turkey’s top basketball club, Fenerbahce Ulker. Not even 16, Kanter had already become one of the world’s more alluring big man prospects.

He never stayed up until 4 AM to watch NBA games when they aired at home, but did catch Utah Jazz highlights the following day, so he could see Turkey’s Mehmet Okur in action. Aside from Okur and Hedo Turkoglu, there weren’t many Turkish role models in the NBA for Kanter to look up to. But even then, when he was banging up against grown men literally twice his age in the Euroleague, Kanter’s focus was always on the United States. He desperately wanted to play high-school, college, and professional ball against the best of the best. But leaving Fenerbahce was more complicated than he expected. During his second season with the team, Kanter turned down a six-year contract for one million Turkish lira (which translated to about $785,000 U.S. dollars at the time). “They’re saying ‘don’t go, don’t leave,’” he remembers. “I was scared.”

The relationship grew tense. One day at the gym, an older teammate untied his shoes, took them off his feet, and hurled both right at Kanter. “How can you leave without talking to me?” he shouted. Kanter wanted to scream back “You’re not my dad!” but kept quiet.

Another long-term contract offer was made, this time for six million Turkish lira. But Kanter spurned the club once again, and along with his life coach and eventual agent Max Ergul, flew one way across the Atlantic Ocean for the very first time. The first stop was Chicago, where Kanter worked out with Tim Grover, Michael Jordan’s famous personal trainer. “There was so much free Muscle Milks,” Kanter says. “I was drinking three or four a day. A day! It was free! I was like ‘Oooh, it tastes so good.’”

From there, actually playing high-school basketball wasn’t easy. As a coveted international prospect, prep schools all over the country wanted him on their side, but thanks to a Nike contract his father signed, along with the money Fenerbahce gave his family, they were also weary of his flimsy amateur status. Kanter initially wanted to enroll at Virginia’s Oak Hill Academy—a basketball factory that’s produced an untold number of success stories, including Carmelo Anthony, Kevin Durant, and Rajon Rondo—but the team’s head coach, Steve Smith, preferred to avoid any potential scandal.

Plan 1-A was Nevada’s Findlay Prep. With the hope of joining forces with Tristan Thompson and Cory Joseph, Kanter was a tank with ball skills. “He could step out and put it on the ground,” Mike Peck, Findlay Prep’s former head coach, says. “His movement was fluid, much like a perimeter player. He wasn’t stiff and rigid.”

But Kanter only spent a couple weeks in Las Vegas before the program ended their relationship. (Oak Hill’s Smith had reportedly refused to compete against any team Kanter was on.) “Our understanding was I think there was something with his dad,” Peck says. “His dad may have signed something over in Turkey that, on behalf of Enes, affected his amateurism. So that’s when we had to say ‘Hey, sorry but we can’t jeopardize our program.’”

Enes, understandably, was crushed. “Think about it, man. I came [to the United States], turned down millions,” he says. “Turned down all the big Nike deals. Turned down...I could be like a legend in Europe. I was killing everybody my age.” But he didn’t sulk. In the days after Findlay Prep informed him of their decision, as Ergul tried to figure out their next move, Kanter’s drive didn’t decelerate. “He was in the gym and he was sweating and he was working,” Peck says. “He wasn’t just, shoes unlaced, messing around. His poise and composure was commendable.”

A similarly frustrating pitstop at West Virginia’s Mountain State Prep preceded Kanter finally landing somewhere that was willing to let him play: Stoneridge Prep in Simi Valley, California, a few miles north of Los Angeles. It was nice to have some stability, but Kanter remembers the situation as anything but normal.

“I walked into the classroom and there were spiders everywhere,” he says. “It was like spider webs. It was very weird. There were like fifteen students in the whole school.” Kanter was there seven months, first living in a house with his teammates before he moved into an American family’s home. It was his first uninterrupted taste of a new culture. At first, he didn’t shop for groceries and ate Nutella for lunch. One morning, he grabbed a box off the top of the refrigerator, opened it, then mixed its contents in a bowl with some milk. A teammate strolled into the kitchen and couldn’t stop laughing. “They said ‘You’re not supposed to eat it like that.’ I said ‘Why? It’s cereal!’ They said ‘It’s not cereal. It’s Cheeze-Its.’”

Practices were held at a 24 Hour Fitness, and Kanter still remembers being confused when random gym members shot at the same basket his team used. But he was dominant, and knew he wouldn’t be there forever. “I remember I had one game, I was so tired of scoring,” he says. “I missed a shot on purpose. A free-throw! I don’t want to score anymore. I still remember that game. It was too easy.”

Kanter verbally accepted an offer made by the University of Washington without ever visiting the school or even stepping foot in the same state. He knew a couple coaches there but had no serious ties or desire to attend. Not long after, Calipari flew to Los Angeles to see Kanter in person for the first time. It was a pickup game at 24 Hour Fitness.

“I immediately said ‘Holy cow, this kid is like 18? This is ridiculous,’” Calipari says. “He was really skilled. Obviously he was really big. But he was really skilled for a guy his size, which kind of surprised me.”

Once he realized they were interested, Kanter immediately decommitted from Washington to sign with the Wildcats. He had emerged as a prodigious cult figure, having recently broken Dirk Nowitzki’s single-game scoring record at the barometric Nike Hoop Summit in Oregon, with a 34-point, 13-rebound gem in just 24 minutes off the bench. (Kyrie Irving and Tristan Thompson finished with 29 points combined.)

But Kanter’s alleged impropriety followed him to Lexington. And the fact that Washington’s former athletic director, Mark Emmert, had just been named President of the NCAA probably didn’t help. Weeks before his freshman season began, Fenerbahce went public, alleging that Kanter had received “over $100,000 in cash and benefits.” They also submitted financial documents to the NCAA. Instead of playing basketball, Kanter sat through several interviews with investigators, some lasting six hours.

“His dad didn’t want him to go to a club school [in Turkey]. He wanted him to go to a private school, because his father was a professor,” Calipari says. “The club agreed to pay for it, and instead of paying the [private] school directly, they paid Enes’s father to give the money to the school, which the father did. And he had checks and everything that he wrote and showed. The club was upset that [Enes] didn’t come back and said that they wouldn’t cooperate. In other words ‘we’re not gonna say that’s what it was,’ but the dad showed that’s what it was. The NCAA said he’s not paying. I was appalled.”

Kanter learned about his lifetime ban watching television in his dorm room. Calipari remembers a meeting soon after in his office: Kanter looked at the floor and held back tears. Going back to Istanbul never crossed his mind, though, especially after he received a barrage of texts from his former club that outlined how hopeless his NBA dream truly was. If he wanted to succeed, it had to be in Turkey, they told him. “I knew if I went back, that road would be closed and none of the [Turkish] players would take that risk and come to America again,” he says. “Everybody would be scared.”

Kanter stayed in Kentucky throughout the season. Initially he wasn’t allowed to be in the same gym while the team practiced, so the school assigned Kanter his own coach. “I would practice after or before [the team],” he says. The restrictions extended to weight training, where strength and conditioning coaches wrote instructions on note cards and then taped them all over the room. “He said ‘When you work out, we’re not allowed to talk to you’,” Kanter says.

That was short lived, though. Kentucky quickly made Kanter “a student-assistant coach,” and the NCAA allowed him to practice with the team. “Every day, NBA people came in and watched him. He got Josh Harrellson drafted because every day Josh had to go against him. Josh Harrellson got drafted because of Enes Kanter,” Calipari says. “I told him ‘we have a plan. You’re gonna practice, we’re gonna have pro scouts, and you, my man, you’re getting drafted, son. And you’re getting drafted in the top five.’”

In 2011, Kanter was selected third overall by the Jazz, but the NBA’s lockout robbed him of a formal training camp, leading to an understandably rough adjustment period, on and off the floor. He was hazed by veteran teammates, especially Al Jefferson, and found that the more he tried to fit in, the further he drifted from who he really was.

“Enes partied a lot. Everybody knew that,” Trey Burke, Kanter’s current teammate who also played with him in Utah, says. “That was his rookie season, though. He’ll even tell you that.” Indeed, he does: “I was going out with my teammates and hanging out and stuff, but once you’re in your second year and your third year, you get more smarter and more smarter, you know? And you’re like ‘OK, basketball comes first, so stick to basketball,’” Kanter says.

He was not happy in Salt Lake City, primarily due to limited minutes and a diminishing on-court role. “He was boiling on the inside,” Novak says. Right before the All-Star break in the last year of his rookie-scale contract, Kanter demanded a trade. A couple weeks later, he was dealt to Oklahoma City. Novak was included in the deal, news that prompted his wife to burst into tears. When Kanter heard, he immediately called to apologize. “My wife wanted to kill him,” Novak laughs. “If you’re mad at Enes you’re usually not mad for long. He’s crazy so he does dumb stuff, but it usually comes from a really good place.”

The most meaningful upshot from his departure was Kanter’s own maturation intersecting with a rediscovery of the altruistic Muslim principles he embraced as a child. The need to help others, especially those who can’t help themselves, took on a much larger role in his life, dramatically altering how he viewed his responsibilities as a public figure. Kanter was about to become so much more than a basketball player.

As we sit ten stories above New York City’s rush-hour traffic, a fire truck’s deafening siren pauses our conversation. Kanter stops fiddling with his black matte watch, turns his phone over and raises his eyebrows. “Look at this, man.” He shakes his head and stretches his arm across the table. It’s a clip of Florida senator Marco Rubio dropping Kanter’s name during a senate hearing about political censorship on social media. (Kanter’s Twitter account has been blocked by the Turkish government.)

A few weeks later, outside the Lincoln Center’s Alice Tully Hall, sunlight sifts through a cloudy fall sky and glares off automatic machine guns held by NYPD officers clad in riot gear as they effectively secure the building’s perimeter. We’re at the Oslo Freedom Forum, a conference sponsored by the Human Rights Foundation that’s designed to promote and protect human rights all over the world.

As the conference begins, Kanter stands in the back, watching as a young North Korean defector tells her story in front of a packed, teary-eyed audience. When she’s through, he bends over to give her a hug as organizers latch a microphone over his ear. During their on-stage talk, Thor Halvorssen, the forum’s founder, calls Kanter an accidental activist, someone who didn’t set out to change the world but stepped up once he realized he had enough influence to do so.

Kanter first considered speaking out against Turkey’s backsliding government in 2013, after Erdogan embroiled himself in a corruption scandal. The subsequent power struggle culminated in an attempted coup, allegedly orchestrated by Fethullah Gulen, one of the country’s most popular religious and political figures. Gulen, who denies he was involved, lives in exile in Pennsylvania, where Kanter visits him regularly. Kanter's criticism of Erdogan is well documented, and nearly led to his abduction in Romania while on a worldwide charity tour last year. Since, Kanter has taken every opportunity possible to denounce a regime that’s imprisoning innocent citizens and kidnapping dissenters who live in democratic countries.

“He’s the second-most wanted person in Turkey, after Gulen, and we’re walking aimlessly in Hawaii, in Des Moine, Iowa, not hiding from anyone,” Kanter’s manager Hank Fetic says. “There were a few times this summer where I said ‘Bro, this guy is walking a little close to us. I’m a bit worried.'”

A warrant for Kanter’s arrest was issued by the Turkish government last year, and his father is facing a trial that could put him in jail for years. It’s a neverending nightmare, but Kanter is somehow able to compartmentalize the most psychologically corrosive aspects of his life and stay as upbeat as possible. While with the Thunder, the team’s psychologist tried to speak with him. Kanter politely refused. “Don’t worry about me,” he said he told the doctor. “If I ever need someone to talk to maybe I will. But right now I’m okay.”

The emotional toll is obvious, but Kanter’s sacrifice is evident elsewhere. He can’t leave North America and hasn’t been able to secure any endorsement deals. Nike, the same company that championed Colin Kaepernick’s controversial remonstration by putting him on the frontlines of a recent ad campaign, now refuses to sign Kanter. “I talked to Nike and they said ‘we want to give Enes a contract. We’re watching him. But if we give him a contract they will shut down every store in Turkey, so we cannot give him a contract,’” he says. “I’m an NBA player with no shoe deal. No endorsement deal. And I play in New York!”

He’s curious about the fluidity of American politics, and didn’t initially understand why so many people get upset when he tweets anything negative about Donald Trump—particularly during his time in Oklahoma. Speaking as someone who’s still shocked by what’s happened to Turkey, America’s violent divisiveness and piping hot political climate terrify him. But he still dislikes the idea of protesting in the United States, for fear of turning another country into his enemy. (Don’t expect Kanter to take a knee during the national anthem anytime, ever.)

He wants to be a U.S. citizen—he’s two years from becoming eligible—and has thought about giving himself an American name. (Kanter scratches his chin when I pitch “Michael” as an option.) “I see [America] is going there, to become another Turkey,” he says. “I hope not. I pray not. But right now you see people are getting polarized. When I think about America, I think about freedom. Freedom of speech, freedom of religion. It’s a peaceful country. Now it’s like, for an immigrant, you’re kind of scared.”

Inside the Knicks practice facility, a dozen media members file into a gym that has two full-length basketball courts. New York’s second day of training camp has just ended. As players break up to shoot free throws and work on individual skills, Kanter is the only one who jogs over to the near sideline, where several coaches and front office executives—the team’s president (Steve Mills) and general manager (Scott Perry) included—are seated in a row. He goes down the line, like a the world’s most earnest politician, and shakes everybody’s hand.

Kanter recedes to a far basket and simulates pick-and-rolls with one of his coaches. He steps outside to attempt a few mid-range jumpers and then settles into the corner to hoist some threes. From shoulder to hip, his muscles ripple like a miniature mountain ridge.

“How do you not like Enes?” Knicks head coach David Fizdale says a few minutes later. “For me, he’s like our spirit. He keeps our gym light. He keeps the guys in an upbeat mood, an energetic mood. He doesn’t have bad days. And thinking about what he and his family [are] going through, the fact that he can come in here and still have enough energy to give to us, I love him.”

“How do you not like Enes?”

Kanter began preparing for this, his eighth NBA season, less than a week after his seventh one ended five months ago. Even with a hectic travel schedule, he still spent between three and four hours a day in a gym all summer. The only days he took off were those designated for rest.

“Honestly, he’s the most consistent athlete I’ve been around in a long time, as far as just being on time and punctual and what he demands out of himself,” Mike Atkinson, Kanter’s personal performance coach, says.

Kanter walked into camp with 2.8 percent body fat and 20 more pounds of muscle than he had a year ago. “He’s the healthiest eater of all time,” McDermott says. “I’ve tried multiple times this summer to go to Shake Shack, but he won’t do it. I remember on a plane ride once, I was like ‘Enes, if this plane goes down, what’s the first thing you’d do?’ He said ‘I would eat all the cheeseburgers and cookies on here,’ just because he eats more quinoa and kale and spinach than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

On the court, Kanter is aggravatingly schismatic. At his best—AKA when his team has the ball—he moves like a rhinoceros who could place in the Kentucky Derby. He consistently finishes around the rim at an elite rate and creates second, third, and fourth chances whenever a teammate’s shot (or his own) doesn’t fall. “He’s a walking assist for a lot of us guards,” Burke says. Kanter finished seventh in rebound chances per game last season, averaging at least five fewer minutes than everyone who ranked higher. Since he entered the league, only seven players have grabbed more than 1,400 offensive rebounds. Kanter has tallied at least 2,100 fewer minutes than all of them.

“My thing is to do the dirty work, bang inside, and just be a banger, you know?” he says. “I know my weaknesses. That’s the most important thing. You have to know your weaknesses. I think my [weakness is] defense, of course.” For the past five years, Kanter’s team has been atrocious on defense with him in the game and significantly better when he’s on the bench. Two postseasons ago—after a play in which Kanter was helpless to stop James Harden and Clint Capela from connecting on a lob—that reputation collided with the national spotlight when a camera panned to Thunder head coach Billy Donovan right as he turned to his assistant Maurice Cheeks to seemingly say the words: “Can’t play Kanter.”

“I did see the clip. I could read his mouth. But he said ‘I never said anything like that, I was saying something else’,” Kanter says about Donovan. “He told me he never said anything like that and I go with it. You know what I mean?”

Kanter will never be Rudy Gobert, but he’s spent the offseason building up his legs, training himself to stay in a lateral stance, watching more footage, and conceding that where he is and how he reacts is increasingly critical in a league that goes out of its way to attack him. Physical improvement can only accomplish so much without awareness, zippy instincts, and the capacity to communicate on the fly, though. And big men, like Kanter, who neither protect the rim nor shoot threes—something Washington Wizards coach Scott Brooks first encouraged him to try when both were in Oklahoma City—are an endangered species.

His game is often synonymous with these flaws, but Kanter can still be a devastating weapon if deployed correctly. Size and strength will always have a place in the NBA, particularly when found in someone who’s coordinated, physical, and willing to exert maximum energy.

As a 27-year-old free agent hitting a marketplace that’s flush with cash, so much of his next contract hinges on the progress seen in 2019. “You always think about [free agency],” Kanter says. “Even if people said ‘Oh I don’t think about it, I’m focused on the season’ it’s always in the back of your head. It can not let you affect your game, but you always think about ‘Hey, what am I going to do?’ ‘Where am I going to go?’ ‘Am I going to stay,’ ‘Am I going to leave?’”

Based on everything seen so far, odds are strongly against Kanter ever approaching league average on the defensive end, but marginal improvement is always possible. Even more likely, though, is further growth on offense, where Kanter’s assist rate—normally near the bottom of the league—has ascended over the past couple years. An opportunity to show off his three-point range will be there, too.

“Before I was saying ‘I want to average a double-double. I want to score this much points, this much blocks.’ But how can I make my teammates better? How can I make the young guys better? Because that will take you to the next level. To share the ball, to make an extra pass, to cheer for your teammates. If you’re having a bad game and other big men are having a good game, you clap for them. You stand up and cheer for them. I think those little things add up and you become a better teammate and become a better player.”

Photo by Jason Szenes - European Pressphoto Agency

The most popular example of Kanter’s loyalty—and quite possibly his most relevant on-court moment—happened one year ago, when the Cleveland Cavaliers visited Madison Square Garden. The conflict started hours before the actual game, when LeBron incidentally disrespected New York’s baby-faced French point guard Frank Ntilikina by saying Dennis Smith Jr. should’ve been the Knicks pick instead.

Late in the first quarter, LeBron dunked home a lob, bumped into Ntilikina, and then refused to get out of his way. It was pure intimidation. The rookie responded by shoving James back before Kanter sprinted over to join the fray. “I was like ‘I’m proud of Frank. He’s pushing with LeBron, that’s good!’ But then after that it’s like OK, LeBron is 260 going up against an 18-year-old kid,” Kanter says. “So then I break in and I actually didn’t say nothing crazy. I was like ‘Don’t mess with my man.’ That’s it.”

The Knicks barely lost that game but then won three of their next four. “Our team needed that. Frank needed that. And I think it went a long way in the locker room,” O’Quinn says. “[Enes] got under the skin of somebody who is kinda unfazed by the many different things that people throw at him.”

The moment also cemented a bond between a veteran and a rookie who’s as shy as Kanter used to be. “The first person that I saw who wanted to help me was Enes,” Ntilikina says. “And it’s always like that, in the locker room, on the court, you always know that Enes is going to be there for you.”

This is who he is. Even still with a slight language barrier, Kanter speaks with an intent to ease. At the end of every other sentence, the man he’s talking to is “bro” or “my man.” Back at Lincoln Center, I sat on a yellow couch in the second-floor media room while he conducted an entire day’s worth of on-camera interviews with outlets from all over the world. A little after 4 PM, Kanter met me around the corner at the Empire Hotel. He looked the opposite of exhausted. We sat down on a gray couch in the brisk lobby, and without saying a word, Kanter grabbed my digital recorder and moved it to his side of the table, just to make sure it’d catch his voice. Again, he's almost too well-mannered.

“We’ll be having dinner, and someone will come to the table and ask to take a picture and he’ll stand up and take a picture with them. I’m like ‘Bro, you’ve gotta say ‘No. After dinner.’ But he just doesn’t decline it,” Fetic says. He’s unfailingly polite, but add everything he brings to the table that’s completely disconnected from on-court performance and it’s easy to see why signing him to a long-term deal is risky. So long as he’s on their roster, the Knicks aren’t broadcast in Turkey, no small loss considering a potential market of approximately 80 million people who would certainly tune in to watch.

McDermott believes Kanter is a perfect fit where he is: “I think, not anything bad against anywhere else he’s played, but I just think he’s meant to be in New York or L.A. He just has that presence.”

He’s unpredictable and different, but being unpredictable and different, in this case, is good. Instead of ego, there’s curiosity and compassion. Given all that encompasses his world—a deteriorating homeland and troubled family that's endured so many challenging circumstances—who has time to feel pressure on a basketball court, especially when it’s impossible to prepare any more than he already has? Kanter is unafraid of his own ambition and has long established himself as a productive professional, someone who can unmistakably affect his team’s culture without taking it over.

One day after the loss to Cleveland, Ntilikina sat by himself in a cold tub at the Knicks practice facility. A few minutes later, Kanter walked in and slid into the freezing water. They acknowledged each other and then sat in an awkward, shivery silence before Ntilikina looked up, turned his head, and stared at the teammate who just stood up to one of the world’s best and most famous athletes on his behalf. “Thank you,” Ntilikina said, softly. Kanter nodded back. “No problem, my man. I’ve always got your back.” The room fell quiet once again. “Whatever happens,” Kanter said. “It’s us against the whole world.”

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