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lu-undy · 4 years

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Chapter 16 - SBT

Here it is!

After his meeting with Maurice, Mundy was left confused. He knew there was more to know. If Maurice was under the impression that something was happening, then surely it did. And what did he mean with possibly dangerous?

The thing is, if Maurice said he didn't exactly know himself, then there was no way Mundy could. The best thing would probably be to give it all a bit more time.

And that's exactly what Mundy did. He had spent the past few days not doing much apart from being patient. He had phoned Phil from the import/export company and Matt from the animal reserve again but they still hadn't had any news on their side of things.

"Hey, you heard me, M?"

Mundy's eyelids fluttered as he landed back from his daydream.

"Hello…?" Eddy was waving before his empty eyes.

Mundy had driven to his friend’s hunting equipment shop. He naturally was sitting on the stool next to the counter, as he used to a decade ago. Mundy didn’t think much of it, but Eddy noticed how his legs had led him to his former place, as if ten years hadn’t passed at all.

"Y-yeah sorry, I was just… Uh… thinking." Mundy said.

"Yeah, I could see that!" Eddy chuckled. "I don't know where you went in your head but it was bloody far!"

"Sorry, mate, you were saying?"

"I was asking you how you were doing, and if you'd made any progress on Johnson's alligators."

Mundy sighed.

"Yes and no. I did talk to a few people here and there, that's the good part."

"What's the bad one?"

"No bloody clue where the 'gators are." Mundy answered.

"Ah, well…" Eddy shrugged. "I'm sure it'll solve itself."

"I am giving it a bit of time, hoping that some news will drop but I haven't heard back from anyone."

"How long has it been?" Eddy asked.

"Almost a week."

"Is that a lot?"

"Quite a bit, yeah."

"Ah…" Eddy removed his cap off his head and scratched his hair. "Is there anything you could do that you didn't…?"

Mundy frowned and pondered for a few seconds.

"I mean, you might as well as you're not doing anything else."

The Aussie's brow furrowed further.

"Guess you're right." He took his hat off the counter and exited Eddy's hunting equipment shop.

Mundy needed to walk. That, or drive. But his legs were now taking control so he slid his hands in his pockets and let his feet guide him. The streets of his city rolled before his eyes like the reel of a movie he knew all the lines of by heart.

There was something that Maurice said that got stuck in his head and his mind couldn't help but turn round and around to come back to it. In all those years, it was the first time that Maurice had warned Mundy about any kind of danger.

Even on his last job, Maurice hadn't said anything and it had cost Mundy a lot, to say it lightly.

"Pfff…"

The Aussie kicked a rock on the ground and continued walking, his train of thought gliding on the rails of his impatience. When he raised his head again and connected with reality, he got an idea. He spun on his heels and headed back to the one man who knew.

“Maurice?”

Mundy’s heels stopped in a dead end and his voice bounced on the walls back to him.

“Mundy.”

From the shadow, a silhouette emerged.

“How can I help?” The beggar asked.

“Can you tell me more?”

“About what?”

“Look, mate, I’ve never ever heard you ask me to watch out for anything. In all these years, even last time I was working.”

Maurice nodded.

“I have only partial information.” was his answer.

“Go on. A bit is better than nothing.” Mundy said.

“In this case, follow me. We need to go somewhere else. The walls have ears.”

Mundy nodded and followed Maurice out of the cul-de-sac. They walked through the dirty streets of the poorest neighbourhood. Mundy’s eyes lingered left and right. It seemed like a million eyes were on him, following him without moving, without breathing. It intimidated him a bit, he felt like he was put on the spot. But then he just remembered that indeed, Maurice had a lot more people coming to him, working with him.

“Maurice?”

“Hm?”

“These people you feed and help out…”

“What about them?”

“Do you ask anything from them in exchange?”

Maurice chuckled.

“What could I ask? They have no money.”

“We both know you don’t care about money.” Mundy answered.

“It is true. My trade is not in money.” Maurice started. “But to answer your question, no, I don’t ask anything from them. We work our best to get those poor people who didn’t choose this life out of mine.”

“What?” Mundy asked.

“I know that my job is done when the number of people I feed goes down, even if it's just one person. One person less to feed doesn’t make much of a difference to us, but to that one person, to get back into life the way they see it, to not come back in these dirty streets, to not ask anymore, to not beg, to not feel like a burden anymore… In a way, to reclaim their life as their own, and not one where some superior power condemned them to be and feel like less of a human being, that is what I ask of them."

Mundy listened carefully.

"Some of them I do employ and pay." Maurice continued. "And they work for me benevolently, I never looked to hire anyone. They just offered to help."

"They offered, but you pay them?" Mundy asked.

"Those people do the work that our leaders should, of course I pay them. I pay them before I pay myself, and I don't pay them enough. Those are the people you see waking up early in the morning to prepare the food to help those poor souls, after school they help the kids with their homework. I have a few contacts here and there to find them the odd job but nothing very solid, especially for those with high qualifications…"

"People don't seem unhappy about it though." Mundy added.

"Billy!" Maurice called and one of the children playing ball in the street came at him running. "Come follow us, please."

"Sure."

Mundy saw his friend walk to a house and open the door. It was one of those abandoned homes in the poorest district. The wallpaper on the walls was falling in long strips, revealing the dust and washed out paint underneath. The floor was tiled although it had gathered dust there too. Maurice went to what used to be the bedroom, judging by the wooden ruin that looked like a bed frame. Mundy followed him and saw his friend move a carpet from the floor. It revealed a secret door that Maurice bent down to open with the key he was carrying around his neck.

Mundy's jaw dropped. In all those years, he had no idea Maurice had a hideout…!

They took the ladder down and when they hit the ground, surrounded by the dark, Maurice raised his head.

"You can close it now."

"Alright!"

And as Billy shut the door above their heads, the last ray of light disappeared, leaving Mundy confused about his surroundings.

Click.

Maurice flipped a switch and Mundy's jaw dropped again. He had expected a corridor, a room and a few chairs. No… It turned out that they were in what looked like one out of a lot of galleries. Mundy looked down and could see lower levels.

"Where are we…?"

His eyes scanned the metallic bridges, stairs and the like, connecting the tunnels. It was all very well, considering they were underground.

"Welcome to my headquarters."

"Did you have that before as well…?" Mundy asked as he followed Maurice down some stairs and through a door.

"I did, yes, but we expanded our network considerably. You see, these people I help, they usually like to do something to pay me back. That's how I bought the house we have been through, and managed to organise these abandoned tunnels into a fully functional and extremely efficient way of communication."

"How did you do that?"

"One man that I helped was an electrician. He worked for months dealing with the electricals here with his team. The house? Another bloke was an estate agent. As soon as he found a job, he asked me what house I would like to have. I chose this abandoned one. There were other people involved, but those are a few examples. Ah, we are finally here."

Maurice and Mundy had been through countless doors and as many corridors. Had the Aussie been asked to find his way back, he wouldn't have found it…!

"Take a seat."

It was a spacious room with a few people busy here and there. There was a table in the middle with a few chairs.

"Roight."

Mundy took a seat and Maurice sat opposite him.

"Here is what I know. Peter, come and write it down, please."

One of the busy people came with a notepad and a pen. He sat down.

"People with big money are coming here, in Oz. People who sometimes had to travel from the other end of the globe."

Mundy's eyebrows jumped.

"People who didn't get their money through honest work. They deal, traffick, exchange, trade and enslave. For some of them, they kill."

Maurice paused for the word to hit Mundy, and it did.

"They all frequent the restaurant where this one employee you are after works. The Queen Victoria."

"Look, Maurice, I need to get there."

Maurice's eyebrows jumped.

"No, you don't."

"Yeah! If you don't have any information on Antonio Sanchez, I'll find him myself." Mundy answered.

"Mundy, you will not do that."

"Yeah, I will."

"Mundy, you do not understand the seriousness of all this."

"Then stop bein' all mysterious and tell me! What is happenin' there for me to be scared?!" Mundy insisted and his friend sighed.

"There is one man, more dangerous than the rest. He enjoys his dinners there. Do not get close to him." Maurice answered.

"If he doesn't have my crocs, then I'll leave him be. I won't risk my skin."

"You already did." Maurice answered.

"What?"

"Antonio Sanchez is only a waiter." Maurice answered. "He no doubt was amongst those who stole your alligators. But the man behind it is the one I am talking about."

"Wait, you know all that and you didn't tell me?!" Mundy exclaimed, furious. He had never thought his friend would hold back any information from him, he never had.

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"When I came to learn that he was working for that particular man, I used all my means to check, double check and triple check."

Mundy's anger faded when, for the first time, he saw Maurice genuinely concerned. His brow was furrowed intensely and his bushy eyebrows hid his eyes almost completely.

"Mundy, that man is the most dangerous man you would ever meet."

"W-what d'you mean?"

"Not only does he own a fortune, but he walked on an ever-growing pile of corpses to get where he is."

Mundy's heart sank as he started sharing Maurice's fear.

"That man has no doubt sent orders to kill more people than the Australian army for the past decade."

Mundy put a hand on the table, a visible look of disbelief painted on his face.

"Mundy, Arthur Duchemin is no little poacher. His killstreak counts men, women and even children."

"What…?" Mundy leaned back as if the words had slapped him across the face.

"He finances militias across the world, making sure his interests are always safe. In Africa, he even hires children soldiers, sends them to kill and get killed."

"What the hell is he doing with the crocs then? He doesn't sound like he needs them!"

"And yet, he has his hands on them."

"Where?" Mundy asked.

"I don't know."

"You really don't know?" Mundy insisted and Maurice sighed.

"Yes, I really don't know."

A long silence followed. Maurice had lowered his eyes to the table but Mundy was intensely staring at him, frowning. If he had lied once, Maurice could lie a second time.

"I am sorry, Mundy. My point was obviously not to lie to you by omission, but to protect you."

"I don't need your protection."

"You do. You are walking around as armed as little Billy you've seen earlier and you want to meet one of the most dangerous human beings on the planet." Maurice raised his eyes to Mundy's. "Get Eddy to find some equipment for you if you want to continue."

"What d'you mean 'if I want to continue'...? You think I'll quit? Those alligators are the last of their species!"

"I respect your determination, Mundy, but this man is after more than just crocodiles and he is very willing and able to kill to get what he needs. It wouldn't be the first time and it certainly won't be the last."

"Maurice, do you have any idea what it means…? For God's sake, they're the bloody last ones!" Mundy exclaimed.

"Again, I respect your trade and your ambition but I don't think you will be able to fulfill your task this time."

Silence fell for a while. Both men were in a staring contest.

"I'm not asking for your opinion, Maurice. I just need info."

"Mundy, that man will not only end your career, but also your life!" Maurice exclaimed, raising his arms to the sky.

"So be it! I have nothing left to lose!" Mundy answered in a heartbeat. He pushed his chair back violently as he stood up. "I have nothing, absolutely nothing that ties me to this Earth!" Mundy banged the table with his clenched fist.

"And you know what? Same for these bloody alligators! Now, you do your job and give me the information I need, and you let me take care of the rest!"

Maurice looked down and sighed. He was tired of the argument.

"I hope next time we meet won't be at your funeral." The beggar said.

"No."

Maurice raised his eyes to Mundy who adjusted his chair in front of the table again and sat down.

"You don't have to come."

The beggar's jaw dropped. So when Mundy said that he didn't have anything left to lose, he was not exaggerating. He was that done with everything, huh?

"What do you want from me, then?" Maurice asked.

"Get me inside that posh restaurant."

"What? You know that you can't get a place there even if you book months in advance, right?"

"All I need is one dinner, one night." Mundy said, raising an index finger. "Just one."

Maurice put a hand on his face.

"Even if I could get you inside, they would spot you like an elephant in a porcelain shop."

"I'll dress up."

"I was not talking about the clothes." Maurice explained. "They know their clients' faces. A new one would draw their attention to you instantly."

"I need to go there and have a look around, listen to them and see if I can't get anything."

"Give me a few more days." Maurice asked.

"I don't have a few more days. I don't even know if they're alive or dead."

"Mundy, a few more days and I'll give you a location."

"Look, I've given you more time on this than I've ever done before. I can't. I need to save them while I still can. Tell me what I should do to get there and I'll do it."

"I don't even know myself!" Maurice answered. He let his hand sink from his brow to his chin. He was tired of all that. He knew nothing good would come out of it all.

"Maurice, some news." A man interrupted them and gave the beggar a large piece of paper. It looked like a poster. "These appeared in the streets, as your friend asked."

Maurice raised his head to his colleague.

"Did you send the word where I asked you to?" He asked.

"Yes, they will be there. The guys put more tables and chairs for the occasion… I don't know how your friend did it, but he convinced the old man."

"Never underestimate the charm of that man." Maurice answered. "Oh wait…"

Maurice looked at the poster in his hand, then at Mundy, then back at the poster.

"Are all their tables booked?" He asked.

"No, not as of this morning."

"Book one at once!" Maurice said, raising his eyes to the Aussie who wasn't sure he was really talking to him. "This show starts in two days, right?"

"Yes, Maurice. What name should we give?"

"Emme."

"Emme?"

"Yes, like the letter. Mundy, you have a table at the Queen Victoria in two days for dinner. Prepare your best tuxedo and your best manners. This is your one and only chance to set foot in that place."

"Wait, hold on, what? I thought you couldn't get me there?" The Aussie asked, confused.

"Now, thanks to this new show…" Maurice spread the poster on the table. "You now can."

Mundy looked carefully. It was an advert for a new musical show at the Queen Victoria. The poster was blue and golden, like the uniforms that Mundy had seen.

"As you have just heard, they increased their capacity for the occasion, which will allow you to slip in without raising too much suspicion."

"Oh… Alright, I'll get prepared then." Mundy stood up and was about to head off.

"Mundy?"

"Yeah?"

"Be extremely careful. What I said earlier still holds. You are getting close to one hell of a maniac." Maurice said.

"I'll watch out for myself. Thanks for the info."

Maurice nodded.

"Peter, please show Mundy out."

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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eeveedel · 4 years

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22 noble alpha and peasant omega

“I don’t owe you an explanation”

Louis worried his fingers in the folds of his plain dress as the view outside the carriage window changed from low rooftops to manicured swaths of trees. They were only a few minutes away from Harry’s estate now, but for once, the alpha wasn’t by his side. Their wedding was only in a few days now, and Louis had to be at the house for a few final touches. Most importantly, he had to attend a party with some of Harry’s close family and associates today, which was already making his stomach turn a bit at the thought.

When the carriage arrived at the front of the estate house, Harry was already outside, waiting with a patient, wide smile at made Louis’s heart lift a bit. When the driver came around to the open Louis’s door, the alpha ran up, waving him away and instead opening the door on his own.

“Hello, my sweet,” Harry said as he helped Louis out and gave him a generous kiss on the cheek, “Someone will get your trunks. Let me walk you to your rooms.”

Louis nodded, letting Harry wrap an arm around his back and lead him into the house. He had walked through the enormous doorway many times by now; had taken in the marble foyer and been greeted by a small army of servants, but it still made him blush a bit every time.

“You’ll have to stay in the guest wing until the wedding night, I’m very sorry,” Harry said as they walked towards the main staircase, “You’ll tell me if it is not up to your liking, won’t you?”

“I will,” Louis said, although admittedly the thought of bringing up any changes was a bit daunting.

Harry nodded happily and then squeezed Louis’s waist.

“I hope you’ll enjoy the party tonight, too,” Harry said, “I know many people are looking forward to seeing you.”

“Oh,” Louis managed, “Yes.”

In truth, his stomach had not stopped churning at the thought, but he pushed it down. It would soon be his main role to attend to parties, and he didn’t want to cock it up so soon.

Harry soon led him to the east wing of the house, away from Harry’s own private rooms, and they arrived at the main guest quarters. The bedroom inside was four times the size of Louis’s family’s entire one-floor home, with an enormous bed covered in a bright white blanket, and a full row of windows that looked out to the gardens. His trunks had already been brought up and set on the floor, although the scuffed up leather looked out of place against the polished floors. He suddenly hoped Harry replaced them quickly; so he didn’t want to have anything that would look out of place.

“Open the wardrobe, pet, I have a surprise for you,” Harry coaxed gently, snapping Louis out of his thoughts. The omega nodded and went over to the large wardrobe across the room, opened its doors cautiously. He inhaled once the doors were open; it was empty save for a pair of prim white shoes and a pale blue dress covered in lace ruffles and satin bows that hung from the main rack.

“Oh,” Louis let out, “It’s lovely, Harry, thank you”

“I used the measurements from your last trip to the tailor,” Harry said, “Do your dresses still fit alright?”

“Yes,” Louis said, although he blushed a bit, “They’re getting a bit tight around my belly, though.”

Harry offered him a gentle smile, and Louis rushed on.

“Those little biscuits you sent me were just so good,” Louis said, “I tried to save them for the whole week but I ate them all in one night.”

“Darling, in a few days you can have a package of those biscuits every hour if you’d like,” Harry laughed. He came forward to kiss Louis on cheek and pick up the dress from the rack, “I’ll take this to my seamstress and she can let it out a bit for the party, just to make things more comfortable. You just relax until then, I’ll come fetch you.”

Louis just nodded again, already thoroughly exhausted from his afternoon of traveling. Harry swept off with the dress still in tow, and Louis sat down heavily on the bed, eventually laying down. It was the softest bed he had ever laid upon, and his eyes already felt heavy. He dared to let his eyes close, his mind running off with thoughts of biscuits on command and a seamstress constantly available to fix up anything he could want.

Hours later, Louis was standing in his new dress and clothes, pressed tight to Harry side as he took in the courtyard.

There weren’t very many people -- Harry had only invited a rather tight knit group – but Louis still found himself clamming up after greeting each person, instead letting Harry take the lead in conversation.

Louis had never had to speak to anyone wealthy at length before he had met Harry. The nobles rarely went to the same markets and shops he did; merely meeting Harry at the grocer’s had been an extraordinary stroke of luck. And now, he was realizing just how out of place he was in this world.

The feeling especially struck him when he looked at the other omegas in attendance.

The omegas in the garden were beautiful, decked out in big, puffy dresses with ribbons, lace, and bows. Even though Louis’s dress was just as decorated, he felt underdressed compared to them. They were also all much bigger than him, which made him blush all the way down his neck. His body had softened significantly in the past few months; his belly curved out, his thighs were wide, his arms were soft and his cheeks were round when he smiled. But the omegas in front of him made him feel as small as he had been when he first met Harry.

They were so beautiful, was the thing, with their proud, round bellies, lovely curved arms, plump fingers that gripped their dainty little fans as they cooled off their shiny, rogue-covered round faces. Each of them were perfectly polite when Harry introduced them, but Louis couldn’t help but glance down at the ground every time they walked away, hoping desperately they had liked him.

By the end of the hour, Louis’s head was starting to ache a bit, and he was relieved when Harry took him up to seemingly the last people he had yet to meet. It was a tall alpha who looked at least a decade older than Harry, and next to him was a short omega, her round body dressed in gauzy, peach fabric. They seemed in the midst of a conversation, their voices high with an hours’ worth of free champagne, but they both quieted and turned when Harry approached

“Oh, Harry,” the alpha said with no introduction, his smile boozy and loose as he lifted his glass, “This must be the little peasant you plucked up at the grocer’s, how sweet.”

Louis felt his face grow hot, and he instinctively moved closer to Harry, who quickly put an arm around his waist.

“Darling,” Harry said, his voice soft as he addressed Louis, “This is Andrew Pickering, he’s an old Cambridge acquaintance of his my sister’s.”

Louis’s alpha turned back to the man, then, his voice growing decidedly less fond.

“Yes, Andrew. This is my fiancé, Louis,” Harry said tightly, “Your memory is impeccable, as usual. I did meet him in the outside district. Although life is a funny thing, isn’t, as in two days’ time he will outrank you.”

The man blinked, and then smiled again, his lips growing tight.

“Yes, life is funny.”” he said. “I just have to wonder how on earth you made such an…unorthodox decision, I understand your family had two dozen possible suitors lined up for you…”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. Or anyone, for that matter.” Harry said, his voice stone cold despite his friendly smile. It made the alpha in front of him blink blankly.

“Well,” the alpha’s wife laughed, her voice breaking through the awkward silence, “I think he’s rather lovely.”

Before Louis could react, she reached out and grabbed hold of his cheek, pinching it. He could smell her perfume, thick and floral, on her wrist.

“And so tiny, oh my,” she giggled.

Louis flushed deeply as Lord Pickering – Andrew? Louis did not even know how he was allowed to address the other man in his own head – grabbed her hand and pulled it away.

“Sarah, sweet,” he clucked, just as Harry took hold of Louis’s hand.

“Well, we have some other rounds to make, I’ll speak with you two later,” Harry said, and then quickly pulled Louis away and closer to a thick ring of hedges around the edge of the courtyard.

As soon as they were alone, Harry took Louis by the shoulders, his grip strong but careful.

“Louis,” Harry said softly, “Are you alright, sweet one?”

Louis felt his throat grow hot at Harry’s earnest question, and he turned his stinging eyes downwards.

“I’m sorry,” Louis got out, “I’ve embarrassed you.”

“Oh, darling,” Harry said, “Not at all.”

“I have,” Louis choked, “I should have known I wouldn’t fit in. I’m poor, and I’m ordinary, and I’m – I’m ugly.”

Louis sobbed out the last word, and quickly, Harry took Louis’s face in both hands, pressing on his cheeks and making him look up.

“Oh, my love,” he said quietly, “No, no. None of that.”

Harry pushed forward while Louis just looked forward, his lip trembling as he looked into his alpha’s gentle eyes.

“I do not care where your family came from. Beauty and intelligence and grace can come from anywhere, and you prove that,” Harry said. He reached forward, wiping his long fingers under Louis’s leaking eyes. “Because you are not ordinary, and you are the farthest thing from ugly. You are so stunning you made me rush across the market just to speak to you for a little while.”

Louis shook his head and looked down at his own hands. In the past few days, he had thought his hands looked lovely; smoothed over from his years of work and rounding up a bit. But now he saw no loveliness in them at all.

“I’m too small,” he whispered. “I don’t look right, I’m not beautiful and plump like the other omegas.”

“You are beautiful,” Harry insisted, “And I have been telling you for months, I will make you as plump as you want to be. Don’t even worry yourself with that.”

Harry tilted his head, the loose curls over his forehead moving as he did so.

“Why don’t you go inside and ask for some tea and for a fire to be made. I’ll send everyone home, and we can sit inside for a bit. Would you like that?”

Louis nodded immediately, and Harry smiled and kissed his forehead.

“Remember I will always take care of you,” he said gently, “Now go on.”

Louis nodded, giving Harry one last squeeze on the hand before he picked up his skirts and climbed the stairs the courtyard, the chatter of the party falling away as he walked back inside the house. As soon as he was through the doors, the sounds ceased to nearly nothing, and a maid came to ask him if he was cold and wanted a throw, and another servant asked him if he was thirsty. He smiled to himself, allowing his back to straighten.

It did not matter what anyone outside thought. This was his world now, and he would go his best to grow use to being at its command.

#chubby 1d #drabbles #Anonymous #ask

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lucifer-lacroix · 4 years

Text

Interview with a Witcher

Geraskier Fanfic - Geralt X Jaskier - Drama - Romance - based of games and tv series - Future plot - When a Vampire shows up in Novigrad, things at the theatre get more dramatic as Geralt and Jaskier explore their feelings for each other.

The wild plains of Redania were filled with monsters, and corpse eaters as Geralt of Rivia travelled to the city. Jaskier, his long-time friend and ally had opened a cabaret in the city. A tavern once called the Rosemary and Thyme had transformed into the lavish theatre known as the Chameleon. It has been one year since the theatre opened and Geralt headed to the anniversary show — a grand performance to make up for the cancellation of the opening night. Priscilla, Jaskier long-time girlfriend and the fellow bard had recovered from her injuries and even though the assailant who attacked her was never found she was ready to perform. Geralt had hoped Ciri would make it in time for the show at weeks end, but since she became a full-fledged witcher herself, she would frequently run off on her own. Geralt was starting to worry since she should have arrived by now, the Wild Hunt was gone, but powerful monsters remained, and the political order was getting heated again. Geralt constantly reminded of the dangers on the road after fighting off an ancient forest spirit whose head was currently strapped to his saddle. The bloody antlers were catching the attention of the guards while he crosses the gate into the main strip. Roach trudged up to a three-story theatre house draped in red. A group of performers out front were singing and dancing to greet them. "Toss a coin to your witcher." They started singing, and Geralt let out a long exasperated sigh as he manoeuvred Roach up to the watering trove. Once he dismounted Geralt felt the strain of his injuries which cause a limp in his gait as he walked up to the doors tired from little sleep. The joyous tune of his song making him smile despite his best efforts to conceal it.

"Welcome back, Geralt!" "Nice to see you, a witcher." "Have you come to the show!?" Their voices called for his attention.

Inside the theatre, on the second floor, Jaskier glanced out the window hearing the commotion outside and spotted his comrade. "Geralt's here!" he cheered, "The letter said he would be here two days ago." Jaskier excitedly rushed down the stairs and out the door his arms open in welcome. "Geralt, you made it!" he exclaimed, "Good to see you, Jaskier." Geralt replied as he came in for a hug. "Part of me was expecting you not to show up, but the rest of me knew you would not be able to resist… oh my lord, what is that smell?" Jaskier attempted to pull Geralt into a hug but stopped just short as he noticed not only the foul stench but also his tired eyes. Geralt's arm flinched when Jaskier touched him, fresh injuries which stained his armour red. "I'm fine." Geralt said to quell Jaskier worried expression. "Come follow me, let us find you a place to sit and relax. You must be hungry, and I have plenty of delights to fill the empty belly of a hero who has come home." Jaskier excitedly lead Geralt into the Chameleon, "Tell me where you have been what have you seen where did you go? I want to know all!"

"Well, recently I travelled to Skellig. Took up a few monster contracts including a Leshen that had made its territory near a small village, the elders believed it to be a god protecting them, but it would hunt and kill those who tried scavenging in the forest. One of the elders wanted me to perform a ritual to please it, but the rest of the townsfolk paid me to kill it." Geralt started his story as they walked into the theatre decorated with tasteful paintings and elegant art. Jaskier was dodging around tables even though his nose was down in a book. Pictures of the mummers, lord and ladies of note and show posters lining the walls along with a few coats of arms. A banquet of food set out as the many patrons picked from the buffet as they drank merrily together. "This place is amazing." Geralt motioned impressed with what a high-class establishment Jaskier owned. Jaskier however, was distracted by Geralt story while scribbling down notes before being snapped out of it.

"Isn't it?" Jaskier beamed with a flourish of his pillowed sleeve proudly." I'm excited about the show I have been working on it for months!" Jaskier exclaimed and showed Geralt his notes as he fixed a tilted frame on the wall. "It has been a while since I heard one of your… stories." Geralt said in his monotone voice looking at the inventory list in Jaskier's book along with story ideas in the bottom corner. They went to the back and sat at a private table. "Alas, not everyone thinks my stories are so great." Jaskier sighed and offered Geralt a seat sitting directly across from him with interlaced fingers, pensively looking at his notebook. "What works better? If a frog is a prince, would he be wearing a crown or wearing a cape?" Jaskier asked while a barmaid served them a round of ales. Geralt quickly picked his up and chugged it in one long swig. "Why do you ask?" Geralt suspiciously asked with a belch as the bard pondered.

"Just curious, minor play details listen, I know you're tired, but I have one, teensy, tiny, little favour to ask. It's to help the show," Jaskier pleaded. "I just sat down." Geralt said as he thumped the glass onto the table. His face twisted with annoyance but Jaskier innocently eyed Geralt. The Witcher bites his cheek, "ugh, What is it?," he sighed in defeat and crossed his arms on the table.

"Don't tell me you're in trouble again? Is this another bandit heist to swindle another rich lady?" Geralt asked a little sarcastically as he took Jaskier's ale this time and sipped it. He was getting the hiccups from drinking too quickly each jolt, making him wince in pain. "Much worse," Jaskier exclaimed. He leaned forward getting closer to Geralt. "A new King came to town and then completed slaughtered my dream with a bad review! I wasn't paying him much mind when he arrived six months ago, but his opinions seem to be detracting patrons from the district entirely. Madam Irina is struggling to fill the seats because of his crass, thuggish, bullying antics."

Jaskier's voice was a low whispered hiss as he spoke. "I feel if you were to have a word with him, he might change his tune. If the great Geralt of Rivia could maybe 'persuade' him into giving me another chance?" Jaskier said full of bravado. "That's it?" Geralt asked, curious when the twist was going to come. "You just want me to talk to some snub nose King who insulted you?" Geralt tried to hold his breath now since the hiccups were getting worse and he didn't want to look like a pansy who couldn't handle his drink because of a broken rib. "He said my work was boring and derivative. It's affecting my business and my sanity! W-wait wait Geralt are you alright?" A concerned look crossed Jaskier's face as he noticed Geralt holding his breath. He flagged down the barmaid. "Can you get him some water please?" Jaskier called out as Geralt held his clenched fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed that Jaskier noticed. "Thanks, it's nothing just a couple new scars," he said with his eyes cast down and sipped the water that the barmaid quickly brought over. "Have you tried writing something the King would like?" Geralt asked but stared at Jaskier's over-expressive face now stunned with horror. "I—- I— hmph!" he fumed, a slight blush crossing his checks "How dare you to assume I have not tried. The man is an unreasonable Buffon." Jaskier glared. "Please Geralt, I need your help, he's a complete monster." Jaskier ranted as Geralt raised an eyebrow. "I'm not joking, he is!" Jaskier said rather loudly before looking around at the witcher hunters who were currently chatting with Zoltan. "I think he is a vampire," Jaskier stated in a whisper.

"Don't be unreasonable! Less you see how gossip is the poison that spews from your mouth. You can't just go around accusing people of vampirism in the middle of the city of Novigrad. Do you know how many witch hunters are out there looking for a reason to kill someone?" Geralt got rather mean, as much as Jaskier's antics could get out of hand. Vampirism was a serious matter, but there was a look in Jaskier eye that Geralt could read to be true. The brunette's pleading eyes were wide like a dog begging for attention. Geralt huffed and covered his face by combing his fingers through his hair. A small blush of his own, he willed away before his pale skin betrayed him to show emotion. "What do you want me to do?" Geralt asked, knowing there was no sense of debating the matter. "I assume you have a plan? Does this King Lucifer seem like a man who has found a seat of authority over you? What's his deal? You know I have grown wiser to the antics of politics. I have been introduced to him the more powerful faces in town, including the big four." Geralt said, rather proudly. Jaskier furrowed his brow, "Ever since Whoreson Junior went missing the criminal empire had been all a buzz when the Great La'Croix family moved to town. They say he is King of a faraway land escaping monsters that ravaged their home. Lucifer is rich, and I want to invite him to the show. The big four are no more since Lucifer has been winning hearts everywhere he goes. All I need is one more chance to impress him, to be on his good side as I sing his praises while Redania takes Nilfgaard. I can't go alone either… as I said, the man is a monster. It wouldn't be safe! The wolves and bats are enough to hint it's a dangerous place and you taught me to steer clear of that shit." Jaskier stopped the mid-story to see the grim expression on Geralt's face." Truth be told I did tried to go through inviting Lucifer on my own but could never bring myself to reach the estate out of the sheer fear he was going to eat me or worse dismiss my talents to my face this time, but if you are with me. I know he won't refuse."

"So send him a paper invite? Why do we have to go to him in person if he is this dangerous?" Geralt asked, if Lucifer was a vampire, Geralt needed to investigate. "I've tried, I think he has some sort of alliance with King Radovid in the efforts against Emperor Emhyr. He's proud, secluded and off the grid with a fleet of his own. Such a common invitation would insult him further, He needs to know I care about his opinion and respect. Lucifer is still a King even though he isn't at home." Jaskier sighed, feeling a little defeated. "If what you say is fact and not some overblown fiction, you shouldn't even go over there. Give me an invitation, and I'll go alone. Where is the estate?" Geralt asked and pulled out his map and spread it out on the table so Jaskier could point it out. Geralt loudly yawning as Jaskier circled a mountain on the coast with a pencil. The booze made Geralt tired, and the fresh wounds from his last fight had barely healed, and he reeked of seaweed and rotten fish. "Don't be silly, I'm coming, and that's final plus this should be a trip for the morning. You need a bath first," Jaskier stated and took a few strands of Geralt's dirty, white hair between his fingers and made a face. "Thanks, I hadn't noticed." Geralt said with a comedic sneer. "Maybe a nap too," Jaskier added when Geralt glared back at his cheeky smile. "You will be rested, fed and presentable to deliver the invitation as well as a sample what fortune's favour has granted me." Jaskier popped a few grapes in his mouth as he winked. "I don't need a nap!" Geralt said but was betrayed when another yawn hit him, so he punched the table knocking the candelabra over. Geralt quickly snapping his fingers making all the flames extinguish as the candles broke and scattered about on the floor. "Dammit fine! Where's the bath!?" he asked, causing a bit of scene. It was out of character, but it had been a long time since they were together. For some reason, the conversation was revolving around diplomacy and bureaucracy when usually Jaskier wanted to know more about Geralt's adventures. Geralt waited for Jaskier to stand and lead the way to the upper floors but they sat there for a quiet moment as Jaskier studied him. "You're a bit more boorish than normal, are you sure everything is okay or am I not allowed to ask?" Jaskier crossed his arms waiting for an apology. "It's nothing. I'm just sore." Geralt finished his ale with a chug and fell back into his chair like a grumpy bear. "Nothing? Knocking a flower pot over is nothing. It seems like you uprooted an entire tree." Jaskier commented making the same face as the life-size portrait behind him. Geralt finally noticing the audacious mural of Jaskier wearing pumpkin pants while slaying a dragon. He then stood up abruptly making the glasses on the table shudder before he peeled open a gash in his armour. There was more than one wound Jaskier was made aware of as Geralt's armour had been sundered. "Ooof, and you won this fight, right?" Jaskier shuddered at the sight. "Against the Leshen, yes." Geralt said and exited the table and headed upstairs not waiting anymore.

Up the stairs, Geralt entered a beautiful hallway decorated with masks and drapery which lead to a spacious suite with couches and a hookah. The inn rooms transformed into cabaret stage where musicians sat around playing songs rehearsing and reciting poetry. It was a marvel to behold at how much had changed in a year. "Hi, Geralt!" "Hey, baby!" "When am I going to get my solo?" A group of dancers waved and shouted to get their attention. Geralt recognized some of them and motioned back sheepishly. Jaskier was stumbling over a couch out of place. "Oi! Get this place cleaned up my Guests are arriving and this place looks like a nekkers nest. Maybe when you can prove you are more than children, you will get a chance at a solo." Jaskier let out an exasperated sigh.

Once at the top level, Geralt spotted Pricilla sitting in the bedroom with the door open. Her beautiful voice was humming songs while her back to them. Jaskier picked up his pace and brought Geralt to their bathroom, a spacious place with stone and tiled floors with a rather elaborate tub sitting under a draped window. The same red and brown colour scheme in the towels and a gold candelabra which Geralt lite with his magic. "Oh, thank you!" Jaskier exclaimed. "Not going to lie, this is such a nice house." Geralt crossed his arms and looked around the room. "Do you like it?" Jaskier asked with a proud smirk before busied himself to get the water prepared. Geralt took his time to investigate the stonework and tapestries in the room. Jaskier hummed a tune and shoved some fragrant soaps into the Witcher's hands. "Now get undressed and wash, you smell like you've spent the night in a bucket of fish heads!" Jaskier tuts wagging his finger as he prepares a towel.Geralt fumbled with all the loose knick-knacks Jaskier handed him and set them down, one of the delicate vials of lavender oil falling off the chair which Geralt caught it mid-air. "Okay, okay!" Geralt said as he removed his elegant swords from his back. Once free of the restrictive leather armour Geralt stretched out before peeling off his black cotton tunic. The wounds had closed, but the raw skin still healing and tender. Jaskier darted around the room in distraction, so Geralt snuck upon him. Now able to silently creep in his bare feet until he was right behind Jaskier, who didn't notice him peeking over his shoulder into the drawer. "Do you have enough towels?" Geralt asked his lips right next to Jaskier's ear. "Ge—Geralt!" Jaskier shrieked, jumping a little. The bard startled, as he spun around with towels in hand to face with Geralt and his lack of clothing. Jaskier should have expected this, but he was still surprised by it as he scanned the hunky man in front of him. Geralt's broad, muscular chest scruffy with hair and scarred with residual dried blood. He was getting an up-close and personal look at some nasty looking wounds that were still trying to heal. Jaskier tried not to stare at Geralt even though he had seen him naked before. This time, his body was riddled with scars so many he could not count. The fresh scabs on his chest looked like something had crawled into Geralt's skin and back out again near his ribcage and neck. Geralt followed Jaskier gaze to the wound and he covered it with his arm. "You know I've missed you, right?"

Geralt asked before briskly walking away to the tub to start unbuckling his dagger belt. Geralt looking over his shoulder as he put his dagger down and caught Jaskier's eye while he was removing his pants. Jaskier could feel the heat in his cheeks as he met Geralt's gaze, but he could not look away. "I missed you, too. Things have not been nearly as interesting without you around," he said, trying to sound calm but ultimately failing. Jaskier was drifting his gaze away and fixating on Geralt's back muscles as he climbed into the tub completely naked. The entire time Geralt had not looked away from Jaskier and sunk into the cloudy water to hide. "Mandarine and Rose petals? You're spoiling me." Geralt said. "You must want to impress this, Vampire?" Geralt question as Jaskier started to get flustered. "I want his approval. Lucifer has too much influence." He huffed, "I'm also the one that has to smell you this week so of course, I would rather you smell of roses than monster guts." "Why do you care so much about how I smell?" Geralt said as he held his breath and ducked under the water entirely. He was scrubbing his face and hair while aggressively splashing about in the tub, making a mess. Jaskier watched on in horror. "No! Just no!" He grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the side of the tub and poured some into his hand. "Stop, stop," he commanded and stood behind Geralt and took ahold of his hair, "You're hurt. Let me help." Jaskier sighed and started lathering up Geralt's hair. "Hey!" Before he could fight, Jaskier's fingers were already entangled in his ashen locks massaging his scalp. "You don't have to do that." Geralt said and leaned into his hands. The soft sigh from his chest one of pleasure as Jaskier's nimble fingers relaxed him almost immediately. The content smile on his face, Jaskier noticed while washing his hair lovingly. An awkward silence between them for a beat.

"Can I ask you something?" Geralt blurted out to break the silence. "How are things with you and Pricilla? Everything you had hoped from a settled-down life?" Geralt asked, getting rather personal. Jaskier thought for a moment about Geralt's question. "We've been alright… Having Priscilla back from the hospital has been a joy, but her range has changed, she's more of an alto now. I've had to rewrite a few songs for her," Jaskier said as he started rinsing the stubborn blood and dirt away to reveal the pure ashy white colour of Geralt's hair. "Yennefer and I… well… I broke things off. For good this time. Other than that Ciri's doing great as a Witcher, A born naturally, I can barely keep up with her. She took down a gryphon on her own." Geralt sounded glad, but it was always hard to gleam his mood. Especially with how quickly he changed topic away from Yennefer. The revelation of Geralt relationship with Yennefer and how it was all over quickly skipped before Jaskier could respond. His fingers had stopped moving as he lost himself, but almost as soon as he finished, Jaskier started again. The silence of the moment beginning to get awkward. "Ciri is a good kid. I miss her every day… I am sorry to hear about you and Yennefer," he commented. The way Geralt slumped his shoulders and fiddled with the rose petals in the water, crushing them in his fingers one by one. It was clear Geralt wanted to talk more, he usually likes the silence, but the awkward pause was excruciating. Geralt pulled his head away from Jaskier. "It's fine, you know I think I can handle the rest of this myself," he said, realizing the tension in the air. "You must have some sort of business to handle downstairs." Geralt said trying not to look at his friend. "Things downstairs can wait a moment. You aren't telling me something. I thought you were in love with Yennefer." Jaskier pressed.

"I'm sorry I told you it would be a blessing to have you taken off my hands." Geralt blurted out rather loudly as if he was arguing. Jaskier's face fell as he rinsed his hands. That memory has been pushed away for many years, but the pain of heartbreak was still fresh. He would be more upset if Geralt weren't bringing it up to apologize, but it didn't make the conversation hurt any less. "I guess that's as close to an apology I'd ever get from you…" Jaskier's voice was quiet. Geralt went redder than a burnt pig in the sun, and he spun around in the tub to face Jaskier. "I am so sorry! That's not how I wanted to say that!" He panicked and stood up to meet him. Then immediately sat back down, forgetting he was naked. "No! Fuck! Shit!" He cursed and slapped the water with a fist splashing recklessly. "I appreciate healthy conversation between friends, but I am going to need a moment," Jaskier said with a blank expression since he couldn't face Geralt. The nudity had nothing to do with it. "Finish cleaning up. I'll be down the hall," Jaskier left the room, leaving Geralt alone in the tub.

Geralt submerged himself in the water, hoping a drowner would come and finish him off finally in this moment of dread. He screamed under the surface and came back up out of breath. Clean enough he jumped out of the tub, leaving the fish stank behind. He approached the clothes Jaskier brought out for him, then looked back to his beaten but still high-quality armour and stared for a moment. Geralt picked up his swords, donned his helmet and went out the door. "A vampire's castle is no place for you." Geralt whispered to himself before taking off down the stairs and left the Chameleon. Before Geralt could reach the stable, Zoltan stopped him at the door. "Geralt old pal! It's so good to see you it's been nearly a year hasn't it?" Zoltan asked, going in for a pat on the back, before Geralt could reach Roach. Another figure appeared in the doorway, Priscilla who donned sour look on her face. "Geralt of Rivia, you would leave as quickly as you arrive and not even say hello to me?" She asked. The sour look on her face dropped to reveal a smile. Geralt looked between the two of them in panic, the immediate entourage of people trying to get his attention right when he wanted to disappear.

"Somethings come up I need to leave," he quickly said as he broke away from Zoltan. "But ye just got here." Zoltan looked to Pricilla with a curious look. "What happened?" he asked. "Jaskier found me a contract; it's urgent." Geralt blurted out aggressively, hoping they would take the hint and go away. Pricilla looked confused about what had happened and hurried back inside to find Jaskier upstairs alone in his room — sitting slumped over in his music chair with his lute propped against the wall out of reach. "What's going on? Geralt just left in a hurry without even saying hello. Said you gave him some sort of contract? Can't he just come here to relax once in a while?" Pricilla questioned Jaskier, who seemed unresponsive as he stared at his boots. "Jaskier? Did something happen?" She asked, putting her arm around his shoulder. Jaskier looked up at Pricilla. "He ran off without me?" Jaskier sighed and stood up, "That idiot. I'll be back shortly." Jaskier said, giving Pricilla a gentle kiss on the forehead and without grabbing his lute headed out. He wasn't going to let the Witcher face the vampire on his own, especially after that conversation. End For Now Chapter 2 (here) For more fanfics go here

#Geraskier #geralion #witcher #henry cavill #joey batey #witcher 3 wild hunt #fanfic #romance #gay #fantasy #geralt #jaskier #dandelion

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longitudinalwaveme · 4 years

Text

Fortuna Inversis

Kaon. It’s an open, festering wound on the otherwise generally peaceful and prosperous planet of Cybertron; a city-state prostrate under the heel of the tyrannical Lord Straxus. Everyone knows this, and no one knows it more than the inhabitants of its closest neighbor, the city-state of Vos. Kaon is a place of energy deprivation, filth, poverty, and misery; in short, it is a place Vosians go out of their way to avoid. So how did a well-bred Vosian noblemech like me end up in one of Kaon’s hovels? That, I am afraid, is a rather complicated story, and for you to fully understand it, I need to start at the beginning. My name is Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael (or, for those of you who do not speak Vosian, Blast Off of the House of Space), the creation and only heir of Dominus Spatium and Domine Astrum.

My creators were extremely wealthy, arguably even wealthier than the royal family, and they were a regular presence in the court of Rex Ventus, the King of Vos; however, they were also spacefaring explorers, and, as such, they were killed in a particularly unpleasant spaceship explosion when I was four stellar cycles away from the age of legal majority. It was a tragedy, of course, but as they had been away from home frequently for most of my life prior to that point, it did not affect me as much as it might have, and upon their deaths, I became the master of the Cael estate and its workers. Not long afterwards, I hired a mech from Kaon to serve as my clerk. He was quiet and efficient, and generally did good work, but he was always filthy and clearly half-starved, not to mention a war-frame, and that did not fit in with the image I wanted my staff to project. Thus, I fired him; which proved to be stressful for both of us. When I informed him that he was being let go, he started creating quite a scene, begging me to keep him on for the sake of his family and generally acting horribly undignified. In the end, I grew tired of trying to reason with him and had my guards remove him from my estate. After a few days, I forgot about him altogether, little imagining that we would encounter each other again, and my life progressed quite smoothly for the next two stellar cycles. I even arranged a sponsalia (that is, an engagement) for myself with Illusion of the Furtim Line, a female from the Towers District. But my happiness proved to be transient. Just a few solar cycles after I reached sedecim (sixteen) stellar cycles of age, I was baselessly arrested for treason. Sure, I may have made a few….inopportune….statements about Rex Ventus’ ability to rule, but I had never plotted to overthrow him, and everyone knew it. As he soon made clear, his real interest was not whether or not I had betrayed him but rather to see if he could get his filthy hands on my land and holdings….and irritatingly, because he was the king and thus the head of the judiciary system of Vos, it soon became apparent that he could do just that. On the pretext of incredibly flimsy evidence (even the king’s young creation, Princeps Stella Clamor- Prince Starscream- remarked on the flimsiness of it), I was found guilty of treason, and stripped of my title, my lands, and my holdings. Ventus made a show of mercy, claiming that he would spare me from execution because of my youth. Then he banished me to the slums of Kaon with no servants, no Shanix, and no energon….which, had fate not intervened, would have been nothing more than a prolonged death sentence. So much for his mercy. Not long after I was abandoned in Kaon, I was approached by a mech whom, I would soon learn, was one of Lord Straxus’ Enforcers.

“What are you doing out at night, Empty?” he spat. While I could understand Neocybex fairly well, my ability to speak it was rather limited. Most nobles (and their servants) could speak Vosian, after all, so there had been little need for me to practice speaking the language. Thus, my response to his question was less than elegant.

“I do wrong?” I stammered in broken Neocybex.

“What’s the matter, Empty? Can’t you speak?” the Enforcer mocked

“Empty?” I echoed, utterly confused. I knew the word-in Vosian, it was vaccus -but he seemed to be using it as a noun rather than an adjective.

“Yeah, an Empty. That’s what you are…a worthless piece of gutter trash. Although if you’re too stupid to know what that means, then maybe you’re also too stupid to know that no one is allowed out after curfew. If you don’t get inside in the next ten minutes, I’m taking you to prison. You got that, Empty?”

“Yes,” I replied. With that, I bolted away from the mech and started searching for some way to get inside before I got thrown into a Kaonite prison, which I was certain would make the one I had been locked up in in Vos seem like my palatial estate by comparison. After a few minutes, I stumbled upon a small building-a hovel, really-and, in desperation, banged on the door.

“ Fac me introire! Ergot placet mihi! ” (Let me in! Please, let me in!) I was in such a panic that I didn’t even stop to consider the fact that whoever was inside probably didn’t speak Vosian. After a few seconds, the door was opened by an exhausted-looking war-frame, one who was startlingly familiar.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” he barked in Neocybex.

“Need roof...help,” I replied, now desperately wishing that I was more fluent in the language.

“ Vosiane loqui possum. Quod requires? ” (I can speak Vosian. What do you need?) the other mech asked, surprising me. His rough, thickly accented voice was also familiar, but I still couldn’t place him.

“ Et opus tectumque . Quaeso! ” (I need shelter. Please!) I replied. The war-build examined me, and then glared at me coldly.

“Et nota videtur. Quod nomen tibi est? ” (You seem familiar. What is your name?)

“ Succendam Off de domo Domini Cael ,” I replied….and just as I said this, I realized why the war-build seemed so familiar. He was the same one whom I had fired from his position as my clerk two stellar cycles previously. A sense of dread washed over my spark. This was not good.

“Quid si ego auxiliatus sum tui? Et accensus sunt me, cum scires haec non erat familiaris. ” (Why should I help you? You fired me unjustly, even though you knew I had a family.) the war-build said coldly.

“ Paenitet! Paenitet-” (I’m sorry! I’m sorry…) I exclaimed, stopping short when I realized that I had never bothered to learn his name.

“ Impetus. Impetus sit nomen meum. Cum tibi, ne quidem sciunt nomine meo: ego auxiliatus sum tibi, non. Exite!” ( Onslaught . Onslaught is my name. Since you do not even know my name, I will not help you. Go away.) In complete panic, I fell to my knees.

“ Amabo, noli me manere. Faciam quod vis facere! ” (Please, let me stay! I’ll do anything you want!) I pleaded.

“ Quidquid ?” ( Anything ?) Onslaught asked.

“ Ita, quod, ” (Yes, anything.) I replied. Onslaught seemed to ponder this for a few seconds, then pulled me to my feet.

“‘Ut maneat in domo in tribus conditionalibus. Primo, vos mos reperio a officium, mercedem tuam super me, et convertam. Habeo tres alere velis nobiscum sic oportet operam. Secundam, maneat, si tu non es membrum de familia. Et erit servum, et sic potest haberi. Tertius, et sic loquetur ad me, domine . Mecum adhuc volo?” (You may stay in my home, on three conditions. First, you will find a job and turn over your wages to me. I have three brothers to support, so if you wish to stay with us, you must contribute financially. Second, if you stay, you are not a member of the family. You will be a servant and be treated as such. Third, you will address me as “sir.” Do you still wish to stay with me?) he asked. Naturally, I was horrified by the conditions that he had set, but because the alternative was even worse, I was forced to swallow my pride and accept them.

“ Ita domine. Habeo alia optio, ” (Yes, sir. I have no other choice.) I said. Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, you can come in. You will speak Neocybex from now on.”

“I...try, sir,” I replied. Onslaught nodded, and mercifully did not comment on my broken Neocybex. Then he led me inside the shack of a building he called his home, and I was shocked by the squalor inside. There was a table, three recharging centers, and four chairs, crammed into a space that was smaller than the storage closets on my estate. Other than that, there was no furniture-no washracks, no energon dispenser, nothing! In place of those essentials were a third grown mech who clearly transformed into a tank, a grey youngling whose rotors marked him as a helicopter, and the tiniest sparkling I had ever seen. He was bright yellow and had enormous purple optics, and he appeared to turn into a ground-based vehicle of some sort, though I wasn’t sure of what type.

“These are my brothers, Brawl, Vortex, and Swindle,” Onslaught said, as he pointed to the tank, the youngling, and the sparkling in turn.

“Who’s that, Onslaught?” the tank, Brawl, asked. He was exceedingly loud, and I could tell right from the beginning that he was going to be a major irritant.

“This is Blast Off of the House of Cael,” Onslaught replied.

“The rich jerk who fired you? What’s he doing here?”

“I’m not entirely certain of that, Brawl, but given the fact that he, a very wealthy, very arrogant mech, begged me to allow him to take shelter in what he probably thinks is a shack, I’d guess that he has run into a disaster of some kind,” Onslaught replied. When he said this, I realized for the first time just what I had done. I had agreed to work as an unpaid servant in exchange for being allowed to take shelter in a hovel !

“We can barely keep ourselves fueled; why’re we givin’ some of our energy and our home to a rich, spoiled jerk?” Brawl asked.

“We aren’t “giving” Blast Off anything. This is probably a foreign concept to him, but rest assured-from now on, he’s going to have to earn every drop of energon we give him,” Onslaught replied. Although he was ostensibly speaking to his brother, it was clear that Onslaught was telling me something as well: namely, that if I didn’t please him, I would not get to refuel.

“Where’s he gonna recharge?” This question came from Vortex. The question being something that I, too, was interested in, I turned to Onslaught for the answer.

“There isn’t enough space for him to recharge on the floor, at least not without us tripping over him on a constant basis, the recharging center you share with Swindle is far too small for another sparkling, let alone a shuttle of his size, and my recharging center barely fits me. Thus, he will have to share Brawl’s recharging center,” Onslaught replied.

“ What ?” Brawl and I exclaimed simultaneously. Vortex giggled.

“Now you know how I feel having to share a recharger with Swindle,” he said to his older brother. Brawl growled, and I backed away from him, but the small helicopter just giggled again.

“Vortex, go back to recharge,” Onslaught said.

“But I’m not tired! And Swindle kicks really hard in recharge,” Vortex whined, gesturing at the unconscious sparkling. How that sparkling managed to stay in recharge with Brawl and Vortex shouting around him, I did not and do not understand.

“I know that sharing a recharger is unpleasant, Vortex, but we don’t have enough Shanix or enough space to get you your own. If you don’t recharge properly, you’ll be at risk for developing a virus that we wouldn’t be able to afford to treat. Please at least make an effort,” Onslaught said gently. Vortex pouted, but he climbed onto the tiny recharging center regardless. Evidently, he had been lying about not being tired, as, only a few minutes later, he was clearly in recharge. Once he was assured that the youngling was resting, Onslaught turned back to Brawl and me.

��It’s very late, so it would be wise for the three of us to get some rest, too. I’ll see you both in the morning,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging chamber and was almost immediately dead to the world, leaving my-shudder-new companion and me staring awkwardly at each other.

“Just my luck, havin’ to share a recharger with a prissy little snob,” Brawl muttered.

“I...not like….either,” I replied, mortified by how poor my spoken Neocybex was. Brawl shot me an odd look.

“Why’re you talkin’ funny, Prissy?” he asked. I scowled at him, as I did not at all appreciate him calling me “prissy”. It was hardly my fault that I had been bred to be disgusted by the squalor that these brothers lived in!

“I speak Vosian. I...not good...speaking...Neocybex,” I explained, inwardly fuming at how unfair it was that I was expected to adjust to the language used by these plebeians.

“Oh. Okay then. Which side of the recharger do you want? I ain’t gonna like it regardless, so it don’t matter none to me,” Brawl asked. I idly wondered why he insisted on butchering his own language before replying.

“Left,” I replied. I had no desire to be trapped in between the tank and a wall.

“Fine. Just so you know, Prissy, I snore. Hope you don’t mind,” Brawl said as he got onto his recharging center. I very much did mind, but, under the circumstances, there was nothing I could do but wish fervently that I was anywhere but in the slums of Kaon and follow him to the recharging center. I gingerly joined the tank on the center, glad that the lighting was too poor for me to see how filthy they both probably were, and struggled to enter recharge. It seemed as though every time I was about to do so, Brawl’s engines decided to rumble noisily, and then, as though that wasn’t unpleasant enough, he eventually rolled over in such a way that he pinned my arm to the recharging center’s slab. This was, as one might imagine, quite painful, and I cried out, but no one reacted. Evidently, they were accustomed to recharging through a racket. After what seemed like an eternity of discomfort, exhaustion eventually took over and I fell into recharge.

“Wake up! You have work to do!” I checked my chronometer, and was startled to find that it was only 4:30 in the morning.

“ Suss etiam mane, ” (It’s too early.) I protested. I was not fully awake, and, as such, my CPU had not yet fully registered that I was no longer at home. Then my optics focused, I saw Onslaught, and the events of the previous night rushed back to me. I groaned in a mixture of exhaustion and disgust, and then quickly got to my feet. A quick perusal of the room (my processor simply refused to accept it as a building) revealed that Onslaught, Brawl, and Vortex were already awake. The tiny sparkling was still asleep, but then, he wasn’t even out of his first frame. Clearly, then, and much to my distaste, I was going to have to become an early riser.

“I had better not have to wake you up again, Blast Off. As one of my employers told me, it’s ‘not my job to coddle the hired help’,” Onslaught snapped. The fact that I had been the employer in question made the whole situation even more mortifying.

“Yes, sir,” I replied weakly. I knew that protesting would likely only make my-*shudder*- employer angrier.

“Good. Now, your alternate mode is a shuttle- if a small one- correct?” Onslaught asked.

“Yes, sir. Quare -er,why?” I asked, wondering what my alternate mode had to do with the work that he would expect me to do (whatever that proved to be).

“You have no work experience, and you can barely speak Neocybex. Due to those handicaps, the quickest way for you to get a job is to get you employed as transport of some kind, since, as a shuttle, your alt mode meets the main requirement for that position. Here are the instructions to the transport center; download them to your CPU,” Onslaught replied as he handed me a small chip. I stared at him, mildly appalled. A noblemech working as transport? It was beneath my dignity!

“Hey, Onslaught, I don’t think Prissy likes that idea,” Brawl observed, sounding mildly amused. Vortex snickered.

“Can I call him Prissy, too?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Sure, kid,” Brawl replied.

“You’re in no position to complain about what they call you, Blast Off; or, for that matter, the job I want you to get…..unless, of course, you’d prefer to find energon and shelter on your own,” Onslaught said coldly. I sighed weakly. Any ludicrous hope I had had that I would be able to maintain a semblance of dignity as the-ugh-unpaid servant of a pauper was effectively dashed by what Onslaught had just told me.

“I….be good, sir.” Onslaught nodded.

“In that case, get going. Brawl and I have our own jobs to get to,” he snapped.

“Energon?” I asked. Surely, they didn’t expect me to go job-hunting on an empty fuel tank! Brawl and Vortex laughed.

“Wow, you’re even dumber than Brawl if you expect energon now! We never get to refuel at this time of the solar cycle!” Vortex exclaimed.

“Dumber than Brawl? I’ll show you dumb, tiny!” Brawl bellowed.

“You always do, bro,” Vortex replied, giggling as he ducked to avoid the punch Brawl threw at him. Such barbarism!

“Enough! Blast Off, not everyone is able to refuel whenever they feel like it. This unit is lucky if we get to refuel once a solar cycle, and at present, I have gone without refueling for three solar cycles. Do you understand?” Onslaught asked. I stared at him in shock, wondering vaguely if this was some sort of joke, before realizing that he was serious. If the unit couldn’t even fuel itself properly, no wonder Onslaught needed my labor! Grimly resigning myself to hunger, I nodded.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“Then, for the last time, I will tell you to go find a job. I don’t have time to explain everything to you. Brawl and I have work to get to,” Onslaught said. I nodded and quickly left the hovel, then downloaded the directions to the transport station into my CPU, transformed into my alternate mode, and took off. Roughly forty minutes later, I arrived at my destination, which, although not quite as disgusting as the hovel I was currently living in, was still quite filthy. I transformed, landed, and walked inside the building. The inside was just as filthy as the outside. I reluctantly walked over to the window that was marked as “Employment”. Much to my surprise, I was the only one there, so I winced, swallowed my pride for the millionth time in less than 24 hours, and walked closer to the window. The mech on the other side looked at me with very little interest.

“You a shuttle?” he asked. He had a very strange, slightly echo-y voice.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

“You’re awful small for a shuttle,” the mech said. In response, I transformed into my alternate mode, which, although much sleeker than the shuttles typically used for-ugh- transport, was still most definitely a shuttle. Once I was confident that the other mech was convinced that I was, indeed, a shuttle, I returned to my robot mode.

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point. Though why a delicate thing like you is applying to work as a garbage shuttle, I couldn’t begin to guess,” the other mech said. It was at this point that I realized just how much of a grudge Onslaught held against me. It was one thing to expect me to work, but this? This was an entirely different level of humiliating.

“Job,” I replied weakly.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he asked.

“Vosian. Not good at Neocybex,” I replied. His optics brightened in apparent understanding.

“You can’t speak Neocybex? That explains it, then. Garbage transports don’t have to talk much-and given how lithe you are, I think I’ve got a good job for you. You see, the Towers District has been requesting more garbage transports, but they say they think our regular employees look too bulky. A sleek shuttle like you would be the perfect fit, and I can finally get my boss off my back about that. What do you say?” he said. My first instinct was to say “absolutely not”, but then I remembered that my life was very dependent on my getting a job.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to sound absolutely horrified.

“Great! You’re hired! Follow me!” he exclaimed. I complied, and he led me to what appeared to be a hanger of some sort. A few other shuttles, all much larger than me, were milling about. They were all filthy and covered in grime, and I shuddered. My beautiful, clean plating….

“Can you transform for me?” a different mech asked. I did so, and then he started gathering cans of paint.

“What...you doing?” The new mech laughed .

“Repainting you. All garbage transports have a specific color, and you don’t match it yet. That being said, this will probably take awhile, so if you want to take a nap, you can. I’ll wake you up when I’m done,” he said. More out of a desire to escape my situation than anything else, I decided to take his advice. I was reawoken about forty-five minutes later.

“All right, I’m done. You can go ahead and transform back into robot mode now,” the second mech said. I complied, and had to hold back a nervous breakdown. My beautiful purple-and-white coloration had been replaced with a hideous shade of brown, and my family crest had been painted over and replaced with Neocybex lettering that read “Garbage Disposal”. Once I had calmed down from panic to mild disgust, I turned to the second mech.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t feel thankful at all, but it seemed prudent not to let him know that. The mech smiled.

“No problem,” he replied. He walked off, and the mech who had hired me walked up and took his place, then handed me a chip similar to the one Onslaught had given me earlier.

“Here’s your schedule. Your shift starts at 6 and ends at 5. You make 12 Shanix per day; if you’re late to any of the pickups, it comes out of your pay. Any extra Shanix you earn will come from tips. Any questions?” he said rapidly.

“I...start now?” I asked.

“No, you start tomorrow. That way, you have some time to go over the schedule, though I guess you’ll have to find someone to read it for you if you don’t understand Neocybex very well,” he replied. I didn’t bother to tell the mech that I could read Neocybex just fine; there didn’t seem to be much point.

“I...go home?” I asked. I felt very relieved that I was not going to be immediately thrust into a humiliating, unfamiliar work environment.

“Yeah, you can go home now. But if you aren’t back here by 6 AM sharp tomorrow, you’re fired. Got it?” the mech replied.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. With that, I left the transport station, transformed into my vehicle mode, pulled up the directions that I had used to get to the station, and then simply reversed the directions in order to get back to Onslaught’s hovel. (One of the benefits of being a shuttle is the fact that we all possess a natural skill for navigation.) Upon my arrival, I returned to robot mode and knocked on the door, which was opened by none other than the tiny sparkling.

“Hi,” he said. He seemed a bit bemused, but not particularly frightened. A few seconds later, Vortex joined him at the door.

“That’s the shuttle I told you about, Stumpy, the one who showed up last night when you were in recharge. His name is Blast Off, but Brawl and I call him Prissy because he used to be Onslaught’s boss, back when you were even littler than you are now. He used to be really rich, and he still thinks he’s better than us, but something bad happened to him and now Onslaught says he’s the “hired help”, and that means he has to do what we say. Ain’t that right, Prissy?”

“Yes,” I replied, still a bit shell-shocked by the fact that I-the wealthiest noblemech of Vos-now had to take orders from two filthy little brats.

“Onslaught must think you’ll make a lot of Shanix.” Unbelievably, this particular comment came out of the mouth of the tiny sparkling.

“What?” I asked.

“If you’re living with us, we’ll have to buy energon for you, which will increase our expenses. If Onslaught’s letting you stay anyway, it must be because you’ll bring in enough energy to cover the difference-and also make a net profit,” the little sparkling replied. I stared at him in utter bewilderment. What sort of sparkling had that level of understanding of economics?

“Onslaught says that Stumpy’s an “economics prodigy”,” Vortex explained, as though sensing my confusion.

“I see,” I replied. It was rather unfortunate for Onslaught, then-but quite fortunate for me, conditions being what they were-that the sparkling was far too young to be employed full-time (even in a cesspool like Kaon).

“What are you doing back here so early, anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be getting a job?” Vortex demanded.

“I...got job. Job starts tomorrow,” I explained quickly.

“Oh. Okay. See you later, Prissy. Stumpy and I have stuff to do,” Vortex exclaimed. He grabbed his younger brother by the hand and proceeded to pull him outside.

“You go to school?” I asked.

“School?” Vortex and “Stumpy” echoed, apparently perplexed, which in turn puzzled me. Surely a youngling and a prodigy knew what a school was.

“Learning place,” I explained. Vortex frowned.

“We know what school is, dummy. We just don’t know why you think we go to school,” Vortex replied.

“Schools cost money, and Onslaught can’t afford to send us,” the sparkling added. This shocked me. Apparently, my assumption that public education was available across the entirety of Cybertron was mistaken.

“Where going?” I asked.

“Out,” Vortex replied. Before I could ask any more questions, both the youngling and the sparkling scampered away and disappeared. After a few seconds of worry that Onslaught would be upset that I had not kept an optic on them, I quickly realized that, since Brawl and Onslaught both worked, and I hadn’t lived with them until very recently, they were accustomed to Vortex and Swindle taking care of themselves in spite of their youth...and in truth, they were both probably more street savvy than I could ever hope to be. Unfortunately, with their departure, I was left alone in the tiny, filthy hovel, with little to do except reflect on my thoroughly unpleasant situation. Starting the following day, I-a noblemech of Vos!-would be working 11 hours every day as a garbage transport, all so I could pay my former employee for the “privilege” of living in a hovel and sharing a recharging center with a loudly-snoring, filthy tank. How had I been reduced to this? Overwhelmed by the blatant unfairness of it all, I started to weep. Why me? After I finished wallowing in (very deserved) self-pity, I finally downloaded the schedule that I had been given at the transport station, which promptly created yet another cause for self-pity. Because the universe apparently has it out for me, the last stop on the schedule was Amabilia Manor, the estate of my sponsa (betrothed), Illusion of the Furtim Line. In other words, there was a very real chance that Illusion, whom I was still quite fond of, would see me working on her estate as a garbage shuttle ! What had I done to deserve that? A few hours of alternatively wallowing some more in self-pity, vaguely wondering if I was supposed to be responsible for cleaning the interior of the hovel, and trying to ignore my ever-lowering fuel levels later, Vortex and the little yellow sparkling returned with a handful of Shanix and one (very small) energon cube.

“How... you get that?” I asked.

“Stumpy. I dirty him up a little, set him in full view of passersby, have him make his sad face, and bam! Instant Shanix. Nobody can resist helping out a poor, starving orphan, after all. It’s great!” Vortex explained. Wonderful. I was living with a pair of miniature con artists.

“I hate it. Why don’t you ever have to be the orphan?” the tiny sparkling said.

“Because I’m a warbuild, and thus, not small or cute enough to get sympathy. For some reason, you were the only one of us our creator didn’t design as a warbuild, so you have to do the cutesy stuff. Besides, you’re a better actor than I am,” Vortex replied.

“But I have to do all the work!”

“No, you don’t! When your cute face doesn’t bring in enough Shanix, I make up the difference by raiding their subspace containers while they’re distracted. How do you think we got the energon cube today, magic?” Vortex replied. Oh, terrific. One of them was a thief as well. However, much to my surprise, rather than keeping the Shanix for themselves, the pair instead deposited it in a container located under Onslaught’s recharger. The box was largely empty and lined only with a thin layer of Shanix, which puzzled me. Even considering the fact that neither Onslaught nor Brawl was likely to have a particularly well-paying job, it seemed like they should have more Shanix than that. With two grown mechs (soon, I reflected sadly, to be three) working full-time, why were their savings so limited, and why did they have to ration energon so strictly? The answer to that question arrived a few minutes later, when a large red-and-white mech stormed into the hovel, prompting shrieks of fear from Vortex and the sparkling, who both promptly ran to hide behind me.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“An Enforcer. Do whatever he says,” Vortex explained, clearly ill at ease. Given how confident he had been previously, this was rather alarming.

“All right, Empties. Pay up!” the Enforcer exclaimed aggressively. In response, Vortex ran over to the Shanix container, handed it to me, and instructed me to hand it to the Enforcer, which I did. The sparkling started crying into my leg, and for the first time, I actually felt a pang of sympathy for the two of them. If I was terrified, it had to be even worse for a youngling and a sparkling. The Enforcer emptied the container into what appeared to be his personal subspace compartment and then scowled.

“Is that all the Shanix you have?” he demanded. I looked at Vortex, who nodded. In response, the Enforcer proceeded to upend the hovel, apparently in search of any hidden Shanix, and totally destroying one of the chairs. My fuel pump felt like it was beating out of my chest, and my spark constricted in terror. After what seemed like an eternity, but, according to my chronometer, was actually only five minutes, he stopped tearing the hovel apart, now apparently having determined that Vortex had told the truth. Then he stomped over to me.

“Tell Onslaught that if he doesn’t have at least fifty shanix waiting for me next time, I’ll take your two youngest brothers as payment instead. There’s a titanium mine that would pay hundreds of shanix for a couple of slaves who are small enough to fit in those hard-to-reach crevices,” he said threateningly. With that, he grabbed the energon cube, downed it in one gulp, dropped it back onto the floor, and stormed out of the hovel. As soon as he was gone, I found myself awkwardly attempting to comfort a sobbing sparkling while also trying to work out what, exactly, had just happened. After a few seconds, I gave up and decided to just ask Vortex.

“What happened?”

“I told you that guy was an enforcer, right? Well, all of the Enforcers work for Lord Straxus and make sure he gets to stay the boss. Because of that, they can do whatever they want-short of trying to overthrow him, that is-and almost all of them eventually set up this thingy they call a “patrol fee”, which is a fancy way of saying that they can come into your home and take as much of your Shanix as they like, and you can’t do anything to stop them...unless you wanna get thrown in prison. And if you can’t meet the fee they want for whatever reason, they’ll throw you into debtor’s prison or sell you into slavery,” Vortex explained. This, as one might imagine, was less than comforting news. While it certainly explained the desperate poverty of Onslaught’s unit, the revelation that most of my earnings wouldn’t benefit me even remotely was even more disgusting and unpleasant than the fact that I was expected to work as garbage transport in order to earn them in the first place. Once the sparkling finally stopped sobbing, I reorganized the hovel to the best of my (very limited) ability, as Vortex watched with very irritating amusement. I was trying my best! It was not as though I had ever personally had to reorganize a room before! As soon as he was convinced that his home was (more or less) back in order, Vortex started heading for the exit again, dragging his younger brother behind him.

“No! I’m n-not going out again! The Enforcer might still be around, and if he catches us begging, he might put us in jail!” the sparkling said, clearly terrified. His huge optics somehow seemed even wider than usual. Vortex laughed.

“C’mon, Stumpy. They’ve never caught us before,” he said, remarkably boldly, I thought, for a youngling who had been hiding behind my leg, in apparent fear of an Enforcer, not thirty minutes before.

“‘“M not going. Enforcers are scary,” the sparkling replied, suddenly sounding a lot more like what I had expected a sparkling still in his first frame to sound than a business mech.

“Only if they’re close enough to hurt you. If they don’t know where we are or what we’re doing- which they won’t-they’re no threat,” Vortex replied. In response, the sparkling latched onto my leg again, much to my mild disgust. Although I pitied the pair, I had no desire for them to be putting their filthy hands on me on a regular basis.

“You can’t make me. The Enforcer is too close! And if you do, I’m gonna tell Onslaught,” the sparkling said. Vortex scowled.

“Fine! Stupid sparkling,” he exclaimed. With that, he pouted and sat down on his recharging center. It was at this point that I realized that I had not yet learned the sparkling’s name (or, for that matter, how old he was). Onslaught had told it to me the previous night, but I had subsequently totally forgotten it.

“Name? How old?” I asked the sparkling.

“Swindle. I’m five stellar cycles old,” he replied. “Swindle” seemed like an odd name for a sparkling, but then again, “Onslaught” and “Brawl” weren’t exactly names that I would have imagined a creator giving to their creations either. Perhaps it had something to do with what their creators were like. Since three out of the four brothers were war-builds, it seemed likely that at least one, if not both, of them were also war-builds, amongst whom such names might be common. My curiosity having been aroused, I decided to continue questioning the sparkling to see if I could obtain any further information about Onslaught’s unit.

“Creators?” I asked. Much to my surprise, it was Vortex who answered. I had assumed that he was too street-savvy to trust me with such information, but evidently I had either overestimated him, or he did not think that the information was important.

“Our male creator was named Dragline and our female creator was named Highwall. They were miners and they died in a cave-in two solar cycles after Stumpy was brought online. He doesn’t remember them at all, and I was only three stellar cycles old, so I only remember little bits and pieces. Brawl was eleven stellar cycles when the cave-in happened, and Onslaught was thirteen, so they remember more,” he explained.

“Other members of house?” I asked.

“Well, there was Dragline’s brother, Onslaught. He was a soldier, but he was offlined in battle a long time ago, I think before Brawl came online. Our Onslaught’s named after him,” Vortex replied. Stunned, I started performing some mental calculations. If Onslaught the elder was the only member of their house besides their creators, and he and their creators had all gone offline by the time Onslaught had reached the age of thirteen stellar cycles, that meant two things. First, Onslaught had been raising his three younger brothers, alone, since he was thirteen, and second, if he had been thirteen when Swindle had just come online, and Swindle was five stellar cycles old now, that meant that he was currently only eighteen stellar cycles old, barely any older than me. I had thought he was at least thirty-five stellar cycles!

“I see,” I replied at last. The next several hours passed largely uneventfully (especially in comparison to the shocks that the morning had provided), and, around 7:00 in the evening, Brawl returned to the hovel. (His approach was so loud that I heard him coming several minutes before he actually arrived.) Upon his arrival, he immediately collapsed into one of the chairs, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Hey, Brawl, how was work?” Vortex asked.

“Long. Did Prissy get a job?” Brawl replied.

“Yep. He starts work tomorrow,” Vortex said.

“You stay out of trouble, Tiny?” Brawl asked. Vortex smirked.

“Of course, bro. Stumpy and I would never do anything that would get us in trouble.” Brawl snorted. Clearly, he knew better than to believe his brothers.

“And what really happened?”

“We got ten Shanix and an energon cube from our usual methods, but then the Enforcer broke in and took all of it, so now we’ve got nothin’ again. I hope you picked up some extra shanix today, ‘cause if not, none of us are gonna get to refuel, and I’m hungry,” Vortex explained.

‘Lousy no-good Enforcers. Ain’t like we got any Shanix worth stealin’,” Brawl muttered.

“How much Shanix did you earn, Brawl? I’m hungry too,” Swindle asked. In response, Brawl actually gave what passed for a smile; which was much more terrifying than his scowls.

“10, plus 6 extra I spent on energon,” he said. Vortex and Swindle cheered, and even I felt a sense of relief. Admittedly, it was disgraceful that I- a noblemech!-felt relief at the prospect of something so basic as being able to consume fuel, but it was still better than dying of fuel deprivation. Vortex started pawing at his older brother, likely in search of the energon.

“None of that, tiny. Nobody’s refuelin’ till Onslaught gets back,” Brawl said. Vortex pouted, but didn’t argue, instead choosing to kick me in the shin to relieve his frustration.

“Ouch!” I exclaimed. Vortex giggled, and I glared at him. Why had I felt sympathy for the filthy little youngling, again? I elected to ignore him and turned my attention to Brawl instead.

“Where...work?” I asked.

“Construction. Ain’t many jobs for a stupid tank like me, but I can lift stuff pretty good. So long as I can do that, my boss don’t care that I’m not so bright and don’t have no ed-you-cay-shun,” Brawl replied tersely. (I am not exaggerating his pronunciation of the word “education”, by the way. That’s exactly the way that he said the word.)

“No...school?” I asked.

“Not really. Our creators worked real hard to make sure that they could send Onslaught and me, but I only went for a stellar cycle. Teachers said I was too stupid to learn anything, and so my creators took me out ‘cause it was too expensive to spend Shanix on school for me if I wasn’t gonna be learnin’ nothin’. My female creator tried to teach me some after that, but she was always real busy, so I never did learn much before our creators died. Onslaught’s real ed-you-cated, though. His teachers said he was the brightest student in his level, and he always made real high scores. Our creators were so proud of him. He was ‘posed to be our ticket outta bein’ poor, seein’ as he was so smart and all. His teachers even said he could probably get a scholarship to Kaon’s Military Academy, but a stellar cycle before that could happen, our creators were killed, and he had to drop out to provide for Vortex and Swindle and me. Don’t bring that up around him, though. Makes him mad,” Brawl explained. I had a feeling that this was the longest that I would hear Brawl speak for a very long time. He didn’t seem particularly chatty by nature. The fact that he didn’t say another word until Onslaught arrived at the hovel about an hour later, even as his younger brothers chatted nonstop around him about a variety of inane topics, proved my suspicion correct. Upon Onslaught’s arrival, he took one look at the room and then glared at me.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“I...sorry, sir! Not...clean...before,” I apologized. Onslaught didn’t look appeased.

“It wasn’t really Prissy’s fault, Onslaught. An enforcer showed up and tore the place apart looking for Shanix other than the ones in our container. Prissy was just too stupid to know how to put things back right,” Vortex said. Normally, I would have glared at him, but I was too relieved that he was defending me to really care whether or not he was calling me an idiot (which, for the record, I am most certainly not.)

“An enforcer? Are you two all right?” Onslaught asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine, but the Enforcer said that if we didn’t have at least fifty shanix when he came next time, he’d take me and Stumpy as payment instead,” Vortex replied. In response, Onslaught sat down on his recharging center (remember, there wasn’t-and, sadly, isn’t- that much room in the filthy hovel) and buried his faceplates in his hands, clearly quite upset.

“He said WHAT?” Brawl exclaimed as he jumped out of his seat, so loudly that I am surprised my audio receptors weren’t burnt out. Vortex repeated his explanation, and Brawl collapsed back into his chair, his anger evidently spent. Onslaught, for his part, turned to me.

“Did you get the job?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, trying not to think about how horrible the job was.

“Good,” Onslaught said, sounding utterly exhausted. Then the little sparkling walked over to him, huge optics filled with worry.

“If we don’t give him enough Shanix to pay his “patrol fee”, the Enforcer’s gonna take us away! You won’t let that happen, will you, Onslaught? I don’t wanna be taken away by an Enforcer. They scare me,” Swindle asked.

“I most certainly will not allow that to happen, even if it means working even more shifts than I currently do. Nothing is going to pull this unit apart,” Onslaught replied firmly. At this, Swindle seemed to relax. I, on the other hand, still felt nervous. No matter how hard Brawl, Onslaught, and- *sigh* -I worked, I did not see how it was possible for us to be able to purchase energon and consistently maintain at least fifty shanix for the enforcer on our meager salaries.

“Now can we refuel? I’m hungry,” Vortex asked.

“Yes,” Onslaught replied. With that, he, Vortex, and Swindle joined Brawl at the table (which was, like the rest of the furniture, rather worse for wear), and Brawl retrieved four energon cubes from his storage compartment. One was split between Swindle and Vortex, one was taken by Onslaught, and one was taken by Brawl. Assuming that the last one was mine, I reached for it...only to have my hand slapped by Onslaught.

“You are the hired help, remember? You fuel after we are finished,” he snapped. My circuits heated up with embarrassment, but I retreated back to “my” recharging center and sat down on it to wait anyway. While it was humiliating for me-a noblemech!-to be treated like a servant by my own ex-employee-a desperately poor pauper, no less-I could not afford to raise a fuss. Luckily, Onslaught’s unit refueled remarkably quickly, so I was able to refuel myself less than thirty minutes later….only to immediately gag. The taste was disgusting!

“Energon...bad,” I choked out. Onslaught gave out a harsh laugh.

“I would advise you to get used to it. It may not taste like the delicacies you’re used to, but it’ll keep you alive, and it’s all we can afford,” he said sharply. Although I hated to admit it, he made a good point, and so I forced myself to consume the fuel despite its taste. After all, for all I knew, it might be solar cycles before I could refuel again. Not long after I finished, Onslaught sent Swindle and Vortex to recharge. Both complained extensively, but eventually gave in, and were in recharge in only a few minutes. This being accomplished, Onslaught collapsed onto his own recharging center and was immediately offline to the world, and Brawl followed suit. Clearly, both of them had been absolutely exhausted, and that did not bode well for the career that I would be starting the next day. It was only 8:45 in the evening! Was I going to be that exhausted from work every solar cycle for the rest of my life? However, I still joined Brawl on the recharging center a few minutes later. If I was going to have to wake myself up at 4:30 in the morning, I needed as much rest as I could get. I set an internal alarm to ensure that I wouldn’t oversleep and anger Onslaught again, and tried to ignore Brawl’s loud snoring. I fell into recharge after what felt like an hour (but likely wasn’t). Luckily, the alarm worked, and I was woken promptly at 4:30, then left Onslaught’s hovel to head to my first solar cycle on the job (shudder). I arrived at the transport station at 5:10, and sat around awkwardly for twenty minutes, then departed for the first stop on my schedule. (I definitely did not want to have my pay docked for showing up late, so I felt that it was wise to depart early.) I arrived at the first of the manors of the Towers District at 5:50 and sat around awkwardly once again. At about 5:56, a mech whom I assumed was one of the manor’s servants arrived with a garbage container. I winced, tried not to think about what I had been reduced to, and then opened the door to my cargo bay. The servant then deposited the garbage into my interior, and I shuddered. It was so unfair! I hadn’t been built for work like this! Once he finished emptying the container (into my interior!), he pulled out a few Shanix.

“Hey, you! Transform so I can give you your tip,” he said. I complied with an intense feeling of humiliation. Why me?

“T-thank you,” I stammered, hoping my mortification wasn’t too obvious. The servant handed me the Shanix, and I put it into my subspace compartment. (Shuttles actually have two, one which stores the cargo they can carry in alternate mode, and one which is for personal use.)

“No problem. My boss really appreciates your streamlined design, so he decided to reward it. He says it’s much more “aesthetically pleasing” than the other shuttles he sees,” the servant replied. I nodded, reverted to my shuttle mode, and then took off for my next stop. For the next eleven stops, nothing particularly interesting happened, though my beautiful plating quickly became covered in filth and grime. I did receive tips at all eleven of these stops, evidently because of the sleekness of my alternate mode. I had no idea if this would be a regular occurrence or not, but I wasn’t about to complain about it. The more Shanix I made, the more reason Onslaught would have to keep me around. While it was still humiliating to be tipped like a servant, it was preferable to the alternatives, so I planned to keep my mouth firmly shut on the matter. However, the thirteenth and last stop was not so uneventful (sadly). The flight between the twelfth stop and the manor of Illusion was shorter than the flights between most of the other estates, which meant that I arrived early. Although one of the servants was ready with the garbage (and my tip) when I got there, this meant that I had a full hour before I was expected to deposit the garbage at the dump. As such, I found myself standing around awkwardly on the grounds of the estate, listening to the servant talk about various things.

“Sure, they’re a bit stuck-up, but they’re not that bad, all things considered. And in speaking of not bad, the Lord’s daughter is a beaut...and whaddaya know, she’s come out on the grounds with some of her friends now. Aren’t they lovely? Of course, they’re way out of our league, but a mech can dream,” he said. My circuits heated up in humiliation. I had been betrothed to Illusion less than five solar cycles ago, and now she was “out of my league”?

“Yes,” I said quietly. He grinned.

“Well, I gotta run. Have fun watching the lifestyles of the rich and famous,” he said. With that, he left me and went back inside the manor, and I turned my attention to the conversation Illusion was having with her friends.

“Is your betrothal off then, Illusion?” one of the friends asked (I believe her name is Argenti.) Illusion sighed.

“I don’t know. Blast Off hasn’t so much as called me in three solar cycles, and the King of Vos says he hasn’t seen him for awhile, That doesn’t seem like him,” she replied. I sighed. It was official. The Universe hated me.

“Well, if this is his way of calling off your engagement, then I’d say you dodged a laser blast,” Aurum, another of her friends said.

“No kidding. If he doesn’t appreciate someone like you, he’s crazy,” Argenti added.

“But I know him, Argenti. He’s a bit arrogant, but he’s not inconsiderate of me. He likes me! He would never just fail to call me for three solar cycles. Something must be wrong,” Illusion replied. As you might imagine, I was more than a little relieved that Illusion, at least, didn’t think that I was some sort of irresponsible cad.

“I’ll say something’s wrong. Your conjunx-to-be is a creep,” Aurum said. Suddenly, a blue-and-white mech appeared out of nowhere, prompting shrieks from the females. I recognized him as Mirage, Illusion’s cousin. I had met him once or twice at dinner parties.

“Mirage! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” Illusion exclaimed. Mirage laughed .

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite cousin?” he asked.

“Mirage, you’re my only cousin,” she replied.

“Technicalities. And I have to say, I agree with Aurum. If Blast Off doesn’t appreciate how beautiful you are, he doesn’t deserve you,” Mirage said.

“Me? Beautiful? That’s why suitors have been beating down my door, I suppose,” Illusion replied dryly.

“They don’t know you’re available again yet, cousin dear,” Mirage said.

“And they won’t be the only ones chasing you. I think that garbage mech is sweet on you, Illusion! He hasn’t taken his optics off of you since Tersus left,” Argenti exclaimed.

“And no wonder! You’re probably the first clean, beautiful thing he’s seen in a stellar cycle,” Aurum added. She, Argenti, and Mirage laughed.

“He would certainly make for an interesting story, at least...and you could use the smell to scare off all the other suitors!” Argenti said. This conversation, as you might imagine, was mortifying, and I decided to make myself scarce. I headed for the edge of the estate, hoping that I would no longer be able to overhear the conversation. Much to my surprise, however, Illusion actually followed me to the edge of the estate.

“I’m so sorry for what my friends said about you. You weren’t causing any harm, and….Blast Off?” she exclaimed. Apparently, being covered in grime and wearing hideous brown paint was not sufficient to prevent my sponsalia from recognizing me.

“ Ita ,” (Yes.) I replied quietly.

“ Quid tibi accessit? Ubi eras?’ (What happened to you? Where have you been?)

“ Me expulso rege fictis maiestatis criminibus. Et comprehenderunt omnia mia. Ego autem in Kaon cum pristini ... servum suum servo suo ut nihil minus. Qui autem pauperrimus, et sicut tale, et iussit ut reperio a officium ad terminos occursum. Est nimis ignominia.” (The king banished me on false charges of treason. He seized everything I own. Now I am living in Kaon with my former servant…as his servant, no less. He is very poor, and as such, he ordered me to find a job to make ends meet. It’s very humiliating.) I explained.

“ O, non! Quod sonos terribilis! Quid facere possum?” (Oh, no! That sounds terrible! What can I do?)

“ Proelio nostros dicere videmur. Non possum non enutriet, et non aliquid incorruptelam possidebit.” (I think we should call off our engagement. I can no longer support you, and you will not inherit anything,) I replied. Because Illusion had an elder sister, Apparition, she would inherit very little from her creators. As the younger child, her fortunes were dependent on picking a suitable Conjunx Endura. I, sadly, no longer fit the criteria.

“ Non curo illud! Te amo,” (I don’t care about that! I love you.) she exclaimed

“ Ego autem en uno-locus, magno cum quattuor aliss. Opus mihi quotidie horas undecim. Ibi sus ‘nunquam satis cibum. Illic est non satis manducare. Non possum facere vobis.” (I am living in a one-room hovel with four other mechs. I have to work eleven hours every solar cycle. There’s never enough energon. If you become my conjunx endura, you’ll have to slave away just to stay alive, too. I can’t do that to you.) I said. As horrible as it felt to call off my engagement, I couldn’t drag Illusion into the desperate poverty that I had somehow found myself in. It wouldn’t be fair to her, and living with a Conjunx Endura that I was unable to support would have been unbearably humiliating. Illusion frowned, but then nodded, apparently having realized the full costs of becoming my Conjunx Endura.

“ Saltem accipe pecuniam,” (At least let me give you some money) she said. Then she handed me a pile worth about 500 Shanix. Part of me wanted to reject it, but knowledge of my dire situation won out.

“ Optime. Gratias tibi,” (Very well. Thank you.) I replied.

“ Gratias. Bona fortuna,” (You’re welcome. Good luck.) she said. I deposited the Shanix in my subspace compartment, bid Illusion farwell, and then transformed into my alternate mode and departed from her estate. I dropped off the garbage at the dump, flew back to the transport station, where I received my (pitiful) wages, and then returned to Onslaught’s slum. Swindle and Vortex were waiting there for me.

“How many Shanix did you earn?” Swindle asked.

“Twelve. Thirteen...tips. 500...female,” I replied.

“500? We’re rich!” Vortex exclaimed. I deposited the Shanix in the container, as Swindle and Vortex enthusiastically speculated about what they would do with it all. About an hour later, Brawl returned home, deposited his earnings in the same container....and then stared at his younger brothers and me in shock.

“Where’d we get so much Shanix?” he asked loudly.

“Apparently, a girl gave Prissy a bunch of Shanix for some reason, and now we’re rich!” Vortex replied.

“That true?” Brawl asked.

“Yes,” I replied.

‘Huh. Maybe you ain’t as bad as I thought, Prissy,’ Brawl said. Coming from him, this was high praise indeed. Onslaught, upon his return to the hovel, was just as surprised.

“How did you manage to get this much Shanix?” he asked.

“Can’t explain...Neocybex. Don’t speak well,” I replied. Onslaught shrugged.

“I suppose that it doesn’t matter where we got it so long as we have it,” he said. That was all he said on the matter, and for most of the evening he treated me with the same hostility of the previous two nights. However, after his brothers had entered recharge, he walked over to me and actually gave me a look of what seemed to be respect.

“You’ve worked all day without a single complaint, and you managed to bring more than 500 shanix to my home with you...more than enough to keep Swindle and Vortex safe from the Enforcers the next time they come by. For that, I suppose I should thank you. I still don’t like you, but you’ve proven that you can earn your keep. You’re still our servant, but you’re now a member of the unit, which means that I’m not kicking you out. You do good work,” he said. With that, he went to his own recharging center and was quickly dead to the world, leaving me to my thoughts. As much as I hated the life I was now stuck in, at least I was no longer utterly hated by the mech whom I depended on for shelter. That, at least, was a positive development, and it is one that has stuck. The past six lunar cycles have been dreadfully humiliating, but at least there is one glimmer of hope. If I could win over Onslaught and his unit, then maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance that all of us might be able to escape the festering wound that is Kaon.

#transformers g1 #blast off transformers #onslaught transformers #brawl transformers #swindle transformers #vortex transformers #silly robot families #fanfic #poverty #combaticons

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anna-mator · 5 years

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How to Draw a Toon - (In-Progress) Fandom: Warner Bros, Looney Tunes, Disney, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Animaniacs, Rating: M Categories: M/M Relationships: (eventual) Bugs/Daffy Warnings: Language, moderate violence, cartoon violence, racism, Additional tags: friends to lovers, mystery, adventure

<< FIRST CHAPTER |

When the Warner’s alarm went off, it was always a race between the two brothers to see who’d turn it off first. If Yakko got lucky, he’d be the one to turn it off first. Otherwise, Wakko would simply use his trusty mallet. This morning, Yakko was able to jolt awake just in time to stop Wakko’s mallet from hammering down onto the alarm. He tossed it aside and then hit the snooze button.

Yakko sat up slowly, disturbing his younger siblings only slightly. Being between the two, he managed to worm his way out of their sleepy grasps and slide off of the bed. He smiled to himself, deciding to let them sleep in just a little longer.

After his morning-care routine, Yakko headed downstairs. Unsurprisingly, Bugs was already up and hovering over the stove. Knowing how jumpy Bugs was, Yakko announced himself. “Mornin’ Bugs...” he chimed.

Bugs turned around and gave Yakko a nod. “Good morning. You get your sibs up yet?” He asked.

“Eehh… I thought I’d let ‘em sleep in.” Yakko told him before moving to make himself a bowl of cereal.

“You spoil ‘em more than I do.” Bugs chuckled, turning back to the hot meal on the stove.

“I’m their big brother. I’m allowed.” Yakko said it before he could really stop it.

The two went deadly silent. It had been a year since he had taken them in, and Bugs still had no idea where he stood. Was he simply an acting mentor? Was he some kind of parental guardian? No one who was involved really knew. At some point in Bugs’ life, he remembered having decided against having kids. And yet, he took in the three without any hesitation.

Once Yakko made his cereal, he carried it over and sat down on a barstool chair under the kitchen island. He ate and watched Bugs prepare breakfast for the rest of them. Finally, Bugs broke the silence.

“Daffy is stayin’ wit’ us.” He mentioned.

Yakko swallowed, “Oh really? Why here? Couldn’t find himself a private island off the coast of Malibu?” He asked.

“Dat, I’m sure.” Bugs chuckled, “Also, I thought it’d be easier for us to work on school stuff. Dat and I figured it’d be nice to have some help around the house.”

“Oh right, your school.” Yakko remembered, “You sure you really want to hire Daffy as a teacher?” He asked.

“Why is everyone askin’ me dat?” Bugs felt slightly annoyed, “I brought Daffy on because he’s my friend. He’s great with kids and he’s been in this business for as long as I have. Longer, if you can believe it.” He defended.

Yakko wasn’t entirely convinced, still he nodded. “If you say so.” He said.

“You three were invited to the ribbon cuttin’ ceremony yesterday, by the way.” Bugs mentioned, shooting a glare at Yakko.

“Ooh… was that yesterday?” Yakko asked, pushing away his now empty cereal bowl. “Well, you know how it is sometimes. We all get so carried away on set and we end up home later than usual.”

“Uh-huh.” Bugs said, not quite sure he believed Yakko, “Ya mind waking up your kin? This is almost ready.” He said.

“I’m on it.” Yakko said, hopping down from his chair and making his way back upstairs.

When Yakko reached their bedroom, he saw Dot fully ready to go. Wakko, however, was still sound asleep and had taken over as much as he could of the California king-sized bed. After a solid few minutes of Yakko working to peel his sibling off of the bed, Wakko was up and able to start his routine.

Once they were all ready, the three came downstairs to see the kitchen table full of food. Dot eagerly sat down in a seat Bugs pulled out for her. Wakko raced to his seat at the table and began to pile his plate with the assortments of food. Once Yakko and Bugs sat down, Bugs turned to Wakko and Dot.

“I wanted to let you both know I invited Daffy to stay wit’ us.” Bugs told them, taking a bite of his breakfast.

At that, the two of them looked super pleased. “Hooray!” Wakko cheered before chowing down.

“That’s great! And for how long?” Dot asked curiously.

After hearing that, it only just occurred to Bugs that he had absolutely no long-term ideas concerning Daffy. Was he going to help him hunt for another estate? Daffy made it clear last night that the rent was ‘so damn high’, Bugs wasn’t sure Daffy was looking for a permanent stay. If he wanted to continue being a teacher, it was clear he would have to come up with some kind of living arrangement. While he was thinking along those lines, why did Daffy even agree to a teacher’s salary? Surely after all their royalty checks, he didn’t exactly need the extra income. Daffy’s motives were obviously very unclear to Bugs.

Bugs swallowed his food, “Eeehh… We’ll see.” He said carefully.

As if on cue, the three siblings caught sight of Daffy floating mid-air down the hallway, past the living room and into the closest seat at the kitchen table. Bugs had watched him and couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He took the act as a high compliment in regards to his cooking.

Daffy gave a smile and a small sigh when he opened his eyes to the plethora of food at his disposal. Immediately, he began to eat. “Oh man, I could get used to this.” Daffy said more to himself than anyone.

After a moment, Bugs’ cleared his throat slightly. “Eh, Daff… I was hopin’ to go over some stuff about the school today.” He said.

“Today? No can do.” Daffy said, pulling out a cellphone from behind his back, “I have about five different interviews, three of them are public appearances and I have just about fifteen different emails asking for article interviews.” He said.

Bugs’ felt his ear twitch in annoyance. “Didn’t you just fly in yesterday?” He asked.

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m Daffy Duck. Soon to be Professor Daffy Duck!”

“Not if I decide I don’t like what you’re gonna be teachin’ at my school.”

Watching the two banter was like watching a tennis match for the siblings. Especially considering the two were at separate ends of the kitchen table.

Daffy glared right back at Bugs with no fear. “Then why don’t you come up with whatever I’ll be teaching, huh?” He asked.

“Daff, I’m the principal of the only school in Toon Town. There’s no official district to tell us what we should be teachin’. I jus’ wanna make sure we’ll be doin’ this right.” Bugs told him. After a moment, he realized Daffy wasn’t going to budge so Bugs rolled his eyes. “Fine. How’s about this? You go an’ make your way around L.A., do all your lil interviews, and once you get back ‘ere we go over school stuff... If not tonight, then tomorrow... Capiche?”

“Fine.” Daffy said simply, though it didn’t seem like he was too happy about it.

Once the two were done arguing, Yakko decided to speak up. “Well, we better get goin’...”

The siblings took that as a cue to stand up from their places, with Wakko being the last as he shoveled in the rest of his food as quickly as he could. Daffy watched curiously when Bugs stood up and walked to the kitchen, pulling out three paper bags from the fridge. “Y’all have your studio passes?” He asked.

“I have the studio passes, this time.” Yakko said, presenting the three lanyards for Bugs to see. “Cuz we all know what happened to Wakko’s last week.”

“I got hungry…” Wakko said with a small pout.

“When are you not hungry, Wakko?�� Dot asked, to which Wakko only answered with a giggle.

Bugs began to hand over their premade lunches when they were at the door, “Remember, you run into any problems on set you call me… alright?” He asked. Bugs was satisfied when he saw them nod in agreement.

“Eehhh… could you venmo a couple bucks for the Uber?” Yakko asked.

“Your account should have a hundred smackaroons already…” Bugs said, looking suspiciously at Yakko.

“What can I say? I leave ‘em great tips.” Yakko said with a smile.

“...You’re on dish duty when you get home, Yakko.” Bugs said, pulling out his phone.

Yakko rolled his eyes, took the three lunches Bugs had provided and walked through the door. Dot hugged Bugs before she turned away, “Bye, Bugs!” She chirped.

Bugs gave her a wave and looked on as Wakko gave his own wave, “See ya, Dad!” And saw a mixture of amusement and horror spread across his black and white face.

The word felt like something had hit Bugs’ chest and knocked the air out of him. As if to soften this blow, Bugs immediately returned with a rushed sounding, “GoodbyeWakko!!” and slammed the door shut.

When the three got in their designated car, Wakko looked at Yakko. “Did I mess up?” He asked, with a small blush on his white cheeks.

Yakko sighed slightly, “No kiddo, you didn’t mess up. I’m sure Bugs is taking it in stride.” He said. “It’d probably be best to try and not to say it again until he gives the okay though, alright?”

In the house, Bugs had hoped Daffy hadn’t heard the exchange. He had hoped he wouldn’t read into the deep blush that had bloomed across his fluffy cheeks. But as soon as Bugs looked up and down the hall, he saw a smug look plastered on Daffy’s face.

Bugs almost wanted to run away, but he couldn’t. Instead he sat up and walked over to Daffy. “Why are you givin’ me dat look?” He asked.

“So much for the biggest Bachelor of Toon Town. You realize once the paparazzi get in on this, you’re rep is gonna take a whole ‘nother turn.” Daffy said.

“Unlike you, I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me or what I do with my life.” Bugs snapped.

“If you say so.” Daffy said, his smug look never going away, “Personally, I think fatherhood suits you.” He told Bugs. “And who knows what could happen if this household had a more womanly touch?”

After hearing that, Bugs knew what Daffy was trying to say. He shook his head, “Oh I see, you like to think Lola suits me… Cuz you and nearly half of da world thinks she and I were made for each other.” He said.

“Bugs… She was literally created for you.” Daffy said.

“No! She was a Toon created for one movie in the nineties, to be cast in the role of my love interest. Nothin’ more.” Bugs corrected. Do you know what that does to a Toon’s psyche? He nearly asked, but kept it to himself.

“But you two were together, eventually. And I distinctly remember that the only reason you two broke it off was because you told me you didn’t want kids, and she did.” Daffy pointed out.

Bugs felt his cheeks ignite once more, “Believe you me, dat wasn’t the only reason.” He said.

Daffy hovered over Bugs as he began to clear up the kitchen table. “Oh really? Pray tell, what else was there? Did she snore? Was she draining your wallet? Did she have an annoying laugh? Did she cheat on ya?” He interrogated.

“What’s it to ya, Duck?” Bugs asked, continuing to ignore his friend’s line of questioning.

“Look, any Toon with half a brain would give their left foot to have a perfectly drawn counterpart like that. To get a fraction of what every iconic Toon couple has.” Daffy told Bugs, “Like Donald and Daisy, like Popeye and Olive Oyl, like Spiderman and whatever her name is.”

“Mary-Jane…” Bugs finished for him.

“That’s what I said.” Daffy said immediately. Bugs rolled his eyes and carried a stack of empty dishes to the kitchen sink.

Years before Daffy had moved to his private island, he remembered Bugs and Lola being the hottest couple in Toon Town. The two were featured on tabloids and TV shows, and their joint merchandise sold like crazy. They had been happy and nearly inseparable. Now, Daffy couldn’t even find a single picture of Lola inside Bugs’ house.

“What happened to you two?” Daffy asked.

“Don’t you have interviews to get to?” Bugs asked loudly as he turned on the faucet and began to rinse off his dishes. “I thought your day was soo busy!”

Daffy looked offended, “You don’t wanna tell your best friend about your previous relationship when he asks, then fine!” He exclaimed.

Bugs stopped what he was doing and shut off the sink immediately. “You wanna pull that card, eh?” He asked dangerously. “Last time I checked, best friends didn’t leave one anoda high and dry in a mansion off the coast of Central America!” He shouted back.

“Hey! Communication is a two-way street, bub! You coulda called or visited me any time!”

“Yeah sure Daff, lemme just hop on my private jet to my private yacht and snorkel my way to your front door when I need you most.” Bugs felt and swallowed a small lump that formed in his throat after saying that.

“Why would you swim to shore when I have a perfectly good runway for the private jet?” Daffy asked, more confused than anything.

“Missin’ the point, as usual.” Bugs said, disappointingly. He felt a headache coming on when he turned the water back on in the sink, “Maybe invitin’ you to stay wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Are you throwing me out?” Daffy asked.

“I jus’ might, if you don’t leave for those interviews soon.” Bugs said, throwing Daffy a harsh glare over his shoulder.

Daffy turned away and threw his arms into the air. “Fine! I’ll go, I’ll go…” He said with a low grumble.

Minutes later, without another word between them, Daffy was in the backseat of a hired car and driving away from Bugs’ house. He pulled out his phone and rang up his agent. It was clear to Daffy that he had missed out on a lot of Bugs’ life. He was going to make it his mission to bring himself up to speed. As soon as he heard the other line pick up Daffy didn’t hesitate, “Cancel Conan, I’m making dinner plans with a certain pig.” He said.

“Are you sure, sir? Conan is a big gig. He’s really curious about Bugs’ school.” His agent asked.

“Then tell ‘im to get Bugs on his damn show.” Daffy said lamely before hanging up.

Once that was cleared up he dialed another number, “H- h- ah- hello?” The other end asked.

“Porky! My ol’ pal! I’m sure you’ve heard about it already, but I’m in town--”

“N- n- nuh- uh, no.” Porky stammered.

“--and I thought we’d play a little bit of catch-up! Whaddya say?” Daffy asked.

“W- w- well I’m uh- I’m a lil busy…” The other Toon started to say.

“Nonsense! Let’s do tonight at seven. I’ll send you the address.” Daffy said and then quickly hung up.

Hours later, Daffy walked up to the restaurant to claim his reservation for two. The place was dark, seemingly only lit by fairy lights, therefore making it a little difficult to see for most. Luckily, Toons were created to see in low light situations. Once he had reached his tall wooden booth, Daffy began to order. Not too long after, he saw Porky Pig approach his table and sit down.

“Okay Porky, I’m gonna need a rundown of every major life event I’ve missed in Bugs’ life since I’ve been gone.” Daffy said, without exchanging any sort of pleasantries.

Porky sat across from Daffy with a blank stare. “You- you uh think I’m his chronicler? He- he- his secretary? Why w- why do you wanna know this all of a sudden?” He asked.

“I’m staying with him. And since I’ve been with him I’ve learned that he’s been watching the Warners, started a Toon school, cut out Lola from his life and looks terrible after all of that. You and I are his only friends in this life—“

“Ab ab- We’re definitely not his only friends.” Porky tried to interject.

“—and if we don’t find out what’s eating him up inside soon, it could be too late!” Daffy proclaimed dramatically.

“D- d- does he owe you something?” Porky asked curiously.

“Porky, I’m trying to do something decent for my best friend: find out the stressors in his life and stop them.” Daffy said, crossing his arms.

“I d- don’t understand why you don’t just ask him.”

“We had an argument.” Daffy mentioned, “Plus, you know how secretive Bugs can get.”

Porky sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to get out of this no matter what. He had learned by now that when either Bugs or Daffy had their mind on something, they would see it through.

“Listen… all I- all I know is that shortly after The Looney Tunes Show was cancelled, Lola and Bugs broke up.” Porky said.

“But how? They were the jewels of Toon Town! They were inseparable. They did all sorts of mushy couple stuff. Even before the show, Bugs helped get her athletic career going. And Lola went to every sleazy bar and fancy casino Bugs could gig at when he was trying to get into stand up during the late 90s. You remember that, right?” Daffy asked.

The phrase that had haunted Porky for years finally slipped out, “S- she changed. That’s what he said, anyway.” He said. He had heard it from the drunken lips of Bugs Bunny himself. To this day, he didn’t know exactly what it meant, but the way he said it still unnerved him.

Daffy sat in silence for a long time. “Changed… what? How? When?” He asked, feeling even more confused than ever.

Porky shook his head. “I d- I d- I don’t know. My best guess has been that they just grew ah, grew apart.” He said.

Daffy wasn’t fully convinced. “There’s gotta be more to it. You sure he didn’t tell you anything else?”

“No.” He said quickly, “Bu- bu- but I will say. Ever since he’s had this idea for a Toon school, he’s been becoming more paranoid and stressed.” Porky pointed out. Immediately, Daffy thought back to last night where Bugs nearly caved his skull in with a bat. “And- and I don’t think raising those rambunctious kids on his own is doing much good. So, if you can, try to stay on his goo- goo- uh, good side and help him out.”

Daffy gave a small huff in Porky’s direction. “Yeah okay…”

Back at Bugs’ place, he had spent all day working from home. Brainstorming different classes, sending follow up emails to potential teachers and over all trying to think about his school. He knew that a lot of people, especially Toons, were expecting a lot from him. So he wanted to make sure things were coming together.

Later on, he received a text from Porky Pig that read, “Your feathery guest came to talk to me. It seems like he has good intentions, but I never know when it comes to him.”

Bugs rolled his eyes and replied back, “I’ll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know.”

After all of that, Bugs had found himself spending quite some time sitting on the couch staring at his cellphone. Every twenty minutes or so he’d remember the number was sitting undialed on his keypad. And every time he thought about calling it, he’d circle the room. After a long while, he finally took in a deep breath and dialed the number.

“Allison… I think I’m ready.” Bugs said when he heard the line being answered.

There was a pause, “... For…?” She questioned.

“Operation, Dad.”

“Oh!! Oh I’ll get the paperwork to you straight away Mr. Bunny! I’ll also get another interview appointment for you set up soon, y’know, adoption agency stuff. I’m sure they’ll be properly in your custody in no time! Well... as soon as everything is signed and approved, anyway. I’m so happy for you all!” Allison chimed.

“About the paperwork, I’d like to make a special request…” Bugs said.

Over the course of the next hour or so, Bugs and Allison spoke about what was next in the process in terms of adopting the Warners. Technically, in human years, they were full-fledged adults and would have been well out of the system. The three were created in 1991, after all. But there were a couple of rules in place for Toons which simply states that because of their child-like nature, they were still recognized as children. So Bugs still had to go through the same process as though he were adopting children. Even if that wasn’t the case, Bugs would most certainly find the means to adopt them.

Once Bugs hung up, he felt better about things. This meant they all still had time to talk things over. Bugs still wasn’t entirely sure about each of their feelings on the subject matter, but he was even more determined to find out now more than ever. Bugs couldn’t help but think back to when Wakko had called him ‘Dad’ earlier. So much pride and happiness swelled in Bugs’ chest, he began to softly cry. He loved them so much, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself if they didn’t want this.

To keep himself from thinking about things too hard, he wiped away his tears and decided to start making dinner. Cooking was a source of comfort to Bugs. It helped him keep his hands and mind busy. By now, Bugs had learned to cook meals for six or more, to accommodate for Wakko’s monstrous appetite. In truth, Toons had a larger stomach than the average human, a fact that was commonly exploited. For some reason or another, Wakko’s stomach and appetite was two times that size.

Bugs’ ears perked at the sound of the front door opening. He peaked around the corner with a smile, only to have it melt into a frown when he saw Daffy walk through the door. He had returned to his cooking by the time Daffy made his way into the kitchen. The two sat in a long silence, Daffy watching Bugs’ every move.

Finally, Bugs broke the silence, “You eat?” He asked.

“Yes, I had dinner with a friend.” Daffy said.

“You feel like sayin’ anythin’ to me?” Bugs asked.

Again, there was a long and agonizing silence between them. Bugs couldn’t help but smile slightly. He knew it was incredibly hard for Daffy to apologize. To admit wrongdoing would be admitting failure, and failure was less-than perfect, which was the opposite of what Daffy strived for.

“I was jus’—“ He started. Daffy immediately stopped that line when he saw Bugs’ ear twitch. “I want to help.” He tried.

“Well then, you can start by apologizin’ for pryin’.” Bugs said.

Daffy groaned out like he was in physical pain, “Auugghhh! Alright! I’m sorry.” He admitted. “I just feel like I missed so much.” He said, just before he noticed Bugs’ tail wiggle slightly. Daffy wondered since when did he find that kind of adorable? He tried not to let his eyes linger there for long; instead, focusing up on Bugs’ gloved hands while he prepared his food.

“Well if you really feel dat way, you can always just talk to me.” Bugs said simply.

“You’ve always been so closed off! And stand-offish! And you wouldn’t tell me that one thing.” Daffy huffed, crossing his arms.

“Daff, I opened my home to you. I answered most of your questions and I’ve been very patient. As far as things concernin’ Lola, all I’m asking is dat you leave it alone. You don’t wanna go down this rabbit hole.” Bugs warned.

Hearing him say that only made Daffy more insanely curious. Still, he filed away these feelings for later. “Fine.” Daffy said with a small pout.

Bugs looked over at Daffy with a kind smile, appreciating the fact that he was respecting this boundary. Something that, if had been brought up in the past, would have been trampled all over. “Y’know, I have a coupla questions myself.” Bugs admitted.

“Oh?” Daffy asked.

“Yeah. Like, why’d you wanna come back to teach at a school? It can’t be for da money.” Bugs said.

“You know what I’m about, Bugsy.” Daffy told him, leaning on the kitchen island, “I want fame, recognition and fortune. Owning a legacy comes with that. I want to be remembered in history books. Being apart of the first Toon school? That’s history right there.”

“Well, I can’t argue with dat.” Bugs said with a shrug.

Soon, Daffy took the barstool and they continued to talk. And just like that, it seemed like they were right where they had left off all those years ago. Daffy wasn’t sure if it was the content of their conversations, or if that was just the effect Bugs had on others. He was always such a smooth-talker and it always felt like he had control of the conversation. Daffy interjected when he could (it was in both their nature to be the center of attention, after all) and most importantly they shared stories.

From what Daffy understood, the Warners brought a lot of joy and excitement in his life. Even if it had only been a little over a year. Ultimately, Daffy was proud of Bugs. “So when are you gonna adopt ‘em?” Daffy asked.

Hearing that, Bugs nearly dropped a dish he was pulling out of the oven. Luckily he had been close enough to the kitchen island that the dish simply landed on it a little harder than if he’d normally place it down. “Eeh.. well, I uh. I talked to the adoption agency today, actually. There just needs to be a few more interviews and some paperwork.” He said.

“Of course. Wouldn’t wanna rush into somethin’ like this.” Daffy said.

“I… still don’t know if I’m ready, Daff.” Bugs admitted, looking down at his casserole. “I don’t know if dat’s really what they want.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Daffy exclaimed, “All you’re missing are family portraits to put in your wallet. You’re perfect dad material. If they can’t see that, it’s their loss.”

“Who’s loss?” A nasally voice asked.

Bugs and Daffy turned simultaneously and saw the Warners peeking around the corner by height. Wakko sniffed the air and gave a small sigh. “It smells so good.” He commented.

Internally, Bugs was screaming. He wasn’t sure just how much the Warners had heard of their conversation until Dot spoke. “So when are we getting those family portraits?” She asked with a grin.

“I guess we could all use some new headshots.” Yakko joked with her.

Bugs took in a deep breath, “They’re sendin’ Allison over for anoda coupla home interviews.” He announced.

“Oh won’t that be nice? I was starting to miss her.” Dot chimed. “Can you believe it took them ten interviewers before they found her?” She asked Daffy.

“She’s put up with a lot of our shenanigans.” Wakko said.

“Eehh… What are we gonna tell ‘er about the duck?” Yakko asked, pointing his thumb in Daffy’s direction. Daffy looked a little annoyed, but didn’t say a word.

“Oh! What if we tell ‘er he’s our second cousin twice removed?” Wakko proposed.

“We ain’t lyin’.” Bugs said quickly, “He’s here temporarily, and that’s what we tell ‘em.” He said.

Daffy shrugged and got up to start walking out of the room. “Well it’s obvious you’ve got some things to talk about. I’ll see myself out.”

With that, the four began to set the table with what Bugs had cooked for them. Once the table was set and food was served, Bugs spoke up. “About the adoption… I don’t need answers from you guys yet. The process is long to begin with. Just… think about things for me, alright?” He asked.

“You got it, Bugs.” Yakko said with a smile and a small wink.

After hearing that, Bugs felt like he was on top of the world. Things were falling into place more smoothly than he could have ever imagined.

----

Huzzah!! This chapter is more relationship establishing stuff. Overall, I’m satisfied with it. Hope y’all enjoyed it!

#looney tunes #baffy #htdat #my fanfiction

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falseroar · 5 years

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Silver and Peppermint (Part 4)

((Part 4 of a fantasy AU, with Monster Hunter Abe teaming up with a reluctant DA to track down a murderous werewolf. After failing to shoot the wolf he saw last night, Abe takes the DA to check on the first of their three main suspects. Who...might be familiar to anyone who’s read some of my other stuff with Abe and Y/N. Also, hints of DA/Detective in this one, at least from Abe’s side.

Links to Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, and the Epilogue.))

“We should swing by the station first,” Abe said once they were outside. “Lenore should be back with those papers by now. Maybe they’ll mean something to you.”

“Possibly,” the District Attorney said. “Hopefully it can be more useful than what I found last night.”

“You couldn’t find anything to connect our five?” Abe asked.

“More like I found everything,” they answered. “Franklin’s bank served as the default mortgager for our real estate victim, who sold our grocer his new house, who made a large public donation to Garroway’s theatre last year, as did Haywood’s company, who was angling for a contract to build the bank’s new branch on the other side of the city, and so on. All perfectly legal, and nothing to hint at any kind of animosity between the five of them. As for ‘Honest’ John, his business is registered with the city and from the records when he sued the occasional client for defaulting on a loan, he has rates that are well below loan shark levels. Business seems to be booming, and he’s clearly not afraid to take someone to court if they don’t pay up.”

“So, we’ve got plenty of connections but no obvious motive,” Abe said. “Aside from our victims’ letter.”

“’If we stand together, he cannot take us all,’” the District Attorney quoted, word for word Abe was sure. What he wouldn’t do for a memory like that. “Which would lean toward Franklin or John.”

“Assuming they were suspecting the right person,” Abe said. “Even they didn’t sound sure if they could trust the others in their group. Could be our killer isn’t acting on their own.”

He thought again of that wolf in the alley. Maybe he should have mentioned it to the Mayor or to the District Attorney, but with the Mayor on edge he wasn’t about to admit he had a werewolf in his sights and missed. As for the DA, well they thought little enough of him as it was without giving them any more reason to doubt what he was capable of.

Still, there had clearly been two wolves out last night, one trying to get into Marcus’s apartment to attack his girl and his roommate at the same time the other was sniffing out Franklin’s place, maybe looking for a way to get in at yet another target.

He wondered which wolf was to blame when they arrived at the police station to find Lenore, apologetic and empty-handed.

“I swear it was there last night, but the folder with all of Marcus’s paperwork, it’s like it’s just gone,” she said. “Stephen and I went through the whole apartment, but we couldn’t find it anywhere. It’s a bright blue company folder, it’s hard to miss and I could have sworn I left it in his room, but we were so freaked out last night and ran out so fast…”

But it wasn’t the sort of thing you’d hold on to when you’re running for your life, not without a reason. If the werewolf had broken down the apartment door, literally anyone could have walked in at any point during the rest of the night and taken it.

“Would anyone have a reason to steal it?” the District Attorney asked, clearly thinking the same thing. “What kind of paperwork was in it?”

“I mean, I just flipped through it, but most of it was copies of receipts and spreadsheets. Marcus was in charge of balancing the budget at the end of every month, so sometimes he’d have to double check what we paid for this or that, but it’s not like company secrets or anything,” Lenore answered. “As far as we can tell nothing else is missing. I’m sorry, we’ll keep looking, but I thought you should know.”

“So that lead’s a total bust,” Abe muttered later, once they were back outside and walking to the first suspect’s house.

“Not entirely,” the District Attorney said. “It looks like you were right to ask about his papers, because someone was interested enough to take them. That may be why your werewolf visited them last night and went to all the trouble of scaring them off. That’s another big deviation from the first three victims, and again because of Marcus. Or in this case, something he possessed.”

“He must have known something, or at least the werewolf thought he did.” Abe rubbed his chin as he walked, eyes darting up and down the street even as his thoughts circled around the idea. “The werewolf tries to get in as a wolf, no doubt trying to hide its identity, and rushes the door when it realizes the kids are inside to scare them out. It didn’t bother with killing them before they got to the cops, because they weren’t the target.”

Except it had still chased them, and circled the group last night with every apparent intention of killing them, at least according to the cops and the kids. Had it been considering disposing of all five of them then? Or had it just been playing with them, feeding off of their fear just as it had Marcus before the kill?

Abe shook himself a little to dispel that train of thought and continued, “Fat lot of good that does us, if it’s in the killer’s hands now.”

The District Attorney surprised him with a rare smile as they asked, “We’ll see about that. Tell me, how are you at bluffing?”

They went to ‘Honest’ John’s house first, on the assumption that after last night he would be the least likely to expect to start off his day with a few questions. It helped that he lived within a few blocks of the police station, but when they reached the front door they almost walked straight into the man himself on his way out.

Because they were still on the steps, both had to look up to see the face of the man who towered over them. Clean shaven and neat in his appearance, from his close-trimmed hair and tailored suit down to his shiny shoes, Abe would have guessed him to be the banker of the group. After a moment of surprise, the man slipped into an easy, practiced smile and asked, “Can I help you?”

“Name’s Abe, and right now all you need to know is I’m working for the city. This is—”

“Y/N,” John said, his smile growing wider when he saw their surprise. “The District Attorney. I’ve seen your face in the papers, of course. Can I say, I appreciate what you and our Mayor have been doing for the city so far?”

“You can say whatever you want,” they responded stiffly. “We have some questions for you, so if we could step inside…”

“I’m afraid I was just heading into work,” John said, stepping fully outside and shutting the door behind him as he did so. “Could we talk on the way there?”

“Look, we can talk in the middle of traffic as long as you answer our questions,” Abe said and the man nodded before turning to lock the door. While his back was to them, Abe shot the District Attorney a look, but their eyes were sizing up John, a frown tugging at the corner of their mouth until he turned around.

“Forgive me, my manners are lacking,” John said and he stuck a hand out in Abe’s direction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Abe…?”

It was a salesman’s greeting, the hand turned to put his on top. Abe knew that trick, and in response he grasped the hand with both of his own.

“Lincoln.”

“Abe Lincoln,” John said, his left hand moving forward to touch Abe’s forearm so that now this handshake was far too friendly for Abe’s liking. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes, maybe even a laugh escaped as he added, “John Booth, at your service.”

The handshake showed no sign of stopping until the District Attorney made a sound at that, at which point John let go and turned to them.

“I think you two have done enough handshaking for all of us,” they said, firmly planting both hands in their pockets just in case and ignoring the hearty laugh from John at that. “Let’s skip straight to the point. Did you know Mr. Alex Haywood, of Haywood Construction?”

“If you’ve come to question me about him, then I can only suppose you already know he had taken out a loan with my company,” John answered. He gave a heavy sigh and said, “I’m afraid I didn’t know him well, but I was sad to hear of his passing, especially in such a…brutal manner.”

He stood there, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped, before he seemed to remember that he had been going somewhere. He gestured for them to walk alongside him, and with his long gait keeping him slightly ahead he began to lead them down the street.

“Yeah, I know you must be real sad about losing that loan,” Abe said.

“Not particularly. It wasn’t a large amount, and even then, there is a good chance his estate will cover the loss. No, I am more disturbed by the rumors going around concerning Alex’s death, especially with the Mayor’s sudden call for a curfew.” John’s eyes shifted to Abe, looking him up and down before adding to the District Attorney, “I suppose the rumors must be true, if the city is hiring hunters now.”

“Two other clients of yours have also been recently murdered,” the District Attorney said, ignoring his remarks. “It would seem you’ve been unlucky in your choice of loans, Mr. Booth.”

“Three respectable members of the community, who by all means should have been trustworthy debtors. It’s not the most pleasant coincidence,” John agreed. “I am more than aware how it looks, Y/N, but what reason would I have to harm the very people my livelihood depends on? To be honest, I was rather hoping to hear you had some answer of your own for why this keeps happening.”

The District Attorney looked away, but Abe saw how John studied their reaction, just as he had noticed how the man couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of his partner since they left the house, as though fascinated by the way they moved. Abe knew having himself and the District Attorney on either side of the man to flank him was the best way to keep an eye on him and put that much more pressure on the suspect, but at the moment he wanted nothing more than to insert himself between the two of them.

Instead, he cleared his throat and, when John glanced his way as if having forgotten he was even there, said, “We know exactly what we’re looking for, and that’s why we’re talking to you now. Isn’t that right, Par—er, Y/N?”

“…That’s correct,” they said, a new steel in their voice as they fixed John with an even, unblinking stare, heedless of where they were walking. “The night before last, an employee of Alex Haywood was murdered. We know that he had company records in his possession, and some of these records were more…questionable than others. As someone financially related to Haywood, you’ll understand why we wish to see any and everything you have related to his company.”

“Is that so?” John tried to keep up the same tone of speech, but Abe could feel the way he tensed. Then again, anyone would tense up if face to face with the District Attorney’s stare, that quiet blanket of seriousness loosely wrapped around a sharp wire that felt ready to snap and lash out at anyone foolish enough to trip it. “Then please, allow me to give you a copy of our records regarding Haywood. I’m afraid it’s not much, but if it can be of any help to you…”

No one should be smiling like that right now, Abe thought as John unlocked his office door and let them in, not at my—Not at a time like this.

Feeling guilty at even the cut-off thought that strayed across his mind, Abe turned his attention to the small, well-decorated office, and immediately almost knocked over a potted plant on one of the desks while John went to one of the locked filing cabinets and pulled out Haywood’s file, then the files for the other two victims when the District Attorney reminded him.

When John handed over the folder with the copies inside, his gaze lingered on the District Attorney’s face and he took a deep breath before smiling again and saying, “I look forward to seeing you again, Y/N.”

Their eyes met his for just a second, their brows narrowing as they pulled the folder out of his hand with a little more force than was necessary before walking out without another word. Abe couldn’t stop a proud smile at that as he turned to follow.

“The same goes for you, hunter. Feel free to come see me if there’s anything I can do to help you find your wolf.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again,” Abe said before shutting the door behind him, hoping that sounded better out loud than it did in his head as he walked away.

It took almost half a block to catch up and fall in step with the District Attorney, who seemed so caught up in their own thoughts and examining the contents of the folder that he doubted they even noticed his absence. He had to repeat himself two or three times before they finally looked up and asked, “What?”

“I said, that John guy was too ready to help us out. No one’s ever that helpful without a reason.”

“It could be because he knows there’s nothing incriminating in these documents,” they answered, looking down at the papers again. Despite their distraction, they managed to navigate a hole in the sidewalk and easily sidestepped a man and his dog standing on the corner, although Abe had to grab their elbow to keep them from walking straight out into traffic. “There’s nothing here that stands out on its own, unfortunately.”

“Then we keep digging,” Abe said. He looked around, trying to take stock of the city in daylight. “We’re near the banker’s house, right? If anyone would want to keep a record of his dealings…”

A butler answered the door at Mr. Franklin’s house and nearly shut it in Abe’s face before the District Attorney flashed some documents, at which point he, reluctantly, invited them into the sitting room. It was a neat trick, and as Abe paced around the room he thought to himself that if there were ever a next job for the city then he would have to ask for a badge of his own. Nothing too fancy, just with enough of a shine to make people think twice about questioning his presence long enough to find what he was looking for.

“Please do not touch that, it is a rare piece by Asteas himself,” came a rebuke from the doorway, catching Abe just as he started to reach out his hand.

“Really? It just looks like a vase,” Abe said, pulling his hand back all the same. “Not even a good one, I’ve seen elementary school kids make better.”

“Be that as it may,” said the posh voice behind him, “It’s worth more than you would make in a lifetime, I’m sure.”

Well, now Abe wanted nothing more than to knock it off its stand. Resisting that urge, he turned to face the gentleman at the door. Well, gentleman in theory, although Mr. Franklin looked more like a reformed hippie pressed into wearing a suit, not helped by the fact he was wearing sandals. He was a stout man with a neatly trimmed beard and long hair pulled back into a bun, and he gave Abe an owlish stare behind a pair of ridiculously small glasses.

Franklin gave a heavy sigh. “Has there been another murder?”

Abe narrowed his eyes. “That’s an oddly specific question.”

“Not as odd as when a group of police officers knocked on my door at three in the morning to ask if I was dead, a werewolf, or both.”

Abe tried very hard not to look at the District Attorney for fear of seeing how they reacted to that. Instead, he said, “Well, at least we can rule out one of those options for now. Where were you and what were you doing last night?”

“In bed, and sleeping. Well, until the knocking started,” the banker answered, but he took a hasty step back when Abe crossed the room and encroached on his personal space.

“Oh, really?” Abe asked. “Then care to explain why I saw a werewolf sniffing around outside your house last night? Because it seemed real interested in you.”

The District Attorney made a noise at that, briefly reminding Abe that he had forgotten to share that little detail before now, but that thought went straight out the door when Franklin gave a choked sob and fell against the door frame as though no longer able to support himself.

“It’s coming for me,” he gasped out, one hand clutching his shirt so hard that at least one button had come undone or snapped straight off. “No, no, I told them, I told them I’d have nothing to do with it, why—”

He gave another choked sob and Abe rolled his eyes at the District Attorney to show what he thought of this act.

“Yeah, I’m sure you did, pal. Now why don’t you start naming names and we can actually get somewhere?”

“Uh, Abe…” The District Attorney started, but he gave them a shushing motion. He could handle this one.

The banker’s face turned red as he began to wheeze, his words stuttering and indecipherable.

“Come on, buddy, we don’t have all day,” Abe said and caught the banker as he started to slide to the ground.

Caught his sweating, shaking body as another gasping wheeze came out.

“Uh…Pal?” Abe asked as the District Attorney pushed past him, a single shout into the hall rousing the butler as they crossed over to the phone and began to dial.

((End of Part 4. Thank you for reading! ...In my defense, I wrote this before I had even considered doing anything for Goretober, much less that John might make a reappearance there.

Link to Part 5.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @purpstraw @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate ))

#markiplier #fanfiction #werewolf au #monster hunter au #wkm detective #wkm da #wkm mayor

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jinjojess · 5 years

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DR Kirigiri Vol. 5 Summary Part II

Not as soon as I wanted to get this up, but at least I’m moving!

< LAST PART | NEXT PART >

Chapter 1 The Mania of Existence: Bar GOODBYE - Yaki Hajiki

If you don’t remember Yaki, he’s the gambling detective we met all the way back in Vol. 3 during the Takeda Haunted House Case (i.e., the Sagittarius case, where a gyaru detective made a big slingshot with one million yen’s worth of rubber bands...I’m still not and never will be over that). In Vol. 4 he got assigned to check out Bar GOODBYE, which is the Scorpio case, if the secondary weapon, scorpion venom, is any indication.

The chapter opens with Yaki riding in a taxi toward the bar, which his intel says is wedged between empty storefronts in a bad part of town known for gambling and prostitution rings. Because the place is such a maze, he’s bringing along a young guy he sometimes teams up with to take down gambling operations named Ooba Ryou, who knows the area. Ooba apparently has recently given up gambling and decided on the straight and narrow, partially because of settling down and having a kid, and partially because he got schooled by someone way younger than him.

“Don’t tell me...that rumor about ya gettin’ caught up with that mysterious goth loli’s true?”

“It’s not a rumor, it’s what really went down.”

“Fuckin’ shame, man. If that’d been me, I’da crushed her in 5 seconds flat. Where’s the brat now?”

“No idea. One minute she was there, and the next she was gone,” Ooba said with an exaggerated sigh of grief.

This is like that time Minase was talking about Sagishi in Vol. 2, but even more hilarious.

Ooba is surprised to hear that this isn’t a gambling sting, and asks what they’re going to GOODBYE for. Yaki tells him that he’s on a homicide case, and in response to Ooba’s uncertainty about that says he’s out of his element as well.

At that point they hear from the passenger seat of the taxi that they’re almost there. This is the other guy Yaki’s brought along, a rep from the real estate company that owns the building GOODBYE is in, named Arai Gunzou. His name is written the stupidest way possible, just so you know. I’ll get back to that in a second, actually.

Apparently Yaki isn’t against some good old breaking and entering or other petty legal infractions during the course of his usual investigations, but in this case he felt it was better to keep everything above board.

Remembering the tip from Kirigiri, Yaki then asks his two cohorts their birthdays, to the surprised confusion of both of them. Ooba was born on September 29th, making him a teal blood Libra, and Arai has the same birthday as my mother on November 1st, which puts him firmly in Scorpio territory.

Well. Case closed, I guess.

Or it would be, if Kirigiri hadn’t been frustratingly vague about WHY everyone should ask about birthdays to everyone who wasn’t Trusted Confidant Samidare. This sounds like a complaint, but I actually like that it shows a real flaw in Kirigiri, and how she’s putting people in danger because of her trust issues and maybe even a desire to nab all the culprits herself.

Also, here I’m going to note that Arai’s name is written with the kanji for “wash” and “group of three”, so he’s pretty suspicious and I’m watching him.

Anyway, our dudes arrive at the shopping district where the bar is, and Arai almost immediately receives a call on his cell phone. He steps away to take it. Annoyed, Yaki puts an unlit cigarette in his mouth and muses that he hasn’t smoked in a year, since that day when it started making him feel like throwing up.

Then he overhears Arai ask the person on the other line if they said something about Bar GOODBYE and commandeers the phone call.

On the other end is a creepy, almost ghost-like voice asking for help, saying he’s tied up at the hands and feet and can’t move, and is trapped. Yaki tries to check the number, but it’s unlisted. The man on the other end claims he picked up the phone in front of him and tried to call 110 (the emergency line in Japan) but it connected him to this phone instead. He begs Yaki to call the police, and when asked, says that the matches in front of him say “Bar GOODBYE”.

It’s at this moment that Yaki realizes that the Committee of Something Something’s game has begun. He hollers at Ooba to get him to the bar, orders the man to stay on the line, and barks at Arai to come along as well. They dash through the dark, creepy streets of the maze-like shopping district, with its weird plants growing on the walls. Yaki uses his own cell to call the police, which he doesn’t really want to do, but a man’s life hangs in the balance.

They arrive at the bar and Yaki hassles Arai to get the door open while he fumbles with the keys on the ring to find the right one (I want you to remember this for later). In the meantime, Yaki asks the guy if he’s hurt, and the man says no, other than being tied up he’s fine. Yaki thinks about how Kirigiri told them all to stay safe, but if they could solve a case and prevent a murder, that’d be fine. He loves the idea of being the MVP of Team Not Phoenix.

When Arai finally gets the door open, Yaki dashes inside to find it pitch black except for a weak standing lamp on the bar. He calls out but gets no answer, then approaches an old man slumped over the bar under the lamp. He’s tied not only to the stool he’s sitting on, but also to the other side of the bar.

He’s also got a knife in his back.

Yaki calls for the others to call an ambulance, and tries to check the man out. Luckily, though he isn’t conscious, he’s still alive.

While Ooba and Arai handle that phone call, Yaki starts to investigate the bar. In front of the stabbed man is a box of matches, an open flip phone, and a perfectly normal ballpoint pen with the cap on. Carefully picking up the phone with a tissue to keep his fingerprints from getting on it, Yaki confirms that the phone is still connected to a call on Arai’s phone before hanging both up.

He asks if they can turn on the lights, but Arai explains that the building hasn’t had power in ages, so instead Yaki has to take the standing lamp and use it as a flashlight. Ooba has a mini breakdown, saying that he can’t go to jail, he’s got a kid! Yaki tells him to knock it off with the hysterics and guard the door with Arai. He thinks the culprit is using the darkness to hide, so when he flushes him out, he doesn’t want the guy making a dash for the door.

Ooba remembers as Yaki is searching that there’s a backdoor that opens into an alleyway, but when Yaki checks the door is locked from the inside. He scoffs at this being a locked room murder and continues searching the bar.

Good thing someone didn’t buy the culprit time to pull off their trick, eh?

Yaki does a pass of the entire place but finds nobody. No one’s under the bar. No one is hiding in the storage closets or shelves. There’s not even anybody inside the huge, dilapidated jukebox.

He once again considers the backdoor, and how he can’t think of a way to lock it from the inside while outside (for instance, pulling a string wouldn’t work). Yaki’s a simple man, though, so he decides that if the culprit isn’t in the bar, he must be outside it. He suspects he’s being led on, but remembering Kirigiri telling him not to try to hunt down the culprit really hurts his pride as a detective.

“Ooba! Wait here until I get back!”

“Where are you going, Aniki?”

“To take back my losses!”

As soon as he said it, Yaki realized--these were forbidden words for gamblers, famous last words no one should ever utter.

However, Yaki’s an unstoppable force now, so he propels himself into the alleyway anyway. The way to the left is blocked off and the ancient wooden boxes there aren’t big enough to hide a person, so instead he takes off to the right.

He’s feeling the excitement now. The tingle in his fingertips. The sensation of running mapless through a thick jungle hiding terrifying creatures. This is what Yaki lives for, why he became a detective, why he’s the hero of the hoodlams.

At least until he turns a corner and runs into someone, causing him to reflexively stop. Yaki’s instincts have saved his ass many a time, so he tends to heed them.

Who’s waiting for Yaki?

Why, an ethereal sprite-like boy dressed in his best... Or is it a girl?

Either way there’s a distinct smell in the air that Yaki thinks might be perfume, and he--or she--is smiling calmly at Yaki.

“Who the hell’re you?”

“Wrong.”

“Huh?”

“No one came this way.”

The boy’s melodious voice reminded Yaki of a pipe organ.

“So yer sayin’ yer the culprit, huh?” Yaki said, rolling up his sleeves.

“I already told you. You’re wrong.”

“Quit fuckin’ around. If it ain’t you, why’s a kid like you hangin’ around a place like this? And it sounds like ya know who I am too... Who the hell are you?”

“I came to warn you. I don’t believe the others would want there to be any more casualties.”

“Wha?”

“Please do not continue down this road.”

“I don’t need yer fuckin’ charity.”

Yaki reached forward to grab the boy by the shirt, but he nimbly evaded and, with a rueful smile of abnegation, disappeared down the alley.

“H-Hey! Wait!”

The only thing left behind in the dark was the strange scent.

“Shit, can’t leave having gotten bested by a kid, can I?”

Yaki ran toward where the boy had disappeared.

< LAST PART | NEXT PART >

#DR Kirigiri #long post #translation #DRK5 summary

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fierypen37 · 6 years

Text

The Oasis

Here you have a plot fragment I’ve been kicking around. Held Captive takes precedence, but this is fun to play with.

‘The Oasis’ was a rather pretentious name for a glorified hole-in-the wall, she thought. Then again, as one of the most recognizable faces in the known world, such places could be counted upon for their discretion. Crammed between a seedy tavern and an even seedier lawyer’s office, The Oasis sat in a neglected shopping district on Visenya’s Hill. A perfect place to escape her life. The pressures of running her own law practice in addition to her family’s billion-crown conglomerate, her fiancé Daario, her miserable brother Viserys . . . Pain throbbed between her shoulder blades and at the base of her skull, urging her beyond her prevaricating. Missy would help. Missy always helped.

Daenerys shoved open the heavy wooden door, embraced by the cool, humming quiet of the foyer. The cool of central air was a breath of relief after the sticky heat of the day. A water feature bubbled in the corner, soft strains of harp music floated in the air. The counter was empty, despite the tinkle of the door’s bell giving away her entry. Daenerys frowned, her body strung taut as piano wire.

Her lone ally on the Board of Trustees, Tyrion Lannister, flicked a card on her desk three weeks ago with conspiratorial wink. It was a memorable occasion, she remembered. Her face was splashed across newspapers and magazines, photographers of dubious reputation swearing she had sacked Daario for cheating . . . again. The wedding had taken on a demented life of its own, her brother snidely offering the hall of their old family estate on Dragonstone to hold the boatloads of the King’s Landing elite planning to attend. In Meereen, the Harpy Triumvirate shirked her injunction on human trafficking. Company stock had taken a dip in light of the scandal revolving around her COO Cersei Lannister and her brother Jamie. That, plus three nights without a wink of sleep had led Daenerys to find some very creative words for the Meereenese chief officer seated across the arbitrating table from her.

At first, Daenerys had taken umbrage at Tyrion’s casual implication. Nothing raised her hackles more than some idiot implying it was ‘her time of the month’ when her temper soured. Over morning tea, brewed strong and sweetened with sugar, Tyrion reassured her that this place had maintained his sanity during his time in government work. Daenerys took his advice with some reluctance.

Missy’s soft hands and patient touch worked years of tension from her body. Daenerys had made it a weekly ritual. Sometimes twice weekly, if her schedule allowed. It became a craving, to replace the sweet Lysene cigarettes she quit for the last time three days ago. Shae, The Oasis’ proprietor, was an ex-girlfriend of Tryion’s, with a certain low humor and disarming demeanor that Daenerys admired.

Shae emerged from the dim recesses of an inner office.

“Miss Targaryen, we did not have you scheduled today,” she said, a soft accent smoothing the syllables. Daenerys managed a weak smile.

“I need an hour. Please,” she said. Tension sent bolts of pain up into her skull, the edges of her vision pulsed red. Shae’s finely shaped eyebrows puckered.

“Missy isn’t here. She and Grey had an appointment with the fertility doctor today,” Shae said. Daenerys’ fists curled, and, absurdly, tears gathered in her eyes. The hope of relief snatched away was almost unbearable. Daenerys gave a nod, blinking away moisture.

“May I sit a moment?”

“Of course. May I fetch you some water? Tea?” Shae asked.

“Yes. Tea, thank you,” she said.

Daenerys sank into one of the overstuffed chairs, kneading the back of her neck beneath the coil of her braid. She rolled her neck, listening to the vertebrae crunch like tires on gravel. The soft trickle of the water feature reminded her of Dragonstone, where no matter how high you climbed, the ocean was never far away. Once, she and Vis splashed in the shallows in summer . . . it felt as if it belonged in another lifetime.

A glance at the magazines on the table featured a picture of Margaery Tyrell, the lovely and glamorous actress, and her beau Robb Stark on a yacht on the Sunset Sea. Another bore the image of her own face, looking harried and irritated as she barked into her cell. The headline read: Dragon CEO Fallen Off Cloud Nine?

“Tea, my dear,” Shae said. Daenerys accepted the foam cup of hot tea with murmured thanks. She savored the rich, spicy mix as it slid down her throat. It was Braavosi if she remembered right.

“Rough day?” Shae asked. Daenerys smirked, gesturing to the array of magazines.

“I’m sure you’ve read of a more interesting sequence of events,” she said dryly. Shae gave a graceful shrug, the fitted gold-hued sweater clinging to her sleek curves.

“That magazine is a rag, but at least it’s entertaining. You know retreats to the Summer Isles are all the rage this summer, yeah?” Daenerys gave a reluctant snort of laughter, polishing off the last of the tea.

“I do have another masseur if you would prefer. He trained with Missy,” Shae said. Daenerys frowned.

“He?”

“Yes, he’s excellent. Knowledgeable, perfectly professional.”

Her first instinct was to refuse. Male attention had never been in short supply, not since she was thirteen. Public attention had hovered around her like an obnoxious glittery cloud since she was born. A wealthy heiress from an old and influential family like her mother marrying the mercurial and charming politician Aerys Targaryen had turned heads, and tongues wagged at the very public and sordid fallout of their divorce—made more torrid given her father’s tenure in public office.

Daenerys bowed her head and a knife of white-hot pain shot up the back of her neck. She blinked away tears, studying the ragged, bloody edges of her cuticles. A nervous habit, her mother had tried for years to break her of it. Daenerys exhaled a long, slow breath, caught between pain and embarrassment.

“I’ll book an hour,” she said. Shae patted her knee.

“You won’t regret it. Come on, you’ve earned some pampering.”

Shae led her to one of their rooms, and Daenerys felt her knees weaken at the thought of impending relief.

“I’ll get Jon. You get comfortable,” Shae said, squeezing her hand in passing.

“Thank you for working me in, Shae.”

“Think nothing of it, dear.”

The door shut behind her with a soft thump and Daenerys breathed a sigh. The soothing melody played through overhead speakers, the lighting dimmed to a golden ambiance. Daenerys stepped behind the changing screen and disrobed, shedding the flowing trousers in charcoal grey and black leather ankle boots, the sharp-shouldered suit jacket and ruffled crimson blouse. She paused to adjust the dragon pin on her velvet lapel, three dragons joined in a circle. Hastily she unwound her braids and tied her crimped hair into a sloppy bun.

Naked, she slipped under the sheet and blanket on the massage table. Gentle heat radiated from the table padded surface, a curved pillow supporting the backs of her knees. Daenerys screwed her eyes tight shut and tried the meditation techniques her counselor taught her, breathing in and out to a lengthening count of numbers. By the time her exhale reached eight, she heard a quiet knock.

“Come in,” she said, hating the way her voice warbled.

The sound of his step was muted by thick carpet, but soon there was a gentle tap on the table near her shoulder. Daenerys cracked open her eyes and was instantly grateful the dim light hid her expression. Jon was nothing like the sketchy image she imagined. Admittedly, she had little idea what a masseur should look like, but the muscled, rugged person that met her eye certainly didn’t fit her suppositions. Shaggy black hair tied back, a short beard framing full lips, and those eyes—gods, those sooty lashes and rich dark eyes could tempt any woman, magnified by the lenses of his glasses. Simple, wire-rimmed frames, the noseband a bit crooked. Her heartbeat quickened, suddenly feeling vulnerable beneath the fragile protection of the sheet.

“Miss Dany, my name is Jon. I’ll be your masseur for today. Are there any areas you’d like to work on?” She blinked at the name, dimly remembering that is an alias—albeit a thin one—she’d given Shae. His voice too, was full of surprises. A rich, deep voice holding the burr of the North.

“My . . . my neck and shoulders,” she said in a small voice. Jon nodded, his expression composed, polite. One curly strand of hair fell loose from its tie to hang in his face.

“And light to medium pressure?”

“Yes.”

“Warm towels ok?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like scalp massage, as well?”

“Um, ok.”

Jon nodded, scratching notes on a notepad. Something about his manner was disarming, Daenerys felt some of her trepidation evaporate.

“Ok. I’ll get started. Just let me know if you need anything,” he said. The lights dimmed even lower, to a murky half-dark. Daenerys felt the tension ratchet up between her shoulders, in anxiety or anticipation, she wasn’t sure. Jon settled on a stool above her head.

“Scoot a bit farther up. We’ll start with your scalp.” Clutching the sheet to her chest, Daenerys squirmed toward the upper edge of the table.

“Good. Right there. Just relax,” Jon said, cupping her head.

Thick fingers parted her hair, smoothing along her scalp with gentle pressure. Nerves tingled at the touch, a low fission of pleasure. His thumbs glided along the muscles around the base of her skull, then down to press firmly where her neck and head joined. Missy usually paid attention to her neck and back, murmuring poetry in Valyrian. Daenerys had learned the old language at her mother’s knee, and the lilt of its syllables was soothing. The talk was distraction enough to allow Daenerys to relax. But she found that Jon’s silence was comfortable rather than grating.

After several minutes of his unhurried work, Daenerys forgot her trepidation. His hands rubbed behind her ears, then his thumb moved up to press at the crest of her forehead. Pleasure melted through her like butter on a hot skillet. Daenerys bit back a cry. Gods, that felt good.

“The pressure ok?” Jon asked. Even, his voice was caress, low in tone, roughened by that subtle northern burr. Daenerys blinked her eyes open only to be swallowed by those wide, dark eyes. His gaze felt warm, intensely focused.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s ok,” she said. Daenerys closed her eyes, determined not to open them again during their allotted hour. She was here to relax, not ogle her masseur. The table’s heater kicked on, a fine vibration beneath her.

Jon brushed her hair out of the way, and she heard a faint click. A wet glug and Jon’s warm, lotion-slicked hand smoothed down the back of her neck. Yes, the smooth glide, the soft perfume of lavender, the perfect pressure on those angry, painful knots in her muscles. Jon’s hands were very warm, and the texture just the slightest bit rough. So massage wasn’t his only job. Missy’s hands were soft as silk given all the lotion she used with her clients.

Little by little, Jon kneaded and pressed and smoothed and pinched until she lay pliant under his touch. He moved from her neck to her shoulders to her upper chest along her collarbones in smooth, even sweeps. There it was, that warm, floating place, beyond worry, beyond pain. Daenerys simply existed, soothed and tended by a man with magic hands and the face of a young god . . . Oh no. Gods, she didn’t need this now. She did not need to be attracted to her masseur.

“Dany, I’ll have you roll over now. Lay your head in the cushion,” Jon said.

Daenerys hurriedly obeyed, thankful to hide her burning face. She was perving on her masseur. This was the height of embarrassment. She should just end the session early and leave . . . a broken moan left her as Jon smoothed his hands down either side of her spine, pressing hard enough to shift muscles and undo hidden knots of tension. How hadn’t she noticed him peeling back the sheet to her waist? Daenerys’ fists clenched on the table, wishing she could melt into a puddle and drip away down a drain. She waited for the chuff of laughter, or an awkward fumbling away from the table. Neither happened. The silence was unbearable.

“Relax, Dany,” Jon’s voice said, quiet and unobtrusive. Tears of gratitude gathered at the corners of her eyes, hidden in the curve of the pillow. Even if his expression mocked her, she was grateful for his easy professionalism.

Jon’s hands performed delicate work, then followed by the broad even pressure of his forearms, smoothed by sweet-smelling lotion. Even the chafe of the hair on his arms was pleasant. A sparkling wave of feeling danced behind her eyes after each stroke, every nerve shivered in delight. A fine dew of sweat rose on her skin. She craved more, the heat sank in her blood like fever, on her skin, her back where he touched, her breasts, between her thighs . . .

Jon’s hands lifted from her skin and she nearly cried out at the loss. After a couple clicks and rustles in the corner of the room, Daenerys understood. Get a grip! she told herself sternly. Now not only was she perving on her masseur, she was now aroused. Very aroused, she noticed, clenching her thighs around a sweet, wet ache. She thanked the gods for small mercies. Lying on her stomach, at least he couldn’t see her hardened nipples.

“Warm towel,” Jon said in warning.

The searing damp heat was a shock, but far from an unpleasant one. Daenerys hummed, deeming that sound to be acceptable. Jon pressed the towel down, smoothing away excess lotion before peeling it away before it became too cool to be comfortable. The brief loss of contact was needed to restore a proper frame of mind. Jon was a fantastic masseur, but that was his job. He was in no way responsible for her body’s reaction, or any of the needy, desperate thoughts that came to mind.

The sheet and blanket were straightened back over her back. It was delicate balance, made with care, the need to access her body while preserving her relaxation and modesty. Daenerys marveled at the implicit trust in massage. A person naked before a stranger, alone in a dark room. Jon moved down her arms, kneading the thin skin on her wrists and palms. Daenerys concentrated on keeping her breaths smooth and even. Gently, Jon tucked her arms back under the sheet, moving down to work on her legs and feet. As she shifted, a faint wafting of her arousal rose up.

“Tender spot?” Jon asked, his thumb lightening the pressure on her calf. He sensed her sudden tension. Her face on fire, Daenerys forced herself to relax.

“Yeah, a little,” she lied, “running stairs on Aegon’s Hill makes them tight.”

“I hear you. That last bit up to Targaryen Palace makes me want to die. My dog doesn’t seem to mind, though,” Jon murmured, before returning to his patient work.

It rested on her tongue to offer to join him on a run, anything to prolong their interaction. She dismissed it out of hand. How pathetic would he think she was? Some deeper part of her mind was storing up details of pour over later in the privacy of her queen-sized bed, the exact texture of his hands, the warmth of him, the magic channeled through his touch.

Jon worked his way to her feet, kneading the arch with his thumbs. Daenerys bit her lip around any more embarrassing sounds, despite how good it felt. A soft chirp announced the end of their session as Jon wrapped hot towels around both feet. Despite the alarm, Jon seemed in no hurry to end their session. Instead, he smoothed more lotion up her calf, cupping the muscle with gentle pressure. Hidden knots of tension shivered and relaxed. He did the same at the small of her back, then again at the base of her neck. Through his subtle shifting, she caught a whiff of his scent. Soap and woodsy aftershave, with the faint tang of sweat. The room was very warm, after all.

“That ends our session today, Dany. I’ll leave you to dress. Remember to drink plenty of fluids,” Jon said, with a farewell squeeze on her shoulder. The words steadied her. Professional, polite, considerate. He was exactly what she needed today, in Missy’s absence. The problem was, Daenerys was left with only the taste of disappointment. She wanted more.

Jon closed the door behind him with a soft click, as he had a thousand times before with a thousand different clients. Massages were a sensual experience, one made awkward when done with a stranger. People made noise when touched just right, it was a sign he was doing his job. Professionalism came easy to him. It made him a good masseur. Ever since mastering the art, he liked to impart healing, comfort and relaxation to his clients. He slipped into almost a trance, focusing on the muscle and bone beneath the skin, sweeping away the curled knots of tension and pain. With that focus, he could tune out other sensory input. He’d given massages to every shape and size of woman—men too. Beautiful or plain, overweight or thin, it made little difference to him.

This time was different. This time, he was hard as steel.

Jon made his way down the narrow hallway and into the laundry closet. The door was solid against his back, the room humid and warm as dryers hummed and washers rumbled. Jon exhaled a shaky breath, wiping the last of the massage lotion from his hands. Gods, what great fucking timing for his libido to rear its ugly head! It had been years since his high school girlfriend Ygritte dumped him, and female companionship had been superficial and mostly physical since. He got regularly laid, but now his throbbing dick was determined to puncture a hole in his trousers.

“Fuck,” he said, trying to breathe it down.

He closed his eyes and saw again the silky knot of her hair, a determined curl draped against her nape. The graceful slope of her back, the twin dimples at the base, just above the luscious curves of her buttocks. Had he dreamed up the scent of her cunt, so rich and female? That sound . . . Jon thumped the back of his head hard on the door, fisting his cock through his trousers. He hadn’t imagined that. Leaned over the table as he kneaded her back with the heels of his hands, she had moaned. An entirely unobjectionable sound by the current context, but with her—it woke some lustful demon inside him. It didn’t help that his cock was inches away from her mouth at the time.

Jon exhaled a sharp breath through his teeth. His cock pulsed through layers of cotton and denim. He was at work, for gods’ sake! He couldn’t jack off to the thought of a client. A perfectly innocent (gorgeous) client. He also couldn’t walk down the hall to his next client in his current state. Mrs. Pepperidge, a matron in her eighties with gouty arthritis in every joint, would object.

“Damn it,” he said. It was a credit to the mysterious Dany that even with the mental image of Mrs. Pepperidge’s crepe-y skin and dowager’s hump didn’t kill his erection. Nope, that just turned his thoughts back to the milky pale perfection of her skin, warm and smooth beneath his hands. There was a mole high on her left shoulder, her littlest toe had crooked nail. He might know her as well as a lover, he mused. The most private secrets allured him. Those high, bouncy breasts, her nipples pert against the sheet, that mouthwatering whiff of her cunt . . . fuck, fuck, fuck!

Jon yanked off his glasses and marched to the sink. The wrenched on the tap, and doused his face with cold water. Over and over, that cold sharp jolt, little trickles creeping down his neck and wetting the collar of his polo. There. Mercifully, his arousal abated. A rap at the door. Taptaptap.

“Jon, are you in there?” Shae’s accented voice floated through the door.

“Yeah, I’ll be right out. Just washing some linens,” Jon said.

“Ok. Your next client is in Room Four.”

“On my way,” he said, scrubbing his face and neck dry on a clean towel. He crammed all those thoughts of Dany into a box in his head. She was Missy’s client; it was chance that she’d been paired with him. It would never happen again. He needed to get used to that.

#fp37fic #pining #TheOasis #CEO!Dany #Masseur!Jon #smut to come #fun fic stuff

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livinginlandmarketing · 3 years

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Nothing moves on Ragsdale Road. Cars whiz past on the 10 Freeway about 100 yards away.

At an abandoned gas station, the pumps are stripped of their outer shells and wiring. The convenience store is covered in graffiti, its door kicked in, contents looted. Nearby restrooms are smashed and unworkable, but the stench suggests that hasn’t stopped everyone from using them. The sign over the station announces 24-hour service, a claim that hasn’t been true in years.

Desert Center doesn’t look like it’s worth $6.25 million.

That’s what Riverside resident Balwinder Singh Wraich paid at auction July 13 for the 1,034.78 acres of property in and around Desert Center. What he does with the land could radically transform a region that’s home to people who’ve spent generations in desert solitude.

Here’s what else $6 million can get you in today’s Southern California real estate market:

A 3,200-square foot Palm Springs house, designed by architect Ray Kappe, with spectacular views of the city and surrounding mountains.

A 6,000-square foot, six-bedroom, seven-bathroom “retreat” in Malibu Canyon, on an 8-acre property.

A 3,750-square foot, five-bedroom, four-bathroom house literally on the beach in Dana Point.

But Desert Center is a largely empty desert outpost in the Chuckwalla Valley, about 50 miles from either Blythe or Indio, almost exactly halfway between Los Angeles and Phoenix. The land Wraich bought includes two gas stations, a cafe, a hotel, store, school and the gravesite of a former cafe cook — all abandoned.

Desert Center has no city council or other government. But the U.S. Census Bureau lists it as a spot where people have come together, even though it’s not a formal town or city. The bureau estimates 216 people lived there in 2019, with a median age of 70.6 years old.

The Desert Center Unified School District teaches 29 students, according to the California Department of Education, ranging from kindergarten through 8th grade. The district operates just one of its former five schools. The others shut down after Kaiser Steel’s nearby Eagle Mountain mine closed in 1983. High school students travel about 50 miles each way to attend classes in Blythe. The shell of a former school, caked in graffiti, with broken glass and ceramic tile covering the floor, is visible to freeway motorists zipping past Desert Center.

Broken windows are seen at an abandoned Desert Center school Friday, July 30, 2021. The mostly deserted area in eastern Riverside County has been sold. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

An abandoned home in Desert Center is seen Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Drivers use an abandoned gas station in Desert Center as a rest stop Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Residents cool off in Lake Tamarisk near Desert Center on Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

As the thermometer topped 100 degrees, residents take a dip in Lake Tamarisk near Desert Center on Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

A resident closes her eyes while floating in Lake Tamarisk near Desert Center on Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Mystik Souza, 9, runs back to shore while playing in Lake Tamarisk near Desert Center on Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

A view of homes by Lake Tamarisk near Desert Center is seen Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

Homes by Lake Tamarisk near Desert Center are seen Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

The Desert Center Cafe sits abandoned Friday, July 30, 2021. The outpost in eastern Riverside County has been sold for $6.25 million. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

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The road behind

According to legend, in 1915, Kansas-born Stephen Ragsdale and his wife Lydia were driving to Los Angeles, before breaking down on the dirt wagon road between Blythe and Indio. Rescued by a prospector, Ragsdale saw opportunity in the other motorists crossing the Colorado Desert.

“He’d seen numerous people who had been unprepared crossing the desert, so he conceived of the idea of having a rest stop at the halfway point,” said Steve Lech, a historian and author who co-writes The Press-Enterprise’s Back in the Day local history column. “That’s why he called it Desert Center: It was kind of a marketing ploy.”

Opened in September 1921, Desert Center was a family affair.

“He would run the tow truck and pump gas. His wife would run the cafe and do the cooking,” Lech said. “He had two sons and a daughter and they would do auto repairs and work at the center.”

Ragsdale, rebranding himself “Desert Steve,” had dreams of expanding Desert Center, according to Lech. But Ragsdale believed in temperance: Even after Prohibition ended in 1933, he didn’t want tenants to serve or sell alcohol. His lawyer said Ragsdale couldn’t legally prohibit alcohol. So Desert Center stayed small.

Margit Chiriaco Rusche’s parents started the competing community and rest stop of Chiriaco Summit, 19 miles to the west, on the western rim of the Chuckwalla Valley. They spent decades as frenemies of the Ragsdales. According to Rusche, Steve Ragsdale vowed to “run that upstart Italian out of town” when Joe and Ruth Chiriaco moved there in 1933.

“It was very remote,” Rusche said. “As little kids, we pumped gas, we made hamburgers.”

Today, she’s CEO of Chiriaco Summit. It offers food, gas and the General Patton Memorial Museum for road-weary travelers. A motel and a mobile home and RV park are planned.

After his death in 1971, Ragsdale’s son Stanley ran Desert Center until he died in 1999. He kept it small, turning down offers from fast-food chains and others who wanted to “improve” the outpost.

Stanley’s six kids couldn’t agree on how to manage the businesses, so Desert Center gradually shut down. Their battle spent two decades in probate court. It might be the longest probate case in county history, according to Paula Turner, the real estate agent whose Coachella Valley firm handled the sale.

“I haven’t sold a town before,” she said. “This is my first town!”

Even before the auction, Rusche had tried to buy a piece of Desert Center more than once.

“When they were closing down, we were going through a contract to lease the (Desert Center) coffee shop to update it. Thousands and thousands of dollars later, one of the brothers said ‘No, not with a Chiriaco,’” she said.

Rusche then tried to buy part of the property, but the family member selling it didn’t have the clear legal right to do so.

Finally, Riverside County had enough.

“The judge said ‘It’s been 20 years, we’re putting it up for auction,’” Rusche said.

Wraich did not respond to repeated requests for comment. His family runs the Fontana-based trucking company Wraich Transport, which includes the Wraich Travel Plaza truck stop in Fontana.

The property was put up for auction for $5 million, before Wraich outbid Rusche, winning Desert Center with a $6.25 million bid. That brought an end to the Ragsdales’ ownership of the community founded by their patriarch. Members of the Ragsdale family declined to comment.

“That’s how it goes,” Rusche said. “We decided that dirt wasn’t worth that much money.”

In the end, the Chiriacos did get a bit of Desert Center, purchasing a totem pole that once stood outside the cafe. It will be going up at Chiriaco Summit soon, Rusche said.

The here and now

Trucks idle in vacant lots, curtains drawn as drivers presumably get some sleep.

The roof of the Desert Center Market is caved in, roof beams crashed down around empty ice cream and soda refrigerators. A sign in the window reads “Sorry, we’re closed.”

Someone appears to have walked away from the boarded-up cafe mid-cleaning. A bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels on a table caked in a thick layer of dust are visible through the windows.

Only the U.S. Post Office is still open. The other three shops in the tiny strip mall are long since closed. They seem to have shut down mid-renovation, with paint cans and drop clothes covered in dust visible inside.

“They let it go really bad,” said Harold Copeland, whose first job was working at Desert Center in 1977. “They should have sold something a long time ago and made something of it.”

Few live in Desert Center today. The biggest nearby population center is at Lake Tamarisk, 2 1/2 miles away. A few dozen homes cluster around a county-run nine-hole golf course. The residents are mostly “hermits,” according to one.

Copeland grew up in Eagle Mountain, moving there in 1967. He now lives in Indio, but his mother still lives at Lake Tamarisk.

“They love it out there because it’s just so quiet,” Copeland said. “The streets rolled up at 6 o’clock, but we learned to live with it.”

The lack of things to do in the Chuckwalla Valley is part of the attraction for some.

Residents cool off in Lake Tamarisk near Desert Center on Friday, July 30, 2021. (Photo by Watchara Phomicinda, The Press-Enterprise/SCNG)

“There’s no temptations,” said Adrianna Ornales, taking a midday dip in Lake Tamarisk with other members of the Set Free church congregation. The pool at the nearby community center is dry and the center itself locked up. It was 104 degrees at midafternoon on July 30.

Ornales moved to Desert Center in 2018, along with about four dozen other members of her church, to escape the seductions of the big city.

“It’s our little safety bubble out here,” she said.

Ornales works at Lake Tamarisk’s one-room library, open three days a week, that shares a building with the small county firehouse.

She hopes Wraich can bring Desert Center back to life.

“I hope he does something with it,” Ornales said. “More job opportunities, so people can get on their feet.”

The other big population center is Lake Tamarisk Resort, a mobile home and RV park for those 55 years old and up. Many of the 150 trailers and RV spots are empty now, the snowbirds flown away to cooler climes. Once upon a time, it was a park for high-end Airstream trailers. Before that, it served the World War II era Desert Training Center first run by Major Gen. George S. Patton.

Brenda Cervantes, who with her husband has managed the resort about a year, also wants to see Desert Center revitalized.

“They need some business brought back here,” she said. “People call and say ‘Where’s your gas station?’”

The nearest one is 19 miles away, in Chiriaco Summit. Groceries mean a 50-mile trip to Blythe or Indio.

“We’re self-sufficient,” Rusche said. “That’s part of being desert people.”

Cervantes believes Desert Center can be restored without losing the quiet isolation residents enjoy.

“We’re hoping something good comes in,” Cervantes said.

But no one ends up staying in Desert Center by accident.

“We’re our own little oasis out here,” Cervantes said. “Most everyone comes here because it’s out of the way.”

The road ahead

More on the Chuckwalla Valley

Inland plants boost state to No. 1

Plan aims to turn desert water to electricity

Chiriaco Summit became popular desert outpost

Riverside County objects to desert conservation plan

30 unusual Southern California museums to visit

‘Desert Steve’ Ragsdale had the coolest view in Riverside County

These Inland Empire elementary schools have waivers to reopen

Copeland has high hopes for Wraich’s Desert Center.

“I think they’ll build a big truck stop right there and maybe houses or condos for the people who work there,” Copeland said.

Rusche is skeptical. Desert Center doesn’t have its own source of potable water, she said. And the historic buildings will need to be completely torn down.

Wraich has “got a lot of hoops to jump through,” Rusche said. “He’s got to get through the county process, which is hard.”

She thinks the land is best suited for something modest.

“Why build a truck stop in California so close to the border where they can get their gas so much cheaper than they can here?” Rusche said. “To me, it doesn’t make that much sense.”

Change has come to the desert, of course. North of Lake Tamarisk, a huge solar farm has gone in. And in cooler weather, visitors race at the Chuckwalla Valley Raceway. But most days are quiet, especially during the hottest days of summer.

Whatever else might change, Chuckwalla Valley residents say the desert’s appeal is eternal.

“It’s a really tight community still,” Copeland said.

When skeptics ask him about growing up in the Chuckwalla Valley, “I say ‘how many friends do you hang out with from your high school?’ And they say none, because there were 500 people in their graduating class. I still see everyone, because there were 35 in my graduation class.”

His graduating class still gets together annually, he said.

“It would be hard for me to live anywhere else,” Rusche said. “We have freedom and we have the mountains that are a different color every time you look at them.”

But for now, the traffic on the 10 keeps racing past.

-on August 13, 2021 at 01:23AM by Beau Yarbrough

#riversidenews

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pcyheartgirlx · 6 years

Text

In The Bleak Midwinter - [CH 1]

Genre ;; Angst/Smut/Fluff/Romance

Pairing ;; Chanyeol x Reader x Seokjin

Word Count ;; 10.5k

Summary ;; “We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves.”

You own a multi-billion dollar company, servicing the biggest names in kpop, in more ways than one. Under the name “Starlight Catering”, you, your best friends, Damon and Maya, and your hundreds of workers provide stress relief for idols.

You have partially retired, not because you didn’t want to, but because Chanyeol was your muse. He was all that you had time for and all you needed. Until Jin came along.

So what happens when you mix fire and ice?

You get smoke and all the lines are blurred.

A/N ;; Now we’re getting started ;) This one is a Jin chapter. Don’t worry, Chanyeol is coming next and boy. I had fun writing this. Enjoy <3

[PLAYLIST] [BACKSTORY] [PROLOGUE] [CH1] [CH2] [CH3]

The sound of your heels clicking on the floor flooded the hallways of your apartment complex. Soon after, the sound of your keys jingling out of your blazer pocket accompanied the rhymatic strides of your heels as you approached your apartment door. Suddenly, your other senses started to alert as you smelled something burning. It was coming from your home. You picked up the pace in your walk and fumbled with the keys at your door as you barged into the house. You dropped your leather briefcase and made a beeline to the kitchen where the odor of burning meat was seeping from.

On the stove were charred pieces of what could have been bacon, and directly adjacent to it was your best friend and business partner, Damon Daniels, slumped on the stool. He was hunched over the white marble island with his right arm stretched out and his left tucked under his head. Your first instinct is to grab the pan, discard the wasted bacon (it killed you deep down inside to waste such good food), throw the pan in the sink and possibly kill Damon somewhere in between that.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Damon?!” you screamed as you turned the water on letting the pan cool down. This barely even startled the sleeping man as he just groaned, slowly peeling himself off the marble. You started for the window to pry them open to let all the smoke out. “It looks like Snoop Dogg had a fucking cyph in here; you could have burned the whole fucking building down.”

“I’m sorry (Y/N), jeez you don't have to be so goddamn one eyed about it,” he mumbled as he rubbed the residual sleep from his eyes. “Not all of us have the pleasure of being Miranda Preistly, walking around being a boss bitch.”

He watched you walk over to him with your hands on your hips and a glare that shot right past him. Damon was rarely affected by any of your nagging at this point. It’s been 15 years of friendship. He was immune. “Don’t give me that fucking look, okay? Some of us are still working class citizens.”

You rolled your eyes and him and propped yourself on one of the two vacant stools that were right next to him, playfully nudging his shoulder.

“C’mon, don’t be like that. I still work too,” you put your head on his shoulder, hoping that some skinship would soften him up even though it never did. He simply just brushed you off and sighed to himself. He folded his arms and let his head sink down on top of them. “Long night?” you asked. Frustration coating the sigh that escaped his lips.

“No,” he huffed. “It’s just that Sehun and Jongdae were so reckless tonight. I mean, yeah, I got paid double and holy shit they just felt so amazing. I swear they are unstretchable,” he cocked his eyebrow and finally faced you. “Not to mention they are addicted to this dick.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“It’s these new girls and guys we got! They’re so needy.” He propped himself up and put his hands in an awkward t-rex position, as if to demonstrate some kind of condescending motion. “Oh Damon, he got cum on my dress. Oh Damon, the hotel is too trashy. I didn’t have time to refresh. Oh Damon, which enema should I use? Oh Damon this, Damon that. You know, I thought prostitutes were going to be lower maintenance than the pretentious bitches I used to work with in the fashion district back home, but fuck was I wrong.”

“First of all Damon, they’re escorts. Not prostitutes. And don’t say that about our babies. They work hard!” You tried to hold in a small chuckle but failed. Damon hated when you laughed at his misery. Good thing he didn’t notice. He groaned and once again, plopped his upper body on the counter.

“If it looks like a duck--”

“Damon!”

“Alright fine!” he said throwing his arms in the air and then crossing them. “You know I love them, and I’m so grateful that the business has expanded beyond just us three, but it’s stressful. We have the three biggest record labels in Korea to cover.” You adjusted your pencil skirt and looked at him with empathy.

“I know, Damon, I know,” you started. “But we’re blowing the fuck up, us three. A bunch of ratchets from New York City, in this million dollar estate with hundred of workers and hundreds of clients.” You jumped off the stool and walked over to the counter. From the stainless steel fridge you pulled out a bottle of champagne and then grabbed three glasses, placing them on the counter. “Speaking of us three, where the fuck is Maya? I have really great news.”

“Honey~, I’m fuckin’ home!” yelled a voice thickly coated in a distinguished English accent. The door slammed and familiar sound of clicking heels echoed through the hallway, but these strides were different from yours. They were lighter, with a touch of grace. And there she was. Maya glided through the kitchen towards you and Damon. Her 5’2” stature seemed to have shrunk as she was almost slouching. She leaned on the island for support. “Ello, bitches. What’s all this mess on the fuckin’ table? You realize it’s only one o’clock in the fuckin’ afternoon and you lot are already hitting the booze.”

“Well, shit, hi to you too, you horrid bitch,” you shot at her playfully. She just smiled and mirrored Damon’s earlier posture, sitting on a stool letting her upper body collapse on the white marble, creating a beautiful aesthetic against her olive skin.

“And where were you?” Damon asked with curiosity.

“You were wearing that last night, Maya.” You shot back with the quickness. Your eyes widened as you awaited her response.

“Relax, I didn’t spend the night,” she said, putting her hands up in defense. “I was over at The SM building with Xiumin, then The JYP building with Jackson. Then I had to wait for my bloody twit of an uncle to call me about those legal documents, because naturally the time difference.” Her eyelashes resembled those of a fluttering butterfly as she blinked multiple times as if to stay conscious. “I was waiting in this coffee shop since six this fuckin’ morning, which by the way, was absolutely adorable. Anyway, if I came home, I would have passed out and slept until next Sunday.”

A wave of relief washed over you. Part of the conditions of working as a escort was to never spend the night at a clients house. For discretion, of course. Paparazzis were worse than sesaengs, now a days. They were always camping close by in the early mornings to capture a walk of shame, so they may boost their own credibility while destroying others.

“Great,” you said flatly. You walked over to them changing your expression into one of excitement and glee. Your two friends on the other hand were clearly running on empty. “Now I can get to the good news!” You started to pour champagne into their glasses.

“Oh for fuck’s sake (Y/N), I’m not going to be drinking a drop of that watered down fizzy piss,” Maya hissed. “Also, why the fuck does it smells like a bloody scorched hog in this house?”

Damon busted out cackling and shoved Maya playfully. She muttered something under her breath before adjusting the straps on her lavender dress.

“Okay, okay, okay, enough guys. Listen for real, please?” It seemed like begging got both of their attention.

“Starlight Catering just got booked for the KBS Gayo Festival after party! Our girls, our boys, and us. We are going to make a fucking fortune.” Damon let out a flat “yay” while Maya scoffed on about fake industry parties with fake agendas. “C’mon guys I worked really hard to book this, especially on such short notice.” It was visible that you were bothered by their lack of enthusiasm.

They both awed in unison and rushed over to you to embrace you in a hug.

“We’re so sorry, Eomma,” Damon said in a baby voice.

“Really, we are so happy to be working our genitals to oblivion,” Maya chimed in soon after.

“You guys are dicks.”

“Yep, but you love us,” Maya said as she placed a peck on your cheek. She grabbed her glass and smiled sweetly at you. This odd display of affection to others was completely normal in this household. Suddenly, you feel a fierce vibration in your blazer pocket that startles all three of you.

“Look at this bitch, keeping a vibrator in her pocket during business meetings,” Damon chortled.

“Honestly (Y/N), have you no shame?” Maya added, high fiving damon while both of them cackled and doubled over. Only they found their jokes to be funny.

“Guys, hush!” you studied the number on the screen. It was one you didn’t recognize. “This could be a potential client, so shut the fuck up!” The continued to giggle to themselves, silently.

“Starlight Catering. This is (Y/N). Can I help you?”

“Uh..Hi, how are you Ms. (Y/N)?” a voice deep as the ocean and as smooth as the finest swiss chocolate echoed into your ear.

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you. May I ask who’s calling?” Usually you would have snapped at this voice for not identifying themselves immediately but their voice was so sonically pleasing and you were so very tired that you just let it slide.

“Oh yes, I’m sorry. My name is Kim Namjoon. I’m the leader of a group called BTS. We are signed to BigHit Entertainment.”

This was it. The final music label conglomerate was in your hands. It was time to turn the charm on. You repositioned yourself and stood up straight. Your voice rose an octave in a well met attempt in landing this deal. “Of course! I’ve heard very good things about you and your boys, Mr. Kim.”

“Oh thank you, Ms. (Y/N). I’m very grateful to hear that. I also have heard equally good things about your company.” You could hear him almost fumble with his words. It reminded you of every other first call you've gotten.

“Well,” you said smiling coyly, “I’m glad I’ve upheld my reputation.” You look over to your two friends who were peering at you in anticipation. You mouthed the words “BangTan Soenyodan” to them. To say the least, they almost lost their shit.

“So, what can I do for you, Mr. Kim? I’m guessing you need some services provided for your boys.” You heard a nervous chuckle coming from the other end of the phone.

“Actually, it’s just for one of us at the moment,” his voice lowered a bit. “You see, our Yoongi has been rather stressed lately. Well, all of us have, but he seems to be carrying the grunt of it.”

“Tsk. Aw poor dear. I’m sorry to hear that,” you purred.

“Yes well, I was hoping that maybe you could possibly assist him with...stress relief.”

You immideiatly shot a glance at Maya. If she wasn’t losing her shit now, she was going to by the end of this phone call.

“Understood, Mr. Kim. I know just the perfect person for him! Man or woman?” Please say woman, you thought. This was basically Maya’s dream come true.

“With all due respect,” he said, still keeping that smoothness to his voice. “You may not have heard me correctly. As I said, I was hoping you could assist him with his troubles.”

Fuck.

“Me?” you said, completely taken aback. “Surely you can understand that I cannot. I am after all, the CEO and those kinds of demands--”

“Listen (Y/N),” the softness was replaced by a stern and sharp treble. Oddly enough, you kind of liked the bite. “We are both business people. I just want to ensure that everything goes smoothly and I know that with you being the CEO of a respected establishment and with us being the only company you haven’t added to your impressive list, you will make sure that this goes the way it should.”

Suddenly, you heard glass shattering. Realizing it was a figment of your imagination, you silently sighed to yourself and without the slightest change in your tone, you said “I understand completely. What time would you like me to be there?”

“Tonight, soon after 23:30,” he continued. “I will text you the details shortly, Ms. (Y/N).”

“I’ll mark you down for 23:30 then,” you were extremely annoyed. “Oh, and Mr. Kim, this does go without saying, discretion is a necessity. I trust that you can maintain that on your part.”

“Absolutely. It’s been a pleasure, Ms. (Y/N). I’ll see you tonight.”

“Likewise, Mr. Kim. I look forward to working with you.” After hanging up, you violently stuffed the phone in your pocket and started pacing back and forth.

“This man really got me fucked up,” you were almost yelling at yourself.

“Oh shit,” Damon said, “The NY ratchet is coming out.”

“What happened, Love?” Maya asked desperately. You made your way over to the island, putting your hands on the counter and hanging your head low. Clearly stressed, you decided to rip it off like a bandaid and just tell her.

“Listen Maya,” you said in a low tone. “Don’t be mad at me please.”

“What?” Her deep brown eyes were watching you intently.

“Promise me first that--”

“Oh for the love of god, out with it!”

“Okay,” you looked at her. “That was Namjoon. He said he wanted me specifically to go over there and perform a service.”

“Right, so why would she be mad about that?” Damon retorted.

“Well,” you folded your arms, cocked your head back before looking at her and just outright telling her. “It’s for Yoongi.”

“EXCUSE THE ROYAL FUCK OUT OF ME, BUT WHAT?!”

“Oh damn (Y/N), you a real foul bitch,” Damon chuckled.

“Um, were you guys not in the same room as me when I was talking to him? Clearly I tried to avoid it but fuck, it’s BigHit and maybe I can talk to him about you going over next ti-”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking serious?” she stopped suddenly. “You know what? You enjoy your little night with the man I’ve fantasized about for years. How do you think I fucked the Johns back in the day without my wild imagination? But no! You go right ahead and when you get home, I’m gonna slit your fuckin’ throat and take over this whole damn business!” Maya turned on her heels and stomped all the way back to her room. “I’m not fucking playing with you either, hoe.” The sound of the door slamming sounded like the firing of a pistol in an empty alley. The echo bouncing off the walls and into the ear drums of the two that were left in the kitchen.

“Well that went well, don’t you think?” you said cheerfully looking over at Damon, a shred of guilt in your voice. Damon just shrugged.

“You know she’ll get over it. Maybe not for a few days but hey, she’ll be fine. She’s not mad at you...well she is, but it’s petty as fuck. You, just need to land this fucking client and get her that ‘next time’ you promised because I don’t think she was kidding about slitting your throat,” he laughed.

You groaned and buried your face into Damon’s arm when you heard your text tone go off.

“You better get that because you need to get this shit over with now. When the gay guy is not down for drama, you know the tea ain’t worth it.”

“Ugh!”

As you walk into the building, you can’t help but let your thoughts run wild. You weren’t even thinking about Maya’s graphic temper tantrum. It wasn’t that you weren’t concerned but you knew that it’ll all blow over. It was just that mobster mentality that was embedded into her DNA. It was your performance that you were worried about. BTS was no stranger to you. You loved them to the point where you already had an idea of what their personalities were like. It was the same reason as to why you weren't surprised when Namjoon exhibited some coldness in your conversation.

Anyway, back to the thought at hand. It had been awhile since you accepted a new client. Not because you didn’t want to, but mostly because of the success that was brought to you over the few past years. Moving away from your home in New York and giving up the business you had there, to start a new, but similar business in Korea was no easy task. But you did it. You fucking did it. Even in this moment in your life where you were under the impression that you had all the major labels under your feet, there was the last one. All the time you spent whoring yourself to individuals who were clearly beneath you, just so you could buy enough groceries for you and your best friends in this new country, is finally paying off. Your business was booming under the guise of a legitimate business. Granted, that was all thanks to Maya and her own family connection to the underground gangs in Southern Birmingham, but fuck. You didn’t need to fuck until you felt raw and used. You didn’t need to drown your own demons out with angel dust. You didn’t need any of that shit anymore. Things had finally changed. You only offered your personal services to Chanyeol from EXO and…well, that was it really.

As quickly as these thoughts raced into your mind, they were gone. You hadn’t realized that you had reached your destination. You double checked the number of the apartment in the text and let yourself in. The second door on the right.

You approached the door, but before you entered, you pressed your ear closely against it. It was quiet. Namjoon did mention that Yoongi would be sleeping, so you quietly made your way inside. The room was pitch black and the only light that was visible was the light of a game console that allowed you to see the outline of the furniture in the room. You scanned the room until you found his bed. Yoongi was laying on his side, peacefully sleeping. You almost didn’t want to wake him up. Although you couldn’t see what he looked like, you imagined his facial expressions to be soft and tranquil.

Quietly, you kicked off your heels as you approached the bed. Still trying to keep a silent demeanor about you, you pulled the covers over you and laid on your side so you were facing his backside. The warmth of his body almost caught you in a trance. It had been a while since you laid next to someone who wasn’t trying to fuck you. Even though it wasn’t going to stay that way, you enjoyed it for a moment.

But back to business.

You inched closer to him, pressing your body against him. You wrapped your arms around him and your glossed lips made their way next to his ear.

“Oppa,” you whispered. “It’s time to wake up,” you purred.

No answer. No reaction.

“Oppa,” you repeated. “Wake up, I wanna play.” You felt him shift in his sleep but nothing other than that. At that moment, you decided to try a different approach.

“Oh, Oppa, I know you wanna play. Namjoon-ah told me everything.” Your hands started to travel from his surprisingly broad shoulders to his chest. They coasted down his defined abdomen. You stopped right at the waistband of his boxers. “I wanna make you feel good, and take your stress away, ” you cooed.

You didn’t want to waste anymore time. His cock was hard and you could feel it through the cotton fabric. Gingerly, you grasped his clothed member and started rubbing him, creating hot friction in your palms and in his crotch. Finally, a small moan escaped his lips and you felt his body quiver against yours. You pressed against him, closing any space between you so he could feel your breasts on his back.

“I know you need it, Oppa. Let me take care of you.” At that moment, you decided to get straight to it. You slid your hands under his boxers and wrapped your fingers around his shaft.

“Don’t be shy,” you breathed into his neck as you started to pump slowly, leaving a trail of small kisses along his neck back up to his ear. You circled the tip of his member, letting his precum coat your fingers glazing it around the rest of his head. As you teased him, he exhaled in pleasure and shivered again as you brought your lips to his ear lobe and nibbled them for a second before you said, “Because I’m not.”

It happened before you could even blink. Within seconds, he moved feverishly and you find yourself pinned underneath him. At this moment, you knew he was completely awake. The darkness in the room still made it difficult for you to see him but you could feel his gaze because you knew that look from a mile away. He was ready to devour you.

You felt him coming closer to you, closing the space between you once again so you threw your head back, allowing him to feast upon your flesh. You knew Yoongi was an animal, and that he would bite and tear at the skin on your neck and chest. But he did the exact opposite.

His lips, which felt full and plush, were like snowflakes falling on your warm skin. With every collision, they were so tender and delicate, melting onto you, one not mirroring the other. He let his lips travel everywhere, to your neck, to your chest, and all of the spaces in between. He peppered kisses on your breasts, along your jaw, and onto your chin until they met yours. You met his steady pace with the fast and animalistic desire that you thought he loved so much. But he stopped you by cupping your chin and pulling away. It didn’t take long for him to meet your lips again. It was then that you realized he didn’t want to devour you. He wanted to feel you. Every single part of you. Fully and completely understanding that aspect, you kissed him back gently. He groaned against your lips and moved his hand away from your jaw. He ran his hands down your arms, up your sides and stopping at your chest. Yoongi placed his hands over your clothed breast, squeezing them and rubbing them to his enjoyment. He pulled away from your lips and started trailing kisses down your jaw and neck once again, stopping at your breast. His hands pulled all the fabric back, trailing his tongue from the space between your breast until he was finally swirling his tongue around your nipple. Without leaving your other breast unattended, he stuffed his hand under the fabric, running his thumb along your nipple, squeezing it softly. This sensation caused you to let a soft moan escape from your lips.

“Yoongi oppa,” you breathed. “You weren’t what I was expecting.”

Suddenly, he stopped. You couldn't see his movements but you could feel him reaching over to the nightstand next to the both of you. As much as you wanted to see his face, you knew the minute he turned that lamp on, guilt was going to wash over you. Except..

“Maybe it’s because I’m not Yoongi.”

You didn’t know whether to scream or slap him. At the same time you were completely frozen. Never in your life did you imagine that you would be in the same room as Seokjin, much less having him hovering on top of you, eyeing you like he wanted to taste every inch of you.

“I’m so sorry,” your voice was trembling. “But I think I should leave,” you murmured, trying to keep your composure as you looked him in the eye.

“No!” He pleaded and his eyes widened. “I mean,” he tried to adjust his tone. “Please...you’re so much more beautiful than what I thought you would be and…” he closed his eyes and sighed. “I haven’t fucked in such a long time.”

You studied his features in the soft light.

I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner, you thought. His skin had a sheer glow to it that made him look ethereal. His lips were parted slightly, pink and swollen. They glistened in the light, resembling a ripened juicy fruit that you wanted to bite into. Resistance clearly wasn’t an option today.

You looked up at him with your (e/c) orbs, your demeanor changing instantly. “I came to play didn’t I?” you hummed and bit your lip.

It was like a fire ignited inside of you both. He grabbed the hem of your dress and brought it over you. You didn’t even notice him pulling your panties down. Hell, you didn't even notice him taking his clothes off. You felt the burning sensation growing in your lower abdomen.

He crawled on top of you, you spread your legs apart, allowing him the space. You were expecting him to insert himself inside of you but instead, ran his fingers up and down your womanhood. He began making circles with his thumb on your clit, maneuvering his fingers the same way you had just done to him.

“You shouldn’t play with oppa like that, baby girl,” he growled as he got closer to you. Jin removed his hand from your clit and brought it up to your mouth. “Oppa doesn’t like games,” his breath tickled your face as he inserted his digit into your mouth, tasting your own juices. This only made you wetter, and he noticed. He pulled his finger out and the suction like pop your mouth mad put him over the edge. He kissed you deeply and ran his hands all over you one last time. Jin propped himself between your legs, grabbing his cock and lead it against your slit. He looked up at you and in that moment, time stopped. Jin was a fucking tease. All you could think was, who gave him the fucking right? The tip of his cock rested in your entrance for a while. You whined and thrusted your hips up towards him, wanting to engulf him. Instead, he pushed your hips down. Leaning his upper body down so that he’s only inches away from your face, he flashes you a devious smile.

“Fuck me, Jin.”

His erection invaded you without warning. You couldn’t control the loud moan that escaped your lips. He swiftly brought his hand up to your mouth and hushed you, reminding you not to wake the other members. But you couldn’t control yourself. What was happening to you? Meaningless sex was your forte. It didn’t phase you. But Jin was different. Every minute felt like an hour. It’s because his thrusts weren’t fast and hungry. They were slow and desperate, with rhythm that was like a ballad. He wanted to feel the walls of your womanhood engulfing him, imprisoning him in with pure desire. But it was you that was being imprisoned. You were locked beneath him, unable to make a sound while he pumped inside you, hitting your spot with every thrust. You were so close and he knew it.

“Ahhhh jagiya…” he moaned as he threw his head back. “Come for Oppa, jagi. Come for me.” Finally he removed his hand from your mouth and placed both of them on your breasts for balance. His paced quicked and you felt his cock throbbing inside you.

“Hyung!” a booming voice called out from the opposite side of the door. “Jin hyung, get the fuck out here!” You recognized the voice. It was Yoongi. Jin groaned but never stopped. Your hips were perfectly in sync as you were both reaching your climax.

“I...ahhh...busy Yoongi. Please...give me a minute,” his whole body began to quiver. You reached up and grabbed at his broad shoulders, letting small soft moans escape your lips.

“Fuck! Hyung! Get out here or I’m gonna come in!”

“I’m coming!” Jin called out as he pumped faster and faster. He wasn’t lying. The fire in your abdomen was burning and your walls suctioned his throbbing member with each and every thrust. A wave of euphoria ran throughout your body as you came all over him and the sheets. He let out a low grunt as he emptied his load inside you, slowing his pace.

“Hyung, I swear to god--”

“I came! I-I mean, I’m coming! Relax!” Jin said as he collapsed next to you. He didn’t rest long before he got up, searching for the clothes that you both had ripped off each other. Quickly he passed you a towel, your dress and panties before he dressed himself. He bolted for the door but stopped and turned to you. He looked at you for a second, laying there naked trying to catch your breath. He quickly made his way towards you, cupped your face in his hands and kissed you deeply. When he pulled away, he looked into your eyes. His face looked different than it did before. He glowed brighter, smiled wider. It was entrancing. As quickly as the moment came, it went. Yoongi started pounding at door, hollering all kinds of swear words. He ripped away from your glance after swearing to himself and ran for the door, disappearing behind it.

You propped yourself up to clean yourself as quickly as possible. Grabbing your dress, you made to the door, carefully listening to the words being said. You didn’t want to come out just yet. A) you definitely fucked up and that’s not something you usually did. B) how fucking embarrassing.

But being in the business that you were in, cleaning up messes is something you were accustomed to.

“Why is she in your room?” Yoongi said coldly. Jin sighed. You could hear him pacing back and forth.

“I...I don’t know.,” Jin stuttered.

“You don’t know?” Jins footsteps became still. “So you’re saying she just appeared in your room?”

“I was sleeping Yoongi-ah. She thought I was you!”

“So you just fuck her?!”

“Aish. I’m a man too! She thought I was you and she was touching me, it felt sooo good—“

“You know what Seokjin, fuck you”

“Yah! Who do you think you’re talking to like that? I’m your Hyung—“

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re my—“

“HEY! What the fuck are you yelling like this while she’s still here?” That sultry deep voice could be from no one other than Namjoon you thought to yourself. The time to intervene was now. You quickly threw your dress on, patting your hair down to try to look like you weren’t just getting plowed. At the end of the day, you were a CEO of a company.

“Excuse me Namjoon. We need to talk. Now.” You hissed at him as you walked out. He looked up at you standing in between the two men with a slightly panicked expression. He wasn’t alone. Behind him was a Jungkook who stood there in shock.

“How?” Was the only think Namjoon could say. You couldn’t tell if he was mad or confused. Probably both.

“Second door on the right?” You said as you flashed your phone at him. He stood there for a minute and realized his mistake.

“You two fuckin relax for a second while I fix this.” Namjoon walked toward you and brought you down the hall into what seemed to appear to be his room.

“Why did you fuck Jin? Are you fuckin crazy? What kind of unprofessio—“

“Okay, no. Stop right there because what you’re not going to do, is blame me for all this shit!” You were hoping this would give you time to make this not your fault. But he wasn’t buying it.

“You. Fucked Jin,” he said making an air diagram as if you were stupid. His arrogance was showing. As much as you wanted to put him in his place, you decided against it because he was right. You fucked Jin.

“Well, it’s not my fault you guys don’t empty your balls into some pussy every now and again!” Namjoon was taken aback by how blunt your statement was. But there was a glint in his eyes, it was guilt. I got him, you thought.

“It’s not easy, okay. We don’t have time to go out and meet people and when we do—“

“Look, I know,” you inched closer him. “I don’t need the whole story because I’ve heard it a thousand and one times. That being said, I can call my co-owner to make up for this. Free of charge.”

“No,” he put his hand up to cut you off and lowered his eyes at you. “I’ll pay. And I’ll pay triple the agreed amount.”

“Triple?” You said with an impressed look on your face. Crossing your arms, you looked up into his eyes and you spotted it once again. The look. He wasn’t like Yoongi or Jin. Namjoon was a business person. He used intelect to maneuver in this world as opposed to his emotions. You had almost met your match. You had to ask, “Why triple?”

He bit hip lip and put a hand on your cheek, “Because, I wanna hear you scream under me too.” There it was.

You smiled genuinely at him, giving him the sweetest look before biting your lip. It was obvious he couldn’t resist you. Moving in closer to him, he goes in to kiss you but at the last second you dodge his lips, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him in closer so you’re by his ear.

“Too bad I don’t fuck the leaders,” you hissed. You pulled away from him and observed him. Not only was he confused but also a tad bit frustrated.

“That’s a shame,” his gaze fixated on you.

You shrugged and pulled out your phone, his eyes studying your every move still. What you really wanted to say is that he was a douche bag for trying to get you alone while his members were out there at each other’s throats but you knew when to pick your battles. Ultimately, you knew Namjoon was a good guy, but something was going to happen in this dorm. One by one, they would give into their burning lust and you had to be there when they did. This is how your business expanded. Namjoon was a businessman, but you were better than that. You were a businesswoman.

“If you don’t mind, Joonie,” you put a hand on his shoulder. “I believe you should tell Yoongi the new plan and I’ll be in here, making my phone call.” Namjoon laughed a bit before he turned and started to walk away.

“You’re definitely something else, (Y/N).” was the final thing he said before he left.

Crisis fucking averted, you thought and mentally pat yourself on the back. You pulled out your phone and immediately dialed Maya. No answer. You tried one more time. Still no answer. The third time is always the charm...or not. You could only think of one other person.

“Hey bitch, how was Suga’s suga?” You could already see that cocky smile plastered on his face.

“Damon, first of all, fuck you. Second, where’s Maya?” You tried to stay as hushed as you could. You could almost feel Damon shrug through the phone.

“She’s sleeping? Maybe? I don’t know,” he said flatly.

“Well go find out for, fucks sake! I need her here, now.”

“Need her where? And yes, she is sleeping in her room.”

“At the BigHit dorms.”

“Why?” His curiosity was piqued.

“Damon please just wake her up and bring her here.” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You did something, didn’t you? Oh, you fucked upppp! See, I knew your guilt was gonna get the best of you. Unless you did it on purpose because if you did, you a real bitch. But I doubt you—“

“Just for once, please, Damon can you just do what I ask you without the extra commentary?” You were almost at your breaking point. Had the sex not been phenomenal, you would’ve lost it.

“Just for once please,” Damon mocked you and laughed.

“I’m serious!” you snapped before lowering your voice. “I fucked up, like really fucked up. Namjoon texted me the wrong info and I ended up in Jin’s room instead.” You massaged your temples before continuing. “These boys haven’t had a good piece of ass in a while and he practically begged me to give it up to him. Yoongi was so pissed.”

“You dead-ass?” Damon continued to laughed at your expense. Putting two and two together he figured out the new plan. “Alright fine. I’ll bring her in a few. Bye.” As soon as you heard the phone hang up, you found a wall to lean on. Those thoughts started swimming in your mind again. Thoughts you kept buried deep in the back of your mind.

Back to business.

You sat on one of the chairs, opposite to the couch. You felt seven pairs of eyes boring into you as you scrolled through your phone, patiently waiting for Maya to arrive. You weren’t sure if their gaze was due to curiosity or lust, or both. You were just happy that this situation was taken care of.

“So are you really a gang affiliated prostitute from New York City?” Jimin asked breaking the silence, causing you to look up. His six other members’ faces dropped in unison. They all looked at him. Hobi whispered something like ‘oh my god” but you just laughed.

“Jimin, right?” He nodded at you. “Yes, I am.”

Jimin smiles a bit before Hoseok spoke. “You didn’t have to answer that, you know?”

“I know,” assuring him politely. “But what do I gain from denial?” You peered over at Namjoon, who you were sure told Jimin that cute little anecdote. Namjoon had his arm draped over the armrest of the couch, his index finger caressing his bottom lip. He looked at you with that look again. “My story, is a story of success, so I’m not ashamed,” you smiled.

You studied their faces. Yoongi looked impatient. His eyebrows furrowed as if he was stuck in a deep, troubling thought. Next to him, Hoseok was dumbfounded by the situation they had gotten themselves into. Jimin sat there almost eloquently. His features were so soft and almost pure, looking around as if to find an opportunity to ask another invasive question.

Taehyung and Jungkook were the most uninterested out of the group. Exhaustion took over their faces as they sat there stealing glances from each other. And then there was Jin. Oddly standing out to you, his dark locks were tousled over his forehead and the white shirt he wore hung loosely around his neck. You studied his features as if you were trying to memorize them. His neck was long and slender, with enough surface area for you to let your mouth roam. You started thinking about how it would feel like to be on top of him, holding onto his broad shoulders while you were grinding against him.

“Do you like what you do?” Jimin’s voice shook you out of your thought. You looked at his face. His inquisitiveness seemed to shock his other members.

“Jimin, that’s rude!” Taehyung retaliated.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said. “You don’t ask those kind of things.” The curious boy put his hands up to say something, but the leader interjected.

“No more questions, Jiminie,” Namjoon snapped.

“It’s fine, guys. Really, I don’t mind.” Trying to diffuse the situation, you looked over at Jimin and smiled sweetly.

“(Y/N), I don’t think it’s very appropriate for him to be asking you these—“

“I appreciate the sentiment, but if he wants to know, he should at least hear it from the source itself,” you tilted your head, lowering your gaze at Namjoon. “As a business person, you can respect those facts, right?” You heard a chuckling coming from the other men. Namjoon shot them a glare as a result.

Jimin spoke again. “I’m not trying to be disrespectful at all, (Y/N). It’s just...well I’ve never met..uh...s-someone like you,” with that, Hoseok nudged his chest and shook his head at him.

“That’s real tactful,” Hoseok said sarcastically. You could tell Jimin was trying really hard to find the right words without saying what he really wanted to say.

Why do you fuck for money?

“Honestly, a lot of people have asked me that question,” you assured. “My answer is kind always the same too.” You stopped, mostly for dramatic effect. “Do you like sex, Jimin?” He was taken aback by your question.

“Well...yes,” he said, nervousness coating his words.

“Okay…and do you like music?” You leaned forward and your eyes locked with his, awaiting his answer.

“Of course,” Jimin replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“So, you could say music is an expression of your passion, yes?” Your (e/c) eyes never left his and you slightly cocked your head. You often used this tactic during business meetings with new clients. It almost forces them to believe that you actually care about what their saying, when in reality their answers were being quickly analyzed and guiding you towards success. In this case though, you were genuinely intrigued.

“Well that’s what music is! At least for me, it’s a personal expression of passion and love,” Jimin added. You nodded your head in agreement and continued.

“I completely agree!” He smiled at your confirmation. “But, if you think about it, that’s what sex is as well. Which is why we like it so much; your body craves it.”

“They’re a bit unrelated don’t you think?” Yoongi interjected. His voice almost surprised you considering this is the first time you heard it. Previously, he had been screaming, and living with Damon and Maya, you learned how to tune it out. He had been quiet since then.

“Yes, you could say that,” you replied. “But the factor stays the same. Passion drives you to create something. It brings embodiment to that passion, so you can share it.”

“That’s a very vague justification,” Yoongi said bluntly. In just a few minutes of meeting him, almost everything he did reminded you of Maya. This is fucking rich, you thought. They’re made for each other. You ignored his comment just as you would Maya’s.

“Your dorm is lovely, by the way. And I’d like to add that you guys have become a force to be reckoned with,” you looked at each one of them. “Singers, songwriters, producers, dancers. Your passion takes many forms and when you convey it, you not only touch the heart of millions but you make an unbelievable amount of money. I believe that’s admirable.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). I’m glad you see that in us,” Taehyung said cutely. Jungkook nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, we appreciate those words,” Hoseok added, finally breaking silence and shooting you his well-known toothy smile. “But I’m curious now,” he chuckled a bit. “Where are you going with this?”

“My achievements are not as monumental, but I live in a similar dorm with my business partners, as you do. I wear the same designer clothes and I’m blessed with the thought of financial security. All because I sell...my passion to others who enjoy what I do. Just as BTS sells their musical talent, correct?” you pushed your (h/c) hair out of your face so they could see you clearly. “In the end, we’re all whores...we just sell different parts of ourselves.”

It was quiet for a moment. Your words were a thick glaze on their minds like syrup, spreading and descending into the confines of their own thoughts. The only one that kept their eyes on you, though, was Jin. You locked eyes with him and you saw something that you hadn’t seen before. While the other boys expressed some enlightenment, Jin conveyed something else. You’d seen his smile before in pictures, on TV, but in person it crippled you. Those same lips that left you undone underneath them, curled into a smile that sent violent chills up your spine filling you with a familiar warmth. Before you could admire it more, the silence was broken once again.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Jimin piped up again. He said it swift but clearly, as if it took him all the confidence he could muster. Your eyes darted to him. This fuckin guy is adorable you thought. The other boys scolded him in unison and you couldn’t help but laugh. The bond that they had was just as beautiful as they made it seem.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Namjoon jumped at the sound and made his way to the foyer. You looked over to Yoongi and watched him change before your very eyes. His hands travels from his thighs to his kneecaps slowly, then back up. He parted his lips and let out a composed but deep sigh. He’s nervous, you thought. He noticed your gaze and looked away just as quickly. You smiled to yourself.

Maya’s light strides matching Namjoon’s echoed in your ear. You looked up and saw the brightest smile on her face. A complete 180 from this morning.

“Ello, love,” Maya bubbled, her voice filled the room like a beam of light. She made it a point to run over to you, breasts bouncing out of her top. She bent over to give you a peck on the cheek toward Yoongi’s directions, her skirt barely going past her bottom. You couldn’t help but look in his direction. A wide eyed Yoongi had his hands clasped over his mouth. His left knee started to bounce up and down lightly as if trying to control his nerves. You giggled to yourself as you caught Hoseok also catching a peak. Before you could get a word in, Maya found a way to thoroughly embarrass you.

“Well aren’t you sporting the properly fucked look,” she teased, flashing you a devious smile. Jin croaked at her words after all, she indirectly called him out. You stood up quickly and put your hands on her shoulders.

“Don’t be coy now, we all know what happened,” Maya chuckled.

“And heard,” Jungkook added.

“Why don’t you meet Yoongi, Maya?” You quickly interrupted, motioning your hand behind Maya. Yoongi darted up and wiped the sweat from his hands on his side. Maya eyed him up and down and smiled.

“Nice to meet you, Yoongi,” she purred. He licked his lips at her while he walked over to her.

“Come with me,” his voice was low, almost like a growl. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her into the second door on the left. You couldn’t help by chuckle to yourself, replaying Maya’s wide eyed gaze as she was being whisked away to his lair. Everyone watched for a second, stunned at Yoongi’s impatience.

“Anyway,” Taehyung chimed as he stood up and yawned, rubbing his eyes in an adorable fashion. Afterwards, he turned to you and smiled. “It was nice meeting you, (Y/N). Thank you for being so kind.”

“Yes thank you so much,” Jimin added. His face gleamed with admiration. “I’m sorry if my questions were to invasive.”

“Don’t be sorry, Jimin-ah. It’s quite alright,” you assured.

“Yea, It’s pretty late, guys. We should all be heading to bed. We have schedules tomorrow,” Hoseok said as he as well got up. The other men agreed in unison except one.

“I think I’ll stay up and do some work,” Namjoon stated. Shit, you thought. I can’t be alone with him.

“Jin,” you called out to him as he was starting for his room. “May I speak with you privately?”

He cocked his head but grinned at you and nodded. “Of course,” He said motioning you to his room. You darted behind him, trying to avoid Namjoon’s gaze as he lingered on the couch.

When you walked into Jin’s room, you were fascinated by the details you weren’t able to see earlier. His Super Mario collectibles brought you a wonderful sense of nostalgia. The papers scattered on his desk indicated he was still in school and you admired them. Sometimes, you wish you would have gone back. How things could have been different.

“What did you wanna talk to me about?” Jin’s soft voice brought you back to reality. You looked at him and bit your lip.

“Well,” You started, twiddling your fingers nervously. “I wanted to apologize.” A confused look was plastered on Jin’s face.

“What are you apologizing for?” He said as he walked a little closer to you. Your stomach was in knots and you didn’t know why.

“I didn’t mean to wake you and then...I touched you without permission,” you shook your head and looked down. “It was really embarrassing.”

You heard him chuckle softly. It tickled your very core. “(Y/N), I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it,” Your body became tense as he continued to walk over to you and put his hands on your shoulders. “Water under the bridge. I’m happy it happened. Because you have no idea how bad I needed that and You…” he smiled wide and put a hand on your cheek. “You were amazing. I’m lucky it happened with such a beautiful girl.” He ran his thumb over your cheek softly. “Are you feeling less embarrassed?”

“No,” You giggled back. “But your attempt is cute.” You smiled at him studying his features again. You could get lost in his angelic aura all day. But you had another point to address.

“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” You said softly. Jin just raised his eyebrows at you, listening attentively. All of a sudden, faint high pitched moans and low growls muffled through the walls followed by the violent taps of a bed rocking back and forth. You and Jin laughed a bit, he scratched the back of his head.

“Wow, did we sound like that?” He chuckled nervously. You just smiled and bit your lip.

“No I don’t think so,” you admitted. He gave you a puzzled look. “Yoongi sounds like he fucks like an animal. You fuck with your heart,” your statement caused Jin’s cheeks to stain slightly pink.

“I believe I fucked you with my dick,” he joked, laughing at himself. Although it wasn’t funny, you smiled anyway. He looked the best in this moment, laughing breathlessly.

“You know what I meant, Seokjin,” you retorted, getting lost in his smile some more.

“What else did you want to talk to me about?”

You wanted to ask him if he wanted to see you again. A thought that confused you greatly because you weren’t like this. Men begged you for your time, you never had to ask. Keeping that in mind, you decided against it.

“Oh to be honest, it slipped my mind,” you lied. “I guess your humor distracted me, huh?” Jin sighed in approval.

“You know, you’re not the first to tell me that,” he boasted playfully as he put his hands on his hips. “I’ve been told I’m a quite the comedian.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you giggled. “You probably bring so much joy to the people around you.”

“I just like making people smile,” he admitted. “Which by the way, yours is very beautiful. I hope I’m allowed to say that.” You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. Keep it together (Y/N), you thought to yourself.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, as you twirled your hair with your fingers.

“I have a question as well,” he said as he walked over to his bed and took a seat.

“Shoot,” You replied as you watched intently. He slid his body backwards until his broad back was leaning against the head of his bed. His body slid over, creating a space next to him.

“Can we finish?”

Your face contorted as you were taken aback. Can we finish? You thought.

“Well I was under the impression we had, dear,” you shot another sweet smile at him trying to hide your confusion, even though he saw it.

“I mean we finished having sex but,” he tapped the bed next to him and grinned. “We didn’t cuddle.” He said softly.

Cuddling? That’s what he wants? You thought. You never cuddled with anyone. I mean, you did momentarily after a long session of being devoured in the throws of passion but you never just outright cuddled with anyone.

“Plus I don’t feel I got my money’s worth,” he cocked his head. “I mean we were on a time frame. I know Namjoon paid for an hour and a half and I only got a half.” His face pouted a bit. You couldn’t help but smile widely and look down nervously. A sudden thought popped into your head. Maybe you never cuddled with anyone because no one asked you. Did you even want to?

“Fine,” You said surrendering. You walked over to him and plopped your body next to him. Inching closer so you can feel his side against the front of yours. With an arm draped over his stomach, and his arm collapsing on your shoulders, you looked up at him and finished. “But on one condition.”

He raised his eyebrows at you but pulled you in closer to him, taking his free arm so it could meet with his other one and lock you in an embrace, his eyes never leaving yours.

“And what’s that?” He asked. What you really wanted to to do was sleep in his arms. To bury your face into his chest and wrap your legs around his like you were starting to do so now. That warm feeling was coming back, except this one wasn’t in your abdomen. It was in your chest. His scent permeated into your nostrils and you almost forgot to speak. You looked around the room to find a distraction. Right across from you, was his Wii console.

“My condition is that we play MarioKart,” you exclaimed, pointing at the system. Jin’s face didn’t change. Eyebrows still raised with a serene look of joy plastered on him. That look fit his elegant features so well. He exhaled sharply before speaking.

“Mwooo Jinjja? Mario Kart?” He inched closer to your face, letting his forehead rest on yours before continuing. “Fine, but I’m not going to just let you win.” You let your hand travel up to his neck, cupping it in your palm before letting out a wide smile.

“I don’t need you to let me win. I can kick your ass all by myself,” you stated confidently. With that he closed the space between your lips. Your lips collided, exuberating such tenderness and sweetness like honey coating your lips. He parted your lips by running the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip. Right as you anticipated this kiss to convert to something more racy, he pulled away.

“We’ll see about that.”

The time passed rather quickly. The two of you played a few rounds intently. He was better than you thought and you were thanking yourself for not betting anything on this game like you usually would. You were sitting between his legs, so that you could see the tv screen while still cuddling like he asked. His long arms still embracing yours, holding his controller in your lap. The back of your head was resting on his chest; pressing your controller against your own chest, trying your hardest not to lose.

“No!” You exclaimed as you watch Princess Peach coast off the road and into the starry abyss. “This is sabotage!” you groaned in frustration. “I told you I was bad at Rainbow Road.” Even though your eyes were fixated on the screen, you could feel Jin’s chest bouncing up and down against your head. He was laughing at you for what seemed the millionth time.

“A true masternim can conquer all stages,” he said in between laughs. “Just admit that you suck, Baby girl.” You playfully bit his arm and he winced exaggeratedly.

“Ahhh!” He screamed lightly. “This is a foul. I get a penalty.” He dropped his controller in your lap and embraced you closer to him. Your heart skipped a beat causing you to laugh as well.

“I didn’t even bite you that hard,” you crooked your neck back so the crown of your head leaned against and you could get a better look at him. “Don’t be a baby,” you teased. He raised his eyebrows and his mouth hung open. Just as he was about to say something, there was a knock at the door.

“Come on out, lovey,” Maya’s voice was muffled on the other side of it. “It’s about time we go home.” You sighed then pouted at Jin.

“Guess I’m going to have to kick your ass another day,” you teased as you pulled away from his embrace, getting up from the bed and stretching a bit. Jin remained dumbfounded on the bed.

“But I was winning!” He exclaimed, soon following your example by getting up himself. You smiled at him and stuck your tongue out. He just pursed his lips at you and watched you walk to the door.

“Ready?” You said opening the door as you were greeting but a delighted Maya. Yoongi leaning against the wall behind her.

“If you are anyway,” she piped up craning her neck to look behind you. “But if you’re busy—“

“We were just hanging out, Maya. Quit it,” you said shooting her down. You felt Jin creep up behind you. “Let’s go, Nagaja!” Maya nodded at your words not before shooting Jin a mischievous look then back at you. You rolled your eyes as you followed her, the two men trailing behind her.

“Bye Yoongi,” she purred softly and she took his hand in hers and toyed with it. He bit his lip and squeezed her hand before she let go. You turned to Jin who had his hands stuffed in his pocket.

“Call me anytime. I really enjoyed my time with you today,” you said as you placed a kiss on his cheek and inched closer to his eyes. “All of it.” You cooed. You felt his body shiver under you.

“Me too,” He exhaled. “Take care of yourself in the meantime.” He added.

You nodded at him and smiled, walking away with Maya at your side. You both felt the men watching you leave, their eyes glued to your behinds as they closed the door to their apartment. You two linked arms and delightfully made your way toward the elevator.

“Oh my dearest sister,” Maya said breaking the silence. “I’m so very lucky to have you in my life.” She pulled you in closer and rested her head on your shoulder.

“Dearest sister? What happened to ‘I’m going to slit your throat and take over your company’,” you scoffed as you push the down button, calling the elevator to you both. Maya gasped and clutching your arm tightly.

“What a horrid thing to say! I couldn’t imagine anyone saying that to an angel like you,” she nuzzled her face into your arm and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re a real fuckin’ piece of work, you know that?” You declared, annoyance laced in your words. You heard a small throaty chuckle coming from the smaller woman. The elevator dinged and you both entered but as you entered, you noticed something different about her.

“Wait a minute,” you studied the fabric around her neck. “You didn’t come in with that scarf.” She looked down and smiled a nervous laugh at you. “Take it off Maya! You know we can take things like that from them!” She stomped her foot and whined.

“But it’s Yoongi’s! It smells like Yoongi!” She continued to whine but you just shook your head.

“No, let’s go give it to me, I’ll give it back to you at the house,” you extended your hand out and motioned for her to take it off. She stomped her feet again and pouted. I swear she acts like a goddamn child, you thought to yourself as you watched her take it off. That’s when you noticed. She had purple welts all over her neck, chest and even traveling down to her breasts. You gasped and changed your tune.

“You fuckin’ whore, keep it on!” You panicked and threw the scarf back around her. She looked down and smiled.

“That’s what I thought,” she said as a matter of factly before adjusting the scarf again.

“And how the fuck are you supposed to work looking like that?” You exclaimed. Maya just sucked her teeth and put her hands on her hips.

“I’m allowed to take a few days off aren’t I?” Her voice was shrill, echoing off the walls of the elevator and into your ear. The elevator dinged again and both of you made your way into the lobby. “Plus it’s not like I’m missing much anyway,” she added. You just rolled your eyes at her and continued to walk through the lobby with her and out the door.

The crisp cold air bit at both you and Maya’s exposed skin. Even though you two were accustomed to being severely underdressed in this mid-December weather, you both scurried across the street where Damon’s car was parked. He was slumped in the driver's seat, sleeping as usual. You and Maya taped on the glass to wake him.

“Come on, you cum dumpster! Let us in,” you exclaimed. He rubbed his eyes and unlocked the car. Both of you plopped yourselves inside, Maya in the front seat and you in the back.

“It’s about fucking time,” he snapped. “I thought I was going to die here.” Maya shoved him playfully.

“You’re lucky I even came back,” she teased. “That was the best dick I’ve ever had.”

“Better than Yixi—wait a minute,” Damon stopped abruptly and pulled her scarf back. “Jesus fucking Christ, Maya. Did you fuck or did he try eating you?” You let out a loud laugh as Damon examined Yoongi’s artworks. Suddenly, your phone purred slightly in your hand as you received a new text. Ignoring your friend’s dialogue, you opened your phone and examined the text. Your fingers dashed across the screen and you smiled deviously.

“Alright let’s get the fuck home,” Maya sighed.

“Actually,” you leaned in closer as Damon started the car. “Can you drop me off at the EXO dorm?”

The two of your friends let out a nasally “ayyyy”, looking at each other before turning to you.

“Someone is working a double today. What a dedicated little peach,” Maya chimed. Damon laughed and added to her commentary.

“And she had the nerve to call ME a cum dumpster.” You rolled your eyes and slumped back, ignoring their comments.

“Damon, just fuckin’ drive!”

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

the heart is given the chance to “believe…” or to reject

the True illumination of the Son and the grace of rebirth.

“The Holy Spirit stated it well when he spoke to your ancestors through the prophet Isaiah:

‘I send you to this people to say to them, “You will keep learning, but not understanding. You will keep staring at truth but not perceiving it. For your hearts are hard and insensitive to me—you must be hard of hearing! For you’ve closed your eyes so that you won’t be troubled by the truth, and you’ve covered your ears so that you won’t have to listen and be pierced by what I say. For then you would have to respond and repent, so that I could heal your hearts.” ’

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 28th and closing chapter of the book of Acts:

After we had safely reached land, we discovered that the island we were on was Malta. The people who lived there showed us extraordinary kindness, for they welcomed us around the fire they had built because it was cold and rainy.

When Paul had gathered an armful of brushwood and was setting it on the fire, a venomous snake was driven out by the heat and latched onto Paul’s hand with its fangs. When the islanders saw the snake dangling from Paul’s hand, they said to one another, “No doubt about it, this guy is a murderer. Even though he escaped death at sea, Justice has now caught up with him!”

But Paul shook the snake off, flung it into the fire, and suffered no harm at all. Everyone watched him, expecting him to swell up or suddenly drop dead. After observing him for a long time and seeing that nothing unusual happened, they changed their minds and said, “He must be a god!”

The Roman governor of the island, named Publius, had his estate nearby. He graciously welcomed us as his houseguests and showed us hospitality for the three days that we stayed with him. His father lay sick in bed, suffering from fits of high fever and dysentery. So Paul went into his room, and after praying, placed his hands on him. He was instantly healed. When the people of the island heard about this miracle, they brought all the sick to Paul, and they were also healed. The islanders honored us greatly, and when we were preparing to set sail again, they gave us all the supplies we needed for our journey.

After three months we put out to sea on an Egyptian ship from Alexandria that had wintered at the island. The ship had carved on its prow as its emblem the “Heavenly Twins.”

When we landed at Syracuse, we stayed there for three days. From there we set sail for the Italian city of Rhegium. The day after we landed, a south wind sprang up that enabled us to reach Puteoli in two days. There we found some believers, who begged us to stay with them for a week. Afterward, we made our way to Rome.

When the believers were alerted we were coming, they came out to meet us at the Forum of Appius while we were still a great distance from Rome. Another group met us at the Three Taverns. When Paul saw the believers, his heart was greatly encouraged and he thanked God.

When we finally entered Rome, Paul was turned over to the authorities and was allowed to live where he pleased, with one soldier assigned to guard him.

After three days Paul called together all the prominent members of the Jewish community of Rome. When they had all assembled, Paul said to them, “My fellow Jews, while I was in Jerusalem, I was handed over as a prisoner of the Romans for prosecution, even though I had done nothing against any of our people or our Jewish customs. After hearing my case, the Roman authorities wanted to release me since they found nothing that deserved a death sentence. When the Jews objected to this, I felt it necessary, with no malice against them, to appeal to Caesar. This, then, is the reason I’ve asked to speak with you, so that I could explain these things. It is only because I believe in the Hope of Israel that I am in chains before you.”

They replied, “We haven’t received any letters from the Jews of Judea, nor has anyone come to us with a bad report about you. But we are anxious to hear you present your views regarding this Christian sect we’ve been hearing about, for people everywhere are speaking against it.”

So they set a time to meet with Paul. On that day an even greater crowd gathered where he was staying. From morning until evening Paul taught them, opening up the truths of God’s kingdom. With convincing arguments from both the Law and the Prophets, he tried to persuade them about Jesus. Some were converted, but others refused to believe. They argued back and forth, still unable to agree among themselves. They were about to leave when Paul made one last statement to them: “The Holy Spirit stated it well when he spoke to your ancestors through the prophet Isaiah:

“So listen well. This wonderful salvation given by God is now being presented to the non-Jewish nations, and they will believe and receive it!”

Paul lived two more years in Rome, in his own rented quarters, welcoming all who came to visit. He continued to proclaim to all the truths of God’s kingdom realm, teaching them about the Lord Jesus, the Anointed One, speaking triumphantly and without any restriction.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 28 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 19th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that points to a humbling and healing of Egypt:

A message about Egypt:

The Eternal One will come winging in to Egypt

On a swiftly moving cloud, making her idols quake.

The Egyptians themselves will lose heart in the face of God.

The Lord, the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, says,

Eternal One: I will subject the Egyptians to oppressive forces

and heartless leadership of a dictator-king.

I will make them turn against each other,

Egyptian against Egyptian, a civil war,

Right down to the houses within a neighborhood—

city against city, district against district.

They’ll lose all courage and I’ll frustrate their plans.

They’ll seek the advice of long dead ancestors and empty idols,

mediums and fortune-tellers.

But it is I who determine their fate.

Egypt’s waterways and everything that lives in them will dry up and die—

saltwater and fresh, standing pools and running streams will all evaporate.

All the reeds and rushes along the river’s edge will wither and die and rot away.

All the crops sown by the Nile will turn brittle and dry,

to be blown away—completely away—by sultry winds.

Fishermen who set their lines and cast their nets into the Nile

will languish and mourn.

Weavers who comb flax into spinning fibers

and produce linen will be deep in despair.

The solid citizens of Egypt will be crushed,

and all who work hard for a day’s wage will be deeply distressed.

The leaders of Zoan are fools!

And those who count themselves among the Pharaoh’s smartest counselors

Base their advice on bizarre flights of fancy.

How can you tell Pharaoh,

“I am among the long line of Egypt’s wise and an heir of ancient kings”?

I certainly don’t see any such sages. If they’re here,

they should be able to tell you

what the Eternal One, Commander of heavenly armies, has in store for Egypt.

The elite, the nobles from the northern delta south to bustling Memphis,

have been overconfident, deluded fools.

These cornerstones of society have led Egypt in the wrong direction,

and Egypt pays the price.

The Eternal has mixed them up and confused them.

God has frustrated Egypt’s efforts in everything.

Weaving and sick like an everyday drunk.

There will be nothing left for Egypt to do.

Nobody—no head, no tail, no noble palm, no lowly reed—

will be able to help Egypt.

Then, in that day, when the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, raises His hand and displays His power, the Egyptians will cower like frightened women. Egypt will even be terrified of our little Judah. Just the word “Judah” will set everyone trembling and shaking because of what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, plans to do against them.

In that day, five cities in Egypt, one of which is called the city of destruction, will adopt the language we speak in Canaan and swear to remain faithful to the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies.

When that day arrives, there will be an altar for rituals, marking the Eternal’s sacred space right there in the middle of Egypt, and a pillar erected to Him at its border. These will serve to notify everyone that the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, is present; God can and will be in Egypt. And if things get bad for them, the Eternal will respond to their cries for help by sending someone—a liberator and defender—to deliver them from their oppressors. The Eternal will make sure the Egyptians know Him. They will know and worship Him with gifts and praise, solemn promises and offerings. After all God’s disciplining action, the Eternal will take them back with gentle care. After His punishment, there will be healing; the Egyptians will turn to Him, and He will hear and heal them.

When that day arrives, there will be a road connecting Egypt to Assyria and people of both nations will travel it to worship together, side-by-side. Our land of Israel, through which that road travels, will then be allied with these other great nations, and Israel will be a whole-earth blessing, the hub of proper worship. The Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, declares such blessing:

Eternal One: Egypt, too, shall be blessed and called “My people” and Assyria “My doing,” because I made it. Israel, of course, is simply Mine—now as before and as ever will be—“My heritage.”

The Book of Isaiah, Chapter 19 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, june 27 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about knowing truth:

The theology of Messiah insists that truth matters, and that knowing the truth about God is absolutely essential for life itself. Nothing is more important; nothing is more vital. As Yeshua solemnly affirmed: “This is eternal life (i.e., chayei olam: חַיֵּי עוֹלָם), that they may know you, the only true God (אֶל־אֱמֶת), and Yeshua the Messiah (יֵשׁוּעַ הַמָּשִׁיחַ) whom you have sent (John 17:3). Note that the Hebrew word for knowledge is da’at (דַּעַת), a word that implies intimate cognitive differentiation and the apprehension of spiritual reality. Your life is a venture of faith, an irrepeatable, infinitely costly venture.

Faith both affirms and negates at the same time. Like falling in love with someone, the cost of passionately believing that Yeshua (alone) is the “way and the truth and the life” comes at the expense of other faith possibilities -- and thereby incurs the risk of offense (Rom. 9:33, 1 Pet. 2:7-8; Gal. 5:11, Matt. 24:8-11; etc.). Does this make faith in Messiah intolerant then? Not at all... All faith expressions - including skepticism, universalism, or “politically correct” humanism - are exclusivistic commitments to whatever the believer embraces as his or her “ground of ultimate concern.” Each person has their own “narrow gate” -- though this gate does not necessarily lead to life. Yeshua taught that the “narrow gateway of life” (שַּׁעַר אֶל־הַחַיִּים) is found only by the few (Matt. 7:13-14), and this doubtlessly was said to reprove the mob mentality that regards “tolerance” as the greatest of all virtues and fanaticism as the greatest of all evils. There is safety in numbers, the mob reasons, and the life of genuine conviction makes you an outcast of the group, since it exposes the “groupthink” and its inevitable moral evasions.... To worldly culture, public enemy number one is the person of real conviction. This was true in the days of the Hebrew prophets as it is today. “The voice crying in the wilderness” often cries alone. [Hebrew for Christians]

6.25.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

June 27, 2021

Working Out Salvation

“Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” (Philippians 2:12)

This verse is sometimes used by those who would insist that our salvation requires “works” either to obtain or to maintain the “new birth.” Even a casual reading of the New Testament does not support that view (John 5:24; 6:37; 2 Corinthians 5:21; Ephesians 4:24; etc.).

This passage, both in context and by specific word choices of the Holy Spirit, is focused on what we are to do with our salvation—obey and produce! The writer of the Hebrews letter spoke of “things that accompany salvation” (Hebrews 6:9). And even the Old Testament prophet Isaiah insisted that we should “draw water out of the wells of salvation” (Isaiah 12:3).

Two parables speak specifically to this work: the gift of the talents and the gift of the pounds. God illustrated His grace by the gift of “talents” (Matthew 25:14-30) to His workers, as well as His expectation of their productivity for the profit of the Owner. Differing amounts were given to the servants based on their abilities, and judgment was based on their efficiency, or the percent of their return. In the gift of the pounds (Luke 19:13-27), God is the investor and His servants are all of us who receive (John 1:12) the gift of salvation. What we do with this gift is our responsibility. The same amount was given to each servant, without the mention of abilities. Judgment was then based on the servants’ effectiveness, or gain.

It is no wonder, then, that Paul exhorted us to “work out” the priceless salvation that has been given to us with “fear and trembling.” God is “working” in us, and He expects us to “will and to do his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13). HMM III

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korkrunchcereal · 7 years

Text

Return to the Night

As Aurelian stepped through the portal he had created, he realized two things. In the brief moment of time that both stretched endlessly and yet happened in an instant, he remembered how teleportation magic often made him uneasy. The second thing which was far more important was that he was not alone as he emerged on the other side. Where he expected solitude as he stepped onto the wooden floor of Lord Woodborne's home, instead he found himself in a room with two other individuals, one who had called him by name.

His hand reached for the sword at his side, eyes narrowing. The chaotic nature of the realm between was fading to the mortal world, recognizing at least one of the figures. The speaker who had called for him was his relative, her glittering form as decadent and opulent as ever. The tension turned to curiosity, hand slowly letting go of the shaft of his sword. He noticed the other figure had also reached for their weapon, which Aurelian judged to be a sword of some design.

"Lady Illuria; I confess I did not expect you here. Your message did not state you would be greeting me upon my arrival." Illuria gave a wicked smile, rising up from the chair she had been sitting upon.

"Plans have unfortunately been forced to change. It is a pleasure to see you once again..." she paused, waving a hand at Aurelian. Arcane magic danced at her finger tips as slowly an illusion fell over Aurelian. Where once stood the lord of the Gilded Lands, now there was a strapping Nightborne of impressive size and features. "Lord Woodborne." Aurelian marveled over himself for but a moment, before nodding his head.

"Friend of yours?"

"My second, Balor. Balor, do say hello." The man merely gave a grunt in acknowledgement, a single eye piercing Aurelian. He held what Aurelian presumed was a perpetual scowl; his right eye an empty mess of scars. "He oversees many of my daily affairs, as well as acts as my eyes whilst I am elsewhere."

"Your grace, we should leave soon." The man muttered, voice harsh as if having suffered wounds to it at various points in his life.

"Yes, you're absolutely right. We can explain pleasantries whilst we walk to my place, and I will explain why you are here. Come come." She waved a hand, before sauntering out of the room, Balor close behind. Aurelian opened his mouth to call after them, before sighing in annoyance and following. Aurelian's spell had brought him to the man's cellar which whilst smelling sickly sweet of wine and berries, was without windows and so any latent magical residue would not be so easily seen. The three ascended up the stairs, through several halls and finally outside.

The first thing Aurelian noticed was the streets. Whereas the last time he was here the streets had been crowded with Nightborne citizens, it was not all but deserted save some scant nobility and patrolling guards. His expression paled as he realized the guards were not the healthy violets and indigos he was familiar with, but had been tainted with a sickly green color. He recognized what it was; fel.

"What's happened since I’ve been gone?" Aurelian asked, making sure to avert his eyes from the guards.

"Much, dear blood of mine...Look up." Aurelian did so and nearly gasp. The fel storm that brewed over the entire city had grown in intensity, crackling and churning like a bitter and endless sea.

"It has been some time since last I saw, I had nearly forgotten the fel storm. It's grown, hasn't it?" Illuria nodded as they walked, passing the various mansions and homes of the wealthy elite, along with multiple patrols.

"Indeed it has. Much has happened in the near three months you have been gone. The demon's ally, Gul'dan, continues to work his magic using the Nightwell. Whatever ritual he has planned I am not sure, though it seems to be growing closer judging from the tense nature that has befallen our court. More demons have poured from the breach upon the Broken Shore and from warlock covens in the city as well to shore up and guard the ritual. As you see as well, many of the guards have begun to...embrace the fel magic."

"And the people? When last I was here there was a city, yet I see only a near barren shell of such. Where are the shop keeps and nobles that flirt and walk endlessly upon these vaunted walkways?"

"Further in you'll see more of that. Here is near the outskirts; if we were to go further out of this district rather than to its center, demons would prowl most of the streets and beggars would run rampant…at least those not killed or imprisoned."

"Beggars?" Aurelian finally looked down from the storm, growing uneasy by the sheer volume of fel magic above.

"Yes. Elisande's grip around the city tightens even further. The arcwine which has been so rationed continues to be so. The nobility, at least those that continue to support her, live life without worry, drunk in the bliss of ignorance and in the taste of arcwine. They look away from the horrors that occur elsewhere, drinking deep the wine which flows like rivers for the privileged. The rest are left to rot and go mad."

"And those that don't support Elisande?" Aurelian was suddenly nearly overwhelmed by the stench of Sulphur and brimstone, and he realized the nearby house had been all but burned down. Only sticks and shattered pillars remained of its foundation, several guards standing watch.

"That is the price of those that defy the Grand Magistrix. She has turned from benevolent leader, to iron fisted tyrant thanks to the pressure the demons have put upon her. Those not executed are instead offered as a token to the demons, where they are torn asunder body and soul to be used as fuel for their twisted war machines."

"How grim. So why have I been asked to return then? I am but one man, and cannot change this fate that has befallen the Nightborne."

"Ah, do not underestimate what one man can do. A single man can forge a dynasty that lasts ten thousand years. But as it stands, I have not asked you to be here to liberate our people single handedly, though such would be worthy of oh so many wonderful stories. No, I have asked you here for a related reason, yet different."

"And that is?"

"Balor, scroll please." The man gave a gruff nod, reaching into a satchel at his side and withdrawing a parchment of some nature. Illuria stretched out her hand, the scroll being placed delicately. "Take a look." She offered it to Aurelian, who grabbed it with small hesitation. It was not Nightborne scripture, but instead that of the Sin'dorei; his people.

"This is Sin'dorei writing?"

"They've been appearing all across the city now; notices for the Nightborne to take up arms against their oppressors, and warning of their arrival. I presume spies of your people or rebel supporters have been placing them. Already scouts outside of the city have confirmed multiple sightings of scarlet banners and heavy war machines moving to the borders however. Your people are planning to invade, and they are not alone. I even hear our savage kin in the Kal’dorei are also aligning with the rebellion."

"Rather bold to bring this out so openly." Aurelian offered the scroll back, though Balor took it instead.

"Fortunately, I have enchanted it to appear as a blank piece of paper to others." Balor placed the parchment away, cracking his neck as the trio continued their walk. They began to ascend, past beautiful ancient trees and statues cast in marble. The barren nature of their walk was beginning to fade as more and more people came into view; gilded nobles adorned in the trappings of wealth and prestige, and oblivious to the world beyond their district. Aurelian noted that even some amongst the nobility had drank from the poisoned chalice that was the fel, their skin a hue of fel shade that was near nauseating to gaze upon.

"You've still not said why I am here."

"If your people are going to invade, they'll face hard fighting. Not only are the demon's numerous here, but the Nightborne loyal to Elisande are fierce. My brother, regretfully, remains on Elisande's side. He believes siding with Elisande is the only course for the survival of our house. Publicly, I have agreed with him and to the world I am a supporter of our Grand Magistrix."

"Yet privately you are not." Aurelian's voice had dropped so that others could not hear their conversation.

"Correct. Yet even among the nobility here there are some that are supporters of the rebel cause, or at least sympathetic. Some even aid the rebels in secrecy. They however need help, and I need to make sure our house survives without Elisande's influence. Thus, that is where you come in; an outlander who will weaken Elisande and my brother Corvayon's power here in order to help your people in liberating this city."

"A rather grand plan that is, shall we say, vague. How am I to do any of this?"

"You will see in time, Lord Woodborne. Speaking of, however, how well can you dance?" Aurelian blinked, looking over to his relative in confusion.

"Dance?"

"Yes, dance. I am sure your people have developed their own way of dance compared to the Nightborne, yet there is I presume some strands of similarities."

"I am an excellent dancer; why do you ask? Am I to simply dance my way to victory here?" Illuria gave a soft chuckle, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips.

"In a way possibly, yes. Balor?" The second once more reached into his pouch, this time withdrawing a smaller scroll.

"What's this?" Aurelian asked as he grabbed it.

"An invitation. You, Lord Coren Woodborne, have been invited to the Winterborn Ball at the Erimonte Estate. There the socialites and aristocrats of the Nightborne shall mingle, plot, scheme and dance to delicate tunes and to the will of those stronger than they."

"A...ball. Oh that is simple enough; I am quite the socialite myself amidst my people. There I am the life of every ball."

"I think blood of my blood, you will find ours to be a bit different, and you are to be as well. Remember, you are Lord Woodborne, not lord Indaris. You will need to be taught every nuance of the Nightborne court, for the game of politics is as virulent and deadly upon the dance floor as it is within the assemblies."

"Much as our own are. Alliances are forged and broken often during the dance. So when is this ball then?"

"In two days, plenty of time for you to learn. Luckily you have some experience with such a dance as this, so there is less you need to prepare for. Oh! I nearly forgot, we must get you new, proper attire. Balor, make sure Miss Haravel is available tomorrow. We must make sure Lord Woodborne looks the part of a Nightborne aristocrat. It will be on him to act it; one wrong move, and you are doomed."

“How many will be in attendance?”

“Over one hundred guests I believe, including some of Elisande’s top officials. She herself will not make it I hear; shame really. Along with the officials, it is rumored that there will be demonic spies planted among the crowd to ensure everything goes according to plan. One of Elisande’s advisors was killed by outsider infiltrators during a gala, and since then security has grown much tighter. Though it is nothing you need concern yourself with. After all, you are an Indaris.”

At that moment, a small part of Aurelian wished he had taken Gardesia with him.

#World of Warcraft #Aurelian Indaris #Skullcrusha writing #Tales of the Gilded Lands

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toldnews-blog · 5 years

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New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/world/united-states-of-america/strong-support-here-helped-trump-win-pennsylvania-in-2016-2020-could-be-different/

Strong Support Here Helped Trump Win Pennsylvania in 2016. 2020 Could Be Different.

ALTOONA, Pa. — President Trump’s road to re-election runs through places like Altoona, with its deep working-class roots, conservative social values and nearly all-white population. But it is not a straight line.

He won about 70 percent of the vote in Blair County, where Altoona is the largest city, in 2016, and that support was an integral part of why Mr. Trump defied forecasts and carried Pennsylvania, a state that will again be critical to his chances in 2020, by about 44,000 votes.

Altoona’s voters have now had more than two years to assess whether Mr. Trump has honored his campaign commitments and whether they will support him again so enthusiastically. Their answer, judging from interviews with more than two dozen voters, is complicated, not the black and white narrative that either Mr. Trump’s supporters or his critics might assume.

Most of his supporters say they will stick with him, citing his blunt style, which some of them see as a form of entertainment, as well as a strong economy. But not all of them.

That same economy has yielded uneven results in Altoona, a city of about 45,000 where the low unemployment rate of 4.2 percent masks some uglier economic facts: Most of the new jobs are in lower-paying service industries, with scaled-down benefits. The poverty rate is 23.2 percent. And there are few signs of the renaissance in manufacturing that the president said he would create.

“There is not a lot of disposable income at $11 an hour,” said Jim Foreman, the county Republican chairman, who operates several physical therapy clinics.

Robert K. Kutz, the president of a local labor council, put it more bluntly. He said some union members who voted for Mr. Trump were starting “to realize that the promises came up empty” and will vote against him in 2020.

“As far as the manufacturing goes,” he added, “none of that has come back.”

Mr. Foreman also acknowledged that it would be difficult for Mr. Trump to replicate his overwhelming numbers from 2016. And if the numbers fall off in rural counties like his, Mr. Trump’s path to winning a state where Democrats picked up three House seats in the midterm elections becomes more challenging.

Val DiGiorgio, the Republican state chairman, said the challenge would be to maintain Mr. Trump’s margins in rural areas while trying to blunt an expected surge of Democratic voters in suburban areas of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. “That’s the question,” he said.

But there are few signs that Republicans have lost their hold in Altoona. The area is represented by Representative John Joyce, a dermatologist elected for the first time in November with more than 70 percent of the vote. The district is largely Catholic and fervently anti-abortion, helping Mr. Trump.

And there are Trump supporters like Sarah Vogel, who said she wanted to live in her hometown to help its revitalization efforts and opened a coffee shop downtown. “He’s doing what he can to help small businesses and rural areas,” she said. “I don’t know if I can give any specifics.”

But, she said, she is “personally a little bit torn” over Mr. Trump’s hard-line immigration policies. While she voted for him in 2016, she is waiting to see who the Democrats nominate before making up her mind this time. Her strong opposition to abortion will weigh heavily in her decision, she added.

Cultural issues could outweigh economic interests for many voters.

Over lunch with his mother at the Black Dog restaurant near Altoona, Dr. Levi Delozier, a Democrat who returned home to practice medicine, said those issues motivated many voters here in 2016.

“I think cultural beliefs and social mores pervade every decision they make,” Dr. Delozier said. “The haze and the fog and the ether of the campaign made people feel like they were better off. I think the current president is very astute at programming his quote-unquote wins, and he is very good at off-loading losses.”

Altoona includes ancestral Democrats, voters whose family members worked for the railroad or a coal mine, but increasingly have supported Republicans. Older voters in particular, and especially those who had manufacturing jobs, believe that Washington has become out of touch, and are more likely to be Trump supporters.

Gib Beckwith worked in manufacturing much of his life. He lost his job as a tool and die maker, but sought retraining and now has an information technology job at North American Communications, which produces envelopes for direct mail.

Mr. Beckwith gets his news from Fox. “I know it is biased, but I get more truth out of their news than anyone else,” he said. “And it’s on my radio. On the weekends, it’s on. I won’t watch NBC or CBS anymore.” He said no one in his family, “not a one,” will vote for anyone other than Mr. Trump.

“Did he do better for the working man? Most certainly,” Mr. Beckwith said. “He has brought what jobs he could bring back, and yes, he gave the rich a tax break, but I got a tax break as well.”

Views like his present a studied contrast to a generation ago, when the federal government delivered big for people here. A former congressman, Bud Shuster, who was chairman of the House Transportation Committee, was famous for securing projects for the area, most notably the extension of Interstate 99, which some have mocked as “the road to nowhere.”

Mr. Shuster was so successful securing federal largess that when reporters asked Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan of New York which state received the most funding one year, he replied, “The state of Altoona.”

But congressional earmarks are now banned and Mr. Shuster’s political career is long over, his politics of accommodation and compromise replaced by stark polarization.

North American has been churning out envelopes for direct mail solicitations for 40 years, and a sign outside its sandy brick headquarters says “Now Hiring,” proclaiming what should be good news for both the city and Mr. Trump.

Not so long ago, the company transferred most of its production jobs to Mexico, taking advantage of lower-cost labor. Then came Mr. Trump’s hard-line immigration policies and with them increased chaos that led many customers to say they no longer felt comfortable with their time-sensitive mailings subject to disruption.

So the company is trying to “reshore” several hundred light manufacturing jobs back to Altoona, just the kind of thing the president promised to do as the champion of the “forgotten American.” But company officials said Mr. Trump’s approach includes almost nothing that would assist them in bringing back jobs.

“There is no federal program to help businesses like ours to reshore our jobs,” said Tera Herman, the company vice president.

Her husband, Robert Herman, the company president, lived in El Paso for a time when the company had operations in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico. He said he did not like the way the Trump administration’s immigration policies had played out.

“I am a registered Republican,” Mr. Herman added. “I like Republican ideals on the economy. But I don’t like the way that it’s translated. It seems very at times bigoted and the language that’s used, the derogatory references. I am not that way.”

Workers at Mr. Herman’s company reflected similarly conflicting sentiments about the president. Cory Reed is the third generation in his family to work at the facility in Altoona. He voted for Mr. Trump in 2016, but doubts he will again.

“He hasn’t really fulfilled that promise,” Mr. Reed said of the president’s ode to the forgotten American. “The follow-through wasn’t there.” He is also fed up with the president’s tone. “I feel like there should be more important issues than someone completely bashing someone on Twitter. I don’t really agree with that at all.”

But like Mr. Beckwith, Rick Zupon remains solidly behind Mr. Trump.

In Mr. Zupon, a lifelong Altoona resident who twice voted for President Barack Obama, Mr. Trump has an unwavering convert. “The guy has all the money in the world but is still looking out for the guy who made the country what it is,” he said.

Mr. Trump was the plain-spoken truth teller Mr. Zupon wanted to see shake up Washington. “Another thing I like about President Trump: He doesn’t use language that you have to get a dictionary to understand,” he said. “That’s kind of enjoyable coming from a president of the United States.”

John Stultz, a local real estate agent, also finds Mr. Trump entertaining. Some nights he says to his wife, “I’m going home to watch the national news tonight to see what he said.”

But, he added, he would consider a candidate like former Vice President Joseph R. Biden Jr. “I like Joe,” he said, “even the touchy-feely.”

For the president, voters like Mr. Stultz make Pennsylvania particularly challenging, especially if Mr. Biden, who was born in the state and plans to make the first speech of the presidential campaign he is expected to launch on Thursday in Pittsburgh, becomes the Democratic nominee.

Some in the Democratic Party say its nominee should focus on the so-called Obama coalition of younger voters, minorities and suburbanites. But Democrats like Mr. Biden have said the party should not abandon rural voters and should lay its own claim to the “forgotten American.”

In 2016, in Blair County, Hillary Clinton ran seven percentage points behind Mr. Obama’s performance in 2012. If a Democrat can simply cut into Mr. Trump’s numbers here, much less match Mr. Obama’s, Mr. Trump’s Pennsylvania victory could seem more aberration than trend.

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aurycula-writes · 6 years

Text

A Hint of Vesperan Intuition

Albaer Lamont, heir to Lamont Industries, should not have magic.

Yet here he is, stranded in Vesper with no idea how he got there. To survive a country that enslaves magic users won't be easy without his father's influence to support him. If he doesn't want the Magia Taskforce to capture him before he reaches home, Albaer must figure out how to use his magic quickly, avoid those that would use him for their own gain, and befriend those with the knowledge and abilities that can help him.

Even if that help comes in the form of a pair of the strangest orphans he'll ever encounter.

Introducing the first story of the Eudaimonia series. You can find the first chapter here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417432/chapters/35783445

The next chapter will be posted same day next week. Feedback is welcome!

If you don’t mind reading it here, it’s under the cut:

Chapter 1: "I suggest you go back to wherever you came from soon."

18 Herba 1690 An unfamiliar street corner 5:08 p.m.

Albaer blinked as autos sped by the road in front of him. People bustled all around him, brushing past him without a second thought. Some of the ruder ones snarled at him in rough Vesperan to get out of the way. Too overwhelmed to respond, Albaer moved out of the flow and into the adjacent alley.

Judging by the rude behaviour and unattractive attire of passersby, Albaer assumed that he was in one of the unwanted districts of the city, but he didn't know if there was a part of Eudial where the majority spoke Vesperan. Leaving that line of thought, he still had to deal with the issue of how he got there. He couldn't explain it – a few seconds ago, he was in his room in the Lamont Estate far away from the downtown area. How could he have–

"Look who dropped by our alley, boys!" A rough voice called from behind him.

Albaer whipped around and saw three boys swagger forward. He noted that all of them were bigger than him, both vertically and horizontally.

"Miles, that looks an awful lot like a richie," a rat-faced boy said.

The largest of the boys laughed. “That's right, Barnes. What, you wanna medal for bein’ Captain Obvious?” The rat-faced boy responded with a scowl and a vulgar gesture. He and the other ruffians stepped closer to Albaer.

“Hey, richie!” Albaer backed away. He didn't want their filth to touch him. A quick glance behind him told him his back was on course towards a brick wall. “Give us your money and we promise we won't hurt you!”

Albaer's eye twitched and his hands tightened into fists. He stopped backing away.

“I don't have any money to give to the likes of you!” he snapped in their language. He didn't know what he would do, but he certainly wasn't going to let these – these peasants push him around. “So why don't you and your goons get lost before I make you regret speaking to me?”

The boys burst into roaring laughs. Albaer frowned. Weren't they supposed to do as he said? Father said they would be intimidated by his superiority and run away.

The large-framed boy and the rat-faced boy caught him by his arms and forcibly held him back. Albaer struggled under their tight grip.

"Unhand me, you filth! When my father hears of this, you'll be lucky if you're ever allowed to show your face in this city again!"

The trio did not let him go like he ordered, but laughed harder. Albaer seethed. When he arrived home, he'd ensure they were all punished for their insolence!

The medium-sized boy sneered. “You know what, Flynn? I'm a little scared.”

"Yeah," the assumed leader said with an overacted shudder. "The richie's papa's gonna do somethin' so scary to us that he won't even tell us what it is."

The boys around him sniggered again, drowning out another one of his threats. How were these peasants holding him down so well?

“Hey, boss! If his daddy's gonna punish the guys who hurt junior here, he'll probably have lots of rewards for us for bringin' 'im home," the rat-faced one added.

"I say we take our starting payment.” The large boy stomped hard on Albaer’s foot.

Before the throbbing in his foot could sink in, an elbow collided with his side. Their leader landed his fist into Albaer's face with what felt like the force of a train. He could taste blood after his ears stopped ringing as much. Another blow connected with his midsection. And another. And another. He couldn't even curl up because the other boys' grip on his arms prevented him from moving. He could already feel his arms bruising.

"How much do you think the richie's daddy'll give us for savin' the little tyke from the scary boys who beat him up?" A kick to his shin.

"I dunno, boss. Maybe we should ask the kid." Another kick rammed into his midsection. Now he was kind of glad that he missed breakfast, he noted in between hacking coughs, watching saliva and blood dribble from his lips.

"Though he probably can't answer." Another round of grating guffaws.

If commoners were supposed to be stupider, lazier and weaker than him, then why hadn't they run away from his threats? Why were they capable of beating him without fear of his family's wrath? At least Father wasn't here to see him like this. Albaer didn’t know how well he hid his shame as he tried to glare at them as best he could with a half-swollen face. Judging by the almost painful volume of their amusement, not so much.

"What's your papa gonna do to us if I do this?" A fist impacted the left side of his ribs. Albaer wheezed.

“Okay boys, save the rest for later. Don't wanna break any goods the kid’s hidin’ by roughin’ him up too much, do we?” The boy they called boss grinned and approached Albaer, grubby hands rummaging through his vest and trouser pockets.

To think that these peons brought him down to this pathetic state. As with adding oil to fire, the thought set off Albaer's already burning anger to the point where he mustered the strength to spit on one of his captors' face. The laughter ceased. The leader's grin grew. Wiping his cheek with the swipe of his sleeve, he swung another fist at his face. Albaer met the boy's bloodthirsty sneer with what he hoped was a bold glare of his own.

In that moment, he couldn’t understand the abrupt rush of power that flooded his body. He tried to move his arms out of the boys' hold once again. Albaer's eyes widened as he saw streams of flames shoot from his hands. The boys released their hold on him to back away from the fire.

Albaer fell back to the wall behind him, pushed off from it and shoved past the boys, bolting out of the alleyway and onto the crowded street. He heard a succession of footsteps in pursuit, spurring him on faster until he heard them fade away. Even then he ran, looking for a place to hide as thoughts thrashed in his head.

He had magic.

His throbbing stomach curled in on itself as he took a left to an emptier street. That explained how he was transported downtown, but what would Father think? No one in the Lamont family had magic. The kind of people to have magic were too lazy to do anything productive. If they weren't layabouts, they were walking disasters. Their horrid powers levelled whole continents during the Warring Era. All the books he received from Father's fourth mistress Enid involved magic users being defeated in some way – did that mean he would become one of those villains?

Albaer's pace slowed to a walk as he surveyed the possible shops he could hide in. Where, why, how could he have possibly have magic? The only magic user he knew that was related to his family in some way was–

The images of a flash of red hair, almost luminous blue eyes and the sounds of warm ringing laughter stopped him in his tracks. Shaking the memories out of his head, Albaer looked up to where he stopped when his injuries started hurting again.

The storefront made up a small section of a larger unit. Mottled grey curtains blocked its display window. A freshly painted medium-sized sign made of wood read, 'CAUTION – WATCH WHERE YOU STEP' and covered the top half of the door. A larger wooden sign with the words, 'Lyon's Discount Bookstore', spelled in a faded black font, hung above the window. The black words and the deep green background peeled in some spots, revealing the grainy wood underneath. He knew, or rather hoped, that his pursuers wouldn’t think to find him at a wreck of a store like this.

Albaer pulled the door open, triggering the ring of a bell. The inside of the store was dim, smaller than the front suggested and smelled of dust and old books. Albaer heard the distant ticks of a clock, but nothing else. Books that weren't crammed into rickety shelves were stacked on every available surface, leaving empty narrow pathways between shelves and to the counter (also covered in book stacks). On a whim, he trudged in the direction of the counter at the back that was previously blocked from sight by a tall heap of encyclopedias. There, he saw a boy and a small girl reading books behind the counter. They looked a little young to be working at a bookstore. But they were also the only ones present, so they were at least allowed to be here.

The boy's pale grey-blond hair was short and tousled except for the long bangs that curtained the left side of his face. He wore the store's deep green on an apron that covered a slightly oversized white shirt. Sitting next to him, the slim little girl wore a blank expression and a dull blue dress that barely covered her knees and frayed at the sleeves. Her dark brown hair, straight with roughly cut bangs, ended at her chin, shorter than any respectable girl he'd seen wore theirs.

The sight of the bookstore occupants distracted him, his knee almost knocking down a nearby stack on the floor. He couldn't say the same for his shoulder that toppled the pile of books on the desk – all of which landed on the reading boy's lap with a chorus of thumps and the rustling of paper.

Needless to say, judging by how the blond glared at him with his one visible eye and the mound of books on his lap and at his feet, Albaer had a feeling that he wouldn't stay long.

Lyon’s Discount Bookstore 5:47 p.m.

'…At that very moment, when he heard the melody, information poured into his head – of the world that took his family away, of the being who composed this music, of his intentions for the world, of who these Knights wanted him to be. And why shouldn't he be that person, be the Dusk King they wanted to be led by?

Why not... play along?'

The telltale sounds of a falling horde of books interrupted the prose and a particularly thick tome knocked the novel out of Léandre's hands. Immediately following that were twenty more volumes of that gods-awful Age of Heroes saga right onto his lap.

Despite his past half-year of employment in the cluttered bookstore, Léandre hadn't had many impacts with the books until this moment. Now that the most chilling moment of Playing Along so far was ruined, he had to deal with newly acquired bruises and clean up all the fallen books. Ceres knew better than to interrupt, and she sat near the right side of the cashier counter, far from the fallen books. Instead, he aimed his irritated glare in front of him, where a clumsy, disruptive boy stood with a flushed expression.

The boy looked about his age. He had a black eye, swollen cheek and less than stable stature. The boy's rust red hair was longer than average, enough to be tied into a small ponytail. He was taller than Léandre, all made up of gangly limbs. His black trousers looked a bit worn. But Léandre could tell, despite the wrinkles and slight singes on the boy's white shirt, black vest and slate grey jacket, that they were tailored to his exact height and made of fabrics worth more than five years' salary. No wonder the local oafs took an interest in him.

"Sorry," the boy said gruffly in response to his irritated staring. His pronunciation was stiff, and his accent rang with a hint of another language, just slight enough for Léandre to be unable to identify it. The ponytailed boy made no move to clean the mess he made, thus confirming his status even further.

Léandre stood up from his seat and picked up the fallen books, choosing not to respond to the half-assed apology. Ceres did the same. He watched the boy from the corner of his eye. The redhead hadn't left and his frown deepened. The silence mounted for a few moments until the boy broke it again.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything back? I apologized!" the boy snapped, hands on his hips.

Léandre re-arranged the books. "Your apology doesn't fix the mess you made."

"So what if you got a little hurt? At least you didn’t get assaulted today."

Léandre slammed the Standard Rozenite Dictionary hard on the counter right in front of the little upstart, but not enough to disturb any of the book stacks.

"Aw, the little rich boy got a taste of the real world today," he simpered. "Does his highness need his silk hanky to clean his face?"

"Why, you–" A fist knocked down another pile of books. "Members of foreign peerage fight for the chance to speak to me. How dare you, a mere commoner, speak to me so rudely?"

"Very easily, genius. Oh, and do all those rich brats a favour and tell them they aren't missing out. I've had more compelling conversations with five year olds." The loud boy growled as he moved to lift his knee on top of the table. "Oh, did I hurt your poor maiden heart, Princess?" Léandre held his hands up in surrender. "My most sincere apologies!"

Before the redhead could force his way over the table, Ceres stepped closer to the boy and laid one of her hands onto his forearm. The boy stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

"Tell us why you're here. If you don't, or if you're here because you want to hurt my brother, please go home."

Her words reduced the boy's snarl to a scowl. He stepped away from the desk and her grip, muttering, "Stupid little commoner girls," in Rozenite.

"Answer her or get out, richie! Before I throw you to the group that mauled you!" Léandre barked in the same language. The boy raised his brows, but quickly changed his expression to a blazing stare that he willingly returned. He half-expected him to continue the argument where they left off.

Instead, the boy took a deep breath and said, "I was going to stay here for a while to hide from the buffoons that ambushed me. If I didn’t cause the commotion, I would have asked you for directions back to the Lamont Estate. Barring that, at least the higher end of the city."

"There is no Lamont Estate in Baskerville," Ceres answered with a more believable serenity, crouching down to pick up the books the boy knocked down. Léandre moved to help her, thanking whatever existing deities for the moment of silence. As he reorganized the fallen books, he snuck a glance at the stunned boy who just wouldn't leave. The frozen, gaping surprise stayed on his face long after Ceres' words.

" …Some sort of magic transported me from my room all the way across the ocean to some backwater city in Vesper?" He groaned, running one of his hands through his hair. "Ugh, this is the worst day of my life!"

Léandre felt like groaning too. He didn't want anything to do with the spoiled brat, so he rolled his eyes instead. "My heart goes out to you, Magic Boy."

"Drop dead, scum!" the boy growled. Léandre watched him carefully as the other's hands balled into fists again. "I am not in the mood anymore."

"Oh, no! You're in a bad mood?" Léandre looked at one of many book lists rather than look at him. "Now I'm too intimidated to answer!"

Ceres interrupted the boy’s growl, shoving a book in his hands and turning to place another stack on the counter. The idiot fell silent. She nodded in what Léandre recognized as gratitude, taking away the book. The boy quirked an eyebrow at her and watched her turn around again to place the tome into a nearby shelf. He opened his mouth to say something again, but squawked when she pulled him into her seat.

"I can take you to the nearest train station."

"What good would that do? It's not like it can cross the ocean and take me back to Rozen." His tone, still gruff and confused, was a touch more polite than before.

"The train will take you to Vessalius. My brother told me once that they have a place called an embassy that can help you." The boy avoided her expectant golden-eyed stare. With nowhere else to look to avoid her gaze, the boy gave Léandre a questioning look tinged with more than a little plea for help.

"She's waiting for you to accept her offer." He moved towards Ceres, placing a hand on her shoulder to turn her attention to him. "But she hasn't considered that I may not let my eight-year-old sister escort an older boy to the far end of the country on her own."

"Come with me, then."

Léandre's eyes narrowed. Why did she always have to offer help to random strangers? He supposed the faster they helped him, the faster he would be out of their lives, but that wasn't her motive for doing most things. Whatever her reasons, he knew the one thing that would dissuade her from following through with her offer was if the boy refused it himself.

He gave her a small, resigned nod before aiming his gaze back at their current problem. "So? Do you want her help or not?"

Ceres hadn't heard Léandre speak this much in years. She never expected to hear most of the talking in insults as he sniped back and forth with the boy she wanted to help. The insults stopped with her offer and going by the boy's frown, he would reject it. But before he could answer, Léandre's boss returned from his meeting with the workers who would help renovate the shop.

"Welcome back, Mr. Lyon," Léandre said in a low tone.

Ceres glanced over to the boy, who looked at Léandre's show of respect with wide eyes and a partially open mouth, like he didn't think her brother capable of it. She’d always found it odd, how people assumed they knew everything about a person they’d known for –she glanced over shoulder at the clock between the shelves– not even ten minutes. Léandre was capable of deference, but only to people he knew that could worsen his situation beyond his ability to maneuver out of it if they found reason to dislike him. It was a useful skill that reduced the number of times she had to step in.

She turned to the old bookstore owner to watch his response to Léandre's conversation with the newcomer, and made note of his raised eyebrows. It didn't look like an unhappy kind of surprise, but more like the good kind of surprised.

"Good work as always, Mr. Bellamy," he said softly, his smile growing. "Now, who's your friend over here? Will I be seeing him around here more often?"

"Oh no, this idiot –er, boy isn't a friend. We just met him today," Léandre hastily said. "He isn't even a customer. He hasn't bought anything."

The boy scowled again, which lessened when he spoke to Mr. Lyon. "I'll have you know that I'm no mere boy oridiot. My name is Albaer Lamont, rightful heir to the Lamont Family and its associated industries."

"Ceres insisted that we assist him in something," Léandre cut in a slight note of worry colouring his tone, "so may I please have four days off starting tomorrow? I apologize for asking this of you, sir. I know you need the help for renovations soon and that what I'm asking of you is impossible. But if I don't agree to do this, my sister will try to help him without me, and–"

Mr. Lyon stopped her brother's rambling, placing a hand on his shoulder. Léandre flinched. She dropped her gaze to the floor when she felt her stomach drop. Ceres knew firsthand that Léandre would rather chop his own hand off than lead her to do something she didn't want to do on purpose. That didn't stop her from feeling guilty with every action he’d done for her sake, no matter what it cost him. She didn't realize that travelling to the capital would take two days one way. Léandre couldn't lose his job – his longest held job, and with Mr. Lyon as his boss, of all people! – because of her.

The greying bookstore owner didn't respond to the flinch. Instead, he glanced at the three children before him and gave her a very quick wink.

"I understand, Léandre," he said in the same gentle voice, and she couldn't help but think that he was saying that to her too. "It won't be easy, but I can wait for you for those four days. If you don't make it back within that time, I will have no choice but to give your job to someone else."

Now it was Léandre's turn to wear the good-surprised look.

"Thank you, sir, but why...?" he trailed off.

Ceres wondered how the bookstore owner could look so sad even though he was smiling. "At your age, my children and grandchildren have always had time to enjoy their childhood. And that is why I will do my best to give you that same chance, before the two of you grow up too quickly."

“Thank you, Mr. Lyon,” Léandre said, bowing his head.

Ceres did the same, unsure of whether bringing Albaer Lamont home would be as pleasant a childhood memory as Mr. Lyon made it out to be. She hoped it would, but that wasn't why she needed to do this.

Albaer watched in bewilderment as the two siblings bowed their heads in gratitude, feeling more confused by the minute. The elderly man couldn't possibly pick up the slack on his own. So why was their employer being lenient? Everything he'd allowed with no complaint, from his and Bellamy's argument to giving him four days off, was unheard of! He should have fired Bellamy for his audacity, not let him run off to do something he wouldn't even specify! Not that Albaer didn't appreciate his unbelievable lenience, but he saw no reason why the store owner would let it happen.

Surely Father was aware of his disappearance by now. No doubt that if he did, there was already a reward to bring him home. They all must have agreed to help him because they hoped to gain favour from his father. He was an idiot for giving away his name so easily! It was as Father said – he was with these peasants for barely half an hour and they were already eager to take advantage of him! Albaer had half a mind to storm out then and there.

But he couldn't help but watch the bookstore owner fuss over the two commoners as they discussed final arrangements before they left for the nearest train station. The older Bellamy was stiff and his replies curt as he removed his apron. The younger showed no outward reactions, merely responding to the questions with as much enthusiasm as Albaer imagined a rock would have.

All things considered, he remembered Enid's words – he could dislike the help all he wanted, as long as he accepted it. One way or another, he'd at least learn something from it. Despite the growing possibility of his escorts-to-be being backbiters, they were also different from what Father said peasants would be like in their specific personalities. They weren't snivelling cretins, and they weren't stupid. Bellamy's fluency in Rozenite proved that much. He only spoke two sentences, but it was lightly accented and used expressions, however insulting, that a beginner wouldn't know.

If he was being honest, they weren't like anyone he'd ever met or read about before. In The Age of Heroes, girls wanted to play princess or go flower picking, trailing after the knights who would humour their requests during their rounds in the kingdom. Ceres Bellamy wasn't the type to know what playing or happiness even was. He supposed, in that way, Bellamy's employer's words about them not having a childhood made sense. Maybe all commoner girls were like that. That was what decided it for him.

Albaer resolved to use their greed for a reward to bring him home. It wasn't like Father pandered to the demands of parasites anyway.

"Hey, Magic Boy! You're not going to get home in the back of the shop gaping like you've lost your brain. We'd love to help you find it, but we're on a tight schedule."

Albaer opened his mouth, a retort ready on his lips, only to find them already waiting on the other side of the open doorway. Gnashing his teeth together, he stomped as best he could around the books to catch up to them.

"Ah, young man?" A voice called from behind him. He stopped and turned to face the old shopkeeper, whose stare examined him from head to toe. It was different from the gentle looks he gave to the Bellamy siblings – it made Albaer feel uneasy, so he didn't sound as confident as he intended to.

"W-what is it?"

"Please cherish what is given to you," he said. "From those that have little, appreciation is the most they might ever receive."

Raising an eyebrow in curiosity, Albaer was about to ask him to clarify.

Bellamy, however, was no longer in sight of the doorway when he cut him off, sounding much farther than he was a few moments ago. "Any day now, Lamont!"

"Keep your hair on, Bellamy, I'm coming!" he snapped back before nodding to the bookstore owner and running the rest of the way out of the store.

By the time he caught up to the siblings, they were waiting for him again with varying levels of patience at the end of the street. Miraculously, Bellamy only gave him an aggravated glance and strode forward at a quick and light pace. If Albaer wasn't taller than him, he wouldn't have kept up with him, so it was a wonder how the younger Bellamy managed. The ash blond wore a ratty black coat with a hood over his head and a drawstring rucksack slung over his shoulder. His body language was coiled, yet was as busy and nondescript as the people around them.

Turning his attentions to his surroundings, Albaer surveyed the streets. The first thing he couldn't ignore was how everything and everyone behaved as if the word enthusiasm didn't exist in their language (it did, he checked). The streets were so dusty that he could taste mud in his mouth, the buildings and shops they passed were a dreary grey with grime, display windows were as dirty as the streets around him, and the sky refused to remove its filthy overcast. Albaer didn't even know why the sky looked like that in the first place. It was already mid-Herba, where was the sunny day and fresh breeze?

No really, he needed a breeze right now. Albaer knew what the townspeople did with their garbage –he almost vomited in his mouth when he stepped in something that resembled a spoiled, half-eaten meat pie– because they tossed it onto the streets without a care. They passed a man with a pungent, sour reek puking in an alley. Anything that didn't smell rotten or like it belonged in a toilet gave off the stench of smoke. As for the locals, don't get him started. They all wore baggy clothes that were either varying sizes of too big or too small. Everything they wore either tried to blend in with the dull scenery or were a mash of faded patchy colours that clashed with the residents’ red, black or brown hair.

Those who weren't trying to get somewhere or working in stores either lurked in alleyways and watched passersby or begged in the streets. His face tightened in distaste as he narrowly dodged a woman wearing too much makeup staggering past them. At least Father was right about the rest of the commoners being too lazy to do anything productive. Maybe Albaer had the luck of encountering the few that weren't.

"Magic Boy–" Bellamy began.

"Try and speak louder, will you? I think there are a few people on the other side of town that couldn't hear you," Albaer hissed.

"I trust that you're capable of paying for your own ticket," he said as if Albaer didn't interrupt. Albaer didn't retort right away, his face wiped blank as if the realization that he wasn't carrying any money on him was a crash landing airship. He seldom went into the city, so there was never any need to bring money with him. Besides, the servants or Father would always be the ones to pay for whatever he wanted.

Albaer's cheeks reddened as Bellamy stopped and turned around to face him when he didn't answer. He felt his face heat up even more when Bellamy's face took on a look of exasperation as he sighed. "I don't know what I expected."

Albaer spluttered. "You didn't even hear what I had to say yet!"

"Please." Bellamy rolled his eyes, moving forward once again. "As if it wasn't obvious. I shouldn't have asked a person who got mugged."

"I wasn't mugged."

"Oh?" The dryness packed into the single syllable could have peeled paint. "So you richies are so bored with your lives that you've finally turned to self-inflicted injuries as a form of entertainment? Consider me impressed."

"It's not that! It's more like...they couldn't steal what I... don't have," Albaer muttered, looking anywhere but at the hooded boy in front of him.

"So sorry Magic Boy, but would you mind repeating that again?"

Albaer barely held back a sudden, burning desire to punch Bellamy's face. "What kind of businessman holds his own money when there are servants who do the paying for them?"

"One that can pay for his own train ticket when he's stranded in a foreign country," Bellamy answered, not missing a beat.

Albaer growled. Not that it fazed the other boy. "I suppose you're too poor to pay for your ticket either, peasant. Even worse, you have to pay for your sister on a store clerk's wage. How many years' salary is it going to take to pay for the two of you? Or are you too proud to admit that you scammed the money out of your boss?"

Before Albaer could say anything else, Bellamy pushed him against a brick wall by his collar. His visible brown eye and snarl chilled him all the way down to his toes. The girl-Bellamy stood by his side, her body tense and her expression as blank as ever. If he didn't know any better, Albaer would have suspected that she would step in if they got out of hand.

"We could leave you here, you know," Bellamy hissed. Albaer met his cold fury with a fierce glare. He tried to struggle out of his grip, to no avail. To Bellamy's credit, he didn't seem to have noticed. "I didn't have to risk losing my job and Ceres didn't have to go out of her way to make sure you safely arrive to the Rozenite embassy. We could just leave you out here to fend for yourself."

"I would be fine without your help anyway!" He had a better shot than he thought he did before. Albaer could still remember the sensation of flames bursting from his fingertips and grudgingly wished he knew how to use it now.

The defiance in him faltered when Bellamy's expression twisted into a cold smile. "You don't get it, do you?"

He motioned with his head to the street beside them. Five servants inched by, levitating a first edition Cristo grand piano. Only two servants were Renan, indicated by their white hair and red eyes, but all of them had a bold red M on their left cheeks. Their faces shined with sweat. Trailing behind them was a man who wouldn't have been out of place at one of Father's business meetings. Their presumed master frowned and touched the signet on his ring. Albaer heard sizzling as the marks on their faces glowed red. They shuffled along faster.

Albaer forced himself to look at Bellamy again, whose smile seemed bitterer than it did before. "They don't only do that to Magias, you know. They do it to it to Renans, criminals, illegal immigrants. Imagine what they would do if they caught you." He released his grip on him and held out his hand. "I suggest you go back to wherever you came from soon, and the best way to do that is through our help."

Albaer always thought that Father, a native of Vesper, hated magic for personal reasons, and maybe he did. But Albaer suspected that growing up with sights like what he'd just witnessed had something to do with it too. His newly found magic, he concluded, would unquestionably have to be another secret he had to hide from Father.

Not to mention, the Bellamy siblings chose to help him. Bellamy didn't spare a moment to show him he'd have rather worked at that shabby bookstore than help him in hope of a reward. But then why were they helping him? Maybe it wasn't the right time to ask them. Maybe if he accepted their help, he might learn the answer along the way.

Albaer accepted the outstretched hand. "You'll be having me then, if you really don't mind."

“Don't kid yourself; of course I mind.”

“Well, you aren't the only one, you b–"

#original fiction #industrial fantasy #AHVI #original work

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