[Gideon Drabble 01]

"Look," Gideon took a shirt from the pile in front of his dresser and folded it to his chest. "If you tell Livia what we're doing now I swear I will have that chainsaw put back on you backwards."

He placed the shirt on top of a small stack of pants and tucked all of the items away neatly in his trunk. At his feet paced his faithful canine friend Razz, the metal stub his weaponized tail attached to waving like crazy.

"RAZZ UNDERSTAND," A robotic voice came forth from the larynx of the little pomeranian. "NO TELL LIVIA ABOUT DYING OR KILLING. RAZZ WILL ONLY TALK LIKE DORA THE EXPLORER BABY SHOWS."

waver & rider prompt [complete]

tw: suicidality

grad banquet skit. [co-written with Morgan.]

Morgan: “Good Evening everyone, welcome to Channel 12 News. My name is-“

[Jason interrupts Morgan by pushing her out of the way and takes over the intro.]

Jason: “Johnny Bravo. Recently, Barrington has been overrun by cats.”

[Morgan cuts Jason off]

Morgan: “A woman that the police have identified as Bethany Goreham broke into the cat shelter owned by one Taran Atwood. Reporters tell us that 28 cats are missing.”

Jason: “Possible accomplices to this crime are two females, Amelia Swaine and Ginger Bread Baker Robynn Christie. Was Amelia always like this? Reporter Kirsten Mitch-“

[Victoria comes on stage and tells Jason something.]

Jason: “It seems Kirsten is on an extended stress leave and will not be leaving her house.”

Morgan: “Swaine used to be a commended nurse in the only hospital in Canada to have the honor of working with Brain Surgeon Dr. Matt Adams. Also today, a tragic accident has occurred. A famous traveler by the name of Allie Duggan has crashed her hot air balloon somewhere on the coast of New Zealand; rescuers are still searching while ship captains Shayna Ross and Sidney Nickerson halt their cruises to help with the search. The police have recruited SPCA owner Paige Stoddard and her 75 trained canines for the shoreline. Here’s Luke Greenwood and Lindsey Nickerson with ‘History of Today’.”

Luke: “Today is a proud day in history; a man by the name of Nolan Symonds has gotten the okay by the Canadian Government and has proclaimed ‘Cockawit’ as its own language.

Lindsey: “After a long bidding war, Mr. Jason Maxwell, previously known for his collection of Magic Cards is now the owner of World of Warcraft. It’s not expected to be active for much longer.

[Xamersobn runs in and sits down.]

Xamersobn: “Genius Connor Jesso has invented the first successful hair growth serum.”

[Lindsey stares him down until he leaves]

Lindsey: “Gambler Brittany Ross has discovered what could save society, the end to all addictions, simply by filling the void with cats.”

Luke: “Phibs Farm owner Kylie Dixon will be recognized this fall for going above and beyond the call of duty in the field of animal care. When most people where nursing animals back to health, Dixon was nursing animals back to life.”

Lindsey: “And we’ll now hand it over to Victoria with the weather.”

Victoria: “Thank you Lindsey. Today, if you listen closely, you will hear Justin Belliveau off the coast of Geroges Bank acting as the world’s first human fog horn. That means for fishermen like Paul Nickerson, also known as the inventor of the waterproof Xbox, the weather isn’t looking great. Lows of 7 degrees and highs of 14. Rain and fog straight into Monday. The weather is always the same around here anyway, onto sports.

Xamersobn: “The world of sports today is mourning the loss of three fingers from professional bowler, Jessica Madden, but also today, feminists cheer for the first woman to ever win the strongman competition. Now we go from training at Jordan Atwood’s Gym, to Atwood’s Diner. Time for Culinary Corner with Mr. Bravo.

Jason: “The Decline of livestock production is being blamed on Emily Rose, says farm owner Xamersobn Jesso . This is affecting the sub franchise of Kassidy Nickerson as it’s only product, chicken and bacon subs, are supplied by Jesso Farms. On the other side of this disaster however is the halt in the production of Cheez Whiz after being sued by Matthew Goodwin for false advertising.

“Now, as you may have heard, after being bitten by a dog and getting rabies, worldwide Poutine factory owner Paige Symonds started a feud with Dakota Donaldson’s cheese factory which is no longer supplying Symonds as it is limiting its production to pizza-only cheese. On the lighter side however, Bakery owner Ashleigh Foster moves up in the world by teaming with Bulk Bark franchisee, Starling Nickerson, sending more than just Ms. Nickerson to Weight Watchers.

“Scotland MacKinnon is rumored as the next Man vs Food for the free meals as mentioned by The Joy of Bacon author, Nutritionist Colby Greenwood.”

[Morgan runs out on stage]

Morgan: “Everybody![Everyone comes out on stage] It’s 10 o’clock! All hail Hailey Jones, great and wonderful dictator of us all.”

[Everyone but Jason leaves the stage]

Jason: “Beauty salon owner Amber Nickerson hires world famous gingerbread baker and convicted cat thief Robynn Christie for her side restaurant for picky eaters. The enormous crowds have forced her to renovate. Right next to this, Rhylie Nickerson has opened a gum emporium with Vanessa Benoit as her sole employee.

[Morgan runs onto the stage]

Morgan: “Breaking news, super hero Alisson Paulino has just rescued 400 people from burning building downtown moments before it exploded, head fireman Tristan Crowell was on the scene with his crew to put out the fire. The mayor tried to arrange a meeting with Mr. Paulino but he was unable to attend as he is setting up the stage for his rock concert later tonight.

Jason: “In other news, The man who has been missing for 5 years, Dylan Penney, has been located in the South, he is alive and his cigar business is thriving. The police received the information from hairdresser Jenna Penney, who had gotten in touch with him from her Halifax headquarters. Canadian resident Jae Yong Lee teams up with Brad Rapp as today is the day that Rapp officially takes over the job of Hugh Hefner. Today the St. John Ambulance will be losing a valuable member today in Marcel Atkinson as he is off to Germany to further pursue their mysterious ways. Matthew Goodwin sues Cheez Whiz, stopping production worldwide; I can see the angry mob from here.”

Morgan: “In related News, scientist Leah Newell has proved that cheese now is a vegetable and now wants her name on it. You will be able to find “Leese” in your local produce aisle sometime in the near future. Now I’ll hand it over to Lindsey at the patent office.”

Lindsey: “Famous fashion designer Dustin Brannen comes out with his new fashions for the summer on July 18th. This reporter had the pleasure of viewing the new line a month early but suspiciously it seems the ladies line is made entirely of fishing line and Saran Wrap. Game designer Carolanne Atwood patents her 4th console this September, marking the world’s first total immersion virtual reality system. No word from Mars however. Her close friend Kelly-Rae Townsend has been working diligently with her concept art for the console’s first game. Critics acclaim the art thus far with comments such as “…are these images appropriate for my children?” “Is that a breast?” and “Oh my God my virgin eyes!!!”

“Kailey Adams opens her new maternity fashions store tomorrow, right beside her children’s fashion store, her men’s fashion store, her chinchilla fashion store and also that one for carrots. Manuela Ortiz’ first book was released last week. The master chef’s magnum opus has been entitled “How to use Olive Oil without Evacuating a School: A Handy Guide for Complete Doofuses and Canadian High School Teachers Addendum.

“Speaking of books, Motivational Speaker George Christie’s newest project “Silence Speaker Volumes” has become a New York Times best seller. 750 blank pages tend to make people look rather intelligent in public institutions, raising the self esteem of those who cannot read well all over the world. Motivational Speaker and rival to Christie’s success Devon Belong released his eighth book this week entitled “If You’re not First, You’re Last! A Collection of Things that Make YOU a Winner”. Ironically, though the book was a massive success, it has so far reached 55 on the New York Times best seller list. Belong goes on the record as saying “Looks like I’m last.” But since this was a soliloquy, we didn’t hear it.

“So I suppose it’s time to hand it over to you Luke.”

Luke: “About time. Welcome to Entertainment Today. Professional guitar player Nicholas Simpson was going to be playing something for us today in the studio but he was side tracked at Jessica Madden’s Ice Cream Shoppe, we haven’t heard word from him since.

Jason: “War Hero Lucas MacKinnon returns home with his hard-as-nails swag still in tact having kicked butt and taken many names for our Canada. He was unable to be reached for comment as we could not make it through the crowd of women.

Luke: “You hear him before you see him; the man who put Gord Miller and Chris Cuthbert out of their jobs, millionaire Jimmy Moy hit the number one on the list of highest paid sports announcers on the planet. Tune in after this to TSN to hear his story. Up and coming host of Teen Mom, Jessa Goreham has become the most successful to date, more and more people are trying to be on the show just so they can talk to her. We’re not sure what the world is coming to, but Jessa will help us make the best of it. She is said to have gotten her start on talk show The Word on Several Words, words spoken by Shianne Bower. Also, the now very well known welder Danielle Bateman is rumored to have reached her famous status through this show. We will return after this Herbal Essences commercial by Logan Atwood.

[Luke and Jason sit back and then Jamie comes running onto the stage, waving his arms, yelling- “THE END IS COMING. PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR THE APOCALYPSE…2012 IS UPON US.” Luke gets out of his chair and tries to drag him off the stage, but needs help so he calls for security and everyone comes to push him off the stage. [Luke and Jason then go back to sit down as if nothing happened, everyone else leaves.]

Jason: “Welcome back, Former small town man, Connor Nickers-“

[Shianne++ stand up and shout “HE DOESN’T EVEN GO HERE” then sit down again.]

Jason: “I think I’m done here. Back to you Lindsey.”

Lindsey: “Thank you Jason, We’re here to bring you all the reasons to be scared to go outside. Crime time. Many of our viewers would have participated in the province wide imitation Project X party, hosted by Shelby Stonebridge. Hundreds were arrested on site at the home of one Donna. If you are one of those many, chances are you’re watching this from inside the local Oak Park Penitentiary.”

Morgan: “One police officer on the Project X team has been fired for playing far too many videogames. Our sources tell us Science graduate Blair Jones, source for all gossip tells us that it is a male officer by the name of Brett Nickerson. Complaints have been flooding in about a man identified by our Masters in Science graduate Blair Jones, whom has taken up a side job to be our source for all gossip and information, tells us as Dillon Nickerson he is reported to be driving back and forth in front of Barrington Municipal High School, never coming in. There have also been reports about two individuals walking around town not saying a word. Our sources tell us that they are Jacob Haley and Darren Penney. Be on the lookout.”

Lindsey: “We’ll wrap up this segment by advising you to be aware of a man named Keidon Benoit, he is the owner of a nearby farm and is known to frequently ‘weed’ his crops, this is deemed dangerous by some, others however tell out reporters that he is so great that it’s like when you’re swimming and it’s good. These people were seen at Benoit’s farm yesterday.

“Now, over to Victoria with today’s obituaries.”

Victoria: “Today, Krysten Newell, well liked by many, has died today. She died the way she lived, laughing. A lot. As well, just yesterday, a pro baller from the bad side of town has died with his game winning basketball in his hand. The world of the NBA will miss Greg Perry.

“Rebecca Nickerson is currently trapped in an existential crisis, what was once a year off to figure out what to do with her life has become 5 and no one has heard word from her since. Her death is uncertain? Nova Scotian Medical School graduate Laura Yee is missing in action after her flight to Antigua crashed. Her wedding dress has been found but due to the sighting of mountain lions in the area, hopes are not high.- What’s that?....” [She listens in to her headset.] “She has been found riding a lion to Antigua. We will keep you updated on the situation.”

“Now, in other news- Heavy Metal Star Lindsey Nickerson enters the hall of fame today as not only a rock star, but as a model as well. One Sabrina Levy throws herself a welcome back party so large that all of Barrington Passage attended, ruining the plan of Shadey Hopkins for her own return. Felicia Krafve was in attendance with her 12 children and 14 pets as well as Michelle Adams. Her child was not happy to be pulled out of school. Kenzie Nickerson showed up late and missed all the fun, so he threw himself a party the next day, everyone gladly attended.

“English teachers Mason Goodwin and Jonathan Rhines, who tells us he became a teacher because of his deep love for school, planned a province wide Petting Zoo trip for all grade 7 students. The classes were bused to the Kelsea Ross Zoo. Only a few life threatening injuries were reported. Ross is not facing any charges as the only animals in the zoo threatened to stomp on the police. The RCMP is now very fond of Hippos.

“Fernanda Rodriguez, millionaire engineer buys out Victoria Secret and the Sims for herself while she makes sure that her children are intently focused on Bob Esponja when they are near the Television. While on the other side of the world, Alisha Ross graduates from Dalhousie, effectively McDoubling her already high intelligence. Now we hand it over to Luke and Xamersobn with the sports.”

Luke: “Thanks Victoria. Up and coming defence and goalie, Channel Nickerson and Katrina Dixon have been chosen for the Woman’s Canadian Olympic team. Professional track athlete and gold medal Olympian Wesley Birt won his tenth consecutive race this evening. Oddly enough, he was not actually scheduled to be competing today. He burst into the pool of friendly rival and fellow Olympian Xamersobn Jesso and bumped him to second in his own race. Stefan Nickerson came in third in this race after his long running start was interrupted by Mr. Cameron. Jesso is on the record as saying. “Son, I don’t know what’s wrong with that kid but I ain’t lying when I say I was impressed. I’ve never seen someone with such great water resistance.” Devon Belong is quoted as saying “I guess Xamersobn is last.”

Xamersobn: “Our very own Chad Harris has been recently drafted into the NHL as a professional goalie! Many teams are fighting over his possession, on account of no one really wanting him around. Reportedly the Habs have offered the Leafs 14 million to quote “Please just take him. Please.” Kiana Atwood, professional kayaker, has christened her newest vessel today. It has been named The Beast, and we doubt you’d like him when he’s angry.

Luke: “The Flying Squirrel, né Travis Atwood and his accomplice Erica Messenger attempted a new world record last month. Unfortunately, the record failed. On the bright side, one of them did manage to set a world record in the process. Messenger broke every bone in her body. For the second time. Runner up was Aaron Atwood who has been in a body cast for the second time.

Xamersobn: “The injuries are piling up this year as Softballer Holly Nickerson took another ball to her wrist, bringing up her game injury ratio to 45-87. However today marks the 584 897th day of the Tibia marathon for sports gamer Cody Cottreau. He requests that someone clear away the plates and empty bags of chips for him.

Hiking Guide Dede Nickerson lead her 100th hiking tour this morning, marking a long history of helping people get where they are going. In fact, without her guidance, I would probably still be home in my boxers. Thank you Dede, you’re the best car ever.

Luke: “In the world of motor sports, mechanic, Taylor Symmonds new line of car parts have been issued a total recall. Many were arrested on noise complaints and issues of street legality due to his particular brand of exhaust. We requested interview with Canadian Tire™ as to how they were even able to sell the product but were declined. Tanaia Hatfield becomes the first all terrain racer to use a Dodge Neon. Her car that has become known as the Ne-Bomb has taken quite a beating, but shows no sign of slowing down Now, onto our vehicle buy and sell segment sponsored by Brydon Ryerson at Ryerson’s Auto Trades. The South Shore’s #1 used car dealashep. Just yesterday Matt Atkinson traded in his pile of metal for an almost shiny new car. All thanks to Ryerson Auto Trader.”

Xamersobn: “Heroic fireman Nathan Newell’s got a pretty handy hobby as an off-roading vehicle mechanic. He gave us a number for repair and sales but we lost it. Kaila Nickerson’s been looking for a suitable mechanic for her beloved and misused Cavalier, but again, we wish we had Nathan’s number.

If you’re shopping for a new vehicle today however, you’ll be right with Ashley Holmes as she leaves her family Tracker behind as it has ceased to function. She refuses to junk it though; she tells us she has too many fond memories. She plans to be green and to use as many parts as possible on her future ride, with the help of Nathan Newell if we could only get his number....[Cameron pauses to listen to his ‘headset’] We have been informed of a man by the name of Jordan Nickerson who works diligently on others’ cars. We recommend that you give him a call as he doesn’t even have enough money for a car of his own. Over to you Morgan.”

Morgan: “Tune in next week to Channel 12 news when we bring in Author Kate Lawson to discuss her newest book before the coverage of the election between Richard Clark and Justin Couttreau. All we ask of our viewers is that someone tell Samantha Smith what she missed because she was too busy looking at herself in a mirror.”

[Everyone comes back on stage and bows]

“Thank you, and goodnight!”

peacock past fic. [complete]

Trigger warnings: gore, violence, eye scream.

from this point on, all posts will be new additions.

Tick. (Pending)

There were some people who just knew the time. It was set in their bones and minds—An internal clock that helped them along. Some people just didn't need to see their watches or alarm clocks. Some people were simply able to just wake up in time for school, or work, or what have you.  Generally, these sorts of people were everyday people like you and I. But in some cases, they were not, and behind their eyelids was printed the proper time of day. And more so than a benefit or a perk, it seemed to be a curse. These people lived among the regular of us, however, under very special rules, conditions and responsibilities. They lived just as we did, and if you weren't informed, you would never notice these spectacular and yet inpeculiar beings. To identify them was impossible to anyone but each other, but yet their people almost never met. You see, to another Timekeeper, the eyes of a Timekeeper reflected the time of day they were akin to. Timekeepers, as you may or may not have guessed, are assigned to an area and must stay there in order to keep the time. Thus the name of Timekeepers. A Timekeeper for an area was only permitted to travel the expanse of the time zone they dictate, and are forced to move position periodically in the shape of Daylight Savings. Andbutso, the North American time zones seemed to have it the most maddening out of all of them. The Timekeeper of Central America was a stalky young man, with messy hair the shade of wheat in the sundown glow and eyes so curious they were simply too large for his face. His name was Arthur Alan Ackerman, and he was growing restless and over-stressed. "I'm tired of this already," he sighed into his school-grade carton of milk. He pinched the sides until they spread open, taking a displeased swig of the questionably soured liquid. He pushed it out of his way and laid his arms down over his seat at the table and his head down into the crevice.  "But it's only your third time, Arthur," Miranda smiled as empathetically as she could manage, as much as she didn't really care for his petty scheduling problems. She was there for his company, and he was there for her's, and they were there for the sake of not constantly being alone on campus. "Alan," he mumbled from under his jumble of limbs. "My name is Alan. No one's called me Arthur since grade school or teachers who're fuckups and don't know the history of their students' preferred nicknames. I've told you that every day this year." "Oh, you're just hung up about being called Aardvark Boy all through elementary and middle school. Arthur's a fine name," Miranda smirked down into her XXL bucket of coffee, swishing it around and staring into the caffeinated whirlpool it created. "And so is Alan," Alan said firmly, sitting up rod straight to shoot Miranda a playful sneer. "Now are you going to let me have any coffee or not?" She returned his sneer, one-upping him with a raspberry. Miranda held her coffee out to Alan, and Alan took it firmly and chugged as much as he figured would fill his lungs and suffocate him. "Aw, man. It went down the pipe to my stomach instead." he grumbled, rubbing his eyes with the fingers of one hand.  "You're still trying to drown in it, Ackerman? It's the same hole, dumbass." The medical student snarked, grabbing back her coffee with a smirk. "Well, excuse me, princess." Sociology snarked back, waving his hands before him spasmodically. "Could use some more cream." Miranda thought aloud, reaching out to Alan's discarded milk carton and pouring it into her jar. He decided against telling her it was probably sour, since she wasn't paying much attention to him when he tried to drink it. She slurred it around again, twisting one of her dark curls over her shoulder in wait. If there was one thing about Miranda Seacrest that was beautiful, it was her long, dark, perfectly curled hair. And if there was one thing horridly wrong with her, it was her attitude towards people. She hated everything and everyone, and had only decided to become a doctor to have the ability to cut people up and take parts out of them. She wasn't the most beautiful looking person ever, but she wasn't completely terrible looking either. Her features were just all very large, but being they were large in a symphonic way, they worked together. Like a chorus of tubas, Alan had once remarked. She had elbowed him into a pile of trash bins as her concerto. Either way, she was good enough looking, but not really Alan's type. He didn't like her, but he didn't really hate her. They just had nothing in common aside from a heaping side dish of not having any other friends. "You've been doing this half year over here, half year over there thing for two years. It's not so bad. At least you get to travel." "If that's what you want to call it..." Alan muttered disgruntledly, placing his hands down onto the table with force and picking himself up. Miranda looked up at him curiously, but he sighed dismissively and waved his hand. "Look, I'm gonna be late to German and then I have to get back to my dorm and pack up. Enjoy your coffee." As Alan had said the words and began to sling his shoulder bag on, Miranda had lifted the coffee to her lips and began to slurp. She promptly spit the tainted liquid out all over her front, cussing loudly about the milk's quality. Alan grinned at her knowingly, chortled, and departed from his lunch date quickly. In fact, Alan Ackerman was not late for anything, nor was he even a student of German. He had just developed an uncanny knack for schedules and knew that the German class was the closest thing about to begin. He couldn't really explain his knack for time, and he couldn't really tell anybody about it in the first place. He was given a special task almost straight from birth from Father Time himself. A binding, boring task that he had grown not to be so happy about the more he grew up. Every year of his life, he had to uproot and move a few states over to live with his father for a few months, and then come back to his normal place with his mother. And it really didn't help that he had the knowledge that their marriage had not failed due to the regular issues... But because it had to, just to keep him alive. Alan just wanted so much to stay in the same place. Just as much as he wanted to visit every place. Perhaps the truth was that Alan was sick of the control and his life being a ticking, controlled clock at all times. But, well, that was the duty of a Timekeeper. And it sounded so cool when he was 5 to be specially chosen to take up something so important. Oh, how he just wanted to reach back in time and slap his 4 year old self in the face. You see, if an old man with a beard comes to you asking you to do something really important, you're allowed to say no. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Lament for himself and his stupid life aside, Alan threaded the needle and crossed into his dorm with a sigh. "Hey." His roommate greeted him, rather impersonally, without looking up from a soldering project. "Whatever," Alan huffed back impatiently, lifting the heavy messenger bag from his shoulder and lowering it into a seat situated by his work desk. "Haven't I told you a million times that we don't use hot solder in the dorm? We can't even have a hot plate. If anyone caught you, they'd solder your asshole shut." "Har, har, Ackerman," The other male lifted his attention from his work, lowering thick goggles from his eyes. "Just because you took a major that doesn't require getting your pretty clothes dirty doesn't give you the right to be an ass." "At least I seem to have an excuse, Tucker." Alan smiled to himself as he unclipped the front of his bag, lifting out a small computer and a pile of papers and setting them on the desk. It seemed Christopher Tucker had no retort prepared this time, which was agreeable for Alan. As much as he loved berating that little prick, and as much as it made him feel better, winning a snark-off was just what he had needed. He seated himself at his computer with his bag at his back, flipping open the top.  "Now get the fuck out of here before I call campus police on your ass for having a weapon…" Alan didn't look up from his screen as he logged in and began to check his email. "After all, how would a socio-buff like me know what that heated death pen is really meant for, anyhow?" "Jesus, you're just full of it today, Alan." Tucker muttered in a rather defeated tone. Alan could hear hurt shaking on his words, and so he turned around to look Chris in the face. "So be it. It's not as if you're the funny Chris Tucker of Rush Hour fame. I like him. I wouldn't mind being his Jackie Chan." Alan shrugged a shoulder, pulling a sigh from deep down inside of Chris. "I've tried being kind to you, I've tried being snarky back at you… But really I'm just getting sick of you taking your days out on me. What's the big deal, Alan? Just tell me." He pulled his desk chair over to Alan's, seating himself on it backwardly and looking to his roommate imploringly. The thing with this not-beefy, not-black, not-Rush-Hour Chris Tucker was that if he couldn't figure out what made a thing tick, he wanted to know all the more. Even though Alan Ackerman was so rude and nasty to him on such a regular basis, it just made Chris want to figure him out so much more. In fact, Chris was beginning to look forward to seeing his roommate and being berated lately… It'd become a sort of fascination, and in a sick and twisted way, he'd miss Alan. He figured he wouldn't even both denying his massive, homosexual crush where, he, Chris Tucker, did indeed wish Alan Ackerman would be his Jackie Chan any longer. It didn't seem like it wanted to go away quite yet. "Alright," Alan breathed through half-parted lips in a pout. He turned in his chair similarly to Chris, resting his chest and arms at the top of the seat. "So you really want to know why I hate you, huh?" Chris felt his heart flutter up into his throat, and he nodded. Alan smiled a wry, thin smile before it grew into something more bashful. He rubbed his chin gingerly, cocking his head gently. "It's nothing personal. I had just requested not to have a roommate, and there you were. So I pretty much hate you just for existing," Alan smiled almost genuinely this time, standing from his chair and clapping Chris on the shoulder. "I'm glad we had that talk. Good chat. Now get your freaky junk and get out so I can pack." Chris moved to stand up from his chair, but Alan pushed him back into it. He then unplugged the soldering machine and dumped it and whatever Chris had been soldering into his lap with a swipe of his arm. He held Chris fast, pushing him towards the door and then eventually out of it, locking the door with a satisfied smile. For the added sense of triumph, as well as a dusting of douchebaggery, Alan happily clapped his hands together as if he were dusting away any cooties he may have caught from touching Chris and he sat down on his bed. And he placed his head in his hands. And he fought the urge to break down and cry. For just a moment, Alan let himself introspect. He realized that the extent of which he hated everyone really didn't end at himself at all. Everyone encompassed everyone who'd ever seemed to live. And it really sickened him how much he self-loathed all the time, and how it was just an unconscious reaction to turn everyone against him. It occurred to him all at once that he knew he was at fault for accepting such a dumbass proposal when he was just five, just to seem important. And he wanted to seem so important so badly that he'd ripped apart the lives of the only two people that could ever care for him. He just wouldn't let it happen to anyone again—No one would ever get close enough to have their life ruined by him the way he had ruined his own. He also felt an intense disgust for his major.  Sociology? Please. You only chose that to figure out how people work so you can figure out how to upset them so they'll leave you alone. Alan Ackerman mentally punched himself in the face. "I'm getting so tired of this," he mumbled, repeating himself from lunch and curling into a ball in the middle of his bed. He pulled the blankets up over his head, the way he did when his parents got upset with him for whatever he did, and cried with dry eyes. ***** The bus was on its way now any time. The one that would take him from the college to the airport, and from the airport he'd board the plane, and from the plane he'd leave his college life to study at one of his homes with his father the college professor. The clocks in his eyes dictated 3:05 pm. He sighed, taking up his windbreaker into his arms and hugging it close. He gazed from the window of the common room with a mixture of wanderlust for either of his homes and also a lust to just stay behind. To just not get on the bus or the plane and stay where he was at. But he knew that wasn't an option, as Father Time had told him the Zoning Ritual was highly mandatory. Whatever that meant. Alan turned his gaze beside him, and he saw Chris fretting with a busted zipper seam on his travel bag. "You should take better care of your things, Alan. You'll have this thing destroyed," he chuckled, seeming to have completely forgotten about being down-talked or locked out until 4 am that night. He didn't even seem tired… Bastard. "Yeah, I guess so," Alan replied, moving his hand from a resting place for his cheek to his chin. "At least I have you to take care of my shit." Chris looked up, completely astonished. His big green eyes glittered under his neat, chestnut hair for a moment. Alan moved his hand from his mouth, offering up a weary but true smile to the poor guy. "I'm sorry I'm such a pissy bitch. But I guess you don't have to fucking worry about me anymore, huh, big man?" Alan laughed loathingly at himself, just as the bus pulled into view of the University. He stood, gathering his things wordlessly a moment before he felt a tug at his sleeve. It was Chris, looking up at him pitifully and holding something. "I know how much you hate wearing these thing, man, but I know you need 'em to read. So don't try and leave them behind again, alright, asshole?" he shoved the case into the pocket of Alan's jacket, turning around and making off at a sprinter's pace. Chris had wanted to say he didn't mind taking care of such a pissy bitch, and he wanted to say he'd actually rather do it than not, but it turned out Alan Ackerman wasn't the only pissy bitch about the campus. Alan sighed, taking the object from his pocket to examine what it was—His dorky old reading glasses. "What a motherfucker," Alan grinned, shaking his head. And with that gesture, his mind was made up. He rushed to catch up with his bus. It didn't take long to get from point A to point B. The airport wasn't so far away from campus as many other things… But the smell of old people on the shuttle bus sure made it seem a little longer. Alan held his tongue during the ride, but when he exited the vehicle and saw the older citizens getting away, he coughed until he felt all of the air leave his lungs and held his breath until he could find a new spot to breathe in. He made his way inside the building in a melancholy, dragging his ratty suitcase on wheels by the handle behind him. And he proceeded with the plan. The plan he'd made after making up his mind, of course. Alan approached his gate, digging out his ID and ticket, sticking his thumb onto both to hold them firmly in his hand. And he did a remarkable thing—Something he never thought he'd do in all his life, especially after checking his baggage to the correct plane. He chose the closest boarding gate, and he entered the queue. He kept his demeanor, and flashed his credentials when asked, thumb pressed firmly over his flight number. He even kept a smile on his face when the kind women told them they had hoped Arthur would enjoy his flight. And the attendants bought it. They bought him. Alan Ackerman did not have any idea where he was going, and he really didn't care, and he also really didn't care about losing every article of clothing he'd owned. What he did care about, however, was living. What he cared about was changing. And most of all, what he cared about was finally doing what he always wanted to do and finding himself. Arthur Alan Ackerman took the wrong plane.

Raid! Dump (Pending)

The crunch of bones underfoot was basically the only sound. The forest was always eerily quiet – What with lack of wildlife, the only lives brave enough to venture inwards were soon ended. And then there were three. Pierrot trudged onwards, his goggles pinned to the ground in search of anything that caught the moonlight. Once in a while he lifted his chin to squint in the green shade of his nightvision, reading over a sign to make sure of his position. "Ah, so I'm so deep in that the signs are starting to get all punny on me… I think I may be lost," he mused, shaking his head at the brown board that read Banzai! Corpses Dead Ahead! He trekked back the way he came, shrugging a hanged man over his shoulder in a ducking motion as he went. "Please consult police before you decide to die," he murmured the contents of another sign, smiling lightly in recognition. "Please reconsider? Hah! This place mocks me all the damn time!" The teen flopped over onto his back with a sigh, deciding an appropriate time for a break was most definitely overdue. His back slammed hard against a tree's exposed roots, causing him to roll over onto his side in agony. "Ahah," a small moan escaped the mouth beside his. A sharp gasp escaped his lips at the feeling of breath on his nose. His eyes strained to view the figure. "Jeez, Recca! What the hell are you doing?!" "I'm thinking like a corpse! If I was a dead guy, where would I stick my valuables?" The girl beside him wiggled a bit closer to his face, seemingly trying to imitate rigor mortis. Her pigtails dragged through the dirt and she blew them out of her face. "Now are you Pi or Indie?" Pierriot sighed. "Next question – where the hell are your glasses?" "Well, it depends on who you are…" "It's Pierrot." "Well, eeehhh… Indigo has them!" "Dead people don't talk," Pierrot concluded, pulling her hat down over her face with a sigh. Behind him he caught the glint of a wedding ring. As he got to his feet, he snatched the finger away from the body and went on his way. "Indigoooo! Indie! Indiana Jones!" he shouted at the silent trees. "All the dead guys are waving, but I ain't talkin' to them! Come out!" "God, Pi. You're gonna wake the dead," a voice laden with a smile called back from the trees overhead. Indigo descended – He slid down from his perch on a bungee string and whipped up his goggles with a grin. "Gee, Pi. All you got's a stupid ring finger? Up here… I got this rich lady with all sorts of gaudy accessories! I think I'm in love!" Pierrot jimmied the ring from the digit and shoved it into his pocket with a smile, beginning to pick away at the skin of the finger he held like ripping a sheet of paper into neat squares. "Was she hot?" "Big boobs. I think she could've been a real babe aside from the part where the animals took a snack on her nose. And I think she's been up here a while. Master of hide n' seek I guess," "Man, you're just gross," Pi replied, snorting. He readied his own climbing equipment and attached to Indigo, flipping down the other boy's mask for him and dropping the married corpse's finger down into it. "JESUS—" Indigo screeched, flipping his visor up and shaking his head wildly. He felt that a few flecks of blood painted his face and franticly began to rub them away with the backs of his hands. Pierrot laughed cheerfully and flipped around once in his harness. "Poor baby Indie can't handle getting his pretty face dirty!" he laughed in a singsong voice. "And you call me gross, you sick fucker!" Indigo bellowed, causing Pi's heart to drop into his stomach. The smaller, younger grave robber knew he was in for a world of hurt if he didn't use the dead chick as a posthumous shield. He shimmied up the tall trees as fast as his body could move, wrapping himself around the corpse like a blanket when he reached the top. He stuck his tongue out to his teammate, grinning and nuzzling the deceased. "Hey, Indie," Pierrot began thoughtfully, pushing the hair of the woman back out of his way. "What is it now?" the other grumbled, his rage having subsided with the climb. Pi fiddled with the tiny clasp of one of the woman's necklaces. "Recca said you had her glasses… So that means you told her to pretend to be a dead bro, didn't ya?" A faint smile came to Indigo's lips as Pierrot made his deduction. "Maybe," he grinned, biting the thumb of his right glove and pulling it away from his hand. He craned his neck over to Pierrot who removed the glove from his mouth. He clipped it to a clasp on his own chest and went back to work on the jewellery. "I think it's more than a maybe," Pi chuckled. Indigo lifted the woman's shirt with his left hand and gave a loud whistle. "Oh, baby! You know what papa likie!"  "I see you're back to your cheerful self, cap'n. Mind tellin' me what you're whistling at? Great rack?" Pierrot placed a locket into his bag and slid over to the front of the woman, getting a glance for himself. "Even better. This little lady here's more pierced up than a god damn Satanist convention. Look at all them shinin' golden hoopie-loops!" Indigo rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "But… Uh…" "What?" Pierrot saw Indigo's face fall, knowing he'd have to do something unpleasant. "Too gross for me man. You can rip 'em out." "O—Oh… Lovely… You are such an all around man, Indie." "Shut up, ass. I'm gonna puke my guts about the finger thing enough as it is." "Oh, you make me shut up, ass-i-er," Pi challenged, shutting his eyes and puckering his lips in mocking. "With. Pleasure," Indigo laughed, turning the face of the woman to his partner and pressing her lips close to his. "Oh dude your lips are cold. Why the hell are you actually kissing m—" Pierrot's eyes flipped open. His words cut short. "Dude. Seriously. The dead chick?" "I'd rather kiss her than you, so I figured I'd save the effort of having to do either," Indigo smiled sweetly, taking up Pi's former spot on necklace duty. "I hate your ass so much right now. That's just nasty." Pi grumbled, ripping out a handful of oddly placed stomach piercings with a twist of his hand. "Yeow. Violent much. I could almost hear her scream at that one." "Yeah? Well I'm gonna do that to your dick if you keep up, loverboy." "Harsh! Harsh! It's as if you really wanted to kiss me!" "GOD NO. I think I prefer what I got, thanks." He responded with a grumble, wiping his lips bitterly. "Heeeey Indieeee!" Recca called out from below. "When can I stop being dead?" "You can't, Recca. You're a dead guy. It doesn't just reverse!" Pi called back down, snickering. "Oh, oka—" "Don't listen to him!" Indigo called back, slamming Pierrot in the side with an elbow. "You can stop when I give you back your glasses. I'm coming down now," This was met with silence. "… Recca? How come you didn't answer me?" "'Cause Pierrot said dead people can't talk, chief!" "But you just—I don't even—" Unable to think of a proper way to reason with Recca's logic, Indigo simply sighed in anguish. "Be right down!" Pi laughed in a choked manner, sliding down the tree quickly. He jogged over to Recca and smiled down at her. "Well, c'mon, Rec. Get up," "I… I can't. I have rig her mormis," she frowned deeply. "Wh—" "I'm not not dead yet so I can't move!" she spat back matter-of-factly. "But your mouth would be… Oh, nevermind," Hard to defeat that one, he mentally quipped. "I'm comin', I'm comin'!" Indigo jogged over, flopping down onto his stomach. His exclamation was met with a snort from Pi. He quickly shot the younger boy an unimpressed look. "Okay, honey. I got your glasses here and when I put 'em on ya you're gonna be good as alive again. Got it?" Recca stared at Indigo with blank eyes, her mouth flopping open and drool falling down the side of her chin. "She's dead, Indigo," Pierrot had leaned down to their level to interject. "I'm sure she'd nod if she could," "Duuuuh," she moaned in agreement, trying to make it sound like some sort of affirming zombie grunt. "You two…" Indigo rolled his eyes, shaking his head in a moment of distaste. He pushed Recca's glasses onto her face and offered up his hands. She took them, and the group got to their feet. "Yanno, you make a real good like dead girl, Rec. You should be in movies," Pierrot remarked fondly, placing a hand on the smaller girl's head and mussing up her muddy pink pigtails. "What with them cutie looks, you're bound to make all the boys want you and all the girls wanna be you," "Boys are gross!" she quickly responded, throwing her hands up in protest. "Aww, then what are we, Recca?" Indigo asked. "I'm pretty sure we're boys." "You're the not-gross kind. Like the little cartoons on my cereal boxes. I like them. They're not gross," she beamed. "Ah… That was supposed to be a compliment or…?" "Stifle it, Pierrot," Indigo's voice indicated for Pierrot not to question Recca's 'kind words', but his eyebrows and shoulders arched into a classic position of 'I dunno, man!'  "So, didja guys get any good monies or loots today?" Recca asked enthusiastically, lifting her arms up to Indigo who promptly scooped the young girl up and placed her on his shoulders. They passed under a couple of freshly hanged people, of which she grabbed at the feet of playfully. "Eh, we got all we could have from this one goldmine of a lady. But the sun's coming up and the clean up crew are getting' here soon… So we gotta bolt," Indigo replied with a frown. "She had so much more on 'er. I'm sort of disappointed. We should have ripped off her ears and stuffed them in our pockets. She had a nice row of expensive ones going," Pierrot added with a regretting sigh. "But you must be getting tired, Rec. And, besides. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve. We always get a lot of good ones then," The three carried on through the eerie, silent woods. All excited for yet another day's looting.

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"Heeeeey Indigo," "What is it, Recca?" the team leader sighed, his dark eyes scanning the empty woods. Nor of them were wearing their regular jumpsuits, which made Indigo a bit antsy beneath the young girl on his shoulders. He felt unclean among the bodies – The ones hidden and untouched by the cleaning crews.  Visitors to Aokigahara milled about them. Living bodies in the forest was a rare sight to the raiders. The noise was an unwelcome drone in Indigo's ears. "Where did Pi go?" Recca lifted her legs forward with a loud sigh and then slammed them into Indie's chest. "Oof!" he reacted, taking her ankles into his hands to hold them still. She began to restlessly beat the palms of her hands against his hair. "I dunno where he went. That idiot is always getting lost," "It's daytime though," she remarked, stopping herself from drumming on his head to instead rest her cheek onto the top of it. "We ain't s'posed to raid at daytime." "Well, he's not raiding and neither are we. He said he forgot something… And as his teammates we're obligated to, like, be there or something. I dunno," Normally, his tone would have assumed a grumpy role at these words but seeing Recca calm down a bit caused him a light smile. Even though she was 14 years old, she would always be the baby to him. "Well it'd be a good help if he told us where to meet him…" she yawned, burying her eyes into his dark brown hair. She took a couple of rough handfuls and snuggled into him as though he was a blanket. She wasn't used to being awake during the day. "We'll find him. Be patient," His most soothing voice – It still sounded rough. Indigo was far from a soft person. "Heeeeey Indigo!" "What is it now, Recca?" "I think you just stepped in brains!" "WHAT?" Indigo yelled, leaping back to examine the ground where he had just stood. "April Fools!" Recca giggled loudly. "It's December!" Indigo yelled in response. "I hope the yurei get you tonight…" "The whaaa?" "The yurei. They're bad spirits who yell and stuff. Ask Pi. He's some sort of creepy savant expert," "Does he LOOK like he's here?" she huffed, lifting her head. "Well, no; I suppose not..." Indigo's eyes narrowed. He didn't appriciate the attitude she had been giving out lately. He decided a subject change might be best. "Say, why d'ya think all these people are visiting on Christmas Eve?" "Easy!" Recca grinned. "They've come to sneak under the ropes and then--" Indigo cringed at the pleasure she took in making a long choaking noise. She was used to the worst in people -- It made him feel like a bad guardian. But things were the way they needed to be. It was all out of his hands. "Heeeey yoooou guuuuys!" Pierrot's voice pierced his thoughts. His eyes lifted as well as the whole of Recca. He stood a few feet back in the brush, holding two over-pierced ears in his hands. "Pierrot! What the hell did I tell you about raiding in the daylight!?" "Aww, but chief! They didn't find her and I really wanted these..." His shoulders stooped forward, his bottom lip hauling straight out. "Oh-ho-ho no. You are NOT using the puppy dog face on me. That doesn't even work when Recca does it!" Recca giggled from above him at his lie. "I-- I really am sorry, Indigo. I-I promise I'll never do it again. Never do it again," Pierrot's eyes welled over with fake tears. He clutched the ears tightly, making slow and pitiful steps toward the others. "Th- This isn't even phasing me!" Indigo's voice had rose several octaves, his bottom lip wobbling. No matter what his mouth said, he fell for it every time. Pierrot's lip wobbled as well. His shoulders began to falsly shake. "I-Indigooooo..." "Pierrot!" Indigo lifted Recca from his shoulders and set her down beside him. He rushed at Pierrot, arms open. "Pi!" "Indigo!" Pierrot gasped back through his crocodile tears, throwing his arms about and meeting his elder in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry I made you cry. Please forgive me, Pierrot," Indigo looked down at Pierrot, just as his face broke into a crazy little smirk. "You are the mama. You are always the mama," "GOD DAMN YOU!" Indigo shouted, grabbing Pi's shoulders and shaking him about. "GO PUT THE EARS BACK,"  "Alright, alright; yeesh!" Pierrot gave Indigo a shove and plopped down onto the ground, digging a little hole with his hands. Sighing, he shoved the detached ears into it and covered them over. "I'mma come for these little buddies in the morning... My morning, that is," "Heeeeey, Pierrot!" Recca got down on the ground, crawling up between Pi's legs and flopping her chin roughly onto his chest. "Indigo said I should ask you about the yurei but I dunno why he can't just tell me," "Because I'm an idiot savant," he grinned down at the younger girl in reply, placing a hand on her head and messing around her hair. "Er, well, that's what mama says." Inidgo scoffed. "Well, ah, Recs. The yurei are like... Ghosts. Spirits. Dead," "Like me last night!" she laughed. Pierrot grinned and nodded. "Exactly," he could only agree with her muddled logic. "Normally the people who off themselves out here get left behind as... Uh..." "Spiritual residue," Indigo murmured as he bent his knees to join them at their level.  "That works. They're stuff left in their life, so they're stuck here until they get done what they need to do to be at peace. Usually that ain't the case though," "Oh..." Tears stood in Recca's eyes. "D-Don't nobody help them?" "Thing is, they can only be seen when they wanna be seen. And usually then they'll hurtcha!" Pierrot grabbed Recca's sides and hoisted her into the air, to which she screamed first in terror and then glee. The male stood, flipping her around in the air and then squeezing her knees to his chest. "And then they look for bad little girls with no mamas and then--!" Pierrot's voice grew to a teasing darkness. Indigo picked it up, springing to his feet. "They tickle their bare freet until they laugh to death," he chuckled darkly, running his fingers along the bottoms of her feet. This was made easy by the fact she was never the type for socks and shoes - She liked the feel of the mud too much. "Hey, you damn kids! Get the hell out of here!"  A dirty clean up man shouted at them, hearing Recca's screams and laughs. He burst from the bushes faster than anyone his age should have. The deep creases of his face morphed even deeper into a scowl. The boys ran like the wind; Pierrot still held Recca upside down as he bolted. He felt his foot catch. He felt his grip on the younger girl give way. He felt the strange sensation of a fall. He felt her sliding away.  He felt sick. Pierrot plummeted.

Tout Le Monde Est Fou Dump (Pending)

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"Please go away,"  I said it every night to him. Every night he'd perch himself in the air right over my head, long legs crossed and kicking nonchalantly as though he were aiming for my head.  He'd say nothing. He'd just hang there and eat marmalade on toast that had just appeared out of thin air. I'm still unsure of how he did so through his mask. Every so often a little dribble of fruity jam would drop into my hair. Several times I had asked him to apologize but he never would. And so I reitterated every night.  "Please go away," Some nights his face would press to mine and he would just stay there. The painted over spots where eyes should be cut into his mask just peered into me for hours. He left when I awoke. I slept only once every 2 days now lately. My mother and father had begun to complain of my tea consumption if only in my consience. They had left me years ago in this big empty manor with a big full safe. Very dangerous.  I could not escape my troubles in dreams, nor my torments in wakefulness.  "What is this? Kabuki?" I had asked him. The man's head turned to me from up on his invisible perch.  "It's Noh," he replied placing a hand to his mask. "You should know, Master Dominique. You created it," Stunned, I said nothing. He had answered me. Maybe because I had asked him a question instead of demanding him to leave.  "Excuse me?" "This is your creation, young master." "Your name?" "You've yet to create that yet. I call myself Sommeil. Masque Sommeil," "Clever," I said. Sommeil did not reply. I assumed he had adopted an only speak when spoken to attitude. If I had known how I created him at the moment, I would have changed this.  "I see, Sommeil. What do you know of me?" "Dominique Aimé le Fevre. Born on the third day of a February. Fifteen years of age. Your mother and father died when you were ten and left you in a lonely house full of money. When you were eight yo-" "Stop," I would be lying if I said I wasn't upset with how much he knew, nor his monotone way of speaking about things of such importance to me. "Why are you tormenting me?" "Master, I am not here to cause you harm. I am here because I am needed by you. Because you willed me here," "I don't remember doing such a thing," I was speaking through gritted teeth by now.  "You should be in an orphanage. Why is that you are not?" With those biting words, the sides of the mouth in his mask stretched hideously and he dismissed me into wakefulness with a snap of his long, slender fingers.  ＊＊＊＊＊ Always I am here with Dominique. I may only speak to him in his dreams.  Dominque left for his classes that morning. Mundane and unremarkable. I coaxed him into sleep during a review of local Orléans heroine Jeanne D'Arc. Dominique had already spent much time researching her.  "This isn't the time, Sommiel," the young boy frowned at me, running his hand through his sandy hair. His face was always painted in a frown, and mine in a smile I'm sure he would add.  I placed my face to his. Nose to nose. I awaited a question.  "Why am I asleep?" Finally. He had asked something. In reply I pointed to myself, pressing a bit tighter to him in anticipation.  "Why?" I back away and straightened my tie, motioning to the back wall of the young boy's dream world.  "May I have permission to speak freely, young master?" He nodded in response, rubbing his arms prickles with soft, fine hairs and goosebumps. "Your mother was born in Domrémy as well as Saint D'Arc, hm, Dominique? Was she beautified as well in her death?" "Excuse me, Sommeil?" "When the wretch died, was she made to be wonderful?" I saw a muscle on his face twitch.  "All peoples are golified upon their death. My mother no exception. All humans are granted the right of respect upon their passing, and my mother was indeed no wretch. She was a glorious lady," "So I see," I nodded, motioning behind me once again. I showed him images he had surpressed or had not lived to witness. His horrified look was proof enough that my purpose was coming to light ever so slowly.  "Who is that?" he trembled.  "Your mother beat him to death," I releived the young master of the images with a wave of the hand, sliding back to my possition with my mask to his nose. "Your older brother Daniél. Before you could comprehend what was going on or who he was, Daniél took his last blow." His eyes searched mine for a moment or at least tried to.  "You lie," he quivered.  "No," I replied, turning my back to him and taking my perch in front of him. "You'll learn much here. More than out there. More than in the churches," With a snap, Dominique awoke to his class. Nine months of waiting for a question;  Our work had just began.  Young master began to sleep more and more often.  

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"And if she asks me if she's pretty then, what do I say?" Sommeil's head turned to me very slowly, as if he assumed I knew the answer and was just being a dult. "I mean, you say if I answer honestly I obviously won't find her attractive with her cheeks all hanging open and gross..." Sommeil chuckled lightly at this and spurred our stead lightly.  "Of course, Dominique, whether you tell her the truth or not she'll become angry and lash out at you..." What an iriatation Sommeil was.  "So I distract her." "Exactly, master. You confuse her." "And what exactly is this called again? A kushizukie nah?" "Kuchisake onna, Dominique," Even though his tone always sounded a bit harsh from lack of emotion, I realized here that Sommeil was always gentle with me. He meant not to show me how daft I was in my mistakes, but only that they were but mistakes and could be fixed. In these few days of almost constant sleep and spending time with Sommeil, I had grown to quite like him even though he at first seemed rather offputting.  "And the Unseelie Court, master? What creatures do you know of there?" "Eh..." Surely he meant much deeper than those of les précieuses. "A few. Not many," "Which interests you most?" "Dullahans I suppose," I shrugged. "Do you know the Unseelie code?" "Change is good. Glamour is free. Honour is a lie," Sommeil ceased the horse. "Passion before duty. Would you agree, Dominique?" "... I'm a fan of change," I mused noncomittally.  "You have school," It was quite unlike Sommiel to just end our conversation so suddenly. I sat up in my bed and took in the surroundings for a moment.  School was unappealing to me at that moment in time. I had decided to stay home and clean my living space a little. The maids hadn't awoken yet and I felt that maybe my share should have been pitched to them quite a while ago.  "Dominique, dear. The broom," Mother cooed. I looked around for her for a moment. It was impossible that she was speaking with me - She was dead after all.  "What about the broom, mother? Am I doing something wrong?" Nervously I clutched the handle between my hands in as tight of a grip as I could manage.  "Let me show you," "Uhm, well..." Mother took the broom from my clammy embrace. Her hands were cold and slimy against mine. The images Sommeil had showed me flooded back.  "Dominique, dear," came her croon again. Her wet, cold hands slipped under my chin and rubbed a trail of goo straight to my ears. I quivered and the broom clattered to the floor with a startling bang. Her cooing voice continued a soft chorus of Alouette as she rubbed her graying hands all through my hair. "Show me your face, mother. I'd like to see your face please, mother," Mother hauled her hands back and held them unsurely to her chest, cradling each other bone on bone. They lifted again to clear dark hair from her features.  A surgical mask? "Am I beautiful?" "Glorified and wonderful even in death, mother," I replied, reaching a hand to her fraying, haylike and yet radiant hair. It was so long. So misleading.  She peeled back the mask.  "How about now, Dominique Aimé? How glorified am I? Would Jeanne D'Arc pale in comparal?" I'm sure she would have, for I did. "My god," I wimpered, covering my face. Mother's cheeks were slashed and bleeding everywhere. Her reddened tongue whipped around, saturated in the salty liquid of her torn mouth. Her teeth were more jagged than I had remembered and also blood drenched.  It was then that I realized that I was still in a dream. There stood Sommeil, holding his grinning, masked head.  ＊＊＊＊＊ When one's dreams are dominated, as is one's mind.  The young master had begun to realize that Masque Sommeil was I control, and that this was yet but the start. 

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I could only begin to imagine how savage mother would have been to see me so awake - So saturated in tea. I'm sure she would have unhinged her jaw and swallowed me in her slashed jowls in a fit of rage.  I was thankful for my imagination. These images kept me from sleep for quite some time. ＊＊＊＊＊ Young Master did not realize that I was still in control. That I had yet to give up.  ＊＊＊＊＊ It had been four days. Four days of regular activities on no sleep. Everywhere it followed me. Everywhere I went, Sommeil's head sat grinning nearby. It's eyes darted around like flies on stink and a tongue lashed from the grinning porcelain visage. Mocking me.  He was there while I was awake.  His grinning face just mouthed words over and over soundlessly, but I could hear them. Rather, I'm sure I could see them. So vivid those words I could touch them.  "Dans la lit, c'est la vie. Dans la lit, c'est la vie. Dans la lit, c'est la vie. Dans la lit, c'est la vie. Dans la..." Over and over, again and again. Unyeiding were these words.  I feared my bed. I wouldn't go near my bedroom. I wouldn't put my head down during class.  I started living on my couch at night with the TV for company. I just waited for night to end with my knees curled to my chest, attempting to ignore the disembodied head planted flatly on the middle of the coffee table.  "Dans la lit, c'est la vie," "No. Life is staying away from nutcases who take off their heads and put them on my coffee table and tell me to go to bed!" I hiked the remote at his head.  It hit squarely, causing a snaking crack in his mask that continued to grow and spiderweb until the bits just slid off of his face. I stood to examine him.  The head turned in circles on an ear, hissing and thrashing until I could see the face behind.  I won't subject you to the details. It was far more horrid than mother. I blanched and became sick to the side.  I wriggled to the side of my mess and laid down, trying to cover my face with my arm so as I couldn't see the awful thing on my floor.  Somehow it moved closer.  It smiled. ＊＊＊＊＊ Master finally slept.    

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The truth was showing.  Now that Dominique was back in my domain, I could begin to process. I had figured it would take less work to bring him back.  

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I observed the backgrounds quietly for several moments. It seemed like an eternity just standing there, watching the muted colours spin around behind Sommeil. I resented him. Him and his disgusting face. Him and his cruel way of getting what he desired of me. I wouldn't speak to him. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of winning me over. And then he did something startling. Sommeil sat at my feet and crossed his legs, beginning to speak before being spoken to. "No questions, young master?" The sweet and familiar tone he used on me made my stomach sick. "Can I vomit in this world? Because I want to. On your face." "Generally when one vomits here, they are awoken to do so in their tangible bodies instead," He switched to lie on his side, his cheek upon his hand. "However, your body here is far more tangible at the moment. Becoming sick here is a good possibility… And since you are ultimately in control here you may do so in whatever density or amount you wish upon anything you wish." "And so, you're telling me that I might vomit a river right into your mask if I wish to?" "When did your manner of speaking become so disgusting?" This time he stood while I pondered his question. I was a refined young man – vomit rivers were not something someone such as myself should even think about, let alone carry out on a whim. "Do you resent me so much, young master Dominique, that you wish to think of me in such a disgusting state?" I could swear I heard hurt in his voice, but that's probably impossible. Someone such as Sommeil could never have such a feeling. At least I liked to think that at the time. "Why yes I do. I do resent you to the point I picture you encased in a fine crust of my own vomit," I lied, adding a collected glare for good measure. "I honestly cannot believe we are having this conversation. How immature of you, young master. Your mother would be disappointed," "Don't you DARE bring her into this anymore, you… You… You…!" I grasped for a good word to scream at him but failed horribly. Instead, I decided to substitute a good insult for a good beating for some reason I am still unable to fathom. I jumped at him, and he simply caught me by the waist. Yet another horrid failure. "Would you like to know why you are here or not?" his voice was suddenly more stern than I had every heard it. And suddenly I felt 3 again, and like I had broken an expensive vase. ＊＊＊＊＊ I'm completely unsure of why master was acting so strangely toward me. I had done everything to make him comfortable with me. I gave him his mother back. I showed him how to react to a Kuchisake Onna and gave him one to practice with. One that he would find far less horrifying, seeing as it would be a familiar face. I became a dullahan for a brief while after he had told me that he liked them. I find it odd that even so he is so hesitant to me. I exist solely for the aid of my master. Solely in the mind of my master. And yet still I am rejected. It was only natural that I took the last measure. No – I had not harmed his being in the physical world at all. And no, he was very alive out there. Master Dominique slept soundly in a brief coma, safeguarded by the best doctors and nurses in all of France. Only this way could I continue showing the boy the things he needed to be shown. "Master, consent is crucial in this step. Please speak it and it shall be done," "What is 'it' that shall be done, Sommeil?" Dominique glowered at me, lifting a weary hand to rub at his baggy eyes. I could tell he was still angry, but his murderous intent had subsided. I willed my mask into a wider smile, placing him back onto the ground. "Would it be your will to walk with something constant beneath your feet?" "… I'm listening," I saw his eyes soften. I knew he knew what I was speaking of. "Speak it and it will be done," I repeated. "… I consent," he breathed, his gaze hardening onto me once more. "Excellent…"

------

The room was white. Pure white. And for some reason, this made me far more nervous than the swirling blacks and reds of the checkered plateau Sommeil and I usually stood upon.  I'm sure what scared me most, to be frank, was obvious lack of the masked man in this corner of my mind.  After his menacing speech of consent, I was feeling quite paranoid about whatever he had been speaking of. I had an idea of what, but yet far I was mostly unsure.  The white of the room was bathed heavily in a bright white light. Everything gave off a lulling glare that made me feel slightly more at ease. There was always something about fluorescent light that made me just a bit calmer.  I made me way to a shelf and slid my hand over the second-most shelf. It was smooth under my hand, and when I lifted it there was a surprising lack of any grime. As I lamented over this fact, my eyes fell over the books assorted there.  The books were gorgeous. Beautifully bound in pure white covers, golden letters adorning the spines of golden edged papers. All of the classics were there, and when I removed one volume from its set to examine it in all of it's magnificence, I noticed another behind it.  I reached for it, smoothing the cover over with my hand. It was jet black, white raised print on the cover. My nose wrinkled as I began to read the Latin title.  A noise behind me interrupted before I could finish.  ＊＊＊＊＊ Ab absurdo, mon frére. A contrario, a bene placito. I've been expecting you, Dominique.

------

"Are you're sure you're making the correct choice?" I moved to face him, placing my hand down on a chair for balance. I tilted my head towards my younger brother, observing his mental pause. It became apparent that Dominique wasn't going to speak or move after a few moments. I sighed, pulling the chair free of the table and taking a seat. "Please, sit." I instructed him, putting a hand out towards the chair opposite my own. he timidly but surely obeyed, his eyes growing wide and innocent such as those of a boy his age should normally look.  He kept the book at his hands, opting to look at it instead of me. As if he was in disbelief of me… Which I couldn't exactly blame. ＊＊＊＊＊ "Correct choice about… What exactly?" I had managed to lip, still not looking up from the strange book in my hands. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want to know him, accept him, or love him knowing he could only live in my mind. In this small, clean corner he was confined, it seemed. I peered up and him from over my eyelids, feeling a pathetic little tug on my bottom lip. I lifted my hand to press it back into place casually, as if resting my chin, but the little smile he gave me seemed to notice. "Well," Daniél—I dare to give him namesake now, but I think I'll soon regret it—leaned back in his chair and eyed me pleasantly. It seemed he was glad to hear I was interested in what he had to say. "Your trust… In Sommeil, I mean," His manner seemed less collected. It was like a childishness seeped through him—Excited to share a story. I couldn't help but mirror it, no matter how much of a dagger it felt like. I lifted my chin to him. "What do you mean by that?" I murmured. He shook his head slowly. "I mean, Dominique, have you noticed the way the scenery changes when he's near. My room used to be so much bigger… Even though you didn't know of me… But since you've let him stay, things keep getting smaller and smaller here. Like he's consuming me." I lifted the book on instinct, feeling something move beneath it. A thick, red blotch bled through the table, splitting it in half. It snaked up through Daniél violently, turning to the regular red and black, crumbling checkerboard pattern I could see through out the rest of my mind's abyss. The other boy cried out in pain, splitting straight in half and falling away from himself. "Open the book," Daniél muttered from both split sides of his head. He wriggled painfully on the floor, the two sides of the room running red with the crack. I did as he instructed, peeling back the pages quickly, feeling fear as the Noh mask of Sommeil began to appear in the air where Daniél had once sat… But this time it was huge. This time it was drawn angry. "NO!" it snarled as I gripped the object settled inside the pages tightly. I knew I was drawn to the book for a reason— The fingers of my other hand felt my forehead carefully, a finger slipping into a crevice there. That was it! The keyhole! I inserted the key in my hand and turned sharply, just before I felt the sensation of his hand on my own trying to tug the key away. … And there I was, eyes opened, laying in the bed of an infirmary. France.

ShockBox (Pending)

"Can you lock in?" "No! I can't get the Hit!" "Try harder, Seven." "God damn it, Solo, I am!" Seven slammed her fists onto the console with all of her might. Frustration masked her face as it snarled, hiding the light freckles that dotted her nose. You could only notice them if you were as close as Solo was. Inches away. The older teen then pulled back, slamming his headset onto the floor. Solo grit his teeth and ground his foot into his mic. The weak object shattered underneath the pressure of Solo's angry appendage. In fact, it wasn't just the appendage. Solo was angry all over. He'd chalked up Seven's inability to reach the target as incompetence. Those lousy Surfers. Who needed them? Given the right equipment, a Techno Dracula like himself could build a machine to do what Seven could with little to no help. "Why would you do that!?" demanded Seven. She flung herself from her post to the floor, knowing what this meant for her. Scooping the mechanical parts, she tried in vain to reassemble them. The ShockBox in her chest wasn't pumping electricity fast enough for her heart to simulate the desperation in her brain. It made her woozy, listening to the woosh-woosh of her weak heart trying hard to beat against the electrical currents that kept it going. Going on like this, Seven knew that she'd black out. You have to breathe, she told herself. Her panting, her scolding of her superior… It had to calm. She had to calm in order to stay in control. To stay conscious and keep Fletcher safe. Or was she too late for even this? "Do you know what you just did, Solo?" she grit her teeth as she spoke, clutching her aching chest. Thumpa-thumpa was the noise she wished for. A healthy heart would be salvation… But no one was that lucky in this world. Healthy hearts were a thing of the past, like VCR tapes and cassettes. No one dealed with those ever anymore, and hadn't for almost nine hundred years. Thus, the invention of the ShockBox. Shaking these thoughts from her head, Seven continued. "That was our only uplink to Gimmick! What are we gonna do about Fletcher if we can't get through to-"  "Shut up," Solo's hand lifted into the air, threatening to strike Seven across the cheek. She glared daggers at him, and he swords. Solo's hands dropped to his side. "I know. I was angry. It's my fault." Solo's hand mussed his sandy bangs for a moment as he regained his cool demeanour.  "Get up, Seven. It can't be helped." His steely gaze dropped to the crushed comlink gathered in her hands. Though he was a cool customer, he never realised his temper until it was too late.  Seven wasn't about to give up, and that was a trait Solo admired. He knew she was getting as seriously angry as he was. Seven tied back her hair, sat back in her seat, and searched once again for a hit. Would she give up on Fletcher? Oh no. She replaced her fingers along the five wires with a gulp. A short, fierce jolt slammed up her arm and danced along the nerve endings, all the way up into her rib cage. It prodded the ShockBox which kicked into her heart, giving Seven the beating panic she needed. She was. Gradually, the beats of her heart increased until it became hard to breathe. In this state, she could see the waves. She could travel the power lines in her mind's eye. If it was still active, Seven would be able to see Fletcher's ShockBox as well. Anyone's ShockBox, really. She'd just have to identify the code. When the right Box is located, all Seven would need to do is channel her thoughts- of which he had to speak allowed for added electrical impact- along the lines and into the Box. This communication through neuro paths and electrical equipment is what Solo had affectionately named a Hit. Seven is what Gimmick had dubbed a Surfer; a traveller of the life current. Seven and Gimmick himself were the only Surfers strong enough to function along the transformers. Weaker Surfers would surely loose control of the currents and their ShockBoxes would explode along with their hearts. They tended to use static shocks to Surf, and could only do so by touch. Solo refused to even acknowledge them as Functions. "Seven?" asked a soft, crisp voice of which invaded her thought process. This almost threw her off the wires. Her body went rigid, and this arouse a knowing glance from Solo. Seven had always stiffened at the sound of Mr. Gimmick's voice, let alone his presence, in or out of her head. "G-Gimmick," It would be rude not to acknowledge the man talking inside your head, she thought. There was obviously no way of ignoring someone so intrusive. The girl flicked a switch, activating a few speakers around command. Thoughts were being drawn from her head by the wires and made audible, simply so Solo wouldn't feel left out. This was a painful process for Seven, but she knew she'd have to bare it. If only Solo hadn't smashed that comlink… In either case, Solo was right. What happened happened, and it couldn't be helped. The search for Fletcher would be delayed even more. "Solo, are you on?" "Yeah, Gimmick. I'm here," Commander Solo tried to play it cool as per always, but something about Gimmick always made him uneasy. His eyes widened, and Solo began to wobble lightly. Here it comes, he thought. "What were you thinking, Solo? You smashed a very important piece of equipment for a Commader." "I wasn't thinking, Sir." The boy raked his nails over his arms nervously. Seven reached back in an unconscious movement, taking the hand of her superior. He made no moves to shake her away – he just stood stone. "Your first day as Commander of your own sub-branch of Functions, and you're already screwing up. You're seventeen, Solo Michaels. Seven is barely sixteen. No, she's still fifteen for another two months. Fletcher is only thirteen. Your sent him out alone? And for God's sakes, he's only an Electrician! He can't protect himself with a wrench against a Function. Metal conducts. Don't ever mess up like this again or I'll have your stripes, kid. What if this were real?" "Wh-what!?" Solo and Seven chirped in unison. "It was a simulation. I have Fletcher here with me," Gimmick's voice was more tired than angry. Solo was his best student… His best Function. He didn't know how such a skilled Function could screw up his first day so badly. "…No." Solo smacked Seven's hand away, temper flaring. He stormed from operations, kicking over a trash bin with all of his might on the way out. Seven looked shamefully at her lap, taking her fingers from the wires to rub the warmer fingers that Solo had just held so tightly. So worriedly. "I'm sorry about him, Gimmick," she whispered. After shutting down, Seven left the facility in a rush. She still had to find Fletch, and get him ready for school in an hour. What a life I lead, thought Seven Halbourne aloud, rubbing her temples like her brain was about to pop.

Rottura di Pistola Dump (Abandoned in current state for later reworking.)

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Many things were missing to me when I turned fifteen and a half. Of course, not straight away. I was born to a simple, happy, normal family (of humans, might I add.) and home. Everything was always in its place; not in poverty or super fucking rich or anything. Just normal, suburban and boring as Hell. The family Lindquist was stereotypical. Mom was a nurse, Dad was a lawyer, my sister was a brat. And I mean brat. 2 years older, Lola was torturesome. I had a high pain tolerancy, so it’s not like she beat me up. Instead, she worked my fears against me… For I have one that is completely and utterly fucking dehabilitating.  Rats. Those beady eyes and those disgusting tails… If I see one, I just freeze up. And so, dear sweet Lola who loved me so kept cages upon cages of the fucking things hoarded up in her room.  Obviously, this would be a shit reason to run off… But I did. And yet, being the awesome ass dude I am, I had an underlying motive.  Forced to leave my home, my life; I joined up with the mafia. I had always been pretty handy with guns, and the title of assassin hit the spot in my bored, bored chest with exciting gusto. And so, under the code name of Break, my new life began. I’m sure my moms imploded when she got my message.

------

Back in middle school, about a week before I left home, the English teacher gave us a journal prompt. It sort of hit me in a weird way. What do you tend to notice about the world around you? it asked. At first, my initial thought was nothing. But after a few moments, things started to settle into my brain. I couldn’t answer on paper because I couldn’t word it but now that I think back, I remember the moment.  I noticed I hated most kids. I noticed the twitches on the faces of liars and that I, myself, could prevent them from crossing my face. I noticed I could read feelings even when hidden from me. But most of all, I realized I didn’t realize much and wanted to change this. And that Tessie McKormac had been wearing the same pair of pants for three consecutive days. As such a minor fucking thing, it was life changing and I started touching pencil to paper a little more often. That was what I was doing in the present, where the story really begins, at 26, chewing thoughtfully at the eraser of my pencil and staring into a mirror. I was attempting at describing myself; just a little observation exercise… Something I did on a very irregular basis to heighten my awareness. Because, I mean, your awareness has to be pretty heightened if you’re gonna both kill people and stay alive. So there I was. Stumped. What could I say about myself? I have black hair and really dark blue eyes and I was American and brooding over my own face like a monkey in a tire rim. But, of course, I was handsome. And I am handsome. Though I’m a giant fucking ego beast, I know I’m hot. I stop girls in their tracks. But these thoughts, although they made me smirk confidently in my regular fashion, didn’t cut it. I saw in the mirror the backward signs of the shop; colorful and flashy with stylized skulls staring into your brains and over-detailed dragons dancing all around the outer edges. I had one of those dragons trailing down my right shoulder, aflame in bright and killer reds and fierce, flashy black to outline. The monochrome colors of black, clear and a light beige logo was pasted on the glass of the front door, seemingly tell tale to our operations. But this was our operation’s front. A fake. Herbie’s Ink and Piercings; mafia lying in a secret basement below.  As I wondered why I couldn’t describe myself in such a way and erased what I had (The soggy eraser just destroyed my page. I cussed loudly.), a face made itself visible behind the logo. I recognized the features it bared and the large, permanently grinning upturns of a Glasgow smile, as my boss. The Don. Nonno Papoulio. I set down my notepad, pencil and mirror as quickly as I could and half ran to the door. Whenever that fucking old geezer did actually leave the mafia’s main operations, he never opened his own damn doors. Something about being a germophobe. I never liked him, though I did show him all due respect. Though I was his best assassin, he was better. Just really damn old. And that’s why we all called him Nonno; Italian for Grandpa. That and he liked it. “Er… Nonno?” As soon as I had opened the door, he pushed me aside by the shoulder using the back of his liver spotted hand. “What are you doing above ground? You lookin’ to get shot? Picked up by the policia?” “Signor Break,” began the old Italian in his strained and raspy voice, thick with the accent of Pizza and art. He was, I guess, wiping my ‘germs’ from his hand with a hanky as he spoke. “I … require your expertise.” “M’what? Why!?” I was gaping and flapping around, grotesquely out of character. The fact he came directly to me for me scared the living shit out of me! This was big. Way more life altering than a fucking English assignment or finding out your girlfriend has an ugly hair mole behind her ear! “You know my lovely grandson, do you not?” I opened my mouth to give him a ‘no’, but he cut me off. Fucker. “Of course you do,” No I don’t. “He… No, we… We need you to clear up something down below.” Regaining my composure, I smirked wide and confident like I always did. Then I nodded. “Anything for Don Abeympartoli. Whatcha need, boss?” When I reached Papoulio’s lab, an odd creature awaited me. It’s back was turned and a snake of hair flooded down its back and snapped at its hips. The majority of the rat tail was a rich and deep purple, the bottom a vibrant lime green. The rest of its hair was much the same; to its shoulders, long, frazzled but was shiny and clean and definitely well cared for. It curled up in places and in others it laied down flat or shagged off to a random angle. The hair cut could have been described at stylized insanity, I guess. Mechanical claws with tips that looked like they could shear through fucking solid rocks (or worse, I would learn) hung furrowed and protruded naturally from a humanoid form with a human skinned back. The slither of its hair hung between those. “Holy fuck…” I breathed and the figure turned. “Can I-a help you?” huffed a very effeminate man, crossing his arms over his chest. He was decidedly human though his eyes were red. To top off his crazy hair, he had orange bangs and a long, thick lock of hair that hung over his shoulder. Mostly the green with traces of purple at the top. Cling to his hips were God forsaken purple skinny jeans – I groaned when I saw them. They were hideous, but he pulled them off. Somehow. – and hanging from his left shoulder was a much too large, blue striped, long sleeved shirt with sleeves that conceled his hands ominously. On his right cheek, slightly beneath the eye, was a small pink heart tattoo. “Holy fucking bucket nipples…” All of this added to the fact I was scared shitless already. This dude was a freak of fucking nature. “I see you truly did not know my grandson. You should have told me so, Break.” I sighed deeply and shook my head. Geezers…  “Oouh, Nonno! This is Breaky!?” the freak grinned, clapped and threw his hands in the air. I groaned – It knew me. “Have you fun,” Nonno nodded and walked back the way we had came, locking up a steel door behind him. It made a heavy clang as it closed. I got that sinking feeling and my head started screaming at me. Holy fucking shit, Break! He’s gonna gay you to death! Hot damn! Run! RAPE!  I scowled at the voice. I was an assassin – am an assassin – for God’s sake. “Ouh, calm down, muffin,” He must have caught the look on my face. I quickly changed it. “Who are you?” I asked, attempting to raise an eyebrow. It was just something I couldn’t do. That pissed me off more throughly. “Jyestkovina Paviche Abyempartoli,” I blinked in rapid sucession. He nodded and giggled in response. “Call me Jest. I prefer it. Scarlet Joker is-a even better!” “Yeah. Okay. Sure,” “Now what’s your-a reeeeal name, Breaky?” Jest was purring like a kitten. It was creeping the Hell out of me, if I could get anymore creeped out. “Lindquist,” “Your first name, Breaky,” “…” “Well?” I didn’t speak. I wasn’t supposed to, and, aside I hated my real name. It had garnered me a nickname I could never live down, but still sort of liked. A girl’s name. “Brian?” “No…” I blinked. Was he really going to do this? “Rod?” Yes. Yes he was. “Tiffany?” he smirked. “Shut up, Jest. What am I here for?” “Oh, that!” Jest grinned sheepishly and walked us deeper into the odd lab. We stopped at a wall of monitors. He sat down at a computer and tapped away at the keys using only his right hand. Of course, I know why now… But at the time I thought it weird that he’d inconvenience himself by leaving his left arm flacid. “Now-a… Listen up-a,” Jest turned to me and jerked his head purposefully at the wall of screens. They were littered with text and pictures of this random ass Asian dude. “This little cutie is-a Shin Sekai. And-a Nonno wants him. I’d tell you why but … I was told-a not to.” Was that drool at the corner of Jest’s mouth? I hoped not. “So I gotta kill ‘im?” I asked, lifting my shirt and removing one of the two hand guns from the dips of my hips and pants. Muscle; great for conceling weapons. I began to load it, but looked up to see Jest was licking his lips.  “Oh, Tiffany. Who but God could have made you so… yummy?” I shuddered in disturbed fear and continued. “Break. Not Tiffany.” “Right. Yummy. Aaaaaanywho… We’re not killing-a Shin. We’re-a… keeping him.” “Keeping him?” “He’s dangerous! …In-a the wrong hands, that is.” “…Fun.” I mused sarcasticly. But it wasn’t. It was the beginning of the worst days of my life.

------

Our mafia could be really god damned morbid. We had a group of operatives called the Suicide Guys; mainly people who wanted to die but didn’t have the balls to off themselves. We sent them into places in droves so the enemy families would kill them off and think we were out of men. Hopefully, they’d pick off a lot of the enemy, too. Always a bonus. If one wasn’t killed, it was the job of the assignment’s head assassin to pop him in the back of the head mercifully and carry on the mission while the enemy was at ease. Not all of the Suicide Guys were guys or there on purpose. Assassins for Nonno who had shamed themselves or the mafia in the field were forced into the ranks, and due to their pride they usually took their punishment like a man and never carried a weapon in. If they refused, Nonno would have Jest do whatever he pleased with them... Which was never pretty. The last fraction of the Suicide Guys were made up of chicks, whom Nonno hated irrationally. If a girl asked to join our crime family, she would. Kinda. He’d send them out, after a fake debriefing, with defective guns or dull knives. I sat staring coolly at a few of these cases in Jest’s lab that day, holding down a large knot in my throat and a cigarette between wet lips.  You gotta stay cool, I told myself, you can’t tip them off. They don’t know they’re going to die this week. You gotta stay cool.   I let my eyes wander from the small group, carefully peaking around for Jest. I spotted him entering from the hallway which lead to our rooms. He had moved me, without my permission, and I hadn’t seen the light of day or the tattoo shop for about a week. He was grinning, like always, in a creepy and joyful way. Bundled in his arms were 2 or 3 2x4s. I bit down hard on my unlit cigarette. My tongue tingled with the taste of death more so than it was when I walked in and sat down. “Bravisime! Breaky, look at the bellas!” “Yeah,” I groaned at his crooning. “They’re just fuckin’ bonny.” This was the 4th time this week we were on chick duty, and he always began in the same way. With a lie. Jest’s brain was modified when he was young, he had told me, by Nonno to ‘kill the sluts’. But Jest wasn’t above having his way with them first. He was a sex addict and a womanizer. As was I, but I didn’t dismember my girls when I had finished. I just didn’t bother with their needy asses. Jest placed down the wood on the floor and got behind me on my bench, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and chest. That day I wasn’t wearing a shirt under my unzipped sweater, it was warm, and the fingers of his right hand traced odd patterns under my collar bone. He rested his chin protectively in the crook of my neck and sighed delightedly. I had given up on beating him off by then and had began to ignore his advances. As long as he didn’t kiss me or try to rape me, he could walk all over me. And you’d be the same way if you saw those claws on his back. “My name is-a Jest and this is-a my favorite toy, Break,” he said chipperly. He was a self proclaimed toy collector, and his toys were people he deemed attractive enough. Usually only men, but the occasional woman if he could find a short term use for her. And thus, being the sexy mansluts we were, the hearts of the girls visibly fluttered and their faces turned brilliant shades. It would have been cute if they didn’t think I was gay. But we had them in our palms. We could do anything with them, and they’d gladly nod their heads and do it. It made me sick, and I spit my ruined cig onto the linoleum. Jest released his hold and made his way back to the wood. He delt it a striking blow with his shearing claws, causing them to be purposely stuck into the small stack. He lifted the stack above his head. “Uh, Jest... What are you doing with those 2x4s?” “It’s-a wood, Break. Not 2x4s. Savvy?” I stared aghast at him, and the ladies followed suit. Face. Meet. Palm. “...Proceed,” I groaned, muffled by my hand. Peeking through my fingers, I saw him shred the wood into straight and neat planks of their own, all different sizes. He then produced hammer and nails from purple jean pockets. He handed the items to a slightly chunky girl in the middle of the group and hauled up the blond and brunette from either side of her with a grin. Confusedly, I placed a new cigarette between my lips. I did not expect that freak’s next words. “Bella... Build me a chair,” And with that, each arm around a girl, Jest started to his room. Once again, I chewed hard on my cigarette in frustration. I could only stand, chew on the cancerstick, roll the tobacco around in my mouth (it tasted horrible) and start to wordlessly stalk off to my own room; unfortunately right beside Jest’s. This was all done in a rather robotic fashion. I never looked back to the gaping woman with the hammer and the nails, but I heard the tap tap of a hammer on wood echo behind me. Not my best idea, I lit the cig. In my room, I heard only the moans and huffs of meaningless sex traveling the thin wall between Jest’s room and my own. I attempted spitting shards of tobacco from my mouth loudly to drown out the sound. It didn’t work. The pleasured squeaks of disgruntled cutter runaways, stupid and innocent, became dying screams of terror and pain. I squeezed my eyes shut.  I knew Jest was skinning them, at the least, or shredding off their muscles. I covered my ears. It felt like my mind and my nerves were being crushed like grapes underneath a road roller. In my mind’s eye, everyone I had ever killed danced around me and grinned at me with decaying faces and rodents nibbling at their eyes.  I’m a queasy dude. And an assassin. A bad mix, but I make it. I can control my stomach... But just not then. It flopped and flipped and tried to jump right out of my mouth. I fought it, but it won.  A little gag emitted from my throat and my hands flew up to stop it if it became anything more. The bile was rising.  I heard a final screech, a cough, the gurgle of blood choacking the last breaths of a dying throat... A laugh. Satisfied. And then came a liquid choaking of my own and I threw up into my hands. The bile dripped, oozed and chunked over my front. Especially my hands and chin. I got up and undressed, chucking my clothes into the garbage can beside my bathroom’s door. I was disgusted. Disgusting. I needed a shower. After I had had one, dressed and brushed my teeth, I left my room. As I shut my door, Jest opened his. He was dripping with blood from the neck down, crazy hair tied up neatly in a ponytail. His face was immaculate and grinning, the sick bastard. That gross feeling of knowing you’re going to be sick cascaded up my throat like salmon in a waterfall. My adam’s apple served as the bear, taking a good portion of the metaphorical salmon from the river of my throat and doing away with it. I hated him in that moment; glowed at his pale and perfect face. He pouted playfully at me and ran a finger from the back of my jaw to the tip of my chin. He tilted my face toward his and leaned in. “Beautiful blues like-a your’s should not-a be wasted on dirty looks,” he smirked. I swatted his hand away, my own coming back dripping rubies. I felt a trickle down my neck. Jest’s hand lifted my shirt, reached below my belt line and selected one of my guns; a new trail of blood painted my hip. If looks could kill; this guy... I thundered back down the hall, back to the lab. Jest skipped behind me, chortling with glee. I spotted the girl who was made to put together a chair pounding in the last nail. She lifted her head to me and smiled, wiping her brow cluelessly from sweat. I forced a grin back. “Where are Kylie and Maddie?” she asked as Jest emerged. The poor girl’s smiled faded and her eyes grew wide. In quickly and cheerful response to her question, out stretched Jest’s right arm and fired a single bullet through her brain. Dark blood sprayed like a shot through an aresol can of red paint. Right onto the new wooden chair. I couldn’t help but think it was ruined with morbid amusment. Sticking the barrel of my gun into his pants, Jest rushed over to the hair and hugged it. “How tasteful and-a artistico, this splatter!” “Y-Your whole fucking plan was a fucking chair!? I with brains on it!?” I was livid and sick. What kind of person...! He began to laugh at me. I leaped forward, blacked out an came to my senses with my hands wrapped firm around his throat. We laid sprawled in a pool of that chunky girl’s blood. The stark contrast of the blood and the blue-white linoleum made quite the scene, and as did the fact a body laid near by and Jest and I were covered and locked in struggle. I squeezed. I had all intention to kill. His claws were sunk deep into each of my shoulders and ready to rip me apart. We were oth gonna die there, I thought. Half at the other’s hands and half at our own. It was mainly his fault, though. I reacted in the wrong way, and he was a killer. ...I was a killer. But I didn’t enjoy it. He was smiling. We are not so different, you and I. His thin throat jumped and wiggled under my hands, daring me to pull tighter. I gulped and lost my gutso, releasing my hands and finally noticing the searing pain in my shoulders. Fucking adrenaline.  Jest didn’t recoil. I fought not to writhe in pain and deepen my wounds. Still, he did not back off.  “I run this, Break Lindquist. Our operations are my operations. You’re a luxury.You’re lucky to be alive. I must avenge Pierrot,” he murmured with a soft, evil conviction. His claws burrowed deeply into my flesh and grappled around my bones. He was getting ready to lift me, throw me against the wall. The pain was utterly unbearable. And so I didn’t bear it long. My eyes rolled back in my head. His voice rattled on, husky and apparently uncaring. “This has been a test, Break, and you have failed. Queasy, weak boys cannot stick around. Pull it together, Break. Do it,” he panted. “DO IT!” He went on, screaming at me in a frenzed manner. I should have been terrified, but I was beyond any sort of emotional or physical response. Regaining control of my eyes, I stared at him, spite ridden. His voice faded, though I knew he was still yelling by his face. I then lost sight. Hearing momentarily kicked in in time for a shout of “Shin Sekai!”, another half a word and a horrified gasp. And then I lost grip. Spiraling, swimming, falling into a deep, dark, delirious sleep. Light burned at my eyelids and threatened to slit them open. I pawed at the object I laid on, identifying it as a bed. My hands explored and found themselves limply padding at a patch of... fur? I was afraid to open my eyes. How long had I been out? Was it all a dream? No; my body ached too much.  I peeled open my eyes slowly as possible and stared up at a ceiling that looked familiar. I was still in vicinity of the lab, I concluded. I attempted to prop myself up on my elbows, but it hurt intensely. Had I woken up still attached to the Jest of whom I seized the throat of? I tried again, this time forced down by a metal pincher like a Lego man’s hand attached to a red metal wrist. Blue and white stripped fabric fell over my chest after it. So that’s why he... “Welcome home, Breaky,” Jest grinned down at me, then bent to pick up what was under my hand. A cat. I fucking love cats. He was trying to make up, and I caught on. He snapped just as I had. Smiling, I nodded a thank you. “You too, Jest,”

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My dreams, in the time I took to heal, boiled down to very little. In one, I was a woman. I had no face and, somehow, gazed at myself constantly into a little hand mirror. I would pad and pat and feel around the pale, smooth skin that would have been my features. The only thing that even hinted that something was supposed to be there was a little hook of bone where my nose should have been. It made a lump right in the middle of my face. There were also dips where my eyes should have been, as thought someone had stolen them and stitched the holes over with skin years and years ago. And then, in the mirror, a figure loomed. Behind me it cooed and caress my body with metal fingers that tore my flesh when they touched. They tickled below my ribs in a frighteningly painful way and carefully removed my clothing. It didn't matter how careful, though. They just tore to pieces. The effort tore my front to ribbons.  I made no moves, sounds, of effort to break away from those painful and yet calming fingers. Quite suddenly, I was a man again. I saw my back as though a third person, and the claws that caressed me so dearly, so dangerously, dug deep into my skin. Ugly, deep letters formed after the movements of the mechanical hands; bleeding profusely and sure to scar if I survived.  A J.  An E.  An angled and sharp S. A T. The figure had claimed me and it was painful... but still I remained stoic old Break Lindquist. Never showing discomfort, never backing down, never afraid. Always fierce. Break.  A sharp crack sounded. My hips were torm from my torso and the only thing I did was gasp. In another, my hands simply did not work. I couldn't shave or shoot my gun or change my clothes. I was miserable. There were others, but by now I've forgotten them. And when I woke up I always was screaming and in a cold sweat. I only remember those two because they always reoccurred to me. My hospital bed was peculiar, for it had a canopy around it. My nurse was even more strange. The day the nightmares stopped began with a rerun of the first dream I had told you about. I bolted awake with a screech and looked all about me. In a nurse's outfit made of some sort of plastic, go-go boots and a tiara featuring a little red cross was Jest, changing my bandages in a careful manner. His hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail which kept falling over his shoulder as he worked. I sat up. Hes pushed me back down. I sighed. "This is-a the first time you've been awake since-a that sugery last week, Breaky," he said quietly finishing with the bandages. He wore no sleves on his dress, and I could clearly see two things. Number 1, the red rod that lead to his clamp hand began very promptly at his elbow. Number 2, stitches lined around his shoulders as if they had just been attached. Had they? "Surgery? When did I--" "We. You have-a my shoulders," "M-my tattoo!" I gasped, tearing away at my bandages. Sure enough, my shoulders were a shade paler than the rest of my body and were, in fact, stitched on. My tattoo was intact. Jest grinned a knowing grin. That was just twisted, sick, weird and wrong. "Why didn't I just get the god damned new motherfucking shoulders!?" I coughed, surprised to find myself very hoarse. I was lucky that indignant squeak of a sentence registered to Jest. I choked on my words, coughed and spluttered violently. Jest's crimson eyes grew large and he placed his one actual hand on my chest. "I... I wanted to be-a a part of you, Break," he said, his eyes wafting to and from my own. In spite of myself, I flushed. "Laurence," I said as softly as possible. It was once a secret after all. And quite suddenly I felt and odd, perverse affection for that freak which served only to make me hate him more. My whole chest seethed. "Yeah? That's-a not so bad... Laurie," We both winced. Laurie. Two days after awaking from my mini-coma, Nonno had me back on the job and in the field. It's a good thing my shoulders had healed. And thus began the most memorable, dangerous, crazy mission of my life. The seizure of human goods. Jest and I, rared by a platoon of Suicide Guys, sat squarely not even a block away from enemy encampment. A few other guys stood around us looking casual and we all wore suits and sun glasses. Jest and I, quite unfortunately, matched and looked ridiculous. He shoved us in purple suits. But only his had sequins. He looked like a damned show girl. "Breeeak!" whined he as I thought about his terrible choice in wardrobe. I lifted my head and looked him grumpilly square in the eye. Into my mouth, I depositied and lit a cigarette and, just to add to the cool guy effect, lifted an eyebrow. Correction; tried and failed to lift an eyebrow. Jest gave me the queerest look and fell into a pout. "Ah... Are you-a trying to poop?" "What do you want?" I snapped. "I-a haven't been above ground in 3 months! The sun-a! She is so bright. My poor skin!" "Quit whining," said a voice behind me. I turned to look at him, a big man with tanned skin and a prolific accent, and grinned. "Hey, Al!" I beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. Jest pouted even harder, pointing at Al with his claw. "Who-a is HE?" he demanded, stomping a foot like a child who was denied candy. So I began to explain. Big Al was a field expert, usually sent in to lead the Suicide Guys. Ironic; he was Arabic. Even worse; his full name was Al Quaida. But aside from that, Al was a good guy. He was big and strong and we had had many missions together. He didn't even want to hurt people. He just got pulled into the Mafia because he was big and scary. Secretly, if we ever went in for cash, he'd take a good lump and donate it to various children's charities. He was someone I admired.  But still, even after I introduced them to each other, Jest was still unhappy. I guess he was jealous? Who cares.  "Break! You are calling the shots on this one, so when are we going to begin?" quivered Al. He never did get killed, obviously, but he was always scared of it. He did, after all, have to lead the Suicide Guys to the point. "For you? Now. For Jest and I, ten minutes. That's when the guards on his cell switch shifts," Al shifted in his spot and ordered his men to lock and load. Which they did ineffectively. All of their guns were broken. I swallowed hard and took a long drag from my cigarette before throwing it on the ground and stomping it out. "Let's move, ladies," I commanded, making a sweeping motion with my hand. Al lead in the guys and the rain of gunshots started to fall. We could hear it. Jest looked over to me with a sadistic grin as the new platoon of fully armed men rolled in. We waited for the noise to stop and thundered in, all grinning wildly at Al who was pickpocketing the dead for charity money. A few gunshots and dead mafia men down, not all the other team's, we made it to the holding cell of Shin Sekai. Outside the door were two guards with gunshots to their heads and a string of balloons tied to everything they could have been tied to. A lot of fucking balloons. We knew something was up. Way up. Jest waved the other's away so it was just him and I being guarded in front of this big, metal door. I drew one of my guns. Jest readied his sharing claws on his back. We moved in. One careful step after the other, we turned each corpse and looked for traps. There wasn't any. And so we just plainly shot the lock and hauled open that giant door. It was heavy and took both of us to budge. All I could smell was coppery blood, and Jest crumpled his nose. I knew we were on the same page. I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder, a stab and grimaced. "Jest. Poke me with your hand next time. What?" "Uh... Look," I looked. There was Shin Seikai alright, a young man at the tender age of 18 bundled in a straight jacket. A rope, a lasso, was around that. Someone was holding it. My eyes traveled along the rope. A woman. Oouh, sexy lady. A red head. Gun to Shin's head? Shit. "Who sent you?" she demanded in a sharp, hard to understand voice. I was surrounded by accents. I really was. "Nonno Papoulio," Jest said cheerfully, closing his eyes to smile at her. I hit my head against the door on purpose. Idiot. The woman smiled and kicked Shin over. "All yours he is," Great. Broken English, too. Great. "What's the god damned catch, cow girl?" I asked, glaring at her. "Are none. Shin your's... On condition you listen to story he has to tell you," Hells to the yes. Jest and I sprinted over and helped him sit up, ripping duct tape off his mouth. "YEEEOW!" he screeched, rubbing his poor face. I was all smiles and the woman squatted down beside me. She was giving me that cougar look, and I quite liked it. "Wh-who are all of you people and what do you want from me!?" "Good. You don't have an accent. I like ya already, kid," I smirked. "Now, Shin Sekai, you're coming with us." That kid gave me the blankest look I'd ever seen. "Don't call me Shin. My American name is Chester. Chester Sekai," "Boy is touchy about name. Shin Sekai, in home country to him, mean New World. Is cliche for his power, yes?" The young boy nodded and looked up at the woman. "Who are you? Who are they? Can I go home?" "Jest and Break, here," I told him, motioning to the correct people as I said so. Jest, Chester and I looked up at the woman curiously. "Bozka Novak. Home land Slovakia. Let... Chester continue," "Bozka... What-a do you mean by-a... power, did you say?" "Kid is God," she said simply with a nod. It was Jest's turn to stare blankly and I joined him. "I can... make things different if I think about it. But I don't like to. The world's the way it is for a reason. I culd make you a woman if I wanted to, Mr. Break... Or I could just escape. But I'm not going to change a thing," "Jesus Christ, kid. If I had that kind of power it would rain--" "Men," Jest had cut me off. I groaned. "Kid is essential to job. I stay with him, even if taken." Bozka said firmly. I really didn't care if she tagged along. She was hot, and a chick. It was cool with me. And so, I hoisted Shin... Er, Chester up onto my shoulder and took for running out of there. Until he screamed the most blood curdling scream I ever heard. "What the hell? Are you hurt, kid?" I asked, giving him a shake. "Chester afraid of balloons. Very afraid," explained Bozka. I only stared at her. What kind of irrationality leads you to be afraid of god damned balloons? I sighed and shook my head. Then again, this kid was a God or something. Yeah right. And then the balloons all turned into a spray of crayons and fell to Earth. I looked at Chester and he was thinking hard. Was it him? Oh my God, it was him... I... I passed out.

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Babysitting. Me. A trained, professional assassin who has, like, giant fish to fry… Is now a professional babysitter to a kid who poops whenever you mention helium. And out of all the things in the world he could change, he decided to only get rid of a couple things so long as they were in his vicinity – balloons, and my smokes. Needless to say, I was twitching like a meth addict. Every time I hauled one out, it just disappeared. It just fucking disappeared. "It's not that bad, Breaky, dear," Jest tried to comfort me… But I'd grown beyond comforting. I was like an elephant through Smurf Village. "Now your-a hair doesn't smell like hookers." Oh God. I just wanted to slap that childish, chipper smile from his face right there. "I hate you. So. Much. Right now." I didn't even know if I was talking to Jest, Chester or myself when I said that. I might have even been talking to Bhudda or Charles Darwin or Flava Flav. I just wanted everything to die and let me smoke in peace. "I have asthma," piped up Chester. Jest just stared at him, snarling up his face. "Uhmm… Kid. You-a… You have some issues, hmm?" The teen blinked at Jest, then tilted his head to the side. He sat on the floor with his legs spread, playing childishly with some transformers toys he had requested… Kid was a nerd, and he still played with dollies. Go figure. Jest continued, kneeling beside him to push one of his figures out of the way and sit. "I mean… You're… You could just do away with your fear of-a the balloonas and the asthma. But you don't?" "Power not work on human condition. Only on physical body… Even if, he not know where to fix asthma and wouldn't." Bozka placed her bike helmet onto a nearby table as she entered the hideout. Seeing as she wasn't part of our operations – or meant to even be here – she could come and go as she pleased. I hadn't left the compound in weeks and hadn't smoked in them, either. Jest nodded in understanding, pushing hair from Chester's face with a weirdly soft expression. Like he was Chester's mom. I made an outwardly disgusted face, then shook my head. "Find what yer lookin' for yet, Bozka? You go out every day, all day, 7 to 9. You must be looking for something, huh?" I grinned at her cheekily, and her cheeks went beat red. So I'd figured her out? Her eyes narrowed at me, and so I softened my face hoping she'd have something to say if I wasn't being such an ass about it. "N-no…" Her voice cracked, and she stomped off into my room and slammed the door. What a place to go, am I right? Women. If you wanna keep a guy out, you don't go to his room. Or maybe… "She wants you to follow her," Chester said, without looking up from his toys. They were engaged in a pretty epic battle, I guess. He was slamming them together and making explosion noises… And Jest was helping. "You don't know women better than I do, kiddo. How the hell would you know what she's thinking?" I spat bitterly, glaring at the pair on the floor. The duo looked up in silence from the toys, turned to face each other in a knowing way, and stared at me. Their eyebrows even rose. Bastards. "A'right, a'right. I get your point. You're a fucking GOD. I'LL GO. SHEESH." I stomped off to my room after Bozka raving and slammed the door behind me. I don't even remember what sort of obscenities spilled out of my mouth. Probably something I'd invented on the spot like a cunt stinking waffle puncher. I don't even… "So what the hell are you doing? You got a boyfriend up top or something?" I grumbled, flopping onto my bed backwards. My eyes shifted around the room for her with no luck. Well, she couldn't disappear so maybe she was… She was. She was in the bed beside me, knees pulled to her chest and a blanket over her head. She peeked over them hem at me, and I just looked at her blankly. "Took you long enough to get in here, blue eyes." She peered down at me, a smile twitching her lips. Her brown eyes looked a bit glazed, I noticed… I also noticed her accent had mysteriously vanished from foreign to upper east American. I heard Brooklyn. I decided not to call her on it. "So what the hell is it? Should I be jealous? I'll bash his head in." "You sound like you're from Jersey." I snorted. Little did she know, I was. I sat up and turned to face her, leaning forward to rest my chin on her knees and peering at her peering at me. "C'mon, ya crazy Slovak bitch. Gimme some explanation here." "I'm from Brooklyn," she half-whispered. "My English is fine." Well, that sort of threw me for a loop, but of course I didn't show it. If she was gonna open up, she was gonna be comfortable doing it. "Well, I was born in Slovakia… Dolný Kubín? In Žilina?" "Never heard of it." I assured her with a smile. She laughed lightly and went on. "My Slovak is horrid. I just act the way I do so people don't ask me things. Don't try to get to know me." "Then I'm damn special." I nodded, pushing my chin playfully into her knees. She placed a hand on top of my head and tried to push me off with a grin, but when I stopped and rested my cheek on her knees she stopped as well. I got that damn fuzzy feeling people go on about. It wasn't that 'I-wanna-fuck-you-and-leave' kind of lust, either. It was that 'I'd-be-happy-to-smell-your-hair' kind that's famous in high schools. "My accent only comes out when I get angry, and if you keep it up, you'll hear the real deal." Bozka glared at me in a mock way before continuing. "When I go off, I'm looking for someone." "He's not cute as I am, though, right?" I batted my eyelashes, which gained me another sort of lash. With a pillow. "He's way cuter. He's a little girl." "W-woah, woah! If that's what you like, so be it! But don't haul the little girls into it, you crazy lesbo!" I sat up straight; backing off a bit hoping this might cheer her up a bit further. "N-no! Not like that you perv!" She went rigid for a moment, straightened out, and laid down with her back to me. She hauled the blankets over her head again. "K-kiddiiiing…" I whined, crawling in beside her and putting an arm over her. She didn't make any move to knock me away, which is a good sign, like, always. I placed my chin in the crook of her neck, pouting. Her eyes shifted to glare at me, but I didn't mind that. "I promise I won't make any more jokes. Just tell me, okay?" "She killed my Alojz," she murmured. "She took my big brother to Hell. I saw her and I wasn't supposed to… I'm gonna get him back, and Chester Sekai's my best chance. From hunting her… I've learned the guy in charge of the underworld wants him." "What? Satan?" "No, you idiot. Satan doesn't exist. It's obviously Hades." "…Huh." "The Greeks got it right, dolt." "Hah." I frowned in thought. Well, this was sure getting interesting. I was crazy in believing her, but I did. But I'm glad I did… Because everything was true. The kid was a God of sorts, Greece's over active imagination wasn't imaginary, and Božidara Nováková, as I learned her full name was, had a grudge with everything aforementioned. "I'm coming with you tomorrow. And I'm getting a pack of smokes on the way." "This is just about your stupid cigs, ain't it?" "Not all. But I swear… I'm gonna buy them and stuff them all in my mouth and eat them if we get away from Chester. That's how bad I need a smoke." "That'd taste horrible…" "It does." I smiled, propping myself on my elbow. She smiled back, looking at me with an intent. I saw her eyes on my lips, yes I did. I took the hint, and I leaned in as soon as I saw her lips begin to part. I shut my eyes and braced for impact/ I was so close I felt her breath going pitter patter onto my face. Everything was going in slow-mo. I was even feeling nervous by then. And Break Lindquist never gets nervous in the face of a woman. He tears their ass asunder. "OH MY GOD BREAKY," I heard a shriek and quickly looked for the source, feeling Bozka's chin drive into my adam's apple in surprise. I choked and held my throat as Jest stood in the doorway, tears in his eyes, making the most pitiful noises I'd ever heard in my entire life. "Y-YOU AND ME WERE…" Jest just lost it. He broke down. He really liked me so much that even though we weren't together (AND NEVER WOULD BE.), he felt I'd cheated on him… Fuck my life. The only thing I could hear over Jest was Chester playing Transformers. I looked sideways at Bozka, who's face was completely red with suppressed laughter. "Oh, my Breaky! The womens have-a corrupted your poor, innocent lips! COME. We must-a wash-a your filthy body of this… this… WHORE." Bozka didn't mind being called a whore. Mainly because she was too busy watching Jest cry, rave, drag me out of bed, strip me to my underoos and drag me to the bathroom. I hated this job. I wanted to kill things again. Namely Jest.

Great. Dump (Discontinued)

Deep in the depths of Despair's Haven – a regular US no where's town – laid one of the most inhabited insane asylums in the entire state. The inhabitants of this institution weren't quite like others… Some would call them mostly harmless, but some would beg to differ greatly. Hemlock's Asylum was a specialty area. From all over the world, this establishment took in every case that was recorded of delusional beings under them impression that they needed to consume human blood to survive. These so called 'vampires' were kept under lock and key and psychoanalyzed by the best, but no one would really figure out what the actual matter was – Until Hyun Ji, a regular Korean-American high school student, met with one of Hemlock's worst cases. Enter Callum Hargreaves.

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"Name?" the attendant droned, looking through the authorized day passes in a robotic motion. "Choi," the timid girl said, unsure in her community service choice. Out of all of the olds folks' homes and she chose Vampires-R-Us. "Hyun Ji Choi." "Here," came the droning voice of the worker, thrusting the pass into her face. Ji placed the lanyard around her neck with a wincing smile and made her way down the hall. She wandered aimlessly down the hall, hoping to find a more cheerful and helpful attendant to help her to where she ought to be. But what she got was –  A hooked elbow jerked up at her swinging arm, trapping her to lock arm in arm with whoever had come at her. The figure grinned.

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"You gave me quite the startle," said Callum, stretching out in his straight jacket. His legs were stretched as far as he could get them, and he leaned his back to a wall wriggling as though this would help remove the jacket. "Says you," Ji frowned at him. This man who had all but tackled her… But it wasn't his fault. He was mentally ill, wasn't he? "You were skinny and not ugly and smelled good. I wanted to catch you before you got away!" he sang out in his heavy, oxford accent. A smirk came to his pale lips. "Nothin' like the ladies who normally come talk with me." "Have you taken your medicine yet?" Hyun Ji sighed at his attitude – and the fact she was paired with this lunatic. "I never take my medicine," he smiled childishly at her – almost looking proud of himself. "Nope, not even once." "Great."

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Hyun Ji stared at Callum, and Callum at his pills and water. This is how it had been for two hours. Just staring and staring and hoping he would change his mind. It was, after all, her throat if he didn't take them. Her eyes took in his features – He was extremely good looking at the very least, but yet very pale. His sandy hair hung slightly past his ears and twitched on the collar of his jacket as he continued to try to roll out of it. The oddest bit of him, though, was his strikingly blue eyes. She decided that wasn't normal. He was inhumanly pretty and completely wasted by insanity. And he even seemed to be her age… "Why," he finally began to speak again, after just staring into the water glass. "Won't they just give me what I want for medicine? Why can't I just have some blood? I kinda sorta need it a bit…" Ji lifted a brow at this, frowning at her thoughts. She spoke them anyhow, knowing she'd regret it.  "Would you take the pills if I gave you-" "Yep! I sure would!" Well, she couldn't go home until he took his pills… This was the best way, wasn't it?

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"You know, you're not the first attendant who did that." Callum wiped at his mouth, sticky and red with Hyun Ji. She looked at him sickly, staring down at her opened wrist. It wasn't leaking anymore. Was that right? She held out the pills to him. "You promised." she barely croaked out. He raked his long-nailed hands over her hand, scooped out the pills, and dropped them down his gullet without a word. He then began to refasten the loony coat onto himself. "You know, my pa, he was a circus act. I can get outta this thing we'ever I want to. But, you know, I'm gonna stay for you. I like you." Callum wriggled over to her, resting his cheek on hers'. "We're gonna be good friends, you an' me. You feed the addiction. You… complete me." Unsure if it was the delirium, the bloodshed, or the fact he'd said all this… Hyun Ji promptly threw up.

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It'd healed itself. Her wrist was unscathed, even though it was split and spurting less than a half an hour ago. Ji sat staring at it in a sick bed, Callum curled happily in her lap asleep. Had she really done that? Was she losing her sanity just being around this crazed bloodsucking… She had no good insults on hand. "Vampire spit, you know," he turned in her lap, his icey eyes peering up at her in a cheerful morning glow. "It heals you up real fast and stops the bleeding." "Oh, cut it out. You're not a Vampire. You're just crazy." she spat bitterly, and he smiled. For once, she noticed them. Two sharp, pointed canines on either side of his mouth. This was too much. She used both hands and pushed him off her by the shoulders. "Oi, that hurt." Callum groaned. "… I get it. Y-you're not crazy. Eccentric, yes. Crazy? N-no… You're really a vampire, and no one believes you." "Biiiingoooo." he sang.

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After five weeks worth of being Callum's personal blood bank, Ji was used to it. And thanks to his sudden change of heart, he was granted leave… Supervised by none other than Hyun Ji. "Let's pack," Callum grinned, on hand slammed down his straight jacket's collar. "I'm packin'." "We're only leaving for an hour… And what possessions could you possibly have?" "In here I got a few little knick-knacks!" The vampire dug through his jacket some more, his tongue stuck out. Out he hauled a switch blade… a pencil… a wallet, which Ji noticed was not his… Because it was pink and had Hello Kitty on i- "Callum! When did you take my wallet?" she gasped, grabbing the item from his hands and stuffing it back in her pocket where it belonged. "Just makin' sure we had it… Can't be too careful with your money!" "Dude. Stealing my wallet is not equal to being sure we had spending money." "Of course yooou know what's not equal." he remarked, his lips curling upward. "An Asian joke, huh?" "Open your eyes." "I hate you." "Are you so angry you're squinting?" "Shut the hell up or I won't feed you." "… I love you."

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"Where's the ice cream place? I miss ice cream." Callum remarked almost dreamily. He was glad to be outside… But there was a problem. The sun was out. And so, he was dressed full in an insane thickness of winter clothes wearing a full face mask. "You know what. How would I even eat it like this, you know? Huh, Seniorita Slanty?"

"You can take the stuff off inside. We're close." He'd been calling her that all day. She was quite frankly used to it. "We've been walkin' forever. You know, we won't have no time to eat ice cream." "It's been 10 minutes. We still have 50 left." "Yeah. 50 more to get there, am I right?" "No, you're not." She hated this already. Was he going to complain that the ice cream was too cold? "… I feel like a marshmallow. Can I roll down this hill?" Callum grinned under his layers. He didn't even wait for an answer. He just rolled.

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"It's dripping," frowned Callum, his tongue stuck out as far as it went attempting to salvage the little bits of ice cream. His tongue was longer than most. Hyun Ji could not decide if it was part of his 'condition' or the fact his dad was a circus act. "My popsie could get that drop. He's Gene Simmons." "But your last name is Hargreaves…" "I'm illegitimate." "And Gene Simmons wasn't a circus act." "Who said my father did circus? You losing it, Seniori-" She sighed loudly, cutting him off mid nickname. "Is it good?" Ji licked idly at her spoonful of ice cream, watching Callum roll his cone around in his hand to try and catch the drippies. "I dunno." "What do you mean you don't know?" Ji looked indignantly at him. "Well, remember when I got my tongue stuck to that stop sign down the road? I think I ripped off my taste buds." "Why did you even try that again?" "My dad's David Blane, you know."

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"Today!" announced Callum in an excited voice, popping his shoulders in and out of joint and he wriggled from his jacket. "When we go for ice cream again, I'm gonna run away from here. I wanna go back to high school." "Oh, no, no, no! Oh noooooo you don't!" Ji rushed him, trying to shove his shoulders back down into the contraption. "I'll go get the nurse if you're serious and then they'll have to sedate you and put you back in the padded rooms. Sit on the bed and let's discuss this." "… Okay," Callum took on the look of a kicked puppy. He refastened himself in, but did not retie the arms. He placed his hands between his knees, frowning. "Well, I did like bouncing around in there…"

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"Why on EARTH do you want to go to high school NOW?" "Girls," The vampire grinned, clapping his hands before him. "I want t o be a functioning member of society and have snacks with lots and lots of pretty girls." "Sn-snacks?" "I-I mean… Sex. I want to have sex. So are you gonna help me or do I have to wear the muzzle again?" "… Well, the muzzle does sound promising." "Hyun Ji." he said as flatly as the look he'd pinned upon her. "Please." "Are you gonna drink anyone?" "Only you, jagiya." Callum's voice chimed, sweetly as possible. He'd really just called her honey in her own language, didn't he? It was… hard to refuse. "Fine. But you'll stay put in the basement for a few weeks until they think you're dead somewhere." "Deal."

Short Stories Dump: Dollars-FC (Timeskip)

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It's times like this when I feel my body degrading.  For a few hours, I am not against the flow of time.  I spin on the earth's axis.  I am with the flow of time and though I am young, at time like this I feel the affects.  Little bits of my body feel like they're tiny slugs and they're just departing from a central hub. Like they've been doing this day by day and I'm just noticing it.  Some days I rot.  Now more than ever I sit and rot.  Only.  I rot.  We rot.  The world is rotting and what are we doing? We observed with rotted eyes and diluted souls the wreak that everything around us has become.  We see children.  We see their blackened eyes - They're completely blind to everything.  We see adults.  We see their blackened eyes.  We see that is their choice. To tar shut their own eyes to anything but theirself. Their own ideals and their selfish ways.  Tar in their eyes and bodies melting off their bones.  I try and dig the tar from my eyes on these days. The tar planted by my parents and thickened by my own need to get ahead and have power in our blinded world.  I push tar in the eyes of other as I go along, climbing up a human ladder to get to a place that I don't even deserve.  That I don't even belong in.  That I don't even need.  But the way my eyes, my blindfolded eyes, see it - This is my spot.  And only one may sit above me.  Only he may. I'm not even sure I've met him yet, but this is where he belongs.  This is my town, Ikebukuro.  My blindfolded town.  It may not be yet, but it will be. 

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"Dammit, Naota,"  Manami lumbered on after the ball, after it had whizzed over her head yet another time. "Why the hell're even playin' this dumb game?" "You're only complaining because you're no good at catch, Nami-chan," Naota smiled lightly, extending and rubbing at the muscles in his dominate arm.  "I'm okay at it," she pouted, rushing back and flinging the ball toward him. He caught it effortlessly - she didn't have much of an arm. "You just keep throwin' it over my damn head!" The male returned the ball with a gentle lob, of which she managed to catch. He ignored her squeak of glee at the accomplishment.  "Oi, Nao-chan. What time is it?" "Uhm," he looked at his watch a moment, then lightly frowned. "About 10:30. We've been here a while, huh?" "Yeah," the small girl tossed the ball back with a nod. "Let's head home, na?" 10:30.  The night was young in Ikebukuro, yet at that time the scarves, the squares, the spades - the slasher and the batter - this was about the right time for them, Manami remarked to herself silently. Her eyes darted around to every back alley they crossed. And yet, Naota looked so relaxed with everything. He tapped his bat lightly on the ground, or ran it across any railings he passed almost boredly. Every so often his eyes shifted down to her, and in reply she would smile in a way that said she was fine.  But in the actual fact, any time of day still sort of scared her. She had her reasons.  "So is that guy still following you around?" Naota remarked offhandedly, looking over again.  Oh, shit. What guy does he mean? Damn, uh, play it down... "Yeah, he is!" she nodded gravely. She saw his face twitch at this and grinned. "That Yamanashi Naota kid is freakin' weird. I wish he'd leave me alone,"  With a laugh, he raised his bat and placed it lightly on top of her head.  "Bonk," he smirked.  "Hey! Don't kid around like that!" Nami ducked from under the bat with a giggle, pointing at him casually. "If you keep it up people'll think you're the batter dude." "Batter dude?" the teen boy placed the bat on top of his shoulder with a light frown.  "You hadn't heard of this yet? Some guy's going around beating people to death. They almost killed this one guy I knew, I heard." Naota blinked. He then shrugged his shoulders.  Ah... She means that Shikana guy. She's still pretending he doesn't exist, I see. "Oh? You scared? You're shivering awful bad," "Oh, no. I'm just cold," A tremble went through her small frame, and to this her oldest friend shyly swung his arms around her and rested his head atop her's.  "I see," He sounded almost smooth, but Nami knew better. He smiled and placed her hands over his as they walked.  The two weren't a couple, though in these moments one may easily mistake them for one.  Their feelings for each other were rather obvious, but Naota didn't have the guts to do anything about it and Manami had always thought that the guy had to take the first step.  In any case, one could easilly mistake them for lovers in these moments.  And someone did.  "Oi, oi, oi!" came a deep voice from up ahead. "What a cute girlfriend you got! Mind if I take her?" The figure ahead laughed, yanking a blue cloth connected to his belt. Manami took a step back into Naota after noticing the glinting metal rod in his hand.  A crowbar.  "I'll have to pass on that offer,"  A tingle went down the girl's spine. Was that Naota's voice? Yes. Yes, it was. "You idiot! This isn't the time to say heroic shit!" she elbowed him in the stomach, trying to signal him to back off. He gripped her shoulders tightly.  "This one's mine, square. Get your own," "WHAT. WHEN DID YOUR TESTICLES DROP? RUN, YOU IDIOT!" The square laughed and edged forward, bouncing the crow bar up and down in his palm.  "Well, well. It'll be fun to make you watch us, huh?" Naota's grip on his bat tightened the closer the mugger got. He stood his ground, forcing the scared girl clinging to him to do the same.  Their faces were an inch away. She smelled the alchohal on his breath. She absorbed the telltale way her rubbed his nose and snorted. Cocaine for sure.  His face split down the middle in a sick grin. His lips opened just a bit more to speak.  "So how abou--" "BATTER UP!" The next thing Nami knew, she stood hugging herself and staring down at something she couldn't identify. Her companion stood about a foot away, bat posed in one hand. The other pushed his glasses calmly up the bridge of his nose.  Maniacal grin.  She knew what it was then.  Face.  It was open.  Teeth on the asphalt.  Dead.  Naota posed the bat in both hands again, taking a playful swing at the air.  "Bases loaded. Batter swings," She lifted her eyebrows at the other, her lashes batting open and shut rapidly. She felt her mouth hanging open as if to catch flies.  Damn.  This was... Perfect. This was perfect. Ottle was- Her Ottle was- The batter.  Perfect.  A slow smirk spread her pink lips, a hand reaching out to Naota.  "Home run," It was his turn to be surprised. But his shock lasted a shorter time than his own. He took her hand firmly and smiled, wiping the blood of the bat onto the fresh kadaver on the ground.  "Looks more like a red square now," he murmured, gripping her hand tighter.  "Aha, it sure does!" Manami nodded cheerfully, as if agreeing to eat cotton candy for dinner or to getting a new puppy.  "You know," The batter took a deep breath and pulled her into their previous possition again. "I'll stop at nothing to make sure you're safe. Are you angry with me?" "Angry? Not at all. If anything I'm relieved,"  That smirk returned to her lips. "If anything, I'm happy for you." "Huh?"  "Eh - It's nothing. Just hug me more, na? It's freezing." "How about your lips? Are they cold?" "..." "..." This was quite unlike him to say, but she nodded anyhow.  They were promptly warmed. 

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Oh, I was just watching some television all daasdfghjkl;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; Nami's fingers dragged across the keyboard as she was tugged roughly by the mouth and hips away from her computer chair. She tried to scream, but whoever's hand was pressed firm to her mouth. Her hands flew out at the keyboard again, attempting to hit the buttons to spell out a 'help me', but her hands were knocked away and she heard the presses of the backspace button clack out loudly. "Nami-tan, Nami-tan, Nami-tan," His hot breath cooed into her ear. She felt his lips drag along and suck at the skin on her neck as he did so. It was a sick feeling. She pried at the stranger with her hands, but he just roughly grabbed her wrists in one hand. Much to her chagrin, it wasn't the hand over her mouth he had used. "Nngh!" she bit hard into her assailant's hand, which seemed to arouse no emotion in him. He nonchalantly removed his hand and tucked it away under her chin, pulling her eyes to his face. The female cringed in recognition. "N-Namura…!" "Mm," the male nodded in reply, smiling fondly at her horrified expression. He continued his contented cooing. "So we're finally together. Just you and I. It's a dream come true," "Wh-Where is Naname!? Naname! Hel-" "Naname isn't with us right now. I had him sniff something for me. I think it might've been chloroform. He's fine," "You're a fucking monster. Get the fuck off me. You're a creep, let me go!" Manami struggled in Kazuma's grip again, attempting to kick him. He easily caught her ankles in the other hand. "I'll scream. I'll scream as loud as I can and the cops will come and-OH BOY, YOU'RE GETTIN' IT BUSTER." Kazuma blinked at her blankly. She just called him… Buster?  Ah, so cute! She uses out dated slang terms, my love! "You're adorable, Nami-tan," Namura let out a bemused chuckle. "You're too much for me to love sometimes. Go ahead and scream." "You got it pal," Nami narrowed her eyes, her words dripping with poison. She took in a deep sharp breath, ready to let out the loudest yelp of her life… But was promptly interrupted by a rather rude and unwanted occurrence. Namura had, in fact, taken advantage of the fact she had parted her lips to inhale and was currently forcing himself into her mouth. His lips pressed to her's tightly, giving her no room to even think about screaming. His hands grabbed around her already trapped limbs tighter still, making it obvious that there was simply no way to escape him. He was far stronger than she was… But she wasn't going down without a fight. For a moment, Nami pretended to give in. Her rigid limbs went a bit limp in his arms. She submitted for a short moment and gave his bottom lip a light suck. He made a pleased noise halfway in between a cry of glee and a sadistic chuckle before she made the best move she possibly could have given the situation. Manami bit down on his lip. As hard as she possibly could. Both tasted the coppery liquid in their mouths instantly. Namura separated from her for a moment, spitting a mouthful of blood onto her carpet. He eyed her imploringly, wiping his lip with the back of the hand holding both of hers'. A defiant smirk of triumph crossed her lips for a moment and grew before spitting a drop of his own blood in his face. She let her tongue wag from her mouth, dripping with his blood. "Now do that again so I can claw your fucking eyes out. I fucking dare you. I'll shove my thumbs in your eye sockets and twist," "Talking tough," Namura smiled, pushing hair from her face. "I wonder where you learned that from." "I'll rip off your dick and shove it down your god damned throat!" "Harsh." "You'll like it, you fucking homo." He'd heard enough. His precious should never have learned such horrible words. He'd had enough of her talking down on the one she loved. Of course, that was what he seemed to think she thought of him. He knew she was a tsundere, but this was a bit ridiculous. "Here, smell this," he grinned, letting go of her hands, whipping out a facecloth from his back pocket, and covering her mouth and nose in one expert motion. He felt the girl go limp in his arms. "You're so flawless when you're asleep, my angel…" Namura carefully picked up her temporarily still body and held it close to his own, making his way slowly out the door.